Roger turned away and strode into the trees. Peter followed close behind, and they walked on a nearly-invisible trail that followed the curve of the meadow. Halfway around the field the path turned away from the grass and dove deeper into the woods.
Peter paused and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "The house is that way."
Roger didn't stop. "But our path leads this way."
A dozen yards ahead of them stood a stone half-hidden by the brambles. Roger walked up to the stone and pressed his hand on a small rock atop the boulder. Peter's eyes widened when a part of the rock sank into itself and revealed a winding staircase that led into the earth. The walls were illuminated by faint, flickering light.
"Whoa," he murmured.
"I'm glad you like it," Roger commented. He led Peter down the winding stairs to a tunnel carved from the hard dirt of the area. The source of the light was from a row of torches that led down the tunnel. Cobwebs hung just above Roger's short head, and Peter had to duck to avoid them. The walls were littered with round rat holes, and occasionally there was a squeak or a flash of red eyes.
"How many secrets are in this park?" Peter wondered aloud.
Roger chuckled. "As many as are needed to keep the truth from humans."
Peter gulped and nervously laughed when he remembered he wasn't supposed to be a part of that species. "Um, yeah, that's a good idea. Wouldn't want those humans to find out about us."
Roger paused and turned to Peter. The flickering lights cast long shadows over his curled lips. "Yes, that would be a travesty, but let's hurry along. The night isn't getting any younger."
He turned away and his net brushed against the dirt wall. Dust floated into the air and choked Peter until he coughed. He waved his hand in front of his face and followed Roger down the path.
A hundred feet and a minute later found them at the end of the tunnel. Before them stood a wall of plaster. Roger pressed his palm against the wall and pushed. The wall swung outward and revealed the basement of the house in all its shimmering, dirty glory. The basement was thirty by thirty feet and had a low ceiling of seven feet. The floor had once been dirt, but was now covered by a thin pad of concrete.
The small space was covered in rows of tables, stacks of wooden crates, and large electrical equipment Peter didn't recognize. On the tables were twisting metal tubes, bottles, vials, strainers, and beakers full of liquids of all kinds and consistencies. The opposite wall to their entrance held shelves of more strange ingredients such as eyeballs and bat wings. Beside those shelves were bookcases filled with books of various sizes and wear. Some had titles written in languages Peter couldn't decipher, and others had no titles at all. The whole room was lit with long fluorescent tubes that swung from chains hooked to the ceiling. The slightest breeze from the drafty basement door caused them to swing to and fro, casting long and short shadows on the strange area.
Peter stepped through the opening and felt something grab at him. He turned his head and found himself staring into the eyes of a large gopher. The creature hissed at him and tried again to grab him with its tiny, sharp claws.
"Ah!" Peter cried out. He jumped back and his shoulder hit a cage on the other side of the entrance. Something hissed at him, and he turned to find it was a rabbit with glittering green eyes and long teeth.
Roger grabbed Peter's sleeve and pulled him from between the cages. "You must excuse my pets. They can be a little rough in their play."
"Thanks for the-cough-warning," Peter replied.
He closed the door behind them and turned to his guest. His sharp eyes studied the young man. "You look like you could use a drink to steady your nerves."
Peter clenched his shaking hands into fists and smiled at Roger. "I'm fine. Just point me-" Roger turned away from him to a long table nestled among the cages. Peter leaned to one side and tried to look around the small man, but Roger hid his work in front of him. "What are you doing?"
Roger turned back to him. In one hand was a vial of reddish water. On his face was a sly smile. "Merely fixing you a drink, my young friend." He held the vial out to Peter. "It's quite delicious, and invigorating."
Peter frowned and studied the vial and its contents. His eyes flickered back to Roger's face. "What is it?"
"A mixture of my own making." He held it closer to Peter. "But drink."
Peter sighed and took the vial. He took a deep breath, then tipped back his head and downed the whole container. The reddish water slid down his throat like a drink laced with barbed wire. The taste was akin to eating fresh maggots. He doubled over and assumed a coughing-fit position. Roger took the vial and waited patiently while Peter coughed out his lungs.
"Tasty, isn't it?" Roger asked him.
Peter straightened and nodded. His face was a bright red and his stomach did back flips. "Y-yeah, tasty."
Roger smiled and directed Peter's attention to a wooden slat in the far wall. "You can find Ana through there."
