Chapter 6

It took three hours for the bastard to come back. I had heard of walking off your anger, but three hours was bordering on the ridiculous. I had been forced to pass the time with Claire, which in her eyes meant, make myself useful. I dusted the high places her old bones could no longer reach. Though from the way she moved, fluid, like a dancer, I knew I was being conned. I helped her fold laundry, make a few beds, but I drew the line when she announced it was time to bake.

Claire was advancing on me, a can of flour in one hand and a rolling pin in the other when Vance made his entrance.

About damn time, and in the nick of time, I thought, trying to judge his mood by his expression and body language. The only word that came to mind watching him standing in the doorway was resigned.

If I was about to go into the bowels of hell on a mission that was completely insane, I preferred to do it with a comrade rather than an enemy. I plastered a smile on my face and refused to take it off until we were out the door and enroute. Enroute to where I had no idea, but as we rounded a corner, I spotted a stained-glass window.

"We need to go in there." I pointed to the old gray stone church straddling two city blocks.

"Why?"

"Trust me. I need to go shopping."

"In a church? I doubt it's open. In this part of town, everything locks down as soon as the sun sets."

I gave him a wide smile. "Getting in is not a problem."

We were now both dressed in dark clothes. I had switched out the blue jeans for a pair of black ones he offered me. The white T-shirt had been replaced with a gray buttoned down top and over it I now wore a dark gray hooded sweatshirt. Gray and black the colors of my trade. You never knew when you would have to blend in with the shadows.

Van's outfit matched mine, except he wore a dark T-shirt that hugged every muscle and a pair of jeans that caused me to take more than a few glances at that rounded ass as I followed him down the street.

We walked up the steps and stopped in front of a massive door. It was actually two large wooden doors that stood over ten feet tall. Each one had elaborate carvings down the sides and a massive iron ring hanging from its center. On closer examination I realized the carvings were of angelic images and phrases in Latin.

I pointed to one phrase. "Impavidus deambulabo. I will not walk in fear."

"You know Latin?" Van asked, running his hands across a carving of an angel playing a harp.

"Some. Tools of my trade."

"And picking locks. Is that also part of your training?"

I laughed. "In a way. But not the way you mean." I moved forward and placed both palms against the massive doors. Closing my eyes, I began to chant, "Aut viam inveniam aut faciam." The doors began to tremble ever so lightly beneath my fingertips. I pulled my hands back and smiled. Reaching out I grabbed a large metal ring in the center of the right panel and pulled. The door swung open.

"Nice trick. What did you say to make it open?"

"Roughly, I will either find a way or make one. Only problem is this trick only works only on sacred ground, or sacred buildings."

"A holy skeleton key." Vance looked around. "What are we doing in here again?"

The church was empty. Moonlight shone through the stained-glass windows, peppering the room with odd shadows, and minimum light. Just enough light to make out the massive room with pews lined on either side of a wide center aisle.

I started down the aisle and headed towards the altar. What I needed was not in the main part of the church. To the right of the altar was a doorway. I opened it and made my way into a pitch-black room. My hands ran down the walls looking for the light.

"Help me find the light switch."

Van's voice floated towards me in the dark from my right, "And how do you plan to explain what we are doing in here in the middle of the night?"

"That's why we need to be quick. Ah, here it is..." The light suddenly came on overhead. The room was empty except for a bench and some gray metal cabinets.

I opened the closest cabinet.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Van asked. He was leaning casually against the wall. He looked very comfortable breaking and entering.

"Holy water, holy oil, and if I'm lucky a Medal of St. Benedict. It's the only medal in the Roman Catholic Church that has an exorcism prayer on it."

The first cabinet was full of bibles. But I hit pay dirt in the second. A box of medallions and a shelf full of candles. I sorted through the medallions until I found the one I was looking for.

"There's a bunch of amber colored glasses bottles in this one," Van spoke up from across the room.

I went over and checked it out. I opened a bottle and poured some of its contents on my fingers. Oil. Blessed oil. And in another bottle a clear liquid. I lifted my fingers to my nose. It had no scent and when I put my tongue to it, I realized it had no real taste. It was water. I assumed Blessed water. Holy water. No way to know until I sprinkled some on something evil. But I was betting it was holy water. Exactly what I had been looking for. What I needed now was a knapsack.
"Look to see if you can find something I can carry this stuff in."

