Vintage Soul (23 page)

They were in a corridor that curved out and around in both directions, stretching back toward the outer south wall.
 
The crystal swung to the left at about a forty-five degree angle, pointing off through the wall in front of them.
 

Vein turned left and followed the direction the crystal pointed, moving swiftly and keeping low.
 
The others spread out, making as many separate targets as possible.
 
Bones watched behind them for anyone, or thing, that might be following or trying to sneak up on them.
 
They were out of sight of the elevator before they saw the first door.

Vein held up hand to caution the others and watched the crystal carefully.
 
It still pointed further around the curving hallway.
 
It was possible they could go through the room ahead to get to where Vanessa was held, but it seemed more likely there was another door.
 
Vein slipped past the first silently, and the others followed.
  
He rounded another bend.
 
There were two remaining doorways.
 
One was at the very end of the hall, flat against the wall, and the other, like the first they'd encountered, was on the right hand wall.
 
Vein stepped up to this one, and the crystal tugged him closer, pointing dead center at the wooden door.
 

He glanced at Kali, then at the others.
 

“This is it,” he said.

He tried the knob.
 
It was unlocked, and he turned it slowly.
 
They waited.
 
When there was no sound, he pushed gently, and the door swung open.
 
The hinges were well-oiled, and there was no sound.
 
The room was almost bare.
 
They stepped inside and stopped at the sight that met their eyes.

Vanessa hung from the wall.
 
Her wrists and ankles were chained, and the chains disappeared into recesses in the stone face behind her, holding her tightly.
 
Her eyes were wild, and despite the futility of it, she struggled crazily.
 
Vein took a step forward and she tried to scream, but she was gagged, and they heard only a muffled shriek.
  
Too late, Vein caught the angle of her gaze, and realized she wasn't staring at him.

He whirled and cried out.
 
The others spread, but it was too late.
 
There was a blinding flare of light, like what they'd experienced in the alleyway, but intensified.
 
Vein tried to dive forward but was driven back hard.
 
He crashed into the wall beside where Vanessa hung, and the light pinned him there.
 
 
He clawed at it feebly, the strength melting from his limbs as heat rose so quickly, and so intensely, that it threatened to consume him in a sudden blaze.

He could not see their attacker.
 
He tried to reach for Vanessa, but could barely lift his leaden arms.
 
Then, with a soft, futile snarl, he fell forward on the cold stone and passed from thought.

~ * ~

Vein woke to pain, but he shrugged it off.
 
He was in a small room of some sort, and he stood carefully.
 
Nothing was broken, or, if anything had broken, he had healed.
 
He didn't have any idea how long he'd been out.
 
The others lay in jumbled heaps around him.
 
Only Kali was on her feet, gazing at him levelly, and waiting.

“Where are we,” he asked.

Kali shrugged. “Wherever he put us.”

The others began to stir.
 
Vein glanced down and saw that the blood crystal was still hanging about his neck.
 
There was a soft laugh, and Vein spun, trying to find the source.
 
A moment later he realized he wasn't in a room at all.
 
It was an elevator.
 
He slammed up to the ceiling, but found no trap door.
 
He tried the walls, one after the other, but despite several attempts, each harder than the last, he was unable to bend, break, or open them.

“You won't get out that easily,” a voice said softly.

Vein stilled himself, fought back the panic that threatened to rise, and stood in the center of the elevator.

“Who are you?
 
What do you want?”

“I didn't want anything from you,” the voice replied, “though I'll admit it was entertaining.
 
Vanessa is quite concerned for your welfare.
 
It's very touching, and it gives me an edge, don't you think?”

Vein quelled the urge to smack into one of the walls again.

“This is a very unique elevator,” the voice continued.
 
“It's built into the back wall of the building.
 
Most of the time I keep it hidden from the world, but sometimes, well, I'm a bit romantic, I suppose.
 
The wall behind you opens to a very solid window – about two feet thick, I believe, and reinforced with a silver mesh.
 
It's not quite as effective as if it were the east side of the building, but eventually the sun touches everything, doesn't it Vein?”

The wall slid slowly open, and they had a clear view of the dark, star-studded sky beyond the complex.

“How long do you think it will take,” the voice asked with a soft, insane chuckle, “for all of you to become ash?
 
I have a theory.
 
I'm betting that it will take less time than it takes for that elevator to reach the ground, with the noon-time sun beating down on it.
 
Not that it matters.
 
The doors are charmed, and you won't be able to open them, so if you manage to survive to reach the bottom, you'll be dust before anyone gets you out.
 
You can rest assured on that point.”

Vein wasn't really listening.
 
He was studying the glass.
 
He saw the tiny silver threads woven into the glass.
 
He thought about those slicing skin as the glass shattered, shredding his flesh like a cheese grater from hell.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“I have everything I want, Vein.
 
Now I don't have to worry about you taking it.”

There was another whir, and the wall opposite the window slid aside to reveal another glass partition.
 
This one looked out into the passageway they'd walked through moments before.
 
