Vanished g-4

by Kat Richardson

  I found a few clean rags and wet them from the water containers so I could wipe off my face and hands. I rinsed the sludge from my mouth. The water tasted of old plastic, but it was a big improvement over the filth from the Fleet. I wished I had the luxury of time to look at the itching wounds on my leg where Jakob’s claws had pierced my skin, but I let that be, hoping I’d be able to do something about the infection later. Marsden shook his head in exasperation, but I noticed he used one of the rags to wipe his own face and hands before leading us again into the maze of corridors.

  The hall we walked down next was thick with cold Grey fog that sparked with random shots of energy and eddied into the shapes of oblivious ghosts. I imagined it was used once in a while but not with any frequency, which was good for us; we’d be able to escape along it with little chance of being intercepted. Marsden stopped at a crossing, tilting his head to concentrate on sounds ahead.

  “Four,” he muttered. “Red Guard, all humans; no Brothers or demi-guard. We’re in luck, but we’ll have to take them out fast.”

  I reached into my pocket and got the puzzle out of its plastic bag—I didn’t want to fumble for it when we needed it to unlock Will’s cell. As I looked up, I saw Marsden reach under his moleskin coat and pull out two gleaming knives. He flipped one of them around and offered it to me, underhand and without turning his head back in my direction.

  “No,” I whispered. I didn’t want to kill anyone else; what I’d done to Jakob was terrible and still sat like a weight, regardless of any justification.

  “Don’t be daft,” he hissed back. “They’ll kill you quick as look at you—or take you prisoner again for that mad harpy, Alice, to play with. Clever as you are with your hands and feet, girl, it won’t be enough against them, and that does your man no good.”

  Reluctantly, I took the knife.

  “Look sharpish,” he warned as we started forward.

  I kept my vision turned more toward the Grey, looking for any sign of magical traps. This time we weren’t unexpected, and I doubted that Alice and her pet sorcerer wouldn’t have beefed up the security where they could. They’d probably laid a lot of different traps to cover all the bases. The upside was, making and laying any magical traps would have worn Simeon down, which was definitely in our favor. We’d just have to be clever about looking for them and hope they’d relied on magic more than technology.

  I had long ago realized that vampires didn’t really know what a Greywalker’s capabilities were; it wasn’t until I’d met Marsden that I understood that we were each different, which certainly threw a wrench into most magical plans. Magic is strongest when specific. Loose, general spells are usually weak or short-lived, according to Mara. But the vampires wouldn’t need anything powerful down here; just something strong enough to hold us or slow us down until reinforcements could arrive.

  The first guard we came across was looking down the hall the opposite way. An ordinary-looking man, except for his blood-tainted aura and the small submachine gun—entirely illegal in England—slung high under his arm. He had his back to the wall quite a few feet away.

  “Here, can you get round him through the Grey?” Marsden whispered.

  I nodded. I’d look like a ghost and there would be nothing I could do to the guard while I went, but if I popped out fast enough and hit him hard enough, it should work. I only wished I could go behind him, but he’d left no room and I didn’t want to try walking through him.

  I eased deeper into the Grey and the catacombs sprang up in fiery lines through the silver mist. Knots and tangles of power that looked like messy coils of barbed wire dotted the hallway—traps. I skirted the nearest one, hoping Marsden could see it, too, and glided to the other side of the guard, who looked like a red-and-yellow smear as I passed him, the gun a cold, dark block swinging by his side.

  The guard stiffened and turned his head toward me as I slipped back to normal. He yanked the gun up, bracing against the sling as I punched him just below the sternum. He grunted as his breath was driven from his lungs, and Marsden pounced on him from behind, forcing him to the ground. The guard’s finger must have tightened on the trigger as he collapsed, but his body muffled the short burst of gunfire. I felt a sharp tearing sensation in my chest and head as he died, and I clamped down on a cry of shock and agony, biting my tongue.

