He turned to face her, keeping his body close in front of hers. “As quickly as I want to get out of here, and I know you do too, I would rather we stay close. I don’t want to have to get all the way across the cavern to you if something happens.”
When she tilted her head back to look into his face, she found herself nose-to-nose with him. His proximity, along with the force of his personality, helped to push back the rest of the scene. Again, not much, but just enough.
“I didn’t think of that,” she muttered.
He put a hand on her shoulder, pressing down so she felt the heavy, solid weight of his touch.
“Only a few more moments,” he told her. “We’re very close now.”
“I believe you,” she said. And she did.
He looked calm, strong and steady. He looked nothing like how she felt, which was strung out and heartsick, and half-crazed to be anywhere else but standing where she was in a giant, delinquent tomb. Looking up at him, she saw another glimpse of why he would have been such a good general and leader in times of war.
He would have been a rock for people to look to when everything in their world went to hell. He would have been the person that people focused on when things had become unendurable, because somehow, they knew he would find a path to get them through.
He had become that person now, for her.
When he held out his hand to her again, she took it.
A very long time ago, when he had still been a young human, Julian had become experienced at putting certain barriers up between him and the rest of the world. Dealing with the constant realities of single combat, and then the more global consequences of war, meant keeping a tight rein on any impulse to empathize.
Even so, when crimes occurred, he never, ever blamed the victim. If you did bad shit, that was squarely on you, and you had better be running hard and watching over your shoulder if it was his job to bring you down.
The whole time he had been down here in the tunnels, he had kept the blame squarely where he believed it belonged – on Justine. And he was determined to get her for it, with a wrath as righteous as any of the gods.
But in that moment, as they stood in the company of the rotting dead and he looked down into Melly’s face, everything in his head and his heart underwent a complete reversal.
She wore a determined expression, her features set tight with endurance, but the shadows around her beautiful eyes were dark with hollows, and something grieving and fragile hovered underneath the surface.
Her expression filleted him.
He thought, this is my fault. All of these dead, all of the trauma that Melly has endured.
I should have known better. I knew Justine was creating some kind of trouble, but I didn’t have any kind of proof that the Nightkind council would accept, so I did nothing. If it wasn’t in my face, I could pretend that I didn’t have to do anything about it.
So everything that Melly has endured and all the damage Justine has caused, it’s all on me.
He had no words that could possibly make anything better. The only thing he could do was get Melly out as fast as he could, catch Justine and bury the dead.
Turning, he picked a path between the bodies to the next tunnel entrance. This time Melly joined him, and together they studied the floor around the entrance carefully.
He was about to suggest that they explore at least partway down the length of the tunnel when she released his hand, walked forward several feet past the entrance and knelt. Spitting on the tip of one forefinger, she ran it lightly across the middle of the floor and settled back on her heels to study the result.
Then she stood and showed him the filthy tip of her finger. “We can go down this way if you believe we should, but I think it hasn’t been used very much. If it had been, the middle of the floor would be worn cleaner than this, don’t you think?”
He did. Giving her an approving smile, he said, “I do, and I think we should move on too.”
She gave him a crooked smile in reply and took his hand again when he offered it. They made their way to the third entrance.
This time, he knew immediately.
The scent of fresh air wafted against his cheek. He strode forward, tugging on her arm. “Come on. I think it’s this way.”
She increased her pace until she was almost running, and it was her turn to tug on his arm. He was more than happy to match her speed. They came to a few more forks, but now the current of fresh air was strong on both their faces.
He caught a hint of briny salt. “We’re somewhere near the shoreline. Can you smell that?”
Her face brightened. “Yes. Oh gods, we’re almost there.”
They came to a curve that was so sharp it was almost a switchback, like a hairpin turn on a mountainside. Rounding the curve, he thought he saw something independent of the illumination from the flashlight.
“Hold up a second,” he said.
With obvious reluctance, she pulled to a stop. He switched off the flashlight, and they waited.
Blackness so dense it was almost velvety pressed against his eyes, until…
Ahead, a lighter gray appeared as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light.
“There!” Melly exclaimed. She clutched his arm. “Do you see it?”
“I do.” Jubilant, he swept her into his arms and hugged her tight.
As the light grew stronger, some of Julian’s jubilation faded. The growing illumination was diffuse and pale, not the sharp halogen glow of streetlamps at night.
If it wasn’t daylight outside, then it would be daylight soon – perhaps too soon for him to be able to leave the protection of the tunnel. He had no protective clothing with him and couldn’t afford to be caught outside without it. Melly might have to go on without him.
From her excitement, he could tell that the thought hadn’t occurred to her yet, so he said nothing. They would have to face the reality of it all too soon.
As they walked on, the tunnel began to shrink in size. The walls on either side of them narrowed, and Julian had to duck his head in order to continue.
“There’s some kind of hole in the ceiling. That’s the way out.” Melly’s voice shook.
