by Joshua Roots
We stared at one another for a second, then he went flying as a huge bag of garbage smashed into him from the side. It split open, spilling what I hoped was Alfredo sauce all over him. The guy wobbled, then fell sideways into the scattered trash.
I spun, ready to engage whoever had swung that bag.
Then stopped dead in my tracks.
“Not bad,” Steve said, gazing at my handiwork. He was dressed in a thick sweater, dark cargo pants and combat boots. Around his waist was his favorite travel item: an enormous neon-pink fanny pack.
I stared at him in shock.
Steve waited for a moment, then he rolled his eyes and motioned for me to follow.
“We start with the Centaurs.”
Chapter 4
Travelin’ Men
“Secure inside the cow, Pasiphae lured the white bull to her.”
—The Legend of Ariadne
“You said no.”
Steve glanced at me as we trotted through the alley. “Actually, my exact words were I couldn’t help you. It’s a semantics thing.”
I struggled to wrap my brain around the reality of his presence. “And yet, here you are.”
He shrugged. “I am here.”
“What made you change your mind?”
“Honestly? Quinn.”
Okay, I hadn’t expected that. “How so?”
Steve paused, sniffed the air, then continued down the alley. “To quote you: it’s suicide to do this mission alone. When you inevitably got yourself killed, I’d have to deal with her.”
“You’re saying your family is less painful to deal with than my girlfriend?”
“Less deadly is more like it.”
I couldn’t help but grin.
“Point is,” he continued, “we both knew I was going to change my mind.”
“Uh, we did not.”
“I bet you did in here.” He pointed to his chest. “By the way,” he added, before I could respond, “you were pretty hard to track down. Your mother must have taught you some of her Huntress moves, because I arrived just in time to see you get to Second Base with that dude.”
I was very glad it was dark because I have no doubt my face turned crimson.
“Was he packin’ a cannon or a BB gun?” Steve asked.
“I tried not to notice.”
Steve chuckled, then he grew oddly serious. “Listen, I realize I was being a tool earlier, but I wasn’t lying. I doubt I can help you with my clan. It’s a long story, but suffice to say, I’m not the best choice for gaining favor with the Minotaurs. However, I might be able to put you in contact with the folks who will be helpful. Maybe even keep you from becoming a chew toy.” He paused. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “I should be the one to apologize. I’ll admit I was angry at first, but that was me being selfish and afraid.”
“Well, obviously I’m in.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded.
“So, why the Centaurs?” I asked, forcing us back to the mission we were both on now.
“Next to the Minotaurs, they’re the most influential among the paranormals. Other clans tend to follow their lead, so if we can get their support to vote against secession, then it might suck the wind out of the sails of the Minotaurs.”
“Might?”
“Even with the Centaurs’ vote against secession, the Minotaurs could go ahead with their plans. But it’s still worth the effort to talk with the Centaurs, assuming they don’t kill us the moment we step foot on their turf.”
I swallowed the fear that was beginning to gurgle in my belly. I’d never dealt directly with Centaurs, but rumor had it they were skittish isolationists. The Underground hosted a large population of them, but those tended to be the younger calves who were sick of the traditions of their people. The majority, however, still lived in the boonies and fiercely protected their land and their way of life. Convincing them that their best option to avoid a war was to join sides with the very people who drove them into isolation wasn’t going to be an easy task.
But first, we had to get there.
My sense of caution on high alert thanks to the fight, I rested my fingers on the pistol grip of my Glock, just in case.
Steve, on the other hand, moseyed down the alleys as if he were walking through a field of tulips.
“I love this city,” he sighed, gazing at the run-down façade of an old strip joint.
I frowned as something scurried behind a trash can. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. I mean look.” He waved his massive hands at the surrounding buildings. “We’re a stone’s throw away from museums, art galleries and the seat of government. There’s fine dining, music and countless small communities of neighbors who socialize on their front stoops rather than through technology. What’s not to like?”
“The traffic, noise and murder rate.”
“Bah, every city suffers from that. Besides,” he added as he approached a small loading dock, “compared to where we’re heading, this is a pretty safe place to live.”
He reached down and lifted the large metal door of the loading dock. It shrieked open. And although the corridor beyond was shrouded in darkness, I could already sense the decrease in temperature and increase in peril.
I paused to gather my courage. My last endeavor to this place had resulted in the near death of my former nemesis and the flight of both my girlfriend’s father and his undead creation. And that was before I’d strapped the target of serving on the Delwinn Council to my chest.
I sent up a silent prayer that this time events would be different.
“Any day now, Alice,” Steve grunted as he struggled to keep the door open.
Reluctantly, I stepped through the doorway. Unlike the cold air and city smell of DC, the corridor was bitterly frigid and the stench overwhelming. So much so that I almost backtracked. A heartbeat later, the door slammed shut behind us, sealing me and Steve inside. With no other options, I reluctantly trudged toward the small window of light in the distance. The temperature dropped even more as we approached until we finally found ourselves standing in the middle of a busy red-brick marketplace.