  The guard lay in a clumsy heap as a thread of blood oozed out from beneath him. A furious haze of red energy rose off the downed guard and resolved into a ghost that glared at me and spat a few vile words before the heat of his ire was sucked away into the grid. The memory shape of the dead man dissipated with the odor of rotten eggs.

  Marsden picked himself up, pulling his knife from between the corpse’s ribs. “Next time, just cut his ruddy throat,” he growled, sidestepping to avoid the magical trap on the floor.

  “Don’t you. feel them?” I asked, still aching.

  “Yeah, but you learn to turn it down after a while. You’ll get used to it.”

  I hoped not. I didn’t want to have cause to get used to the sensation of fresh death.

  We slipped back into the Grey and stalked the next one, who was turning to see what the noise had been. Marsden slipped, jumping over time and space, to exit the Grey next to the guard. I had to run the distance through the mist, over the hot lines of the grid and around the cold bulk of stone walls toward the bright, living shape of the guard. Marsden cut the man’s throat before I could reach them, and the knife of pain and shock ripped through me again. The blood ran across the stone floor, blazing with white light that flashed away like a magician’s trick smoke.

  Marsden reached through the thin barrier between normal and Grey and hauled me out. “Quicker.”

  “What are you—?” I started, furious and disgusted and hurting, but he clapped a hard hand over my mouth.

  “We have minutes. Only minutes. You’ll have to bear it and save your man. I’ll manage the guards.”

  He nodded toward a heavy wooden door in the wall—the portal to an ancient cell. A metal observation plate hung slightly open in the door’s surface. I peeped in, checking for other humans. I could have slipped through, but I couldn’t leave with Will that way, and I was willing to bet there was no keyhole on the other side.

  The room within was dark except for the shaft of dusty light that fell through the observation door. I shifted around, trying to see into the gloom without obscuring the light. “Will?” I whispered.

  I could hear a shuffling noise beyond the door. I pulled back and studied the door for further traps. A blue gleam shone though the planks between the ancient bulks of wood. There was something magical on the other side. Another shock hit and I slipped painfully into the Grey, trying to get a better look at the spell in the cell.

  It was a tangle, meant to hold someone or something in place for a few minutes. Just like one of Mara’s, the heart of the spell was a braided ring of thorny bramble. The whole mess was tied to the foot of the door, so anyone sneaking in or sidling to the door for a peek outside would be stuck to the door itself. Admirable ingenuity, but I cursed Simeon bin Salah nonetheless. The working zone of the spell was almost a foot wide, which would make it hard to open the door with it in place. I fell back into normal, feeling the pressure of time and the stabbing aches of the dying, wondering how I was going to get past this.

  Down the hall I heard a thump and a slithering sound as another death-shock hit me. It wasn’t as bad this time—it was farther away—but it still doubled me up. I didn’t want to look, but I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. I couldn’t see any bodies on the ground but I could see stains that shone with the same bright white light and liquid red as the second guard’s blood. My stomach rolled, but I pushed my sense of horror aside. When the vampires woke, they’d smell the blood and be on us like hounds on a rabbit. And I wouldn’t have been surprised if some of the lower ranks and demi-vamps slept down here in the catacombs. I had to move faster no matter how it hurt, but I also had to be careful.


  I couldn’t use tools well in the Grey—normal things became difficult to hold—so I had to do it like a normal person. I knelt down on the floor and passed the knife under the door, hooking the threads that held the tangle in place and slicing through them. I felt a tiny electric jolt as each one parted. Not sure where Will was in the room, I didn’t want to move the tangle until I had the door open.

  I shuffled Dad’s puzzle until a key shape clicked into place that buzzed happily. I looked around as I put the key into the lock and saw Marsden trotting back to me.

  “What’re you dawdlin’ for?” Marsden demanded. “Get ’im and get a move on!”

  “There’s a spell tangle on the inside of the door. Give me your cane.”

  His face creased into a scowl, but he pulled the cane out and flicked it straight. I unlocked the door, the mechanism rolling freely to my odd key. Then we both heaved on the heavy door, pulling it open to its widest.

