A World Apart (Shades Below, #1)

by Oliva, L. J. K.

  No-not just her friends. Her best friends.

  She'd tried to introduce them to Cyrus, to Hannah, to Mom. She would open the closet doors all the way, even crawl in to the very back, but no use. She could never find them. She always shrugged it off. They were just shy.

  The closet door began its slow slide on its tracks. She sat up, hands folded over her blankets. Anticipation swelled in her chest, and she wriggled forward a bit. What would they want to do tonight? Maybe they could have a tea party. Her eyes flicked hopefully to the rosebud china tea set on the shelf. She loved a good tea party.

  A shadow crept forward from the darkness, and she beamed her welcome. For some reason, she only ever saw her friends' shadows. Try as she might, she could never convince them to come into the light. They had sensitive eyes, they said.

  The light hurt them...

  Lena's eyes shot open. Without thinking, she scanned her bedroom. The digital alarm clock on her nightstand was blinking two fifty-six. Her chest felt heavy, like someone had been sitting on it.

  Of course, that was impossible. She was alone.

  The air was still, the street outside, quiet. A few blocks away, cars hummed up and down Market Street. Just another night in the city.

  She nestled deeper into her pillows and pressed her fingers to her eyelids. Why was this happening? She hadn't dreamt about them in a long time. Not since moving out of her parents' house. She was a different person now. She'd grown up, put her life back together. She'd moved on.

  Hadn't she?

  Lena rolled onto her side, willed the change of position to change the direction of her thoughts, too. Before long, a new face filtered out of her subconscious, strong and harsh, with dark, assessing eyes.

  The thought of Jesper MacMillian was the last thing that should have comforted her, but just picturing him, the tension leaked steadily from her muscles. She summoned up an image of the black cane, of his odd three-step gait. Her breathing evened.

  I'm not a cripple.

  I can handle myself.

  If the state of his body was any indication, MacMillian had been through a lot. If he could be strong, maybe she could manage it, too.

  Her hand tingled with the memory of his fingertips. She wrapped her mind around the sensation and tucked it close. It was her defense against the shadows when blackness finally enveloped her again.

  ←↑↓→

  Morning couldn't come quickly enough.

  MacMillian left the Fury where it was parked and set off from his building on foot. Every apartment within a square city mile seemed to have simultaneously upturned, dumping the entire population onto the streets. Even without the influx of tourists that clogged the major thoroughfares, he could scarcely take a step without bumping into some housewife with a market basket, or grandfather headed for a game of Chinese checkers in the park.

  He pulled out his beat-up cell phone and double-checked the address Lena had texted him. It was scarcely two blocks away. With a shake of his head, he started walking. The entire time he'd been living in Chinatown, he'd never heard of Hou-Yun Tea. Not that that was unusual. It wasn't like he made a habit of frequenting tea shops.

  MacMillian snorted. Since meeting Lena Alan, everything about his life seemed to be changing.

  He checked the street, then half-hopped, half-jogged across. A delivery man wielding a loaded handcart swerved to avoid him, and belted out something ungenerous-sounding in Cantonese. MacMillian shrugged apologetically. The man shot him a dirty look, but continued along his route.

  A white delivery van emblazoned with graffiti camouflaged the entrance to Ross Alley. MacMillian skirted the dented rear fender and ducked down the narrow backstreet. Three-and four-story buildings rose on either side of him, blocking out the sun and creating a strange half-world in the shadows. Some of the facades sported not-so-fresh paint jobs. Most had been left alone, however, and the age-and-exhaust-darkened brick gave the alley a damp, cool feel. Pipes and naked electrical cables snaked along the walls beneath rickety metal fire escapes. Protruding signs lined the ground floors, the names spelled out in Cantonese and Toishan.

  It wasn't a stretch to imagine the alley the way it had been a hundred years ago, lined with gambling parlors and opium dens. MacMillian kept his eyes fixed ahead of him. Judging from the looks he was getting, half the shop owners and inhabitants would have preferred he be somewhere else.

