Hart and Hunter

Chapter 11

Ch. 11: Julian

Holding my phone in front of me, I descend into the dark. Halloran's light has already vanished, and my own barely penetrates a few meters into the tunnel's gloom.

"Halloran?" I call.

A dull and quickly fading echo is the only reply.

At the bottom of the steps, I hesitate. An icy draft, like a ghastly exhalation, flows from the tunnel's mouth, carrying with it the scent of damp stone and decay. Though now shielded, my senses remain slightly raw from the reading, and I pause for a breath as I consider my next move.

Do I a) follow a mysterious man I just met into a dark tunnel that leads who-the-fuck-knows-where, or b) call my werewolf boyfriend and wait for help?

Hissing a few choice expletives under my breath, I decide that, before I do something incredibly stupid, I should at least send Dane a text telling him where, exactly, I've gone; but when I open my messages again, I discover there's no signal.

I'm not a complete idiot, so I turn back towards the stairs, intending to return to the surface and send a text from there.

I've only taken two steps when Halloran's voice, garbled by echoes, reaches my ears. All I can discern is my name and the urgency in his tone. Swearing under my breath, I waver. Then Halloran calls again, and this time I catch the word 'help' among the mangled sounds.

"Fucking wonderful," I whisper to myself as I turn back towards the tunnel. "If you get murdered down here, it's your own damn fault, Julian. No wonder Dane doesn't let you do things."

Heart in my throat, I step into the gloom. Closely set bricks of rough black stone form the tunnel's sides, which curve inward to meet in an arch overhead. Crumbled mortar litters the floor, and the space is so narrow that a large man would brush his shoulders on either wall, and Dane would have to duck his head.

Several meters in, the tunnel connects to another passageway at right angles, and I pause to consider this new choice. A slight noise on my right, like the rustle of dry leaves or the whisper of breath, draws me in that direction, but I've hardly taken a step when another echo carrying traces of my name calls to me from the left. With a shudder, I turn and follow it.

Soon I discover that every dozen paces the tunnel turns either right or left, and before long I've lost all sense of direction. With each step, the hazards of underground places rise unbidden to my mind: pockets of deadly gas, the risk of collapse, getting lost or trapped without a light — to say nothing of less natural dangers.

I've just about psyched myself out to where my own shadow will scare me shitless if I look at it wrong, when I round a corner and come face-to-face with Halloran, coming back the other way. We both startle, and I fall back and hit the damp brick wall with a half-stifled shriek.

"Julian! Lords almighty, are you all right?" he asks, reaching to steady me.

Hand pressed to my chest, I manage to gasp a reply. "Yes. Are you?"

"Yes, yes. I found something I need your help with, is all. Wasn't sure you'd heard me in this damned maze, so I was on my way back."

"What is it?"

He nods back down the tunnel and beckons. "Come and see. It's not far."

He leads the way, and my nerves settle a little as I follow him.

"What the hell is this place?" I ask as we turn another corner and the floor dips and rises once more.

"I'm no local historian, but I'd guess it's original to the town," Halloran says. "Probably built by the railway workers who founded the place in the late nineteenth century. Look—" He points to the side, where another opening leads to a short passage ending in a flight of stairs. "Just like the ones in Lagrange's shop. There are more like that, further on. I'd say the tunnel connects to all the buildings on this block."