Renaud stared at the ring and swallowed nervously. Billy reached across the table and picked up the switchblade knife. He pressed the release button and the blade snikked out. He held it up in front of Renaud.
"Still think I'm too young for one o' these?" he said with a grin.
Chapter
SEVEN
They stood in the darkness of the sewer underneath the street, the eerie silence broken only by the sounds of water dripping and lapping up against the channel walls.
"What happened to Billy and Jacqueline?" asked Kira.
"The cops showed up just as I was coming down," said Wyrdrune, "and Merlin moved the sewer access cover back into place."
"We've got to go back," said Kira.
"No," said Modred. "Merlin did that to buy us time. Both he and Jacqueline know what they're doing. If the police took them into custody, Merlin can get them out anytime he chooses. Right now, it's more important that we find Pascal."
"We'll never find anything in all this darkness," Wyrdrune said.
He raised his hands and his lips moved as he silently spoke a spell. A soft green aura appeared around his hands as he held them apart at about chest level, palms facing each other, fingers spread. Then the aura crackled and fine, jagged bolts of thaumaturgic energy shot out from his fingertips, meeting in the space between his hands and forming a spinning globe of greenish ball lightning about the size of a man's head. It lit up the area around them.
"There, that oughta do it," Wyrdrune said, putting down his hands.
Suddenly, the bright green ball of light began to pulsate rapidly. Its spinning action increased and it shot away from Wyrdrune, darting straight toward Kira.
She cried out in alarm and ducked. It passed inches over her head, struck the tunnel wall, bounced off, and came whooshing straight back at them like a miniature fighter plane on a strafing run.
"Look out!" yelled Kira.
They ducked and the ball passed just over their heads, took off away from them on a zigzagging course across the width of the tunnel, hung for a moment in midair, hovering like an angry bee, then came swooping back at them again. Kira and Wyrdrune each threw themselves to one side, but Modred remained standing where he was. As the crackling ball came hurtling straight at his face, he held up his hand, palm out, and it came to a dead stop in the air, hovering in front of him, pulsating and spinning around, shooting off angry sparks. Slowly, Modred raised his other hand over the brightly glowing globe, as if he were palming a basketball. He brought his hand down over the ball and lowered it until it floated at chest level. Modred slowly moved his hands around it, like a potter smoothing clay, and the glow gradually became steady as the beaming globe ceased to pulsate and shoot off sparks.
Kira and Wyrdrune both stood up. Wyrdrune had a sheepish expression on his face.
"Sorry about that," he said.
Kira shook her head. "Tell me something, warlock," she said, "how on earth did you ever survive thaumaturgy school?"
"I . . .1 guess I got it wrong somehow," said Wyrdrune awkwardly.
"You merely rushed your spell," said Modred. "Magic requires patience. Here." He pushed his hands out away from him, like passing a basketball, and tossed the glowing ball to Wyrdrune.
"Hey!" Wyrdrune cried, quickly bringing up his hands and awkwardly hobbling the globe.
"Relax," said Modred. "Control it."
Wyrdrune finally got it floating steadily, like a giant firefly, slightly above his head and several feet in front of him.
"That's better," Modred said.
"Try not to drop it in the water," Kira said wryly.
Wyrdrune grimaced at her.
"You see Pascal's body anywhere?" she said.
They looked around. They were standing on a stone walkway, slightly above the channel where the sewer water flowed through the tunnel.
"No sign of him," said Wyrdrune.
"He couldn't have gone far," said Kira. "Not with three bullets in his chest."
"Not necessarily," said Modred. "Unless any of the wounds were immediately fatal, there's a good chance that the Dark Ones could have kept him going. Do you see any sign of blood?"
"Bring the light down lower, warlock," Kira said. "And for God's sake, pay attention to what you're doing!"
"You think it's easy keeping ball lightning under control, you try it," Wyrdrune said. Slowly, he brought the glowing ball of electrical energy down to just above floor level.
"There," said Modred, pointing out the blood trail. "He's still alive and moving. Come on. He can't be very far ahead of us."
They moved off down the tunnel, the globe lighting the way for them. The sound of water dripping echoed through the tunnel.