  I took the cane and probed for the tangle, not sure if the magic would be conducted by the stick or if the cane might become gripped in the trap. I felt the trap bloom and clutch the cane, which yanked away from my grip and stood upright in the middle of the doorway. But the trap was sprung, and Marsden and I rushed into the cell and stopped short.

  Will cowered in the farthest corner, the watery light from the corridor barely glinting off his filthy hair. His clothes were dirty, torn, and bloodied and he’d lost his glasses. The smell in the tiny, unventilated space was worse than the sewer: blood and waste and unwashed clothes stiff with fear sweat and dirt. I took a step toward Will as Marsden turned back toward the door—the blind man standing lookout.

  Will turned and scrabbled at the wall with his bandaged right hand as if he could claw his way out, muttering, “No, no. please, no more. ”

  “Will, it’s Harper. I’m getting you out of here,” I said, walking closer, relieved that I could see the bulk of his left hand swathed in a startling white bandage—they hadn’t cut it off. The visions I’d had in Los Angeles must have been exaggerated by Simeon’s “new techniques.” At least I hoped so, hoped that the odd shape under the bandage was indeed his own whole, living hand.

  “Harper?” he questioned, peering in my direction against the light, which made me a black blot in the doorway. Then Will panicked, throwing himself against the wall and cringing into a ball, covering his face with both unwieldy hands, wrappings extending up his arms as far as I could see. The sight of those bandages almost brought me to my knees, but the worst was when he started crying. “Get away, get away! How can you do this? Just kill me and get it over with. Dear God, please. ”

  I threw myself down on the icy floor beside him and grabbed his face between my hands, brushing his weakly flailing arms away. I didn’t know what they’d done to him to make him so hysterical, but it must have been awful. He battered at my arms and head without strength, trying to rear away, but stopped by the unyielding stones of the cell.

  “It really is me,” I said, my voice low and calm as I could manage as I held him, willing him to look at me, to hear me and believe me. I pushed on every compulsion I could think of, on every bit of persuasion and hope. “And I really am here to save you from this place. I’m not going to kill you. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to take you back to Michael. We’re going to get you out of here.”

  “No! No! You’re that. witch. That. monster! You can’t trick me anymore. I know Harper’s not coming.”

  I thought fast and talked faster. “We met at an auction at the Ingstrom Shipwrights warehouse. You sold me a cabinet and a chair. We had dinner at Dan’s Beach House. I got arrested. You got mad. Do you remember that?”

  Marsden hissed, “Get a move on!”

  I ignored him and kept my attention on Will.

  Will whipped his head back and forth in my grasp. He didn’t quite believe me, but there was a submerged gleam of hope in his eyes and his cold, shut-down aura flickered with a pale green and blue flame like a will-o’-the-wisp. I had to feed that hope or he’d never come willingly, and we couldn’t possibly carry him.

  “On our next-to-last date you gave me a puzzle ball that used to be on a newel post in an old house,” I reminded him. I knew Alice wouldn’t have told him such things—she’d been hacked up in her jars by then. “The last time we met was at Endolyne Joe’s. We broke up because I’m not like you—because I’m broken and I see monsters.”

  He sobbed for breath and collapsed into my arms, his head falling hard onto my chest. “I. saw them. I should have believed you.”

  “It’s OK. You don’t have to believe any of it, but you do have to come with me. We’re taking you to Michael and you’ll be safe. Now get up and come with us. We have to go fast.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You’ll have to.”

  He cringed tighter against me. I shot a look at Marsden and hoped he could figure out that I needed his help.

  “I can’t walk,” Will cried.

  Marsden came over to us, his neck bent so his hair covered his face. “They’ve cut the bottoms of his feet,” he muttered to me. “Done worse to his hands and arms. Bled him like a pig. We’ll have to support ’im. And we must go. I can hear something coming.”

  CHAPTER 48

  I could hear it when I concentrated: a storm of rapid footsteps from several directions and the wind-rush of leathery wings beating the air. Ignoring his fears and injuries, I hoisted Will up and supported his left shoulder with my right. Marsden took his other side. Will whimpered but did his best to move with us as we hauled him toward the door.

