by Krista Walsh
Vera swallowed hard, forcing the idea away that there might be more of them waiting in the dark below, ready to attack whenever they stepped down.
“There’s no point waiting to see if they want to play,” she said. “If we’re going to fight, we might as well take the game to them.”
“Everyone all right?” Percy’s voice came into Vera’s ear.
“We’re good,” Gabe replied. “About to move in.”
“We’ll remain here for a while longer,” Allegra said, getting to her feet. “If any more come to use the tunnel, we’ll do our best to prevent them. Or at least warn you if any get through.”
Gabe nodded and twined his fingers through Vera’s.
She held on to him tightly as they moved toward the trapdoor, and her heart jumped as she looked down.
The ladder disappeared into darkness, giving them no idea of how long the descent would be, or what they would meet at the bottom. Suddenly, the ferry ride and the front door didn’t seem like the worst option.
Fear crawled through her veins, jerking her limbs in ungraceful lurches.
Leaving no room for debate, Gabe started down first. Vera wanted to pull him back and take his place, being stronger and more immune to lethal attacks, but as he had the better night vision, it made more sense to let him get the lay of the land before she went blundering about in the dark.
After he’d gone down about six rungs, she hooked her foot onto the top one and followed him.
“Best of luck,” Allegra said from across the room.
Although she spoke in a way that might have been taken as sarcastic by most people, Vera saw the depth of concern in her eyes. It didn’t matter that her reasons might be selfish — she was here, and she was contributing what she was able to. It was the most Vera could ask of anyone.
“Stay safe,” she said in reply. “See you in a bit.”
Allegra nodded and offered her a smile that was surprisingly encouraging.
Vera held on to that image as she descended deeper into the tunnel. The farther she went, the thicker the air became, almost rancid. Maybe it was for the best they couldn’t see anything.
The dampness of the earth along the walls covered Vera’s skin with a layer of sticky sweat, and her lungs drew in deeper breaths in an effort to absorb more oxygen out of the atmosphere.
A thud hit the ground beneath her.
“Gabe?”
“I’m fine. There’s a bit of a drop at the bottom, but only a foot or two. You’re almost there.”
Vera lowered down another two rungs, and when the ladder gave out, she trusted Gabe’s assessment and let go.
His hands grabbed her waist the moment she hit the ground, and she took hold of his hand again. In this darkness, she didn’t want to lose him for a moment. There were too many ways this could go wrong.
The fingers of his other hand traced the side of her face, and his lips brushed against hers. “For luck.”
“Now, now,” Percy’s voice said through their earpieces. “None of that. There are children on the comms.”
Gabe grunted and pulled away, leading Vera down the tunnel.
Now that they were down and her eyes were adjusting, she realized there were dim lights lining the sides of the space. The tunnel was a good ten feet wide and fifteen feet tall. No doubt a few of the demons still needed to stoop to get through, but it was more than enough room for them to pass without feeling claustrophobic.
“It looks clear,” Gabe said to Vera, keeping his voice low to avoid it bouncing off the walls and giving them away. But the earthen walls dulled the sound, cutting out the echo they expected.
Vera silently cursed. If sounds had carried easily, it would have given them notice if someone was coming toward them.
“Percy?” Gabe asked, his voice still low, but no answer came through Vera’s earpiece. Percy’s fears were confirmed: down here, they were on their own.
There was enough light to tell them that the tunnel went straight, curving left and right, but never branching off down other routes. She sent up a silent thank-you that their task wasn’t that much harder. The last thing they needed was a labyrinth to navigate.
While they walked, she tried again to make contact with Molly, but the same heavy fog blocked the connection. If anything, it seemed even heavier now. What was happening up there?
Neither she nor Gabe spoke, but he never released her hand. She followed the tingle of his touch as it passed into her palm and up her arm, the warmth of it wrapping around her sore shoulder until the pain faded to a dull ache. It had to be in her head, she knew, but she still chose to believe that the connection between them would give her strength in the coming fight. Gabe believed his Fates had brought them together, and based on everything she’d been through with him, she couldn’t find it in herself to disagree. And if they were meant to be together by some sort of greater design, it had to give them an advantage in this hell.
Time stretched on, the tunnel an endless passage as they moved deeper beneath the earth, the path following a gradual decline. The air changed, growing even heavier, the odor of salt water seeping through the walls. Puddles lined the edges where the wall met the floor.
Gabe held Vera’s hand tighter, but he never faltered. One night, he’d revealed to her how much he’d come to hate water after his brother, Rick, had been carried away by the current in the river behind his family home. She couldn’t imagine how much it bothered him to be walking beneath it.
Carefully, not wanting him to be aware she was there, she pressed her way into his mind and eased some of his thoughts, removing his sense that the walls were closing in on him, that the sea was about to flood the tunnel.
His grip eased, and she leaned into him, wishing she could do more to help. Wishing they weren’t in this gods-awful situation, about to head into a worse one.
“What’s that?” he whispered, his words low enough that Vera was certain she would have missed them if she weren’t leaning so close.
