Dancing in the Shadows

Ayiana

Chapter 14

Snow dropped his pack and pulled open the iron grate. The wall behind it felt solid, held in place by some mechanism he couldn't see. No matter. A little C-4 would solve the problem. He pulled a brick of the explosive out of his pack, affixed it to the concrete panel, and backed away. A moment later the barrier shattered in an explosion of noise and dust.

Snow nodded his satisfaction and bent to rummage in his pack again. He was a hunter by trade, but his usual prey lived above ground and preferred daylight to darkness, so he would have to modify his technique a little for this job. Still, in the end, a hunt was a hunt. It was all about stealth. With that thought in mind, he adjusted the sound-amplifying headphones, donned a pair of night vision goggles, and slipped a spare ammo belt over his shoulder. He snapped a round of ammunition into his gun and reached up to turn on the goggles. Around him, the tunnels took on a green tinge, and the rock walls came into sharp focus.

Ready. With a low hum of anticipation, he stepped into the tunnels.

Let the games begin.

 

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Father moved slowly down the steps and into his chamber. He felt as though he carried a great burden on his shoulders, and it was pressing down upon him, forcing him to stoop beneath its weight.

"How is he?" Mary asked.

He looked at her and sighed. "He's gone Above."

"But he can't! He's in no condition—"

Father raised his hands, stopping her in mid-protest. "I know. But he wouldn't listen."

"We ought to go after him," William said. He was leaning against Father's desk, hands shoved into the pockets of his apron. "Bring him back. For his own good."

But Father shook his head. "No!" He saw the surprise in William and Mary's eyes. They hadn't expected the vehement exclamation. But Father knew Vincent, knew how dangerous he could be at times like this. And there was also the chance that Vincent had sensed something true. "But I want you to get a message to Pascal. Tell him I want an all quiet on the pipes. And put all the sentries on full alert."

"Why?" William asked.

Father looked away. "Just . . . just in case."

William exchanged a puzzled glance with Mary, then shrugged and left just as Catherine ran in.

"Father! Vincent's not in his chamber!"

"I know." He crossed to her. "Catherine, perhaps you should sit down."

"Where is he?" She folded her arms across her chest and waited for an answer, steel in her spine and eyes.

"He's gone Above."

"Why?"

Father leaned against the railing, searching for the words that would keep both of them safe. "He had the dream again. Only this time it was worse. Much worse. Catherine . . ." He hesitated, hating to give her more cause for worry. "He believes he saw his own death."

"Oh my God." She turned back the way she had come. "I have to go to him."

"No! You can't!"

She twisted around with a fierce expression in her eyes. "Don't try to stop me, Father."

He reached out to her. "Just listen to what I have to say. After that, if you still feel you must go, I won't stop you."

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then she gave him a single sharp nod.

"Vincent believes that he must confront this threat—whatever it is—in order to keep you safe and to protect your child. What do you think will happen if you go after him and the evil finds you instead? What then?"

"There is no evil, Father. It's just a dream, a . . . figment!"

"Are you absolutely certain of that?" Father asked. "You of all people know how sensitive Vincent is. What if the threat is real?"

She stared at him.

"No," he said. "You must stay here. It's the only way. Whatever it is Vincent's gone after, you mustn't distract him."

There were tears in her eyes as she stared at him. Finally, she nodded again. With heavy steps, she made her way down the stairs and over to a chair. She dropped into it and covered her face with her hands. "Father, what am I going to do?"

He crossed to her and squeezed her shoulder. "You'll do what I'm doing," he said. "You'll wait. And you'll pray."

 

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The pipe chamber was eerily silent. It was a strange sensation for Pascal, who crossed the room quickly, coming to a stop near Zach.

"What's wrong?"

Zach looked up from his position on the floor. "An 'all quiet'."

Pascal kept his voice calm, not wanting to alarm Zach, who was already watching him with fear in his eyes. Still, an all-quiet was an extreme measure used only in the event of a serious threat to the tunnel community. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Zach got to his feet. "Father put all the sentries on special alert."

