Year One (Chronicles of The One #1)(44)

“What are you doing?”

“It’s bad, what’s coming. It’s magickal and black. I’m using a Sharpie, trying to write the symbols on the wall. Trying to remember the right ones. Don’t talk. Try not to breathe. Don’t move. Pray.”

As they huddled, Arlys saw the light coming. But not a light, she thought. Lights weren’t black.

Yet this was—black yet luminous. And along the top of the tunnel.

Movement now with it, a figure forming.

A man, black hair flowing, black coat spread like wings as he flew along the roof of the tunnel.

A woman lay limp in his arms—arms, legs, head dangling.

Scratches, gouges, even teeth marks scored her naked body.

As he came closer, Arlys saw his eyes burned red.

When he passed, she might have allowed herself a shudder, but he stopped, spun in midair. Hovering, he searched the dark with those red eyes.

The woman in his arms moaned. He smiled down at her.

“Some life in you yet. All the better.”

He flew on until that black light vanished in the dark.

Arlys drew a breath to speak, but Fred put fingers on her lips. They stood in the black, in silence, for another full minute.

“I don’t know how far he can hear or see.”

“What … what was that?”

“I think a sorcerer. I don’t know. Evil. The really evil. She was alive, Arlys. I couldn’t help her. I’m not strong enough.”

Who was? Arlys wondered. What could be? “Why didn’t he see us, sense us? The symbols?”

“I think they helped. Let’s hurry, let’s go. I think they helped shield us, and you smell like…”

“Death.”

“Yeah. It’s like a shield, too.”

“Then we keep it. Oh, thank God. The tracks are going down. We’re going under the river.”

It was steep and tricky, and slowed progress.

She’d said before they’d gone in they couldn’t know who or what waited in the tunnels. And still, she hadn’t fully believed.

Now, she feared.

All that mattered was getting to the end, getting back up into air that didn’t carry the stench of death.

“We’re close. We’re close now.” Oddly, knowing that, Arlys’s fear doubled. “We’re hitting the big U-turn the tracks make before the Hoboken exit. We double back, see? And we have to start checking the platforms, looking for—”

They came out of nowhere.

She heard Fred scream as someone—or something—dragged them apart. Another grabbed Arlys from behind, lifting her off her feet.

“Bitch stinks! But she’s got a nice rack on her.”

She held on to the gun with sheer will as a hand squeezed her breast.

“Let’s get them up, strip them down!”

Arlys rammed back with an elbow, fought to kick. Then froze when she felt a knife pressed to her throat, felt blood trickle down from where it bit in.

“Rather fuck you once while you’re still breathing, but I’m not particular. How do you want it, bitch?”

Arlys closed her eyes. “I can give you a better ride while I’m breathing.”

He laughed, licked her ear. “Good choice.”

She let herself go still.

Fred screamed, a high, bright, somehow musical sound. As it echoed along with the attackers’ laughter, Arlys forced out a little laugh of her own, turned as if into the man’s arms.

And pressing the gun to his crotch, fired, fired again.

He shrieked, fell back, and the knife tore down the sleeve of her coat.

“What the fuck? I’ll kill her. Kill both of you.”

Arlys swung the gun toward the voice, but feared she’d hit Fred if she shot.

“I’m hurt, I’m hurt. She shot my fucking balls off! Kill them!”

Arlys kicked out at the hand that grabbed at her ankle, stomped on it, and filled the tunnels with another shriek.

“Run, Arlys! Just run!”

She heard the awful sound of fist striking flesh and bone, Fred’s gasping moan.

She couldn’t shoot, but she could fight. Even as she gathered herself to leap forward, the tunnel filled with light, blinding and brilliant.

Arlys whipped a hand in front of her eyes to block it out. Eyes watering from the glare, she saw Fred trying to crawl, and the man looming over her swatting at the air with his hand, with his knife. Reaching for the gun in his belt.

She didn’t think, simply fired. Again and again and again, even when he fell, even when the gun clicked on empty.

“Stop, Arlys, stop! You might hurt them. Stop, stop! It hurts me!”

Face white as bone under a gathering bruise, Fred crawled toward her. “Please help me.”

That got through. Arlys lowered the gun, rushed toward her friend. “What can I do?”

“I’m okay. I’m okay. It’s too bright. It’s too bright.”

As Fred spoke, the light softened. Sweetened, Arlys thought as she saw dozens of tiny flickers of light dancing over them.

“What … what are they?”

“Like me. But mini.” Fred slumped against Arlys. “I called them. I didn’t know I could, but I did. They came to help.”

Behind them, the first man moaned and clawed toward his knife with his uninjured hand. Arlys made herself walk over, pick up the knife, wipe her own blood from the blade.