8
The subway train rocketed below the earth as if determined to burrow its way straight into the deepest and darkest pits of Hell.
Cyon and I pushed our way through the throng of commuters crowding the number 9 train. Judging by the demon’s snarl and murderous gaze, he wasn’t having the time of his life. Couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t a fan of mass transit myself. People stepping on your feet and massaging you with their elbows wasn’t my idea of a good time. The air reeked of too many overworked and overstressed folks packed too close together.
As usual, our timing sucked. Rush hour had arrived, and the trains were full. Cyon eyed the tired commuters with thinly veiled contempt.
“Who are these people? Can’t they afford cars?”
“Not in this city.” I thought of my earlier road rage and added, “Besides, traffic aboveground is even worse.”
Cyon shook his head and gritted his teeth. “You wanted to know what Hell feels like? This is it.”
“Only one of us gets to make the lame jokes around here,” I said.
“Who said I was joking?”
I tuned out Cyon’s voice and focused on the task at hand. My demonic scar failed to pick up any paranormal impressions from the train. Maybe all the shoving and cursing was distracting me. Getting around the Cursed City was a contact sport for these commuters. The train stopped, and a mass of people jostled their way to the exit.
Archer is trapped somewhere far worse, I told myself as I fought my way through the surging knot of humanity. I needed to reach the platform and push my way onto the next car before the train started moving again. My plan was simple: check out every car and see if either Cyon or I could detect anything unusual. If black magic was active on this train, the scar on my chest should pick up on it.
Unfortunately, we had to try seven cars before we hit pay dirt.
Pain raced through me, icy fingers of agony pressing into flesh and muscle, and I gnashed my teeth. It felt like someone had doused me with burning gasoline. No doubt about it, occult forces were active in this subway, concentrated in this one car.
I swapped a look with Cyon, and he mirrored my grave expression.
“You’re picking it up too, huh?” I asked.
The demon nodded. “This is the train’s occult energy source,” he confirmed while eying me thoughtfully. “I would very much like to search this subway car. Ideally when it’s less crowded. There is nothing we can do right now.”
Part of me wanted to protest, all too aware how valuable time had become, but Cyon was right. At the moment, our options were limited.
We squeezed our way out of the subway car at the next stop and headed to the surface. The polluted city air felt delicious after the stuffy subway ride.
We needed to regroup and discuss our next move, so I led Cyon to the nearest coffee shop. The café was only about half full, with a few students pounding away on their laptops and an elderly group of friends chatting away in hushed tones at one table. Jazz drifted from the speakers, adding to the laid-back vibe of the place. I immediately felt tension ease from my shoulders as I inhaled the familiar smell of coffee. I hadn’t even realized how anxious I’d been since learning of Archer’s disappearance.
I ordered the largest, blackest coffee on the menu. Cyon, to my surprise, selected a sparkling water flavored with fruit. At four bucks for a small can, the real Skulick would have called it a real rip-off. We took seats at a table in the far corner of the shop. I wanted to make sure no one listened in on our conversation even though most people wouldn’t be able to make heads or tail of the craziness we were about to discuss.
I drummed my fingers against the table to the visible displeasure of my demonic partner. Every second we sat here was a second where Archer remained stranded in another world. A world where my greatest enemy wielded absolute power.
“I know you’re worried about Miss Archer, but we have to be patient,” Cyon said. He cracked open his beverage and took a sip.
Cyon was right. I had to stop fretting over Archer and focus on the problem at hand. Except that every time I tried, my thoughts were swamped with worry and fear for the woman I loved.
I took a long pull of coffee and willed myself to start thinking like a professional monster hunter again. Archer needed me to do my job. “Okay, why is the magic concentrated only in one car?”
Cyon’s eyes narrowed as he spoke. “It takes an enormous amount of energy to breach two worlds. To pull even a single subway car into the dimension of fear—”
“Would be a mean feat,” I said, nodding.
“Would overload most spells,” Cyon said, slightly irritated at the interruption.
“So let me get this straight. Only one car enters Hell while the rest of train remains in our reality?”
“That would be my guess.”
And it only happens between the hours of midnight and two a.m., I thought. At least that’s when the missing people were last seen boarding the train—including Archer.
“So if you find yourself in the wrong subway car at the wrong time and are foolish enough to get off at the wrong station...”
“You’ll end up stepping into a living nightmare without a return ticket,” Cyon concluded.
A frown furrowed my brows. “What could trigger enough magic to make a subway car pass between realities? And who would want a subway train to make sporadic pit stops in Hell?”
“Excellent questions, Raven. Unfortunately, I don’t have the answers yet.”
Another idea popped into my head. “Why don’t we just ride the train after midnight?”
“And see if it stops in the Bone City?”
I shrugged. It sounded like it would be worth a shot.
Cyon leaned closer. His eyes narrowed, voice becoming intense. “Let’s say it works. We transition over. How do you expect us to get back? Do we simply wait for the next train to arrive? And what if the train doesn’t always enter the same realm? What if we end up somewhere unknown? You don’t want to get lost in Hell.”
I believed him. Who in their right mind would even want to go to Hell in the first place? My concern for Archer was making me throw all caution to the wind.
