Kage and Zar started to follow.
I stopped them. “Kage, you stay with Jason. Zar? You probably know vampires the best.”
“He’s never even sniffed one,” Andrew said. “I’ve met vampires. How’d you think I know they’re mad?”
“Are they really all unhinged?” I asked Zar.
He lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I suppose it depends on your definition.”
“Andrew, Zar, come with us. You three wait. What’s wrong with Jason?”
“Doesn’t want to be in the stench,” Kage said.
“Does it stink?”
“It’s not bad now,” Andrew said. “But I wouldn’t want to go down there in fur either.” So he hadn’t just changed to communicate what he’d found.
Zar pulled a “torch,” as he called it, from his rucksack and left the bag there with his brother.
Isaac led the way through what turned out to be an opening straight into a spiral staircase clanking and groaning as we sank into pitch darkness. And warmth. Ten feet, twenty, and it was getting hotter and hotter.
In front of me, Zar switched on the flashlight but it didn’t help much. Spiral metal stairs and close concrete walls were all there was to see.
By the time we reached some kind of underground passageway, I was sure it must be 100ºF. Sweat beaded on my skin. I felt breathless, smothered by hot dampness. And yes, the reek of something dead.
The flashlight on my phone had been broken for several months, and I was in the habit of carrying a keychain light and a small flashlight to travel anyway. I had the keychain on me but the single aimed light made me uneasy. I drew up my magic instead, formed a mental image of the heat turning to fire, and lit both my palms with a blue glow that grew to surround us in a gentle light bubble without dazzling.
My companions stepped back, their eyes glinting as they looked at my hands. They were afraid of spellcasters. And of humans. But they didn’t like to show it.
I’d given them very little occasion since we’d met to witness my harnessing magic at all. It wasn’t a deliberate ploy. I was unused to using magic. Though I’d been trained in spellcasting by my mother, then much more by my grandmother, I’d been taught at the same time to never allow it to be seen.
Magic was personal. Only rarely even presented within the caster community when we had the odd gathering—like the weekend I’d spent in Brighton with Broomantle that had launched this two-week trip to England for me. A trip that was supposed to have me relaxing on the beach by day, pub-hopping with my sister by night, and meeting a string of Englishmen she’d lined up for my inspection.
Instead, I was underground in London on a July night using magic, searching for vampires, which I’d never imagined meeting in my life, and doing so in the company of werewolves.
The fall down the rabbit hole had hit bottom. I hoped.
I ignored their reactions, letting them get used to the light while I looked around the room we found ourselves in.
A concrete bunker of sorts, plain besides litter on the floor, graffiti on the walls, and two passageways leading off in opposite directions with this room at the middle.
I stepped forward to get a look into one of these alleys. Isaac blocked me, gently touching my arm and stepping ahead. He moved along the passage, placing each step with care, myself behind with the light, then Zar close to me with his flashlight, and Andrew bringing up the rear.
I hadn’t felt scared climbing down, even in the dark. I’d worked spells by night and celebrated moonrise and lunar magic since I’d been a teenager. Being surrounded by these three, who I was sure could take on charging bulls or stop packs of savage dogs with a glare, also went a long way to clearing off nerves. Then there was the distracting oppressive heat down here, as if the underground tunnels soaked it in from a long sunny day of London streets. Plus gathering my light and thinking of the magic.
Then I realized what it was we were walking into: not a passage, but an endless corridor with slots like a crypt on one side, stacked two high, and heard things down here—shifting, shuffling, sliding sounds—and I started to be afraid.
What did I know about vampires? They showed up in dense urban areas. They were mad. They hated wolves, who hated them back. What had I known before Zar had told me that much? Nothing but old stories, fables and bits of supposedly true history passed down in the magical community. Tales of graceful lords and ladies of the night who could bewitch humans, move like wraiths, and needed a nightly supply of human blood to keep them strong.
All of a sudden, the idea of coming down here to meet that with nothing but three powerful wolves and my own magic to stop them biting us all was utterly ludicrous.
