Broken (25 page)

Dawn cleared everyone from the other side of the cage, then popped out with a few mental thrusts that sipped energy out of her. She should probably conserve it from now on until she really needed it.

Freed, the team moved double time out of the curled bars, Breisi assuming the lead and guiding them to where she’d seen the first
custode
disappear into the grounded trapdoor.

While they followed Breisi, Dawn checked in with Natalia, who was wearing a black ensemble much like Dawn’s own, including a long-sleeved spylike shirt, a shoulder bag, and a jacket. But the new girl was outfitted with more basic weapons, like a mini flamethrower, UV grenades, and revolvers—things she’d been able to train in during her short time with the team.

“Any vamp-dar?” Dawn asked.

“Not so much yet.”

“Keep me posted.”

Natalia offered a short nod as they came to a wall of Friends around the corner of the tunnel.

“Here,”
Breisi said in her wavering voice.

One of the spirits pushed Dawn forward, guiding her hand to where Breisi must’ve been indicating a catch. And, yup, with the aid of her headlight, Dawn could see a button nearly buried in the ground.

Breisi said,
“The
custode
stepped on it, and a door opened.”

She came over, got behind Dawn’s arm, and pushed it around to pantomime the circumference of the square door in the ground.

“It closed very quickly—so quickly I was too off guard to pursue the keeper myself,”
Breisi said.
“But maybe we can stop it and force it to stay open with an object.”

“Jonah,” Dawn and Kiko said together.

“I’m an object?” His voice sounded stronger from drinking Dawn’s blood, thank God.

Dawn didn’t joke back. “The instant that door is tripped, Jonah, you can whiz over to pry it open all the way, then keep it gaped until we all get inside. Your vamp strength should be able to handle it.”

He seemed good with the plan, so Dawn activated the safety on her mini flamethrower, which had a long butt so he could use it to block the door, if needed. She handed it over to him.

“Breisi,” she said, “when we’re clear, you
are
going home. Understood?”

Dawn thought she heard a Spanish-inflected grumble.

Then she signaled for Jonah to step on the grounded catch. When he did, the door sliced open.

In a blur, he dove down to intercept it before it zipped closed again, then pushed it back open, maneuvering his feet and hands so that he was basically a bridge holding open the door. He’d left a gape on one side—large enough for any of them to squeeze through.

A Friend shot down into the hole, then bopped back up.

Jonah’s body shook as he said, “You guys need to get down there before I break in half.”

Dawn sucked in her stomach and slid past him, a machete in her hand as she caught air and landed on a mat. She launched to her knees, then aimed around the area with her blade, even though she could smell the jasmine from Friends as they guarded her.

In the second before she moved from the mat, she thought that it looked like a pit down here, and she couldn’t help but think that she was in a low, shaded place where the lack of light repressed everything.

Then she called up. “Ready!”

After she left the mat, she reached out with her psychokinesis, helping Jonah to keep the door open and allowing him to make more room for the next person. Even though she’d told herself to conserve energy, Jonah was still not at full force, and helping him until he’d regained more strength from her blood wouldn’t come amiss.

Reaching out to aid him, Dawn’s energy bobbed as she pushed against the sliding door. Natalia came through it, her curly ponytail flying behind her until she hit the mat, where Dawn was waiting to help the new girl balance. Then Dawn guided her away so Kiko could land.

Afterward, the rest of the Friends whooshed down. Then came Jonah, who tucked into a ball before the door could cut into him. Above, the door chopped shut just as he spider-landed on the cushion, grabbed the fallen flamethrower, and sprang right back up into a cool walk.

Show-off.

Drained by the mental energy she’d expended, Dawn took a second to regroup as everyone else moved ahead.

“Breisi?” she whispered, just to check if the Friend had obeyed.

No answer.

Good. She’d finally gone home, but that left something like a bump in Dawn’s composure. She’d miss Breisi, yet she didn’t mull over it as she caught up to the back of the crowd.

