They round an area obscured by the sloping wall of the culvert to find further stone-hardened ground leading to a dark opening.
“Is that the way?” David asks, caution in his tone. Skot looks at their guide.
“There are many ways. We can go through there or over.”
Skot glances at Lilja, and she moves quickly, traversing the ground to climb back up and around to better see. The noise of her movement channels down to them as they wait. She returns shortly after.
“The overgrowth becomes much more dense up there. Thorns, too. I don’t know if it’s venomous, but if it is, there’s no telling what it may do.”
“Why would you even think of that?” Zoe asks.
Lilja fixes her with an open look, more questioning than anything else. “Nature works to protect itself. Some stinging nettles are that way to help them spread and grow, not even as a defense mechanism, but they can have negative effects on us all the same. This whole place is alien, tainted. We need to be cautious.”
“Hmph,” comes the only reply.
“I think we threw out caution by coming here,” David speaks what’s on Zoe’s mind.
“Be that as it may,” Skot begins, “we still need to be as cautious as possible.” He looks back to the guide. “In there,” he says, pointing at the dark opening, “is that the way to the Book?”
“Yes,” he finally says, sounding defeated.
Skot indicates with his head, and they continue, everyone but the guide turning on flashlights to help show the way.
The darkness encroaches quickly, swallowing them a few paces in. The way is not unlike what they might expect to encounter back on their home place, the surrounding concrete walls relatively smooth at first, though showing signs of blemish and corrosion none too far within. Stains show where fluid has run, some giving forth an eerie reflection of fresh wetness, spots hither and thither showing collections of that effluvia. They try to make little noise, but even careful footsteps reflect, announcing them.
They navigate a curve then come to an opening. Their torch beams show a major undertaking, more cement floors and walls, railings, pipes, all arranged to create a sheltered and walled subterranean space.
“This is huge,” Zoe comments.
“There are at least two other ways out of here,” Skot notes, angling his light across the chasmic space to show a rusty ladder bolted into the wall leading to another opening and then moving to a deeper progress into another restricted passage.
“That’s not it,” Zoe says, having moved forward to inspect the area. “This way leads around a bend and a bigger tunnel.”
“Let’s check that one first,” Skot says, nodding to Lilja and Zoe.
The two continue leading the way, looking and listening for anything that may indicate the Infernal. They round the short bend into an area of such blackness as to make the gigantic chamber through which they just passed seem well-lit. They slow their movement, shining the beams of their lights to see what awaits.
One of them finds a haggard face, a man with unkempt hair and beard just standing there in the total darkness. He does no more than squint his eyes against the sudden illuminated intrusion. Their guide gives out a yelp clipped short by a rushed intake of breath. The Hunters show their own startle by merely taking stance and shining the lights.
“Get those lights outta my face,” the man demands, his voice gravelly. He waves a hand as though thus capable of dispersing the brightness.
The lights are moved from his eyes, but all keep their shine on him. The man takes a shuffling step away, but the beams follow. His clothing is bedraggled, robbed of most color, affixed to his thin form as might be sloughing skin instead of garments. His flesh is dark and appears more like ironwood than wizened.
“Who are you?” he presses, still squinting and holding up hands to ward off the intrusion. “What’re you doing here?”
“My apologies,” Skot finally says, removing his light from the focus. “We’re simply passing through.”
“Your apologies!” The man drops his hands, trying to peer at them beyond the lights. “Man, ain’t nobody here just passing through.”
“We are,” Skot replies. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”
Though the interaction and exchange bears oddity, this lone man appears unthreatening. They keep distance, but they move to go about him and continue. The way promises no further lack of the enveloping blackness. Zoe and Lilja keep their senses sharp, hoping to spy anything of the Infernal through any means possible.
Another noise arises, a shuffling, mumblings and murmurs. Zoe moves her flashlight beam to the sound to find a huddling of many more similar people against a nearby wall. She trails the light along them, revealing a sizable group of these disused denizens. Several of those not on their feet press against the dirty concrete walls to rise. They all show the same ashen skin, as though having lived their entirety in this place has covered any vitality with its oppressive darkness.
“As I said, we’re sorry,” Skot repeats. “We mean you no ill will.” He looks to the others, moving his head back toward where they came. “Let’s go.” He issues the command quietly, but it carries over the eerie silence of this place.
“But you only just got here,” the haggard man says. He smirks.
Skot takes their guide by the arm, moving him in his own retreat.
“But the Book is that way,” he protests within a hissing whisper.
“Book?” the haggard man chuckles. “What? You think this is a library down here?” This gains some weak chuckles from the audience, but Skot is more worried by those who look upon them with predatory intent.
They almost bump into a small group that has appeared in the way of their exit. They stand there, mute, almost as if they were human bowling pins, waiting passively to be knocked down. Their aspect is not threatening in the least, but they do block the way and show little intent of moving. David flashes his light back over to growing sounds, and the larger force has indeed gone to motion, collecting toward them.