Van opened a few cabinets and pulled out a duffle bag.

I carefully loaded a dozen bottles into the bag. I put the Medallion around my neck.

Van had watched me in silence, but as I started out the door he asked, "Isn't stealing a sin?"

"It's only called stealing if you don't bring it back or pay for it." My hands automatically went to my jean pockets before I realized I was wearing borrowed clothes and I had no idea where my wallet was, which meant I didn't have any identification or money.

"I need money. Got any?"

"How much?"

I gave him a wide smile. "Now is not the time to be stingy."

His eyebrows raised and he lifted out his wallet and handed over a stack of bills.

I headed out the door with my bounty and stopped at the pauper box. I said a silent prayer asking for forgiveness and stuffed the money into the slot on the front of the box.

I was now armed. I didn't know how much good it would do since we were about to go on a suicide mission. I looked over my shoulder at Van and wondered what skills he possessed and whether or not he was the type of man I could count on to watch my back. True he had saved my ass once already, but I didn't know him well enough to truly trust him.

I moved the bag to my right shoulder and headed down the aisle, wondering what the rest of the night would bring. And worrying I wouldn't be up to the tasks at hand.

* * *

When I had agreed to go on this mission Van had called me crazy. Yeah, I was crazy. I wasn't the one who decided the best way to begin a journey to the lion's den was to hop the subway.

I had been on the subway many times, and seen many things, but I had yet to see a nest of demons hanging out catching a ride downtown.

I was beginning to understand Van better. If the guy had questions he asked, but if I started asking too many questions he clammed up. And too many seemed to mean anything over one or two depending on his mood.

I had tried, "so where are we going?" and got, "down" as my answer. Next out of my mouth, "Down the Block, Street, into the bowels of hell?" It's true I was pushing my luck. I got no answer, but one very amused look.

And since we had gotten on the subway, he ignored all of my questions and spent his time staring out the window while the tunnel's dark walls flashed by. Van was not the most revealing traveling companion, and I could keep railing against it or start to learn to live with it.

Surprise, surprise, we rode in silence for a while, and then we switched trains. But almost immediately after we got on the second train, we got off again.

This was going to be a rip-roaring journey. I started to ask another question but forced my lips together. If he wanted to give me the silent treatment, fine, I would do the same.

I turned my head, to the left and then to the right. This station was different—no passengers. The peeling advertisements that dotted the walls were decades out of date. Garbage, dirt, and God knows what, were piled against the walls. Only a few dim bulbs lit the entire platform. This was an abandoned station. The train should not have stopped here.

Quite the tour of the city I was getting. The humor of the situation, roaming around in the dregs of the subway system, having some powerful, angry Traveler as my tour guide, tugged at my sense of humor and I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer. "You know somebody at the transit authority?" I asked, not hiding the humor in my tone.

Gee, what a surprise, he ignored my question completely. I watched him start to walk into the shadows at the back of the platform. I had no choice but to scramble to catch up, and as I did, I almost fell down a flight of stairs hidden in the dark. It was slow going try to feel for each step. Did Van stop to help my ass? No, but when I finally reached the bottom, I found him waiting for me.

He was glowing.

Well, not glowing exactly. It was as if he was lit by a soft light that had no discernable source. In fact, everything within twenty feet of Van was lit with a soft directionless light.

"Great parlor trick," I said, scanning his body. There was no external light source. Whatever he was doing, it was definitely unnatural. "Is this part of your Protector powers?"

"No. All my people can create a light around them. A helpful trick when living down below the city." He held out his hand, and I took it. I suddenly felt warm all over. I told myself it probably had something to do with whatever magic he used to turn himself into a human flashlight and not the fact, the more I was with him, the more parts of my body hummed whenever our skin made contact.

He dropped my hand and started forward. What choice did I have at this point but to follow him?

I had gotten myself into some sticky situations in the past, but this one was about to make the top of the list. We were now down at track level, and I couldn't help but look over my shoulder every few minutes to assure myself an oncoming train wasn't barreling down on us.

I tried to remember all the movies I had watched where cops followed mole people into the underground maze of subway tunnels. Something about third rails and high voltage of electricity tugged at the corner of my mind. For the life if me I had no idea what a third rail was. Van had obviously made this journey before, and I did my best to walk directly behind him. I kept my head down and put one foot in front of the other and tried not to stumble on the uneven footing.

