The vampire let out a strangled cry. He nodded, then cried out again as the silver abraded his undead skin. Keeping one fist wrapped in the chain, I shoved him toward the subway entrance. In my other hand, I brandished the Sword of Saint Michael. I whispered the invocation, and the blade burst into flame. It lit our way as we descended into whatever hell waited below.
THE VAMPIRE STAGGERED TOWARD THE TUNNEL KANE AND I had explored the other night, the one with the emergency exit.
I yanked on the chain and shook him. “Stop wasting my time. I know this tunnel is empty. Where did they go?”
“Hidden,” he croaked. “The entrance is hidden.”
I didn’t trust this vampire, but I didn’t have a lot of options. Myrddin had fled into this station. He and Pryce were down here somewhere.
I pushed the vampire, and he stumbled forward.
We moved swiftly. The tunnel was bright and clean and empty, as it had been the other night. Until we reached the emergency exit. Two vampires emerged from the staircase. Two others came forward from the darkness beyond.
I jerked my captive vampire to a halt. “You led me into an ambush!” I ripped the chain from his neck and pushed him away. At the same time, I touched him with the flame from my sword. Fire flared and took his body. He lit up like a torch, dancing and jerking in the flames. He staggered toward his friends, who drew back. His screams echoed through the tunnel.
Vampires burn fast. He collapsed in a pile of charred bones and ashes.
I swung the sword in front of me. The flames brightened and whooshed with the motion. “Who’s next?”
The vampires backed away.
Except for the one who got behind me. I never saw him move. Hands clutched my throat, the grip so tight I couldn’t tell whether he was trying to strangle me or squeeze my head off. I whipped the silver chain behind me and simultaneously kicked back, connecting with his shin.
His grip loosened, and I followed through with an elbow strike, turning as much as I could to throw my weight behind it. The vampire let go and staggered back, and I stabbed him with the flaming sword. He burned as brightly as the first.
Two vampires, both females, split and came at me from both sides. I spun to the right, sweeping my sword with the motion. At the same time, I lashed out with the chain to the left. The sword caught one vampire in the side; she howled as she went up in flames. The chain wrapped itself around the other vampire’s calf as she came at me in a roundhouse kick. The kick missed my head but connected with my shoulder, knocking me sideways. As I fell, I tightened my grip on the chain, pulling her off balance. I thrust out my sword to avoid landing on it, and got a lucky hit on the fifth vampire, just as he moved in to attack. He burst into flame but kept coming, impaling himself deeper on my sword, reaching for me.
I grabbed the hilt in both hands and arced the sword sideways to the ground, forcing him to fall with it. His burning fingers stretched toward me, blackening.
A metallic clatter sounded to my left. The female vampire had unwrapped the chain from her leg and was hobbling away, into the dark tunnel.
Pain seared my arm as the burning vampire grabbed it. I hit at his fingers and shook him off. My sleeve smoldered, and I batted out the flames. The vampire’s hand curled into a tight, skeletal fist and dropped away.
I yanked my sword from the charred body and ran into the tunnel after the escaping female. The silver burn on her leg kept her from going into hyperspeed, but she still moved fast enough that I was afraid I’d lose her. I ran harder, my breath rasping through my bruised throat. I could just see her ahead, in the light cast by my sword.
She ran-limped to the pile of rusty cans of old provisions piled up against the wall. And then she disappeared.
Was it a trick? Had she led me to this dead-end, pretending to be injured, and then run off at vampire speed? The Sword of Saint Michael lit up the tunnel. No vampires lurked anywhere that I could see.
The vampire I’d forced down the stairs said the entrance to the Old Ones’ lair was hidden. This mountain of cans must hide it somehow. Some kind of magical illusion, maybe? I looked closer. I poked at a rusty can with my toe, then kicked it. The can rolled across the tunnel. It was real enough. I kicked at another, and another. Cans went flying. And then I kicked one, and my foot went right through it.
I tried again. The same thing happened. I stepped forward—just half a careful step—and met no resistance. Shifting the sword to my left hand, I took a deep breath and drew a silverbladed throwing knife. Demon or vampire, I was ready. I walked forward through the illusion, into the Old Ones’ lair.
THE FIRST THING I SAW WAS A BLACK-ROBED OLD ONE, ARMS wide, coming straight at me. My silver knife sailed through the air and hit him in the throat. The Old One sank to the ground.
Now I could see the room. It was large, although its low ceiling made it feel cramped, and divided into two sections. To my right, a cluster of Old Ones huddled together. To my left, Myrddin stood in the middle of a setup I recognized from when he’d tried to steal my life force. Pryce lay on a table, tubes entering his body. Before, I’d been on the other end of those tubes. This time, it was the jar in which Myrddin had captured Norden’s life force.
Myrddin seemed annoyed to see me. “Aren’t you dead yet?” he asked irritably.
“Not yet.” I pulled my pistol and shot a bronze bullet. Myrddin ducked. But I wasn’t aiming at him. The jar containing Norden’s life force shattered.
A blue-tinted vapor spiraled upward from the fragments.
“Bring her here!” Myrddin shouted. “The ritual must be completed tonight. I’ll use her life force to finish it.”
The knot of Old Ones to my right stirred. Keeping an eye on them, I stuck my gun in my belt and reached down to retrieve the silver throwing knife from the one I’d killed. I touched the ice-cold body; my fingers groped for the knife.
Pain slashed through my palm.
The Old One wasn’t dead. He’d pulled the knife from his throat and used it to slice a deep cut into my hand. Now he grasped my wrist and pulled me to my knees.
I wrenched my arm away. Ignoring the pain, I got my gun in my right hand. It was slippery from the blood. I pressed the gun against his forehead and put a bullet between his eyes. Bronze, but at this range it should do some damage.
It didn’t. The Old One’s skull spit the bullet back out at me. The hole closed at once. The Old One sneered and knocked the gun from my hand.
All right. Silver didn’t work, a close-range pistol shot didn’t work. Let’s see how he liked fire.
I swiped the flaming sword at his neck. Blade cut into flesh, but then it stopped. The Old One’s flesh pushed out the blade. The wound filled itself in.
The creature felt the sting of fire, though. It screamed and scooted backward, away from the touch of the flames. Its flesh sizzled and blackened. Unlike the cuts, the burn didn’t heal. It sizzled and bubbled and blistered. The smell of burned, rotten flesh filled the room.
I waved my sword at the other Old Ones. They cringed and stayed where they were. Then, as if one of their psychic signals had passed among them, they parted like a curtain, taking a few steps to the left or right.
Behind them, Juliet was pinned to the wall. A dozen silver spikes held her in place: through her neck, her arms, her hands, her torso, her legs. A silver plate covered her mouth, rendering her silent. Her eyes were wide with terror and pain.
What the hell were they doing to her?
I roared and charged the Old Ones, slashing my sword. Maybe I couldn’t kill them, but I could make them hurt.
