Flameout (21 page)

“True.” He frowned. “There's some sort of grating in the middle of the back wall. I'll check that, if you want to check those boxes.”

He strode away without waiting for an answer. I molded my fire into a ball and threw it into the air so that it lit the entire room, then walked across to the boxes. They were actually large wooden crates—the type machinery was often shipped in. Right now they contained little more than some yellowed newspapers and a couple of dusty beer bottles.

I walked down to the end of the room. Jackson was squatting in front of the grate, which was about three foot square and very rusted. The odor of rot was much stronger here, and seemed to be coming from somewhere behind the grate.

I wrinkled my nose. “God, it smells like rotting meat.”

“Let's hope it's just rats and rubbish, and not something larger.”

Like maybe a human. Or three of them.
I shivered. I might have seen plenty of the rotting dead over the centuries—especially during times of plagues—but that didn't mean I'd ever become used to either the sight or the smell.

Jackson pressed his fingers into a slight indentation on the left side of the grate and pulled it away from the wall. He leaned closer but stopped short of sticking his head inside the hole. Last time he'd done something like that, a fist had sent him flying. “It looks like an old drain.”

“I guess that's no surprise, given the cloaks seem to be using sewer tunnels to get around.” I shoved my fists into my pockets and tried not to breathe too deeply. If
the damn smell was bad here, what was it going to be like in there? “But as you said earlier, it's not exactly the safest place to be on a rainy night.”

“I can't hear any running water, and I surely would if it was connected to a major drain.” He glanced up at me. “Shall we risk entering it?”

“Like we have any choice?” The witch's words had led us here for a reason. We couldn't walk away—not if we wanted any chance of rescuing those women or living with our conscience. “But I'm not going down there blind. We need light.”

“Agreed. And it's not like they won't hear or sense us coming . . .” He stopped abruptly.

“What?” I immediately said.

“Footsteps, coming from the right.”

“The cloak is coming back?”

“It's either him or someone else.” He shoved the grate back into place then thrust to his feet. “At this point, I think retreat would be better than an attack.”

“I totally agree.”

I spun around and ran back to the boxes. Once we were well hidden behind the largest of them, I snuffed out my fiery orb and drew the energy back into my body.

Darkness once again claimed the cellar. I couldn't immediately hear anything beyond the thunder of my heart, but, after a couple of minutes, metal clattered against concrete then a slight grunt broke the silence. I peered past the edge of the box, trying to see who—or what—had climbed into the room, but couldn't see anything more than a shadow. It replaced the grate then straightened. If this was the cloak we'd been following, then it no longer carried the sack.

It padded forward, the slap of its footsteps light against the concrete. As it neared the boxes, it paused. I held my breath and hoped like hell these things weren't as sensitive to the pulse of blood through a body as true vampires were.

Tension wound through me, and with it came heat. But while I could keep my flame under control, I wasn't entirely sure that Jackson could. It was radiating off him in waves, not yet visible but damn close to it. And while I had no doubt he was fighting it, we couldn't afford another fire show—not if we wanted to keep our presence here a secret. I closed my eyes, reached for that heat, and drew it in. Under normal circumstances I might have enjoyed the pleasure that came from feeding on another's fire, but I was too aware of the precariousness of our position to do so right now. We simply couldn't afford to have Luke know—through his connection with the cloak—that we were here.

After what seemed like an eternity, the cloak moved on. It padded past the boxes and up the stairs, but neither Jackson nor I moved. After a few more minutes, there was a creak of metal followed by the sound of a bolt being thrown. We'd been locked in.

Which was a whole lot better than being discovered.

Jackson relaxed, and the heat radiating from his flesh eased. I stopped siphoning it and refrained from saying anything. There was little point; he was as aware of the problem as I, and there was nothing either of us could do about it right then.

I threw up another fiery ball and led the way back to the grate. Jackson pulled it free once more then conjured some fire to his fingertips and threw it into the
void. It revealed a grimy, semicircular tunnel before fizzling out.

He glanced at me. “How do you want to do this?”

I hesitated. “It might be better for me to take fire form to investigate. If I spot the missing women, I'll come back for you.”

“Luke's been using magic to both protect himself and attack you.” His voice was grim. “This might well be another setup to capture you.”