She looked ahead, trying to see whatever it was he saw, and after a moment she caught the glimmer of shifting light.
Tugging on Gabe’s hand, she stepped toward the inner wall, keeping them shielded as the light grew brighter, closer.
Vera tried to peer around the corner, but the wall kept curving, blocking whoever was coming.
Gabe shifted his weight, ready to fight as soon as the need arose. Vera rolled her shoulder and was relieved to feel nothing but a lingering stiffness.
A shadow rounded the corner first, large and hulking. It was moving quickly, running as though Lozak himself were behind him. Vera’s heartbeat picked up as her instincts readied herself for battle.
She didn’t relax when the shadow shrank on approach and the source of it came into view, revealing itself to be a single human-looking man. He was carrying a gas lantern, the flames casting dancing shadows against the walls as he ran.
Gabe moved first. He grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him against the wall.
Vera expected Gabe to demand to know how far they were from the prison and what they might find when they got there. To ask where Mayes was and what he was planning.
What she did not expect was for him to let go and back away. Shock was written into every inch of his features, the expression mirrored on the face of the stranger.
She looked between them, noting the similarity in their dark hair and the lines of their jaws.
Her mouth went dry, and she stepped closer to Gabe as his brow furrowed.
“Dad?”
23
Molly rested her forehead against the floor and appreciated the silence. Frank had made such a production of leaving when he’d walked out of the cell fifteen minutes and twenty-four seconds ago — twenty-five, twenty-six — that the echo of the doors slamming shut was still rattling in her head. A throbbing ache lurked deep in her right ear, and she hugged her arms around her middle.
Before he’d left, Frank had told her he’d be back in one hour, then sh
owed her a detailed image of the hell she now found herself in. The corridors were dark and filled with crates covered in mold. The floor of her cell was stained with blood and other bodily fluids, and the straw was a sickening gray-green.
She didn’t understand why he had shown her that vision. It had to be another way of torturing her somehow. Making her imagine him returning down that corridor.
Well, it was working. She was already psyching herself up for the next run, counting down the seconds in her mind. The fear of what he would show her next was almost worse than the visions themselves.
Reality was starting to evade her between encounters. She would find herself reaching out, expecting to see fire, or landslides, or crashing waves, only to be stopped by the cold metal bars of her cell door. Or she would once again start walking on the boardwalk beside the sea with the storm closing in. She’d trip over what she’d thought to be a log in her way, only to discover it was a slick bone from one of the cell’s previous tenants.
The darkness meant nothing to her now. It was only a temporary pause before the inundation of other images took over her mind. Each state caused its own kind of pain, and she just wanted to sit still and not experience anything. All sensory stimulation was making her flinch.
With what little part of her mind was still intact, she cursed Frank with all the word strings she could come up with. She’d hoped that in getting him to talk about his family, he’d have second thoughts about hurting her, but he’d kept on. Mouth shut. Follow orders. Never mind that his kid could probably take care of himself a lot better than Molly could take care of herself right now. Where was that supposed parental empathy?
Despite whatever magic Frank had worked on her injuries, her back and arm had started to leach pain through the rest of her body, her skin alternating between flushes and chills. Nausea had become a constant companion, although there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up. Her head was spinning, and she used the steady mental countdown to try to find stillness.
Something scurried over her hand, and Molly flung herself away from what she guessed was a rat. Her cheeks warmed with fresh tears and she wiped them away with a sleeve that was quickly becoming rank and crusty with blood and who knew what else.
When she lowered her hand back to the floor, her fingers brushed over something cold and hard. She jerked away from it, but when it didn’t move, she reached for it again, her curiosity needing to know what had changed in her environment. She’d been through her small cell enough times to have memorized where every bone and puddle could be found. This was new.
The object shifted under her touch, but it didn’t seem to be alive. It wasn’t making any noise that she could perceive. Carefully, she picked it up and ran her fingers over the edges. It was heavy, ridged, with two teeth that stood out on one side. The shaft was thin and smooth, leading to an end that stretched into some kind of curved design.
The shape was familiar. Something she had never felt herself, but had read about in fantasy novels.
An old-fashioned key?
She ran her fingers over it again to be sure, more confident now that she had an idea of what she was holding.
Her heart thumped in her chest as she realized it must have fallen from Frank’s pocket when he’d stood up.
Unless he dropped it on purpose. After all the hours he had spent hurting her, the idea that he had done something helpful struck her as unlikely, but it hardly mattered. The real question was whether she should try to make use of it.
Desperation urged her toward the door. She couldn’t sit by and allow Frank to get in her mind again. How much longer would it take for them to decide his method wasn’t working fast enough and to try something new? Like letting Frank into her mind while Rega took his knife to her again? Or allowing her to see the damage the demon was doing to her body when he slid the blade under her skin?
Panic wrapped its fingers around her throat, and she curled her hands around the cell bars, the key tight against her palm.
It was possible Frank had left the key in her cell as a test. If she tried to use it and opened the door, there could be an army of demons waiting for her in the corridor, ready to grab her and drag her back in. Maybe take her somewhere that would be even more difficult for Zach to find her.
