The soft click from behind me echoed like thunder in the enclosed space, instantly drowning out the cold authority in the voice behind the metal door. Someone had just operated the mechanism controlling the hidden panel I'd used to enter this alcove.
My blood froze. I spun around, crouching low in the narrow passage, pressing my back against the unyielding steel door. My eyes strained against the darkness, trying to penetrate the deeper blackness of the alcove entrance just feet away.
Who? Had they followed me through the penthouse chaos? Slipped past police? Or had something been waiting in the main tunnel, tracking me by sound or scent, knowing about this hidden access?
The air thickened with sudden tension. Even the faint chemical smell receded, replaced by primal awareness of immediate danger. My hand tightened instinctively on my small clutch bag – a pathetic shield against the unknown.
Silence. No sound from the alcove entrance. No breathing, no rustling cloth, no scraping claws. Just waiting. The worst kind of waiting.
Then, from behind the metal door, the voice spoke again, lower now, almost conspiratorial, yet laced with chilling amusement. "Well, well. It seems your 'trouble upstairs' has followed you down, girl. Quite the predicament you're in."
He knew. He'd heard the click, understood its implication. He was aware of my position, trapped between his sealed chamber and whatever now occupied the alcove. Was he enjoying this?
"Who's there?" I hissed toward the alcove, keeping my voice low but trying to project confidence I didn't feel. My heart hammered against my ribs.
Still no answer. But I felt something. A shift in darkness? A subtle pressure change? My unstable energy sense flared erratically, offering confusing impressions – a flicker of cold malice similar to the tunnel creature, but also something else. Something organized.
"Playing games?" the voice behind the door murmured, closer now, as if he'd pressed his ear against the metal. "Doesn't sound like police. Sounds quieter. More patient." He paused. "Perhaps one of ours? Cleaning up loose ends?"
*'Ours'?* Blackwood's people? Here? Sent to silence Eleanor permanently? Or perhaps to retrieve *him*?
The implications made my head spin. If Blackwood forces operated down here, this entire network could be their territory. My supposed escape route had led me deeper into the beast's jaws.
"Or maybe," the voice continued, smooth as poisoned silk, "it's something older. Something stirred by your little friend's reckless ceremony upstairs. These old places have guardians. Things that resent intrusion."
He was deliberately sowing confusion, trying to gauge my reaction, perhaps assessing the threat behind me based on my response. Clever. Ruthless. Even trapped and in pain, his mind was a weapon. Marcus? The suspicion solidified into near certainty.
I refused to give satisfaction. I stayed low, silent, dividing my strained attention between the steel door at my back and the pregnant darkness ahead. My muscles screamed from sustained tension, cold seeping into my bones.
Suddenly, a faint scrape came from the alcove. Not the rhythmic dragging of the creature, but lighter. Like fabric against stone. Followed by a soft exhale.
It was human.
Someone was there, hiding just as silently as I had been.
My mind raced through possibilities. A Blackwood operative? Someone else who used these tunnels? An ally of Eleanor's? Unlikely, given her apparent recklessness.
"Show yourself," I commanded, pitching my voice firmer, hoping the steel door would amplify it toward the alcove. "Or I'll assume you're hostile." Empty threat, perhaps, given my lack of weapons, but silence was no longer an option.
Another pause. Then, a figure began to detach from the deepest shadows. The minimal light wasn't enough to see features clearly, only a silhouette. Tall, lean, moving with surprising quietness. Dressed in dark, practical clothing.
They stopped at the threshold, a deeper shadow within the gloom. Not overtly threatening, but radiating a coiled stillness that spoke of training. Combat training.
"Lower your voice," the figure whispered, barely audible. A male voice, clipped, professional. Definitely not police. "Unless you want *both* of us to have more company than we can handle."
He knew about the creature? Or just the general dangers?
"Who are you?" I demanded, maintaining my stance.
"Someone who prefers not to end up as tunnel chow," he retorted dryly. "Or apprehended by whoever is making noise behind that door you're leaning on." He tilted his head slightly, listening to the silence from Marcus's chamber. "Sounds like you've cornered something interesting."
Cornered? Or been cornered by?
"He's trapped," I stated flatly, deciding a sliver of truth might work better than obvious lies. "And dangerous."
"Aren't we all, down here?" the newcomer replied, humorlessly. He took a cautious step forward, still keeping distance. "Look, I don't know who you are or how you got here, but that thing in the main tunnel is real, and it's likely just patrolling. Sticking together might be our only chance of finding a way out that doesn't involve becoming part of the ancient masonry."