Isaac had seemed to think we would be okay. And I trusted Isaac’s judgment far more than the others—apparently the only one in the six who regularly employed logic in his thinking. But did he know vampires?
I should have asked Zar and Andrew a hell of a lot more questions before we ever opened that door.
My heart pounded as I slowed my step, speaking in a breath back to Zar. “What is this place?”
“Bomb shelter,” he whispered. “From World War Two. There are more in the city, mostly forgotten.”
I let out a breath. They weren’t tombs. They were bunk beds. Thousands of Londoners would have been able to fit down in here during air raids, lying in these little alcoves.
Somehow, although it was irrational—speaking of logic—that made me feel better. This had been a place to save lives. Not hide the dead.
Then something hissed—a cat, a snake—and I jumped back into Zar. He put his hand on my waist and I stood on his boot, glad of his touch despite the inferno of this place. His breath sounded quick in my ear while my own pulse raced.
Isaac growled, very low, also like a breath.
At the edge of the pale light, something moved, slinking back into one of the bunk alcoves that ran all down the left wall.
Isaac walked on.
Zar pressed my hip, a nudge forward. I didn’t move.
“Why’s he going on?” I was afraid to speak, to attract attention, and the eerie endless nature of the close space and darkness before and behind us didn’t help. “Shouldn’t we ask…?”
Zar’s lips brushed my ear, speaking just as soft. “When one wants to talk it’ll let us know. We’ve already been past a few.”
We had? Goddess, I’d thought those movements had been rats.
I crept after Isaac, who waited for me so we didn’t drift apart. I pressed to the right wall and looked into the hissing alcove. Nothing. The back was all shadows cast by my light and Zar’s. Not much of a space to hide. Nothing in there but rags and rubbish, and … yes, motion of a rat or two on the floor?
I had to draw up more light for my hands, the magic having wavered with me.
Breathe. You’re with them. And yourself. Breathe.
Then I heard the voice up ahead.
Chapter 3
This time, there could be no mistake. Something just in front of Isaac moved, hissed, and he stopped. Isaac was the tallest in the group, broad-shouldered and powerful. I couldn’t see past him for more than a flicker of shadow. His light hair glowed as blond as my own in the magic from my hands, though it was really a light brown, along with his short beard.
He so filled the corridor, I didn’t know if I was grateful or if I needed to lean out for a look. In the end, buffered by the hold on my magic, as well as by my guardians, I inched closer to see past him. And saw my first vampire.
Or was it?
Have you ever seen a cat who knows a dog is watching and it moves very, very slowly away so as not to draw the dog into chasing?
That was how this creature moved. A hunched, furtive figure in rags, slipping away into the alcove with another hiss, though I could not see the bowed face.
Did it know what Isaac was? Did it fear provoking a fight? Surely it was capable of defending itself. Yet it did seem small as it shuffled away into the darkness.
&nbs
p; “No right,” it hissed in a breathy, painful sound. Like hearing someone speak who’s lost their voice—each word hurting your ears as much as their throat. “Go, vermin, no right. Truce stop you. Truce stop filth. Go. Hssssssh…”
“We will not stay,” Isaac said under his breath. “We wish to speak with one of you about a disturbance in our community.”
“Vermin do not speak. Vermin go back.” Rasping hiss that made my own throat sore. “Vermin fill the gutters and rot there. Rot the gutters. Rot the gutters. Rot the gutters. Bring the rot and bag the bones. Bone man comes morning and night. The plague pits are filling, filling, filling, down to the rivers, filling, filling, filling. Rot the rivers, vermin. Fill the plague pits, filling, filling, filling…” All while it crept out of sight it hissed this at us.
Isaac waited until it was well clear of the passageway before moving on. I followed against him.
Ahead, somewhere in the dark, was that other voice. The one I’d started hearing a minute ago. Maybe the wolves had heard it all along with their sharp ears.
