Page 128 of Darkness

Farren had used this route a time or two, mostly to familiarize himself in case the need ever arose. “Sykes, you go first. I’ll bring up the rear.”

“Aye-aye, mi capitan.” Sykes lowered himself into the hole, boots clanging on ladder rungs.

Farren sized up the remaining team. “Morrisey, you go next, then Jessa, Colm, and me. We’re going down six floors, so if you tire or have problems, I need to know immediately.”

“I gotta put you away for a while, Agnes, but don’t worry, I’ll be back.” Morrisey returned his gun to his shoulder holster—the guy named his gun?—secured the taser in one hand, and descended into the hole.

Jessa grinned. “Even if he surrenders, can I use the taser on Asher, just for shits and giggles?“

Farren placed a hand on her slender shoulder. Despite her bravado, fear lurked beneath the surface. “I’ll help you. But remember, you’re here primarily because the hold he has on you works both ways. You’re our Asher tracker, but Morrisey is blocking Asher from tracking you.” At least, Farren hoped so. No. Not hoped. He trusted Morrisey.

“I knew I liked you.” Jessa wriggled into the hole, her movements seductive even when she might not intend them to be.

Colm met Farren’s gaze, gave a thumbs up, and descended, leaving only Farren in the storage room. He sat on the floor, dangling his legs into the hole, then pulled the rack as far as he could to hide the entrance.

He placed his gun into his side holster and his flashlight into his back pocket and began the long, downward climb with his taser clutched in one hand, using his other hand to climb. No one spoke on the ladder, though their footsteps echoed on the rungs. Farren counted down the steps. Down one floor, down two floors…

At last, he reached the others, stepping off the ladder. Flashlights in hand, they followed Sykes into the darkness. Morrisey went next

Farren followed. After ten years of relying on human senses, it took a moment to identify the tingling sensation coursing through his nerves, a warning system he’d once relied on.

Ill intent oozed from the ether in abundance, clawing, choking its way into every fiber of Farren’s being. He’d been born to combat such things; generations of his family had been born to combat them.

A traveler actively sought to harm others. In the past, he’d have sent out a soundless signal to his fellow Magestra, calling for backup. There were no other Magestra here, or rather, none he might rely on. Some of the surrounding unseen travelers had broken years of protocol to align themselves with a monster called Asher.

Farren drew close to Sykes. “Do you know where they are?”

Sykes’s face appeared grim in the illumination of handheld flashlights. “Most are in the main conference room.”

“And the rest?”

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” came from behind him. Farren whirled, coming face to face with an image he’d seen on television many times. Salt and pepper hair, chiseled jaw, blue eyes many a journalist waxed poetic about.

The vice-president of the United States. “About time you got here.” He smirked, an expression the normally benevolent grandfather figure never wore on camera for the American public while on the evening news. Corruption tainted his aura an oily black.

Traveler corruption.

The lights flicked on. Roughly thirty travelers surrounded Farren’s group, guns trained on Farren, Morrisey, Jessa, and Colm. How the hell had he not sensed them? As if on cue, the scent of herbs swept over him, more powerful than at any other time since he left Domus.

And where was Sykes?

Sykes stepped out from behind a wall of travelers, gun in hand. He shrugged. “Sorry, Farren. They made a better offer.” He swung the gun down.

Chapter Forty-one

Morrisey’s heart pounded hard with each step Asher took in his direction. He’d never met the vice president and now probably never would. “Asher,” he said. Morrisey might be “Darkness”, but Asher’s actions made his own soul so much darker. Coiling malice stirred in his aura.

“Ah, brother. Good of you… to join us.” Asher’s gloating tone grated on Morrisey’s last nerve, not being one to suffer arrogant assholes lightly. Or at all.

“I’m not joining you. I’d rather die first.” Die, be banished, whatever. How could Morrisey die these days? The elder hadn’t been clear on matters of dying.

“I sensed your stubbornness,” Asher snapped, “and that could be arranged. But only as a last resort.”

Oh, how telling. Also telling how Asher finally commandeered a body when he found an attractive, rich, and powerful one.

“You can’t kill me. Not yet, anyway. I’m still a part of your plan.” Morrisey didn’t need an answer. Deep in his soul, he knew he wouldn’t still be alive unless Asher wanted him alive. He threw out a line of bullshit he hoped proved at least partially true. “The others waiting in the conference room aren’t willing to follow you. You promised them a Princeps.”

Asher kept the rage off his face—barely. “Shut up!”

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