Cal let out a long, shuddering sigh. “You changed my mind about humans, Aoife. You showed me they’re not all roaches. But we’re not getting out of here.”
“You’d better hope we are,” I said. “Because Draven needs me alive for now. He gave the order to beat you senseless himself. You’re expendable.” I scooted closer to him, implored him with my gaze. “We need each other, Cal. No matter what you really think of me, if you want to keep breathing, we have to run before they come back. Now, you’ve been here at least once before. What can you tell me about Ravenhouse?” Below the water table as we were, trapped in the bowels with layers of Proctors above us, my little trick of opening doors wouldn’t do any good. I needed variables, options, a plan.
I heard Cal’s tongue flick out, tasting the blood on his lips. I tried to ignore his small, starved groan. “There’s a sewer main under the cell block,” he said. “Old main. Before the Army Corps dug the new underground. I used to hunt there … with my brothers.”
“Boss,” Dean said. “And we’re locked above it in a concrete cell with an iron door and two hundred Proctors who want us fried on the other side.”
“Give me meat,” Cal harshed, “and I can get us out.”
Dean looked at me. “You really want to help this critter get stronger?”
“He knows he’s just cannon fodder to Draven,” I insisted. “And he has as much to lose as we do staying here.”
Dean whistled through his teeth. “I just hope this plan is better than your last one.”
I gave him a dirty look even though he couldn’t see it. “Why don’t you find him something to eat?” I could tell by sound that there were many more living things in the cell than Dean, Cal and me. I held Cal’s head cradled in my lap, stroking the few strands of hair left on his lumpy skull to keep him awake, trying not to pull away from the feel of his clammy new skin. Dean felt along the floor of the cell and came up with a squealing, thrashing rat. “Just what the doctor ordered.”
I shied away. “Don’t make me touch that.”
Dean crouched next to Cal. “Fresh meat, buddy. Open your trap.”
Cal reached up feebly and grabbed for the rat. It screeched, and disappeared into his gullet in two bites. I had thought my gag reflex was exhausted, but it clamped again at the sight of the wriggling tail between Cal’s lips.
After a moment of chewing, Cal sat up shakily. He opened his mouth, unhinging his jaw by degrees, and dug his clawed hands into the floor. “You feel it, Erlkin?” he growled at Dean. “Below our feet?”
Dean’s brow quirked, and he placed his hand against the cell block floor. “He’s right. Something’s down there.”
Cal lay down, his cheek against the floor. He let out a low wail, notes spiraling and twisting. The dirge changed, lilting and high, then moaning and low. Cal sang, and my shoulder began to hurt, a twinge I was beginning to recognize as the shoggoth venom responding to its fellow monsters.
It was a beautiful song, the ghoul’s song, full of pain and loss and hope.
When Cal finished, my eyes were hot with tears. Dean coughed once. “That helps us how, exactly?”
“Just wait …,” Cal cooed. “My blood will answer me.…”
A rumble came from below, a thud, and the drain in the floor lifted out of its seat. Cal scrabbled at it with his claws. “Help me!”
A ghoul paw burst from below, and Cal grabbed it.
“Me, Toby,” Cal said, as the floor around the drain collapsed with a rumble of stone and mortar, splashing into the water below where an old sewer main laid bare. “It’s really me.”
Outside the cell, a guard shouted.
“Go,” Cal rasped at Dean and me, gesturing to the hole. “Run for your lives.”
I snatched at his bare arm. His skin was loose now, papery like that of a man decades older, and his face was hollow-eyed and grim. A rictus grin showed off his teeth. Not the Cal I knew. Except in the eyes. His eyes were still Cal’s.
“You’re coming with us. You have to.”
“Get your cute little rear down that hole!” Dean shouted. “More Proctors are coming!”
Cal stared back at the door. It rattled as the guard struggled to cycle the hatch. “He smells like fear.”
“If you kill him,” I said, “Draven will be right. You’ll just be an animal on his leash. Come with us, Cal. Forget Draven.”
The longest seconds of my life went by while Cal crouched at the edge of the hole in the floor, staring hungrily between me and the door.
Then he jumped into the hole next to me, and Dean followed him. “Move, Aoife! That guard will shoot you in one more second!”
“Wait!” I cried, realizing that I was missing something. “The book! The witch’s alphabet and the tools are still back there with Draven!”
“No time!” Dean jerked me farther into the sewer. I thrashed, fighting in earnest against him.
“I have to get the book!”
Dean met my eyes. “It’s too
Sick at my failure, I followed him down the tunnel. Wood and brick dust dropped into the slowly trickling water below.
Behind us a Proctor bellowed for us to halt, in the name of reason. Dean squeezed my hand. “I’m right behind you.”
I ran into the dark without looking back.
34
THE SEWER MAIN was ancient and close, cold running water up to my shins. Dean caught me and held me up when I turned my ankle on the jagged bricks that hid beneath the fetid water.
Cal and the other ghoul loped ahead of us, panting. “This way,” Cal growled. “Two lefts, then a right.”
I followed his bobbing head until the sounds of the pursuing Proctors faded, and then climbed out of the slough and huddled against the wall. It was too much. Cal, his true face, this escape with more of the same monsters who had tried to devour me in Arkham—I had to stop and regain my equilibrium before I lost it for good.
I felt the madness, stronger than ever, scraping at the back of my brain. No math could will it away now. Especially since I knew it wasn’t infection, but something I couldn’t name or control.
Cal stopped as well, and kicked off his shoes and socks. His toes curled under, and he climbed out of the slough using claw and nail. He slithered rather than walked, and I scooted away.
“We have to keep moving,” Cal said. Even his voice was foreign, and I tried to look nowhere but his eyes.
“Not until you tell me where we’re headed.”
Cal lowered his lumpy head and gave a snarl of frustration, but I didn’t back away. Cal-the-ghoul wasn’t the worst thing I’d seen today.
“The lady’s got a point,” Dean said. His breathing was ragged, and he felt his pockets for a cigarette but produced only a squashed, empty pack. “You planning on adding us to your ghoul buffet, cowboy?”
Cal scritched behind his ear. His hair was the same autumn straw but thinner, longer, wilder and spattered with dirty water. “I’m taking you home. My home.”
The second ghoul came loping back from his position in the rear.
“Aoife, Dean,” Cal said. “This is October. My nest mate.”
