Chase the Dark (21 page)

“Clear,” one of the prefects announced.

“Yeah, no one is going to fit in there,” the other agreed. He started to turn, his light skimming along the floor. “Wait, what’s that?”

Ash’s hand twitched. The spider inched along her leg.

“Oh, it’s only a gauge . . . the glass reflected the flashlight,” the guy mumbled. “Let’s go.”

They backed away and swung the door shut with a bang. All of them jumped at the sudden sound—including the spider. It leaped like it had been launched off a springboard, right at Piper’s chest.

She lost it. She screamed into Ash’s hand and flailed like a mad thing. He held her down, straining to keep her in place as she hit her elbows and knees against pipes. He turned, dumping her onto the floor and pinning her.

“Hold still,” he growled. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” Lyre squawked from his corner. “What’s wrong?”

Piper went stiff as a board. Ash crouched over her, a knee on either side of her as he craned to try and spot the insect. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, tears streaming from her eyes. Her muscles quivered. Give her minotaurs, sphinxes, anything but
spiders.

“I don’t see it,” Ash whispered.

Something tippy-tapped against her stomach.

She made a muffled screech of horror and pushed off the floor with so much force she shoved Ash into the pipes above them. His head hit one with a clang.

“On my stomach,” she gasped, fighting back the scream writhing in the back of her throat.

Ash flipped her over. A lump quivered under the hem of her shirt. He yanked her shirt up so fast it made a ripping noise and he snatched the spider off her with his bare hand. His fist clenched and orange spider guts squirted from between his fingers.

Piper gasped for breath as her panic started to cool. Ash shook his hand, sending spider bits flying, then wiped it on the bottom edge of his jeans. He peered at his palm again.

“The little bastard got me,” he muttered.

“It bit you?” she gasped. She lurched halfway up—and belatedly realized there was no room for her to sit up. In fact, there was no room to move. In their spider-spawned wrestling match, they’d somehow got turned around so Piper was on her back, her legs bent, knees sticking up, shins jammed against the same pipes she’d had her legs under before. Ash was kneeling on top of her, the backs of his legs pressed against the tops of her thighs. He was bent double under the pipes with one hand on the floor by her head to brace his upper half.

“Would somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” Lyre snarled.

“Spider,” Ash replied, examining his palm.

“A spider?” Lyre repeated mutinously.

“A freaking huge spider,” Piper corrected, half angry, half humiliated. “Crawling up my leg. It got in my shirt!”

“Can you blame it? I’d want to get in your shirt too.”

“Lyre, this is not the time.”

“According to you, it’s never the time.”

“Would you shut up? We have enough problems already.” She reached for Ash’s wrist. “Let me see your hand. Did it get you bad?”

He allowed her to turn his hand around. Two red-rimmed marks pierced the fleshy side of his hand, but it wasn’t turning funny colors or swelling up. Yet.

“There are no spiders in this region dangerous to people,” he said. “Besides, I’m immune to most poisons.”

She blinked. “You are?”

“Yeah.” His eyebrows rose. “Bugs don’t really . . . bug me.”

Piper pulled a face. Lyre snorted. “Very witty, Ash.”

Ash’s mouth twitched in a hint of a smile. The horrible corny pun was to cheer her up. She took another deep breath. “Sorry for losing it. Spiders just . . . yeah.”

“Everyone has their weak spots,” he murmured.

“Except you,” she grumped.

“Even me.”

“Really? Like what?”

He hesitated, then glanced upward at the pipes two inches above his head. “I don’t like . . . confined spaces.”

Piper blinked, then glanced around. “Uh, confined as in
this closet
sort of confined?”

He winced slightly. “Underground confined spaces, mostly, but I can’t say I like closets.”

She smiled, feeling a little better, although Ash hadn’t had a meltdown over being in the closet. Then again, the closet hadn’t attacked him either.