On the other side, a man stood, gazing in at them with a lopsided grin on his face.

Kali slammed into the door with such sudden force and anger that Vein was sure it would shatter, and she would be shredded, but the glass held.

“You!” she screamed.

Their captor laughed, turned, and walked away.

FOURTEEN

It was just growing dark when Donovan slipped back into the alley outside Club Chaos and entered the phone booth.
 
He dialed the code and moments later stepped into The Crossroads, glancing to his right, and to his left as he entered.
 
He didn't really fear trouble inside the bar, but he didn't want any more surprises.

He'd come equipped for just about anything.
 
Charms and pendants dangled beneath his dark shirt, and he had several objects of power tucked into the various folds and pockets of his jacket.
 
It really wasn't cold enough for a jacket – it was warm most of the year in San Valencez – but unless he intended to play super hero and wear a utility belt, he needed the extra storage. Many of the patrons of Club Chaos wore jackets, trench coats, or cloaks, so no one paid any attention as he stepped to the bar and took a seat.

There was only one other customer along the length of polished wood.
 
The seer seemed to have found somewhere more interesting to ply her trade.
 
Jasper
Windham
sat hunched over the polished bar with his long, cadaverous fingers wrapped around the base of a large glass tumbler.
 
Amber liquid glinted through the glass, and when he turned to acknowledge Donovan's arrival, glass clinked.

Donovan didn't speak immediately.
 
Though it was not going to slip past prying eyes that he was meeting with a collector, he didn't see any reason to be more obvious than necessary.
 
He sat down, caught the bartender's attention, and ordered a brandy.
 
When he had his drink, he took a sip, and then turned to
Windham
.

“The offer is still open?” he asked.
 
“You're sure?”

Windham nodded.
  
Then he turned and met Donovan's gaze.
 
“There are others in the game now.
 
That's what he told me, anyway.
 
He wouldn't give out names, and I think he's just telling tales to convince me to hurry and get what he wants, but he's spreading the rumor that at least three others are considering his offer.
 
If he's telling the truth, and one of them gets to that grave first…”

“I understand,” Donovan said.
 
“Do you know who these others are?”

“I'm not sure I believe any others are involved,”
Windham
replied.
 
“If they are, then locally we have Craven and Gavin.
 
Besides me, they are the only two I'm aware of who would have the necessary equipment and talent to pull it off.
 
There are others who might try, but they'd either destroy the item in question, or get themselves destroyed in the process.
 
It doesn't seem likely this would be trusted to anyone less than reliable.”

“Have you contacted them?” Donovan asked.

“We aren't in the habit of sharing information among ourselves,”
Windham
said.
 
He laughed then, a cold, thin, raspy sound that rattled in his throat and reminded Donovan of dried leaves blowing in a frigid wind.

“I should have guessed,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

Windham glanced at him again.
 
“You sure you're up to this?
 
Maybe that dust is safer right where it is, if you know what I mean.”

“I have an assignment,” Donovan replied.
 
“It's important.”

“Rumor has it,”
Windham
continued, returning his gaze to his drink and twirling the nearly empty glass in slow circles, “that you're after Johndrow's woman.
 
Are you working for the Elders again, DeChance?”

“Don't believe everything you hear,” Donovan replied, wondering if Vein and his cronies had been nosing about and giving away too much information.

“Makes no difference to me, either way,”
Windham
replied.
 
“It's just this; I don't think it would be good for any of us if that bone marrow dust gets into the wrong hands.
 
I told you there are three of us who could get it, but none of us has.
 
There are other rumors.
 
I hear things about journals, and formulas that should never have been written down in the first place, and I worry.”

“I'll get the dust,” Donovan said, taking a longer drink.
 
“Don't worry about that.
 
“I won't lose it once I have it, either.
 
I've already had something of mine taken, and I intend to get that back as well.
 
Did you bring what I asked?”

The collector nodded.
  
He took another sip of his drink, hesitated, and then he reached into a deep pocket and pulled out a small amulet dangling from a silver chain.
 
He held it out to Donovan as if reluctant to release it.

“What is it?” Donovan asked.

“It's charmed,”
Windham
answered.
 
Then he shrugged.
 
“I don't know exactly what it does.
 
The only way to contact the buyer once you have what he's looking for is for that amulet to touch the dust.
 
Once the object is verified, the information on delivery and payment will be made available.”

Donovan stared at the small pendant.
 
He considered taking it back to his apartment and testing it to see if he could break the charm.
 
If the information he needed was already in his hand, it seemed foolish to take the added risk of breaking into a graveyard.

“I don't think I'd try that, if I were you,”
Windham
said, guessing his thoughts.
 
“I've seen one of these before, or something very much like it.
 
It was a different time and place, but a similar charm.
 
A collector that I knew tried to have the charm broken because he wanted to know who he was working for.
  
He took it to a man trained in such things.
 
When they broke the charm, they found a curse beneath it.
 
Very nasty, that was.”