“Why’d y’all bring guns down here?” the haggard man asks, his tone at once patronizing and accusatory. “You planning to shoot us?”
“No,” David clips. “They’re for self defense.”
The haggard one chuckles again, and this time it goes on long enough for several others to join in.
“Zoe?” Skot asks much in the single word, looking at the young Huntress. She gives a slow shake of her head. These are not possessed people, nor demons in the disguise of flesh.
They are being surrounded, but Skot doesn’t wish to open fire. Though these people are malnourished, there are enough of them to swarm. He also clings to hope that they can get through unmolested if they just remain calm.
“Why don’t y’all stay awhile? We don’t get visitors often.”
“Thank you, but we need to be going,” Skot says, and the man grins, showing he can even tell how weak that sounds.
The Hunter party has gone as far as they may to one side of the passage, the edge not showing a wall but a yawning abyss of total blackness. They try to move along it in the direction of their original intent, hoping to bypass and get out of this.
“Watch your step.” More chuckles.
Skot then realizes the potential trap. They can easily force them over this edge into no telling what sort of fall. He shines a light into that darkness. He does not see a bottom, the black eating up the illumination to show nothing.
There is a wet cough, which ends in a forceful grunt and growl of throat-clearing. The motion of the slow-moving crowd stops. Lights shoot over to reveal two other people that hold their own aspect of fitting right in with the tattered group, though something of that keeps them apart.
“You don’t want to go that way,” Pierce says, and where any malicious intent may have only been suggested on a fraction of the others, he gives forth a grin that brooks no indecision. “Come on,” he then invites, moving his head and turning. Lance looks them over with a tin
ge of pity, then goes to follow, his limp causing him to wince in pain.
The crowd closes, dried hands like leather taking their weapons and then pressing them in the desired direction.
They follow.
Chapter Thirteen
They take a walk in the late afternoon sun. She is not much for this, even if the weather proves lovely, but he had insisted. Their day had been one of general silence, she working away while he stayed lost in his thoughts. He finally spent some time of his own in cyberspace, interacting on his expensive, sleek laptop. She had chided him once that he’d spent far too much money since he pretty much only used it to send messages to his employers. He retorted that he had spent nothing on it. She understood.
He bit his tongue when she emerged with her usual layers of dingy hoodie and short leather jacket over a t-shirt. She had agreed to the walk, suddenly, so he figured he ought not question her over-dressing for the weather. Besides, he knows it is part of her armor.
They walk down the avenue, an odd pair at best. She wonders if people think them father and daughter, despite looking little alike. Maybe uncle and wayward niece. She has noted the increased strain on him, finding subtle changes in their time together. She finds it odd, since being with someone so much generally gives less focus to such changes. The demands of all of this has aged him, and he was not young to begin with.
He had mentioned that when he had been summoned by Gnegon to aid with the vigilante, he figured he was on the downslope toward hopeful retirement. He had money hidden away. Not a lot, but he planned to live a modest life once done with all this. How we trick ourselves, they both had concluded, leading to more cynicism upon cynicism. They remain driven in surprising ways, and not just to protect their own skins.
And yet, through it all, she still looked barely old enough to qualify for the birthdate on her I.D. Hell, maybe people thought he was a probation officer and she one of his surly wards. She used to not care very much what other people thought, but now, knowing the truth of the precarious situation in which they all lived, she found herself obsessing over the delusions. This ignorance was a weapon, whether wielded by the Infernal or the Malkuths, and yes, even the Felcrafts.
“I found something,” she finally says after some time of their quiet walk.
They’ve made it to a large pavilion. An ancient church stands far on the other side as people mill into the outdoor tables of cafés. He stops, and she does, too.
“What have you found, Therese?”
She motions with her head, and they head down another street, the way narrower, until they pass through the squat buildings and find themselves by the river. The world opens, the sun brighter here. She ambles to the railing along the street, leaning on it, watching the waters below.
“Information on the Malkuths.”
“Well, yes, that’s what started all this mess, isn’t it?”
She gives a tiny shake of her head.
“More. Much more. I did a lot of digging, especially now that you’ve helped to show me what they truly are. I called in a few favors, did some manipulating, and I’ve put together a good amount of information now.”
“What?” He blinks, turning from where he had been also watching the waters to better look at her. “What do you intend to do with this information?”
“It’s enough to get the interest of the authorities.”
“Therese,” he says in that tone that might as easily come from a father.
She fights the reflexive bile that tries to rise in her throat. He is not being protective for the usual prejudices people have, the automatic way they marginalize. He is cautious for very real reasons.
“It can’t be linked back to us. Well, it can now, but I would fix that before doing anything with it.”
“Therese, this is very dangerous, very. You know that.”
She says nothing, waiting. She’s learned something of him in their time together.
He turns back toward the road, watching the people and cars. He lights a cigarette, exhaling a thick stream toward the sky. The moment carries, and she continues looking over the river, waiting.