Natalia was in front, starting to pick up the pace. Was she feeling something?

By the time the team climbed a slope to a higher level, Natalia seemed out of breath; she was holding a hand to her head.

Yeah, they were close to some vamps, all right. Natalia was sensing it.

Kiko whispered, “The Friends see a door up here, and there’s an access panel.”

“Pull Natalia away from the front,” Dawn said.

Kiko complied, guiding his fellow psychic behind him then assuming her primary spot. In spite of Natalia’s unease, she took out some small bags that contained the same silver flakes that had stunned the Hollywood Underground when the vampires had inhaled the matter. It would be her job to parcel out the bags to the Friends as they protected her, so that they could spread the poison around. From there, Natalia was supposed to hang back, just defending herself; she was probably going to be aching from the large number of vamps around and would be in no real shape to fight hard.

Jonah handed Dawn’s flamethrower back to her, then removed some knives from his long coat.

As she holstered the weapon and took hold of both her machetes, she said, “We’re gonna be using UV grenades, so you might want to stay behind until after our grand entrance. Also”—she took out gloves and a surgical mask from her bag—“you’ll want to wear this for the silver flakes. Careful of getting them on your face, too, ’cause they’ll slow you down with poison—not as bad as sucking them in though.”

“Good,” he said, his blue eyes aglow. He was excited, as usual. He could probably even taste blood.

As he put on the gloves and mask, Dawn exhaled. Time for getting this really started.

“Earplug in,” she said to Kiko. They’d have to use the plugs on one side so they could shield from any vampire charm; earpieces would fill their other ears. Natalia would no doubt be fine without the extra precaution unless she wanted to avoid the new lulling yells the Friends intended to use on these vamps.

“Frank?” Dawn asked, trying to see if she could contact her father on the earpiece since the team had walked upslope to a higher level under the ground.

The communication attempt didn’t work, so Dawn signaled Kiko, who hit a button that opened a sliding door so the Friends could go first, checking for more traps.

As Dawn’s heartbeat sped up, the spirits surged ahead, and within a couple of seconds, one of them rounded back.

“UV time!”
she yelled, clearing the way for the team.

Everyone but Jonah rushed into what looked like a cavern. Dawn didn’t know for sure where they were because she only had time to see a gulping darkness cut by their headlights, then the furious eyes of an oversized, hairy wolf that had launched itself at them along with rows and rows of sharp teeth.

They’d been waiting. . . .

Kiko released the first grenade, and the room lit up with a decimating pale light as Dawn charged toward the howling vampire.

WOLFIE
had told Della and the girls to be ready for hunters.

Earlier, she had seen a
custode
slip into the maze room to whisper in Wolfie’s ear so quietly not even the girls had heard the red-eyed creature. After the keeper had left, her supposed master and commander had turned all his attention to ordering the girls about. This was the ultimate nightcrawl, he had told them. Yet, instead of finding the prey, it would be coming to them, and they would have all the liberty in the world to feast on flesh, meat, bone.

If he thought that would pique their appetites . . . he’d been correct. But even as the Queenshill girls had been set in charge of a group of recruits, then hidden in the maze so they might ambush the hunters, Della was loath to defend anything of Wolfie’s, though her veins did rumble with hunger. She had purged all that blood she’d taken from him, but it still left her a bit poisoned, slow.

As she waited in her own area with her charges, the maze’s walls so tall that they could see nothing but the rock ceiling, she heard a door opening, saw the flash of white light licking over the top of the barriers.

Ultraviolet . . . ?

Howls, screams, the roar of weapons and gunshots—

Della had been commanded to wait until Wolfie summoned her, and she had given every indication of obeying him. Nevertheless, she’d been thinking,
Why?

She’d been fairly certain that her Queenshill classmates were asking the same, but there’d been no opportunity to commune with them before they’d been separated and stationed in their strategic locations.

