Embrace the Night cp-3 Read online

  "Come on, then!" Pritkin yelled, grabbing me by the hand and starting off, as if this had been his idea all along.

  "This way!" I dragged him after the ghost as a fresh haze of bullets rattled off the rubble behind us.

  I found it hard going: the soggy soil sucked at my shoes with every step and the rain made it almost impossible to keep the flickering, pale image of our guide in sight. But Pritkin, damn him, slipped through the granite obstacle course like he'd laid it out himself. "How are you doing that?" I demanded the fourth time I knocked a knee into a very hard tombstone.

  "Doing what?"

  "You can see!" I accused.

  "Here." I felt a hand against my cheek for a split second, and Pritkin mumbled something. I blinked, and suddenly everything had a weird, flat, grainy look to it, like bad TV reception. Leaf shadows moved over his face as a gust of wind shook a tree, spattering drops of rain on us, and I could just make out the edges of that familiar scowl.

  "Why didn't you do that before?" I demanded.

  "I thought you were leaving before!"

  "Do you two want this or not?" the ghost asked, hands on insubstantial hips. He'd stopped in front of the image of a bored-looking woman leaning on a tombstone. Enough moss had grown over her granite gown that it was practically green. Green and slimy, I discovered, after the ghost directed me to tap her knee three times. Nothing happened.

  "Now what?"

  "You have to say the magic word."

  "Please!"

  He laughed. "No, I mean a real magic word. To get the statue to move out of the way."

  A spell exploded in the branches of an overhanging oak and a bunch of burning leaves dropped around me, threatening to set my hair alight. "What is it?!"

  "Don't know." The ghost shrugged negligently. "It's not like I need it."

  "What's the problem?" Pritkin demanded, sending his whole arsenal of animated weapons at the advancing line of dark shapes. His knives swooped and danced, striking sparks off their shields with every pass, but it didn't look like they were slowing our pursuers down much.

  "The ghost doesn't know the password!"

  Pritkin shot me his best edge-of-murder glare and muttered one of his weird British swear words. I don't think it was the open sesame, but the spell he cast with his next breath worked almost as well. The statue split straight down the middle to reveal a gaping cavern.

  Inside was as dark as a well, just a black hole silhouetted against the electric sky. I pulled out my flashlight and clicked it on, but it barely dented the darkness. Even worse, there were no stairs, only an iron-rung ladder descending into a claustrophobic tunnel carved into solid rock.

  "I've seen many treasure hunters go in," the older ghost commented, having floated up beside me, "but few come out again. And those who do are empty-handed."

  "That won't happen to us."

  "That's what they all say," he murmured, just as a spell burst overhead. I shoved the gun and flashlight in my belt, grabbed the first rusty rung and half climbed, half slid to the bottom. Pritkin followed practically on top of me, and as soon as we were both down, he sent a spell back up the tunnel that caused a cave-in.

  It blocked our pursuers, but it also cut off what little light there was. Once the rumble from the falling rock stopped, we were in dead silence and utter darkness. Apparently even enhanced vision needs something to work with, because I couldn't see a thing.

  I clicked the flashlight back on. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I yelped and stumbled back a step. The thin beam didn't show much—it was like the dark down here was hungry, eating the light almost as soon as it left the bulb. But I wouldn't have minded seeing even less. Along every side of a long corridor were bones arranged in patterns all the way to the low ceiling. Water had seeped in from somewhere, and a lot of the skulls were crying green tears and growing fuzzy green beards. It didn't make them look less creepy.

  "The catacombs," Pritkin said, before I could ask.

  "The what?"

  "The Parisians started using old limestone quarries as underground cemeteries a few hundred years ago." He took the flashlight and pointed it at the map, frowning. "I didn't think they extended out this far."

  "How far?"

  "If these tunnels connect to those in the city, then hundreds of kilometers." He started shining the light here and there. I wished he'd stop; it lit puddles of water in the empty eye sockets, making the faces seem to move. "There have been stories of catacombs under Père Lachaise for years, but I thought they were merely rumors."