“Possibly.” Especially if he did have the witches and
had
infected them. He'd know, via the hive connection, about the cryptic note Angie had left. Hell, for all we knew, she'd written that note under duress—at Luke's orders—
after
she'd gone missing. “If there is a trap, I'll shout for help—either physically or mentally.”

“And if you can't do either?”

“Listen for noise. A whole lot of noise.”

Because no matter what happened, I would
not
go down—or even be captured—without a fight.

He squeezed my arm then rose and stepped back. I called to my fire form. Energy swept through me, a fierce storm that melted away flesh and returned me to spirit in little more than an instant. I surged into the old drain then paused, looking left and right. Neither direction looked particularly inviting, but the footsteps had come from the right, so that was the most logical direction to take. I headed down. As old drains went, this one was pretty typical. Slime dripped off the filthy walls in long curtains and the trickle of water that ran down the middle of it was thick with refuse. There were also dead things here—not just mice or rats, but larger animals, such as cats or dogs. Only
there were far too many of them; one or two I could perhaps put down to an adventurous stray falling into the system and dying because it was unable to get out, but there were more than that. Like hundreds.

But I guessed Luke had to feed his army somehow.

Was that what the cloak had been doing? Delivering a meal to some new conversions? It suspected it might be. And while I hoped the witches weren't among those being fed in such a way, the chances of that being the case were close to zero. The only way Luke could ever hope to control three powerful witches was to infect them.

The deeper I moved into the tunnel, the more the carcasses began to pile up. While those near the grate had been picked so clean the bones were basically white, the ones here were fleshier. Thankfully, my sense of smell wasn't overly acute in this form. If I'd been in human form, my stomach might have rebelled.

Ahead, shadows danced across the edges of the light cast by my fiery form. I paused and flared brighter, so that my flames pierced the greater darkness. It was only rats feasting on the carcass of what looked like a horse. Or, at least, a part of it.

But it appeared a whole lot fresher than the other kills I'd passed, and that suggested that I was drawing close to wherever the cloak had come from. I couldn't hear or sense anything in this infested hellhole, but maybe I wouldn't, particularly if Luke was using more magic to protect this place.

I muted the brightness of my flames and moved forward again. The darkness closed in once more, thick
and heavy with tension, though I was pretty sure it was emanating from me rather than anyone ahead.

As the tunnel curved left, I moved across to the opposite wall. It might make me more visible from a distance, but that was preferable over running into something—or someone—unexpectedly.

Odd sounds began to crawl through the darkness. I frowned and, after a moment, realized what it was.

Someone was eating.

An image of the vampire who'd once torn my throat open and greedily drunk from the fountain of my blood slipped into mind. I shivered, sending sparks skittering through the darkness. I doubted it was a vampire up ahead, though, as most of them tended to avoid stinking holes like this. But a pseudo vampire?
That
was certainly possible.

I doused my flames even further, so that I was little more than a dull red glow that would—hopefully—be barely noticeable against the slimy red bricks, and inched forward.

Ahead, firelight began to flicker, and more shadows danced. Not rat shadows, but humanoid. They were hunched over a blob at their feet, tearing off bloody pieces then raising them to their mouths and sucking on them noisily.

It wasn't a cat or a dog or even a horse that they were eating. It was a body. A
human
body.

I gulped and stopped. Part of me didn't want to go any farther. But I really had no choice if I wanted to confirm my suspicions.

And if those suspicions were right . . .

I briefly closed my eyes. If they were right, then the figures up ahead would have to die. They would not want to live like this. No one would, but to do this to those who considered all life sacred . . .

Fury surged, but I squashed it down fiercely and moved up to the ceiling as I continued on. It was unlikely, though, that the women would look up from their feast let alone see me approaching. The way they were tearing at the body between them spoke of a desperate need to eat—the sort of desperation that came with starvation—and I doubted they were capable of concentrating on anything else right now.

Damn it, this
had
to end. Luke had to be stopped. Even if we couldn't find and kill all the cloaks, if we at least killed
him
, they would be left rudderless—brainless—and would be far easier to hunt down and destroy. They might well swarm, but surely PIT and the army could take care of that.

