So Talia did the only thing that made sense. She jumped after him.
Chapter 20
Talia expected she’d keep on running. That was the problem with leaping into the unknown. It was, really and truly, unknown.
Instead, she fell. It was probably only a dozen feet—nothing for a vampire—but she’d only just grasped what was happening when the ground leaped up to smack her.
Wham. She lay for a moment, stunned and hurting. Her skin tingled like she’d stuck her whole body into an electrical current. Was that the aftermath of some sort of magic spell?
Cold, damp ground. Outdoors? No. Wherever she was lying was mercifully bare of snow.
She got to her hands and knees and looked around. Her first instinct was to call out for Max, but common sense stopped her. He was hostile, and she was horribly vulnerable. It was completely dark. Not nighttime dark, which had enough ambient light for a vampire, but pit of Hades dark. Only a glimmer showed in patches of what seemed to be a ceiling. Where am I?
Skin crawling with nerves, she sniffed the air, trying to get some information about her surroundings. She could feel a slight movement of air, but city smells mixed with something musty and older. Almost sweet. Definitely stale. Somewhere in that cocktail was the stench of rat. The furry bastards were one of her few real phobias. A vampire sunstruck into her daytime sleep wasn’t safe in rat territory. They weren’t picky about whether or not flesh was dead.
Talia shuddered, getting quickly to her feet before she began to dwell on the thought. Her boots crunched on sand and dirt, but that was over something uneven but harder. Brick maybe. The sound was oddly muffled, as if it wanted to echo but the surfaces nearby were too close. Stretching out her arms, Talia felt nothing. Not that close, then.
Carefully, she moved toward the lighter patch of darkness ahead, pulling on her gloves as she went. Where was Max? There was no sign of him, not a whiff. Part of her was grateful, part pissed, part afraid. When had he learned to walk through walls? It wasn’t impossible—a simple teleportation spell was something a sorcerer could make for someone else—but it was entirely out of character. Hunters didn’t use magic. They were utterly against it.
Something is very wrong. Unease burned in her stomach. It was one thing that she was caught in a moral dilemma between ratting out her brother and turning in an attempted murderer, but magic made everything more complex.
Perhaps Hunters had started out protecting human villages and maybe they’d had the moral high ground once upon a time, but this was a different reality. To hate and kill someone just because they weren’t human—to hurt someone like Perry—was completely wrong.
Monsters were monsters until they were your friends. Talia’s beliefs had been changing for a long time, but this sealed it. Shooting Perry had made it personal.
And if the Hunters were using nonhuman powers? That was going from wrong to perverse. That was becoming the thing you despised in order to destroy it more effectively.
That’s just repulsive. What the hell is Max up to? And if he was around, her father and the rest of the tribe wouldn’t be far away. That meant all of Spookytown was in danger: Lore, Errata, Joe, and eventually Queen Omara. Omigod they’re here to stop the election!
Nonhumans getting the vote—that was exactly the sort of thing that would make the Hunters go crazy. Talia felt a surge of alarm, the rush of adrenaline making her still heart beat for a dizzying moment. But what did Perry have to do with it? Why shoot him? She might be glimpsing some of the picture, but she still didn’t have the whole thing.
Whatever. She’d found out something important, and she had to warn the others. If that meant her Hunter past was revealed, she’d have to suck it up. Talia balked at the thought, a surge of apprehension tingling through her. I have to do it. There are a lot of lives at stake.
Crap.
Talia had to get out of there and find Lore. But where was out? Wherever the spell had taken Max, she’d merely gone for a ride on the tail end of the magic—and apparently fell off along the way.
She stopped a moment, hugging herself in the intense darkness. It was really, really hard to pretend she wasn’t afraid when she had no cell phone, no idea where the heck she was, and no way to find out. Not fear. Don’t give in to fear.