With a sigh, she looked over their awkward positioning but couldn’t see an easy way to fix it. Ash shifted his shoulders uncomfortably.

“How much longer should we wait?” she asked in a whisper.

“Five more minutes,” Lyre mumbled, “and I’ll be unconscious.” His voice sounded distinctly woozy.

“I can’t hear anything,” Ash said. “Let’s get out of here.”

He managed to crawl back through the gap in the pipes without stepping on her. She followed, and after checking the coast was clear, they pulled Lyre out by his feet. His face was beet red and shiny with perspiration. He half hung on Ash’s shoulder as they stumbled away from the utilities room.

As they snuck downstairs and out into the blessedly cool night air, Piper couldn’t stop glancing at Ash every minute or two. He’d been nicer about her freak-out than she’d had any right to expect. She’d almost gotten them caught. His casual forgiveness made her wonder how badly he might panic when confronted with
his
phobia. She really didn’t want to see a panicking draconian with enough magic to blast them all into next week.

She followed behind the two daemons, her eyes and her thoughts lingering on Ash.

. . .

When it came to disreputable streets, McIntyre Boulevard was the most disgraceful area Piper had ever seen. The streetlights were broken and the windows of every building were shattered or boarded up. Trash littered the streets and the rusted out skeletons of cars sat along the crumbling curb. It stank of old urine.

The only spot of life on the whole boulevard was a warehouse-sized building lit up like a runway. Bone-deep bass thumped down the block. The front doors appeared deserted as she warily followed Ash toward the entrance. Lyre walked beside her, uncharacteristically quiet with a suppressed excitement. He absently twisted Ash’s leather brace around his wrist as he walked.

On their way over, Ash had grumbled about his lodestones being drained. Lyre had responded with his usual respect for privacy.

“Piper and I tried to charge them for you,” he said baldly. “It didn’t go so well.”

Ash flicked a startled glance at Piper, but whether he was surprised that she’d tried or that it had gone badly, she couldn’t tell.

“Your fault,” she told the incubus, her voice sharp with a
shut-up-now
warning.

“My fault?” Lyre repeated incredulously. “You’re the one who jumped me—”

She punched his shoulder so fast he didn’t have a chance to dodge. He yelped and stepped away from her. “Jeez, Piper. Fine, it wasn’t your fault.” He scowled at her. “But it wasn’t my fault either that it didn’t work. I couldn’t siphon your energy.”

“Why not?”

“I guess you’re more haemon than we thought. It wouldn’t work, same as with a normal haemon or daemon.”

She looked between the two, confused. “But I don’t have any magic.”

Lyre shrugged. Ash looked thoughtful. Piper didn’t get it. How could she have magic-positive energy but no magic? It wasn’t fair.

After that, Lyre had boasted he could have all three stones charged by the time they left the club, so Ash had passed his wristband over. Even though none of them had spoken a word about it since, Lyre seemed excited about the challenge. Piper didn’t want to know if Lyre planned to charge the stones by soaking up the lustful atmosphere from the sidelines or by getting down and dirty for energy.

The three of them walked to the heavy metal doors at the front of the building. She could almost make out the music now. Lyre reached for the door handle, but Ash touched his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said. He turned to Piper and frowned thoughtfully for a second. Then he reached out and combed his fingers through her hair. Air that felt scorching hot then icy cold coated her head before the sensations vanished.

“Nice,” Lyre complimented Ash.

She pulled a lock of hair in front of her face. It was shining, coppery auburn—her natural hair color. “You used glamour?” she asked. “But I thought you had to be touching me for that?”

“Um.” He rolled his eyes upward, avoiding her stare. “It’s not glamour.”

“Huh?”

“I burned the dye out of your hair.”

“You—you did
what?
”

“It’s your natural hair,” he muttered defensively. “The streaks were too recognizable.” He glanced over, saw her still gaping at him, and turned quickly toward the door. “Let’s go.”