  He almost missed Hou-Yun Tea. Wrought iron bars masked the windows. A narrow, pagoda-style marquee stretched the length of the exterior, and two small wooden chairs sat outside the door. All told, it didn't look like much of anything, let alone the "neighborhood institution" Lena had mentioned in her text.

  He was about to pull out his phone and triple-check the address when a familiar flash of red caught his eye. MacMillian peered inside, then bit back a snort.

  Trench coat fetish, indeed.

  He had to duck slightly to fit through the small door. Lena sat at a wraparound counter, sporting her customary red trench. She didn't look up, deep in conversation with a stately, ageless woman opposite her.

  "You're right. It's smoother than I expected." She took a sip from a small china cup, and hummed low in her throat. "Nutty, smooth. Delicious." Her voice lowered and she muttered, "I should really stock this."

  MacMillian cleared his throat. She finally looked up. A broad smile lit her face. "You made it! Give me just a moment, I'm nearly finished."

  MacMillian lingered in the doorway, momentarily winded. People didn't smile at him. On the rare occasion they did, it was accompanied by a sympathetic twist of the eyebrows after they'd noticed his cane. He pulled himself together and nodded.

  Her vivid blue eyes sparkled a little brighter, then she turned back to her cup. MacMillian edged closer until he could see over the rim. The liquid inside was a deep caramel color, with a faintly purplish tint. An earthy, almost fungal aroma hovered in the air.

  Lena glanced up and caught his eye. "It's called pu'erh," she said. "Want a taste?"

  MacMillian held up a hand. "No, thank you." He grimaced. "Still haven't fully recovered from the last tea you gave me."

  Lena laughed. "Suit yourself." In a couple more quick sips, she drained the remainder of the liquid. She tugged a wallet from the backpack in her lap and laid a few bills next to her empty cup, then swung off her stool and headed for the door.

  With a final glance at the woman behind the counter, MacMillian followed. Lena paused just outside to return her wallet to the backpack's front pocket. MacMillian arched an eyebrow at the collection of small ceramic boxes inside. "Expecting trouble?"

  Lena glanced up, followed the line of his gaze, and shrugged. "You never know."

  "Where's Cyrus?"

  "Something came up." She started up the alley, opposite the direction he'd come.

  MacMillian considered that, then shifted into step behind her. "So, why this place?"

  "Well, the tea is amazing."

  MacMillian snorted.

  Lena tossed a shoulder. "I've known Mom Cho for a while. She... notices things. The kinds of things most people don't."

  MacMillian blinked. "Wait. Are you telling me you have a network? In Chinatown?" The thought of Lena Alan having eyes and ears in his neighborhood was more than a little disconcerting.

  She slowed until he was walking beside her. "Don't sound so surprised. I told you I wasn't just some untrained civilian." She looked up at him. "I know what I'm doing."

  She had a fierce expression on her face, like she was waiting for him to argue. Instead, he inclined his head and aimed his eyes forward. "So what did you find out?"

  From the corner of his eye, he saw her face forward again, too. "Road construction."

  MacMillian sighed. "Yeah, I could have told you that. They're—" He stopped.

  Lena looked back up at him. "What?"

  "They've been excavating a tunnel for a new subway system underneath Stockton Street. Just started work on the future Chinatown station." He shook his hea
d. "But there's no way to get underground from there. Not without being seen. Place is swarming with—"

  He stopped again. This time, Lena stopped walking and turned to face him. "Are you going to keep doing that?"

  But he wasn't listening anymore. It was so obvious. How had he not thought of it before? "The Butterfly Room."

  Lena lifted her hands, palms-up.

  MacMillian blew out a chuckle. "Of course. It's perfect." He turned abruptly and started walking again, as fast as his leg would allow.

  Lena trotted after him. "Care to share with the class?"

  He didn't break stride. "The Butterfly Room was an old vaudeville theater across from Washington Square Park. The city razed it to build an extraction shaft for the two subway drills. Caused a huge rift in public opinion. I swear, you've never seen people so up-in-arms about a pigeon sanctuary before." He felt her eyes on his face, and shrugged. "Place was abandoned for decades."