I edged closer. The tunnel widened out into some sort of junction. In the middle of this was the fire, which had been lit in what looked like some sort of metal barrel. It was witch fire rather than real, and it cast a weird orange-green glow across the darkness. Beyond it lay several other tunnels—a large one to the left, and two smaller ones on the right. These had been fitted with metal bars and appeared to be cells of some kind. One was open, the other closed. Though I couldn't see anything in the latter, something was in there. Something that didn't feel human.

I shivered and returned my gaze to the two women. I didn't actually have to see their faces to know that I'd found Rennie and Neriana, two of the three missing
witches. The power radiating off them was evidence enough, though it had an odd, almost corrupted feel to it. Which wasn't surprising given what had been done to them.

As for what they were eating . . .

I closed my eyes again, suddenly glad I wasn't able to vomit in this form.

Because what they were dining on was Angie, the third missing witch. And beside her remains was the old sack she'd been carted there in.

Anger surged anew, and this time there was no controlling it. As the flames burst from me, the witches squawked and scuttled away from the body of their former companion, their eyes wide and empty of everything except cunning.

That cunning was Luke, watching through their eyes.

Savoring his victory.

This
was
a trap.

But even as I spun around, he sprung it.

M
agic exploded through the intersection, covering the ceiling, walls, and the tunnel I'd used in an instant. It was a thick, unnatural force that blanketed my entire being, making it hard to breathe, to think.

This spell was different—stronger and dirtier—than the one he'd used in the cemetery. My flames began to flicker in and out of existence, as if torn between the need to stay in this form and the demand to attain another. Fear spun through me, and it was tempting—very tempting—to risk running into one of the other open tunnels in the hope of escape.

But that was undoubtedly what Luke wanted, and there was no way I was about to spring whatever secondary trap he had waiting for me in those tunnels.

The magic bit deeper, the threads of it pressing into my soul. The desire to change grew stronger, and my skin rippled and burned with its force. Maybe Luke figured I'd be more controllable in human form—especially if I was restricted from reaching for fire. Which meant maybe it would be better to shift shape before it was actually forced onto me. I had a bad feeling I didn't want the threads of this spell any deeper in my body than they already were.

I shifted form and landed in a half crouch on the
junction's floor. The threads within fell away, but the magic continued to sting and bite, flaying my skin and leaving dark welts. The fires that were mine by nature crawled away from the sensation, leaving me without my main weapon.

Which didn't mean I was powerless. Unlike the spell that had been used against me in the Highpoint parking lot, this one didn't appear to have any built-in restrictions when it came to using the mother's power. Maybe the sindicati had access to a better class of dark witch than Luke—or maybe they simply didn't know I could access the mother.

I reached for her fire, and she stormed into my body, making my skin briefly glow with the colors of all creation. I rose and turned. As I did, the witches ran—not toward me, as I'd half expected, but rather toward the biggest of the three other tunnels. Luke was either protecting his assets now that his trap had been activated or—more likely—he was trying to entice me into that damn tunnel and whatever other madness he had planned for me.

I remained where I was and simply flung out a hand. The mother's force—unhindered by the smothering weight of magic—streamed from my fingertips. She arced across the shadows and wrapped a fiery arm around each woman. In an instant, they were gone. I swung her flames around and burned the body of the third witch. When there was nothing left but cinders, I held out my other hand and called to them. The faintly glowing embers swirled upward and flowed toward me, three small streams of ash that had once been humanity. While I couldn't draw them into my
body as I could with Rory's embers, I could still keep them close and safe. Whatever else happened, the remains of the witches would
not
be left in this place of evil. Not if I could help it.

I flicked my fingers, and the three streams of ash wove themselves around my neck, until they had formed a thick black rope. The fading heat of them warmed my skin, as did the echo of earthly power that still lingered within them. At least now Luke would have no access to that power.

Even as the thought crossed my mind, a scream ripped the air. Only it wasn't one voice, but many. Luke, venting his fury through the cloaks. But they didn't appear, and they certainly didn't attack.

The mother's energy spun back into me. My skin felt tight, heated, and my body ached with not only the ever-increasing weight of magic, but the force that now burned within me. I had no idea how long I could hold on to her without seriously compromising my strength and my life, but I'd do whatever it took to get out of this place. To get free.

