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Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Her stomach tied itself into knots. She stopped, looking around. The corridor was quiet—still. The lighting had been dimmed in this section of the health center, and shadows haunted the far corners. But nothing lurked within them, waiting to attack. Whatever it was she sensed, it was coming from the treatment room. From the door itself.
The door Michael was reaching out to open.
"No!” She thrust him away kinetically. He hit the wall opposite with a grunt, then slid to an ungainly heap to the floor. She ran to help him.
"I gather you have a good reason for doing that,” he said, rubbing a hip as he climbed to his feet. “But next time, try to give me a little more warning."
"Sorry. Something's wrong with the door handle.” It was stupid, really, being so afraid of something as inane as a door handle, but she couldn't help it.
"Wrong how?” He stopped a foot or so away from the door and studied it intently.
"It's evil.” She stopped beside him. This close, she could see the slight shimmer surrounding the doorknob.
She half expected him to laugh, but he didn't. “Magic,” he murmured. “But what sort?"
"I don't know, and I don't care to find out. I think we'd be better off using the other entrance." He squatted on his heels. “If they're using magic to guard this door, then the other will also have security. Go fetch me that chair, will you?"
He pointed vaguely down the corridor. She did as he asked. “What are you going to do?” She put the chair next to him.
"This.” He rose and nudged the chair with his foot, pushing it toward the handle. The back of the chair hit the doorknob. For an instant, nothing happened. Then something screamed, a high pitched wail that chased goose bumps across her flesh. Nothing living made a sound like that. Steam began to pour from the metal, convulsing, condensing as it found form—found life. It became a flimsy, white-sheeted creature with rows of wickedly sharp teeth and soulless eyes. Michael held her elbow, his grip tight enough to bruise—tight enough to hold her still and keep her from running. She licked dry lips. Energy tingled at her fingertips, but she didn't release her weapon. She wasn't even sure if kinetic energy would affect something that was little more than smoke. The creature wrapped its flimsy gowns around the chair and screamed again. There was a sharp retort, like the backfire of a car, then the smoke and the chair were gone.
"What the hell was that?” Her throat was so tight with fear that her question came out hoarse. "Devil spawn. They're a form of wraith. That one had obviously been set to destroy whatever touched the handle."
She shivered and rubbed her arms. “So if you'd touched that doorknob, you would now be wherever that chair is."
He glanced at her. “I wouldn't be anywhere. I'd be dead, consumed by the spawn. How does the door feel now?"
She looked at it. There was no sense of evil. Still ... She thrust the pent-up energy toward the door, opening it. No alarm sounded. No sharp-teethed bits of smoke flew out to greet them. The room was dark and still. She could sense nothing more than muskiness. Even so, she shivered. She had a feeling Cordell wouldn't stop at just the door. There would be other traps waiting for them in the darkness of the caverns.
"It's safe,” she murmured, trying to ignore the churning in her stomach. Michael tugged her into the room and closed the door. Furniture gleamed at her, ice bright in the darkness.
"What about the next door?” he said.
She glanced at the wall. “Safe. Maybe Cordell didn't expect anyone to get past that wraith."
"Maybe.” There was doubt in his voice. “It takes a lot of power to dominate a spawn like that—and they usually work in pairs."
"So there's another one lurking around somewhere?"
He nodded, his face a mask of concentration as he probed the wall with his fingers. After a few seconds, he punched a hole into the plaster and pulled out some wiring. “Want to hunt around for scissors or something?"
She moved across to the drawers. Three were empty, but the fourth was a treasure chest—not only scissors, but several sharp knives, as well. She handed one knife to Michael, then grabbed the other. It was shiny and pointed, the sort of knife doctors used in surgery. It wasn't anywhere near as balanced as her throwing knives but it was better than nothing. She hunted around until she found some sticky tape, and attached the knife to her jeans. If she just shoved it in her pocket, the knife might well cut through everything—her jeans and her skin.
Michael sliced the wires then opened the door into the caverns. No alarm sounded—but it hadn't the first time, either. He offered her the second knife, and she taped it to her other leg. And felt just a little safer for it.
Once more, they entered the cavern and climbed down the stairs. The door slid shut behind them, and the darkness became complete.
Where to first? She shifted from one foot to the other, not wanting to stand here any longer than necessary. At least if they were moving they were harder targets to hit. Though why she thought they would be targets merely standing here, she couldn't say. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the sense of chilled expectation in the dank air. Power shimmered around her again. Michael, searching the darkness, trying to find some sign of life in this blanket of night.
We'll try the left tunnel this time. There's a faint heartbeat coming from that direction. She bit her lip, gaze searching the blackness. Human or otherwise?
Human. He led the way forward again. It's too steady to be a vampire. Can you sense any vampires?
He squeezed her hand lightly . Not yet. And I don't think it's vampires we'll have to worry about. Oh great. She tried to ignore the goose bumps crawling across her skin. So how do you kill a demon spawn?
It's usually better to stay out of their way.