She was right. As they got closer, the details became apparent. The hole was covered with a grate.
They came to stand directly underneath it. Thankfully, the light remained pale and gray. He guessed it was the light of predawn. The grate was rectangular and looked like it was made out of sturdy iron. It would be difficult, perhaps even impossible, for a human to move it without a crowbar.
He handed his flashlight to Melly, reached up to grasp the grate with both hands and pushed up. It was heavy to shift even for him. With a scraping sound, it popped out of place, and he pushed it to one side until they had a hole big enough to fit through.
He turned to Melly, laced the fingers of his hands together and bent to offer them to her. “Time to step up.”
Setting the flashlight and her grocery bag aside, she placed one narrow foot in his grip and braced herself with both hands on his shoulders. Straightening, he lifted her until she could hoist herself out of the hole. Her weight left his hands. Tilting his head back, he watched her disappear.
Almost immediately her disheveled head popped into view again as she looked into the hole. Her expression had turned tense again, her gaze dark with worry. “Julian, it’s almost dawn.”
He nodded. “I know. Tell me what you can see.”
She glanced around. “We’re either in an alleyway, or a single-lane road. The area’s deserted. There are buildings all around that look like warehouses.” She bent over to peer into the hole at him again. “This spot is deep enough in shadow there won’t be direct sunlight for at least fifteen minutes, maybe more, only I’m no good at judging that sort of thing. Please come out and judge for yourself.”
“All right. Back up.” When she disappeared from sight again, he leaped up, grabbed the edge of the hole and levered himself out to crouch warily beside her.
br /> One quick glance around told him she was right, and he relaxed marginally. Their immediate surroundings were intensely industrial. Weeds sprouted in cracks in the asphalt, and there was a run-down quality to the buildings, giving the scene an air of desolation. If it had been a thriving warehouse district, the area would be bustling by now as businesses readied for the workday, but there was no movement in sight.
He straightened to a standing position, and she joined him. “I’m not sure, but I think I know where we are, at least in a general sense,” he told her. “There’s an area in southeastern San Francisco that’s been marginalized for years. None of our attempts at revitalization have taken hold yet. If we’re where I think we are, we’re anywhere from six to ten miles away from Nob Hill.”
She wiped her face. “On the one hand, that’s not very far away. But on the other hand, that’s much too far to travel when sunlight is going to appear overhead very soon now.”
He turned to face her. “You can travel it. Direct daylight won’t stop you.”
At the first word out of his mouth, she started shaking her head. “No. I’m not going to leave you.”
“You might not have a choice,” he said. “If you go, you can at least get someone to come back with protective clothing, along with a vehicle that has tinted glass.”
All the fragility and grief came to the surface in the look she gave him. “And leave you to do what?” she asked, her voice raw with exhaustion. “Climb back into that hellhole to wait for me?”
“I have more options than just the hellhole,” he said, gesturing to the nearby buildings.
As she opened her mouth to reply, a quick movement of air brushed against the bare skin of his back.
It was all the warning he got.
Instinct made him spin on his heel. Even as he did, he felt a piercing pain in his lower back. It went very deep.
Arching, he grabbed at the pain while punching out with his other hand. He had no time to see his attacker or take aim. Instead, he struck out blindly. As his questing fingers curled around something short and hard that protruded from his lower back, he landed a glancing blow on something solid.
A gasped curse sounded in his ear. He yanked out the protrusion and glanced down at it. It was a knife. He’d been stabbed.
His attacker struck out again. This time, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye as a black blur, he had just enough time to leap back. Fire bloomed along the surface of his abdomen. He had been cut again, but this time it was a surface wound and the damage was minimal.
Another fighter might have continued to dance back so that he could parry while taking a minimum amount of damage. In another fight, he might have done the same.
But not this fight. He lunged toward his attacker, as hard and as fast as he possibly could. He connected in a body slam, sending them both to the ground.
Visual impressions came to him in almost instantaneous snapshots. His attacker wore all black from head to toe. The black hood and outfit were sun-protective clothing, and physically, she was shorter and slighter of build than he. But she was every bit as fast, and in his current weakened state, she was quite a bit stronger.
Justine had come to locate her errant assistant.
His existence narrowed until he had just one objective – grabbing hold of her and not letting go.
It was a vicious scramble. She flipped them both bodily, until he slammed into the pavement underneath their combined weights. He fought to get the chance to use the knife she had lost when she had stabbed him in the kidney, but he didn’t dare loosen his hold long enough to accomplish a strike.
She feinted with her other knife, and he checked it with one shoulder. The blade bit deep, slicing through muscle to scrape the bone. He headbutted her and heard cartilage crunch.
The entire struggle, he knew, would have been nothing more than a confusing blur to Melly.
Telepathically, he shouted at her, We can’t risk her getting hold of you, or she’ll use you against me again. RUN!
Twelve
M
elly knew Julian was right, so she whirled and ran. Leaving him was one of the hardest things she had ever done.
