"Come on, Tristan, get a grip on yourself unless you want to leave your sister at Kizira's mercy."
Several tense seconds passed before he slammed a fist into the pile of railroad ties, then dropped his arms to his side. He finally began to change back and withdraw into his normal body.
She gave up the breath she'd been holding. For the first time since coming into this place, she enjoyed a moment of relief. Odd how facing down something she knew could kill her had taken her mind off the mere threat of what might be in here.
Returning to his normal body didn't completely take the edge off Tristan's anger. He stomped back and forth in front of her, growling when he wasn't spewing threats. "That bitch! I'm going to kill her if she hurts my sister. Rip her head off."
Evalle gave him a minute to vent in hopes it would help him calm down more, then said, "We can't do anything without your guide service. You scared off the soldier ghost who knows how to get us there."
Tristan stopped pacing and absorbed her words. "Fuck!"
"Shouting ran him off the last time, and it's wearing on what little patience I have left, so cut it out. Not to mention that cursing isn't helping your case either, since a Civil War soldier is from an era when they didn't talk like that in front of women."
That brought a wry twist to Tristan's lips. His eyebrow lifted in a derogatory arch. "I doubt he's concerned about offending the sensibilities of a woman wearing tight jeans, boots and a shirt short enough to expose her midriff. Not that I have any complaints about you being down to two buttons left on your shirt, but you're far from the image of a lady."
Had he just dissed her? "Fine. Go shout your head off and curse every ghost in here if that makes you feel better than saving your sister from the Medb."
That slapped the arrogance off his face, along with some of his color.
She hadn't intended to give him a verbal kick in the nuts, but she was running out of time and, at this point, so was Tristan.
And she'd had enough of his hardheaded attitude.
"You're right," he admitted, wiping an agitated hand across his blond hair, raking the short hairs out of shape. "We have to find the soldier's chamber, and fast. I wish he'd at least have had a sense of time so we'd know when Kizira might start killing Alterants."
"I agree, but we have one small problem. What about these walls?"
"Hell. You willing to suffer trying to knock these railroad ties loose with kinetics?"
Not really, and she didn't think that would improve their situation anyhow. "I could handle the pain and we'll heal eventually, but using any power at this point might tick off these ghosts even more. Can you teleport us to other areas down here?"
"I've only teleported in and out of the maze at the couple places where the subway intersects these tunnels, so I don't know if we could actually teleport outside the maze from here. If I tried to teleport us from here and the maze shifts something solid into an area I remember as being an open landing, we'd die. It'd be like hitting a solid wall at mach speed."
She saw no other way out. "We're screwed."
"I can go first. If it works, I'll come right back for you, but it's going to take me a minute or two before I can teleport again."
"Wait a minute. You're going to leave me here? What if you hit something solid and splatter? I'm stuck down here forever."
He shoved his hands to his waist and leaned toward her. "What's your idea, then?"
"I don't know. Let me think." She removed her glasses and rubbed her tired eyes, then put the glasses back on. What had he just said? "You need a minute or two to teleport a second time even for a short distance? That's why you didn't shift to fight the demons that attacked us in the jungle, isn't it? You were saving your energy to teleport from one continent to another when we reached the next village."
He crossed his arms and gave her his silent routine.
Confirmation, as far as she was concerned, but . . . "Was that another side effect of your Kujoo cocktail?"
Still no answer. Fine. Taking a look around, she said, "The ghosts did this to us. Why don't you ask them nicely to let us continue? Apologize for disturbing their home."
A small muscle flexed in his jaw while he thought. He finally grumbled something, then stared at the railroad tie wall and said, "I'm sorry I disturbed you. If you'll let us pass, I will respect your home."
Nothing happened.
He glared at her. "Happy?"
"Do I look happy?" She dealt with Nightstalkers all the time, Grady in particular. Sometimes they just wanted to show off what they could do and show you who ran things in their world. She turned slowly as she spoke to the ghosts. "You have an interesting home. Nothing built above ground is anything like this."
Tristan's sigh suggested she was a moron.
A gas lantern took shape on one of the walls, and a rug appeared beneath her feet.
The look on Tristan's face now was priceless.
She cleared her voice and said, "I've been admiring all of the maze. Do you have anything else to show us?"
Nothing happened.
Crossing her arms, she waited patiently as railroad ties began disintegrating. Once there were only two left, she stepped past Tristan and said, "Now, I'm happy."
He caught up and passed her, moving in a hurry. "This way."
Evalle kept up with him, but five minutes later she had her doubts that he knew where he was going. Every time he reached a new choice of direction in the maze, he'd shoot off without hesitation, then hit a dead end, backtrack and do it again.
Stress bounced off him in stronger waves at each wrong turn.
The ghosts might let them move forward, but only one could show them how to find Tristan's sister and the Alterants.
Evalle called out, "Tristan, wait. I have an idea."
That he stopped immediately confirmed he had no clue where he'd been going. He strode back to her, breathing hard. "Make it fast."
Who did he think he was to order her around after she'd just gotten him out of ghost jail? But she couldn't afford to waste time straightening him out. Storm had given her ninety minutes and they were down to the last thirty of that.