I have no idea how long we walked. The scenery was never changing. Dark walls, the light coming from Van only illuminated a foot or so around him. Which meant I could see the glimmer of the rail and an occasional flash from what I assumed was a mangled beer can or tin.
It took a few seconds to register that I was walking up stairs. I looked around to find myself on another, even more neglected, platform.

"Every Journey begins with a turn. Are you ready to take that turn?" Van smiled a boyish grin at me and my annoyance with him suddenly melted away.

The question felt like ritual, but not knowing the proper response I just said, "Sure. Whatever, can we just get on with this."

He nodded as if this was the very answer he had been looking for. He turned and began to walk toward the edge of the platform. "Most people think the straightest path between two points is a straight line."

"You're saying it's not?"

"My people learned long ago that the quickest way to get anywhere is to always turn in the direction you want to go, and that by definition will be the shortest path."

"So, you turn once onto your path and then follow it to the destination?" I was starting to wonder if the Travelers took some sort of class in cryptic speech.

"No, it would take forever to get anywhere that way." He reached the other side of the platform and dropped to the rails below. "Here is our first path." He pointed down the rails to where they disappeared into darkness. "It goes basically where we want to go, and if we follow it, we will eventually get to our destination. But doesn't it make more sense that if we cross a path that is shorter to our destination, we should take it?"

"Okay, I'll bite, yes."

"There is always a shorter path. The turns may be trickier, not always being up or down, left, or right—but there is always a shorter path. The journey is not defined by the distance—it is defined by the turns."
With that he stopped in front of what looked like a storm drain built into the side of the tunnel.

"Are you trying to dazzle me with bullshit?"

"I assure you, I'm being quite literal." He kneeled and stuck his head through an opening barely wide enough for his shoulders. In a few seconds he disappeared from sight, taking the light with him. I scrambled after him. It was dive headfirst down a drainage pipe or be left on my own in an empty subway station miles underground. I had agreed to go on this kamikaze mission. Maybe it was time to get my head examined.

The walls of the pipe were covered with dirt. I did my best not to think about my surroundings as I closed my eyes and pushed my body after him.

The drain slanted down for about twenty feet. It ended with a drop of a couple feet into another, larger, pipe. It seemed to be heading in slightly different direction than the tunnel above. I scrambled to stay in the retreating circle of light Van carried with him as he strode confidently down the pipe's curved floor.

The pipe led to a large room that had eight or nine other pipes dumping into it. Only a small trickle of water poured into the large basin beneath us, and the small puddles of water at the bottom were black and stagnant. A dim light filtered in from a storm grate maybe a hundred feet above.

"What do you do if it rains, bring scuba gear?" I asked, trying to catch my breath. Damn the guy was in great shape. I was having a hard time keeping up with him. Though I would die before admitting it.

Suck it up Malone. I took another breath and tried to look relaxed.

Van took a leather band from his pocket and pulled his hair back into a ponytail. "I just take a different path. There are many paths available if you know where to look."

I realized I had completely lost track of which pipe had got us here. "If something happens to you, how do I get out of here?"

"All of these places are made by those who live on the surface, and they are notoriously nervous about having a way back. I'm sure you could find one, eventually." He smiled, pulled out a curved leather bag from his jacket, and handed it to me. "Here drink some water. But as we go deeper you should be extra careful to keep me alive, because without me you could wander for years without finding your way back up to the light."

Did Van just make a joke? God, the world really was topsey turvey down in the bowels of the city.

The man was certainly a puzzle. I watched him for a moment trying to get a gauge on his mood. My only clue as usual was his body language. He seemed incredibly relaxed at the moment. I stared at him and realized the farther we got into the tunnels the more relaxed he seemed. What kind of man enjoys spelunking through drainage pipes?

I wasn't sure how to make the water thingy work. After watching me wrestle with it unsuccessfully he took it back. He lifted it above his head and squeezed the leather center; a stream of water jetted out of the plastic small spout at the front of the bag and into his mouth. He passed it back to me.

I squeezed the bag and almost choked as stream of water barreled down my throat. Apparently, it took some practice. I handed him back the bag. "So, your ass gets fried I spend my days wondering around down here until I die of old age. That's incredibly reassuring. So glad I asked."

