The voices on the other side of the door faded away. I stood listening to the silence, willing myself not to focus on how angry I felt. Anger clouded thinking. Having been in enough locked rooms in my time, I knew that thinking was usually the only way to freedom. Of course, if that failed, I still had the dagger in my boot.
CHAPTER 16
A shrill screaming filled the air, punctuated with flashes of color. I huddled close to the ground, my heart racing in what I wanted to think was excitement but really was ordinary fear. Something closed in on me, something dark and huge. I fumbled for the dagger in my boot. As I pulled it from its sheath, it blazed with a white light. A scream rent the air.
I awoke in darkness. Cold air pressed against my skin, and the hard stone floor beneath me felt more unforgiving than ever. The torch had gone out. My breathing seemed louder than it was, fast and ragged from the nightmare. I took deep breaths to slow my heart rate and shake off the dream.
My knees crackled when I stood. I rubbed my arms to bring blood to the surface. Every time I dozed off, I felt colder when I woke up. It wasn't so cold that I would die, but it was damned uncomfortable in the meantime. I wind-milled my arms to try to force more blood into my hands. It only helped a little.
I still had light, I had gone over the room. While I found a fair-sized inventory of old office furniture, a hidden exit did not appear. The only outlets were two small drainage grates in the back, which the rats probably found convenient.
In darkness, boredom set in, followed by sleep. The faintly luminous face of my watch displayed the progression of time with agonizing precision. Every time I awoke from a nap, I was equally surprised whether five minutes or two hours had gone by.
Around four o'clock in the morning, my certainty that they would not be so stupid as to leave the door unlocked lost to my fear that they were that dumb, and I was even dumber for not trying. I tugged at the handle. It was locked. I went back to sleep.
The silence gave me a sick, frustrated feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had never been imprisoned before. I had been trapped under various circumstances but always in the context of moving events. I had known that just on the other side of a door or up on a roof or just a block away in a car, someone knew where I was and was coming to help. Now events were moving, but I had been taken out of the flow. I had no control. Not enough time had gone by for me to lose hope, but outside was a different matter. Outside Midsummer was coming. Night would fall and with it the official new moon of Midsummer's Eve. Someone would die, but this time chaos would break out. I dozed off again.
Breakfast came in a paper bag dropped out of a blaze of light from the corridor that was cut off when the panel slammed shut. I groped around until I found it. The reek of greasy fries plumed out of the bag so strongly I could smell it through my congestion. Burgers, fries, and a water bottle. The food was cold and the water was warm. Not my usual morning fare, but my stomach had given up trying to tell time somewhere around midnight. At least the crinkle of burger wrapper was a new sound.
I still had Briallen's dagger. Before the torch died, I had tested the strength of the door. The wood was old, but by no means rotten. Hacking around the hinges until they fell off would take a while, and the elf goons would stop me before I got very far. I'd only end up losing the dagger. I might be able to take at least one of them out if I tricked them inside. But that was the oldest gimmick in the book.
I didn't relish stabbing one of the guards. They didn't seem to have an agenda other than being macDuin's strong-arms. That didn't mean I liked them any better, but I doubted they had signed on for the job expecting to get killed. Maybe I'd just wound them really, really bad. I stared at the door, willing it to open, and eventually fell asleep again.
Some hours later, I lifted my head from my knees. I had the vague sensation of being awakened by some kind of noise. Voices could be heard out in the corridor, rising and falling in intensity. At least two. A moment later, I realized one of them was a woman's. A third voice chimed in, low and urgent. The guards had company. I couldn't make out what was being said, but the tenor was rising.
The voices grew louder as they approached.
"I don't care. The plans have changed," the woman said.
"He said tomorrow," one of the elves said in German.
"I'm not leaving without him. We don't have time."
The door flew open, and blinding light hit me full in the face. Amplifying the effect was the vision of a fairy in full blaze of anger, her wings flaring up and out. I held up my arm to deflect the glare after so much time in the dark. My eyes ran as I blinked hard to focus.
"Keeva?" I said.
"Come on, Connor. I don't want any trouble from you either."
"I want to call macDuin," said one of the elves.
Keeva spun toward him. "He's busy, you idiot. Why do you think he sent me?"
Something didn't feel right. My sense of perspective seemed to be off as I looked down at her. Keeva was tall enough to look me in the eye, yet I found myself staring at the top of her head.
"Keeva?" I said again.
"Let's go, Connor. I'm on a schedule."
She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the corridor.
She shot a sideways look at the elves. I could see them more clearly then. They were pissed off and confused. Keeva peered into the dark storeroom. Standing so close to her, I could see a mild blurring about her features.
"MacDuin wants you to go to the bookstore in Kenmore Square and wait for us. We'll be there in half an hour," she said to the elves.
The spellcaster stepped forward. "That's not the plan."
She sneered at him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll tell Lorcan to check with you next time."
They exchanged glares. Keeva grabbed my arm again and forced me down the corridor. The elves had remained where they were, angry uncertainty on their faces. Keeva straightened up again and stared them down. "Get moving. I'm not going to tell you again."
"We really have to move," she said under her breath as she passed me. We hustled up the corridor away from the garage. Another oaken door blocked the far end, and it took no more mystery than a good hard tug on the metal ring in its center to open it. As we passed out of sight of the corridor, I couldn't resist the urge to smile and wave to my former captors. I had to admire their nerve. They still hadn't moved.
We were in yet another corridor. This one had electricity, but only a few lights. I looked down at my rescuer. "Um, Keeva, your orange roots are showing." She looked at me from under her brow. For a disconcerting moment, another visage hovered behind Keeva's. Air rippled across the face, and it faded away. So did the wings.
Meryl crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "If you wanted a perfect glamour, I would be more than happy to lock you back up for another couple of hours."
I held up my hands in surrender. "I'm not complaining. It was long enough."
She frowned at me. "I would have been here sooner if someone hadn't thrown something at Muffin and scared him half to death."
"The rat? That was your rat?"
She twirled her hand over her head. "Cute little guy with a tuft of hair on his head that looks like a muffin? Let's just say we're on good terms. Hurry up. Those two idiots might still decide to follow us."
We made our way through a series of twists and turns, the lights becoming brighter with each step. Meryl's knowledge of the lower corridors of the Guildhouse was either me product of careful map study or incredible nosiness.