He pulled the door open and walked in. Still fingering her hair and not sure how ticked off she was, Piper followed. It was almost pitch black inside. The music, no longer muffled, was a dance beat twisted into something pulsing and frenzied. She followed the glint of Ash’s chains down the long hall, the music growing louder with every step. Ahead, dim, red-tinted light was mostly blocked by a massive, man-shaped shadow.

Ash clasped forearms in a friendly way with the bouncer and said something Piper couldn’t catch over the noise. The huge man’s teeth flashed as he grinned and he waved them on. Ash didn’t wait. Piper rushed after him and swung around the corner to find a room she definitely hadn’t expected in an underground club.

The hallway had doubled in width. On either side, long tables stood like sentries, draped in red velvet. Covering almost every inch of the tabletops were masks: stylized, jeweled, feathered, and beaded masks with long ribbons. Half of them were recognizable as animal countenances; the rest were fantasy creations. All of them had a sinister cast to them.

Curved glass cases protected the masks and a masked attendant stood behind each side. The male attendant, with a grinning snake mask, wore no shirt and had scales painted over one shoulder. He spread his hands invitingly across his display. The woman on the other side, wearing a feathered peacock mask, was already reaching under her table. She produced a black mask and handed it wordlessly to Ash. He accepted it with a nod.

“Choose one,” he said over his shoulder to Piper. He turned away to affix his mask to his face.

“But . . . why?” she asked. On closer inspection, the man’s display had smaller, more feminine masks than the opposite side.

“Because the Styx is an anonymous sort of place,” Lyre replied absently, perusing the woman’s masks. “I’ll take that one,” he decided, pointing to a ruby-studded fantasy countenance with long red and black ribbons.

Piper turned to the man’s display and swallowed. They were all beautiful but vaguely creepy. How was she supposed to pick one? The silent attendant recognized her confusion. He reached under the glass and lifted a silvery mask with a delicate, pointed snout and large silky ears. He passed the stylized fox face to her.

“This one?” she questioned. He nodded. She shrugged and put it on, fumbling the trailing ribbons as she tied the mask in place. Whatever.

“Come on,” Lyre said, his red and black mask in place. It looked doubly sinister with his golden eyes peering out, the strange angles pulling her gaze irresistibly to his gaze. Ash was already walking down the hall, his steps quick with impatience. The hall curved again and he vanished around the bend. Piper trotted after him, rounded the corner, and stopped to stare.

There were only two colors of light in the massive room that opened in front of her: red and blue. The red came from everywhere, radiating dimly from under the bars, out of the cracks in the walls, and from hidden pot lights. Blue flickered and flashed from strobe lights and spotlights. Everything else was black that reflected the colored lights. The effect was eerie beyond words. The red light suffused the smoky air as it subtly pulsed, while the blue lights flashed all over the room in time to the eardrum-bursting bass.

The club was packed. Bodies swayed and writhed to the music and crowds formed dense spots of black around the bars and what looked like some sort of stage at the far end. Small tables with stools surrounded a dance floor that took up the entire center of the space.

Everyone in sight wore a mask and most wore costumes to match. Piper gaped at the sight of a hundred bodies moving to the beat until Lyre took her elbow and steered her straight into the mass of dancers in the wake of Ash’s retreating back. They made their way toward the main bar at the back of the huge room. The flashing, flickering lights made it hard to see, but it would have required pitch blackness for her to stop staring.

The club was in the middle of the worst neighborhood in the city. Its patrons were clearly not local. The costumes were sophisticated, expensive, and, for the most part, barely there. The most common theme ran along the same lines as Ash’s and Lyre’s new outfits but way less conservative. Piper swallowed hard as her gaze flicked from skimpy leather to heavy chains to corsets, ribbons, lace, and fishnet. Hair in every unnatural shade was styled in every extreme. A couple dressed in matching costumes like slightly menacing koi fish swayed together. The masked faces of the dancers swam through the pulsating light, anonymous and mysterious.