“Where now?” Cowboy said, his voice still muffled through the wet T-shirt.
I stared up the walls of the glass and steel skyscraper.
“They’re in there,” I said. “I know they are.”
When I looked down, Cowboy met my gaze, his gray eyes holding agreement.
“Ayuh,” he said. “Let’s find another way in.”
We began jogging down 33rd Street, still heading east.
It didn’t get any easier as we passed the burnt-out opening in the building. People were still pouring onto 33rd, heading west from Fifth Avenue and beyond. We had to work our way through that crowd, along with the debris littering the street on that side.
It didn’t help that the crowd didn’t appear to notice we were there. People walked straight at us without looking at our faces or trying to get out of our way.
Once we turned left at Fifth and began walking north, we had to push our way through the crowd heading south, as well. When I looked over my shoulder, most of them appeared to be entering 33rd Street along with the others.
“There’s something really wrong about this,” Cowboy said, moving alongside me in a loping, deceptively-fast jog. The swords and scabbards slapped rhythmically against his back and shoulders as he pushed past shuffling, blank-eyed civilians.
I glanced at him, returning his grim expression.
Neither of us slowed our pace.
I fought not to think about Black. I knew he was in that building. For that reason, I knew I had to get inside it, too. That was really as far as I let my mind go. It was the only thought that managed to penetrate the fog of everything else going on around us.
I didn’t slow down until we reached the building’s Fifth Avenue entrance.
Velvet ropes marked off where tourists must have been standing when the bombs went off. I saw a woman crumpled there, crying, blood on her hands and face. Everyone walked by, ignoring her.
When I saw the glass doors, I skidded to a complete stop. We were close enough to the building now to be out of the main current of moving bodies.
Instead, I found myself facing a sea of blue NYPD uniforms.
Those uniformed bodies blocked the length of the double glass doors leading into the Empire State Building, from one end of the entrance’s black stone edifice to the other. Their being there shouldn’t have been strange, given what just happened, but their utter stillness, and the fact that we’d seen no other police or emergency services acting normally since we got near the bomb zone, brought me up short.
Cowboy skidded to a stop next to me, panting, his face smeared with sweat and smoke as he looked up and down the same line of strangely blank faces.
Both of us stood there, breathing hard, assessing the human barricade.
Clearly, we would have to get past them.
“What do you think?” Cowboy muttered. “Swords? Or guns?”
I raised a hand. “Wait a minute.”
Cowboy followed my cautious steps as we approached the blue line. The police officers didn’t move or speak as we drew nearer––not even to tell us to go away. They stood in an unbroken, strangely symmetrical row, aligned with unnatural precision to the straight lines of the art deco building’s brushed-metal door frames. Their facial expressions and eyes were equally blank, yet oddly focused, as if they looked through or past us in some way.
“What now?” Cowboy muttered, still breathing harder than normal.
“Let’s see if I can push them,” I said.
I frowned though, skeptical.
From the looks of them, someone had pushed their minds pretty hard already.
Slipping into the psychic space, I tried first on the cop standing directly in front of me, an athletic-looking woman who stood as tall as most of the men. Pulled back severely in a braided bun, her dark brown hair contrasted a round, young-looking face with full lips. Pencil-sharpened eyebrows framed widely-spaced brown eyes.
Let us into the building. I pushed at her mind, trying to impress the thoughts upon her light. Remembering what Black had done with those other cops, I added, We’re with Homeland Security. Your boss called you about us.
It didn’t feel right, though.
Instead of coming up against the resistance of her free will or her duty as a cop, it felt like my light hit up against empty air. I couldn’t get any purchase; it was like she wasn’t there at all. After a few seconds of trying, I clicked out.
When my vision cleared, I saw the woman’s eyes focused directly on mine. That strangely blank, indifferent expression remained on her face as she pointed north, up Fifth Avenue.
“You need to use the next entrance, Dr. Fox,” she said politely.
Cowboy flinched. His hand went to his gun.
“…You want to enter on 34th Street,” she explained. “This is for tourists only.”
Glancing at me, Cowboy scowled. He took a threatening step forward, his hand still on the butt of his gun as he faced the uniformed cop.
“What did you call her?” he said.
“Dr. Fox.” The female cop shifted the direction of her gaze. She stared at Cowboy, her voice reflecting the same distant, far-seeing affect as her eyes. “She is Dr. Miriam Fox. We were told she was coming. Possibly alone. Possibly not alone. Either eventuality could be accommodated, within reason.” Her blank stare returned to me. “This human is welcome. You may both proceed to the entrance on 34th Street, and to the lobby inside.”
I frowned, glancing at Cowboy.
“You try callin’ Charles?” he said.
I shook my head. “Should I?”
No, a voice whispered in my mind. No, doc.
I cocked my head, listening. I heard nothing––only the shuffling of the crowd’s feet behind us as they made their way south to 33rd Street.
Cowboy frowned, as if thinking. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know. Ravi was heading in this direction, last we knew. He might be running his own game. He might be with Charles. Either way, it might be good for us to ascertain the nature o’ that game?”
I nodded, slow.
Still, I continued to frown.
