Bloodstone d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  “Good driving, child,” Mab said. Kane howled his agreement.

  “Driving was the easy part,” I said, opening my door. “We’ve still got to sneak into Deadtown.” And we had to do it in broad daylight with a wolf in tow.

  There are several unofficial “back doors” that can get you into or out of Deadtown without having to pass through a checkpoint. Dead spots, for example, in the electrified fence that surrounds the area. I knew of one on Deadtown’s north side, but it would be impossible to get there from here on a busy weekday without attracting attention.

  Well, we’d have to try. Maybe passersby would think Kane was a very large dog. He jumped from the car and shook himself, then stood, head lifted, sniffing the air. The wolf was large, standing as high as my waist, his back broad, his muscles taut with strength. He exuded a barely restrained power, something primeval, that evoked deep forest and other wild landscapes. There was no way anyone would mistake this fierce, majestic creature for a domesticated puppy.

  Yet what choice did we have? I made sure the car was locked up tight and started toward the garage exit.

  Something tugged on the back of my shirt. I turned around to see Kane with his jaws clamped on the hem.

  “You have a better idea?”

  He let go of my sweatshirt and went deeper into the garage. Mab and I exchanged a look, then followed. We descended several levels. When a car drove by, Kane would duck between parked cars. Mab and I just stepped aside and waited for the car to pass.

  At the bottom level, near the elevator, Kane stopped and sat beside a metal door, maintenance access for the elevator. He looked at me and yipped. I tried the door. Locked. He yipped again.

  In the bottom of the door was a ventilation panel, with horizontal, louvered slats. Kane stood and pressed his nose against it. He looked at me, then touched the panel once more.

  I hooked my fingers around some slats and shook. The panel gave a little. I pulled, and it came away in my hand. Kane licked my cheek and jumped through the hole. A moment later, he stuck his head out, staring at us like he wondered what was taking us so long.

  I peered past him. I couldn’t see much, just enough to know that Kane’s route into Deadtown was dark and dusty and festooned with spiderwebs. Lovely. I nudged Kane aside and climbed in. The closet-sized room was deeper than I expected. Kane moved inside to make room for Mab, who crawled in a moment later. Together, she and I fitted the panel back into place.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” I said to Kane.

  He licked my cheek again and went farther back. In the stripes of light that came through the panel, I could see a low opening in the back wall, maybe a yard square. Kane disappeared into the tunnel.

  A pitch-black, narrow, dirty tunnel. Several weeks ago I’d learned, in an abandoned Welsh slate mine, that I didn’t do so great in dark underground spaces. And this tunnel looked too tight to even be called a “space.” I calculated. On the surface, it took a brisk ten-minute walk to get from Government Center to Deadtown. Crawling the same distance through this tunnel would take approximately . . . forever.

  An impatient bark echoed from the tunnel. I took a deep breath and crawled inside. Mab followed.

  There was no light, but the tunnel felt cleaner than I expected. There was little grit under my palms, as if the floor had been swept. No cobwebs brushed my face. No horrible little creatures with too many legs dropped onto my neck. I let out a startled yelp when I bumped into something—it was Kane, who’d paused to wait for us. After that, I stayed close behind him. No more than a couple of minutes had passed before light flooded the tunnel as Kane nosed aside a curtain and leapt out.

  I followed, trying to decide whether I felt more relieved to see or to stand up straight. We were in a cellar, with concrete floors and walls. It looked like some kind of storeroom, with cardboard boxes lined up on shelves and stacked on the floor.

  “You must pay the toll to pass,” croaked an ancient-sounding voice.

  I turned around. Beside the tunnel we’d exited sat an old man in a folding metal chair. His leathery face was as lined as a road map, and he had a full head of white hair. A shock of that hair fell across his forehead as he sat hunched forward, holding a sharp-looking knife in one hand and a stick in the other. He smoothed the knife along the stick, whittling. A thin curl of wood joined others on the floor.

  “We have no money,” I began. “I was abducted and—”

  “We’ll pay,” Mab interrupted. “What’s the toll?”

