Part 11 (1/2)

I listened for a moment just to make sure no one was still around then pushed the sheet to one side and reached for my flashlight. But Rita got to hers first. We had been wheeled into a small room that looked like a storage closet of some kind. There were shelves on three sides of us, with boxes and piles of folded fabric and what looked like cleaning supplies. Not until we got to the doorway could we see what was outside.

It was a cavern, similar in form to the one we'd just left. But this one had been upgraded considerably. The central portion of the floor was covered with colorful tiling, and slatted benches were positioned at regular intervals along its periphery. The tunnel where the steel walkway had been was now framed with a decorative archway labeled ”Victoria Pa.s.sage,” and further down were two smaller archways labeled with symbols I'd never seen before.

All it needed was a ticket booth and it could pa.s.s for Union Station.

”We need to get out of here,” Rita said. I could hear fear rising in her voice. ”I don't like being trapped underground on a good day, and throwing those Shadows into the mix doesn't make it better. Let's get out of this deathtrap first, then figure out what to do about Tommy.” She looked at the arches. ”We've got three options, so we can't just flip a coin. Unless someone packed D&D dice.” She glanced at Devon.

”Four options,” he corrected her. ”a.s.suming this cavern really is the same as the one we left.”

We took a few minutes to stow supplies from the closet under our sheets, creating what we hoped were reasonable simulacra of comatose bodies. Then we went searching among the formations to see if the crevice we'd come out of in our own cave existed in this one too. It did. Which at least answered the question of how we were going to get out of there without being seen.

Apparently the locals never used this crevice for anything, so they'd never bothered cleaning it out, which meant it was muddy as h.e.l.l. And of course there was no neat brick path at the other end. Our former route was still in its natural state, which meant that much of it was covered in mud, some of it ankle-deep.

We sloshed and mucked and squelched our way through quasi-familiar chambers and tunnels, all too aware that we were leaving behind a trail of footprints deep enough for a blind man to follow. But what had seemed like a simple enough journey when following a brick path wasn't nearly as simple without one. Devon marked every turning point with his chalk, and one time we discovered that we had circled back to a previous mark. But eventually we managed to locate the place where a narrow tunnel cut up through the rock, leading to the surface.

There were no stairs this time, and no one had expanded the tunnel to facilitate climbing, but we were pretty d.a.m.ned determined, and nothing short of solid rock would have stopped us at that point. Eventually, we reached the surface, and we exited onto the gra.s.s one after the other, collapsing underneath a black sky filled with stars. For a handful of minutes we just lay there, utterly exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached, and the night wind chilled me through mud-soaked clothing as I took my first good look around.

The mountain behind us was familiar enough, but there was some kind of large building perched up on the crest. By the light of a slender moon we could make out the shape of a Victorian-style mansion, looming over the surrounding landscape like a hungry vulture. Anyone walking its ramparts would be able to see for miles in the moonlight . . . which meant that for as long as we were out in the open we were vulnerable. We had to find cover, and find it fast.

We started to walk. And we walked. And we walked. We came to a place where the trees were dense enough to s.h.i.+eld us from observation, but that was too close, Devon said. Sooner or later the locals would discover our trick with the gurneys, and we had to be far enough away by then that a basic search of the area wouldn't find us. Much as it pained me to travel away from the place where my brother was most likely to be, I knew he was right. We'd be more use to Tommy if we weren't caught by a search team.

Sometime during the walk that followed, the last of my energy finally faded, and if not for Devon I don't think I could have kept going. He lifted my arm and wrapped it around his shoulders, encouraging me to lean on him. I put up a token protest, but I was grateful for the physical support; I don't know how long I could have gone on without it. The fire had been only a day ago, and the muddy trek out of the caverns had been exhausting. Fear can only sustain you for so long.

”We need rest,” Rita said, voicing my thoughts.

At one point I caught her watching us. She turned away quickly when I looked in her direction but not quickly enough. I suddenly realized that I knew nothing about her relations.h.i.+p with Devon. They were such different people, I'd a.s.sumed they were just friends, strangers from opposites sides of the track who'd been drawn together by a common threat, and who had established a friends.h.i.+p of convenience. Which was pretty naive of me, really. The world was full of lovers who had nothing in common. Playwrights wrote whole plays about them . . . and about their jealousy.

I kept a wary eye on her for the rest of the night, but she never looked my way again.

13.

OBFUSCATE GUILDHOUSE IN LURAY.

VIRGINIA PRIME.

