barrel. Murky darkness swallowed the tunnel. He couldn’t see shit.
Talia’s hand on his arm startled him. He darted a glance at her and she shook her head. No. Don’t shoot.
He peered back into the darkness. Whatever was down there didn’t alarm Talia, but he wasn’t about to make another mistake. His grip on his gun tightened.
Talia squeezed his wrist, her hand warming with pressure. The shadows around him shifted, differentiated like overlapping thunderheads on a moonless night. The stench grew thicker, smells separating into distinct pools of foulness, each with its own fetid personality. Drops of water pinged clear notes in a strange wind chime of wetness.
And in the depths of the tunnel, a white face became visible.
A ghost.
No. A young girl, eyes outlined and dramatically shadowed in black. She had to be—what? Sixteen? Seventeen?
What the hell was she doing down here?
Adam almost started toward her—she might know a safe, sheltered way out of this hellhole. Somewhere they could hide.
But he pulled back. He wouldn’t make another mistake and get that young girl killed. He couldn’t possibly trade a hope of safety for a child’s life. He drew the line there.
Up the ladder, then.
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