Soul Bound (7 page)

Of course now, I’m just experiencing the pains of foot blisters, so what do I know?

Doing my best to sidestep the waterfall, I plunge into the narrow, squared-off tunnel, crouching as to not hit the low ceiling. The freezing water splashes over my ankles as I press forward, dodging slimy purple plant tentacles that drip down from the occasional metal grates above. Radioactive or not, the water smells foul and I try not to breathe in too much as I hug the tunnel’s left side, dodging rusty, mold-covered pipes sticking out from the concrete.

After about a hundred feet, the square tunnel widens out and the concrete gives way to a rounded archway of brick and stone. It’d be kind of pretty, if it wasn’t so smelly.

“This is the older part of the sewer,” Jareth explains. “It’s going to split off in a bit and we’re going to take the right fork. It should be a little easier going from there. Or dryer, at the very least.”

“Sounds good to me.” I pick up the pace and soon come to the split he mentioned and take a right. The good news? Not only is it dryer, but the ceiling is higher, allowing me a chance to straighten up and give my aching back a break. The bad news? The absence of rushing water allows my ears to pick up not-so-distant squeaking noises. I try to push them out of my mind and press onward through a twisty tunnel that dead-ends at a wooden barricade. Jareth pulls out the crowbar again and rips the wooden planks away, revealing an entrance into what appears to be a subway tunnel.

I step through the gap, peering up and down the tracks. “Um, we’re not going to get run over by a train, are we?”

Jareth chuckles. “Don’t worry,” he assures me, tapping on one of the rails with his crowbar. “These particular tracks are no longer used.” And sure enough, upon closer examination, I can see heavy rust caked on the rails. No train has been through here in years. Okay, well, that’s something at least.

Less comforting? The wooden log ceiling that shakes violently every time a car drives by on the surface roads above. As we head down the tunnel, I shine my light on the extremely rotted-out support beams with growing concern. I mean, is that really all that’s keeping the heavy New York City traffic from crashing down into this underground world? I try to remind myself that these tunnels have been here for more than a hundred years—no need to think they’d pick today of all days to suddenly give way and collapse. But the thought isn’t as reassuring as it should be, especially after another car drives by and crumbling dirt rains down on my head.

We walk in silence, our journey sound tracked by an occasional dripping sound and a host of squeaking in the distance that I do my best to ignore. But though the tunnel is mostly dead empty, there are some strange signs of life poking out here and there. At one point we even pass a little bricked-in room just off the tracks, with a table and chairs and a couple of cobwebbed milk crates serving as furniture and a pile of ratty blankets made up as a bed. Fascinated, I abandon the tracks for a closer look, finding a notepad wedged between two stones.
Someone’s diary? I try to imagine what it would be like to live down here in the darkness day in and day out, with only the rats to keep me company. The thought makes me sad, as does the diary entry I randomly flip to.

“I sink beneath the skin of the street with each step, walking closer and closer to my final death…”

“Put it down,” Jareth instructs, popping his head into the room. “We need to keep moving.”

Reluctantly, I set down the diary and follow Jareth farther down the subway tunnel, trying to imagine the person who would write such lyrical lines while trying to survive underneath the “skin” of the world. How did they get here? Why did they stay? Are they still living down here, somewhere? Are they happy or scared or a combination of both? I get so caught up in this fanciful idea of my homeless poet, I scarcely notice at first when we emerge from the dark tunnel into a large, arched underground subway station, the end of the line.

Like the rest of this secret world below, it’s crumbling and abandoned, but at the same time, it’s gorgeous beyond belief. A work of art, painted with colorful tiles, delicate stonework, and breathtaking sloping arches. Of course now the tiles are spray-painted with graffiti and dirty needles lie scattered by the stone benches on the platform. But I try my best to block out the modern ugliness and imagine the station as it once was—bustling with busy New York businessmen and fine ladies in fur coats and smart hats.

Jareth hops up onto the platform, then leans back down, hand outstretched, in order to give me a boost. I take his hand
and scramble up, rubbing my aching thighs. We’ve been walking half the morning and after that bad night’s sleep and lack of blood, I’m worn out. Collapsing onto a nearby bench, I let out a contended sigh. Across the platform, my eyes catch sight of a large graffiti sign.