Peter nodded and stumbled through the rows of tables. He reached the wall and tapped on the board. There was a hollow ring to it. Roger came up behind him and latched his finger into a small hole at the bottom. The old man lifted the wooden slat upward to reveal a small dumbwaiter.
Peter rubbed his stomach to calm his nerves and looked to Roger. "So where exactly does this lead?"
Roger nodded at the ceiling. "To the second floor hallway. You will find Miss Ana's room behind the first door on the right from the top of the stairs. You can pull yourself up using the rope inside the space."
Peter managed a shaky smile and nodded his head. "Thanks." He squeezed into the tight space and grabbed hold of the slat.
"Oh, and I would be careful not to stroll to the left of the hallway," Roger warned him.
Peter froze and his face drooped. "Why not?"
Roger chuckled. "Lysander's room lies down the left side of the hall, and I'm sure you wouldn't want him to catch you sneaking into his only daughter's bedroom."
Peter gulped and nervously laughed. "Yeah, that would be pretty bad. Well, wish me luck."
The old man nodded. "You'll need it."
Peter closed the slat and grabbed hold of the thick, rough rope. He pulled and the dumbwaiter slowly rose. The small hole allowed him to see when he passed by a floor and when he was between levels. Darkness meant wall, light meant the floor. He passed one light area and climbed ten feet further before light slipped through the hole. Peter stopped his pulling, made sure the rope was secure and opened the slat a few inches.
He leaned down and peeked under the slat. The dumbwaiter was situated in the middle of the house for easy access from the kitchen and upper floor. The opening faced the stairs, and to his left lay the hallway. He saw the door Roger mentioned as Ana's room, and he heard no sound from down the hallway around the corner on his far left.
Peter opened the slat and slid out. His bones popped and groaned from the cramped space, and one leg had fallen asleep. He limped along the wood floor and raised his hand to rap on Ana's door. His hand froze and his eyes flickered down the hall to his left. He didn't want to rap and catch the attention of more than one member of the family. He opted for the less gallant approach, so he opened the door and peeked inside.
The room was dark, but lit by the starry sky through the open window opposite the door. He saw a solitary figure on the bed, and soft sobs reached his ears. Peter slid inside and shut the door, but the latch betrayed his quiet entrance. The figure on the bed turned to him and their eyes were lit with the coals of hell. He held up his hands and smiled at Ana.
"It's just me," he whispered.
Her eyes widened and the color faded from her cheeks. "Peter! What are you doing here?"
Peter strode over and seated himself beside her. He frowned when the bed didn't give sway. "You need a new mattress," he commented.
Ana smiled. "It's a coffin."
"Oh, right, I knew that."
Her ch
eerful demeanor slipped from her face as she scrutinized his face. "Peter, why did you come back? My father will be furious if he finds you here."
Peter grinned. "Yeah, but now that I've got two people on the inside working for me I think I'll be safe."
She blinked at him. "Two people?"
He nodded. "Yeah, Roger helped me get past the dogs and showed me the dumbwaiter."
Ana smiled and shook her head. "He is so strange and yet so kind. I wish my father were as fond of you as Roger seems to be."
"Speaking of your dad, how far would he go to warn me off?" Peter questioned her.
She tilted her head to one side and furrowed her brow. "Warn you off?"
Peter pursed his lips and scooted closer to her. He grasped her hands in his "I found my roommate on the kitchen floor when I got back to the house. He had two marks on his neck and most of the blood was drained from his body."
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. She shook her head. "No, you can't be saying my dad did that. He wouldn't!"
He squeezed her hands. "Are you sure? Can you tell me for certain he wouldn't do that?"
She looked him in the eyes and gave a nod. "For certain. I trust my father."
Peter sighed. "All right, but that makes me the number one suspect in these attacks. At least, that's what the police think."
Ana frowned. "But why? You wouldn't hurt anyone."
"I'm the only person linking the two cases together, so that de facto makes me suspect numero uno, if you'll pardon my French," he replied.
She frowned. "Then we must find out who is doing these terrible things and turn them over to the police," she told him. "Does your friend or the other victim remember anything of what happened?"
Peter shook his head. "Nope. Rich only remembers a shadow over him, and the other guy doesn't remember a thing."
Ana looked away and pursed her lips. "A shadow isn't much to go on."
"No, but if we put our heads together maybe we can figure out something," Peter suggested.
Ana turned to him and smiled. "I will help as much as I can."