Christopher Golden - The Nimble Man

They reached the bottom of the stairs and proceeded through a pair of double doors into the underground system.

"That is where Sanguedolce's arrogance worked against him," Doyle said.

Eve thought he sounded more than a little arrogant himself. She didn't know what it was with mages, all of them so full of themselves that she was surprised they could fit their swollen heads through their front doors.

"He never believed that another mage would demonstrate the skill necessary to actually track him," Doyle said, grim satisfaction etched upon his face. "And, Heaven forbid that they did, he left a warning that should have successfully ended the trail."

She looked about the platform. There were people waiting, but not half as many as there should have been at this time of the morning. "But Sweetblood wasn't counting on you being the one doing the looking, was he?" she asked, playing with the man's cockiness.

Doyle's smile was fleeting. "He never recognized my talents," the sorcerer said, walking to the end of the platform. A homeless man surrounded with shopping bags full of empty cans snoozed against a wall and Doyle was careful not to wake him as he peered down the tunnel into the inky darkness beyond. "He thought me incapable of mastering the weirdling ways."

"I guess you showed him," Eve muttered, standing by his side. She noticed that some of the commuters had begun watch then with interest. "If you're thinking of continuing this little expedition down into the tunnel you might want to use some of that mojo you're so good at so nobody calls the transit police in to arrest our asses."

Doyle looked away from the tunnel and toward the small crowd waiting for the next train. "Ah yes, prying eyes," he said, his own eyes sparking with mystical blue energies. "Perhaps I'll make them see us as workers from one of the utility companies," he said, a strange, lilting spell upon his lips as he raised a hand, barely visible wisps of supernatural manipulation streaming from his fingertips to work their magick upon nosey commuters.

Eve heard the rustling of plastic bags and turned to see that the homeless man had awakened from his slumber and was staring at them.

"You don't want to go down there," the man said, his voice gravely and rough, as if not used to speaking. He hooked a dirty thumb toward the tunnel entrance behind where he sat. "Some nasty shit goin' on down there." The poor soul was covered in grime and was dressed in multiple layers of clothing, the shoes upon his feet held together with wrappings of electrical tape. A foul odor of misery wafted up from him, an aroma he seemed perfectly content to wallow in.

Doyle had turned from the subway crowd. "A friend of yours, Eve?"

"Just a concerned citizen," she told the mage.

The man brought his legs up to his chest. "Stuff not meant to be seen by the likes of us," he said, beginning to rock from side to side. "Somethin' bad's comin', I know," he said, his pale, green eyes glazing over as he rocked. "And it ain't ridin' the train, oh no. It's comin' in real style. That's it. Real style."

Doyle stared at the rambling man, then reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a small billfold. She wasn't exactly sure how much money it was, but Doyle didn't even glance down to count it as he leaned forward to present it to the homeless man. "Thank you so much for your assessment," he said. "We'll keep it in mind."

The homeless man took the money from Doyle and looked at it briefly, before stashing it amongst the layers of his clothing.

"Coming, Eve?" Doyle asked as he stepped down off the platform into space. There was a good seven feet to the tracks below, but that didn't seem to hinder the mage's progress. It was if the air beneath him had thickened and he drifted unharmed to the tunnel floor.

"Don't spend that all in one place," she told the man as she followed the mage off the platform. Eve leaped down into the darkness and landed in a graceful crouch, careful to avoid the electrical bite of the third rail. Electrocution wouldn't kill her, but she doubted it would be a very pleasant experience.

Able to see as well in the darkness as in the light, she spotted Doyle waiting against the tunnel wall. He gestured for her to follow.

"Quickly now," he urged.

The subway was filthy and she made a conscious effort to keep from making any contact with the walls. "Damn. This is not a place for suede. I should have left my jacket back in the car." She had purchased the coat only recently in Milan and did not want it ruined.

"Your clothing should be the least of your worries, my dear," Doyle said as he held his hand out before him, a sphere of light glowing from a space just above his palm, lighting his way.

"Are you trying to scare me?" she asked, watching the rats scurrying about in the shadows, bothered by their presence. "Me?"

He stopped before an ancient metal door, its surface caked with ages of dust, dirt and corrosion. It was also padlocked. "You mean after all you've seen thus far you're not scared already?" He placed one of his hands against its rusted surface.

A subway train squealed somewhere close by and she wondered if it was coming their way. "I've faced the wrath of God," she said, watching him at the door. "I've had more terrifying dates than this."

A tiny smile played at the edges of Doyle's mouth. "Ah, yes. Sometimes I forget." Doyle took his hand away from the door. "We'll need to get through here," he said, pointing to the rusted padlock. "Do the honors?"

Eve reached over and tore the lock free with a single tug, rust smearing her palm and fingers.

"I don't suppose you have anything that I could use to wipe my hand?" she asked the mage as he went through the door. With a sigh, she resigned herself to the fact that her wardrobe was going to be ruined.

Eve wiped her hands upon her denim-clad legs and joined Doyle in the tiny entryway. There was a metal staircase leading down into further darkness, which her companion had already begun to descend, his eerily glowing hand lighting the way. That staircase ended at another door, which led to a cramped hallway that took them to another even older-looking door that had been sealed shut with planks of wood nailed to the frame.

"Let me guess," Eve said as she grabbed hold of the first piece of wood and ripped it from its moorings. "You want these removed as well."

Doyle stepped back, giving her room to work. "Astute as well as beautiful," he observed. "Traits not commonly found together these days, I'm sorry to say."

Eve smiled. "When He made me He broke the mold."

The last board came away from the frame with a metallic shriek as the old nails were torn from the wood, and the door stood revealed.

"Allow me," Doyle said, sliding back a corroded deadbolt on the door with some minor difficulty. The rusted joints squealed as he yanked the door open, a damp, ancient smell wafting out to greet them.

"Smells old," Eve observed, following the mage through the doorway and out onto what appeared to be another, far more antiquated version of a subway platform. "Even by my standards."

"It should," he replied, raising his arm to shed further light upon the forgotten chamber. "It's been sealed up tight since 1899 when the major construction was begun on the subway tunnels above us. This was part of the old Grand Central Depot."

There was definitely something to this place, Eve thought, something in the air that hinted of a power as old as Creation. Whatever was going on here, there was more to it than rains of toads or some antisocial sorcerer hiding out. She walked the platform, her footfalls leaving prints in the inch-thick dust that had settled there since the close of the nineteenth century.

"Very good, Lorenzo," she heard Doyle say to himself, his voice as sibilant whisper in the lost station. "But not good enough."