"Damn, it stinks down here," said Wyrdrune.
"It's a sewer, what did you expect?" said Kira. "It still smells a damn sight better than Fulton Street
."
In the distance, they heard the chittering of rats.
Wyrdrune shuddered. "Damn," he said. "I knew there would be rats down here. Some of them are probably as big as a house."
"Hold it a minute," Modred said, as they came to a branching-off point. He bent down, then pointed to a tunnel to their left. "He went this way."
The globe of lightning moved around the corner and down the left-hand tunnel. They followed close behind.
"Watch yourselves," said Modred. "If he knows we're following him, he might try to hide and jump us."
"With three bullets in his chest?" said Kira.
"You saw what happened at the club," said Modred. "If the necromancer's astral spirit takes possession of him, he won't even feel the pain. You could cut off both his legs and he'd keep on coming, even if he had to crawl."
"What could he do against the three of us?" asked Wyrdrune. "We have the power of the Living Triangle."
"Which might not avail us if he has the advantage of surprise," Modred replied. "Don't get cocky, son. Even a mage can die."
".I can't believe it," Kira said as they moved down the tunnel. "How the hell can he keep on going when he's losing so much blood?"
"The Dark Ones can keep him moving 'til he drops," said Modred. "But you're right. At this rate, he can't possibly last long."
They came to the end of the blood trail where another branching-off point occurred. The stone walkway continued on ahead of them, but there was no more blood sign. It stopped at the edge of the walkway. Across from them, on the other side of the channel, there was a smaller tunnel in the opposite wall, leading off into the darkness.
"He went into the water and down that opposite tunnel," Modred said.
"Great," said Wyrdrune. "We've lost him."
"Not yet we haven't," Modred said.
"You're not suggesting we go after him in there!" said Wyrdrune.
"What's the matter, warlock?" Kira said. "Afraid of getting your feet wet?"
She jumped down into the channel with a splash. The water came up to her thighs. She sloshed across toward the opposite tunnel. Modred went in after her.
"There's got to be about a zillion germs in there," said Wyrdrune with a disgusted grimace.
"Come on, warlock," Kira said. "Don't be such a baby. Get the lead out."
"Oh, jeez," said Wyrdrune. He went into the water. The bright green globe was hovering across the channel, at the entrance to the tunnel. "I'm probably getting infected by a dozen varieties of voracious bacteria," said Wyrdrune as he sloshed across with a pained expression on his face. "My goddamn balls will probably shrivel up and drop off."
"What makes you think you've got any?" Kira said with a grin. "Loosen up, for God's sake. A little dirty water isn't going to kill you."
"Try taking a dip in the Hudson River," Wyrdrune said.
"The Hudson's been running clean for the past fifty years," said Kira.
"Good. Then you swim in it."
Kira rolled her eyes.
They stepped up into the branch tunnel entrance, which was slightly higher than the bottom of the cha
nnel. The water was only to their knees now. This tunnel was much smaller and narrower, with the roof only inches above their heads.
"If this keeps up, we'll soon be crawling through this muck," said Wyrdrune.
"Stop talking so much," Modred said softly. "Sound carries through these tunnels. Be still and listen."
They stood silently for a moment, listening intently. Some distance ahead of them down the tunnel, they could hear the dim sounds of splashing.
"It's him," said Modred. "Come on. Stay on your guard. And keep quiet. If we can hear him, it means that he can also hear us."
"Then we're not likely to sneak up on him, are we?" Wyrdrune said.
Modred merely glared at him.
"All right, I'll shut up," said Wyrdrune.
"You're almost as bad as your damned broom," said Modred.
Wyrdrune took a deep breath and exhaled heavily, but said nothing. They followed the sounds ahead of them, the glowing ball lighting their way.
I suppose he thinks Pascal can't see this light show moving down the tunnel behind him, Wyrdrune thought, though he kept it to himself. We could be blowing bugles down here, for all the good it's going to do him. He's not going to get away. He's dying, for God's sake, his last drops of blood mingling with the sewage. We'll probably come up on him floating facedown in this shit. And meanwhile, Jacqueline and Billy are probably having hot coffee down at the police station with Renaud. If I'd only waited a couple of seconds longer, he thought, I could be with them in a nice, cozy interrogation room or jail cell instead of wading through this garbage.