Don’t call Charles, the voice whispered. Ilya. Trust me.
I glanced up the length of the steel and glass structure.
The female cop repeated her instructions in the same placid voice.
“This entrance is for tourists only,” she said. “Please proceed to the northern entrance on 34th Street. The elevators will take you up to the 29th Floor.”
Cowboy and I exchanged another look.
“Why would I do that?” I said, turning back to the woman.
I rested my hand deliberately on the butt of my own sidearm, mostly to see what effect it might have on the line of police.
They didn’t react at all.
The female police officer didn’t so much as blink.
“Your husband is waiting for you, Dr. Fox,” she said, her intonation the same as before. “Whether or not that means anything to you is, of course, up to you.”
“Who am I talking to?” I said, sharper. “Who is speaking through you?”
Next to me, I felt a whisper of approval from Cowboy for asking the question.
The woman returned my gaze, unblinking.
When she didn’t answer after a few seconds more, I glanced at Cowboy.
“We need to go.” After a pause, I firmed my voice. “I have to go, Cowboy. But you don’t. Maybe you should stay here. They seemed a little too happy you might be coming along. You can help the others cover us from here.”
He looked at me, not answering for a moment.
After the pause ended, he shrugged, unholstering the Colt Python.
“We’ll hold off on using the swords,” he said, cocking the gun and holding it down by his thigh. “For now, at least. They seem to be using humans out here, so we stick to guns. Save our strength for when we need it. Agreed?”
After a pause, I nodded.
“Come on, then,” he said. He jerked his chin north. Exhaling loudly, he added,
“Whether it’s vampires or Black killing me presently, I don’t see’s how a delay will benefit either of us.”
Nodding, I couldn’t help but give him a faint smile.
34TH STREET WAS almost entirely empty.
The only people I saw consisted of a small cluster of school-age kids in uniforms, sitting and lying in the road, looking up at the Empire State Building with blank expressions. From their faces, they didn’t really know where they were. They almost looked like they were waiting for someone to come along and tell them what to do.
Cowboy walked right up to them.
“Go home,” he said. “All a’y’all now. Git on home. It ain’t safe here.”
They looked up at him, eyes wide, jaws slack.
I watched them take in his appearance, with the twin sword hilts crossing behind his head, his cut up and bruised face and blood-covered torn jeans, the Colt Python gripped in his hand, the soot and smoke on his face and hair. They looked at him like he was a character out of a comic book.
“Go on!” Cowboy waved at them, frowning. “Git. Scat.”
They scrambled back, scattering when he took a menacing step towards them. Jogging out of his reach, they headed for Fifth Avenue, walking fast and looking back over their shoulders at him, clutching backpacks and bags.
We continued towards the Empire State Building’s north lobby.
It felt strange to be jogging along the street with only Cowboy, watching smoke plume up from the other side of the building. On Fifth and Avenue of the Americas, we could still see the twin currents of pedestrians walking south towards 33rd. They walked in almost total silence apart from the sound of their clothes rustling, and the shuffling of shoes and feet.
When we reached the entrance in the middle of the block, it was completely open.
It hit me that the restaurants and shop fronts that lived in the ground floor of the Empire State complex were all dark and empty, as well. Some were locked with closed metal gates, but others stood empty with doors and windows ajar, the “OPEN” signs still hanging on doors and windows. The power appeared to be out on the block as well. I checked my watch even as we slowed our pace, reaching the glass doors.
3:47 p.m.
I stared up the height of the glass, stone and steel structure, then looked at Cowboy.
Two sets of doors led into the lobby. One was a revolving door. The other was propped open a few inches by someone’s shoe. We didn’t say anything to one another but both walked to the door with the shoe. I could see small wisps of smoke coming out.
Cowboy stepped in front of me before I could grab the handle.
Gun up, he took hold of the door, tugging it the rest of the way open. A rush of hot air greeted us when he did, and a much stronger smell of smoke.
I looked past him into the dim space. The air was smoky, which I expected, although no where near as bad as I feared. I didn’t see any fire.
“How would the elevators even be working?” I muttered.
“We’ll look for stairs,” Cowboy said.
“But she said elevators,” I reminded him, renewing my grip on my own gun and frowning. “She was pretty specific. Elevators. 29th Floor.”
Returning my frown, Cowboy met my gaze.
Then, exhaling, he tugged the piece of shirt he still had tied around his neck up so that the damp cloth covered his nose and mouth once more. Waiting for me to do the same, he motioned with his head for me to follow him inside.
We ventured into the building, me right at Cowboy’s elbow, the Glock I carried out of the holster and resting by my thigh, pointed at the tile floor.
The corridor remained dim as the glass door shut on the shoe.
The air was warm. Already I was sweating.
We passed stores with windows and partial glass walls on either side as we traversed the length of the corridor. They stood dark and empty, metal gates closed and locked. Up ahead, I saw a flickering and static-y wall monitor hanging past what looked like facing rows of elevator doors. Above us and stretching towards the center of the building, black paint on gold-colored metal depicted suns, moons and stars in art deco style; they looked more like machine wheels and alchemical symbols than celestial bodies.