Vera had said they were coming, but so much time had passed, and Vera’s presence had never returned. Molly tried searching for her now, focusing on the part of her mind where she’d felt the vengeance demigoddess on her last visit, but something was pushing her back. A different force on her mind than the one she’d grown accustomed to.
Had someone discovered Vera was in there and blocked them from communicating? Fear clutched Molly’s heart. Maybe Zach and the others had already made an attempt to come for her and had been killed. What would she do if no one was coming to help her?
The question dangled in front of her, and she realized there was only one answer: if no one was coming, she would have to do everything she could to try to save herself.
She opened her mind to the room, performing a mental sweep of her surroundings. She picked up a few shapes to her right, but she recognized them from the vision Frank had shown her as crates full of who knew what. She didn’t sense anything — or anyone — else.
Reaching her fingers through the bars, she shifted along the door until she found the lock near the wall. The metal was rough under her touch, rusted through. She hoped she’d have the strength to turn the mechanism.
Her hands were shaking as she reached her arm through with the key, terrified that she would lose her grip on it and send it far out of reach. She winced as she brushed her burns against the bar. After every small move, she paused and strained her ears for any sound coming from beyond the doors. In her surprise over finding the key, she’d lost track of her countdown until Frank returned, but was certain it hadn’t been an hour yet. As long as no one came to check on her while he was away, she stood a chance of success. However small.
The key tapped against the outside of the lock, and she moved it slowly across the surface until it slid into place. It fit.
Molly’s heart jumped into her throat, and she forced herself to keep breathing. Slowly, she turned the key in the lock. It stuck.
No!
Her clammy palms lost their grip, and the key fell from the lock to the floor.
She swallowed down a cry and dropped to her knees, stretching her hands through the bars. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn’t let herself make any noise that might be heard.
Straining her shoulder against the bars, clenching her teeth as her burned flesh pressed into the metal, her fingers found the key — not quite out of reach. Not wanting to push it away, she drew her hand back and planned her approach. Panicking would not help her. She had an inch to work with, but the possibility of ruining everything was high. She couldn’t rush, but if she was going to do this, she had to move now.
She summoned Vera’s face to mind, her perfect features, her golden-red hair falling over her shoulders. She, Molly Harris, was friends with a demigoddess. It should be impossible, but it was more real to her than anything else in this moment.
All right, so…what would Vera do?
Tear the door off its hinges and march out, Molly’s sarcastic mind replied.
Sure, said her rational mind, but she’d also stay calm. She’d believe she could handle this. So that’s what I need to do.
Molly drew in a slow breath, extended her hand again, and stretched her fingers as long as she could before she lowered them toward the key. Her hand started to tremble, so she lifted it until she was sure she was as steady as she could be, focused only on her breathing.
The key was under her fingers, sliding toward her…closer — there.
Her breath came out in a whoosh, and without giving panic a chance to close in on her again, Molly got to her feet, slid the key into the lock and turned it, slamming the heel of her palm against it when it stuck.
This time, the heavy clunk echoed
in her head as the mechanism turned.
Molly wanted to throw her hands in the air and cheer, but she limited her satisfaction to a smile, then shifted her thoughts to the next challenge.
Any guard in the corridor would hear her a lot better than she would hear him, so she would need to take each step as carefully as she could. And cross her fingers that he wasn’t right in front of her, keeping quiet.
Once more, she scanned the corridor in front of her. Nothing had changed.
Sucking in the deepest breath she could manage, she held it as she eased the door open and pressed her back against the stone wall so she could squeeze her way out without needing to open the hinges any wider than necessary. The squeak would be enough of a giveaway.
The remaining sleeve of her shirt caught on the lock. She tried to hold the door steady while she ripped her way free. Her heart was slamming against her ribs, her throat, her stomach, but no one grabbed her. No one shouted for her to stop.
She was out.
Frank had exited through the door to her left, so she assumed that was where the main entrance was. Undoubtedly there would be someone watching it, so that route was out of the question, but would she find anything to the right except more cells? She brought the image Frank had shown her to mind, but the darkness made it difficult to tell hallway from cell. There was only one way to find out. Even if it was a dead end, she might be lucky enough to find somewhere she could hide to give them a delay in finding her.
Not wanting fear to catch up with her and slow her steps, she headed down the corridor, tense and alert for any indication of someone moving behind her. Casting out her mind, she was aware of the walls on either side of her, a little wider than her arms if she stretched them out. No one seemed to be coming up behind her or waiting up ahead.
She had to trust her abilities. Her brain was a messed-up place right now, but she’d been touched by the otherworldly. A curse had blinded her and left her deaf, but her brain didn’t know that. Instinct would have to guide her.
With an effort, she dragged her mind to the place she went during her archery lessons — the place where nothing else mattered except for the position of her muscles and the tempo of her breathing. Everything around her stood out with a bit more sharpness and clarity, the negative space leading her around a piled heap in her path that, judging by its general height and shape, was either a tower of boxes or some kind of crouching giant.