Deep shadows filled the spaces between cracked, grime-smeared half-columns lining the side of the theater, each containing a recessed window. Most had wooden boards nailed across them, but a few retained their glass. Lapis glanced at them, but only saw dusty surfaces caked in frost and dribbling icicles.
She peered back at her and Scand’s footprints marring the pristine snowy blanket; no help for it. Hopefully the Dentherions did not have a scout patrolling the exterior.
Scand led her to a wall where the grey stone bricks had fallen, leaving a gaping, uncovered hole exposing the pitch-black interior.
“How often have you come here, Scand?” she whispered, unease gnawing at her chest.
“Only been here when trying to outrun shanks,” he whispered back. “There’s something creepy about this building. Rin says it’s because it’s secluded. Other places, like the graveyard, people pass by them all the time, you can hear them talking and laughing. But the theater’s on the edge of the Grey Streets, and way back from the road. No one passes it by, no one stops there to get out of the sun or bad weather, so it’s desolate.”
He stuck his head in, then slipped through the hole, and Lapis held her breath to squeeze after. Bits caught her coat and hood; she winced at the thought of the grime the fabric picked up. Patch entered worse places, but she felt bad about getting his clothing dirty.
A white mound sat at the base of the gap, a wind-blown line trailing across a hallway lit only by the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. The moon stood full and white in the sky, the stars twinkled in glory; why not give the theater more of their light? Wishful thinking, she supposed.
Scand crouched and peeked left, then right, and so did she, tingles racing up and down her spine. No movement, no tech lights, no voices in the corridor. Hopefully it remained that way.
The rat fumbled about and finally found her hand; he tugged, and she followed, hunched over, listening for any signs of the enemy. They stepped softly, but the rough floorboards shifted under their weight, creaking and groaning in protest. High-pitched whistles of wind blowing across the boards and through unseen holes drowned some of the noise, but not all. They stepped over more mounds of snow that trailed from less secure windows and to the opposite wall; Lapis noted a couple had fresh bootprints in them. The Dentherions must have walked the halls. Did they wander around all three stories? Where were they now?
Murmurs caught her attention as they neared a dark niche; the shadows hid a recessed doorway, the doors ajar and half-off their hinges, faint light defining the edges. The rat released her hand to step cautiously through, and she did the same, sucking in her gut and holding herself as still as possible so she did not brush the wood, but she still felt tugs on her pants and coat.
Lining the aisles were single-roomed apartments with open doorways and crudely cut, vacant windows; she always wondered how people lived in the renovated spaces, since the remodeling removed the bulky seating but did nothing about the slope. Perhaps that was why no one but shanks looking for somewhere to hide bothered with the place anymore.
The bottom of the balcony had a railed lane that overlooked the stage and the spacious floor in front of it. Some balusters had wiggled loose and fallen to the ground, and Scand chose one of those sections to crawl to and peer through.
Lapis joined him, using the toes of her boots to scoot forward so she could look below. From the glimpses she saw as the tech lights roamed the space, nothing had changed since her last visit; a few stalls crumbling with age lined the central aisle, rusting pots and pans and grills present, with better-built but sagging shacks taking up the orchestra pit.
To the sides of the main and side aisles were more shacks and piles of debris, some tall enough to hide behind. The walls had torn artwork, holes where sconces once sat, and someone had peeled the wainscotting off long ago—probably the same someone who ripped up the carpet, leaving floorboards to weather time alone.
Her attention drifted to the center aisle near the lobby doors, where seven black-clad individuals snapped at one another, their lights flashing back and forth as they motioned to their compatriots and yelled. Did they not care the brightness gave them away? Did they not realize they stood in a theater, so their voices carried? Strange behavior, for those hunting important prey.
Lykas knelt in the middle of them, his coat ripped, his head bowed, his hand clutching his chest. She clenched her hands; she wished them a quick trip to the Pit, for harming him.
Lapis peeked to her left and right, seeing nothing other than the second story balcony’s natural darkness. Forcing down her growing unease, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the words; they argued about where to go next. How long would they continue to yell? Long enough that the rebels arrived?
Scand sucked in a breath, and she opened her eyes. One Dentherion waved a large paper around complaining about bearings, and another shouted about their reliance on Lykas and how he had not brought them any closer to their quarry.
A chill breeze floated over them, and she shivered. Drafty old building, she hoped it did not collapse on them from the weight of snow on the roof.
Scand gasped and jerked, looking over his shoulder; she flipped, readying her gauntlet, but only blackness rested behind them. No Dentherions. She shuddered and returned to her study of the group below, her neck prickling. Dammit, why did the rat have to trigger her fear of dark places? The pitch-black combined with the scattered rays of tech lights reminded her too much of the forest she fled through as a child. Succumbing to irrational panic would not help her rescue Lykas.