At the end of the hall, a stone balcony cut into the upper part of the wall, forming a second floor above the elevators. Emergency lights flickered in the alcoves of that upper level, illuminating a pyramid-shaped, art deco chandelier.
We passed under the balcony. Immediately, the ceiling felt claustrophobically low.
Dropping my gaze, I looked for any signs indicating where the stairs might be.
Neither of us stopped moving in the direction of the elevators, however.
Once we entered the main bank, I stopped to look around, wondering if they still had power. Noting the narrow security stands positioned in the wall between sets of elevator doors, their key-card scanners glowing faintly, I decided they probably did.
When I took a closer look at the security panels, it occurred to me that we might need to find stairs after all, if we couldn’t get the elevators to work.
After another few seconds of thought, however, it struck me that we’d likely need a key card to access floors via the staircase, as well. Glancing towards the security desk at the end of the corridor, I wondered if they’d have extra cards for guards and guests.
I was still looking that way, about to nudge Cowboy to follow me over there, when the elevator car directly to my right let out a low ping.
Cowboy and I both flinched and turned.
The doors, with their black, symmetrical designs etched in the metal, slowly opened.
A man in a red bell-hop’s uniform grew visible, standing just inside the doors. He bent down as I watched, extending an arm and fingers towards the inside wall of the elevator car. From his position and angle, he had his finger pressed on one of the buttons.
“Going up?” he asked politely.
Next to me, Cowboy muttered, “Is it just me, or is this starting to feel like we just walked into that movie about the people-eating hotel?”
When neither of us moved, I motioned towards the bell-hop.
“Well? What do you think?” I asked him.
He snorted. “What do I think? I think you can’t possibly imagine any of this is a good idea, Miri.”
“Of course it’s not a good idea!” I snapped. Biting my lip, I swallowed back a more caustic retort. “But we’re not going to surprise them. And letting them get to us with this crap isn’t going to help us… or Black.” I paused. “Do you really think the stairs would be better?”
After another hesitation, Cowboy pursed his lips.
“No,” he said, exhaling, his voice reluctant. “And it’d be worse when we got to the top. We’d be tired after hauling ass up twenty-nine floors. And then there’s this heat.”
“And the time,” I reminded him.
Cowboy nodded, aiming a grim look at the bell-hop. “Ayuh. I can feel us running out of that, too.”
Glancing at my watch, I didn’t bother to answer. I felt the same thing.
I looked at the uniformed elevator operator. He gazed placidly back at me with soft brown eyes, his body slightly bent over the elevator panel, his finger likely jammed down on the open-doors button. He had to be in his late fifties, at least, with gray hair visible under the pillbox hat, along with a hound-dog face.
Looking at him now, I noticed a red mark on his neck I’d missed, a visible crescent just above the collar of his bell-hop’s coat.
It was the same place that blond woman had bitten Black at the party.
Anger blinded me briefly at the thought.
Refocusing on the bell-hop, however, I wasn’t overly worried about our immediate safety. He clearly wasn’t a vampire. I was reasonably sure either Cowboy or I could take him, single-handed, provided I was right.
I highly doubted it would come to that, though.
Clearly, we were invited.
Adjusting the piece of Cowboy’s T-shirt
over my nose and mouth, I walked towards the open elevator doors, entering the car but not getting too close to the man inside. Cowboy followed close behind. Once inside, he inserted his body between me and the elevator operator. He didn’t holster his gun, but aimed it directly at the man’s head, cocking it deliberately.
The man in the old-fashioned bell-hop uniform only smiled.
“Floor, sir?”
“29th,” Cowboy said testily. “But you knew that, right?”
“Of course, sir,” he replied at once, cheerful. “But it behooves one to ask.”
“Behoove away. Just hit the damned button.”
If Cowboy’s gun pointed at the man’s head bothered him, I saw no sign of it whatsoever on the bell-hop’s large-boned face. Like the cops at the Fifth Avenue entrance, the elevator operator’s gaze remained distant, as if he looked at something through our bodies, or possibly on the other side of the tile and metal elevator car walls.
I watched him punch the button for the 29th Floor, then the doors were closing.
Despite how old it looked, the elevator really moved.
I barely had time to think about how stupid we were being, walking into the middle of what was undoubtedly a vampire den, when the elevator was already slowing to a stomach-flipping halt. The doors pinged seconds later.
Slowly, they began to open.
I found myself facing a mortar and stone wall, like something you’d see in the countryside of Scotland, or maybe Wales. In front of it stood a long, bright-green reception desk that worked harmoniously somehow with the light-colored stones. A low couch sat to the left of the reception desk. The desk itself was empty but for two giant computer monitors and an ergonomic keyboard. The high-backed office chair, a green mesh to match the desk, was empty. So were the scattered chairs and the couch.
The only occupant of the lobby I saw was a purple octopus living inside a giant, wall-length aquarium built into the stone wall, not far from the forest green suede couch.
Renewing my grip on my gun, I followed Cowboy into the lobby.
I’d never been here before. I’d never been anywhere inside the Empire State Building before, apart from the tourist areas. Yet I knew, somehow, where to go.
Cowboy seemed to know, too.
Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World Page 32
