The Watcher

CHAPTER 30

I DON'T KNOW HOW FAR WE FALL. AT SOME POINT, the creature holding me lets go but I'm not afraid. The fear is gone. Suddenly, there's a crunch of flesh against concrete. Mine. Brutal pain where my shoulder makes contact. When I open my eyes, I'm lying on a cold, damp floor.

Relief that I'm no longer in the grip of terror washes over me. It's so dark, I think for an instant that my eyes are still shut. But I raise my hands and I can see them against the inky darkness. I press my fingertips together and raise them to my lips. I smell the blood, taste it in the back of my throat.

Frey. Where is he?

A tiny noise behind me brings me to my feet. I crouch and whirl around, ready to spring. The sound comes from something lying against a wall a few feet away. It's a moan, and it comes again. When I approach, the figure stirs and tries to sit up. I recognize him and rush to his side.

Frey is in his human form. He is naked and bleeding, from a wound to his arm and another at his throat.

Wounds I made.

I kneel at his side and offer my hand, not sure if he'll accept it or knock it away.

He reaches out and lets me help him into a sitting position.

"Are you very badly hurt?" I ask him.

He leans his back against the wall and stretches his legs out in front of him. "That will teach me to come between a vampire and her nightmares," he says.

"Did you see—?"

"Only your reaction. It wasn't difficult to fill in the blanks."

"You weren't affected?"

"I stayed in animal form until I realized you were in real trouble. As a panther, I was immune. When I changed, I felt the same horrors you did, but I managed to get you to the tunnel." He smiles. "I just wished I had had time to shapeshift back to the cat. It would have made the landing a hell of a lot easier."

I look around. "Where are we?"

Frey pushes himself up. He moves stiffly, stretching and testing each limb. He seems to have forgotten that he's naked. Not so long ago, he hid behind a bar to keep me from seeing the view I'm enjoying now. He catches me checking him out.

"Didn't know I'd be changing back before we got back to the bar," he grumbles. But he doesn't try to cover himself. "You really should stop staring."

Like there's anything else to look at. But I drag my eyes off Frey and do a slow turn. We're in some kind of tunnel. White tile walls. Cement floor. Recessed lighting. It has a familiar look.

"I've seen this before." I press my fingertips against my eyes. "I can't remember when, though. I think the fall has affected my memory."

Frey shakes his head. "I doubt you've ever been here. More likely, it looks familiar because the tunnels have been in the newspapers and on television. Not this particular tunnel, of course, or we wouldn't be standing here. But ones just like it. The desert between Tijuana and San Diego is riddled with them."

Of course. It was discovered a couple of years ago that drug runners had built an elaborate tunnel system running under the border. The media made a big deal out of it, but as fast as one tunnel was exposed and filled in, another sprang up seemingly overnight.

"Come on," Frey starts to move down the tunnel. "We'd better hurry."

I follow, whispering, "How did you find this?"

He doesn't slow down or look back at me. "Wasn't a lot to do while I waited for you to show up last night but prowl. I saw a car pull up outside the building. A woman and three men got out and went inside. No lights. No sound. When they didn't come back, I looked into a window. They had disappeared. So I changed and snuck in to look around."

"You were able to walk in?" The memory of being trapped in a living nightmare still looms fresh in my mind.

He raises both hands. "I don't know what to tell you. Last night I didn't feel anything like what we experienced a few minutes ago. In fact, I didn't feel or see anything at all, even in human form. I thought they must have gone out a back door. But then one of the men came back. Scared the shit out of me. I barely had time to hide. A trapdoor opened in the floor and this guy climbed out, went out to his car and drove away."

"Why do you think it has anything to do with the witch? These tunnels are used by drug dealers."

Frey gives me an impatient frown. "I did a little exploring after he left. Followed the tunnel until I reached the end. What I saw there had nothing to do with drugs. The woman who arrived in the car was watching a dozen or so men make something out of wood in a clearing not far from the end of the tunnel. An altar, I think. Of course, I didn't know then what it was for. I told you I thought it was a bunch of wannabes getting ready to dance their way into a sexual frenzy in honor of Halloween. It happens all the time out here in the desert."

He may still be right. I won't know for sure until I see if Belinda Burke is here.

"If the witch is using these tunnels," I reply, "whatever drug cartel dug them must be letting her—maybe she's giving them something in return. But if she is working with a cartel, why the glamour to keep people out? Why not just have guards with guns?"

"Last night, it was guards with guns," he says.

And yet now, tonight when the ritual is to take place, there are no guards. A primitive warning sounds in my brain. Does she know I'm here? Is it what she wants?

Frey raises a hand to his lips, and points, a signal that we're nearing the end of the tunnel. There's a staircase just ahead. He drops to one knee, lowers his head, and with an exhalation of breath, transforms back into the cat.

I've seen him make the change once before, but that time it was gradual. One shape morphing into another. This time, it's accomplished in the blink of an eye. A shudder racks his body, a cry becomes a growl, and the human Frey is gone. It must be painful to make the change so fast. The panther trembles a moment before gathering himself to make the ascent out of the tunnel.

I'm right behind him. It's a steep, slippery climb, on rough slabs of stone set into the concrete. I have to go slowly, Frey bounds up like—well, like a cat. There are about twenty steps leading into a darkened passageway. No lights here. We're guided by a strange sound, a litany sung in an unfamiliar language. And the scent of incense and burning mesquite.

We tread softly. I have a hand on the scruff of Frey's neck. I'm afraid what will happen if I'm plunged into another nightmare-scape. Frey seems to sense it, because he presses closes to me as if for assurance. There's no doubt in my mind now that we're in the right place. Before we reach the triangle of light that marks the doorway, I lean down and whisper in his ear.

"If something happens to me, stop the witch. Don't let her hurt Culebra."

He pushes his head against my chest and makes a guttural noise.

Then I straighten up and lead the way outside.