“Welcome back to the Underground, dude.” Steve slapped me on the back hard enough to rattle my teeth. “Try not to get us killed this time.”
Created during a time of major persecution by the humans, the Underground started as a sanctuary for paranormal creatures. Over the years, it had grown from a small haven for the maltreated to a multi-city megaplex of commerce and filth. Thanks to magic, many nodes around the globe were connected to one another instantly via portals similar to the one Steve and I had used. For those not directly on the network, the train system was surprisingly extensive. Many paranormals utilized the various forms of transport between regions to visit major cities like DC, something that had only become popular in the wake of the Reformation Treaty.
Yet as much as the Underground had evolved in recent years, the majority of its residents were there because of the anonymity it provided. A world-between-worlds, the Underground was as secretive as it was dangerous. Extroverts and gossips didn’t last long, leaving those smart enough to keep their heads down and their mouths shut as the only survivors.
I’d learned that lesson the hard way.
Steve snapped his fingers in front of me. “Yo, Space Cadet. You with me?”
“Yup.”
“Good, because we have a train to catch.”
Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I led us out of the side alley and down the main thoroughfare toward the train station. If this were DC, Steve would have stuck out like a sore thumb, but in the Underground, no one noticed. More importantly, no one cared.
Thankfully, I also seemed to be flying under the ra
dar. That was a huge blessing, especially considering how unpopular Shifters were in these parts. The second someone found out that I was here, my chances of survival decreased exponentially. Best to keep my head down and my feet moving.
What surprised me, however, was how busy the Underground was for a cold November evening. The normally vacant streets were packed with creatures of all shapes and sizes. A Harpy flew past us, talking loudly into an older cell phone while a small group of young Fae, all sporting designer purses, chatted in a nearby café. We even spotted a pair of traditionally reclusive Elves, both of whom were dressed in silver pantsuits and loaded down with shopping bags. It was as if the entire Underground didn’t realize or care that predators could be lurking around every corner. Then again, a lot could change in a year, so maybe things weren’t as bad as when I last visited.
It took nearly an hour of hoofing it to reach the ticket booth for the Excelsior Express, by which time my feet were burning.
Stupid new hiking boots.
Steve examined the departure board while I gave my legs a break on a nearby bench.
“Our best bet is the Number Six to the Bangor node. Not only does it connect instantly with a doorway near my clan, but puts us within an easy hike to the Centaurs. Keep in mind that the horse-folks aren’t the most welcoming of creatures, so we’ll want to approach their land slowly. Give them time to assess our threat level.”
“Or give them time to set up an ambush.”
“True.”
“Okay, risky hike through the woods in winter it is.” I stood and walked over to the ticket window. “Two for next train to Bangor, please.”
The Satyr, a pretty female with small horns and dressed to the nines in a blue uniform and matching hat, smiled. “That’ll be eight gold, please.”
I handed her the coins while Steve huffed flirtatiously. Her pale eyes flashed as she grinned, huffed back, then gave me the tickets. “It’ll be here in thirty minutes. Platform Two.”
“Want to help me kill a half hour?” Steve asked with a smirk, leaning on the counter.
She blushed. “Sorry, my shift doesn’t end until midnight.”
“Rain check?”
She grinned mischievously. “Perhaps.”
Steve wrote his number down on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “Call me” was all he said, then he walked with me to the bench at Platform Two.
“Wow, that was quick.”
He shrugged. “I’ve told you before, I’m a god when it comes to romance.”
“Humble, too.”
“No need to be when you’re this awesome.” He kicked his enormous legs out, leaned back and immediately dozed off.
With Steve snoring lightly, there was nothing for me to do but wait. I thought about calling Quinn, but it was late enough that she was likely already in bed. I’d been smart enough to pack a backup charger for the satellite phone as well as a solar recharger, so I could buzz her the next morning without fear of burning up my precious battery.
Across from us, the hands of an ancient clock took forever to tick.
A lifetime later, a pale gentleman in a blue uniform strolled onto the platform.
“Number Six to the Bangor node will be arriving shortly.”
Steve woke immediately and stretched. He tried to hide the wince, but I caught it.
“Still hurts?”
“Nah, just a little tight.”
My own chest panged. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
I smiled as the sound of the approaching train filled the station. Steve could be gruff and impatient, but when the chips were down, he would do what was necessary to protect others. Even at his own personal expense.
Maybe Steve was more a Shifter than he thought.
Chapter 5
Night Moves
“And so the Queen writhed, the child inside her filling her with agony.”
—The Legend of Ariadne
I love trains. Something about the clacking of wheels on tracks combined with the gentle rocking motion sends me to la-la-land faster than reading my old Warlock textbooks. I once traveled by rail to visit a girl in Savannah. Slept the whole way like a baby.
