“Geoffrey,” Leah said. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
“That noise sounds horrible.”
“I know. It’s nothing.” Now. Leah crawled forward more and reached a ninety-degree turn to a tunnel that went straight up. She barely managed to negotiate the turn, then had to use the nanohooks to climb into the waiting darkness.
The opening slammed shut behind her.
“Geoffrey,” she called. There was no answer.
Leah found four more openings and two more deathtraps. She kept the turns in mind, mentally mapping the way, and believed she was at least headed in the direction of the thudding she’d heard earlier. It was impossible to know, however.
“Leah.” Geoffrey’s voice sounded weaker than ever when she heard it again.
“I’m here,” she said.
“Thought I’d dreamed you.”
“No.”
“I’ve been having a lot of weird dreams.”
“It’s probably fever.” Leah reached another dead end and wanted to scream in frustration.
“I’m cold.”
“Just hang on.” Carefully, Leah felt around the wall blocking her way, then the sides of the passageway. “Can you bang on the wall for me again?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
Leah listened intently. A moment later, she heard slow, weak thumping from below. She silently cursed the fact that she couldn’t see in the darkness even with the new eye and all the tech included in her suit.
“I hear you,” she said. “You sound closer.” She thumped the walls.
“So do you.”
“I’ll be there in just a few more minutes. Just hang on.” Leah slapped a palm against the bottom of the passageway and tried to shift a loose cover. Then her knee banged against the passageway and she heard the hollow boom. Excited, she pushed herself back down and slammed a palm against the surface there. A plate pulled away. Light dawned at the end of the tunnel some ten feet below.
“Leah?”
This time Leah heard Geoffrey’s voice over the comm-link as well as with her own ears. He was below.
“I hear you, Geoffrey. I’m almost there.”
She resisted the impulse to drop down feet first because she wouldn’t have been able to see what—and who—was inside the room until she was already there herself. She shoved her head and shoulders into the opening and crawled through. Blood, drawn by gravity, rushed to her head.
At the bottom, she looked around. The low-level light barely revealed the metal walls of the small room and the man lying on the floor. Blood gleamed dark and wet on the metal.
Geoffrey looked pale as he lay there. His eyes were burning hollows that struggled to focus on her. He kept both hands tight to his middle.
“Hey,” he said.
“Take it easy,” Leah said. “I’m going to help you.” She placed a hand on one side of the opening, then the other hand on the other side. When she had herself anchored, she slithered out and flipped to land on her feet.
“Can’t believe you found me,” Geoffrey croaked.
“I did.” She walked toward him.
“Do you have any water?”
Leah started to say no, then she felt the familiar weight of a water canteen at the back of her equipment belt. She handed the flask to the man.
“Go easy with that,” she admonished. “You look like you’re burning up with fever.” In the end, she had to help him. The odd thing was that even though she poured and Geoffrey drank, no explanation existed for why water pooled on the floor.
Then, as she watched, Geoffrey’s skin faded away and left only a skeleton behind. She’d poured the water through the open, ivory grin of a dead man.
Chilled, Leah recoiled and sealed the water flask. Depending on how long she was going to be trapped inside the maze, she needed to conserve water.
Mentally fatigued and emotionally wrought, Leah stared at the skeleton and wondered how it had gotten there. When she closed her eyes just a moment to rest them, she was unprepared for what faced her.
The skeleton had disappeared. She was once more back in the featureless room.
FORTY
They’re not going to like you being there,” Naomi said.
“Not at first,” Warren agreed. “But when they hear what I have to offer—”
“They’ll hate you even more. They’ll want to believe you, but some of them will still be afraid.”
“—they’ll hear me out.” At least, Warren hoped that was true. Two days had passed since he’d lost his refuge. He and Naomi had slept in squats while seeking out a Cabalist sept that he could influence. This morning they’d found one.
They were down in Piccadilly, sorting through the wreckage of flats and shops. Naomi had heard about some of the Cabalist groups gathering in the area. The one they’d found was on the sixth floor of a tenement building.
Guards posted at the perimeter challenged them. All three men were large, obviously chosen because of their size. Tattoos covered their faces and exposed arms, necks, and chests. Their armor had been fashioned from demon beasts, pieces of hide stitched together with sinew because artificially made thread or fishing line would have robbed what little arcane energy they possessed.
“What do you want?” The speaker was a gaunt-faced young man with a Mohawk. His face was discolored by the red tattoos he bore. He held a machete in one hand and had another slung over his shoulder.
“I’m Warren Schimmer. I need to speak to the Voice of your sept.”
The three guards swapped knowing looks.
“Our Voice won’t want anything to do with you,” another man said. Blood leaked from wounds in his head where he’d recently grafted three small demons’ horns. They were from a flying demon no larger than a spider monkey, but which had the ability to throw off waves of electricity.
“I think he will,” Warren said confidently. “When he finds out what I have to offer.”
“Don’t be too proud of yourself, demon thing.”
“I’m not.” Warren gestured at the man.
A wave of shimmering force slammed into the man. His knees buckled and he went down to the cracked pavement. He cried out in pain.
The young man
