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“Want to make a bet it’s not a pleasure palace?” Camille muttered. “Okay, we head up the ladder. While we’re climbing, Morio and I won’t be able to cast a spell, but we have a protection charm prepped and we can cast it now. It should give us protection unless someone interferes. If we’re attacked, it will break since we can’t concentrate on it while we’re on the ladder, but there will be a few seconds lead time.” She shrugged, smiling grimly. “Some protection is better than nothing.”
We all nodded.
“What do you need us to do?”
Camille motioned for us to stand at an arm’s length apart. “It’s simple, just close your eyes until we tell you to open them.”
As Morio moved in back of us, Camille took the front. They moved as a pair, arms out, down the line, energy racing around us, from Morio’s hands to Camille’s, and back again, creating a circle. I closed my eyes, but the crackle of magic was unnerving. I could feel it tingle as it slid over my body, into my lungs.
They began to singsong back and forth in a counterpoint, low chanting on the currents of air, but powerful enough to make my skin crawl.
“Spirits of water, spirits of earth…” Camille’s voice was rich, like sloe gin, throaty and warm.
“To our spell come forth, give birth…” Morio echoed back at her, soft-spoken and smooth.
“Spirits of fire, spirits of air…”
“To all unwelcome, beware, beware…”
“Spirits of the Netherworld take heed…”
“Hear us in our hour of need…”
“Circle ’round, protect, defend…”
“Until this spell breaks and ends…”
The passage seemed to take a deep breath, and then Camille asked us to open our eyes. We couldn’t see any difference, but the feel of magic was there, saturating the air. Shamas’s eyes were bright, sparkling, and he stared at them, his expression flickering between envy and admiration.
“We’re ready. Let’s go.” Camille stepped back into place, as I motioned for Menolly to take over the lead, followed by me, then Shamas, and then the others in order. Menolly would be the least vulnerable if somebody was waiting up top.
The rungs led into a narrow vertical passage. As we climbed, I saw that there was, indeed, a second level before reaching the street. As I stepped onto the landing that led to a metal door next to the rungs continuing up, Menolly had her ear pressed against the steel, trying to catch any sound coming from within.
“All I can hear is a shuffling behind the door.”
Once we were all crowded on the landing, I checked the lock while Shamas held a light on it. Easy to pick—obviously they didn’t think anybody would be coming through their barricade below. I pulled out the set of lock picks I carried around everywhere I went, and within seconds I had shimmied the pins. With a soft click, the door opened. Holding my breath, I pushed it open and Shamas and I slammed through.
The room was long and wide, lined on both sides with cages. Three held prisoners—men, manacled to the walls. They were in pain, and two were frothing at the mouth. There was no doubt in my mind they were werewolves. When they saw us, they rattled their chains and tried to lunge forward, but the manacles only gave them a lead of a few inches from the wall.
“Crap. We have to shut them up so nobody hears them.” As I scanned the rest of the room, I was relieved to see nobody else around. Shade made sure the door was shut behind us and leaned against it, just in case someone tried to come in.
“Leave it to me.” Roz pulled out three quarter-sized black balls with a wick on each end, and a lighter. He lit the wick on the first and sent it skidding toward the first werewolf. A small puff of smoke rose up from the smoldering bomb and then a pop as a shower of sparks set off the spell. The man let out a sharp cry, then slumped, unconscious. Roz moved to the next cell, and then the third. “That’s all I have of those—they’re pricey, but we can look around in peace now.”
As we ransacked the room, Camille let out a little cry. She was at the very back, and she motioned us over. “I found their dissection table.” A queasy expression crossed her face, and though I didn’t want to see it, I looked.
We’d seen this before, when we were dealing with Van and Jaycee the first time. The table was more like a long sink—seven feet long—set into a stainless steel counter. It was a good ten inches deep, and drains on either end led down to pipes below the fount. A faucet with a sprayer attachment was fixed to the center of the drain board. The sink was porcelain, and heavy reddish-brown stains spotted the length of it.
“Wolf Briar. This is their setup. But how do they dispose of the bodies?” I looked around. There was a cloaked-off section to the right. I hoped to hell we wouldn’t find a special surprise like a Tregart or two hiding behind the curtains. But as I pulled them back, what we did see was even more disturbing. There was a portal there. It was between two obsidian obelisks that were about four feet high, and it crackled with orange light.
“Where the hell does that lead? I don’t think I want to stick my head through to find out.” As I drew closer to the vortex, it sizzled and popped.
Shamas approached, motioning me back as he knelt near it. “I think I know.” He held out his hands, closed his eyes, and whispered something I couldn’t catch. After a moment he pulled away and turned around. “I was right. This portal leads to the elemental plane of fire. Ten to one, they shove the bodies through and take care of them that way. They just burn away in the heat.”
“Their version of a crematorium.” I stared at the portal. “Is there any way to close that down? It seems way too dangerous to leave open.”
Shamas nodded. “You’re right. It is dangerous. We do not need fire elementals running rogue over here, and believe me, they can come through. I can close it, but whoever opened it is going to know sooner or later. If they’re not focused on something else, they’ll feel the spell break, because this isn’t a naturally occurring vortex.”
“Do it. The minute you’re done, we’ll head topside and take out the club. And…crap…what about the werewolves? We can’t just leave them. Somebody might decide to come down and slit their throats to keep them from talking, or out of spite.”