I flexed my fingers. Sparks spun away from them, tiny stars that glowed brightly against the unnatural light of the witch fire . . . which should
not
be still alight now that the witches were dead.

Luke obviously had another one somewhere in his hive.

So what was he waiting for? Why didn't he attack? Or was the spell itself his main attack? Was he simply waiting for it to suck away my strength so that his cloaks could collect my unconscious body without threat or fear?

Were those things even capable of feeling fear? I'd certainly seen no sign of it in any of our previous encounters. Even when the force of my flames was melting their bodies, they showed little more than an inhuman determination to fulfill the orders they'd been given.

I had to get out of here. Had to escape before the fucking things had a chance to fulfill their current orders.

I spun around and walked toward the tunnel I'd come in through. The magic flared brighter as I approached it, and the stinging and biting got stronger. I hissed and tried to ignore it, but my steps got slower and my vision blurred, until I couldn't even see.

I swore and backed away. The stinging immediately eased. Whoever had designed this spell had done a damn good job. I thrust a hand through my hair, brushing the sweaty strands out of my eyes as I reached for Jackson.

I need help,
I silently sent,
and fucking fast.

I had no idea if he'd hear my call given the distance between us, but even if he didn't, he would have surely heard Luke's scream. All I had to do was hold out until he got here.

I scanned the rest of the junction warily. To get out of this rattrap, I'd have to break the damn spell. There were no spell stones in the immediate area, but I guess that wasn't surprising given events at the cemetery. Luke would have made sure I couldn't get at them this time, and that meant they were more than likely in each of the tunnels. But given that's where Luke obviously wanted me, it was the one place I wasn't about to go.

I returned my gaze to the original tunnel. I hadn't sensed any magic within it, but that wasn't entirely surprising given my attention had been on the fire and the two women. And while it was more than possible the spell would prevent Jackson entering the junction, he could at least search for the stone and break the spell by displacing it.

The creak of metal caught my attention. The door that had barred the entrance of the smallest tunnel was slowly opening. Nothing rushed out at me, but the hairs at the back of my neck nevertheless stood on end.

Because something was in there. Something
other
than cloaks.

The door clanged as it hit the slimy tunnel wall and the sound reverberated across the stillness. I clenched my hands, my fists translucent and glowing with the mother's fire. Deep within the tunnel, the darkness seemed to shift. Move.

I backed away. Fire bled from my fists and dripped onto the junction's floor, but rather than fizzing out, the globules slowly rolled toward the newly opened cage. As they neared it, something snarled, the sound eerie, otherworldly.

The mother's force pressed against my skin, burning to get out, to attack. I held her back, held my breath, and waited.

I didn't have to do so for long.

Three huge black forms bolted out of the tunnel, their teeth bared and their eyes glowing with a ruddy fire. I dove away from them and unleashed the mother. She streamed toward the creatures, her flames forming
an incandescent wall between them and me. It should have cindered them.

It didn't.

The three of them simply dove through it as if it wasn't even there.

And
that
meant these things weren't ordinary dogs twisted by dark magic, but rather hellhounds. And hellhounds weren't from hell, despite what humans might believe, but rather were spirits born within the mother's fiery heart. The force that gave them life could not kill them.

The fact that they were here hunting me was confirmation that Luke
did
have another witch in his hive. Hellhounds tended to keep to the deep, wild places of this world, and only those well versed in the art of black magic could summon them. But it was a risky thing to do, as they were just as likely to kill the person who'd summoned them as those they were being sent against—and the longer the spell was in place, the more it drained the witch, and the more likely
that
became.

Of course, the summoning spell wasn't often held for long, because hellhounds were very efficient killing machines.

The presence of these creatures also explained why the magic had forced me into flesh form. Hellhounds tended not to hunt their own kind, but they couldn't actually tell us apart from humans when we were wearing this form.

If I could shift shape, they might halt their attack—depending on how strong the will of the witch who'd
summoned them was, of course. But shifting shape was dependent on breaking the spell, and that was problematic at the moment.