They came to the end of the tunnel. It was a short branch passageway, connecting two much larger tunnels. It opened out onto another wide channel, with another walkway on the opposite side. They could no longer hear the sounds of splashing, only of dripping and lapping water.
"He must have crossed here and come out on the other side," said Modred.
"Yeah, but then which way did he go?" asked Wyrdrune, glancing down both ends of the long tunnel.
"Well, we're not going to find out by standing here," said Kira. "Let's go, warlock. No more hanging behind. You first, this time." And she gave him a slight shove.
"Hey!" said Wyrdrune as he stumbled forward out of the branch tunnel, losing his balance.
His right foot went down into the channel . . . and kept on going. This channel was much deeper and the water was up to his chest. He fell forward and then went down into the water, over his head. The illuminating globe, no longer under his control, dropped down into the water and was extinguished in a hiss of steam. Wyrdrune came up in darkness, sputtering and spitting, the slimy water streaming from him.
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" he said. He spat repeatedly. "I think I swallowed some." He coughed and gagged. "God, I'm going to be sick!"
"Shut up!" said Modred.
"Drop dead!" Wyrdrune retorted hotly. "How you'd like to swallow a mouthful of filthy, stinking, disgusting—"
"Will you shut the hell up, damn you!" Modred said. "There's something wrong! Be still!"
The tone of his voice silenced Wyrdrune at once. He stood perfectly still in the chest-high water. And then he felt it.
"Oh, shit," he said hoarsely. "There's something in here with me!"
Modred quickly held up his hands and red fire crackled from his fingertips, forming into a flaming, bright red ball of energy that he tossed out ahead of him. It quickly rose up toward the roof of the tunnel, illuminating everything around them.
"Ho-ly shiiit!" cried Wyrdrune.
Right in front of him, water streaming from its slick brown-furred body as it rose up out of the channel, was a gigantic rat, the size of an elephant. It bared its fangs and snarled, its chittering sound magnified a hundred times into a deafening roar that filled the tunnel.
Wyrdrune plunged into the slimy water and started stroking like an Olympic swimmer going for the gold. As the gargantuan rodent lunged after him, Kira and Modred flung out their arms and searing bolts of thaumaturgic energy shot out from their fingertips, exploding as they struck the rat's huge body. It screamed with agony and turned toward them, gobs of saliva dripping from its fangs, but they continued the barrage. The beast bellowed as it became wreathed in an incandescent aura of thaumaturgic energy and began to burn. Clouds of steam rose up from the water as the deafening roar of its dying throes echoed through the tunnel and then it collapsed in upon itself and vanished in billowing clouds of steam and roiling water.
Modred teleported himself and Kira to the walkway on the opposite side of the channel.
"Wyrdrune!" he shouted.
There was no response.
"Warlock!" Kira cried, glancing at Modred with alarm. "Warlock, where the hell are you?"
Wyrdrune rose up out of the sewage, water streaming from his hair. He was covered with filth and slime. He looked like a drowned cat.
"A rat as big as a house," he said. "Jesus, I had to say it, didn't I?"
Modred stretched his arms out toward him and Wyrdrune came floating up out of the channel, water streaming off him as he rose into the air. With his outstretched arms, Modred guided him over to the walkway where they stood and gently set him down.
"Thanks," Wyrdrune said sourly. "Why the hell didn't you do that in the first place?"
"Are you all right?" asked Kira with concern.
"Yeah, no thanks to you. Jesus, look at me!"
"Count your blessings, warlock," she said. "You came that close to being rat bait. "
"I warned you," Modred said. "Never underestimate the Dark Ones."
Wyrdrune shivered. "God! I hate rats!"
Modred was looking at the floor of the walkway around them. "Over here," he said, pointing to a pool of water and a wet trail that led away from them, down the tunnel. "That's the way he went."
