The Mysteries of Holly Diem (Unknown Kadath Estates Book 2) (21 page)

“You remember me, don’t you, Fenrir? We crossed the
Waste together. You wanted to eat me. Remember?”

That seemed like a bad place to start, given the
circumstances, but Fenrir issued a brief, rumbling growl, like an old engine
attempting to start after idle years. Yael seemed to take it as confirmation,
so I decided to do the same.

“Is Jenny here with you?”

Fenrir yawned, and then scratched aggressively behind
one of his ears, where the skin was noticeably raw and abscessed.

“Don’t ignore me!” Yael snapped. “I’m not afraid of
you, Fenrir.”

He ignored her.

“Jenny doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

Fenrir stopped scratching, and turned his attention
back to Yael. Anyone else would have shut up.

“I thought so.” Yael crossed her arms and gave him a
pitying smile. “What are you trying to do, Fenrir?”

The dog glanced briefly in the direction of the dead
fish-people.

“You aren’t
that
hungry,” Yael declared, despite
all the evidence to the contrary. “There are easier meals to be had in the Nameless
City.”

Fenrir made a very casual movement, seeming to amble
in Yael’s direction almost incidentally. The perverse intent blazing in its
eyes would have been impossible for a dog.

Dunwich darted between them, hissing and spitting like
a firework. We were all given pause by the absurd display of bravado.

Fenrir rose to his feet, pausing for a long stretch.
The cat held his ground, eyeing the dog nearly ten times his size with casual
aplomb.

“What do you mean, Fenrir? You were waiting for me?”

It was a serious question. Yael looked personally
affronted.

Another yawn from Fenrir. It climbed another step,
planting a paw the size of Dunwich’s head.

“You were.”

Yael nodded slowly. I got the feeling that Fenrir had
let her down, somehow.

“Why?”

If a dog could laugh, then it would have sounded like
the noise Fenrir made. Dogs cannot laugh; Fenrir was no dog, so this presented
no obstacle.

“So gross.” Yael pursed her lips. “Fine, then.
Dunwich, please stand aside.”

The cat hesitated a moment, then retreated slowly,
giving Fenrir a meaningful glare.

Yael beckoned for Fenrir.

“Come on then,” she chided sourly, “if you want it so
bad.”

Fenrir exploded at her like a spring-loaded snake in a
can. She just waited for him, hands outstretched as if inviting, on the balls
of her feet like a dancer. The dog-monster’s mouth swung open like a gate, and
only Yael’s outstretched arm prevented it from closing on her head. As it was,
Fenrir’s jaw clamped shut on her left forearm like a well-oiled bear trap, and
I braced myself for the screaming.

Yael grimaced, but made no noise. Fenrir worked his
jaw and shook his head from side to side, eyes rolling with effort and
frustration. Drool and bloody foam collected on the surface of her windbreaker,
but Fenrir’s yellowed fangs found no purchase on the fabric, glancing off
harmlessly.

Yael’s other arm jabbed up into the side of Fenrir’s
neck, stabbing him quickly with something that I couldn’t quite make out.
Fenrir whined and released his hold, snarling at Yael. I tried to call out a
warning, but was too late, as Fenrir lunged and took hold of one of Yael’s
legs, tugging her to the ground. Yael seemed unafraid of the monster attempting
to devour her legs, calmly sticking him with something sharp and metallic below
and behind his right ear. Fenrir had no more success biting through Yael’s
tights than he had with her windbreaker. Yael kicked Fenrir firmly in his bloodstained
nose, and then repeated the action when he failed to release his hold.

Dunwich detached himself from whatever shadow he had
been lurking within, emerging as an animated ball of claws and teeth and feline
rage, launching an assault on Fenrir’s hind legs. Fenrir howled, but the sound
cut off as Yael landed another kick to his snout, freeing her leg. She
scrambled to her feet as Fenrir spun and wheeled, snapping his jaws futilely in
an attempt to halt Dunwich’s merciless assault.