One of the recruits pawed at Della, and she slapped the irritant away.

“Shouldn’t we attack, also?” the soldier said in her new girly wolf voice.

“Belt up,” Della snapped, and all her charges cowered.

Saliva was dripping from her many wolf teeth to her chin. There’d be blood, much of it, and
that
was when she would emerge. When she could feed without hindrance.

More screams, more roaring sounds, the color of orange lighting the ceiling.

Were the hunters using . . . fire?

Della’s skin burned with the memory of what flame had done to her during the Southwark attack, and she thought of her schoolmates.

They’d been poisoned by Wolfie’s blood. Were her chums suffering out there because they were moving slower than usual?

Torn between going to them and punishing Wolfie, Della leaned forward, then back, until more orange flares and screams echoed down into her portion of the maze.

The screams . . . Had Briana and Sharon and Blanche sounded like this when Mrs. Jones had killed them?

Della gained her feet, hunching, unable to tolerate not knowing how her mates were faring here and now. She couldn’t save the girls Mrs. Jones had murdered, yet perhaps with the ones who were out there, fighting . . .

Just as she was ready to lead her charges out, the jasmine came.

The spirits swooped down, pounding the girls to the ground, banging the breath out of Della. The recruits had only been briefed about what these entities were, and they had no experience in fighting them, so they flailed as Della pushed against the jasmine, attempting to move forward, to go to her schoolmates.

Then high, screechy banshee yells from the jasmine brought the girls to their knees, and they all began to howl mournfully while the jasmine’s cries screwed in Della’s eardrums, even as an odd mellowness sang through her body.

This
must
be the work of a blood brother,
Della thought as she dragged herself onward, her claws gouging the ground as her charges tried to follow.

They crawled out of the maze, the jasmine still hounding them, and the colors—orange, white, and silver, flashes of lethal brilliance—made her cringe.

In the open, she saw the hunters battling her wolf-snarling friends. Her mates were slow, yes, much too poisonously slow to respond to every attack, but they . . .

Were they indeed just as betrayed by Wolfie? Had they little reason to fight for him, too . . . ?

Then the attackers’ scents took control of Della, and she wanted to rush them, bite into them, eat, and drink. She wrestled with the lure of springing at them, instead creeping onward to aid her mates.

She was losing strength by the moment under the jasmine- issued banshee yells. There were also silver flakes floating down from above as other spirits batted about small bags, and when Della saw her sister vampires—Polly, Stacy, Noreen—breathing the sparkles in and slowing down even more, she turned to her own group.

“Cover your faces!”

Without question, they ripped off their already torn shirts and pressed them over their noses and mouths, their wolf eyes wide and flaring in the explosive lights.

When the silver drifted toward them, they sought cover under rock shelving until the flakes stopped their descent. But Della saw that almost all of the wolf- vampire girls—including Stacy and Noreen—had become petrified, their skin burned by the UV under patches of canine hair, their bodies fully poisoned by the floating silver, just as if they were scarred statues posing in a gentle winter storm. Simultaneously, the little man whom Della knew to be one of the hunters was running round and binding her stiff-still mates with silver strings he was taking out of his shoulder bag. Another young woman whom Della didn’t recognize was helping him as she held a hand to her head in obvious pain of some sort.

Then, just behind her sister vampires, Della saw the most frightening sight of all.

The woman. The one who’d used mental powers at Queenshill. The one who’d faced Della in Southwark.

With her braid trailing round as she engaged Polly, one of the last girl vampires standing, in blade to claw combat, the woman looked every inch a hunter. And with each slash of her machetes, Della saw a reflection of her own personal need to strike out with something just as sharp.

Her claws. Her teeth. Her grief.

When the woman took both blades, crossed her arms, then sliced through Polly’s midsection both ways, following up with a backward cut to the neck that sent Polly’s head flying off, Della felt . . .

Nothing.

For Polly had hated Della for killing Violet, and Della had never forgotten this.