Book 1 - Page 54 (2/2)
He turned and led the way through the house to an alcove sheltering a wrought-iron spiral staircase. As we started down, I thought we were going to the bas.e.m.e.nt, but the stairway went deeper. Small lights on the cement wall surrounding the stairs turned on as Stefan pa.s.sed them. They allowed us to see the stairs-and that we were traveling down a cement tube, but they weren't bright enough to do much more. Fresh air wafted out of small vents that kept the air moving, but it also kept me from smelling anything from deeper down.
”How far down are we going?” I asked, trying to fight off the claustrophobic desire to run back the way we'd come.
”About twenty feet from the surface.” Stefan's voice echoed a little-or else something below us made a noise.
Maybe I was just jumpy.
Eventually the stairway ended in a pad of cement. But even with my night vision, the darkness was so absolute I could see only a few yards in any direction. The smell of bleach danced around several scents I'd never encountered before.
Stefan moved and a series of fluorescent lights flickered to life. We stood in an empty room with cement floors, walls, and ceilings. The overall effect was sterile and empty.
Stefan didn't pause, just continued through the room and into a narrow tunnel that sloped gently upward as we walked. Steel doors without k.n.o.bs or handles lined the tunnel at even intervals. I could hear things moving behind the doors and scooted up until I could touch Samuel's shoulder for rea.s.surance. As I pa.s.sed the last door, something slammed against it, ringing with a hollow boom that echoed away from us. Behind another door someone-or something-began a high-pitched hopeless cascade of laughter that ended in a series of screams.
By the end of it, I was all but crawling up on top of Samuel, but he was still relaxed, and his breathing and pulse hadn't even begun to speed up. d.a.m.n him. I didn't take a deep breath until we'd left the doors behind.
The tunnel took a narrow turn, and the floor became a steep upward set of twelve stairs that ended in a room with curved plastered walls, wooden floors, and soft lighting. Directly opposite the stairway was a sumptuous mocha leather couch whose curves echoed the walls.
A woman reclined on two overstuffed tapestry-covered pillows braced against one of the couch's arms. She wore silk. I could smell the residue of the silkworms, just as I could smell the faint scent I was learning to identify with vampire.
The dress itself was simple and expensive, revealing her figure in swirling colors ranging from purple to red. Her narrow feet were bare except for red and purple toenail polish. She had them braced so her knees came up and provided backing to support the paperback she was reading.
She finished the page, dog-eared one corner, and set it carelessly on the floor. She swung her legs off the couch and s.h.i.+fted so that her face was toward us before she raised her gaze to look at us. It was so gracefully done that I barely had time to drop my own eyes.
”Introduce us, Stefano,” she said, her voice a deep contralto made the richer by a touch of an Italian accent.
Stefan bowed, a formal gesture that should have looked odd with his torn jeans, but somehow came out gracefully old-fas.h.i.+oned instead.
” Signora Marsilia,” he said, ”May I introduce you to Mercedes Thompson, auto mechanic extraordinaire and her friend Dr. Samuel Cornick, who is the Marrok's son. Mercy, Dr. Cornick, this is Signora Marsilia, Mistress of the Mid-Columbia Seethe.”