The creatures skidded to a halt and twisted around. I scrambled to my feet and backed away, flames not only dripping from my fingertips now but also pulsating across my body. The hounds slowly followed, heads low, teeth bared.

They weren't here to hurt me. They were here to
herd
me.

Air brushed the back of my neck. I instinctively ducked, and the club that had been aimed at my head whistled over it instead. But I barely had time to suck in a breath when something smashed into my side and sent me sprawling. I hit the ground with a grunt and slid several feet farther, ending facedown in a puddle of foul water near the odd-colored fire. Pain flared down my barely healed side, but I ignored it and unleashed the mother's force. This time she
did
burn; the cloaks who were streaming out of the nearby tunnel barely had time to open their mouths, let alone scream.

As their cinders rained around me, I pushed upright. But weakness washed through my limbs and the world did a drunken dance around me. My knees hit the ground again, and the foul water splashed my arms and dribbled off my chin as I fought for breath.

It wasn't the spell. It was the mother, draining me to the point of exhaustion. I had to let her go or risk fading completely.

I released her then took a deep, shuddering breath. The air shimmered briefly as her heat bled from my
body, and then she dissipated, bleeding down through the grime and the bricks, returning to the earth itself.

Leaving just the witch fire between the damn hellhounds and me.

I blinked and focused on the odd-colored flames. My own fire might be restricted thanks to the spell, but it obviously wasn't affecting
these
flames. I'd never attempted to use witch fire before—and had no idea if I could use it now—but if it
was
possible, then it at least gave me another means of defense. Hellhounds might be impervious to the force of the mother, but they could be controlled my magic. And a fire born of magic might just be enough to at least hold them at bay.

Em, here
. Jackson's broken thoughts whispered into my brain, thick with fury and fear.
Can't enter. What do?

We need to break the magic,
I sent back.
You have to find the spell stone and force it out of alignment.

Will do.

Hurry.

Try.

Try hard,
I wanted to reply, but didn't. Jackson was a dark fae—he'd be familiar enough with the capabilities of hellhounds even if he'd never come across them before now. Dark fae had, in the past, been something of a favorite hunting toy for bored hounds. It was only when the human population and her cities had begun to claim much of the world's lands that the hounds had fully retreated to the deeper parts of the world.

I carefully pushed upright again. The junction did another mad dash around me, but the dizziness didn't last long. Yet it was warning enough that I had to get out of here. The mother had weakened me far too
much and the spell was taking an even greater toll now. If I didn't break free soon, Luke might actually win this round.

And I doubted there'd be any further rounds if he did.

The hounds hadn't moved from their position. I took a careful step toward the fire, and the biggest of the three bared its teeth in warning. I slowly raised a hand and called to the witch fire. It shivered and danced away in response, as if attempting to deny my right to use it. The hound's growling got stronger. They might be more beast than most spirits, but they weren't stupid. They knew what I was attempting to do, even if they weren't aware of what I was just yet.

“My lord, you don't want to do this.” Hellhounds, unlike most spirits, had something of a feudal hierarchy in place. I had no idea if the any of these were of royal bloodlines, but it never hurt to be polite. “I am what you are—spirit rather than flesh—and the mother will not be pleased if you attack one of your own.”

Which was probably another reason why her flames hadn't hurt these creatures.

The growling grew stronger. Either he'd been called from the deepest recesses and had no understanding of modern English, or the spell was simply too strong for him to ignore.

I stepped closer to the flames and thrust my hand into the fire. The heat of it wrapped around my fist, its touch unpleasant and foul. My skin crawled at the sensation, but I ignored it and began winding the flames around my hand, until a large globe of molten green and gold had formed.

“Last chance, my lord.” I met the hellhounds' gaze evenly. “Retreat now, or I will unleash this fire.”

They didn't respond. They simply leapt.

I swore and threw myself sideways. One of the hounds twisted in midair and snapped at my leg. It didn't fully catch hold, but its teeth nevertheless tore through my jeans and bit deep into my flesh. I yelped and unleashed the ungodly fire. It shot from my fingers and hit the hound full in the face, melting his flesh and burning his eye sockets. He howled and shook his head from side to side, but the movement only succeeded in spreading the fire. All too soon, his entire body was alight and, oh god, the sound he made . . .