A man cuffed the back of the rat’s head, and he pitched forward. Lapis gripped the splintery edge of the balcony as the enemy reached into the breast of his coat; she would jump down there, make a scene, scream and throw debris—
Another smacked his arm, the heavy whack echoing to them, and waved at the rat.
“He’s all we got!” she snarled. “I don’t want to be out here any more than you do. But—”
“Lady?” Scand’s voice quivered. She looked at him, but his attention remained on the darkness behind them. “Do you think ghosts are real?”
“If they are, I wonder what we can give them so they’ll float down to Lykas and scare the shit out of the Dentherions for us.”
A startled chuckle escaped him before he looked to their right. “We could pretend to be ghosts.”
“I’m not certain that’s going to frighten them. And if it does, they might take it out on Lykas.”
He clenched his teeth and winced. “I’m going with you.”
“No.”
“Yes. I’m not staying up on a balcony with a ghost.”
She had enough trouble forcing her feet to move forward. How was she going to do whatever she needed to do with him in tow? Of course, Scand was no ordinary kid, either; to survive the streets, he possessed bravery, stout nerves, and quick wits. If things deteriorated, he could flee without difficulty, ghost or not.
Lykas yelped.
Whether concern for his friend or a need to get off the balcony pushed him, Scand crawled over her and shuffled on his hands and knees towards the stairwell that went down to the ground floor. She trailed him, skimming the rickety shack walls, thankful to hear the group bickering rather than shooting, though the heated words did not bode well for the rat in their midst.
Patch told her to wait, but she did not think they had time. What was she going to do?
Scand slipped onto the landing and rose to a crouch, looking down the stairs bathed in complete blackness before staring behind her. She squatted next to him and peeked; nothing there.
“Did you bring a light?” he whispered.
She had a light—in the coat she left at the Eaves. She dug her hands into the garment, feeling around for a lighter—Patch had to have a lighter—and finally discovered a firm something in an inner breast pocket. She withdrew it and held it up. Yep, a lighter. She flicked the lid back and spun the jagged spark wheel.
No flame.
She shook it; out of fluid. She slumped. Now what? Crawling down from the balcony in plain sight would not do, and while she had taken the stairs during past stakes and knew they were shallow, she did not want to crawl down them in the dark. One wrong hand or foot movement, and she would tumble down to the bottom, causing enough noise that the Dentherions would check to see what was going on.
Her neck prickled as she viewed the darkness. Another cold gust careened around them, and she froze.
She could not step onto the stairs. Not without a light.
Her brain whirled, and she gripped her hands tighter, her fingers and the lighter digging into her palms. Her right gauntlet trigger clicked, but no purple beam burst from the casing because she did not have the handle pulled forward.
The beam. Would one produce enough glow to light their way?
She stuffed the lighter into a larger hip pocket and flipped the handle on her left gauntlet. She pointed her arm down the stairs and squeezed.
The rat gasped and rocked back as the beam shot from the top; she moved her thumb, adjusting it until the glow illuminated three stairs ahead, enough to walk down without mishap. She rose, stepped down one squeaky tread, turned, and held out her right hand; the rat grasped it and crept to her side.
“When did you get that?” he breathed, enthralled.
“Jhor gave me new gauntlets yesterday,” she whispered. “He said I needed something that didn’t get gunked up like my blades.”
“Good thing, since your lighter’s out.”
“Patch’s lighter. This is his coat. I couldn’t get mine to fit with the gauntlets, so I borrowed his. My chaser coat has a working light.” And she vowed to speak to her partner about letting his run out of fuel.
A chill breeze dug its fingers into her, and Lapis shivered. She did not appreciate the drafts, and she hoped they froze the Dentherions. She might get both her and Lykas out alive if the cold made their reactions sluggish.
Scand looked over his shoulder, and she squeezed his hand in comfort but did not peek. If she did, she would freeze. So far, so good, but she could not count on her bravery forcing her steps if she saw darkness closing in behind her. Ashamed, she knew, without Scand at her side, she would not have entered the hole in the wall. She would have waited outside, dreading the worst, feeling helpless. Outwardly, she would have excused her cowardice by claiming Patch told her to wait, but inside, she would have wilted in humiliation.
Lykas deserved better than what she could provide.
Tears welled with devastating memories. No. She would not let Lykas die. Not like Miki. Not like her little brother. She was not helpless. She would save him, and they could laugh about this exploit in future years over a drink.