  I stared at a nearby skull. It was bodiless, sitting atop a stack of what looked like femurs, and was missing the jawbone. But somehow it still seemed to be grinning. "They look pretty real to me."

  The flashlight picked out a glint of gold, half buried in the mortar keeping a line of bones in place. I scraped at the cement with my finger, and it was so old that pieces of it just flaked off. The golden circle I revealed wouldn't budge, but I did get a better look at it. It appeared to be formed out of a snake that was chowing down on its own tail. "The ouroboros," Pritkin said, coming up behind me.

  "The what?"

  "An ancient symbol for regeneration and eternity."

  "Like a cross?"

  "Older." He shone the light around some more. "The Paris coven must have created their own catacombs, possibly during the Inquisition. Witches and wizards were sometimes disinterred and their bodies mutilated or burnt. This would have been one way of preventing that."

  "You mean this is a mages' graveyard?"

  "Possibly. The limestone pits were dug by the Romans. They were there for centuries before the Parisian authorities decided to make use of them. Perhaps the magical community had the idea first." From up the ladder came a sudden rain of stone and rubble. It sounded like our pursuers weren't giving up. "Can you shift us here?" he asked, pointing to a vague squiggle on the map.

  My new job had more downsides than I could count, but there were a few perks, too. Well, one, anyway. The power that came with the office of Pythia allowed me to move myself and one or two others around in space and time. It was a damn useful weapon, and so far my only one. But it had its limitations. "I can't shift unless I know where I'm going."

  "You've time-shifted before to places you've never been!"

  "That's different."

  There was a sudden avalanche, and a spell crashed into the floor behind us, igniting a storm of violent white light. It hit the skulls, causing them to crack and splinter, then bounced off the opposite wall, slinging stone fragments everywhere like flying daggers. Pritkin shielded me from the worst of the blast, then grabbed my hand and towed me down the corridor.

  Since I didn't go bouncing off any walls, I assumed he could still see something, but to me it was a headlong plunge into nothingness. He'd clicked off the flashlight, I suppose to make it harder for our pursuers to track us, but without it the tunnels were so dark I couldn't tell whether my eyes were open or closed. "How different?" he demanded.

  "The power lets me see other times, past places. Not the present," I explained, flinching. Afterimages from the blast were making reddish shapes leap in front of my vision, and I kept thinking I was about to plow into something. "If I want to do spatial shifts in the here and now, I have to be able to visualize where I want to go." And a shaky line on a bad map wasn't even close to good enough.

  The corridor abruptly narrowed, to the point that it was impossible to continue side by side. Pritkin went first, pulling me along at something approaching a run. It was hot, the air was close, and the ground underneath our feet wasn't anything like level. It was soon obvious why someone would put a treasury here; without clear directions, you could wander around for months and never find anything.

  Pritkin stopped, so suddenly that I ran into him. He spread the map out on the wall and handed me the flashlight. I clicked it on and saw a much less organized scene than before: bones had tumbled out of the walls and littered the floor, and in some cases t
hey were mounded up in piles with no effort at arrangement at all. Unlike the ones in the main corridor, these looked like they'd just been thrown around any old way. I'm not usually sentimental about the dead—I meet too many of them—but it still seemed wrong. Friends and enemies, parents and children, all jumbled up, with nothing to give a history, a date of death, even a name.

  "It would help if you shone the torch on the map," Pritkin commented caustically. I obliged, and the beam lit up his face, too. Its expression wasn't reassuring. "Are your ghosts here?" he demanded.

  "No. They wouldn't follow us beyond the cemetery limits." And it felt like we'd left those behind a while ago.

  "What about others?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because this map is less than adequate! Some directions would be helpful."

  I shook my head. "These bodies were disturbed. I think they were brought here from their original resting places."

  "Meaning?"

  "That their ghosts would have stayed behind." Not to mention that if it was mages buried here, they wouldn't have left ghosts anyway. Supernatural creatures just didn't, as far as I knew.

  "But their bones are here."