“There used to be whole communities of people who lived down here in these abandoned tunnels,” Jareth explains. “But with new construction in the last twenty years, most of them were kicked out and their little makeshift shacks were destroyed.”

So my poet is probably gone for good. Leaving his or her journal behind. The thought makes me oddly sad.

“But not the vampires?” I query, remembering our mission.

“They’re a little harder to exterminate,” Jareth says with a wry grin, sitting down beside me. He consults his map for a moment, then nods. “I think our entry point may be up ahead,” he says. “Stay here and rest a moment. I’ll go check it out.”

“Um, you sure you don’t want company?” I ask, torn over the proposition. I mean, I’m thrilled to be able to rest for a minute or two, but I don’t relish the idea of hanging out with the squeaky creatures that live down here and might be thinking of vampire for lunch.

“Rayne, are you still seriously scared over a few little rats?” Jareth clucks. “What kind of vampire slayer are you anyway?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, rolling my eyes, realizing I do sound
like kind of a wimp. After all, technically
I’m
the monster down in the sewer. They should be more scared of me than I am of them.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. Rest for a moment. You deserve it.” He leans over and kisses the top of my head.

“Okay,” I agree, rubbing my sore legs. I have to admit, it does feel nice to sit down. As he heads toward the edge of the platform, I pull out my phone. A quick game of the mobile version of Vampires vs. Zombies should cure any residual rat phobia. As I load up the game, I watch Jareth hop down onto the tracks and continue his journey, disappearing into the darkness, his heavy footsteps quickly fading into the distance.

I turn back to my game, trying not to think about where I am and what we’re doing. But the creepy noises seem to rise in volume, echoing through the station with relentless beats. Clanging, clunking, dripping, squeaking—every sound has me half-jumping out of my skin, and I pray Jareth won’t be gone much longer.

Suddenly, the other noises seem to vanish as my ears catch a low growl in the darkness, followed by a distinct scratching sound—like the skittering of claws on metal, but way too loud to be coming from your typical everyday, non-mutated rat.

What the hell… ?

Sucking in a breath, I slip my phone into my pocket and grab my stake as the noise grows louder and louder, closer and closer. I look down at the stupid piece of wood in my hand and wonder what exactly it is that I plan to do.

Oh why, oh why didn’t I bring a knife? Or a gun? Or some kind of other deadly weapon good for more than taking out vampires? And speaking of vampires, why on earth did I let my vampire boyfriend leave me here all alone in the first place? I mean, sure, I’m a kick-ass slayer chick who doesn’t need a man to protect me from harm. But, come on, it’s never a bad thing to have a partner in crime on the scene, in case of trouble, right?

“Jareth?” I hiss hopefully into the darkness, though in my heart I realize there’s a better chance of it being Freddy Krueger, sliding his nail glove against a pipe than my boyfriend. Especially since the sound’s coming from the opposite end of the tunnel. Fear pounds inside me as I rise from my bench, creeping to the edge of the platform, holding my stake in one hand and my flashlight in another. Half of me wonders if I should turn off the light—better hide myself from whatever’s coming around the corner. But the other half is too scared not to at least get a glimpse of what’s probably going to eat me for lunch.

I guide my flashlight along the tracks with a shaky hand, a lump the size of Texas in my throat. Where are you, creature of the subway? And what are you going to do?

After a few moments of searching, I take a step backward, trying to still my trembling body. Probably nothing, I tell myself. Just a rat. Or one of those alligators people flush down the toilet. Scary, but not deadly.

Finally steadying my breath, I turn around to head back to my bench…

…and find myself face to face with a pair of glowing red eyes.

I
stagger backward, nearly falling off the edge of the subway platform in shock. The flashlight falls from my hand and clatters to the ground, bulb breaking and light extinguishing. Before I’m abandoned to total darkness, I’m treated to a flash-frame image of a nightmare, standing before me: four feet of dark, matted fur, dripping fangs, and razor-sharp claws.

I suddenly no longer give the slightest crap about rats.