“Is it proof?” he finally asks.
“No. The Malkuths are too well protected. It likely wouldn’t even lead to a case, but it’d be enough to get the attention of the authorities.”
“And you think that would help us? You don’t think they’d move to find the leak and plug it, permanently?”
She finally looks at him.
“I know they’d want to do that, but by the time they can move their resources away from the inquiries and look for us, we’d be gone. If they even managed to find the trail.”
“So, this is meant to be a smoke screen?”
“A diversion.”
He shakes his head, sighing.
“If the end result is our getting away, then why? This may bring unwanted attention on us.”
“It’s too late, right? Once I dug, I opened that door. And now you’ve been tasked with keeping an eye on me to determine if I’m harmless. From what you tell me, the Malkuths prefer to remove anything remotely a problem. It’s easier for them.”
“This is true.”
“Then when we disappear, they will look.”
“And you think this … investigation,” he begins, waving a cigarette-holding hand to accentuate his speech, “will allow us time to disappear?”
“Yes. The initial move will be the riskiest. If we make it away, then the rest will be fine.”
“Oh, Therese.” He chuckles. “You make it sound so easy.”
She scowls at him.
“It won’t be easy, but you know we’re dead otherwise. How long can you keep them from doing away with me. Maybe even the same to you?”
“I have no delusion, Therese. They will kill me as soon as they see no further use for me, or if they sufficiently suspect me. I think they are already suspicious, but they think our chances of doing anything to harm them are so pathetic, they don’t bother.
“I can’t really imagine why they haven’t already done so,” Duilio continues, “No offense to you, but if they’ve decided to use me solely to keep a close eye on you, then they don’t think much of the value I bring them.”
She turns to look at him, squinting from the light, idly wondering why she forgot sunglasses, though it won’t much matter soon. She sees him ruminating.
“I think they recruited me, because they were wondering how much I knew, and they thought they’d make use of my contacts and associations in the law enforcement world.”
“Criminal world,” she edits.
“Well, yes, those are one in the same.” He looks at her. “Power. Those who use it, or think they do, and enforcement, I think is a much better word for what they do. They do not think of themselves as criminals.”
“What criminals do?”
“Most of them.” He gives her a pointed look. “I have worked with career criminals. You know that. They also do not give into the illusion. They know they are law breakers. The Malkuths think they are above the law. They actually pity government. They feel the entirety of humanity has lost its way, and they are the shepherds … and butchers.”
“That’s scary,” she admits, rising to a more erect posture.
“It is. As I told you, I felt I had some understanding of how things are in life. I had convinced my conscience to shut up. I was very wrong, and a part of me wishes I had died ignorant.”
“It’s too late for that.”
“Yes.” He nods, seeming defeated.
“You once told me you wanted to take them down from the inside.”
“Yes,” he says again, not further confidence showing. “I wonder if they even sensed that. I was openly defiant to Denman Malkuth. He scoffed at any threats I made. Maybe they put me on this assignment as punishment, or because they wondered if I might actually be a threat.”
“So, that goal has changed.”
He sighs.
“As much as I would love to take th
em down, or hell, even just hurt them in a way that mattered, I don’t think I am capable. They have been at this for generations, Therese. They are protected.”
“They are,” she agrees. “Their security is excellent, but nothing is perfect.”
“Is what you have really that damning?”
“I said it probably wouldn’t even become a case, especially considering how strong they are, but it will cause a ripple. It’s just meant to be a diversion. We know we can’t take them down. We just need to hide.”
“Then why bother with this?”
She gives a sigh of her own, but where his hinted at dejection, hers is one of exasperation.
“This will be better than our just falling off the grid. Besides, I’d like to sting them once before giving up my life to their fear.”
“Don’t make this personal, Therese, or you will lose.”
She fixes a steely stare on him. “The man who kidnapped me is sleeping on my couch. Have I shown I’m not taking this personal?”
“Touché.” He smiles into one of those clipped chuckles, then fishes another cigarette from his pack. She shakes her head when he offers one.
“That’s settled then,” she says. “Do you know anyone on law enforcement who is high up? Someone who has managed to maintain their integrity, or barring that, who feels prideful or powerful enough to do this? Preferably someone single with no children.”
“Yes. Yes, I might.”
“We can get the report to that person. I’ll also send it to some other agencies, but a good champion would help. We just need to get Kettle and then release the report before we take off.”
“What?” The word is all but wrenched from him. “Why are we getting Kettle?”
She gives a low-voiced near-grunt of impatience, back to staring needles at him. “We’ve been over this. Besides, I won’t leave him to the wolves. Too many people have died because of this … because of me. I … I have enough trouble sleeping already.”
Duilio blinks, taking in a slow breath he had not realized had already begun. She changed so quickly from angry determination to vulnerability that his own fuse failed before being lit.
Soul of the Butterfly Page 20