  "And you think this extraction shaft...?"

  "Makes sense, doesn't it? Now that the tunnels are done, there won't be more than a skeleton crew posted there. And you've seen the manholes around here. They're tiny. Definitely not big enough to fit a body through."

  Lena shuddered. "So, where are we going now?"

  "My car. The Butterfly's not far, but I'd just as soon not walk."

  Lena glanced at his cane, and didn't say anything.

  MacMillian thought of something, and pulled out his cell. Ignoring Lena's questioning look, he tapped out a familiar number. The dial tone droned in his ear for what felt like ages. Finally, a voice picked up.

  "This better be important."

  MacMillian rolled his eyes. "Glad the San Francisco Police Department is still so friendly and accommodating."

  An aggravated sigh sounded in his ear. "You calling to ask me on a date, MacMillian? If so, I'm hanging up."

  "You know better than that." MacMillian took a deep breath. "I need a favor. Can you meet me at Washington Square Park in ten minutes?"

  Silence hummed over the line.

  MacMillian lowered his voice. "It's important. And don't pretend you won't be there. We both know you owe me."

  Another sigh. "Fine. But make it fifteen. I'm in the middle of a thing."

  MacMillian fought to keep the grim smile out of his voice. "See you soon."

  "Are you going to tell me what this is—"

  MacMillian hung up.

  Lena cleared her throat, and he looked down. Her eyebrows were raised.

  He looked forward again. "Mark Durbin, an inspector for the SFPD. We go back a ways. He's going to help us get into that extraction shaft."

  Lena half-trotted alongside him. "Is he a friend of yours?"

  MacMillian's lips twisted. "No."

  ←↑↓→

  How long could it possibly take to find parking?

  Lena shifted from one foot to the other. The three-way intersection next to Washington Square Park was a complicated snarl of cars, buses, and pedestrians. Across the street, the lot that had once housed The Butterfly Room sat behind a chain-link fence. Several large cranes and a flat-bed truck were parked inside. A small smattering of neon-vested construction workers milled around them.

  Lena tried to settle on a position that didn't look suspicious. She crossed her arms, uncrossed them again. Shoved her hands towards her pockets, only to remember at the last minute her red fashion trench didn't have any. She sighed.

  "Everything all right, miss?"

  She turned, a quick dismissal on the tip of her tongue. That was as far as it got.

  Behind her stood a man roughly the same height and build as MacMillian. He wore basic slacks and a navy sport coat, and the top of his pale blue shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. Silver dusted the dark, glossy hair at his temples, and a closely-trimmed shadow followed the sharp line of his jaw. Steady gray eyes studied her with an unreadable expression.

  Lena shook herself. "Yes. Thank you. I'm just, ah, meeting someone."

  "What a coincidence. So am I."

  She blinked. Was it her imagination, or had his voice deepened? She looked at him a little closer. His face, somehow both severe and jarringly handsome, revealed nothing. Then as she watched, his eyes slid deliberately down her body. They raised back to her face, and one eyebrow lifted.

  Lena blinked, her mind suddenly, embarrassingly blank. Her belly turned a slow flip.

  "Hope I'm not interrupting."

  Lena jerked around. MacMillian stood behind her, a strange look on his face, one finger tapping the head of his cane.

  Before she could answer, the other man spoke. "You didn't mention anything about company."

  Lena's heart sank. At least, she assumed that was the cause of the flutter in her chest. She turned back to him. "You're Mark Durbin."

  The man's lips curved. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Miss...?"

  "Alan." MacMillian's tone was clipped. "Ms. Alan. And yes, she's helping me look into something. Now could we please-"

  "I'm helping you?" Lena aimed a glare over her shoulder, then turned back to the inspector. "What he meant to say was, he's helping me look into something. And you can call me Lena. Pleased to meet you." On reflex, she stuck out her hand.

  Durbin's lips curved still further, and she suddenly doubted the wisdom of offering it to him. His fingers were long and smooth, and closed around hers in a gentle squeeze. Just as quickly, he released them again. "Pleasure's all mine, Lena."