Fenrir listed abruptly, as if dizzy or drunk, and then
fixed Yael with a resentful look.

Yael kicked the dog in the side of his head, and he
fell over. She studied him closely, and then followed up with a soccer kick
that snapped Fenrir’s jaw shut.

Roanoke must have some
rough
neighborhoods.

Fenrir whimpered, and got hit across the nose for his
troubles. Dunwich retreated, but not before he tore one Fenrir’s hind legs to
ribbons.

“Stay down.” Yael held an aerosol can menacingly. “Bad
dog.”

He whined and pawed at his neck and the syringe lodged
there. I wondered about the advisability of the girl’s chemistry major.

Fenrir came to rest reluctantly, yawning and giving us
an extensive viewing of his jagged teeth.

“It’s an extract of Azure,” Yael explained guilty, snatching
the syringe out of Fenrir’s neck, and then carefully placing it in a pocket in
her shoulder bag. “Sweet dreams, Fenrir. Or not.”

I winced at the mention of Azure. There were still
strange lights at the periphery of my vision, occasionally, and my mind felt
blunted and dulled.

“Fenrir…really has a thing for you, huh?”

“In the worst way,” Yael agreed bitterly. “I thought
he would be over it, by now.”

“You think Jenny…?”

“No. This is personal, between me and him.”

“That’s disturbing, Yael.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Fenrir wants to eat you?”

“At least.”

That shut me right up.

I didn’t bother to dispute when Yael went to work with
her unusual picking tools. She was worlds better than I was, and there was no
certainty as to how long Fenrir would remain asleep. The door held out for a
minute or two, and then the lock gave way to Yael’s efforts. Yael pulled her
mask on, and then we continued, soft reflections of our flashlights glimmering
off the knobbed surface of the coral.

“Where did you get all of that stuff, anyway?”

“Do you mean the mask?”

Duh.

“For starters. The jacket and tights that Fenrir
couldn’t bite through are a nice touch…”

“The mask belonged to my brother, Jacob, who was lost
to Avici,” Yael explained matter-of-factly. “In Roanoke, we called this fabric
Weave, and traded with the Visitors for it. My family held an interest in such
trade, so a portion of my wardrobe was composed of it. Weave isn’t
indestructible, but it’s the next best thing. They are all I have left of my
home, Preston, and wearing them is a remembrance – but they are also useful.”

“I’ll say.”

All the wet sealed out of the previous section of
tunnel was apparent here. The coral was dotted with starfish and anemone, and
salt water dripped from the walls and ceiling. From the angle of our brief
descent, we were beneath the harbor itself, with a few meters of porous rock
separating us from all that cold black water. A type of glowing barnacle was scattered
across portions of the wall, providing limited light, at least near the door.

“The air is okay in here,” she said softly, panning
her flashlight across the dripping surface of the ceiling. “Lots of moisture,
but okay.”

“You can tell?”

“I can,” she said, tapping the side of her mask. “The
lenses.”

As if that explained it.

“Do your lenses include tide tables?”

“Unfortunately, no,” she said. “I think we’ll be fine
if we make it quick, though.”

“You’re insane! We’ll drown down there. You don’t even
know how far it goes.”

“I’m going to find out.” She pointed up the stairwell.
“Dunwich, watch the door. Watch Preston, too, if he decides to stay, I
suppose.”

The cat padded over to the center of the open door, a
safe distance from the unconscious Fenrir, and gave me a smug look. Yael
clambered down the stairs and out of sight. The cat and I stared at each other
accusatorily, trying not to get close to the twitching dog.

“You’re one to talk,” I snarled. “She left you up here
to protect you, fleabag.”

Dunwich began calmly cleaning his whiskers.

“This is crazy! She’s crazy! Aren’t you supposed to
stop her from doing crazy things? She’s going to drown down there.” I was
shouting, now, every word reverberating off the walls around me. “The fucking
tide is going to come in, and then she’s going to…”

“Preston!”

I winced at the sound of Yael’s voice, coming up from
below.

“Yes?”

“Please be quiet.”

“Sorry.”