He actually gave me a smile this time. I think I was starting to grow on him.

We climbed a long row of stairs up the side of the cistern to a rusty steel doorway. Beyond the door a service tunnel stretched into the darkness. We walked along it for a while, passing more side tunnels, doors, and ladders than I could count. Pipes and wires ran along with us, turning at seemingly random intervals to disappear into one of the side branches only to be replaced by more from different directions.

Van made a sudden turn into a side tunnel. It dead-ended almost immediately in a tumbled down brick wall, which had one time I guessed completely blocked the tunnel. Now it was just a matter of stepping over a pile of bricks to be in the basement of some building. Doors on either side opened to empty rooms with scattered pieces of abandoned junk. We turned again at a stairway choked with ruble and through a door into another service tunnel.

On and on we went, dodging through the forgotten roots and arteries of the city above. If I were to guess, I would say we stayed pretty much at the same depth, but I had no way to prove it, other than the fact that we never seemed to run out of man-made trails to follow.

We were walking down an old-fashioned, brick and mortar tunnel when a bright flash of light sent me diving for cover. There wasn't any cover, so I just ended up laying in the dirt in the sudden, bright as day, light filling the tunnel to capacity.

Van just kept walking towards the light at the end of the tunnel. "Very dramatic, Jay, but I can light my own way."

The light dimmed to the point that I could make out the silhouettes of two men leaning against a barricade. A warm laugh echoed off the walls. "Van, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. When you left the last time, I thought you swore you were never coming back."
"My Grandmother had other ideas."

Jay stood up to embrace Van as he reached him. He looked a lot like Van, except he was a little bit shorter, and his coloring was darker. As he stepped back, he turned towards where I was picking myself off the ground. "You pick up a tunnel rat somewhere?"

"This is Friday, she's a Guardian Angel. My grandmother seems to think she can help somehow."

"Doesn't look like Superwoman."

Nothing pisses me off more than people talking as if I wasn't there, but I tried to keep any annoyance from showing in my voice when I answered, "I've always been partial to Wonder Woman myself." I raised my wrists. "You know, someone that makes herself bullet proof with just her accessories."

Jame's grin was slow and wide. "You going to hang around for a while?"

Van stepped between us and gave his friend a hard slap on the back. "Down boy, the girl has standards."

"Not very high ones if she's traveling with you." Jay turned to Van. "How long are you staying?"

"I'm not sure."

"Tonight, come by my tent. I have a bottle of brandy I have been saving for a special occasion." Jay laughed and patted Van heartily on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again my friend." He gave me a wink. "And don't forget to bring along Wonder Woman."

* * *

We left Jay and David to their guard duty and continued down the tunnel. The signs of recent skirmishes marked the walls of the tunnel, and it appeared as if numerous barricades, other than the one Jay had been manning, had been built and torn down. The defense of this place had been hard fought and costly.

In a few hundred feet our path broke through the tiled wall of a tunnel that looked well traveled and even like someone had tried to clean it within the last decade. A natural looking light shone from one end and the other disappeared into darkness. It wasn't much of a choice to pick a direction. The light radiating from Van slowly faded as we stepped out into the light.

The encampment that greeted us was not what I had been expecting. They had taken over what appeared to be a large station of the old subway system. I had heard that they abandoned the old system when they built the new one around the middle of the last century. The Travelers seem to have made it their home. It was an ideal location for a race of nomads trying to keep a low profile. Navigating around the tunnels and drainage pipes they could appear and disappear almost anywhere in the city.

The station had been built in an age when aesthetics mattered. Rather than the lifeless concrete construction of the new stations, this one was built to impress with swooping arches and a large domed ceiling. Tile mosaics covered the walls and reflected the light to give the entire scene a bright and airy feeling I would not have expected so deep in the earth.

The light came from ornate fixtures built into the wall. How they managed to steal enough electricity to power this many lights underground was impressive. I guess they could get at the underground transmission lines easily enough. Every light in the place seemed to be on, and the resulting glow rivaled surface daylight.

Into every nook and cranny of the station were crammed with loose flowing tents made of brightly colored cloth that served to partition off private space. The pavilions spilled into the walkways and common areas, turning the station into a maze of humanity.

