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Camille turned left, then slowed. The street stretched before them, devoid of traffic of any kind. “Where to now?”
He frowned, reaching for the link. Though her thoughts were still distant, her fear surrounded him, so sharp it became his own. He flexed his fingers, trying to control the growing knot of anxiety in his gut. “Take the next right.”
Camille swung into the street. Down at the far end, a yellow cab cruised out of a side street and drove toward them. Kirby wasn’t in it. He knew that without looking.
“You want me to stop in front of that sucker and ask where he dropped her?”
He hesitated. Could they afford to waste the time? Could they afford not to? “Do it,” he said.
The van slewed sideways, blocking the road. The cab stopped and the driver rolled down the window as Camille hustled over. Three minutes later she was back. “Rodger Street,” she said. “Outside some sort of packing factory. He didn’t have a specific number.”
“Was she alone?” Some part of him hoped she wasn’t. Hoped that she was being forced into this action. He just didn’t want to believe she was breaking another promise.
Camille nodded. “Whatever she’s doing, she’s apparently doing it willingly.”
“Damn.” Why? What could have gone so wrong in the few hours he’d left her alone that she was now willing to risk her life going up against the witch?
Camille patted his hand, then reversed out of the cab’s way before continuing up the street. They quickly found Rodger Street and slowed to a crawl.
“There’s the packing factory,” Camille said, pointing to the right.
He knew without looking that she wasn’t there. “Keep going.”
They continued to cruise down the street. “Heartbeats, coming from that abandoned building up ahead,” Russell said. “There are at least three that I can hear.”
“Human or otherwise?” Doyle asked. Not that it really mattered beyond knowing what he was up against.
Russell hesitated. “Hard to say.”
Camille pulled into the driveway and stopped. “The gates are padlocked,” she said. “If I drive through them, they’re going to know we’re here.”
“She didn’t enter via the gates.” He spotted the brief flutter of material on the fence several feet away from the gate and thrust open the van’s side doors, clambering out.
“Damn it, shifter, get back in here. Let us deal with this. You can’t go wandering around with that leg of yours.”
He ignored her and hobbled over to the fence. Pain rose—a promise of the agony he would no doubt be in once the painkillers wore off. He plucked the thin scrap from the wire and sniffed it quickly. Basil, geranium and pine—the oils she’d soaked in last night. He clenched his fingers around the material, his gaze searching the structure. She wasn’t in the building itself, but underneath—in the parking garage.
“Damn it, Doyle—”
The rest of Camille’s words were lost to the buzz of magic as he shifted shape. Even in panther form, his leg was useless. It didn’t matter. As a cat, he had three other legs and could move faster than any human. He slipped past the wire and ran for the parking garage.
KIRBY STOPPED AT THE END OF THE RAMP. ELECTRICITY danced across her fingers, shooting slivers of light through the veil-heavy darkness. Somewhere in the distance water dripped, a steady sound like fingers tapping impatiently. She shivered and thrust her imagination back into its box. The last thing she needed was to be imagining the worst. No doubt the witch would be doing that soon enough.
She edged forward, her steps becoming surer as her eyes grew used to the darkness. Columns loomed before her, some hung with slime, others scrawled with graffiti. Beer bottles decorated the far corners, scattered about like abandoned toys. The air smelled stale and was perfumed with the rich scent of rubbish and urine. Her vision, come to life.
A chill crept icy fingers down her spine. She shivered again, wondering why the parking garage was so cold when the air outside was so hot. Surely this close to the entrance, some of the day’s heat should have crept in. Or maybe the unnatural curtain of darkness that seemed to hang over the entrance somehow blocked the heat as well.
She continued to follow the ramp down, reaching the next level. Mariel would be on the last one, though why she was so sure of this, she couldn’t say. Oddly enough, the air here seemed warmer. The dripping water had faded, to be replaced by a hum that seemed to reverberate up through her feet. She hesitated, listening. And heard, underneath the hum, the soft chanting.
A spell of summoning, she thought. And wondered how the hell she knew.
And what the hell Mariel was summoning.
The closer she moved to the last level of the parking structure, the louder and stronger the humming became. Wisps of red and purple light flickered across the walls, and the air seemed to vibrate with urgency and power. Then it was gone, and a dead sort of silence prevailed.
Goose bumps crawled down her spine. There was something in the darkness with her. Something not human. She froze. A footstep scraped against the silence. Breathing, harsh and heavy, approached. She didn’t move, pinned by fear, her hands clenched against the energy burning across her fingertips.
A man lumbered into view. Only it wasn’t a man, but a decayed replica, its clothes little more than tatters of material that barely covered the skeletal remains of its body. It reeked of death and rotten meat. Her stomach stirred, threatening to revolt. She bit her lip, watching the creature plod by. Why was Mariel summoning things like that into being? Surely, if she was going to summon the dead to help her, she could get something a little more … lively? Like the zombie that had attacked Doyle …