  "Doesn't matter. Spirits can haunt a house, even when their bodies aren't there. It's all about what was important to them in life, the place where they felt a connection." I looked around and repressed a shiver. "I don't think I'd feel real connected to this place, either."

  Pritkin finally settled on a direction and we took off again, sliding through gaps in the rock that, at times, were barely big enough for me. I don't know how he got through, but based on the muttered comments that drifted back, it wasn't without the loss of some flesh. Finally we came to a slightly wider corridor, meaning that we still had to go single file but could pick up speed. For a minute, I thought we'd succeeded in losing our pursuers, but as usual, Murphy's Law caught up with us.

  We came barreling around a corner only to run almost directly into a party of dark shapes. There were yells and bullets and spells, with one of the last exploding against Pritkin's shields, popping them like heat on a soap bubble. "Run!" he snarled in my face. I heard rumbling, like distant thunder, and then the ceiling came down with a roar that consumed the world.

  Chapter 2

  It took me a few seconds to realize that I still wasn't dead. I was in a crouch, my hands protecting my head, expecting an attack, but the corridor was as silent as the tomb it was. The only people besides us were cemented into the walls or buried under the pile of rubble that their own spell had brought down on their heads. I collapsed back against the floor, breathing raggedly, and tried not to scream.

  After a minute, I felt around for the flashlight and my hand closed over a cool plastic cylinder. I clicked it on, relieved to find that it still worked, and saw Pritkin lying on his side. He wasn't moving, and he had blood smeared through the stubble on his chin, bright and frightening. Murphy and his little law can go to hell, I thought furiously, shaking him frantically.

  "Would you kindly stop doing that?" he asked politely.

  I stared. I wasn't entirely sure, but a polite John Pritkin might be a sign of the apocalypse. "Did you hit your head?" I tried to move closer to get a better look, and my knee accidentally knocked a shower of stone pebbles onto the oozing gash on his forehead.

  "If I tell you I'm all right, will you stop trying to help me?" Every muscle in my body relaxed at the familiar tone, all ruffled feathers and crisp impatience. That was better; that was solid ground.

  "So, still alive?" I croaked.

  "Damn right."

  He just lay there, though, so I shone the beam around, giving him a minute. It took a few seconds to realize exactly what I was seeing. Pritkin had apparently gotten his shields back up, because they glowed blue and waterlike, rippling slowly in the yellow beam. But the cave ceiling wasn't above them anymore. Or, to be more accurate, it was there—it was just no longer attached to anything.

  Huge, half-quarried blocks, some still bearing ancient chisel marks, lay on top of the suddenly very thin-looking shields. Every time they flexed, small showers of rubble and grit slid along the top and trickled down the sides, making soft shushing sounds in the quiet. The larger pieces had nowhere to go, but they moved enough to make it obvious that they weren't anchored to anything. Even the smaller, cobblestone-sized chunks would hurt like hell if they fell on us, and I didn't have to wonder what the larger ones would do. Two mages were giving gory proof of that barely a yard away.

  I could have reached out and touched them, where they lay caught between the shield and the cave-in. Their bodies were oddly contorted, trapped in the stone and rubble like ancient fossils, their open eyes shining in the reflected light. Except that fossils don't usually come complete with evidence of how they got that way, at least not in Technicolor brilliance.

  The red-streaked white of newly shattered bone stood out starkly against the mellow gold of the older specimens. One hand rested against the blue of the shield, caught in a gesture of defense, as if human strength could stand against the weight of a mountain. It made me wonder for an insane moment if it would leave a red outline, if the next time Pritkin raised his shields, it would manifest, too.

  The air suddenly felt a lot heavier in my lungs. Despite the large number of impossible things that had happened to me lately, my brain couldn't quite seem to deal. It was loudly insisting that huge slabs of rock that weighed maybe a ton each didn't just hover in the air and that we were both going to die any second now.

  I made a small, choked sound, but managed to swallow the bubble of hysteria before it could tear loose. If Pritkin had been a second later getting his protection back up, there would be four new bodies entombed down here instead of two. But there weren't. We were safe. Sort of.