"An intruder?" It was the only reason Pascal could think of for shutting down the community's communication system and alerting the sentries, but if it was an intruder, it must be a very dangerous one for this combination of steps to seem necessary.

Zach shook his head. "No one's seen anything."

Maybe Father only suspected the breach and was taking preventive measures. "Have you heard from all the outposts?"

"Yes. Except Steven. He's down by the water tunnel."

Steven wasn't exactly their most reliable sentry lately, so the fact that he hadn't reported in wasn't really cause for worry. Still . . . "He's probably asleep. Send it again. Use the emergency reply code."

Zach nodded and turned to do as he was told.

Pascal tried not to worry, but icy fingers climbed up his spine as he stared at the chamber entrance.

 

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Snow pressed the earpiece tight against his ear, straining to hear any ambient sound that might drift his way in the darkness. There. A faint rustling on his right. He turned and headed toward the sound, walking slowly and stopping often to listen.

After a few cautious moments, the rustling sound resolved into two voices. They were young. One male and one female. The girl was saying something ridiculous about the boy's eyes. Snow resisted the urge to snort in disgust, instead moving closer and listening for the faintest hint that they had heard his approach.

"What's the matter?" The girl sounded frustrated and confused. The boy must have interrupted their make-out session.

"The pipes. Better go check."

The kid sounded worried. He had good reason to be, though he didn't know it yet.

There was a series of scuffling sounds followed by the brush of rubber-soled shoes on a metal ladder. The sounds were coming closer, but they were approaching from somewhere beneath Snow's feet. He shifted his gun and aimed it in the direction of the sound, turning his head from side to side, sweeping the corridor with the night vision goggles. There. Just a few feet ahead of him, a hole, low in the tunnel wall.

A panel slid aside, and Snow didn't wait for a clear target. He fired. Five shots in quick succession. He heard a body fall and then the girl screamed. Why, he wondered, did girls always scream? It was such a useless waste of energy, and it always gave away their position. He sighed. She would have to be dealt with.

But before he killed her, the girl would tell him her dead boyfriend's name.

 

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The silence in the pipe chamber was deafening. Pascal wandered restlessly from pipe to pipe, taking out his stethoscope every so often and pressing it against the metal, then shaking his head and moving on again.

"Any news on Steven?" he asked Zach.

Zach shook his head. "No."

"Did you use the emergency reply code?"

"Twice. Do you think something's wrong?"

Steven was still young, a man-child who hadn't yet learned to control his passions. If Brooke was with him, he would be distracted. But he was also one of their best sentries, and he would never get so caught up in Brooke that he'd ignore an emergency signal. Something was wrong.

"Who's manning the outpost underneath Belvedere Castle?"

"Old Sam."

"He's the closest." Pascal gestured at the pipes. "Have him check on Steven. Tell him to be careful."

 

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The girl was fast, he'd give her that much. But she was clumsy. Panicked. It made her easy prey. Snow caught up to her quickly, blocking her escape. She tripped and fell to the floor at his feet and he watched her scrabble in the dirt, unmoved by her fear. Pity, he thought. He'd told Gabe he didn't kill children anymore. He resented this one for turning him into a liar.

"What was his name?" he asked coldly. "The boy's name."

"Steven." There were tears in her voice. And terror. He liked the terror. Relished it. It gave him power.

"Steven." He said it slowly, savoring it. "And yours?" He nudged her with his foot. "Look at me!" Another nudge, harder this time. "Your name."

She choked it out between gasping lips. "Br . . . Brooke."

He backed away a step, almost feeling sorry for her. She was no more than a whining bundle of rags, hardly worth the cost of the bullet that would kill her. "Close your eyes, Brooke. You won't feel any pain."

"Stop!"

Snow looked up, startled and angry. He'd neglected his surroundings. It could easily have been a fatal mistake. But it was just a weak old man with a length of steel pipe in his hands. Almost casually, Snow brought up his gun. Fired once. Again. The old man went down as the girl screamed again and ran off. He was about to go after her when he heard an unholy roar rising from somewhere below.

