Cold Blooded

“Awful.”

“Sad.” A ghost started to cry.

Jesus, when ghosts cried, you knew the news was going to be as shitty as possible. “How badly is she hurt?” My voice rose several octaves, and even though I had no idea where I was going, I started to trot down the tunnel. It leveled off after the first small hill and started to twist and turn. “What is this place? Where are we?”

“The House of Death.” Voices clamored around me, echoing the word “death.”

Well, that was nice.

I tried to project my inner voice out to Rourke and my brother. If we were all out of the mansion, it may work. Can you hear me, Rourke? I switched channels. Tyler, are you out there? What’s going on?

“They cannot hear you.”

“The Queen prevents it.”

“Hey,” I yelled. “Stay out of my brain!” I couldn’t feel them floating around in there, which is what I guessed they were doing, but I wanted my thoughts to stay my own. “Why can’t my Pack hear me?”

“The same reason we cannot get out.”

“And?” I asked. “What reason would that be?”

“The barrier.”

“Is stifles us.”

“It holds us tightly.”

This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I had no idea what barrier they were talking about, but Naomi was my first priority. “Is Naomi in the … House of Death with us?” I asked. “Can you lead me to her?”

“Crypts … crypts … crypts.”

“Are all the crypts connected?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Just underground.”

“Beneath the soil.”

They continued to usher me forward, their ghost fingers tickling my skin. Grainy outlines made maneuvering possible, but having the invisible guides made it much easier. “Are we moving toward Naomi?”

“Yes.”

“We will take you.”

“For a price.”

That wasn’t surprising. Everything had a price.

The tunnel changed course while I ran. They prodded me in the right direction each time I hit a roadblock—I hoped. I really had no idea. They could be leading me to someplace terrible and I’d be none the wiser. “Are we almost there?” Before they could answer, I spotted a wooden door up ahead. It was old and corroded, set into the earth on an iron frame, anchored by ancient timbers. It must be a way up to one of the crypts aboveground.

I slid to a stop.

“No, no,” a breathy voice said so close to my face I flinched. “That is not the one.”

“Mustn’t go up there.”

“He should not wake.”

“Danger to us all.”

“I take it this is the wrong door?” I said sarcastically. “You guys need to pick up the pace. My team is looking for me. I need to find my friends. Can’t we just head through here”—I gestured to the old door—“and take a more direct route through the cemetery?” Being underground was beginning to take its toll. It was so dark and dank it was messing with my state of mind.

“No. Can’t go.”

“Bad man.” A child’s voice began to whimper.

“He will harm us.”

My sarcasm was clearly lost on the incorporeal. “If this is not the right door, you need to show me where the right one is, and after I free my friend, I will try to … break the barrier you keep chattering about.” Maybe if the barrier went down, I could finally talk to my Pack.

“Yes. The barrier must come down.”

“Freedom.”

“We will show you the way.”

I started to run once again. Two more turns and several doors later the hands guided me to a stop. This door was the most detailed one I’d seen. It also appeared to be well used. It was decorated with ghoulish pictures of graveyard bandits, with masks and shovels, digging up graves. If I had to guess, this must be one of the main torture chambers. “If she’s not okay, I am going to seriously hurt someone,” I murmured to myself.

“Asleep.”

“Sleep of the dead.”

“Not much time left.”

A concentrated shove sent me tumbling closer to the door.

“No need to push,” I growled. “I’m going.” I grabbed on to the black doorknob and was immediately flung back by a strong jolt of power. “Cripes.” I recovered, shaking my hand until the sting abated. This door was spelled, and it was decidedly witchy. I had to be more careful in this madhouse. “Why didn’t you tell me it was warded?” I grumbled to my ghost posse. “That would’ve been extremely helpful.”

“Magic is weak.”

“Cannot keep us out.”

“We will help you.”

At once the door popped open, creaking on its old hinges. That was an unexpected surprise. “I could’ve used you guys in the Trow tunnel.”

“Cannot pass there.”

“Magic keeps us out.”

“Old wards are strong.”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’m going to try and dial my sarcasm down to a minimum from now on.” I ducked my head through the opening and tread carefully up steps made of packed earth. They were terribly corroded and barely counted as steps. They were more like lumps of dirt. Once I reached the top, a trapdoor made of thick, white marble loomed above me.

The bottom entrance to the crypt above.

“Is this warded?” I asked.

“It is free.”

“Vampires leave it so.”

“You may enter.”

Let’s make sure, I told my wolf. I tentatively pressed a single fingernail on the marble. A soft hum of magic met my touch, but nothing threatened me directly. It was probably residual magic. The main door to the outside of the crypt was likely heavily spelled, but whoever was in charge of the torturing must think warding the trapdoor was unnecessary.

“Here we go,” I said as I braced my palms against the cool surface and pushed upward. I had to use a considerable amount of strength because the marble was crazy heavy. “This must be two feet thick,” I grunted. “But it’s working.” There was no resistance, so I kept sliding.

Once it was fully open, the smell of blood hit me.

I caught Naomi’s scent immediately following.

I leaned up and peered into the room. There were faint Gothic shapes decorating the ceiling of the chamber. It was dark inside the crypt. Just like the tunnels, and I could tell from my position and the sloping beams of the roof it was big inside, more like a mausoleum than a crypt. “Is it safe to go inside?” I asked. “No other nasties waiting to attack?” Why not ask my ghost pals if I had the chance? I didn’t detect anything, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t lurking.