In the half dark, Dunwich gave me a look.

“Okay, fine!” I snapped, stomping down the stairwell.
“Have it your way. When I die, cat, I expect my tombstone to hold you
responsible. By name.”

I splashed hurriedly down the uneven stares, arms out
in case I lost my footing, eager to rejoin Yael, and the comparatively generous
illumination of her flashlight.

The stair was mercifully short, for all my
histrionics. Yael was already at the bottom, busy with her picks. I stayed
quiet and let her work on the door. It was a bigger, thicker cousin to those we
had already encountered, made of fire-hardened lumber sealed with pitch. It was
fitted with thick metal hardware that appeared to have suffered more from
colonization by glowing barnacles than rusting, thanks to a protective
laminate, and its builder had obviously not intended for it to open for just
anybody.

It took Yael thirty minutes. The entire time, I was
losing my mind, certain that every trickle of water that leaked from the
ceiling foretold a flood. The persistent effects of the Azure seemed to magnify
my anxiety. I felt deliciously profound relief when the lock gave way, and I
heard Yael’s satisfied hum and the tinkle of her tools as she returned them to
their wrap.

The door required some persuading. I spent several nervous
minutes fooling about with hand position and leverage, before it finally gave
way. The door howled like a mother giving birth as it slid slowly open.

Yael turned her flashlight on to the gloom inside. And
shrieked.

The beam blinded hundreds of unblinking, flat eyes.

I slammed the door shut, and we looked at each other.

“Dunwich!” Yael shouted, sprinting up the stairs, a step
ahead of me. “Run!”

Behind us, I could hear the heavy door groan.

***

We sprinted as far as the middle door, and then we started tripping on
the irregular stairs, and were forced by exhaustion and bruising to slow our
pace. At the door, Dunwich waited, contrary to instructions, and then took the
lead with an easy grace that made me want to murder him. Fenrir watched us run
past him blearily, his muzzle wavering over his paws. The mob of fish-people
somewhere behind us in the dark made unnervingly little noise until they
encountered Fenrir, and then the tunnel was a cacophony of impacts and howling.

I stepped into a depression in the coral and fell, banging
my shins. The rough surface tore at the palms of my hands as I struggled back
to my feet, not daring to glance back at the fishy mob I could just barely hear
behind me. Webbed fingers closed around my ankle like a vice, and I pitched
forward. I kicked frantically, aiming to dislodge the grip on my ankle, the
sole of my shoe impacting wet, squishy flesh to no apparent effect. I spun
around to face the fish-person – the first of many, as the stairs behind him
swarmed with Servants – and kicked it with both legs in his sunken chest. The
fish-person toppled over into the crowd behind it, the scales on its hands
scraping the flesh from my ankle as it fell. I turned and resumed clambering up
the stairs on all fours. The light of the surface was frustratingly distant,
and a fishy miasma surrounded me.

Another dozen stairs, my legs burning in protest.
Another tumble over an unseen lip on the uneven stairs, tearing the skin from
my shin, and making me cry out. Fish-person hands clutched at my hair and
slapped my back. Only the narrow confines of the stairwell prevented them from
mobbing me. I lashed out with balled fists in a furious panic, battering the
nearest fish-person until I was free. Gritting my teeth, I resumed my agonizing
sprint to the top.

The light grew brighter. A fish-person clamped onto
the collar of my jacket, and for a terrible moment, my balance wavered, one
foot scraping the top of the next step, terribly aware of the presumably
ravenous horde behind me. I shrugged out of my rain jacket, and the fish-person
lost its balance, tripping up the Servants behind it. The tangle gave me a
moment, and I used it, making a final push for the doorway, my hands glued to
my burning thighs.

The last of the stairs were as agonizing as the
Stations of the Cross. I stumbled out into the light, and Dunwich was a yowling
blur across my vision, using my shoulder as a stepping-stone to launch himself
at the face of the fish-person in closest pursuit. The fish-person slapped at
the cat ineffectually as Dunwich sliced its face into sashimi.