Down the steps, stop and look. A cavernous room opened before me, so big that in the near dark, I couldn’t see the other three sides.
As my night vision kicked in, I could see enough to know where I was. The room-at least fifty feet square-was filled with cheap office tables, arranged like pews. On each desk was a row of telephones and headsets. A telemarketing pit.
I’d worked in telemarketing at fifteen, too young for something better and needing more pay and hours than a fast-food job would provide.
There were two exits, not counting the one I’d come in. One opened into a small room with a curtained glass wall. The supervisor’s office. The other led to a hall-lunchroom and supply closets if this setup was anything like my old workplace.
Which had Hull picked? Office or hall? Or was he still here, huddled behind a table, waiting to slam me with a knockback spell when I passed? I went still, sniffing and listening. His scent was here. Been here or still here, it was impossible to tell.
Something clattered in the back hall. I hurried forward. At the hall entrance, I paused and peered through. It was a short corridor, no more than fifteen feet, with two closed doors to my left and one open doorway to my right.
Hull ’s scent hung in the air, giving me no directional clues. I considered bending to check for a trail, but these days I couldn’t fly up from a crouch. Better to stay standing and rely on my other senses.
The open doorway led to the lunchroom. I could tell by the stink-food that probably smelled just fine on its own, but when combined and left to mellow, was enough to revolt the hungriest stomach.
Edging against the door jamb, I glanced inside. It could have been a carbon copy of my old lunchroom-little bigger than a walk-in closet with a sauce-spattered microwave, a Goodwill rescue dinette set and an ancient refrigerator.
No hiding places even for a small man like Hull. Well, there was the fridge, but he’d need to clear out all the condiments and unwanted food.
The first closed door was locked. I checked the second. Also locked. Back to the first. I twisted the handle hard and fast, snapping the simple key-lock.
I turned my back to the wall, then threw open the door. The stink of cleaning chemicals hit me. I peered inside. Just a closet-so jammed with janitorial equipment even Hull couldn’t have squeezed inside.
As I closed the door, something rustled in the main room. Had Hull somehow retreated there while I’d been checking the other rooms? But how? He couldn’t get past without-
Witch magic.
I cursed under my breath. Unlock spells were simple witch magic, and most sorcerers never bothered to master more than that, but they could learn stronger witch magic, like cover spells. I could have walked right past Hull and not known it unless he’d moved or I’d bumped into him.
I scanned the main room. All had gone silent. Of course it had. Hull had found a new spot, and cast his spell again. So why change places and risk making noise? Because he wanted me to hear him, to know he was there, and to keep searching.
Hull hadn’t “accidentally” backed himself into this basement. He lured me in, and now he was teasing me while his spell power recharged enough to take me down-kill me if necessary, here in an empty basement where he could take what he wanted from me without fear of interruption.
My hands shot to my stomach. I had to get out of here. The impulse surprised me. Any other time, I’d have been hell-bent on showing this bastard he couldn’t beat me, that I wouldn’t be a victim. But now “showing him” didn’t enter my mind.
I made my way slowly across the room, each step deliberate, gaze swinging from side to side, nostrils flaring as if searching, but my focus fixed on that exit doorway.
Footsteps clomped onto the stairs. Heavy footsteps, coming down. Nick? My heart leapt. With Nick I wouldn’t have to run. We could flush out Hull and finish this-
The footsteps faltered as if he’d tripped and caught himself before falling. I hurried forward. If Nick was still hurt, then we were both getting out of here.
I rounded the doorway before I noticed the heavy stink of rotting flesh. I looked up to see the bowler-hatted zombie staggering down the stairs, knife in hand.
My heart sank, but I shook it off. This would do. Get the zombie in here, and I could run for reinforcements while he kept Hull busy.
“He’s in here,” I said. “He’s using magic to hide, but he’s here-”
The zombie’s eyes met mine. I leapt aside just in time, as he barreled down the final steps, knife raised like a bayonet.
I backpedaled into the main room. The zombie faltered, as if still struggling under dueling orders. Then he shot forward. I backed up and smacked into the first table. As he came at me, I swung onto the table top, sliding across the slick surface and nearly tumbling off the other side.
“Elena!” Jaime’s voice, from the top of the stairs.
“Down-”
The zombie’s knife arced my way. I shimmied back along the tabletop, out of the knife’s reach, then pushed to my feet. I turned, planning to leap to the next table. Then I saw Hull, across the room, face drawn in concentration as he warred for the zombie, the effort too much for him to continue casting the cover spell.
Our eyes met. He lifted his hand in a knockback spell, which would send me sailing right into the zombie. I kicked fast and low, keeping my balance. My foot connected with the side of the zombie’s head just as Hull’s spell hit me. The zombie went down. So did I-the spell sending me flying over him, so fast that I could barely protect my stomach.
I hit the floor in an awkward tumble, teeth clamping down on my tongue. As I scrambled up, Hull raised his hands in a second cast, his lips forming the words. Then he stopped, face darkening, lips forming a silent curse.
“Not quite able to muster enough juice, hmm?” I said, spitting as I tasted blood. I swiped my hand over my mouth.
Hull restarted his incantation.
“I hope that’s nothing stronger than a knockback spell,” I said as I advanced on him. “Or it’s not going to work. Witch magic is tough on sorcerers, and you’ve already OD’d. But you know that, don’t you? You can feel it.”
Hull’s lips twisted in a humorless smirk, but he said nothing.
“Maybe a hundred years ago, you could have done it, but you’re still recuperating from an unexpectedly long incarceration. An incarceration that proves you’re far from perfect…and too dumb to realize it.”
He snarled, and lifted his hands. Then he stopped before even beginning the incantation. I was now within fifteen feet of him. Just a little closer…
Hull looked over his shoulder.
“No escape there,” I said. “It’s a dead end.”
I charged. Hull’s hands went up, lips moving, but he’d never have time-
A jolt struck me, and I flew off my feet, body going rigid as if I’d been hit by an electrical shock. I tried to land in a roll, but my limbs wouldn’t obey. I crashed down and lay there, mentally struggling to get up, body refusing.
Hull’s face appeared above mine. “It’s called an interrupted cast. I cast part of the incantation…then wait, so I can launch it at a moment’s notice.”
I fought to move, but my arms and legs only twitched randomly.
“I tried to make this easy,” Hull said, kneeling beside me. “I really did. But you’d have none of it. Now, we have to do it the hard way.”
His hands wrapped around my throat. I swung my head to the side and chomped down on the underside of his forearm. Then I ripped my head back, a chunk of flesh still between my teeth, his blood dribbling into my throat. Hull howled and fell back, clutching his forearm as blood spurted.
I pushed up and fell on him, my arms and legs little more than deadweights. My teeth sank into his flesh-any flesh-tearing, spitting and biting again, mind blank, spurred on by the instinct to use whatever I had to stay alive.