“Here is my advice if you want to save Miss Archer and Skulick. Don’t get yourself killed first.”
I slammed another jolt of caffeine into my system. “Good talk, bud. Thanks for clarifying that.”
“Be patient, Raven,” Cyon said. “We will look at the train once it stops running for the night, figure out what’s making the train cross over, and use what we learn for our own purposes.”
I must not have looked convinced because the demon actually reached out and patted my hand, just once, before adding, “Archer will be fine. She’s faced horrors before.”
Not like this, I thought but kept my mouth shut. I knew Cyon was trying to make me feel better. Or at least stop me from making a rash decision.
Resigned, I palmed my cell and prepared to make a call. “Okay, let’s do this your way, Cyon. I’ll find out when the number 9 train retires for the evening.”
I put in a call to the transit authority. I almost shouted with joy when I reached a live person within ten minutes of fighting my way through one irritating phone menu after another. Once done, I announced, “We have a date, partner. The number 9 train makes its last trip around three. The train then proceeds to a downtown subway yard near Boyle Avenue and Ninth.”
“Excellent,” Cyon said. He finished his sparkling water and set it down on the table.
“What can we expect to find out there?”
“I have a theory. But why even speculate at this point? We’ll know soon enough what we’re up against here.”
I looked askance at Cyon, but I knew better than to press him to share his theories. The demon wouldn’t give up any information unless he wanted to.
“Sounds like we have about eight hours to kill,” I said.
“I’m going back to the warehouse to continue my research. Why don’t you us
e the time to catch up on some sleep?”
I stared at Cyon. Did the demon expect me to take a nap while the woman I loved was trapped in a dimension of unearthly horrors?
Cyon shrugged. “It’s your call, Raven. If you won’t rest, you better get another double espresso. It will be a long night.”
I decided to tag along with Cyon. It’s not that I didn’t trust him, but I wanted to be around in case he discovered anything new. We returned to the grim warehouse where the Crimson Circle had committed mass suicide, and after several hours with nothing to occupy my time, I started to feel sleepy. While Cyon flipped through the copies of the Daemonium and tried to solve mystical puzzles I’d rather not dwell on, I felt my eyelids grow heavy. Cyon was a ball of energy, a formidable force of nature. I envied the demon to a degree. He was hitching a ride in a human body, but he didn’t share the needs of most people made of flesh and blood. He ate about as often as your average supermodel and could go with almost no sleep. I couldn’t remember him every taking a break, much less a power nap. Cyon’s physical shell limited him in some ways, but he was more than human. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about yours truly. At least not anymore.
I shook myself and sat up straighter on the bench where I’d been dozing. Did I miss the strength and endurance I’d experienced while I shared my body with Cyon? Did I actually miss being possessed?
Talk about a disturbing thought. I sure as hell didn’t miss Cyon’s sarcastic voice in my head. And I certainly didn’t miss the disfigured demon hand.
Before I knew it, I conked out again. Cyon’s face was the first thing I saw when my eyes flipped open.
“It’s time, partner.”
I scanned my watch. Shit, Cyon wasn’t kidding. It was almost two a.m. I’d been out cold for six hours. I felt well rested, if a little stiff from sleeping on the hard bench, and energized and ready to take on the underworld.
We arrived at the subway train depot about forty minutes later. The place put most haunted houses to shame. Some dedicated yards are above ground, some below. Naturally, this one was underground. The city stored the number 9 on a half-finished, now-abandoned express track. Our flashlights lanced the dark tunnels, and I could make out strange graffiti written in Russian. Probably evidence of gang activity, but it wasn’t the human threat that scared me. The subterranean depot gave me the chills and made my imagination run wild. What sort of beasts could hide in these shadows?
“Are you all right, Raven?”
I flashed Cyon an empty smile. To the demon’s twisted worldview, this shadowy tomb probably looked like a tropical paradise. Once again, I wondered if I could go through with this. How would I fare once we entered a realm that would make this tunnel look like Disney World? Could mortals brave such a place without losing their minds?
I guess you’ll find out soon enough.
The beams of our flashlights looked like ghosts in the poorly illuminated tunnel. Condensation coated the walls, and strange sounds echoed through the network of tunnels. I identified the source for some of them: the wind whistling down narrow passageways, rats skittering among the tracks, other trains tearing through the city’s stone arteries, the distance distorting the roar of the iron behemoths that called this underworld home into something more bestial. Then there were noises which defied understanding and description. Weird pounding vibrations that seemed to emanate from the stone itself. Low moans that suffused this underground realm with an eerie life of its own.
I did my best to block out all these creepy noises. We had a job to do.
It didn’t take us long to locate the number 9 train. It loomed quietly on the express track like a beached, robotic whale. In the darkness, it looked strangely organic.
We walked the length of the train, our lights mapping the way. Within minutes my scar throbbed. We had reached the subway car where the black magic was most active.
“This is it,” I said unnecessarily. Cyon could feel it too.
He nodded and explored the subway with his flashlight. The car gleamed in the milky light, its surface unblemished. No one had tried to graffiti the number 9 train. Even the taggers could tell something wasn’t right with this subway car. Dark forces were active here.
