But I couldn’t be too impressed with myself. After he had gone I realized I should have said: “Untie me and then leave.”
So. Getting free of the ropes was my new goal, but I took a moment to collect the icky-feeling energy of those tourmalines from my aura and release it from the stones on his mitre.
The candles could have burned through the rope, but before I gave myself third-degree freedom burns, I considered other options. I discovered that the teeth on one of the skulls adorning the throne were serrated and sharp enough that I was able to saw through the rope at my wrists and get free in about ten minutes. Though I’ve seen TV protagonists free themselves similarly, none of them ever acted like their triceps ached with effort afterward. Just then, lifting a glass of water—and I badly wanted something to drink—would have proved painful.
Now that I was free, I had to choose my next move. Redoing what I’d just done to the Rege was questionable, and unlikely en masse, so staying here waiting until more wæres showed up wasn’t an option. That meant it was up to me to quickly get my ass out of here.
There were two doors to the room. One led to where I had been when I woke; the other was used by Gregor and the Rege as an exit. A quick inspection with one of the candles established that the former led to an empty chamber without any other doors. The floors of both rooms were cement and had drains in the floor.
I glanced up at the old pipes winding their way across the ceiling, studied the walls. The place had me wondering if I was up to date on my tetanus shots. The lack of windows made me think this place was underground.
Not good.
I knew which way to go, but I couldn’t guess what to expect once I passed through the door.
Making an assessment of what was available, my options were few. I considered the candles, rope, marble pillars, and throne. Since pointy things usually made good weapons, I tested the horns on the throne to see if any could be detached.
Just as I mentally whined about the ache in my arms, one of the horns broke off. And I do mean broke. The base of it stuck jaggedly up from the back of the throne quite obviously.
Great. Now the Rege has another reason to be pissed at me.
What I now held was dark and grooved, more of an antler or a prong than a horn. It was as long as my forearm and thicker than was comfortable to grip, but this was no time to be choosy. It was unquestionably pointy enough to be dangerous and that was sufficient. With the rope coiled around my shoulder—because if they discovered I had escaped, they would think I was still bound and that might give me an advantage if needed—I hurried toward the door.
Rushing made my footfalls harder and faster, which brought a resurgence of nausea. I slowed down and moved carefully. The door’s strange push handle gave freely. Hooray, he didn’t lock me in. I opened it with such patience I impressed myself. But the sneakiness wasn’t necessary. Beyond was a block hallway, industrial wide, dirty and lit by bare, dim bulbs. To my right was a dead-end; I had to go left.
Cautiously, and with a white-knuckled grip on the antler, I walked down the hall. My ears burned, straining for a sound.
This place felt like it was underground, so I wanted to go up. Up meant out and away. My brain whispered about the underworld and how the goddess Persephone was escorted back to the world by Hecate and Hermes. But that same brain seemed to be throbbing as relentlessly as a metronome keeping time.
As the hallway ended on a wide space, I saw no one, heard nothing. After sniffing and smelling nothing but the dusty cement, it was easy to decide to hit the stairs. Up and out. Chanting that to myself kept the underworld whispers at bay.
I climbed one level, peeked into a similar open space, and stepped out to head up the next level. Here, the silence finally ended.
That didn’t surprise me. Of course there would be people guarding the exit. As I neared, however, the sounds weren’t what I expected. They weren’t the noises of guards playing cards or watching sports. They weren’t human sounds at all.
I inched around the final turn and slinked along the wall at a snail’s pace. What I could see was a re-creation of the previous floors. With my cheek against the cold concrete blocks, I peeked out into the open area. Empty.
It seemed every floor had the same layout, and the noise was coming from down a hallway not unlike where I’d been kept. Wary, I eased into the open area and edged onward, only to find there was no stairwell cutting back in. If there was a way out from here, it was down that hall. Past the noise.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs, then resettled my grip on the antler and moved into the hall. From my new position I could tell the doors were different. The sound was coming from within the rooms ahead; the doors might be open or altogether absent.
Nearer, the smell of barn straw filled my nostrils. The dried grass rustled as something inside moved. It was followed by the sound of brusque sniffing. Definitely animal. If there are animals of some kind in there, they would be out roaming if not confined.
That reasoning steeled my nerves enough to proceed. I could see the doors were recessed just a little, and the first one was barred. A relieved sigh deflated my lungs; glad to know whatever they had in there wasn’t coming out.
I passed without seeing anything inside but cement and straw in the first caged room. If there had been steel on the walls here, it had been removed. The second cage was on the opposite side. There was more of the same movement and sniffing sounds, followed by a whine. I could see the tip of a furred tail, but that didn’t tell me much.
The third room seemed empty. No shifting straw to reveal movement, no sniffing.
Just as I passed, something launched itself against the door, paw swiping out. I threw myself to the hallway floor, but even so, I felt one of the claws catch on my jeans pocket and tear it.
Landing on my forearms with a thud, heels kicked up, I saw stars again. The antler skittered away.
Lying there until the dizziness faded would have been my preference, but something was snarling a few feet away and my instincts didn’t allow me that luxury. I rolled to my side and the rope slithered away from my shoulder. Keeping my knees bent so my feet were clear of the still-grabbing paw was the priority.
The claw that had reached for me was scrabbling over the floor between us. But it wasn’t like any claw I’d ever seen before. There was only one actual claw … the rest of it was—
—a human hand.
My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing at first. I chalked it up to the concussion, but even in hindsight, I don’t think I could have comprehended it any faster if I’d been clear-headed and fully caffeinated.
It was a human arm, stretching through the bars, an arm lightly covered in fine gray hair like the downy feathers on a chick. The fingers were shortened, the palm lengthened, and the index had a single dark claw on it instead of a fingernail. At the shoulder, the arm attached to a deformed body, one with a doglike rib cage, deep rather than wide. The fur here was darker, thicker. The creature had human buttocks, human thighs, but at the knee the limb became the lower leg of a wolf.
Again my eyes scoured the grotesque, misshapen body. My brain screamed at me, Don’t look! But I couldn’t help it. My rebellious gaze locked on its face. The all too-human head had fangs—more teeth than any person should have in their mouth. There was no snout, just a human jawline and human nose turned dark at the tip. The ears were elongated. The eyes, one wolf-gold, and one human-blue, slammed home the realization of what I was seeing.