Sunrise was just a few hours away, and she didn’t have forever to get someplace safe. She stood under the brighter patch of dark, craning her neck to see straight up. Her vampire’s eyes made more sense of it than a human could, but even she needed more light than this to get a clear picture. All she could tell was that the patch was a square broken into smaller squares, like a paned window. A very, very feeble light shone through.
Talia tried to rearrange her perspective, testing theories about where she might be. The hospital was northeast of downtown. How far might the spell have carried her? Just through the wall? Or miles away?
She saw motion above, a blur of light sweeping from left to right. Then she understood. Those were bus headlights. I’m under the street in Old Town. She was standing in one of the old service tunnels that used to run to the basements of the shops and hotels. Back then, coal was delivered to underground storage areas—not to mention slaves, opium, whores, and smuggled liquor. Talia had read a little of the town’s history on the Internet when she’d first arrived—Fairview had played its part in making sure the West was not so much won as partied into a stupor.
That little bit of research had paid off. She remembered that thick blocks of glass were built into the sidewalks of Old Town to provide light to the tunnels. Over the years, the glass had turned a deep purple color, but they still did their job, more or less. That’s what was overhead. The old glass bricks were letting a tiny glow from the streetlights shine down to her. Okay, score one for the history geek. Now, how the hell do I get out of here?
In the old days, the tunnels had been accessed through iron grates that opened onto metal stairways that led below street level. According to the Web site, most of those had been paved over for safety reasons. The best she could hope for was to find a door to some old building and use her Undead strength to break through it.
It looked slightly lighter straight ahead, so she started trudging in that direction. Her body temperature was always below normal, and now she was starting to feel the cold in a serious way. She wouldn’t die, but she could slow down like a lizard left in the fridge—and then there would be rats.
No mistakes. No delays. It was dark enough that she could walk by a door and not notice it, so she roamed from one side of the tunnel to the other as she went. Occasionally she felt a ripple of something pass by. Ghosts? She was no witch, but she could tell these tunnels weren’t empty. There was a presence besides the rats down there—and she really didn’t want to know more.
Talia picked up her pace, pushing her frozen limbs. She was heartened by the fact that the blocks above her seemed to be growing brighter, as if moving into a busier part of the downtown. She hadn’t gone far—perhaps eight city blocks—when she came to an intersection of sorts. The other tunnel was newer, lined with concrete. A sewer? A storm drain? Who knew? She liked history and old books. What she knew about modern city engineering could have fit on a credit card, but tunnel number two had a ladder about twenty feet away. Yes!
Water had frozen at the bottom of this passage. Talia picked her way across the slick, gripping the wall with tense fingers. When she reached the ladder, she realized with a burst of relief that it led up to a manhole cover. As she climbed, the chill of the metal ladder leached through her gloves. Her feet were numb, and she had to be conscious of where she set them, one rung at a time. Giving commands to her body was like operating a robot, distant and imprecise.
The heavy cover was more problematic, mostly because it had a thick layer of snow that fell into her face the moment she scooted it aside. Grunting, Talia clambered out and shoved the cover back into place. She heaved a breath, grateful for the fresh, free air. When she looked around, trying to get her bearings, the first thing
she saw was a blue neon sign flashing on the snow. It announced Nanette’s Naughty Kitty Basket. Her joy dimmed a notch. Oh, great. She’d rejoined the world above right outside a strip club that featured the werebeast equivalent of horny alley cats.
She struggled to her numb feet and walked in the other direction. It was an alleyway, but sheltered from the elements by high brick walls. There was not as much snow and walking was easier.
Only when she was halfway down the alleyway did Talia realize where she was. Three tall, dark-haired males stood in front of an arched doorway set into the brick wall. The door was made of vertical oak planks strapped with black iron—the sort of thing one would expect in an old castle or cathedral—except the subtle throb of magic that seeped from it was like nothing she’d felt before. The three guards were too much like Lore—big-boned, shaggy, and tough-looking—not to be hellhounds.
Of all the places in Fairview, she’d avoided this spot deliberately. The Castle.