Following a sudden instinct, I bent down and pointed my flashlight underneath train. As my beam of light stabbed the darkness of the undercarriage, a few rats fled. Cyon crouched down beside me. Light danced over the wheels and the cluster of machinery. I wasn’t an engineer, but everything looked kosher to my untrained eyes. But physical senses can deceive you when dealing with the supernatural. The pain in my scar intensified, which meant I was closing in on the infernal power source. Before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped into the black space below the train. Morgal’s mark would be my guide.
A cloying sense of claustrophobia gripped me. Unforgiving steel and unfathomable shadows enclosed me like a coffin. My pulse quickened, and my breath hitched in my throat.
“Stay calm,” Cyon advised. “I’m right here.”
I steadied my breathing the way Skulick had taught me all those years ago and focused on the job at hand. On Archer. I hadn’t climbed under this train in search of some sick thrill. I was here for a damn good reason.
Putting this insanity in those terms helped me regain my cool. I kept sliding my way under the train, the tracks digging into my back while I concentrated on my scar. The pain ebbed and flowed. If I moved in one direction, the agony subsided somewhat, so I shifted my body the other way.
I don’t know how long I explored the world under the subway car. Time became meaningless. When my flashlight landed on a strangely adorned box lodged below the center of the train, previously hidden by machinery, I knew I’d hit pay dirt.
“Have you found something?” Cyon asked.
Instead of answering immediately, I reached out and touched the box. The moment my fingers connected, my whole body contorted with pain, a wave of black magic rippling down my spine.
I stifled a cry.
This was it. I’d located the train’s magical power source. As I studied it in the beam of the flashlight, I realized I was familiar with this highly adorned, coffin-shaped box. Skulick had called it the Devil’s Coffin. It contained the ashes of a demon he and my father had slain before I was even born. I had last seen the accursed thing inside our vault before the Crimson Circle had raided it. And that meant, a surviving member of the super cult must’ve placed it here!
9
Archer followed the woman down a tubular shaft into the yawning darkness below. Human rib bones, bleached clean of all flesh, formed the rungs of a ladder. Archer gagged and fought back her disgust and mounting claustrophobia. A smell of putrefying meat pervaded the tight space. She had momentarily escaped the wraiths, but her nightmare was far from over.
Archer had tried to pry information from her rescuer, but each time she’d cut her off. “We aren’t safe here. Soon.”
Archer reluctantly bit her tongue. The stranger seemed to believe the hooded spooks might appear at a moment’s notice and refused to let her guard down until they reached some sort of a haven. Archer couldn’t imagine that such a place could exist in this city of the Damned. She wondered again why the mysterious woman was helping her. Who was she? And where were they going? Being kept in suspense like this was driving her crazy.
Archer lost all sense of time as they continued their descent down the narrow shaft. She honestly couldn’t tell whether minutes or hours had passed before they set foot on solid ground again. Her feeling of disorientation was growing. Maybe it was the air she was breathing. It seemed tainted with ash and sulfur. Her throat felt dry, and her chest itched.
The mysterious woman grabbed her hand again, and she allowed the woman to pull her along. Archer was at her mercy—a feeling she absolutely hated. Her muscles ached from the exertion of the long descent, and she wanted to rest. She wanted a cold beer. She wanted to be home.
The bottom of the shaft opened into a narrow passageway m
ade of black stone, and soon they emerged in a far wider tunnel dominated by a heavy stream of water. Correction: not water but a disgusting green sludge that roared down the winding tunnel system. The unidentifiable substance radiated a spectral light that painted grotesques shadow on the tunnel walls. The place reminded her of a storm drain.
Archer lagged behind, her feet dragging. She was exhausted, scared, and frustrated. The stranger noticed that she wasn’t keeping pace with her any longer.
“We need to keep moving,” the woman said. “The Soulless don’t venture down here, but there are other dangers.”
“I don’t care. I want to know who you are and why you’re helping me.”
“You don’t understand…”
“Then make me understand.” The words came out sharper than she intended, her pent-up frustration boiling over. “I can’t keep following you into the dark without even knowing where I am.”
“Don’t you already know?” The woman’s voice had become a raspy whisper.
Archer’s rescuer stepped closer. Phosphorescent green light washed over her from the slimy river. Archer’s eyes widened. The woman’s long gray coat had parted, revealing gaping wounds in her neck and chest. Archer recognized those injuries, had seen them way too many times. Bullet wounds. And judging from the entry points, they would have been lethal. Blood bubbled from the cratered skin. How could this woman be standing in front of her? Unless…
Unless she isn’t alive anymore.
The woman’s eyes lit up with a red, inhuman light, and Archer recoiled. Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t pushed for answers. Panicking, she drew her Glock.
“You can’t kill that which is already dead,” the woman said matter-of-factly.
“You’d be surprised,” Archer said. “It’s kind what I do for a living these days.”
The stranger sighed and closed her jacket. Archer was grateful not to have to keep staring at the wounds.
“You’re in Hell, and I’m one of the Damned. Does that clear things up for you?”
Hell Breaker (Shadow Detective Book 9) Page 5