She held her patience in a tight fist. "What made the soldier talk to you the first time?"
Tristan huffed a breath that clearly said he didn't have time for twenty questions, but he also squinted, thinking. "I'd only sensed that the area was benign when I originally left the Alterants there--I hadn't met any spirits. When I couldn't find any sign of the three Alterants, I returned to the chamber and walked around, talking to myself."
"Really?" she asked, hiding a smirk.
He shrugged sheepishly. "Sometimes I think better out loud. That's when I actually met the spirits inhabiting that space. An old guy showed up first playing checkers, then a little while later the soldier appeared."
"What happened then?"
"The soldier asked me why I was unhappy. I explained that I'd lost three people down here. That's when he told me about Kizira and her protectors holding the Alterants." Tristan's shoulders drooped in defeat. "I know I was on the right path to find that chamber until I pissed off the soldier and he disappeared."
She'd noticed something else about the maze while they'd been walking this time. "The tunnels have changed behind us and around us. I'm thinking the spirits are just showing us this is their territory. They removed the wall so we could move forward again as long as we weren't a threat. I think they're now changing the maze constantly to stop us from going forward or backward."
"You're probably right, but how does that help?"
"Let's give talking to them another shot."
"I don't have time to stand around talking to ghosts."
"I don't either, but we can either lose another minute or two running through endless turns of this maze, or we can take a stab at finding your soldier again."
Time whispered by while he made up his mind. "What have you got in mind?"
"My empathic skills are picking up everyt
hing from anger to frustration to the urge to maim and kill from you."
"All that and no crystal ball? Want to guess my weight next?"
"I don't want to hurt you, but that's still on the table for getting me into all this."
"You got yourself into this by sucking up to the Beladors." He hooked his thumb in the waistband of his jeans and shifted his weight to one leg.
"You're an asshole. You know that?" Evalle expected an airslap for the curse, but none came. Sadly, that just confirmed no Belador could reach her here. "I'm trying to help you save your sister, and you're not helping."
That silenced him. He drew a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, scratching his head. "You're right."
"Why are you fighting me at every step?"
"Because I don't want you here."
"Tough."
He shook his head in wonder. "If I'd had your deal with the Beladors, I wouldn't be in this situation, but you have this screwed-up sense of honor instead of hardened survival skills, or you'd have turned me in as soon as you got back to Atlanta."
Did that mean he felt guilty? Had he been screwed over so many times in his life that he fought everyone like a wounded dog? "I meant what I said about giving all of us a chance. You ready to do this or not?"
He squared his jaw and nodded.
"You taught me about healing from what you learned while in the jungle. I've spent my time in the city dealing with Nightstalkers. They might be dead, but the spirit still has emotions and feelings. The ghosts down here responded to me a few minutes ago, but they're not responding to you and I think it's because you're generating aggressive energy."
"I'll play your Dr. Phil game. What do you suggest we do?"
"Calm down completely. Close your eyes and think about how much your sister means to you and how much you want to save all the hostages."
Seeing that light up some embarrassment in Tristan's face encouraged her to counsel him further. "Once you stop sounding like you're going to rip out throats, talk calmly again about looking for the hostages. I'll keep an eye out to see if anything happens."
He didn't appear completely onboard with the plan, but he did close his eyes. Seconds later, his arms dropped to his sides in a semi-relaxed state.
Evalle opened up her senses fully. Tristan's aggression bled away grudgingly, and in place of that he started emitting pulses of concern and worry. He spoke softly, wondering aloud where he could find his sister and the Alterants.
He'd rambled for almost a minute when a form shimmered near them.
First a barrel appeared, then a stool supporting a shrunken elderly man who wore overalls and spectacles. He hunched over as if studying something. As soon as a faded checkerboard with red and black discs arranged on the squares took shape on top of the barrel, the old guy moved a red checker to an empty spot.
He raised expectant eyes at Evalle. She forced a mild expression, not wanting to react at seeing his throat slashed open.
Tristan held very still.
"Your move," the old guy croaked out in a froggy voice.
Me? She glanced over at Tristan, whose amused expression said This was your idea.
Did the old guy want a real challenge, or just to win?
Before she made a wrong move, literally, she asked the ghost, "Do you know a soldier?"
"Yes."
"Would you ask him to come here?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"If you play a right nice game."
Since he hadn't threatened her with a sharp object, she stepped over and lifted a black checker. The poker-chip-sized disc felt light and soft, not like the plastic ones set up outside on tables at a Cracker Barrel restaurant where she'd eaten once.
His crinkled gaze watched the board expectantly, waiting for her to place her chip.
Which move would bring the soldier back?
Which move would cause the checker player to vanish?
TWENTY-EIGHT
Evalle turned the black chip in her hand, debating on the right spot on the checkerboard.
Tristan had become mute the minute the old guy's spirit had appeared, but she sensed how much he wanted her to make the correct move.
His sister's safety depended on it.
The sister he'd obviously wanted to keep a secret.
She slowly lowered the black chip to a spot that left her ghost opponent an easy jump with his red chip.
