Chapter 10
Chapter
Ten
We veered away from the direction Dusty had taken and into a narrow side tunnel that would, I hoped, lead to Nicola’s usual route and the spot where I’d been attacked the previous night.
I didn’t doubt that I had been its target because the scaly monster had ignored Lady Penelope.
I was determined to find out why it had gone for me – and who was behind it.
Eventually my impulsive tabby recovered enough to return to her perch on my shoulder, though she pushed her head against my cheek and offered a delicate lick as she did so. ‘You’re welcome,’ I said aloud. I didn’t need to repeat my warning to stay close to me. She’d learned her lesson.
I held my witchlight jar aloft as we pattered quickly down the tunnel but my steps slowed when we turned a corner and it became even narrower.
Every tunnel I’d been down, whether wide and expansive or narrow and confined, had looked the same.
They had all been dark and somewhat intimidating, and a couple had been dank and miserable, although they’d been the exception to the rule and seemed to be connecting tunnels that led to various vampire properties.
Even so, they all had the same smooth walls carved out of compacted earth with flat stones underfoot.
Buttresses, doubtless to shore up areas where the tunnels might be structurally deficient, were placed at distant intervals.
This tunnel was different. The ground beneath my feet was the same as its neighbours and the arch over my head had similar dimensions, but the walls were lined with brick. It was as if I’d wandered into the London Underground rather than an underground vampiric network.
Usually the brickwork wouldn’t have given me pause: there could be any number of reasons why a smaller connecting tunnel might be supported in this fashion.
It could have been a newer addition because the earth walls had been crumbling and needed more than buttressing.
But as I gazed around with my witchlight held high I knew that it was more than that.
The walls were covered in writing. Some words were carved into the bricks, some had been daubed on with paint or, more recently, a spray can. Some of the writing was on brass plaques. I peered closer to read them.
Victoria Donald. 1623–1656. A good friend who deserved better than she got.
Mikey Fotheringham. A hero in every sense of the word. 1909–1940.
My old friend Jonesy. I will raise a glass to you every year in memory.
Stanley – you should have been one of us. 1811–1900.
A bone-deep shiver ran through me. This tunnel was a memorial to people who had died. Judging by their lifespans none had been a vampire, but there were hundreds, if not thousands of names. I blinked rapidly, aware of the large lump that had suddenly appeared in my throat.
Objects had been left at several points along the tunnel and I examined the nearest one.
It was a bunch of flowers and, to my astonishment, they were fresh.
I picked them up and inhaled their delicate fragrance.
There was no buzz of magic as I touched them, so these weren’t flowers that had been preserved for decades by a spell. This bouquet had been left recently.
She Without An Ear miaowed softly and the plaintive sound echoed down the tunnel. ‘Yes,’ I said quietly. ‘This is a place of grief.’
I returned the flowers to their original spot and wrapped my arms around myself. She Without An Ear weaved around my ankles and headbutted me gently. I took a deep breath then we continued on our way.
The memorials continued for another hundred metres. Once we had passed them, I bowed my head. There were many things I had anticipated in the Understream but a tunnel like this was not one of them.
It took me several minutes to recover my equilibrium. Obviously I was well-versed in death, and many of the deaths that had been commemorated appeared to have been from natural causes rather than violence so I didn’t feel particularly disturbed, but the tunnel had given me a lot to think about.
It was only because we finally located Nicola the worm’s route that I managed to focus on something else. If my map-reading skills were accurate, we were not too far away from the spot where I’d been attacked.
I squared my shoulders. ‘If I’m honest,’ I whispered to She Without An Ear, ‘I’d like to be attacked again right now.’ I cracked my knuckles. ‘Finding another magicked monster would be the easiest way to discover who was behind yesterday’s fight.’
The tabby’s whiskers twitched approvingly. Despite her recent failure to engage a giant worm in battle, she got it. She was a fighter.
I retrieved a spell pouch from my backpack and extinguished the witchlight. Now I needed all the light I could get.
‘Close your eyes,’ I murmured, then knelt down and covered She Without An Ear’s face with one hand as I pulled a pinch of powder from the pouch.
It was expensive stuff, made by the Wicker Witches themselves.
Although it had been growing fusty in my old spell chest for the past few years, it was incredibly useful and I didn’t want to waste any of it.
When I blew gently on the powder, tiny motes flew through the air and performed a complicated dance before coalescing in an explosion of light. I winced and waited for my eyes to adjust. Damn: this was indeed a powerful spell.
Fortunately it didn’t take too long for my vision to recover. I checked on She Without An Ear, who was still blinking rapidly but who appeared to be fine, then I looked around.
I gave a low whistle. This section of the tunnel was now bathed in a light that stretched to a radius of about twelve metres.
I experimented by taking several steps forward and the light moved with me.
I reminded myself of the spell’s parameters: each pinch would last roughly twelve minutes, but I could cover a lot of ground in that time.
There were twenty good pinches in that pouch; if I used them wisely, and if luck was on my side, I’d have enough for the whole investigation.
When I tapped my shoulder, She Without An Ear bounded up. She dug her claws into my flesh to cling on and I started to jog, carefully examining every inch of the tunnel. Something useful would show up; I just had to keep my eyes peeled.
Within a few minutes, I found a discarded hairpin with a single strand of long ebony hair trapped inside it, a folded flyer that was four months out of date for an event at a karaoke bar on Hirsel Street, and a small wooden toy that I almost missed because it was covered in dirt.
None of the items suggested anything untoward but I put them in my backpack.
I would keep everything I found. Captain Montgomery had repeated the importance of being painstakingly thorough during an investigation, to the point where I’d wanted to painstakingly slap him until he stopped reiterating the same message, but his words had made an impact. He would have been proud of me.
Shortly after I’d scooped up the toy, I realised we’d reached the place where I’d been attacked.
A trickle of adrenaline coursed through my veins.
I could see soft indentations on the tunnel wall where Lady Penelope had been cowering, and scuff marks on the stone floor told the story of the short-lived battle.
I grinned humourlessly and turned towards the side tunnel from which the monster had emerged. No prizes for guessing where I was heading next.
I stayed on the balls of my feet in a pointless effort to stay quiet.
The bespelled light would alert anyone hiding down there that someone was approaching long before I managed to get close.
But I knew that nobody would be there; it might be dark in the tunnels but it was mid-afternoon and most sensible vampires would be fast asleep.
Besides, nobody was expecting me to return to the Understream for several hours yet.
I kept my fingers crossed that my presence would go unnoticed.
Until I knew who was behind my attack, I couldn’t trust any of the vampires.
My hope was that my attacker had left a few tell-tale scraps of evidence behind: a dropped business card with their name, address and phone number would be useful, or a diary explaining their motives.
Hell, some video evidence to prove what they’d done would also be handy.
I grinned ruefully. If only life could be that easy.
As with most of the Understream tunnels, there was nothing remarkable about this one.
I knew from examining the map that it stretched for three kilometres south and had up to thirty different branches.
The monster conjuror might have been lying in wait for me or they might have simply wandered up at the perfect moment.
I hoped that they’d been hanging around for some time waiting for their target – me – to appear.
Although I knew I wouldn’t find a business card, diary or video, I was aware that some would-be assassins were sloppy.
They might hawk up spit on the ground, or drop a cigarette butt, or forget their canteen of water in the excitement of the moment and leave it behind.
There was a decent chance that I’d find something.
I inched forward, determined not to miss so much as another strand of hair. She Without An Ear jumped down and sniffed the ground; I appreciated that she was at least giving the impression of helping, even if that wasn’t the case.