The train system used in the Underground was the exact opposite of that experience. The cars were cramped and the motion jerky. Between the random tossing of the sleeper car and Steve’s aural buzz-saw, there was no rest for the weary.
Eventually the sky turned purple, then a brilliant blue. Mercifully, Steve woke and purchased some noodles from a passing food cart. We sat in silence, munching on our chow as the train meandered the remaining miles to its destination. I pounded coffee like it was going out of style, but still couldn’t shake the heaviness in my eyes.
The sun was well above the horizon by the time we chugged to a halt inside a small brick structure. A Dwarf in the blue uniform of the Excelsior Express helped us onto the platform where I tipped him generously. He beamed with gratitude, then Steve and I trudged through the frigid winds toward the central point of the Bangor node.
“Maine in November,” I grumbled, pulling my coat tighter around me.
“Wimp.”
Being only vaguely familiar with the Centaur camp, I opted to let the insult pass since he was leading the way.
Unlike the DC node, which was a hive of bustling activity, the Bangor version of the Underground was nearly vacant. Snow packed the streets between the station and the transit point to the Centaur homeland. No fires burned in fifty-gallon drums nor was there a preponderance of homeless beasts. Every shop we passed was open, but their interiors seemed as barren as the alleys.
With our path virtually empty, we reached the edge of the node in less than an hour. Steve, using his uncanny sense of direction, found the exit in no time flat. He popped the door open, then ushered us into the human world of Bangor, Maine.
Or, in this case, the woods well outside the city.
My heart sank as I stared at the thick forest packed with snow in front of us. “Lovely.”
Steve huffed. “Not every node wants to connect directly to a city, dude. Some folks prefer seclusion.”
I shivered. “Well, they have it in spades here.”
My friend grunted incoherently, then strode confidently into the woods.
We hiked in silence. For Steve, it was because he was busy sniffing the air, then redirecting our path. For me, it was because I was heaving for breath as we trudged through the ankle-deep snow.
Dammit, I needed to work out more.
Thankfully the snow eventually lessened, which made travel faster and less embarrassing for me. By early afternoon, we were in an area that was devoid of the white stuff.
Steve scanned our surroundings. “We’ll camp here.”
Unable to do more than give him a thumbs-up, I gladly dropped my pack. Steve collected deadfall to build a fire while I chugged water and devoured beef jerky. As evening settled over the camp, the flames were kicking out some impressive heat and I was finally feeling more myself.
“How far are we from the Centaurs?” I asked, removing a peanut butter sandwich from my pack.
Steve inclined his head toward a nearby stream. “Other side of that creek. We’ll use the rope bridge a hundred meters or so to the north to cross over.”
I squinted. “How can you see that? It’s nearly dusk.”
“Minotaurs have excellent senses. Smell, eyesight, hearing, direction. It’s one of the many reasons your people used us to guard their treasures.”
“Wait, what?”
He glanced at me. “Don’t they teach you anything in Skilled school? Minotaurs were once guardians for the kings.”
“No kidding.”
He nodded.
“And
here I thought they only occupied labyrinths.”
Steve glared at me in the firelight. “That was one Minotaur, jerk.”
I chuckled, grateful to be on the giving end for once. “So what’s our plan?” I asked, changing tacks.
“For tomorrow? Wait till sunrise to cross over, then pray we don’t take an arrow to the chest.”
My sandwich flipped in my belly. “I’ve heard that Centaurs are unusually paranoid.”
Not that I blamed them. Paranormals and humans had a sketchy history, and Centaurs were treated especially horribly by my species. Some were used like pack mules, but the majority were simply butchered for being freaks of nature.
“Not to the level of Elves,” Steve said, “but they’re up there. Apparently being half human didn’t sit well with your kind back in the day.”
“Minotaurs are half human and apparently they served kings.”
“True, but the issue is in the subtlety. Minotaurs are the direct union of man and beast. Centaurs, however, were created from untamed nature. Not that the nuances between the species should matter, but apparently your ancestors had an easier time dealing with creatures that appeared more bestial on the surface than they did human. Both, by the way, wound up getting persecuted by you all in the end.”
I shook my head. Humanity wasn’t the most understanding or forgiving species on the planet, but sometimes our ability to inflict atrocities still amazed me. Thankfully, the Reformation Treaty was the first tiny step toward a new world. One in which beings like Steve and the Centaurs were accepted rather than slaughtered.
Assuming I could help keep the damn thing together long enough for that to happen.
“Man, I hope these guys are willing to listen to us.”
“Me too, but it’s anyone’s guess how they’ll react. The Underground might be a melting pot of species, but for the most part, the clans keep to themselves.”
I chewed on the inside of my lip. “Why the separation?”
“Hatred, mostly,” he admitted.
My surprise must have been etched on my face, because Steve laughed.
