stop and cocked my head. “Listen. Can you hear all that screaming? We must be close to the fighting pit.”
He neared the wall. “Aye. There’s a draft behind this stone. Looks like a secret doorway.”
“Keep it shut. I don’t want anyone escaping. Let’s go.”
When we got inside the elevator, I pushed the only button on the panel. “Were there really spiders back there?”
Christian clasped his hands behind his back and whistled a tune as the doors closed.
Chapter 31
Moments earlier.
Wyatt had no time to spare as he jogged to the control room. If Keystone didn’t get past the second set of doors, they might never capture the ringleader, and they would have failed this mission. What good are documents without the criminals? Just as he passed the mysterious elevator, he heard a ding. Backing up a few steps, he watched the doors open.
The dwarf met eyes with him and showed no look of surprise or fear. “When I imagined the demise of this organization, I never envisioned it would be led by a man in a Pac-Man shirt. I am Pablo Leonardo Russo.” He stepped into the hall and inclined his head. “Well, aren’t you going to administer me my rights?”
Wyatt felt like one of those cartoon characters whose tongue was tied in a knot. Small or not, this man was a Mage, and he had to play his cards right. “Do you see any katanas on me? Am I wearing a red jacket with a coattail? I’m nobody,” Wyatt said, taking the target off his back.
“Pity. I’ve always had a fond appreciation for eccentrics. I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” The man walked toward the control room. “Let’s just see what Mr. Nobody is up to.”
Wyatt followed as the man whistled a familiar tune he couldn’t quite place. Maybe the specter following him would help. As a Gravewalker, Wyatt saw specters everywhere he went: gas stations, movie theaters, bagel shops, even walking alongside the road. If he acknowledged their existence, they would harass him, question him, and follow him—attracting other specters desperate for a connection to the living world. They usually hung out in busy places, hoping to run into a Gravewalker. But some attached themselves to living people, and they would follow them like a shadow.
Like the buxom blonde in the white dress who was following the little man around like a lost puppy. Was she an old flame? His sister? A woman he’d murdered?
Wyatt fell into step next to her. “If you help me, I’ll help you,” he whispered.
She whirled in front of him, her eyes wide. “You can see me?”
He put more distance between them and Pablo. “I need a favor. Tell me what you want in return.”
“Revenge. Do you know what he did to my body after I died? After he stole my immortality? He ordered his little helper to dump me in an alleyway. They treated me like royalty while I fought for them, but in the end, all I got was a one-way ticket to the crematorium. That’s what they do with people who don’t come from money. No funeral, no white dress, no eulogy.”
Wyatt wanted to roll his eyes. She had on her imaginary funeral dress. The dead had a tendency to linger on funeral customs, most of them feeling they deserved horse-drawn carriages, trumpets, a grandiose display of flowers, and an expensive casket. Only those with families or money received a decent funeral—the higher authority preferred cremation to prevent humans from exhuming their bodies.
Wyatt played along with her request. “How does Breed jail sound?”
“You call that revenge? I want him dead so I can strangle him for eternity.”
“Do you really want to see him for the rest of your unnatural life? Trust me, jail is the way to go.”
Pablo turned his head. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
Wyatt caught up. “Just trying to figure out where we’re going.”
“They say brilliant men talk to themselves.” Pablo resumed walking, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ve never believed it.”
When they reached the control room, Pablo noticed Wyatt’s gear. “I see you’ve been busy.”
Wyatt stared at the empty space behind Pablo. “Your mother is here. She wants you to be a good boy.”
Pablo blushed and shifted uncomfortably. Then he studied Wyatt and followed the direction of his gaze. “You’re not a very good liar.”
“Your real name was Oswald.” He smiled at the imaginary figure behind Pablo. “You’re deathly afraid of inchworms. Just between you and me, I’m not a fan of butterflies.”