  MacMillian cleared his throat. "If you two are finished, I'd like to have a look at that extraction shaft sometime today."

  Lena sniffed, but turned towards the street. "Don't get snippy just because I've mastered the fine art of social skills."

  Durbin snorted a laugh beside her. On her other side, she could feel disapproval pouring from MacMillian. She bit her lip against a grin. She didn't know why she was so driven to antagonize him all of a sudden. It wasn't as if he'd done anything to deserve it.

  At least, not recently.

  He ignored her and spoke to Durbin over the top of her head. "We need to get a look down the extraction shaft across the street." He nodded at the fenced-off lot.

  Durbin's forehead furrowed. "You said this was important."

  "It is."

  Lena looked back and forth between the two of them. MacMillian's face was set. So was Durbin's. Both were impossible to read.

  She rolled her eyes. "For god's sake, we're not going to get anywhere at this rate." She turned to Durbin. "We're looking into acts of vandalism in the area. There have been rumors about suspicious lights in the extraction shaft at night, and we think they might be connected." She was surprised how easily the lie rolled off her tongue. "Can you help us, or not?"

  Durbin's eyes narrowed and roved over her face, so intense she wanted to squirm. Something closed around her chest.

  When he spoke, his voice was hard. "Well, I've got to hand it to our detective, he certainly knows how to choose a partner."

  Lena swallowed. The vise around her chest tightened.

  Durbin gave a short nod, and motioned them towards the crosswalk. MacMillian started forward without a word. Lena began to follow. Durbin stopped her with a hand on her arm. She looked up.

  His forehead was creased again. "You didn't have to lie, you know. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't planning to help."

  Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She cleared her throat. "I, um. Thank you."

  MacMillian was waiting at the crosswalk, watching them. His face bore the same strange expression as before. Durbin removed his hand from her arm. "Come on, before John McClane over there gets the wrong idea."

  Lena snorted, but headed for the crosswalk. She brushed past MacMillian without a word, squared her shoulders and led the way across the street.

  Two sets of eyes burned into her back the entire way.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A small Italian restaurant took up the corner next to the empty lot. Delicious smells inundated the air, and patrons
sat outside at white-draped cafe tables, seemingly oblivious to the activity going on next door. An impeccable host hovered around the sidewalk. He nodded as they passed by.

  A temporary sound wall had been constructed between the restaurant and the lot, but just around the corner, the chain link fence was wide open. Lena slowed and waited for Durbin and MacMillian to catch up. "So, how are we going to do this?"

  She'd meant the question for MacMillian, but it was Durbin who answered. "I'm going to speak to the foreman. I won't go into detail—not difficult, since you two haven't told me anything—but I'll tell him we need temporary access to the shaft."

  MacMillian held up a hand. "Wait, 'we'? You're not coming."

  Durbin's lips thinned. Lena pinched the bridge of her nose. "Damn it, can you two just—"

  "Maybe you've forgotten, but I'm the one with the badge. Either we do this my way, or you can forget the whole thing." Durbin crossed his arms and locked eyes with MacMillian. "I agreed to help you. That doesn't mean you're in charge."

  MacMillian made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. Durbin waited. MacMillian's eyes flicked from him to Lena. He jerked his chin in a nod. "Fine. Your way it is."

  Lena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Durbin reached under his jacket and unclipped the badge from the waistband of his slacks. She moved aside as he strode into the construction site. He raised the badge above his head. "Attention, please! I'll need to speak with the person in charge here."

  Several minutes later, the three of them were standing around the open shaft, looking down. The interior contained an intricate framework of flange sections, steel wale, and diagonal struts. At the bottom, two massive tunnels yawned in the concrete wall. A mostly-intact boring machine still blocked one of them.

  The other, however, was empty.

  Lena blew out a breath and adjusted her backpack straps. "Okay. So how are we doing this?"

  The foreman marched up behind them, three hard hats balanced in his arms. He looked them up and down, and his eyes narrowed. "You all sure you're allowed to be here? Don't need nobody suing my ass if something happens down there."