It seemed to take an age at our slow pace to reach the source: another room. An end to this corridor with a metal door like the one from upstairs, rusted but much better preserved, with green paint still mostly covering the surface. Otherwise, it was simply the passage connecting to a large concrete bunker room with a counter and old electric intercom panel and broken lights in metal frames overhead.
Piles of rags and trash littered the floor much more here. The smell was intense, especially with the heat: something like a mix between week-old roadkill and the kind of ghastly stink it takes you a while to track down in your refrigerator after you’ve been out of town.
There were a few small tables and chairs toppled in here, many rats swarming over what looked like a box of dog biscuits, and apropos yet odd military artifacts: a helmet probably from World War Two, a rusty bayonet, and bits of uniforms and badges.
At the glow of the light, the rats scattered, many of them running for us and dashing past or over our feet to escape down the passageway.
Usually it’s spiders that scare me. But—maybe it was the setting—there was something about the fast motion, scramble of their claws, and even the sight of the long, bald tails whipping past that made me jump away from those rats. I caught my breath—big mistake—and almost retched. Yet I couldn’t hold my breath down here either.
The three wolves jerked around to follow the moving prey with their eyes. Andrew was quick enough to grab one by the tail, sending it into a squeaking panic as it thrashed and tried to get away or bite. Zar slapped his hand and Andrew dropped the thing.
They all refocused on the room. Zar covered his nose with his wrist. Sweat trickled down his brow below his long black hair.
“Bloody hell,” Andrew breathed. “Gonna be sick.”
“You’d be doing the rats a favor, I suppose,” I whispered, feeling more faint than anything, but nausea was a close second.
Isaac was looking around the room and I stepped over to him, holding out my lit hands and struggling for the focus. He gazed from dog biscuits to tables, helmet to the heaps of litter—shiny chip wrappers, bits of tin foil, a sandal, some coins, etc.—and the heaped rags and bits of clothing. Piled on and against the counter were gallon baggies that looked like they were full of flour. Plus bottles of dark liquid, and many smaller baggies, spoons, cups, and paper bags holding more.
The voice had stopped. Whatever was in here chatting must have hidden behind the counter. How many? What if they came for us?
Lords of the night, flying from darkness… And what if … we couldn’t get out? How many had we passed coming down here? Where did that other door in here lead?
When the floor began to vibrate beneath my feet, I thought it was all in my head. About to black out, maybe, between the heat, stench, fear, and energy needed to hold the magic. Then came the rumbling. It wasn’t just me. The whole space quivered, shook—earthquake. Rush, roar, something loud, louder, then fading away, distant, gone.
“It’s the Underground,” Isaac whispered. “The London Tube.”
I nodded, mouth dry even as my skin was drenched.
“Oh, Moon.” Andrew stepped back into the corridor and threw up.
If I had any romanticism left in me about the moment—about us doing something brave, even noble, using my magic and finding magical creatures, working with magical creatures in the bowels of the Earth—that was the instant I lost whatever shred it might have been. I was under London, at night, in an inferno, doing something that was probably really stupid. And my knights in shining armor were, in fact, just a bunch of savages with a canine streak a mile wide.
Andrew staggered back to Zar and leaned an arm on his shoulder for support. “You bring Kage next time if you want. I’m not fussed.”
“Lost your competitive streak?” I murmured back.
“Feeling a lot better, really.”
“It’s just as well they didn’t bring you fish and chips.”
“Blimey, that sounds good. When do we get out of here?”
“That’s disgusting. How can you—?”
“No, darling.” Andrew pointed. “That’s disgusting.”
I looked again to the mound of rags and filth that Isaac was so carefully studying. He was stepping toward it, slow, not too close.
When the mound spoke in a harsh voice, I jumped and the light flickered.
“Who’s come to pay their respects to the dead?”
Chapter 4
The mound wheezed, hissed, sputtered, and shifted, rising up several inches at the top.
Stepping back into Zar, which also now meant Andrew, I drew up the magic, light burning brighter in my hands, pulse beating with it, visualizing protective energy around us, the power building in my chest: ready to fight. And to run.