Through the mass of fabric, I could see what looked like a cross between old-fashioned rail cars and carnival wagons lined up beside the rail platform. Each one was a unique combination of rolling artwork and motor home. They ranged in construction from beautifully worked wood painted with dazzling patterns of bright colors, and haphazardly refurbished subway cars with storage of every description strapped to the sides, and everything in between. I stopped counting at a dozen, and more were barely visible behind the first row.
Van let out a low whistle.

"What?"

"It looks like the entire tribe is here."

We began weaving through the massed humanity.

Both men and women all seemed to know Van and a variety of emotions tumbled in his wake. Some seemed pleased to see him and immediately turned to their neighbors to whisper excitedly. Just as many men and women seemed annoyed, exasperated, or downright angry when they spotted him.

I was greeted by uniform curiosity and interest. I was an unknown oddity, a dirt-streaked stranger in the company of the prodigal son. No matter what they thought about Van, they gave me distrustful glares.
Van continued, oblivious to the reactions of those around him, towards a small, but exquisitely decorated, caravan. Bright lights inside shown through patterned stained glass, giving the space around the caravan a festive air. A small group of children danced to upbeat violin music played by a pimply face adolescent in the open space beside the caravan. Van marched through without a glance.

The door of the caravan swung open, and a woman step out to meet him. The woman was beautiful, petite, and delicate, but with a subtle strength that belied her small stature. Wavy black hair framed a pale, golden skinned face. She moved with a lithe grace that made me feel suddenly gangly and awkward.

"Hello Van." Her voice was fluid and musical.

"Hello, Mother."

She stood for a moment staring at her son, as if she could read his soul if she just looked hard enough. Maybe she could. God knew what kind of powers the Travelers possessed. And I was certainly not going to be learning them anytime soon from my taciturn traveling companion.

I wondered what Van would be like after a few tequila shots. Make that a few bottles of tequila. I could picture him, bottle in each hand, drunk as a skunk, scowling in a corner, not talking to anyone. The visual brought a smile to my face and like radar suddenly those x-ray eyes of hers were on me. I lost the smile and empty my head of any spiteful thoughts. What if they could read minds?

As she watched me the hair on the back of my neck rose and I had to quench a desire to squirm.

I'd be damn if I would let the queen of the Travelers make me skittish. By the time, this adventure was over I would be totally immune to the effects of silent, scowling strangers. Okay, so I didn't quench all spiteful thoughts and as that one floated across my mind a smile tugged at the corners of her majesty's mouth. Damn she was a mind reader.

"And who have you brought to see me?" she asked.

"The old witch is sending us on a mission to save the world. She decided it wasn't something I could do by myself, so she sent along a bodyguard."

Her hand flashed out with startling speed. Its aim, Van's cheek, but he moved faster, if that was possible, and caught her hand in his own before it could hit its mark. They stood staring at each other, anger filling their eyes and face, the expression on each face a mirror image of the other.

I stood like a bump on a log, wishing I was anywhere else. This was worse than a family squabble over a thanksgiving table. And I wondered how long the battle of wills was going to go on when a grin suddenly appeared on Van's face.

"Good to see you, Mother," he said as he dropped her hand.
"Do not say such things about your grandmother in my presence," she answered with deceptive calm, but I could tell that she was still angry, the emotion blazed from her eyes.

Without missing a beat, she turned towards me and smiled. "It's nice to meet you. My name is Theresa. I hope my son has not made the trip too unpleasant."

It was then, when I was face to face with the woman that I realized I recognized those caramel eyes. Van had his mother's eyes. But hers somehow seemed harder, colder.

She was waiting patiently for a reply, and I was standing there staring at her like an idiot. I gave myself a mental shake. Speak up already. Preferably with something not smart-ass. "We're having a grand time. It's an honor to be allowed to visit your home."

Her eyes scanned up and down, taking in our appearances. "I see my son took you on one of his detours."

"We took the shortest path."

"Maybe the shortest, but not the cleanest." She motioned to a group of young girls huddled close by. "We don't have all the amenities down here, but I think we can supply you a hot bath." It took only the smallest wave of her hand, and the girls were suddenly in motion.
This woman has power. This woman is not one to be toyed with, a small voice whispered in the corner of my mind. And by the way she is eyeing me she thinks I am making a play for her son. And the idea does not make her royalness happy. Make friends, I reminded myself. I plastered a smile on my face and purred. "Thanks, a bath sounds heavenly."

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