She slid her gaze sideways to see how Tristan judged the move. Sweat beaded on his forehead in spite of the chill that surrounded them.
No confidence there.
The old guy's hand moved fast as lightning.
He jumped two of her black chips and cackled as he lifted his winnings off the board. "I'm hard to beat."
That had to be a positive sign, right? She asked the ghost again, "Would you ask your soldier friend to come here?"
"He can't play. No good with checkers."
Tristan's anxiety ramped up.
She shot him a warning look and he calmed down. Evalle smiled warmly at the ghost. "If you'll call the soldier so we can talk to him, I'll move another chip."
The old guy's eyes rounded with such excitement that she hated that she didn't have time to play a whole game with him. If Grady had been here, he would have taken the time to entertain this man, but Grady wouldn't have been happy down here.
In the next few seconds something must have happened between the ghosts, because the soldier's image wavered into view on the other side of the checker player.
Tilting her head slightly toward the spirit, she used her eyes to tell Tristan he had a connection to the soldier and had better fix this mess.
Tristan said to the Civil War ghost, "Sorry I yelled earlier. I need to talk to you."
She gave Tristan a silent attaboy for apologizing again but noticed the soldier didn't speak. Maybe he had to take a fully corporeal form to communicate.
What was he waiting for?
The old guy said, "He's here. Your move."
So the old guy had to be appeased first, huh? She placed another black chip. Her two-hundred-year-old opponent won three of her chips that time. He laughed and slapped his leg.
That must have done the trick, because the young soldier's form solidified. He stared at Tristan. "Why you so unhappy?"
Tristan answered in an even tone. "I'm looking for my three friends again, and my sister. Do you know where they are?"
"She done told me."
"Will you lead us to them?"
"I 'spose . . . if you promise to make her git out."
The soldier had to mean Kizira. Evalle glanced at Tristan, who told the ghost, "If I can help my friends and sister escape the witch, she'll have no reason to stay. And we'll leave, too."
"Alrighty," the soldier said. "I reckon that'll work."
The checker player asked Evalle, "'nother game?"
She swallowed her misery over having to disappoint him, even if he'd probably asked that question repeatedly for a hundred and fifty years with no positive results. "I'm sorry, but I have to go."
"Okee dokee." He started setting the board as if she'd agreed.
The soldier began floating backwards into a dark tunnel.
"Evalle," Tristan called softly.
"I know. Let's go." She stayed close to Tristan, who followed the shimmering shape of the soldier's now semitransparent, and glowing, form. Their moving beacon took a path through a narrow walkway that began dropping in elevation, then turned right, then left, and continued to descend.
No furniture. No plants. No maniacal pitchfork guys.
So far.
Tristan stumbled a couple of times, which indicated he didn't share her exceptional night vision.
She stepped ahead of him, whispering, "Follow me. I can see changes in the terrain. I'll let you know when to step over or around something."
When she reached a landing type area the soldier stopped moving forward and turned to face Tristan as if Evalle didn't exist. "Th
e witch poisons our world . . . I ain't goin' no further. She ain't allowed to come this way with you. She knows we'll stop her."
That worked for Evalle.
The soldier added, "Follow the lanterns. You'll find her."
Evalle asked the soldier, "Can we get back to where we started today?"
His sleepy eyes finally noticed her. "I reckon it's possible."
What kind of answer was that? "Do we still have time before she kills a hostage?"
The soldier stared straight through her to the point Evalle thought he'd zoned out, but then his eyes focused. "Mebee a quarter hour. You're 'bout two stone throws away."
The soldier began fading until he turned into a glow of light the size of her hand and blinked out.
Tristan wouldn't be any more motivated than right now to talk, and he couldn't afford to leave her behind.
Evalle put a hand on his chest to stop him when he made a move to leave. "We've got fifteen minutes. I want two of them."
Tristan argued, "He might be wrong about when she's going to start killing people."
"Then you need to talk fast. Why did Kizira bring your sister here?"
He took too long to answer. "I don't know, maybe some kind of insurance that I wouldn't try to trick her. We're wasting seconds."
"Before you go off half-cocked again, we need a plan. We can't just waltz into a nest of Medb warlocks and Kizira."
"I'm trading myself for the hostages. You're getting them safely out of here. That's the plan."
"If that's your whole plan, it's time to tell me how I go through several feet of concrete to reach the subway again, wise guy."
He shook his head and scoffed at her. "Thought you'd already have this figured out. I'll tell the Alterants to go with you if you swear you'll do two things. First take my sister somewhere safe, get her out of Atlanta and don't tell anyone she's associated with me. Second, make sure that Tzader cuts a deal for you to accompany the Alterants to the Tribunal before he tells Sen where you are."
She wasn't agreeing to anything now that she knew Tristan had a sister in here to rescue. "Still listening."
"As for getting through concrete, the minute you're far enough away from Kizira, call Tzader or Quinn telepathically and first make sure they'll protect these Alterants then tell them to bring in Sen, who can teleport in where we entered and take you out. Tell everyone my sister is an innocent bystander, that she was dragged into this by mistake."
"That's your plan for me to escape?"