Magic Undying (Dragon's Gift: The Seeker #1)(21)

I followed him, but pulled up short when I stepped inside the alley. “There’s no door.”

There was nothing but an expanse of brick. My heart thundered in my ears. Roarke could have hurt me long before this, but no girl had ever been led into an alley by a man and not gotten a little nervous.

He held out his hand.

I stared at him like he was crazy. “What?”

“You can’t see the door. Take my hand.”

I eyed him suspiciously, then did it, biting my lip at the warm strength of his palm. A shiver ran right up my arm as his grip closed over mine.

Focus!

His gaze turned serious. “Whatever you do, do not let go.”

I swallowed hard, trying not to imagine what it would be like to be lost in an Underpath. “I won’t.”

He nodded, then tugged. I followed him toward the wall, my fingertips itching to draw my blade.

When he reached for the expanse of brick, a light glowed at his palm. I could feel the magic pulsing, forcing outward to tear through the ether.

A pale gray glow shined from the wall like a passage, and Roarke tugged me through. I followed, stepping over a threshold that sparked against my skin.

Darkness enveloped me and gravity disappeared. A second later, I hurtled through space like I was riding a runaway train. My heart jumped into my throat, and I clutched at my only connection to the familiar—Roarke’s hand.

The strangest comfort flowed through me, and I took it, not caring where it was coming from.

A moment later, we slowed to a halt. A glowing doorway appeared, and Roarke dragged me through into a bustling old bar.

Disorientation slammed into me.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders and I blinked, clearing my vision. Roarke supported me, leaning down until his gaze was close to mine. Concern was clear in his eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded, slightly woozy.

“Sorry, I should have warned you. I don’t often take people through Underpaths.”

“It’s cool.” I pulled back and glanced around.

Patrons were crowded around little tables in a windowless bar that looked like it’d last been decorated during Henry VIII’s reign. The Hanged Man was in Plymouth, a bustling harbor town on southwest England’s coast and the country’s biggest supernatural city. None of the patrons—many of whom sported horns or wings—spared us a glance.

“Was this built on a graveyard, too?” I asked.

“No, it’s haunted.”

Where the dead reside. “You come through here often?” I gestured to the revelers. “These guys don’t seem to think it’s weird that you popped out of nowhere.”

He looked up, his gaze meeting mine. “No. But the Underpath entrances are enchanted to obscure activity. They sense we’re here, but an enchantment keeps them from really noticing us.”

“Nice.” I stepped back, shaking off the effects of Roarke and the Underpath. “Lead the way. Melly should be pulling up any minute.”

Roarke nodded and turned, weaving through the crowd and walking up a short flight of steps to the main part of the bar. It was just as small and cramped as the bottom floor, but somehow looked even older.

A ghostly silver figure peeked out from behind a wooden beam that supported the ceiling. She was wearing an old-fashioned dress and a lacy cap. Her gaze met mine and she waved.

“Roarke.” I tugged at the back of his shirt. “Do you see the woman over there? The silver one?”

He glanced over, his gaze searching. “There are no women over there.”

Uh, yeah there were. But I didn’t want to make this weirder. The girl smiled.

“Can you see ghosts?” Roarke asked.

“Must be my imagination.”

Most supernaturals couldn’t see ghosts. I never had before. But if this was another unexplained power involving death, I didn’t want to share it with Roarke.

Roarke turned, his gaze sharp. “You sure?”

I nodded, probably too enthusiastically. “Yep. Just woozy from the Underpath.”

He didn’t look like he bought it, so I said, “Our ride is waiting.”

He gave me one last suspicious look, then led the way out of the bar.

I followed him out onto a narrow cobbled street. The buildings rising on all sides were made of dark timber and white plaster, the kind of Tudor construction that I always associated with England. We were definitely in the old part of town.

I squinted against the bright sun that hovered overhead.

Roarke gestured to the left. “This way.”

I followed him down the narrow street, onto a wider thoroughfare that had just enough room for one lane of cars. A bright green mini screeched to a halt in front of us, and a pretty, dark-haired woman rolled down the window.

“Del! And Mr. Death!” she said.

“Melly!” I hugged her through the window. “Good to see you.”

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to see you. Hop in.”

I glanced at Roarke, who was about as big as Melly’s tiny car. There was no way he’d fit in the back. “You can have the front.”

“Thanks.” He grinned wryly at me.

As I climbed into Melly’s car, I had to move aside a pile of weapons to make a little space for myself.

“Just shove that stuff over,” she said. She was a telepath, so she preferred a good pair of daggers when hunting down a demon.