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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

They looked a lot like goblins, only gnarlier and ready to rumble.

Goblins were trouble, but they could be reasoned with at times.

Whatever these creatures were, I didn’t anticipate any such luck.

Their faces were warty, as though they had giant hard pimples all over them, fleshy nodules that looked inflamed.

Their skin was oily and pig pink, with some dirt added into the mix.

They were about five-five, and burly. They were wearing some sort of trousers, but nothing else.

They moved forward toward me, their eyes glowing, not saying a word.

“Orik!” I only had time to cut the bonds around Penn’s hands before the creatures were within attack range. I moved to the left, trying to draw them away from Penn while she untied the ropes around her feet.

A clattering on the stairs behind me told me that Orik and the others were on their way down, but I didn’t have the luxury to wait.

The first creature came rushing at me. I dodged to the side, but he seemed to anticipate my move because he turned with me, reaching out to swipe my arm.

I yelped as he clipped me with the tip of his short sword.

I returned the swing, landing a hit on his shoulder, but his skin was strong enough to deflect the blade.

At that moment, Orik was beside me, engaging the second guard, and Dante, the third. Carson hurried over to Penn’s side to help free her legs.

I dodged another hit—these suckers were fast—and spun, kicking at my opponent as he stumbled over a cord on the floor. I managed to connect with his shoulder, my heeled boot digging into him hard enough to break the skin. Sometimes stilettos had their use.

The force of my blow sent him reeling, and I charged, my blade out, while he struggled to retain his balance. Blade raised, I swiped at him again, missing as he ducked to the right. He let out growl and, head down, barreled my way.

I tried to dodge him but this time, I couldn’t move fast enough and he headbutted me in the stomach, sending me flying back to land against a wall of wine bottles.

I hit hard, shaking the entire rack, and bottles began to fall off the shelves, shattering as they landed.

The smell of wine filled the air, as shards of glass exploded out, littering the floor.

Several splinters lodged in my skin—two in my hand, one in my cheek.

I winced, but ignored them as I scrambled to my feet, regrouping to once again face my opponent.

By now, Dante and his adversary were into the thick of fighting, as were Orik and his. The basement echoed with grunts and shouts.

“What are these things?” I shouted. The creatures hadn’t attempted to talk to us at all and I didn’t even know if they could talk.

“Grotes—in the goblin family but worse. Sub-Fae,” Dante yelled back. “They’re born with swords in their hands,” he added.

Great. A race born to fight. And they had no intentions of making friends with us, or even discussing the matter.

The grote on me came racing forward once again, a fierce glint in his eye.

He meant business. My dagger wasn’t a good match for his sword—short or not—but I managed to do a duck-and-roll as he swung at me.

As I rolled past him, I managed to clip his right leg with my dagger.

I lucked out, striking between the top of his ankle boot and his pant leg.

My blade struck deep, leaving a bloody gash on his shin.

I rolled out of the way, coming up into a crouch, breathing hard.

Dante had landed a strike on his grote. Orik was tall enough to aim for the top of the head.

He brought his handaxe down, biting into the grote’s skull with his blade.

The axe went in deep, so deep that Orik had to grab hold of the groat by the shoulder for leverage to retrieve the blade.

I shot a glance over toward Penn and Carson.

They were headed out the door, toward the stairs.

Relieved, I turned back to my opponent and feigned a step to the left.

He began to follow and I reversed, jumping right of him.

I swung around, my blade gliding through his side, stabbing deep into his flesh.

He let out a shriek as blood sprayed from the wound.

Orik turned toward the grote fighting Dante, and the creature suddenly backed up, holding up his hands and dropping his blade. He turned tail, heading for the trap door. Orik followed, throwing his axe at the grote. The blade landed in his back, knocking him down.

I turned back to my opponent, who held up his hand, shuffling back toward the trap door.

Not feeling generous—he had managed to clip me just enough to hurt—I charged him.

He dropped his blade and dove for the staircase, but I jumped to land on his back, knocking him down.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. I brought my dagger down through the nape of his neck and twisted.

The body beneath me shuddered once, twice… then was still.

As I looked up, relieved, Orik shut the trap door, after peeking in.