If Justine slipped out of Julian’s hold and came after her, the Vampyre could move so much faster, she could catch Melly in a matter of moments. Melly tucked in her chin and sprinted as hard as she could.
Her delicate ballet shoes had never been meant for the kind of treatment she had put them through, and they offered almost no protection now. Stones and uneven pavement bruised the soles of her feet. She forced herself to ignore the pain.
Meanwhile the sky continued to lighten with brilliant, deadly streaks of sunshine. She had thought nothing could ever be as bad as her nightmarish run through the tunnels, chased by ferals, but she was wrong. With every second that passed, she expected to feel Justine’s hands slam down onto her shoulders.
What was happening between Julian and Justine? The attack had occurred so fast, but Melly was almost positive she had seen Justine stab Julian at least once. Please gods, don’t let her kill him.
Still surrounded by silent buildings, she came to a T-section, turned right and kept running.
Then another intersection. Right again. Keep track of your turns, Melly.
Ahead, a rocky hillside rose up, strewn with bits of trash, signaling the end of the warehouses. As she reached the end of the buildings, she paused only long enough to glance both ways.
When she saw what looked like the shoulder of a real road to her left, she bolted toward it.
Her breathing came hard now, and she was forced to strike a balance between pacing herself while still running as fast as she possibly could. When she reached the road, she looked around. Small houses dotted the unkempt landscape. Several of the houses had boarded-up windows.
Three blocks away, a glaring blue neon light shone at the front of a shabby one-story building.
The illuminated letters read:
ROADHOUSE OPE.
No N.
Even though dawn was breaking, at least a dozen motorcycles were parked underneath the sign.
Motorcycles. Not a single car was anywhere to be seen. Damn it.
She raced toward the building, slammed through the front door and didn’t come to a stop until she was several feet into the main room of a bar.
Judas Priest rocked over the speakers. Bikers dotted the room. Some slouched at the bar, while a few played pool. Several were deep into some kind of card game that involved a pile of cash sitting in the middle of a table.
Most of the bikers were human, but there were a few ghouls as well. As she glanced around, she saw beards and black leather jackets everywhere.
Heads lifted at her precipitous entrance. As they all turned to face her, silence fell over the room. The bartender reached under the bar, and the song cut off.
“Well, damn,” somebody said. “That’s unusual.”
She could only guess what she looked like. She was wearing at least three days’ worth of grime and blood. Her trouser outfit, originally a stylish cream color, had turned gray and was covered with streaks of brownish red. The bruises on her arms and throat had bloomed into full Technicolor, her cuts and scratches were covered in dark scabs, and while she had finger combed her hair, her attempt at keeping it tidy had only served to make each individual curl spiral out in every direction.
Chairs scraped as everyone in the room stood. Eyes wide, they began to advance on her.
She retreated a couple of steps, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.
She said, “I’m Melisande Aindris, and I’ve been kidnapped. I’ll pay someone thirty thousand dollars for a bike with gas in the tank, along with a jacket and a helmet, and a cell phone…” She had to pause to suck more air. “And does anybody have a gun?”
There was a concerted rush toward her. The bartender leaped over the bar, joining the rest as they jostled and shoved each other. Disoriented and overwhelmed, Melly backed up.
When all the movement finally stopped, Melly found herself pressing back against a wall, and every biker in the place extended a gun toward her, handgrip forward. Two were sawed-off shotguns. As she stared at them, a bearded fellow extended his other hand, offering a switchblade as well.
One of them said, “I realize this might not be a good time, but sometime when you’re having a better day, can I get your autograph?”
Another man snapped, “Seriously, George. Not appropriate right now.”
The first one whispered, “I know, I know, just – when am I ever gonna get the chance to ask?”
Blinking rapidly, she told the man named George, “Sure. You can have my autograph later.” Focusing at random on a semiautomatic pistol, she grabbed for it. As the owner relinquished his hold on the weapon, she asked, “How many rounds?”
He said, “Twenty. It’s fully loaded.”
She asked, “Do you have a PayPal account?”
He nodded, his dark eyes intent.
She met his gaze. “I have no time right now. My friend is in big trouble, and I have to go help him. As soon as I know he’s all right, I’ll transfer the money into your account. Okay?”
Rolling one big shoulder in a laconic shrug, he reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out another gun. “I’ll come with you. Gotta protect my investment.”
Big and dangerous as he looked, he was still human. If he came up against Justine, he would be dead meat, but she wasn’t about to waste precious moments arguing with him, not when Julian’s life might be in danger.
She told him, “Fine, but we’ve got to go now.”
As they strode out the door, they were followed by a stampede of the other bikers, including the bartender. Her biker led her to a late-model Harley. He tossed a helmet at her, and she jammed it on her head, while he mounted the bike, started it and revved the motor.
“Climb on,” he said.
She leaped on behind him and grabbed handfuls of his jacket. “What are the others doing?”