A torn old sweatshirt fell away from the heap and there was the back of a head. A human head, more or less, mostly bald, with wisps of long hair dangling about it as if they’d forgotten to fall off. This person was sitting on, and in, the mound at the far side. Like reclining in a beanbag chair with its back to us. Now, as it moved, more fragments that it seemed to have burrowed into fell away. Slowly, it struggled to sit upright.
As it shifted, it coughed and gagged, spat, then went back to wheezing.
A rat burst from hiding in the rags and dashed down the passageway. No one moved to grab it.
We all watched as the mound settled and the pale form came to rest sitting up, still sideways to us.
“Come around and introduce yourselves.” It coughed again. Male, I supposed, by the voice, harsh and rough as wood chips. But he seemed awfully small. It was not an English voice. “If you’re here for Max, he’s away. He’s gone away a long time.” A German accent.
Isaac walked slowly around to face the heap and I followed, keeping a good distance from the wheezing figure.
“We’re here for anyone willing to answer a few questions,” I said, still quiet, but after the whispers my own voice startled me.
He hissed softly—meditatively. “Max and I, we used to ask questions. That was now. This is then. Now and then, now and then, now and then we’d ask. Ask a round and drink up.” He shouted something in German and coughed.
Only when we moved around his throne could we finally see the figure properly, sitting up with his emaciated arms draped on an old jacket and a heap of socks and torn shirts as if on the arms of a chair.
His tattered garments blended with the pile. His face was flabby and sunken at the same time. As if, though he was skin and bones now, still his flesh had puffed and swelled like a bloated corpse. His eyes were small and black, reflecting no light. He seemed to have only a smattering of teeth left, the gums black. His skin was bleached white, yet discolored and patchy in areas, raw and irritated.
Something crawled over his scalp. A flea brought by the rats, no doubt. But would a cold body attract fleas? Would a cold body wheeze and gasp?
This, whatever it was, could not
be a vampire. Lords of the night, my own scrying from just that morning—a young, sleek, fanged figure…
I glanced at Zar as he stepped over with me, his face tense, revolted. But he did not say, “What are you?” or anything else. He did not look surprised.
No…
If I’d felt sick just from the smell, now I wanted to join Andrew. Bile rose in my throat and I stepped farther back, only stopping because I was nearly into the wall.
“If we could ask a moment of your time?” I started. “There’s been trouble in the south lately—”
“Max says, ‘Noch eines!’ He beats his fist on the bar and the französischen Mädchen laugh at him. Where is he? Where’s my Maximilian? Max? Max! The captain wants you, Max! Time to go up the line. Max!” Coughing and wheezing, he leaned forward, pounding his own thin chest with a crumpled fist.
“My name is Cassia,” I said, though struggling to breathe as well. “Who are you?”
He looked up and blinked blearily. The whites of his eyes were dark, rusty brown, like dried flecks of blood.
“You’re not the French girl,” he wheezed at me.
“No. I’m American. I’m here helping friends to find—”
“You’re human.” His focus intensified, fixing the black eyes on mine, leaning in to get a closer look. Talon-like hands gripped his disgusting fabric throne. “They break the truce? They bring a human? Filthy animals. Lying dogs. Did you think you could trade a human for what you want?” His voice grew softer all the time he spoke, going from gravel to glass, a gurgle to a hiss. Eyes still locked on mine.
Isaac stepped in front of me, cutting the gaze. “No. She brought us to speak to you. She’s doing us a favor and we hoped we could ask you for the same.”
I blinked, dizzy, feeling like I’d forgotten something important that I needed to do, but still didn’t know what. Only that I’d forgotten.
“What did you do with Max?” Voice sharp and grating again, angry. “Max! Maximilian! Filthy, mangy, rotten curs! Get out of my house, vile animals!” Voice rising to a shriek like that one note on a violin that can make your ears bleed.
Moonlight Hunters: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 2) Page 2