WHEN TOMMY WOKE UP in the morning, a fresh s.h.i.+rt and jeans were on the little table, along with a washcloth, sponge, and towel. He was genuinely grateful for the clothing; surely there was nothing more humiliating than being interrogated while wearing Star Wars pajamas. The bath supplies seemed kind of pointless as there was no bathtub in the room, but he took the hint and cleaned up the best he could by the sink.

Keep the kidnappers happy, right?

Soon after that he discovered the purpose of the mail slot, when a food tray came sliding through it. It had been a day since he'd eaten, so he devoured its offerings in record time. No sooner had he swallowed the last bite then he heard the steady rhythm of footsteps approaching his cell once more. This time there was a high pitched tap-tap sound in the mix. High heels, maybe? Sure enough, when the door opened he saw that the grey man had brought a woman with him, and she was ushered into the room with such an air of formality that Tommy guessed she must be a very important person.

She was a striking woman, and-to Tommy's relief-she appeared to be human. Her clothing was white, and it seemed to glow in the shadowy confines of the small room, drawing his eyes to her. White silk blouse, white waistcoat, flowing white evening pants. Her face was pale gold, sun-kissed, with a hint of coral in her cheeks, and her blond hair was dressed up in a complex arrangements of coils and braids that must have taken a hairdresser hours to arrange. Her eyes s.h.i.+fted from grey-blue to grey-green as she looked around the room, and they might not have seemed remarkable on their own, but the thick bands of eyeliner that extended far past the outer corners of her eyes-black on top, gold on bottom-made her look like an ancient Egyptian queen.

”This is Her Ladys.h.i.+p Alia Morgana, Mistress of the Guild of Seers,” the grey man announced. ”You will cooperate with her in all that she requires.”

The woman smiled; it seemed a well-rehea.r.s.ed expression. ”Tommy Drake, is it?” When he said nothing she asked, ”Are you the dreamer?”

He flushed. ”If you mean, am I the one who's been telling this guy all about my dreams? Yeah, I guess so.”

”No,” she said quietly. ”That was not what I asked.”

He felt a flutter of unease in his stomach. The woman's gaze made him feel like an insect pinned to a collection board. ”I'm sorry, I'm not sure what the question is.”

”On the contrary, Tommy. I think you are far sharper than this gentleman makes you out to be”-she nodded toward the grey man-”and I think you know exactly what I'm asking.”

There were no safe words, so he said nothing.

She walked toward the bed and sat down on the end of it, then patted the mattress beside her. He shook his head quickly in refusal. He didn't want to get any closer to her than he had to.

”Do you know what it means to be a Seer, Tommy?”

”No, ma'am.”

The grey man interrupted. ”She is to be addressed as Your Ladys.h.i.+p, or Your Grace.”

Tommy whispered ”No, Your Grace.”

”It means I know how to read people,” the woman told him. ”It means I can tell when they're lying to me, or even when they're just trying to hold something back. It means I can sense their emotions, so I know which questions make them afraid. Which ones they don't really want to answer. Do you understand what that means?”

He nodded miserably. What a fool he'd been, to think that he could have any kind of control over this situation! Never before had he felt so utterly helpless. And she knew it, too. She could read him like a book. He saw it in her eyes.

”Do you know why we're so interested in your dreams, Tommy?”

He shook his head.

”There are some people in the world who have special abilities. For example, I can sense a person's spiritual essence.” She nodded toward the grey man. ”Master Wells here can walk through a crowded room without anyone noticing him. We call them Gifts, and they come in many varieties. We try to identify the people who have such abilities while they're still young, so that we can arrange for them to have proper teachers.”

Wary of where this was leading, Tommy nodded again.

”There is one very special ability that few people have mastered. Can you guess what that is?”

His throat was dry; it took effort to force the words out. ”Something to do with dreams?”

”Exactly. That's why we watch for young people who have certain types of dreams, because it tells us that they may have this Gift.” She paused. ”Your dreams suggest you're one of those people, Tommy.”

A tremor of foreboding ran through him. ”I . . . I don't know anything about that. . . .”

”Well, you are only thirteen, so even if you had this Gift, it wouldn't be apparent for a few more years. We call it 'manifesting,' when a Gift first appears. Most people can't tell whether someone has a particular Gift until that happens. But a Seer can detect it much earlier. For instance, I can tell right now if you have the dreamer's Gift.”

But I don't, he thought desperately. Jesse's the one who has the special dreams. If anyone has this Gift it's her, not me.