  The old man sized us up, his dark eyes glittering. “Ten dollars apiece. Double for the wolf.”

  “That’s outrageous,” I sputtered. I was ready to crawl back through the tunnel and take our chances going overland.

  The man shrugged, then shaved off another curl of wood. “The authorities don’t take kindly to wolves running around on city streets,” he said in a bored voice. “Especially if a concerned citizen calls in a report.” His eyes peered at me shrewdly from under his white hair.

  “We can only go forward, child,” Mab said. She produced a wad of bills and peeled off two twenties. “Here you are,” she said, handing them to the man. “Now please allow us to proceed.”

  The old man took the bills, sniffed them, and stuck them in his shirt pocket. Then he got up and shuffled across the room. His movements were slow, but something in them suggested he was faster and stronger than he appeared. I had a feeling that anyone who tried to cheat this toll collector would end up sorry.

  He stopped in front of a metal storage cabinet. After fumbling in his pants pocket, he pulled out a key and opened the door.

  “Have a pleasant journey,” he said.

  Kane led the way again, jumping into the cabinet and into the tunnel beyond. This tunnel was more passable, an underground corridor large enough that Mab and I could walk next to each other. There was even fluorescent lighting.

  I’d heard about a network of secret tunnels in and out of Deadtown, but I’d always thought they were a rumor. It surprised me that Kane actually used them.

  It also surprised me that Mab was carrying American money. She hadn’t brought her passport with her through the collective unconscious—Jenkins was sending it by mail—so where had she gotten cash? I hadn’t thought to wonder when she’d brought me breakfast and clothes, but the question hit home when I saw that stack of bills she was carrying.

  “It’s Mr. Kane’s. He brought it when he picked me up,” she said when I asked her. Kane, who was in front, turned his head back and nodded in agreement. “Of course, I shall pay him back when I’m able.”

  Kane snorted and shook his head.

  It took us half an hour and two more toll payments to reach Deadtown. We must have zigzagged all over—or under—downtown Boston, but in the cellars and tunnels, it was hard to trace our exact route. Finally, we went up some stairs. I twisted a bulkhead handle and pushed open the steel door—and we were in Deadtown. I recognized the place right away, a small side street near the garage where I rented a space for my Jag. We were only a few minutes from my building.

  It was daylight, so the streets were empty. Still, we took the back way, keeping Kane out of sight as much as possible. The citizens of Deadtown wouldn’t panic at the sight of a wolf on the street, but they would notice. And the fewer people who saw Kane out and about in his wolf form, the better.

  The tricky part, I thought as we approached my building, would be getting him past Clyde, who took his doorman responsibilities very seriously. Nobody snuck past Clyde’s watchful eye. But then, he was watching for zombies, vampires, and other monsters, along with the occasional norm, not for animals. No one expects to see a four-legged werewolf in all his furry glory when the moon is waning. If I could distract Clyde, maybe Kane could slink past him.

  We paused in a doorway half a block from our goal, and I told Mab and Kane my plan: “On the left side of the lobby there’s a seating area. Clyde’s desk is on the right. Mab and I will go in first. Kane, you come in right beh
ind us and hide in the seating area. Keep low. I’ll introduce Mab to Clyde. While we’re talking, try to slip to the elevators.” A partial wall blocked the lobby’s view of the elevators, so he could stay out of sight while he waited for us there.

  Nobody had any improvements to suggest, so we walked to my building. We were in luck; Clyde was on the phone. He glanced up as I opened the door, but when he saw it was me, he turned back to his phone call.

  Kane brushed against the backs of my legs as he scooted toward the seating area. I didn’t turn around to watch him, but I imagined him getting behind one of the potted palms that surrounded the leather chairs.

  Mab and I proceeded across the lobby to Clyde’s desk. By the time we got there he was hanging up. He straightened, brushing some potato chip crumbs from his uniform, and gave Mab a welcoming smile. That is, his greenish lips stretched back way too far in a skull-like grimace. Norms have fainted at the sight of a zombie’s smile, but Mab is no norm. She offered her hand.

  “Clyde, this is my aunt, Mab Vaughn.”

