Cold Blooded

The tunnel changed course while I ran. They prodded me in the right direction each time I hit a roadblock—I hoped. I really had no idea. They could be leading me to someplace terrible and I’d be none the wiser. “Are we almost there?” Before they could answer, I spotted a wooden door up ahead. It was old and corroded, set into the earth on an iron frame, anchored by ancient timbers. It must be a way up to one of the crypts aboveground.

I slid to a stop.

“No, no,” a breathy voice said so close to my face I flinched. “That is not the one.”

“Mustn’t go up there.”

“He should not wake.”

“Danger to us all.”

“I take it this is the wrong door?” I said sarcastically. “You guys need to pick up the pace. My team is looking for me. I need to find my friends. Can’t we just head through here”—I gestured to the old door—“and take a more direct route through the cemetery?” Being underground was beginning to take its toll. It was so dark and dank it was messing with my state of mind.

“No. Can’t go.”

“Bad man.” A child’s voice began to whimper.

“He will harm us.”

My sarcasm was clearly lost on the incorporeal. “If this is not the right door, you need to show me where the right one is, and after I free my friend, I will try to … break the barrier you keep chattering about.” Maybe if the barrier went down, I could finally talk to my Pack.

“Yes. The barrier must come down.”

“Freedom.”

“We will show you the way.”

I started to run once again. Two more turns and several doors later the hands guided me to a stop. This door was the most detailed one I’d seen. It also appeared to be well used. It was decorated with ghoulish pictures of graveyard bandits, with masks and shovels, digging up graves. If I had to guess, this must be one of the main torture chambers. “If she’s not okay, I am going to seriously hurt someone,” I murmured to myself.

“Asleep.”

“Sleep of the dead.”

“Not much time left.”

A concentrated shove sent me tumbling closer to the door.

“No need to push,” I growled. “I’m going.” I grabbed on to the black doorknob and was immediately flung back by a strong jolt of power. “Cripes.” I recovered, shaking my hand until the sting abated. This door was spelled, and it was decidedly witchy. I had to be more careful in this madhouse. “Why didn’t you tell me it was warded?” I grumbled to my ghost posse. “That would’ve been extremely helpful.”

“Magic is weak.”

“Cannot keep us out.”

“We will help you.”

At once the door popped open, creaking on its old hinges. That was an unexpected surprise. “I could’ve used you guys in the Trow tunnel.”

“Cannot pass there.”

“Magic keeps us out.”

“Old wards are strong.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m going to try and dial my sarcasm down to a minimum from now on.” I ducked my head through the opening and tread carefully up steps made of packed earth. They were terribly corroded and barely counted as steps. They were more like lumps of dirt. Once I reached the top, a trapdoor made of thick, white marble loomed above me.

The bottom entrance to the crypt above.

“Is this warded?” I asked.

“It is free.”

“Vampires leave it so.”

“You may enter.”

Let’s make sure, I told my wolf. I tentatively pressed a single fingernail on the marble. A soft hum of magic met my touch, but nothing threatened me directly. It was probably residual magic. The main door to the outside of the crypt was likely heavily spelled, but whoever was in charge of the torturing must think warding the trapdoor was unnecessary.

“Here we go,” I said as I braced my palms against the cool surface and pushed upward. I had to use a considerable amount of strength because the marble was crazy heavy. “This must be two feet thick,” I grunted. “But it’s working.” There was no resistance, so I kept sliding.

Once it was fully open, the smell of blood hit me.

I caught Naomi’s scent immediately following.

I leaned up and peered into the room. There were faint Gothic shapes decorating the ceiling of the chamber. It was dark inside the crypt. Just like the tunnels, and I could tell from my position and the sloping beams of the roof it was big inside, more like a mausoleum than a crypt. “Is it safe to go inside?” I asked. “No other nasties waiting to attack?” Why not ask my ghost pals if I had the chance? I didn’t detect anything, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t lurking.

“You can enter,” a whisper floated by my ear.

“No one is here.”

“Can I see my mommy now?”

Good grief.

I eased myself through the opening, my body back to my human form. My change was automatic now, not even triggering much thought. I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

The first thing I noticed was a long, rectangle slab of stone perched in the middle of the room.

Normally it would’ve held a coffin with a dead person inside. Instead there was a single shrouded figure lying on top. This wasn’t like Selene’s lair with torture devices hanging all over the walls. This was obviously a place where they took vamps to make sure they didn’t wake. Naomi had once told me she knew how to incapacitate a vamp. I should’ve asked for details while I’d had the chance. Now I was left to my own devices. I hope she’s not badly hurt. That mummy wrap doesn’t look too promising. It could be hiding a lot of damage.

I paced toward her slowly, scenting everything I could.

There were traces of Valdov’s signature, but he hadn’t been here recently. I couldn’t identify anyone else, because I’d never smelled them before. I scented lots of blood—mostly Naomi’s, which smelled oddly like me. But the white sheet wasn’t swathed in red. How do you think they’re keeping her unconscious? I smell blood but I don’t see any.

“You must hurry.”

“It takes too much.”

“Cannot regenerate the bloodletting.”

“Bloodletting?” I asked, alarmed. I rushed to the fabric containing her and tore it apart. It ripped easily, falling onto the cold mausoleum floor with only a whisper of a sound. She was swathed in a few layers so it took me some time to get through it all. “Come on,” I urged as I tore. “Please be alive.” The first thing I uncovered was her chest. It was unmoving, but that was to be expected. She was still dressed. I took both my hands and split the last layer of cloth straight up to her neck. There was a loud zzzzzzip as the fabric fell apart in my grasp.

A still, bone-white face stared back.

Her eyes were closed and there were heavy dark spots sunken just above her cheekbones. She was so still she appeared to be dead. I had to remind myself that was still normal.

“The arm.”

“Must take it out.”

“It’s hungry.”

“Blood fills the walls too quickly.”