He turned his back on the girl and heaved himself up a rung. He’d have to dislodge the manhole before helping Talia up the ladder. The motion pulled her hand from his wrist. The blackness flattened. The smells stirred back together in a rank soup.
A soft splash had him looking down again as Talia moved beyond the ladder toward the girl.
“No. Talia!”
But she was already a couple yards away. Another step, and she disappeared into the darkness.
Damn it. “Talia!” His harsh whisper echoed.
No answer. He had no choice but to follow and hope that they didn’t get that kid hurt or worse.
Three long strides and he found her. She wasn’t that hard to track what with her wheezing and smothered coughs.
Closing the distance, Adam could finally see the young girl clearly for himself. Dressed in a witchy getup, she was gothed out with black hair shot through with streaks of scarlet. Her skin was pearl white and though smooth, somewhat older than he had first suspected. Midtwenties, maybe.
“You the faery?” The girl lifted a multipierced eyebrow.
Adam startled. Faery? How the hell could she possibly know—?
In his peripheral vision, he saw Talia nod the affirmative.
“’Course you are or you wouldn’t be skulking around this shit hole. This way.” The girl cocked her head, turned, and headed down the sewer tunnel.
Talia took his elbow and pulled him after her. When they’d caught up, Adam leaned forward, keeping his voice low, and said, “Who are you? Where are we going?”
The goth girl canted her head over her shoulder. “I’m Zoe, and I’m taking you to Abigail.”
That made everything much clearer.
Adam tried again. “How did you know we’d be down here? And who’s Abigail?”
The girl smiled wickedly back at him as she walked. “Abigail is my sister, and I knew you’d be down here because she told me where to find you.”
Adam wanted to shake her. Her answers only begat more questions, and she was enjoying this. “How did Abigail know where find us?”
“She saw you.” Zoe didn’t even look as she drawled her answer.
Adam could come to only one conclusion: they’d been spotted. Where? “How?”
He hadn’t realized he’d voiced his last question until the girl answered, “That one I don’t know. You’ll just have to ask her.”
They trod the length of the sewer, breath and footsteps too loud, echoing off the walls and creating phantoms of sound and movement along the corridor. Adam felt Talia’s weight grow heavy on his arm.
“How much farther? This woman needs medical attention.”
“Abigail’s got a doctor for you. She saw that, too.”
Abigail better damn well have some answers.
When Talia stumbled, Adam caught her before she hit the sewer water. She groaned as he lifted her into his arms. He’d have liked to sling her over a shoulder so that he could have at least one arm free to aim and shoot, but he didn’t trust the pressure on her diaphragm. Cursing, he shoved his gun in his belt and opted to cradle her, baby-style, though it was damn frustrating that her body protected him more than he could protect her.
The tunnel came to a crossroads of refuse, and Zoe took the left path toward a buzzing bass din accented by a high whine—somebody’s idea of music.
She stopped at a metal ladder directly under the noise. “This one,” she said, though Adam had to read the words on her lips to understand her.
The girl climbed, and Adam wondered briefly if he would have to sling Talia over his shoulder after all, but Talia struggled against him and reached for the bars herself, scaling the ladder one rung ahead of him. When she neared the top, several arms reached down to lift her out of the hole as if they expected her.
Adam cleared the hole and found himself in a dark alleyway, damp concrete buildings jutting several stories high on either side of him. A group of people carried Talia into the back entrance of the nearest one. A wave of distorted electronica poured from the door.
He leaped out of the manhole and followed, fingers itching to draw his gun again, but cautious reason overruled the impulse.
Wait and see.
He entered into the back of what appeared to be a club, a heavy metal door thumping closed behind him. The smell of stale cigarette smoke clung to the doorway and pervaded the air of the interior. The walls were painted black, as was the concrete floor, and papered with layers of bright, cheap flyers, which lent the underriding gloom of the place a decidedly happy spin.
Likewise the music was bottomed by a murky bass beat and overlain with melodic guitar effects that would’ve been downright perky if the tone hadn’t been subtly dissonant. A woman’s voice crooned the melody with ethereal, if synthetic, perfection.