  He hesitated, staring at her hand as though he expected her to snatch it back, then shook.

  “Delighted,” he and Mab both said. This time, they shared a smile.

  “Mab will be staying with me for a few days.”

  “Very good.” He wrote her name down on a pad.

  I heard the skitter of claws on the marble floor behind me, and I spoke up to cover the sound.

  “Mab is from Wales,” I said, a little too loudly. “I visited her every summer when I was a child.”

  He looked up. “South or north?”

  “I live in north Wales,” she replied.

  “Beautiful country!” he exclaimed. “I climbed Snowdon as a young man.”

  “Did you? And what did you think of the experience?”

  Clyde waxed damn near poetic on his experiences in the mountains of north Wales. Mab egged him on. After they’d talked for a few minutes, when I was sure Kane was in position, I said we’d better go up to my apartment.

  “It’s been a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Clyde said to my aunt. He turned to me, still wearing the same smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Vaughn, but you cannot take an animal upstairs.”

  Busted. How the hell had he seen Kane? We’d timed it so well. But nothing gets past my doorman.

  “Clyde—”

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with the terms of your lease. No pets. Tenants are not allowed so much as a goldfish, let alone a large dog.”

  He must have only glimpsed Kane to assume the animal running past was a dog.

  Kane’s head appeared around the partial wall that had shielded him from view. His ears went back and he bared his teeth. A growl rumbled from his throat.

  “Come here,” I said to him. “Please.”

  He slunk out from behind the wall. Lips pulled back to show his teeth, he moved across the lobby. The growl didn’t falter.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Come on over. Let Clyde see you.”

  He did. As he approached, Clyde’s red eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Kane sat on the floor beside me. He stopped growling, but his hackles stayed up. I leaned across the doorman’s desk. “Take a good look, Clyde. That’s not an animal. Or no more of one than I am.”

  His eyes stayed wide as they went back and forth between us. Tentative understanding dawned.

  “That’s . . . ?”

  I nodded.

  “But—” He picked up a calendar and squinted at it. “But it’s not a full moon.”

  “Right. There’s been a . . .”

  “A magical mishap,” Mab supplied. “We’re working to set things right as soon as we possibly can.”

  “‘Magical mishap’?” Clyde scratched his head as though the phrase made no sense. Or like it was a euphemism for something really nasty. “Oh, no,” he said. “No, no, no. A transformed werewolf? That’s even worse. I’m certain your lease—”

  “Come on, Clyde,” I said. “This isn’t his fault. You know how it feels to be changed into something you don’t want to be. You’re not going to deny him shelter because of that, are you?”

  Clyde exhaled noisily, puffing out his cheeks. He looked again at Kane.

  Kane didn’t whine or thump his tail. This was not an animal who’d beg. He merely watched Clyde, every muscle tense.

  “All right,” Clyde said at last. “But keep him in your apartment, and stay quiet. For heaven’s sake, don’t let any of the other tenants find out.”

  “Thanks, Clyde,” I said. Mab nodded her agreement.

  We hurried across the lobby, before he changed his mind. Clyde didn’t have to worry we’d let the other tenants know. Whatever it took, I’d get Kane back to normal as soon as I could.

  16

  “WHAT ON EARTH IS THAT?” MAB POINTED AT THE SIXTYTHREE-INCH screen that took up most of my living room.

  “That’s my roommate’s TV.”

  “Surely not. I’ve seen television sets. Jenkins and Rose have one in their cottage. It’s this size.” Her hands shaped a box that estimated a little thirteen-inch screen. “Surely you’re joking.”

  “No joke.” I picked up the remote from the coffee table, and the picture snapped on. Mab winced. I turned the TV off again. “Good thing Juliet’s not here right now. She leaves it on, with the volume way up, and wanders off.”

  “I wouldn’t like that. Your roommate’s away?”

  “For the moment.” I hadn’t yet told Mab about Juliet’s involvement with the Old Ones—there’d been so much to discuss—but I would. First, though, I’d show her my apartment and get her settled. I intended for her to stay in my bedroom, so she’d have some privacy.