Sticking together? With a stranger who moved like a trained killer and appeared silently behind me? The idea was ludicrous. Yet he was right about the creature. And he seemed aware of the dangers. Was he one of the hunters Madame Evangeline might have known?
"And the man behind this door?" I countered, nodding back toward the steel. "What about him?"
The figure hesitated. "Depends who he is. If he's Blackwood..." He left the sentence unfinished, but the implication hung heavy.
"He is," I confirmed, watching for his reaction.
The silhouette stiffened slightly. "Senior?"
"Sounds like it," I admitted, the name like ash on my tongue. "Older. Authoritative."
A low curse escaped his lips. "Damn. That complicates things." He seemed to reassess rapidly. "Okay. New plan. Forget the main tunnel for now. Is there any way to open that door from this side?"
"I tried. It's sealed tight. Found this near it, though." I held up the small Blackwood crest, though likely invisible in the darkness. "His? Or just marking territory?"
"Could be either," he muttered. "Their symbols are everywhere in places they control." He paused again. "Listen, my name is Rhys. I monitor these passages sometimes. Let's just say I have an interest in keeping certain things contained, and the Blackwoods are high on that list. Right now, Marcus Blackwood trapped behind a door is less of an immediate threat than whatever else might be drawn here by the commotion, or by *him*." He gestured vaguely toward the door.
Rhys. Monitor. Contained. The words echoed oddly with Eleanor's note. Coincidence?
Before I could question him further, the voice from behind the door cut in again, sharp and commanding, with new urgency.
"Girl! That pin you found... describe it. Now!"
Rhys stiffened beside me. We both turned our attention to the impenetrable steel barrier. Marcus Blackwood wanted to know about the pin. Why? Was it more than just a crest?
"The Blackwood insignia," I replied slowly, turning the piece over in my fingers. "A raven in flight. Black stone inlay." I deliberately omitted mentioning the unusual weight of the piece, the way it seemed to respond to my energy when I'd tried to use it. "Standard corporate logo. Nothing special."
"Look more closely," Marcus commanded, his voice tighter now. "The raven's eye. Is there something unusual about it?"
I brought the crest closer to my face, straining to see in the darkness. The raven's eye was indeed distinctive – a minuscule red stone that caught what little light existed. Not just black obsidian as I'd initially thought.
"A red gem," I confirmed reluctantly.
Marcus's breath hissed through the door. "Listen carefully. That's not just any corporate bauble. It's a key. Specifically, *my* key."
Rhys moved closer now, tension radiating from his frame. "Don't trust him," he whispered. "Whatever he wants—"
"That pin is attuned to my DNA," Marcus continued, talking over Rhys's warning. "It's programmed to open security measures throughout our facilities. Including this door. Including the way out of this maze. And the longer we stay here talking, the closer that *thing* in the tunnels gets to our position."
I glanced between the door and Rhys's shadowy outline, caught in an impossible decision. Release Marcus Blackwood, the man potentially responsible for destroying my family? Or trust this stranger who appeared from nowhere, claiming to "monitor" these passages?
"You could simply walk away with your new friend," Marcus added, voice dripping with calculated insincerity. "But then you'd never know why your family was targeted, would you? You'd never understand what Eleanor was trying to accomplish by bringing you here. By making you *her*."
My heart stuttered. "What did you say?"
"I know who you are," he said softly. "I know what my daughter did to you. The ritual wasn't just to bind me here. It was to transfer her consciousness, her knowledge. You feel it, don't you? Memories that aren't yours. Knowledge you shouldn't have. Power you don't understand."
How could he know?
"He's manipulating you," Rhys interjected sharply. "That's what they do. Whatever he's offering isn't worth the price."
"Maybe," I acknowledged. "But he might have answers. About Eleanor. About all of this." I squeezed the crest tightly. "About what happened to my family."
"If you release him, we might not survive to hear those answers," Rhys argued. "We need to move. Now. I know another route, but it's not close."
The tension stretched between us like piano wire. Three players in a deadly triangle – Marcus behind his door, Rhys in the shadows, and me in the middle, holding a key that might doom or save us all.
Somewhere distant, a low, rhythmic dragging sound began echoing through the stone corridors. The creature was moving again. Coming closer.
"Choose quickly, girl," Marcus urged. "That sound means our time is running out."
I closed my eyes briefly, weighing impossible options. The Blackwood crest grew warm in my palm – from my body heat or something else, I couldn't tell.
"Alright," I said finally, opening my eyes. "I've made my decision."