  Pritkin had rolled onto his back and was staring at me, hard and intent. "This is exactly why I told you to go home."

  "I have a devastating comeback for that," I informed him with dignity. "Just not right now."

  "Do you want to give up?" I blinked. I could count on zero fingers the number of times he had asked my opinion. "Because there are almost certainly more of them back there."

  I remembered the ghost saying that there were twelve mages all together. Which meant that behind the rockfall, ten more were still hanging around, unless they were caught somewhere I couldn't see. Or unless they'd left, assuming that the cave-in had killed us. But no, I wasn't that lucky.

  "You know what's at stake," I reminded him.

  "I thought you'd say that." Pritkin levered himself to his knees with a grunt. The rubble shifted along with him, enough to bring another large slab crashing down. The jagged underside landed only a few feet away from my face.

  Pritkin's voice, laced with its usual impatience, cut through my panic. "Let's go."

  "Go?" It came out as more of a squeak than I'd intended. "How? Because I can shift us back home but I can't shift us beyond this. I don't know what's on the other side or even where the other side is—"

  "Just stay close." Before he'd even finished speaking, his shields had changed from fluid waves to hard crystal, reflecting the cave-in through a hundred sharp facets. A few more rocks fell off, allowing more to rain down from above, striking off the new, rigid surface with dull thuds. Pritkin started crawling forward, and his shields went with him, almost scooping me off my feet before I got with the program and moved up close behind him.

  It wasn't until I saw the body of one of the mages slide down the side and roll behind us that I completely realized what was happening. Our small bubble was plowing through the rocks and dirt like a crystal mole intent on making a new burrow. We hit a wall once, looking for an entrance that wasn't there, but we found it a few feet to the left and burst through, the cave collapsing in on itself behind us.

  Pritkin dropped his shields with an audible sigh, and the dust we'd dislodged in our escape flooded in, almost blinding me. We forged ahead to get away from the choking cloud, which had no way to
disperse in an area without wind or open air. But before we'd gone ten yards, we ran into what felt like another cave-in.

  Once I blinked the dirt out of my eyes, I realized what I was seeing. A narrow tunnel stretched out in front of us, filled halfway to the ceiling with what looked like a mile of bones. Pritkin climbed on top of the broken human mass, flashing the light around. "There's a hole in the wall up ahead. It probably leads to another tunnel."

  I eyed the pile of bones uneasily. Anything kept in close proximity to a person's aura eventually imprints with a psychic skin. I'd experienced more horror stories from inadvertently brushing up against a strong trigger than I could count. And I couldn't think of a stronger trigger than an actual body part.

  "Hurry, damn it!" Pritkin thrust a hand down to me as the sound of voices echoed dimly from the corridor behind us. Somebody had heard our exit.

  I hefted myself up gingerly, before I could think about it too much. The bones were old and dry, and crunched sickeningly under my weight. Many splintered, sending little knives into my palms and tearing my jeans, but there were no psychic flashes. Moving them must have ruptured any imprints that had formed.

  When Pritkin said a hole in the wall, he wasn't kidding. I could barely squeeze through the thing, and it sounded from his language like he'd scraped off more than a little skin himself. "Move!" he whispered, giving me a push in the small of my back. I scrambled inside the small rock-hewn cavern on the other side of the hole, and almost tumbled down a set of stairs that started after only a few feet.

  The claustrophobically low stairwell was extremely uninviting; mostly I just saw the darkness that pooled in every niche and corner. I really didn't want to go down there. Then a spell hit the ceiling behind me with a crack like cannon fire and I reconsidered, scrambling down the stairs ahead of Pritkin.

  A second spell hit while we were still on the steps. It went on and on, like a slow-motion bomb blast, causing gravel to pepper the back of my hands and neck like hail. It sent me sliding down the stairs, but the vibrations rode up through my legs, making it almost impossible to find a foothold. And then it didn't matter because there was no foothold to find. The rock disintegrated beneath my feet, and I tumbled through darkness and empty air before slamming into freezing water.