fortune he kept stashed in banks stateside and abroad. Five years ago, he’d come out of the darkness to buy the building he now lived and worked in.
He’d dreamed of one day visiting other countries.
For now, his home was in the basement of his office building with a shaft that led to the maze of passages beneath the city.
He worked his way to the center of the Lair, passing old Joe Lowenstein, fast asleep in his cubby, blankets tucked up to his chin to ward off the chill and damp of the underworld. Joe had been a chemist until he’d been severely scarred in a chemical accident. Half his face melted off, blind in one eye and his right arm completely useless, he now made a living carving beautiful figurines out of wood, with his good hand and a vise grip Balthazar had appropriated from an abandoned workshop. Each finished figure sold in an upscale art gallery on 35th Street for thousands of dollars. Still Joe slept in the cubby, his money accumulating in a bank.
He rolled over, his good eye opening. “Gryph? That you?” Joe’s voice was as mottled as his face, gravelly to the point of almost being unintelligible.
“Go back to sleep, Joe,” Gryph whispered.
“Trouble’s brewin’,” Joe rasped.
“How so?”
“Some say it’s you.” Joe rubbed a hand across his scarred cheeks. “Don’t know what they’re talkin’ about. Balthazar will know.”
“I’m headed there now. Thanks for the heads-up.” Gryph continued toward the forgotten city’s center, the hairs on the back of his neck spiked, the inner beast clawing at his insides to be released to attack the tension in the air.
A small gathering ringed the entrance to the rooms he, Balthazar and Lucas had called home for so long. It was nothing more than a former storage area beneath the city, where supplies had been kept. It consisted of four large compartments. Gryph, Lucas and Balthazar each claimed one as his own and the fourth was a common area they still gathered in to share the events of their days or nights when time permitted. Balthazar had refused to move in with Gryph in his building nearer the surface, claiming he preferred the darkness to the light after all these years.
Now Balthazar stood at the entrance, his voice ringing out over the angry shouts of the small crowd. “Keep calm, people. I’m sure there’s some kind of misunderstanding.”
“What if he leads them down here?” someone asked.
Balthazar held up his hand. “He wouldn’t. He’s much too smart and cautious to let that happen. Please, go to your homes. Let me talk to Gryphon. I’m sure he can clear it all up.”
“Clear up what?” Gryph strode across the wide, open space where the old tracks had switched and turned down the long tunnels leading to the ends of the old city. He clutched his cloak around him, to hide the tattered remains of his clothing beneath.
“There he is!” a woman shouted. “What have you done? What kind of monster are you to attack a defenseless woman?”
“I’ve done nothing.” Gryph stood straight, his shoulders thrown back. “I’m no more a monster than any of you.”
“You killed a surface dweller.” Raymond Henning, a man with the ability to blend into the surroundings as easily as a chameleon, shook his fist at Gryph. “We all took an oath when we came to live here. No one hurts anyone. Now that you’ve let your beast kill, it will crave more bloodshed.”
“I didn’t kill anyone, and I don’t crave blood,” Gryph said, his voice urgent but calm. These were his people. Most of the money he earned through his day trading and businesses went to providing food and comfort for them. He’d only ever told Balthazar, whom he’d sworn to secrecy.
“How soon before they start a city-wide manhunt for you?” A young woman with blue and green fish scales on her neck and face pulled a scarf up over her head, her eyes darting around the group. “They’ll find us and drag us back into the light, or worse, exterminate us.”
“Will any of us be safe if the authorities discover what we have built down here?” Raymond asked.
“No!” shouted a mutant man with a bulbous blob completely covering the entire left side of his face spoke up. “We’re doomed. The authorities will track him here. They can’t have a killer on the loose in Chicago. It’s bad for tourism. They had an eyewitness, they know his face, and they won’t stop until they string him up for the woman’s murder.”
“I won’t lead the authorities down here. I’m careful to preserve what we have. It’s as much my home as yours. You all know me.” He waved a hand at Raymond. “Raymond, didn’t I lead you here when you’d passed out drunk in an alley and given up hope?”
Raymond frowned. “Yeah, but—”
Gryph continued, “Tara, when you first came to the Lair, didn’t I show you around the maze of tunnels until you were comfortable on your own?”
The furry woman nodded. “You did.”
“Many of you have known me my whole life. Have I ever hurt anyone?”
Many in the crowd muttered no.
Gryph lowered his voice and said softly, “I wouldn’t condemn the people I love to exposure to those who don’t understand us.”
Lucas, who had long dark hair, draped an arm over Gryph’s shoulder. “That’s right. You all know Gryph. He’s a good man. He might not be able to control his beast, but he’d give his life for any one of you.”
Gryph frowned at his brother. “I have control.”
Lucas’s mouth twisted. “Of course you do, even when you’re angry, right?” He clapped his hand on Gryph’s back. “Always the hero who could do no wrong.” Though he smiled, Lucas’s lip pulled back on one side in almost a sneer.
Gryph stared at his brother whose hand on his shoulder was tight, his fingers digging in.
Balthazar held up his hands. “You heard the man, he didn’t kill the surface dweller. Go home and get some sleep. Everything will be better by morning.”
Reluctantly, the crowd of misfits dispersed, muttering and grumbling as they trudged to their makeshift rooms constructed of abandoned pieces of plywood or cardboard in offshoots of the derelict rail tunnels.
Not long ago, Balthazar had worked with a handful of people to tap in to the electrical grid of the buildings, reactivating the lighting system in select tunnels so that they wouldn’t have to live in total darkness. For safety’s sake, everyone was required to have a stash of emergency flashlights. Every inhabitant knew that when city workers descended into the underground tunnels, they had to make themselves scarce. If they were discovered, the good surface-dwelling citizens of Chicago would force them to the surface, where they’d be pitied and treated as freaks.
“Where have you been?” Balthazar asked as he led Gryph and Lucas into his chambers.
“Recovering.” Gryph whipped the cape off his shoulders exposing his naked chest and the bandage Selene had carefully applied.
Balthazar’s lips pressed into a thin line. He peeled back the bandages and examined the ragged scabs
