“If that was your brother in there, what would you do?”
He hesitates, then gives my arm a gentle squeeze. “Listen to me carefully. You have to get out of the area within one hour. I mean it. Get as far away as you can.”
Before I can ask him what’s going on, he fades into the shadows.
An hour?
Could the resistance be planning to attack so soon?
The fact that he warned me at all puts the pressure on me. He wouldn’t risk a leak, which means there’s not enough time for me to do much damage if I get caught and interrogated.
Meanwhile, I can’t shake the image of Raffe lying helpless on a surgeon’s table. I don’t even know where he is.
I take a deep, calming breath.
I head into the dark cavern that used to be a garage.
After a couple of steps, I swallow panic as I stand in utter darkness. My mother grips my arm with enough force to bruise.
“It’s a trap,” she whispers into my ear. I can feel her trembling. I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
There’s nothing I can do until my eyes adjust to the blackness, assuming there’s anything to adjust to. My first impression is that it is a pitch-black, cavernous space. Standing still, I wait until my eyes adjust to the dark. All I hear is my mother’s nervous breathing.
It’s just a few moments, but it feels like hours. My brain screams hurry, hurry, hurry.
As my eyes adjust, I feel less like a blind target in a spotlight.
We’re standing in the underground garage, surrounded by abandoned cars hunched in the shadows. The ceiling feels both vast and too low at the same time. At first, there seem to be giants spread out in front of me, but they turn out to be concrete pillars. The garage is a maze of cars and pillars fading off into the darkness.
I hold the angel sword in front of me like a divining rod. I hate to go into the darker bowels of the garage, away from what little light comes through the bars of the gate, but that’s where I have to go if I want to find Paige. The place feels so deserted, I’m tempted to just call out for her, but that’s probably a very bad idea.
I step gingerly into the almost total darkness, careful of debris on the floor. I stumble over what I think is a spilled purse. I almost lose my footing, but my mother’s viselike grip on my arm stabilizes me.
My footsteps echo in the dark. Not only does it give away our location, it also interferes with my ability to hear someone else sneaking up on me. My mother, on the other hand, is as silent as a cat. Even her breathing is quiet now. She’s had a lot of practice sneaking around in the dark, avoiding Things-That-Chase-Her.
I bump into a car and I feel my way around a long curve of cars in what I assume is a standard zigzag pattern of cars parked back and forth down rows of slots. I’m using the sword more as a blind man’s stick than as a weapon.
I almost trip over a suitcase. Some traveler must have been dragging it around when they realized there was nothing in it worth carrying anymore. I realize I should have tripped over it. I’m deep enough in the belly of the garage that it should be completely dark. But I can see, just barely, the rectangular shape of the luggage. Somewhere in here is a very dim source of light.
I hunt for it, concentrating on which direction the shadows seem lighter. I’m hopelessly lost in the maze of cars now. We could spend all night wandering through these rows of abandoned cars and not find anything.
We take two more turns, each turn lightening the shadows almost imperceptibly. If I wasn’t looking for it, I would never have noticed.
The light, when I see it, is so dim that I probably would have missed it if the building wasn’t so dark. It’s a thin crack of light outlining a door. I put my ear to it but hear nothing.
I open it a crack. It opens onto a stairwell’s landing. A dim light beckons below.
I close the door behind us as quietly as I can and head downstairs. I’m grateful the stairs are cement rather than the metal kind that make hollow, echoing clangs underfoot.
At the bottom of the stairs is another closed door. This door is outlined in bright slivers of light, the only light in the stairwell. I put my ear to the door. Someone is talking.
I can’t hear what’s being said, but I can tell there are at least two people. We wait, crouched in the dark with our ears to the door, hoping there’s another door through which these people will leave.
The voices fade away and stop. After listening to the silence for several long moments, I crack open the door, cringing in anticipation of noise. The door opens silently.
It is a concrete space the size of a warehouse. The first thing I notice are rows upon rows of glass columns, each large enough to hold a grown man.
Only, what’s in these tubes are more like twisted scorpion-angels.
CHAPTER 36