His prey.

Ignoring Brooke's panicked flight, he turned toward the sound.

 

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Vincent ran. He knew the intruder was behind him. He'd lured him here deliberately, enticing him away from the tunnel community, drawing him deeper into the dark places. Now he paused, trying to catch his breath, and looked back. The intruder had stopped for some reason. Vincent had to get his attention again. He turned back, moving slowly now. Watching. Listening.

There. He saw a gleam of red light. But from what source? And what was its purpose? Then he remembered something Mouse had told him, about magical glasses that helped a man see in the dark. Vincent realized then that this was more than a simple matter of an armed intruder. This man was a hunter. And he was hunting for Vincent. But why? And who had sent him?

He waited silently, watching the man's head tilt as he listened to the darkness. So, he thought, not just the goggles, then. Something was aiding his hearing as well. These devices must be destroyed. Vincent eased closer, biding his time, positioning himself just so . . .

There.

The man spun toward him at the same moment Vincent knocked the cap off the steam pipe. Searing steam rushed out, and the man screamed in pain. With a roar, Vincent shoved him into the billowing steam and rushed past, moving away, moving deeper, moving down. Gunshots sounded behind him, but Vincent ignored them. He'd already rounded the corner. He was safe.

For now.

 

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The mood in Father's chamber was grim. Brooke sat sobbing quietly, her hands over her eyes as Mary tried to comfort her and William and Pascal looked on. Father watched Catherine. Her head was bent, her hands over her eyes. There was tension in her—as if she were strung tight and at any moment might explode into action. It was difficult to sit here and do nothing, he knew, difficult knowing that Vincent was in danger and there was nothing she could do to help. It was a feeling he had experienced himself more times than he could count. He crossed the room and rested his hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently in silent comfort.

"It's my fault," Pascal said. "I should've gone myself. But Sam was the closest." He took a breath. "I sent him to be killed."

"Pascal, no," said William. "You couldn't have known."

Jamie ran in, out of breath. "Mouse heard gunfire."

Catherine's head jerked up, and she stiffened beneath Father's fingers.

"Where?" Father asked urgently.

"Down in the Serpentine, under the north well. They were headed down."

"Vincent's leading him away from us," said William.

"I'm going to go get my crossbow," Jamie said, already turning back.

"Come back!" Father called, releasing Catherine and moving toward the steps. "Jamie!"

She turned, anger in her eyes.

"For God's sake! Do you think you're going to stop this butcher with a child's toy?" He took a breath and lowered his voice. "Vincent saw his own death. He's gone up there to buy our lives with his own." He glanced at Catherine, sending her a silent apology. "'A greater love hath no man than this. That a man lay down his life for his friends.'" He looked at each of the others in turn. "Now please. Let us not throw away this gift."

Catherine's eyes were wide with fear as she held Father's gaze, her knuckles white against the arms of the chair. Father knew it took every ounce of strength she possessed not to go after Vincent.

 

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Vincent was breathing hard. Weakness washed over him in great waves. And still he kept going, kept drawing the white-haired intruder farther away. Only now he had a plan, a goal. It wasn't much, and it might not work, but he had to try. He paused, leaned against the wall, and gasped for air while he fought the pain in his chest. The stitches had opened. His shirt showed two growing red stains.

There. Behind him. The man was close again. He had to keep moving.

A few minutes later he dropped down off the last ledge, and the mists rose up around him, welcoming him. The structure of this place, with its unusual formations, would bounce his voice from one end of the cavern to the other, making it impossible to trace his location. And the mists would cover his movements, hiding him from the hunter's eyes. He hid behind a stalagmite and watched the intruder arrive. The sight of him, with his weapons of death and his confident air, provoked a low growl from the back of Vincent's throat.

The man moved cautiously, his head swinging from side to side as he walked, and Vincent waited until he'd stepped all the way down to the floor before he roared. The sound bounced and echoed through the cavern, magnified by the rock formations and made more terrifying by the cold silver mists.

