“When am I not careful?” I said.
Andi had taken up a guard position against the wall next to the door, where she could grab anyone who opened it. “Seriously?”
I couldn’t help but smile a little. “I think our lost lamb is in the wing of the building to the west of the reception hall. What’s there?”
“Um … offices, it looks like. Second floor, more offices. Third floor, more offi—hello there.”
“What’d you find?”
“A vault,” Waldo said. “Reinforced steel. Huge.”
“Hah,” I said. “A reinforced-steel vault? Twenty bucks says it’s a dungeon. We start there.”
“Whatever it is, it’s in the basement. There should be a stairway leading down to it at the end of the hallway leading out of the reception hall.”
“Bingo,” I said. “Stay tuned, Bosley.”
“Will do. Your chariot awaits.”
I put the crystal away and began putting on my rings. I got them all together, then began to pick up my wands, and realized that I couldn’t carry them in each hand while also carrying the little clutch. “I knew I should have gone for a messenger bag,” I muttered.
“With that dress?” Andi asked. “Are you kidding?”
“True.” I took the crystal out and tucked it into my décolletage, palmed one of the little wands in each hand, and nodded to Andi. “If it’s a vault or a dungeon, there will be guards. I’m going to make it hard for them to see us, but we might have to move fast.”
Andi looked down at her shoes and sighed mournfully. Then she stepped out of them and peeled the little black dress off. She hadn’t been wearing anything underneath. She closed her eyes for a second and then her form just seemed to blur and melt. Werewolves don’t do dramatic, painful transformations except right at first, I’ve been told. This looked as natural as a living being turning in a circle and sitting down. One moment Andi was there, and the next there was a great russet-furred wolf sitting where she’d been.
It was highly cool magic. I was going to have to figure out how that was done, one of these days.
“Don’t draw blood unless it’s absolutely necessary,” I said, stepping out of my own torturous shoes. “I’m going to try to make this quick and painless. If there’s any rough stuff, not killing anyone will go a long way with the svartalves.”
Andi yawned at me.
“Ready?” I asked.
Andi bobbed her lupine head in a sharp, decisive nod. I drew the concealing magic of my top-of-the-line veil around us, and the light suddenly went dim, the colors leaching out of the world. We would be almost impossible to see. And anyone who came within fifty or sixty feet of us would develop a sudden desire for a bit of introspection, questioning their path in life so deeply that there was practically no chance we’d be detected as long as we were quiet.
With Andi walking right beside me, we stole out into the hallway. We found the stairwell Waldo had told us about, and I opened the door to it slowly. I didn’t go first. You can’t do much better than having a werewolf as your guide, and I’d worked with Andi and her friends often enough in the past year to make our movements routine.
Andi went through first, moving in total silence, her ears perked, her nose twitching. Wolves have incredible senses of smell. Hearing, too. If anyone was around, Andi would sense them. After a tense quarter of a minute, she gave me the signal that it was all clear by sitting down. I eased up next to her and extended my senses, feeling for any more magical defenses or enchantments. There were half a dozen on the first section of the stairwell—simple things, the sorcerous equivalent of trip wires.
Fortunately, Auntie Lea had shown me how to circumvent enchantments such as these. I made an effort of will and modified our veil, and then I nodded to Andi and we started slowly down the stairs. We slipped through the invisible fields of magic without disturbing them, and crept down to the basement.
I checked the door at the bottom of the stairs and found it unlocked.
“This seems way too easy,” I muttered. “If it’s a prison, shouldn’t this be locked?”
Andi let out a low growl, and I could sense her agreement and suspicion.
My mouth still tingled, much more strongly now. Thomas was close. “Guess there’s not a lot of choice here.” I opened the door, slowly and quietly.
The door didn’t open onto some kind of dungeon. It didn’t open up to show us a vault, either. Instead, Andi and I found ourselves staring at a long hallway every bit as opulent as those above, with large and ornate doors spaced generously along it. Each door had a simple number on it, wrought in what looked like pure silver. Very subdued lighting was spaced strategically along its length, leaving it comfortably dim without being dark.
Andi’s low growl turned into a confused little sound and she tilted her head to one side.
“Yeah,” I said, perplexed. “It looks like … a hotel. There’s even a sign showing fire escape routes on the wall.”
Andi gave her head a little shake, and I sensed enough of her emotions to understand her meaning. What the hell?
“I know,” I said. “Is this … living quarters for the svartalves? Guest accommodations?”
Andi glanced up at me and flicked her ears. Why are you asking me? I can’t even talk.
“I know you can’t. Just thinking out loud.”
Andi blinked, her ears snapping toward me, and she gave me a sidelong glance. You heard me?
“I didn’t so much hear you as just … understand you.”
She leaned very slightly away from me. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any more weird and disturbing.
I gave her a maliciously wide smile, and the crazy eyes I used to use to scare my kid brothers and sisters.
Andi snorted and then began testing the air with her nose. I watched her closely. Her hackles rose up and I saw her crouch down. There are things here. Too many scents to sort out. Something familiar, and not in a good way.
“Thomas is close. Come on.” We started forward, and I kept my face turned directly toward the tingling signature of my tracking spell. It began to bear to the right, and as we got to the door to room 6, the tingle suddenly swung to the very corner of my mouth, until I turned to face the doorway directly. “Here, in six.”
Andi looked up and down the hall, her eyes restless, her ears trying to swivel in every direction. I don’t like this.
“Too easy,” I whispered. “This is way too easy.” I reached out toward the doorknob and stopped. My head told me this situation was all wrong. So did my instincts. If Thomas was a prisoner being held by Svartalfheim, then where were the cages, the chains, the locks, the bars, the guards? And if he wasn’t being held against his will … what was he doing here?