  Marsden snatched at his cane just as it started to fall from the trap, and we burst out of the cell, into the stone-built corridor. And into another figure running toward us in the dimness. We jerked to a halt. The other person, obscured in shadows, skidded and stopped. Then he breathed, “Will!” and launched himself the last few feet into us.

  “Michael!” I hissed. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to wait by the bikes! You could have been captured!” I wanted to yell at him, but that angry whisper was all I could risk. The stupid boy! If he’d have been caught.

  Michael ignored me and wrapped his arms around his brother’s waist, not noticing the stench or bandages. “Will! Thank God. You’re all right?”

  “Not in the least,” Marsden snapped. “Nor shall we be if we linger for family reunions. You got in so tidily, you lead us out of here, boy, and the faster the better.”

  Startled by his rough tone, Michael backed off and spun around, jogging ahead. “C’mon! I couldn’t stand waiting for you. I found a tunnel from Hatton Garden—it’s faster than the sewer route.”

  We went forward, hauling the emaciated and staggering Will between us as quickly as we could, but our speed was still only a bit better than a jog.

  As we plunged into a section of unlit corridor that arched over the grumbling passage of the buried river, a whiff of its effluence leaking through the masonry, Marsden let out a chuckle. “Good thing we smell of sewer, girl,” he mumbled. “They’ll have a harder time following us with the odor of the Fleet below.”

  Michael, ahead of us, didn’t hear, but Will did and he made a noise that might have been a cough—or not—and tried to move faster. Every step hurt him—I could see it in the bright red strobing of his energy corona—but he kept on and I saw the white gleam of his teeth as he bit into his lower lip.

  “It’s just a few blocks,” I whispered to him. “Not far.”

  He nodded in the dark.

  We staggered through the murk—we didn’t dare to use the flashlight—with the sounds of pursuit growing closer by the moment. Michael stopped to glance back at us over and over, even though most of the route was too dark for him to see much but our shambling shapes. I began to feel the cold-hot press of blood rage and insanity far behind, like the blast from an explosion bearing down on us in slow motion.

  “Harper!” Far away, I could hear Alice shriek my name like a swearword.

  “Catchi
ng up,” Marsden muttered, voicing my fears.

  Michael whipped around a corner and dashed a few feet ahead to a set of steel loops set in the wall. He scrambled up them and pushed the iron manhole cover aside with his back. We could hear it scrape across the road above, and the sound echoed into the tunnels below as if the earth itself had groaned. Behind us, the scrambling and rushing noises paused and changed direction, coming straight for us.

  Marsden and I started shoving Will up the steps, using our backs as braces to support him as he tried to pull himself up. I heard a whimper of pain escape as he struggled upward, tangling his mangled feet in the loops and hauling with his injured hands. Michael whispered encouragement from above and, when he was close enough, grabbed his brother’s wrists and hauled steadily. Will’s weight eased off our shoulders and then vanished as he climbed clear of the hole.

  “You next,” Marsden said. “I have some more tricks to hold ’em off while you get that infernal motorbike running. But don’t dawdle!”

  I scrambled up the rungs and levered myself into the street. A dozen yards away, I saw Michael fussing with Will, who was leaning against a wall and sinking slowly. I ran to them and helped with Will’s helmet while Michael got the small motorcycle started.

  Will tried to smile at me, but it was weak and faded away under tears, pain, and exhaustion. “What now?” he asked as I pushed him onto the bike behind his brother and grabbed the webbing straps we’d bought earlier.

  “Now you go to the doctor. After that, Michael will take you someplace safe.”

  Will was shaking as Michael pulled his arms around his own waist. I strapped the two men together and patted Michael’s helmet to let him know I was done. I hopped back as the small bike zoomed away.

  From the open manhole came a flash and a roar. I swung my attention to the other motorcycle: It looked like Michael had borrowed one of the Italian bikes from his buddy, and I was grateful I wouldn’t have to remember the oddities of old British motorcycles as well as how to ride one at all.