She’d been raised to fear and fight monsters. This was the entry to an entire prison dimension filled with them. Some called it Hell, though that wasn’t literally true. It was a war zone where factions battled through the eternities, scrabbling for brute power. Lore’s people had escaped, but only with massive losses. Ever since arriving in Fairview, Talia had paranoid fantasies of being thrown inside, losing access to even the remotest scraps of her human existence. In other words, kind of like high school.
She started to turn and retrace her steps when one of the hounds called out, “Miss, are you lost?”
Do I look that clueless? She straightened up, forcing herself to look confident. She yelled across the distance that separated them, “Where can a girl get a hot drink around here?”
The hellhound laughed. “The Empire is right around the corner, and I’m off duty in half an hour.”
He had an accent that reminded her of pirates and hearty drinking songs. It made her realize how well Lore had mastered English. She gave the hound a salute and moved past the Castle door, hugging the opposite wall of the alleyway and feeling a shiver up her spine as she crossed the field of energy it gave off. In contrast, the hellhounds leaned against the door, smoking and huddling in their thick, warm coats. There was a big thermos at their feet, and she bet there was more than coffee inside.
Though they seemed relaxed, it was all she could do not to run like a child scampering by a haunted house. The alley’s entrance had iron gates propped open. Only when she’d passed through those did she take a long, deep breath, feeling the shadow of the prison fall away.
Then, all at once, she was in the heart of Spookytown, the busiest part of the Old Town area. Lights dazzled in the snow. There were few vehicles, but handfuls of pedestrians walked by, laughing and chattering. The occasional snowball whizzed past. It was a nighttime place, and it was in full swing.
The lights of the Empire glowed like the proverbial beacon, turning the snowdrifts to a field of glitter. Talia felt a blast of welcome heat on her face as she pushed through the door. She’d been in only once before, and looked around to get her bearings. The noise was a deafening wall, half the room talking at the top of their voices, the other half singing along to a piano player banging out an old jazz standard. It was crowded, thick with the smells of food, wet clothes, and warm bodies. It was life.
The first face she saw was Joe’s. He stood behind the bar, pulling a pint. When he looked up and saw her, his first reaction was surprise, quickly followed by concern. She pushed through the crowd toward him, earning some astonished looks from the patrons crowded around the tiny wooden tables.
Joe set the pint on the bar, sliding it toward a jollylooking werebear, and gave Talia his full attention. “What happened to you?”
“Do I look that bad?”
Joe’s eyes widened a notch, as if forcing himself not to react. “You’re damn near blue. Look at your hands.”
She wasn’t sure how he could tell. She was still bundled against the cold. He reached across the bar, taking her wrist, and pulled one of her knitted red gloves off, and she saw what he meant. Her skin had lost what little color it had, turning a grayish white. The mauve polish on her nails only helped the gruesome corpse effect. “Oh, God. I’ve got to get a fresh manicure.”
Joe called over one of the other bartenders, asking him to watch his customers.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Talia said, her teeth chattering a little as she warmed up. It was as if she’d stored up cold, and now it was getting the chance to sweep through her thawing flesh.
“Yeah, right. Here.” He wet one of the bar towels in the sink and wiped her face like a mother would her sticky child. The towel came away coated in dirt and blood. Blood? She must have hit her head when she landed in the tunnel. “Sit down.”
Too weary to object to his bossy tone, Talia perched on one of the tall bar stools. She should have been sweating in her coat, but she was still shivering. Slowly, she pulled off the other glove. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy. If vampires got chilblains, she was in for a no-fun time when the feeling came back.
Joe was mixing something, foaming it up like steamed milk. Concentration furrowed his brow, reminding Talia just how handsome he was, how perfect his bone structure. A bit too much like fine art for her taste, but she’d have to be blind not to notice.
He poured his creation into a mug and added a generous shot of brandy, and then set the concoction in front of her. “Drink this very slowly.”