Modred and Kira quickly moved off in the direction that Pascal had taken, the flaming red ball moving ahead of them and Wyrdrune following miserably behind. About two hundred yards farther down the tunnel, they came upon Pascal.
He was lying stretched out on his stomach, his legs splayed out behind him, his fingers scrabbling at the walkway in front of him, as if he was trying to drag himself along, but he had nothing left. His expensive clothes were sopping wet and covered with blood and slime. He turned weakly and glanced at them, fear in his bulging eyes, his face white as a sheet. His lips were blue with cyanosis, his skin was stretched tight over his bones, his eyes were glazed and he looked as if he had been completely drained of blood.
"Leila!" he croaked weakly. "Leila, help me!"
"Where are they?" Modred asked him.
"Leila, please!"
"She's abandoned you to die," said Modred. "Don't be a fool, man. We can at least save your soul from being damned. Tell us where they are!"
"Leila . . ."
"Talk to me, Pascal!" said Modred. "Where are the Dark Ones?"
"Save . . . me. . . ."
"Pascal!"
He slumped down and lay still.
"It's too late," said Kira, looking down at him. "He's gone."
"Damn it!" Modred swore, turning away furiously.
"All for nothing," Wyrdrune said.
"No, not for nothing," Kira said. "At least we know he's dead. That's one less killer on the streets of Paris." She glanced at Modred. "Could we have done that?" she asked.
Modred glanced at her with a frown. "Done what?"
"Saved his soul from being damned," she said. "I didn't know the runestones had that power."
"They don't," said Modred.
"But you said—"
"Souls neither go to Paradise nor are they damned to Hell," said Modred. "They simply cease to exist."
"You lied?" she said. "You lied to a dying man?"
"No," said Modred. "I lied to a dead man. Look."
He pointed at the body. Kira turned to look at it and gasped. In death, Pascal had reverted to his true form. The corpse of an eighty-year-old man lay shriveled on the walkway at their feet.
&
nbsp; "He died the moment he gave himself over to the Dark Ones," Modred said.
"He may have had no choice," said Kira quietly as she looked down at him. "You left him thinking that his soul would be forever damned. You didn't have to do that. No matter what he might have done, he was still a human being. You owed him at least that consideration."
"Grow up," said Modred. "I owed him nothing. Come on. Let's get the hell out of here."
He turned and started walking back down the tunnel.
Kira stared after him. "There was a time when I thought I loved him," she said softly.
Wyrdrune looked at her. "I thought so, too," he said quietly, so that only she could hear.
She shook her head. "God, he's so cold," she said. "It frightens me. In some ways, he's really no different from the Dark Ones."
"There's one very important difference," Wyrdrune said. "He's on our side."
Colette Dubois had the face of an angel and the body of a harlot. Her hair was long and fine and so blond that it was almost white. Her eyes were a striking dark blue, flecked with tiny bits of gold. Her face was heart-shaped, with a slightly pointed chin, a turned-up nose and a mouth that was shaped in a perpetual, full-lipped pout. Her complexion was flawless and, at twenty-three, she looked no more than seventeen. Her breasts were large and firm, slightly upturned, and her waist was so small that a man could almost encircle it with his hands. Her legs were long and shaped to sheer perfection. With that face and that body, she looked like a combination of innocent young girl and strumpet, the sort of fantasy most men only dream about. They stared at her everywhere she went. She attracted them the way a magnet draws iron filings. With her stunning looks and soft, vulnerable, breathy voice, she could easily have had any man she chose. Only she hated men.
She had learned to hate them early, when she was only fourteen and her father had seduced her. And it had been just that, a calculated, methodical seduction, progressing slowly in stages over a period of time, as soon as she had started to mature, which she had done quite early. The fatherly affection had gradually progressed from paternal hugs and kisses to caresses, then more intimate kisses, and finally to the act itself. It was, without a doubt, abuse and molestation, yet in another sense, it was not entirely one-sided. Right from the beginning, Colette had known exactly what was going on and, in her own manipulative way, she had encouraged it. Not because she liked it, but because it gave her a sense of power.
[Wizard of 4th Street 04] - The Wizard of Rue Morgue Page 12