"And service room, by the look of it." He handed her the disks and wristcom, then stepped past her and pressed a button on the wall. The response was the soft hum of machinery. "Service lift. And this..." He tapped a circular panel on the wall. A small door gently rocked. "...would be the laundry chute."
She wiped the tears away from her eyes. Vapor was beginning to seep under the door, curling like yellow strands of rope round her feet. "Neither of which will help us get out of here."
A bell chimed softly. He pressed another button and a door slid open, revealing a three-foot square elevator. He glanced at her.
She swallowed heavily. He surely couldn't mean for them to climb in there. It looked too small for one, let alone two. A shudder ran through her. Too small and far too enclosed. "The two of us won't fit in there."
"No, but one of us has to stay behind to close the door and send it down anyway. Get in."
She didn't move. Couldn't move. "What about you?"
"I'll use the laundry chute. Come on, the vapor's getting thicker."
The yellow strings were beginning to wind their way up her legs. Legs she couldn't force to move. "That chute looks all of a foot in diameter. You're, what, six two, six three?"
"I'm a shapechanger, remember? A hawk will fit down the chute easily enough. Get in the lift."
She licked her lips, and then edged forward. The closer she got, the smaller the space looked.
"Isn't there another way to get out of this place?" she asked, balking at the last moment. She knew the question was inane, that she was only delaying the inevitable. But once she climbed into that lift, and the door closed, there would be only darkness and fear.
"You know there's not." He hesitated, coughing. "Get in. I'll meet you down at the bottom."
She wet her lips again, and then slowly climbed in. The metal seemed to weigh down on her, as heavy as the gathering darkness and colder than her skin.
"You will be there to let me out of this thing when it stops, won't you?"
He nodded. "Don't worry. These things almost never fail."
The way her luck had been running lately, almost was not the best of odds. Still, she had no more choice this time than she had the last time she'd faced her fears and the darkness. He shut the door, and the darkness grew tighter. The lift hummed, and then it dropped. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped like hell she didn't have to spend more than a few minutes inside this metal coffin.
* * * *
Unable to spread his wings or do anything to even guide his descent, Gabriel plunged down the dark tube and prayed there was something soft near the bottom. At the rate he was descending, a broken neck was a very real possibility.Light speared through the darkness. A circle washed by red became visible, and past it, layers of mauve and blue material. He plunged beak first into the middle of the material, then flipped onto his back, wings flying outwards from his body and loose feathers pluming skywards.
For several heartbeats, he simply lay there, staring up at the red-washed ceiling, too stunned to do anything. Gradually, he became aware of the musty, almost sickly scent of humanity rising from the material beneath him, and he realized the red light washing through the darkness came from the exit sign to the left of the clothes hamper.
Then he remembered Sam. He had to get her out of that elevator, in case the vapor found its way down the shaft.
After changing to human shape, he climbed off the mound of damp and dirty laundry. As he moved, a spasm locked the muscles in his back. Pain ripped through his body, and for a minute, he couldn't even breathe. He clenched his teeth and hoped he hadn't done anything serious. Hoped it was just a momentary problem. The pain began to ebb, and he took several deep breaths. The spasm in his back eased, and it became little more than a muted ache that radiated down his left leg. He ignored it as best he could and limped forward quickly.
The door led out into a long, dark hallway. Light, little more than a splash of yellow, beckoned down at the far end. He limped on. Voices edged across the silence. One he didn't know. The other's was Kazdan. He limped closer to the door and stopped, listening.
"The boss isn't going to like this."
The speaker's voice held a hint of Irish-brogue. If he was an operative of Sethanon, he wasn't one the Federation knew about. None of those were of Irish descent.
"Let me worry about that." Kazdan's voice held a hint of impatience. "How long will it take for the apartment to clear?"
"Another five minutes."
"Good."
Footsteps broke the silence, a tattooed beat of violence. He edged forward and peered through the small gap between the door and the jamb.
A long metal table dominated the view. On it, a wiry black man sat, flipping a dagger from end to end, catching it neatly between thumb and middle finger. Eddie Wyatt. He smiled grimly. He'd had a run-in with Eddie some years ago, when the vamp had gone on a killing spree. He'd gotten off on a technicality and had promptly sought revenge against his accuser — Gabriel. He watched the thug's hand as he deftly caught the dagger. Five years, and only the thumb and one finger had grown back.
Still, he was lucky it was only his hand that had been chopped. It should have been his friggin' head. But SIU had been feeling generous that day. Because Eddie had no previous history of violence, they'd let him escape with only a minor penalty. In doing so, they'd created a headache for themselves. Eddie Wyatt was the chief suspect in the recent bombings of several SIU buildings. But up until now, informed opinion said he'd fled the country.