  Kane woofed at the blank screen. He went to the coffee table and, holding the remote with his paws, pressed the ON button with his nose. Then he carried the remote to me and dropped it at my feet.

  “Let me guess,” I said, “you want to watch the news.”

  He nodded.

  “CNN or PNN?”

  “I’ve heard of CNN,” Mab said. “What’s the other?”

  “The Paranormal News Network. All monsters, all the time.”

  Kane growled when I said monsters, but I ignored him. I wasn’t going to let a wolf take me to task for being politically incorrect. He wanted to watch CNN, anyway, as he let me know by jumping up and knocking the remote out of my hands when the TV showed that channel.

  I picked up the remote and turned down the volume several clicks. “Okay?”

  He nodded again and jumped onto the couch. He sat with his ears swiveled forward, already engrossed in a story about Congressional hearings on some banking scandal.

  I took my aunt’s arm. “Let me give you the grand tour,” I said. “Not ‘grand’ in the same sense as Maenllyd, of course.” My aunt’s manor house would swallow up my apartment ten times over. But this place was home, and I was proud to show off the spacious, comfortable living room, with its separate dining area, and the eat-in kitchen with granite counters and cherry cabinets.

  And then we came to my bedroom. I tried not to see the unmade bed and strewn-around clothing through my aunt’s eyes—which was more or less impossible with her standing beside me.

  “Um, this is my room.”

  “As I would have guessed by the unkempt bed. Honestly, child, personal habits are a reflection of character.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming. If I had, the whole place would be pristine.”

  “That’s no excuse. Character shines brightest when no one’s watching.”

  You can’t argue with that. I know, because I opened my mouth to do so and nothing occurred to me. Okay, time to move on. We went back out into the hallway.

  “That door’s the bathroom.”

  “And across from it, I presume, is your roommate’s bedroom.”

  “Yes, that’s Juliet’s room, but—”

  Mab reached for the doorknob. “Since she’s away, she won’t mind if I stay there.” She opened the d
oor before I had time to warn her that Juliet slept in a coffin. Halfway into the room, she froze.

  “Your roommate is . . . a vampire?”

  “Yes. Juliet Capulet.” Surely I’d told Mab that at some point. I mean, sharing an apartment with Shakespeare’s most famous heroine was too good a story to keep quiet. But Mab and I rarely engaged in personal chitchat; it just wasn’t a part of our relationship. Maybe I hadn’t told her.

  Mab pulled the door shut, her face white. “I think I’d like a cup of tea, if you have any.”

  “Sure. Are you all right?”

  She waved away my concern. “Yes, yes. Of course I’m all right. But I’m rather thirsty, if you don’t mind.”

  We went back through the living room. CNN was doing an interview with Police Commissioner Hampson about the Reaper murders.

  “Anything new?” I asked Kane.

  He shook his head. Hampson was blustering about locking down Deadtown to protect Boston’s human citizens. I tuned him out and continued into the kitchen.

  Mab sat silently at the table as I put the kettle on, found the teapot, and spooned in some tea. As I worked, I snuck glances at her. My aunt’s mouth was drawn into a thin, pale line, and the knuckles of her hands, folded before her on the table, showed white. What could have flustered her so much about Juliet’s room?

  I placed the teapot and a mug on the table. She pulled them toward her but didn’t pour.

  “Are you sure you’re all right? What upset you in that room?”

  “It wasn’t the room, child. I . . . It was a bit of a shock to learn you live with a vampire. Some of the Cerddorion feel they’re the enemy of our race every bit as much as demons. That they should be slaughtered without mercy.”

  I frowned. “Is that what you think?” I’d never heard Mab say a word against vampires before, but suddenly she was sounding way more like Commissioner Hampson than my aunt.

  She poured some tea, and steam rose from her mug. She sighed. “No, that’s not my personal view. But I can’t say I trust them, either. You see, every vampire is a potential Old One.”

  That comment hit home. “Juliet came under their thrall,” I admitted, feeling uncomfortable. “But she ran away from them. That’s why she’s not here now; she’s in hiding.”