Claire made a mental note to smack Diana hard the next time she saw her. “We’re no longer together because I decided that he wasn’t safe traveling with me.”
“First of all; you decided? And second, he’d already been to Hell, girl. What did you think could happen that was worse?”
“How about asphyxiation?”
Nalo pointed a long, dark finger in a filthy fingerless glove at the cat carrier. “If you can think of a better way to keep Bystanders far away from this hole, then I’d like to hear it. Until then, I don’t take attitude from no cat.”
It was probably fortunate that the approaching subway drowned out Austin’s response.
The teenagers got on, and out of the door closest to the hole stepped a large young man in a leather jacket, a tattoo of a swastika impaled by a dagger nearly covering his shaved head. Pierced lip curled, he swaggered toward the two women. He sucked in a deep breath, readying himself to intimidate, then looked appalled, and choked.
“You know what I think when I see a tattoo like that?” Nalo murmured as the sound of violent coughing echoed off the tiles. “I think, he’s gonna look like a fool when he’s eighty and in a nursing home.”
“Maybe he’ll regrow his hair.”
“Won’t help, he’s got male pattern baldness written all over him.”
Claire couldn’t see it, but she could see the words “hate” and “kill” written into the backs of his hands. Reaching into the possibilities, she made a slight cosmetic change. Then she reached a little farther.
His eyes widened and, still coughing, the hand that said “male pattern” gripping the crotch of his jeans and the one that said “baldness” outstretched to clear the way, he ran for the stairs.
“Will he be back?”
“Depends on how long it takes him to find a toilet.”
“He could just pee in a corner.”
“That’ll take care of half the problem.”
Nalo grinned. “Very clever. You’re subtler than your sister.”
“Public television pledge breaks are subtler than my sister.”
“True enough. Well, that was the last regular train past this station, so let’s get to work before the maintenance trains hit the rails.” Nalo shrugged out of her coat, peeled off the gloves, and was suddenly a middle-aged black woman in a TTC maintenance uniform. A lot of her previous bulk had come from the tool belt around her waist.
“You do a lot of work in the subways?” Claire asked, setting Austin’s carrier down and opening the top for him.
“Hundreds of thousands of people ride them every day, what do you think? Most of the holes close on their own, but enough of them needed help that it finally got easier just to buy the wardrobe—we’ve got a Cousin in the actual maintenance crew who picked it up for me.”
“Was he monitoring the site?”
“This one and a couple of others.” The older Keeper glanced at her watch. “Security’ll be here shortly. I’ve dealt before, so I’ll deal again; why don’t you and your younger legs jump down on the track and map the lower parameters.”
Yes, why don’t I? Although she tried, Claire couldn’t actually think of a good reason, so she stalled. “What about the camera? I should adjust it to show a different possibility.”
“Already done.”
So much for stalling. Pulling her kit from her backpack, she walked over to the edge of the platform and sat, legs dangling. “You coming, Austin?”
“Not likely.”
“There’s mice down there.”
“I should care?” But he trotted over for a closer look. “Not just mice.”
A group of tiny warriors no more than two inches high, their dark skins making them almost impossible to see, were silently surrounding an unsuspecting rodent. The kill was quick, the prey lifted in half a dozen miniature arms and, to Claire’s surprise, thrown against the third rail. There was a sudden flash, a wisp of smoke, and tiny voices chanting, “Bar. Be. Que! Bar. Be. Que!”
“What’s the delay?” Nalo asked, walking over. “Oh, Abatwa. I don’t know when they came over from South Africa, but they’ve adapted amazingly well to the subway system. You know what to do if you’re challenged?”
As far as Claire could tell, they all seemed to be males. “Flattery?”
“That’s right. Watch where you’re stepping, it makes them cranky.”
Given the nature of some of the debris, Claire figured stepping on one of the Abatwa would be the least of her problems. She didn’t even want to consider how some of it had gotten down there. About to push off, she caught a memory and froze. “You said something about maintenance trains?”
“You’ve got lots of time.”
“But we don’t know how long this will take.”
“Girl, you worry too much.” Nalo’s pat was almost a push.
Claire took the hint and dropped down onto the greasy ties. As she turned toward the job, heavy footfalls heralded the approach of Transit Security. They seemed perfectly willing to believe that both Keepers were maintenance workers and that Austin’s carrier was a toolbox, making only a cursory check and leaving quickly. Claire suspected that the collection of filthy shopping bags discouraged suspicion. And conversation. And breathing.
Her suspicions were confirmed when one of the guards promised to tell the cleaning crew about the mess. “They can get them ready for the garbage train.”
“Garbage train?” Claire asked when they were gone. “Is that the maintenance train you mentioned?”
“One of them,” Nalo allowed, pulling a piece of chalk from her tool belt and squatting by the upper edge of the hole.
“One of them? How many of them are there?”
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On how many of them there are.”
“Wonderful.”
The cleaning crew arrived before they finished mapping. None of them spoke English, two of the three couldn’t speak to each other. They all made their feelings quite clear about the bags.
“I don’t know about you,” Austin muttered when they left, “but I’ve just learned a few new words.” He wandered over to the edge of the platform and peered down at Claire. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” The hole came over the edge of the platform, wrapped around the lip, and extended two feet down a blackened concrete block wall. It took a liberal application of nail polish remover to get even small sections of the concrete blocks clean enough to take a definition. And her fingers were getting cold.
“Dean could get that clean in no time.”
“And if Dean were here, that would be relevant.”
“Hey, I didn’t chase him away.”
“Shut up.”
“Almost done?”
“Almost.”
“Good.”
She glanced up at his tone. “Why good?”
“Well, I don’t want to rush you, but there’s something going on just down the line.”
“Going on?”
He cocked his head, ears pointing south. “Sounds like a train.”
“Great.”
“But it’s stopped now.”
“Fine. Let us know when it starts moving. Nalo?”
“I’m ready. If you’re not sure you can finish before the train gets here, hop out and we’ll redo after.”
Claire glanced down the tunnel. She couldn’t see a light, she couldn’t feel the wind of an approaching train, and she just wanted this whole thing to be over. “There’s one last definition; I can finish.” The concrete wasn’t exactly clean, but it would have to do. A little extra pressure on the chalk got the symbol more-or-less inscribed. “That’s it.” A movement in the air lifted her hair off the back of her neck as she straightened. “Let’s go.”
Because of the bend in the site, it was impossible for a single Keeper to see the entire perimeter. While Nalo pushed her edge in, Claire reached into the possibilities and lifted.
The movement in the air became wind.