The man cringed and yanked the listening device out of his ears. Vincent's nostrils flared as he picked up the scent of the man's fear.

"Okay!" The man yelled. "That's one for you!" He stared into the shadows, but he no longer had the goggles, and without them, Vincent knew he couldn't be seen. Still, bravado and fear were a dangerous combination.

"I know you're out there—" The man fired wildly, emptying his gun. Then he reloaded, muttering to himself.

The hunter's white hair and pale skin stood out against the stone pillar, making him easy to see. Vincent watched him in silence.

"You can run. Hide." The man shrugged. "It doesn't matter. When you look behind you, I'll be there."

Vincent moved, slipping silently into the next cavern. Flinging off his cloak, he used it to bait his trap. The man must have heard something, because he fired, and Vincent heard stone shatter behind him. Cursing, the man tried to run after him, but blinded by the darkness and the shifting mists, he tripped, losing his gun. Vincent turned, watching in silence while the white-haired man scrabbled in the dirt. He was calm, now. This was his territory.

The hunter found his gun and scrambled to his feet. He pressed back against a tall pillar, panting, his eyes wide. Vincent observed the man's raw fear impassively. He felt no sympathy. The man had come here to kill him. To hurt his family. He would not be allowed to leave alive.

"Where are you?" the hunter asked.

"Here," Vincent replied quietly.

"I can't see you."

"I know."

"Do you have a name?"

"Yes."

The man edged around the pillar. "I always learn the names. All the names. Do you?"

"I know their faces." Every one imprinted on his mind, like so many bloodstained squares on a patchwork quilt. It was part of the price he paid for his strength—to never be allowed to forget.

"I don't suppose you want to call this a draw—"

Vincent growled a response.

"I guess that's a no."

"He sent you."

"Who? Gabriel?"

"Is that his name?" Vincent would remember it always. And one day soon, he would kill the man who bore it.

"One of them." The man blinked and opened his eyes wide again. "It's your child, isn't it. That's why he wants it."

Vincent didn't bother to answer.

The man took something from his finger and laid it on a low stalagmite. "Here," he said. "A peace offering." He backed away. "You still there? I'm tired of playing ring-around-the-rosie."

Vincent knew the moment the hunter spotted his cloak, because the tone of his voice changed, growing confident again as the smell of fear subsided.

"That game ends how?" The man shifted, balancing his body and steadying his weapon in his hands. "We all fall down?"

He fired. Five times. Ten. He kept firing until the weapon clicked on an empty chamber. Then he crossed the cavern to the large, shadowy shape at its other end.

Vincent lowered his hands from his ears and watched the hunter lift the cloak from the rock. He heard the man curse, saw him fling the cloak aside. Then there was a low rumble above the hunter's head.

The hunter screamed as the avalanche of rocks broke over him, crushing his body beneath hundreds of pounds of fallen limestone.

Vincent waited for the dust to settle, breathing shallowly against the pain in his chest. When it was safe, he crossed the chamber to see what the man had left on the stalagmite.

It was a ring. The smooth, cold surface of it burned against his palm. He dropped it in his pocket and looked over at the pile of stone. Gabriel, he thought. Gabriel was the name of the man who had sent this hunter to the tunnels—the man who had stolen his son and tried to kill Catherine.

He would send this man a message. This . . . Gabriel.

Turning, he began heaving aside the fallen rocks.

 

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In Father's chambers, Catherine lifted her head. Her eyes were filled with tears, and her chest ached. Vincent was in pain, and he was exhausted. But he was alive.

"It's over," she said in a dull voice. "It's done." She stood up, shrugging off Father's hand. "Let me go."

She didn't look back as she left the chamber. She kept her head up, and her shoulders back, and she put one foot in front of the other. She wouldn't stop until she found him, until she held him in her arms and could see for herself that he was safe.

 

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Vincent carried the body to the place where they had tried to kill Catherine, the place where their son had been born. He dropped it on the rooftop, careless of how it fell.

Then he spread his legs wide and lifted his hands to the sky and roared his challenge to the night.

"Gabriel!"