“Stay back!” I cry, waving my hands blindly in front of my face, praying my eyes will adjust to the cave darkness. I try to remind myself that I’m a vampire—I’m really tough to kill—but, to be honest, the mantra doesn’t make me feel much better. After all, the creature might not have a wooden stake to drive through my heart, but it’s going to be pretty much impossible
to regenerate if I’m chewed up and eaten alive—which, let’s face it, seems the most likely scenario in this case.

The creature snarls and snaps its teeth, its large ruby-red eyes the only clue to its exact whereabouts on the platform—which, currently, is way too close for comfort. Should I make a run for it? How far will I get with no light? After all, if I cracked my ankle or snagged it on a subway track I’ll be worse off than I am now.

So instead I tighten my grip on my stake. Better to stand my ground. Maybe I can at least hold it off until Jareth gets back.

“Good monster,” I whisper through the darkness, side-stepping away from the platform edge. “Just chill out. I’m not here to hurt you.” If only I’d brought a cookie.

Unfortunately it appears that the monster in question fails to have a strong grip on the English language. Or maybe it just doesn’t like the way I smell. Or does like it—’cause let’s be honest, I did eat raw hamburger for breakfast. It lunges at me, knocking me backward with the force of a speeding train. I crumble to the ground, trying to wrestle it off my body as it snaps at my neck. In addition to mangy fur, the creature seems to have a row of sharp quills on its back and I accidentally stab my hand on one of them, cool blood flowing down my arm. Damn it!

The creature freezes, sniffing the air. I use my momentary advantage to flip it over—accidentally dropping my stake in the process. After diving on top of the creature and pinning it down with my thighs, I try to keep it prostrate with one hand as I
search the ground for my only weapon. My eyes are now adjusted enough to see the beast’s mouth seeking and finding my bleeding hand, its fangs sinking into my flesh.

Well, what do you know? It’s a blood drinker…

I suck in a breath as the pain shoots through me—hard and unyielding—and it’s all I can do not to rip my arm away. Instead, I force myself to stay still—to let the creature drink, as I search for the stake with my free hand.

Finally, my fingers close around the wood and I make my move. Bringing my arm up in the air, ready to stab the beast through the heart and end this fight—

“Enough!”

I stop, milliseconds before driving the stake through. Who said that? I try to search the darkness for the source of the voice.

“Fluffy! Release her. Come!”

To my shock and extreme awe, the bloodsucking beast—Fluffy?!—immediately unlocks its grip on my hand and scurries off into the darkness.

I scramble to my feet, holding my hand to my side, trying to put pressure on the wound. “Who’s there?” I cry. “Show yourself.”

A light flickers and a moment later the glow of a lamp shines through the darkness. I gasp as a tall, dark figure, dressed in a long, black cape steps into view. His skin is as white as snow. His hair as dark as night. His lips are as red as blood. Meaning he’s either some kind of cross-dressing Snow White…

… or a vampire.

“Oh my God,” I cry, relief flooding over me like a tidal wave. “Thank you so much!” I attempt a step forward toward the elderly vampire, but Fluffy—now standing by her master’s side—snarls, bearing her fangs—which, I might add, are still dripping with my blood. I stop, holding up my hands in surrender. “What is that thing?” I ask.

The vampire smiles, revealing a set of gleaming white fangs under the flickering lamplight. “Chupacabra,” he says, reaching down to scratch the creature’s mangy head. Fluffy looks up at him and pants happily.

Chupacabra
. I draw in a breath, remembering my studies at Riverdale Academy. Chupacabra are legendary bloodsucking creatures, hailing from Mexico and the southwestern United States. Their name literally means “goat sucker”—with goats and other livestock being their favorite menu items.

So what was this one doing up here in New York City—which, let’s face it, is not exactly the biggest farm community around… And… I glance around nervously… are there more of her kind lurking the darkness?

“Who are you?” the vampire asks, his deep voice echoing through the dark chamber. “And what brings you to the tunnels?”

“Oh! Sorry—my bad! My name is Rayne McDonald,” I say, deciding to keep my distance from Fluffy this time, hoping the guy will ignore my rudeness in not shaking his hand. “I’m a member of the Blood Coven and my boyfriend, Jareth, and I are searching for my sister and her boyfriend, Magnus. They’re supposedly hiding out down here with a group of anti-Consortium
vampires.” I pause, then add hopefully, “You don’t happen to know where they are, do you?”