They approached a stone courtyard surrounded on all sides by ivy-covered buildings. The sculptures and stonework that decorated the eaves and windows stood out in stark relief. Creatures of myth crouched, frozen in stone. Twisted and curving decorations filled the spaces in between. Were they Pictish? Viking? Celtic? They looked like a bit of each.
Though it was dark, several beings rushed around the courtyard—all of whom looked very human, thank God, intent upon reaching their destinations. If only she could get their attention, but if they were part of this crazy place, would they even care that she was being abducted?
Her captor parked beneath the single huge tree in the middle of the courtyard. Its twisted roots pushed up through the cobbled ground and looked as if they had been doing so for centuries.
“Doona even think of calling to them for help.” Her abductor glanced at her, knowledge of her plans in his dark eyes.
“I—I wasn’t going to.”
“Sure you weren’t.” He reached over and unbuckled her seatbelt. She scrambled away from him and out of the car, hanging onto the door for support. He strode around the back of the car.
“Come on,” he said gruffly when he reached her. He grasped her arm, as if he knew somehow that her brain had shut down from too much foreign and impossible information, and led her toward a building at the back of the courtyard. Its mullioned windows gleamed in the light of Oliver Twistian lamps while elaborate gray stone carvings of scenes from history covered the facade.
If she squinted, she thought she could make out Caesar, Vercingetorix, William Wallace, and dozens more. At the very top of the building, directly above the large double doors that marked the entrance, a female warrior stood, draped in ancient garb. She looked familiar, but Diana couldn’t place her. Something wasn’t quite right about her, though. She was whisked inside before she could figure it out, and she tried not to let her mouth drop at the sight before her.
“Where are we?” The foyer was enormous, with a strange false sunlight streaming through the glass dome above and gleaming softly on the parquet floor. There was no way this room could be so big given the size of the building she’d just walked into, but after being attacked by actual monsters earlier, she had bigger problems to worry about than a trick of the light.
He didn’t answer, but led her through a doorway and down a wide corridor. She caught a glimpse of a cavernous library on her right and almost craned her head to see more of it. Bookshelves rose two stories high and books were piled upon tables and chairs.
“Where are you taking me? Who are you?” To her relief, her voice didn’t shake nearly as much, as if the books had imparted some of their strength to her.
“You’ll see soon enough.” He opened a door at the end of the corridor and nudged her inside, shutting it behind her.
Chapter 4
Tonight, Esha Connor hunted evil.
Wet gravel crunched beneath her boots as she crept through the deserted underground streets of Edinburgh. Shivering, she pulled up the zipper of her snug leather jacket. She felt a bit like the Tomb Raider, if Lara Croft had worn jeans instead of shorts, brandished magic instead of thigh-holstered guns, and been accompanied by an irritable black cat. She rarely wore anything else, favoring the practical, and forgettable, ensemble. It allowed her to go about her business without drawing attention. Or so she told herself.
The truth—that other Mytheans could usually feel her coming and would run for it—just sucked. Their loss if they did, but why give them a heads-up? Especially the one she didn’t want to run away.
Her black cat, the familiar who was ever present at her side, nearly blended into the surrounding darkness as he strolled quietly along, slinking from one strange scent to another, ever watchful. Though she could smell only rain, dirt, and the light scent of decay, her companion would pick up on the subtler aromas. They were usually the interesting ones.
The unrelenting dark of the tunnel-like street was softened only by the small ball of cold fire she held in her palm. Its dim light glinted off the soot-black fur of Chairman Meow.
She could barely hear the bustle of the city above, though the steady drip of water through the dirt overhead echoed as it hit the ground. Drip, drip, drip. She spent so much time down here hunting rogue Mytheans that she barely noticed the annoyance anymore. The Chairman stopped abruptly near the crumbling stone wall that formed the side of the subterranean street.
“What do you smell, Chairman?” Her voice was soft; it would be inaudible to anyone but the cat, who listened for it constantly. He turned to look at her, citrine eyes glinting in the light of her carefully cradled flame. He had the strong, masculine visage of a large tomcat, his fur shiny, medium length, and constantly disheveled.