“Penny for your thoughts?” Wyatt’s voice bounced through the narrow tunnel.
“It’ll cost you at least a dollar,” I replied.
“Got change for a twenty?”
I smiled. The tunnel bent sharply to the right—our assigned direction. I almost missed a left-bearing junction, its entrance less than half the height of the tunnel. The floor was rougher, the walls spotted with roots and loose dirt.
“Must be the split that Horzt mentioned,” Wyatt said.
“Looks like. Where do you think it goes?”
“Somewhere else in the city.”
“Duh.” I crouched in front of the rougher entrance, intrigued by its age and the faint breeze trickling out.
“Evy, come on.”
I looked at him over my shoulder and winked. “It’s the path apparently never taken, Wyatt. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Hiding behind my free will.”
I wasn’t serious about exploring the rocky tunnel and only meant to tease, but his comment startled me. I stood up, heat in my cheeks and hands on my hips, and managed to scrape both elbows on the rocky wall. Ignoring the pain, I glared at him. It was rendered somewhat ineffective by the near-dark.
“What the hell, Wyatt?”
“What? I don’t think we should go exploring a strange tunnel when Horzt told us to go this way.” He jacked his thumb down the right curve.
I didn’t particularly want to, either, but that was no longer the point. “You used to trust my instincts.”
“I still do, Evy. I just don’t trust mine.”
“Since when?”
“Since now. Since all of this.”
“I still trust you.”
“How the hell can you? Everything happening now is because of me. You’re in Hell again when you should be at peace, making choices no one should have to make, because I let someone manipulate my emotions. I did this to you. How can you trust me?”
Shadows darkened his face, making it nearly impossible to read. Only his eyes sparkled brightly. I reached out, but he shied away from my touch. The simple action, more than any of his words, hurt.
“Accepting responsibility and casting blame aren’t the same things, Wyatt. I know why this is happening, and I know who’s responsible, but that doesn’t mean I blame you, because I don’t. Blaming you won’t change it, won’t find a solution, and it won’t make me feel better.” I poked him hard in the chest. “And I will not let you use my imaginary blame as an excuse for your own self-hatred. You were made a fool of and there’s no changing that, so get the hell over it.”
“Get over it?” The dug walls vibrated under the force of his angry tenor. “You aren’t the one being prepped to host an ancient demon, Evy.”
“No, I was the one brought back from the dead to relay important information I don’t fucking have.” Another circular argument, getting us nowhere. “Can we please stop playing Who Got the Worse Deal? Our primary goal has not changed, and that is stopping Tovin before he can bring something across First Break. The rest of our personal bullshit can wait.”
“For when, exactly? The day after tomorrow?”
“If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
He frowned, glittering eyes searching my face. “Don’t tell me you believe in a happy ending now?”
“I believe that the next twenty hours are still mine to do with as I wish. Am I prepared to die again to stop Tovin? Yes. Would I rather find a loophole that lets both of us live? Most definitely yes. Until I am faced with death or a demon, I’m going to keep looking for that loophole. How about you?”
His hand slipped around my waist, and I pressed close, my arms encircling his neck. I received his answer in that hug. It offered the promise of hope. And, in the face of impending death, a promise was better than nothing.
**;*
The tunnel narrowed after thirty more yards. We were reduced to crawling on our hands and knees over packed dirt and the occasional exposed root or rock. I cut my palms several times, but the pain was refreshing, almost invigorating. It marked our progress.
After what felt like a mile, the glowing orbs disappeared. Caught in pitch black, we slowed even more. I swept my hand in front of my face before each step, imagining all sorts of creepy things ahead—spiderwebs or worse. But beyond dirt and more dirt, the tunnel remained empty.
“Too bad you need both hands for crawling,” I said. “We could use some sunshine in here.”
“Next time, I’ll be sure to ask the sprites for a flashlight.”
“And a bottle of water. I think I’ve swallowed enough dust to shit a brick later.”
Wyatt started laughing. The sound echoed, painfully loud, but it was contagious. I found myself giggling as I limped along on hands and knees, waiting for that elusive light at the end of the tunnel. The kind I was prepared to follow.
It appeared, as if out of nowhere, twenty minutes later. I blinked, sure I was hallucinating. But it seemed to get larger the closer I got, and I realized soon that I could see my hands in front of my eyes.
“Finally,” I muttered.
“Go quietly, Evy. We don’t know where we are.”
I swallowed a “Duh,” and plodded along. Every breath seemed too loud, every heartbeat like thunder. The tunnel never widened. The light remained steady, its yellow glare marred by a black pattern. Something was in front of the exit. A bush, maybe?
The refreshing coolness of moving air whispered across my cheeks. I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweetness. Anything was better than the damp, basement air we’d been breathing for two hours. Then I became aware of something else new. Music thrummed all around us, a steady rock beat that was all sound and no words. Dance music. Strange for that hour of the morning.
And it wasn’t a bush that covered the tunnel exit; it was a wire-mesh grate. I scooted closer and squinted out. We were in a weed-filled ditch, half lit by the cloudy morning sun. The pulsing music came from somewhere behind—probably a nightclub that never closed. I smelled cigarettes and gasoline and exhaust. Definitely near the parking lot.
I pushed at the grate, and it gave without hesitation. I moved it only a few inches at first, then stopped and listened, but heard no voices or footsteps. I pushed it a bit more. Still nothing, so I pushed until I could slide through, into the dry ditch bed. I peeked out, expecting a red-feathered dart at any moment.
The ditch did, indeed, border a nightclub parking lot. T.D.’s was a popular joint, more because guys got a kick out of saying the name than for its class or dollar-per-beer value. The other two sides of the parking lot butted up against the bare brick sides of other buildings. The only street access was from an alley between T.D.’s and its neighbor. I knew the place.
“We’re in the Lot,” I said.
I scuttled farther down the ditch so Wyatt could climb out. The sky was overcast and threatening rain. Moisture hung in the air like a damp sweater. Once Wyatt was by my side, we made a mad dash for the nearest parked car.
“I think I know where we are,” Wyatt whispered. “Rufus’s apartment is six blocks from here.”
“Won’t they be watching it?”
“They who?”
“Any they. The Triads or the Halfies?”
“The Triads won’t watch it; they won’t see the need with Rufus in the hospital. If he wants to contact us, that’s probably our best way.”
“What about the Halfies?”
“They left him for dead.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
He turned his head, winked. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
