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“Right, the ambiance is just a bonus,” I shot back with a grin, although the chill creeping up my spine was anything but amusing.
As we moved, our footsteps clicked against the polished floor tiles.
Niko led us with the confidence of a man who knew every shadow and corner, his dark hair seeming to absorb the scant light. I wondered if he felt the same electric anticipation that thrummed through my veins or if his werewolf senses buzzed with otherworldly instincts, guiding him toward our quarry.
As we descended deeper into the bowels of the pyramid, the air grew cooler, and the lighthearted banter faded away as we reached the door that blocked off the sections of the tunnels still in use from the sections that had been closed when the underground mall, built in the 70s, had proven less enticing than expected.
“Stay sharp,” Niko warned, the hunter within him fully awake now. We all felt it—the change in the atmosphere, the shift from amusing adventure to grim resolve.
Niko swiped his keycard through the reader with a deft flick of his wrist. With a subtle click of the lock disengaging, the door to the tunnels swung open with a slight groan that seemed to protest our intrusion.
“Welcome to the underbelly of high-end retail,” I said as we stepped over the threshold, our footsteps muffled on the dusty concrete.
Niko shot me a half-smile, the blue of his eyes catching a stray beam of light from the doorway. “Just keep your wits about you, Tessa. This place isn’t known for customer service.”
“Or any service, for that matter,” Riker added.
“Can’t believe they abandoned all this,” I mused out loud, trailing a finger along the wall where moisture painted dark streaks on the stone. “Feels like walking into a ghost story.”
“More like a cautionary tale,” Elijah interjected, his voice taking on the tone of a seasoned narrator. “These tunnels were meant to be a haven, a refuge from the heat. But apparently Texans weren’t interested in hiding out underground.”
The air grew heavier as we ventured deeper, and I wondered what heat and fire awaited us in the heart of this forsaken labyrinth.
My fingers brushed against the cool concrete, feeling for vibrations, for signs of life—or unlife—on the other side. I felt like a cat burglar in a world where the loot could bite back hard.
Niko approached another door, this one marked by years of dust and secrets. He slipped out the keycard and slid it through the reader.
The tiny red light blinked mockingly, denying entry. Niko tried again.
No luck.
“Let me give it a go,” Riker murmured, flexing his hands. His toolkit appeared with the smoothness of a practiced magician.
“Riker the Lock Whisperer,” I said, trying not to think about what awaited us. “Whisper sweet nothings. It’ll open up.”
“Your faith is touching,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching as he inserted a pick into the lock.
Meanwhile, Cairo stepped forward, his hands weaving arcane symbols in the air. A spark of magic leapt from his fingertips to the alarm panel, sizzling as it connected. The scent of burnt electronics filled the air—a smell that, oddly enough, reminded me of Mami’s home cooking when she tried to multitask.
“Magic and muscle, the perfect combo,” I mused aloud, ignoring the raised eyebrow from Riker. I had to admit, though; there was something deeply satisfying about watching two very different forces work together to bend a stubborn piece of metal and wire to our collective will.
“Got it,” Riker announced a moment later, his voice low but triumphant. The latch gave way with a reluctant clunk, and the door creaked open on protesting hinges.
“Like a charm,” I said, stepping through the threshold after the guys, ready to face whatever lay beyond with a snarky comment and maybe a touch of professional competence.
Okay. That last bit was more hope than certainty. But I was getting better at this gig.
The abandoned tunnels swallowed us whole, their vast, empty bellies echoing with the crunch of our footsteps on scattered debris. It was like stepping into the gaping maw of a silent, slumbering beast. I tried not to imagine it waking up hungry.
We picked our way deeper into the labyrinth of forgotten concrete and rusting metal, guided by the dim light of an LED torch and Cairo’s soft incantations. The air was musty, heavy with the scent of mildew and the unmistakable tang of magic – a hint of sulfur and smoke that tingled against my skin.
“Hey, does anyone else feel like—” I started, but broke off abruptly as a figure darted across the tunnel ahead of us, shrouded in a swirl of sandswept air.
“Someone’s here!” I hissed, my heart hammering a staccato rhythm against my ribs.
“Damn,” Riker muttered, reaching for the knife he always carried. But before any of us could move to intercept, the figure—definitely a djinni guard if the shimmering, heat-haze aura was anything to go by—bolted, its ethereal form blurring with supernatural speed.
“Got it,” Niko growled, and there was a rippling tension in the air, the kind that preceded a storm—or, in this case, a werewolf transformation.