“There’s a hole against one wall in there,” he said, his face pale.

“Through that trap door?” I asked.

“Yes. The grotes came through it,” he added. “I’m pretty sure, at that depth, the passage leads into the outer tunnels of Underground Seattle.”

“Great,” I murmured.

Underground Seattle started out small in the late 1880s, when the great Seattle fire raged through, gutting a good share of the town.

Seattle had been built at or below sea level at the time, and for some time, some of the shops continued while the city built several stories up, covering over the underground.

Eventually, the entire city was on the upper level and the underground had been let go to rack and ruin.

Eventually, it was turned into both a tourist trade—for the safest areas—and then the Supes moved in. Vampires, goblins, and other Supe low-lifes, set up a city within a city. Now , Underground Seattle was a thriving community in its own right, but it wasn’t a safe place to be.

Penn was on her feet, though she was having trouble standing up.

“I’ve been tied in that chair since they captured me, except for an occasional bathroom break,” she said. My knees are so sore.”

Orik, who had been examining the grotes, crossed to her side. “Here, I’ll help,” he said.

But as he spoke, there was a noise from upstairs.

“Crap, someone’s here,” I whispered. “Is there any other way out? Any place to hide?” Frantic, I looked around.

“There’s only one way out,” Penn said. “We have to go into the Underground. And we’d better hurry.”

I stared at the trap door. “That’s almost as dangerous as facing Brim Fire.”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Dante said.

“Penn’s right. And drag those bodies with us.

” He grabbed up one of the grote bodies, dragged it over to the trap door, and pushed it in.

I grabbed the second and followed suit, while he went back for the third.

Then I took the lead, with Carson behind me, then Dante, then Penn, and leading up the rear—Orik, we climbed down the ladder, and Orik pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

As we stepped onto the ledge by the ladder near the hole that the grotes had come though, I noticed that the chute was made of brick, lit by dim lights embedded in the walls. The light was enough to see by, but not enough to focus clearly.

The ladder went down and down, and I was worried that Penn would be too stiff to hold on.

“You can hold onto me,” Orik said. “I might be able to fasten my belt around you, but I don’t know that’s it’s big enough for both of us.”

“I know!” I pulled out the cord that Hecate gave me. “Penn, wrap your arms around Orik’s waist from the back. That way he’ll be free to hold onto the rungs easier.”

She frowned, but did as I asked. I tied the cord around them, and it fastened itself snugly.

“That should hold,” I said. “Okay, let’s get a move on.”

I swung back onto the ladder, going first, and began to descend. I couldn’t see the bottom very well, though it seemed to be about three stories down. And I saw three blobs in the dim light, which had to be the grotes.

I began to move, trying to put the speed on without losing my grip. Orik came next, with Penn attached to his back. Then Carson began scrambling down the ladder, surprisingly agile, and after him, Dante.

We reached the bottom, sidestepping the bodies. So far, I couldn’t seen any sign that anybody topside had noticed. I looked around. We were in a small room that opened out into an underground passage.

Underground Seattle was a labyrinth. It was a rite of passage among some street gangs to make a potential member work their way through the Underground, in the dingier, deadlier parts.

And some teens used it as a dare, which was stupid as hell, but nobody ever said the teen years were the most sensible.

I looked around, trying to gauge where we were in relation to the parking lot. My sense of direction was fairly keen—but Dante’s was better. Most shifters had an innate sense of direction.

I turned to him. “Why don’t you take the lead?

Get us out of here as soon as possible. There’s no way we won’t attract attention and that’s not what we want.

” I crossed to Penn and Orik and took hold of the length of rope, tugging on it.

It opened right up, and I coiled it in my hand.

“Orik, take the rear, please. You’re a tank and anybody behind us will think twice about coming after us. ”

I hugged Penn and took her hand as Dante began to lead us through the hallway. “I’ve been so worried about you. Can you walk all right?”

“I think so,” she said. “I’ve missed you, too.” She reached out to touch the cord Hecate had given me. “This feels so familiar?—”

“It should,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Hecate gave it to me to help rescue you.”

Dante motioned for us to keep quiet. He glanced over his shoulder. “I hear someone up ahead.”