Talia looked at it with suspicion. “Not that I’m not grateful and all, but it’s pink.”
“Stop whining and drink it. It’s good for cold vampires. I call it the Empire Bites Back.”
She picked the thick mug up carefully, aware that her fingers weren’t quite under control. She sipped, catching a swirl of spices and alcohol and, under that, the salty richness of blood. “My God, it actually tastes good.”
“You won’t find that in Lore’s fridge.”
She laughed, feeling suddenly better. “I don’t think he has a cappuccino maker anyway.”
“No, but he could probably build one out of a fax machine and baling wire. The boy’s a genius with mechanics but sadly lacking in the domestic arts.” Joe gave a prize-winning smile. “He needs a good woman.”
Talia already felt the effects of the alcohol. She’d never been a drinker to begin with, and now the brandy glowed like a tiny sun in her belly, sending out happy rays. “Mmm.”
“Is that moan of pleasure about Lore or the drink?”
She took another sip. “For the record, there have been no moans of pleasure between my former jailer and me.”
“Give it time. I know doggy love when I see it.”
Talia’s head spun—either from the alcohol or his comment or both—but she was just about tipsy enough not to care. “He’s a hellhound and I’m a vampire. Doesn’t that make it weird?”
“I’m an immortal living vampire bartender who occasionally turns into a giant wolfhound. Weird is relative.” He gave her an assessing look. “You’re starting to look better. You’re lucky.”
“I wasn’t outside all that long. An hour. Hour and a half max.”
Joe gave a rueful smile. “In this age of instant heat, people have forgotten how deadly weather can be. Now, tell me what happened.”
Talia set down her mug. “I was at the hospital with Lore.”
“Why?”
“To see Perry.” She could tell from his look that this was news. “Perry was shot.”
“What?” Joe’s face registered shock.
“Perry called Lore to say that he had found something out about, you know, what we were talking about the other night. Lore went up to the university to see what it was. When he was there, Perry got shot by a sniper. With a silver-pellet safety round.”
Joe swore, long and in several languages.
“The sniper showed up at the hospital, and I chased him. He’s a Hunter, and what’s weird is that he used magic to pass throug
h the wall.” She didn’t say Max was her brother. It was the cowardly way out, but she felt cold and sick. She was giving Joe the important facts. The rest could wait until she felt up to accusations and rotten tomatoes.
“A Hunter? Are you sure?”
She blinked, staring into her drink. “Yeah, I knew him from before . . . before I was killed.”
Joe gave her a curious look. “Okay. Go on.”
She ended her story with her walk through the underground. “It didn’t strike me until just now, but it’s odd that there weren’t homeless down there. It’s cold in the tunnels, but it’s out of the wind and snow.”
“Even the human homeless are better at sensing threat than those of us who live comfortable lives.” Joe refilled her mug with more of the warm, delicious Empire Bites Back. “Those tunnels haven’t been safe for weeks.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve heard stories about something living down there. People start talking three beers into their evening.” He made a gesture that took in the whole bar. “We get a mixed clientele in here. More and more human yuppies going for a walk on the wild side, but the core clientele is still the longtime Spookytown residents. If there’s something going on, they know about it.”
“Do you think there’s a link to the election?”
Joe shrugged. “Maybe. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling the others. They’re going to want to know you’re safe, and I want an update on Perry.”
“Me, too.” Talia wrapped her hand around her mug. She was just about ready to unbutton her coat. Her toes were a mass of pins and needles, bringing back childhood memories of long walks home from school. She and her brother used to stand over the forced air ducts in the floor to warm their bare feet while their mother brought dry socks. Somehow, the cold hadn’t seemed so bad as a kid.
Nothing had. What the hell, Max? You never asked me if I was all right.
And she hadn’t had a chance to tell him about Michelle. Had he already known that she was dead? It was an ugly thought. Talia bit her lip, wondering what the Hunters were doing and how deeply Max was involved.
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