Labyrinth

THREE

Smoke. I smelled it before I got there, before I saw the dark wisps coiling into the sky. The fire alarm in the building was shrieking loud enough to be heard on the street even over Grendel’s excited barking. A guy with a garden hose was already trying to douse the burning shrub under my balcony, but not all the smoke was coming from the landscaping. I cursed the security door and wrestled my way through it, tugging the dog behind me as he tried to go after the stream of water from the hose.

We galloped up the stairs, my chest tight from the whiff of burning and anxiety that made a high metallic ringing in my ears. It almost sounded like distant fairy voices screaming.

From the landing, I saw my door engulfed in yellow flames sprouting from a bundle of black cloth stuffed against the bottom. Someone had added two fresh, bloody handprints to the stain left on the wall the night before. Nice. As I crouched and ran forward, the bundle of burning cloth tipped away from the door, propelled by the tip of a yardstick poking out through the gap between the door and the threshold. I ordered Grendel to sit and stay while I yanked off my jacket and started beating the flames out.

Quinton ducked through the open doorway with the fire extinguisher from my kitchen and killed the flames in a powdery stream of chemicals. The oily wad of rags smoldered a bit, but didn’t reignite.

Reaching up with the yardstick, Quinton poked the alarm’s reset button. There was still one squalling from inside my condo, but as we stood in the hall it wound down and stopped with a sad whine.

“You all right?” he asked, looking me over.

I stooped to pick up my ruined jacket. It was a good thing I’d bought another one in London, since I seem to be death on outerwear. “Fine. But we’re going to have to get out of here.”

Quinton looked around the hall, silent now as the neighbors were all off at work and the smoke had begun dissipating. “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t too subtle.”

I peered at him, not quite sure in my dopey sleep-deprived state if I’d understood him.

He poked the partially burned rags and gave the stains on the wall a significant look. “The goons are rattling your cage.”

“And I need some quiet if I’m going to stay out of their hands. And keep you out of them, too.”

He considered that before heading back into my condo. “You think they’ll try to split us?”

I nodded and followed him inside. “It’s in their best interest to keep me isolated and off-balance, even to grab whatever leverage they can get.”

“We need to talk.”

“We do. But not here. They’ll keep coming at us so long as we’re someplace they can find us.”

“You think so?”

I nodded, feeling dizzy from the motion. At least my ears had stopped ringing and Grendel was acting subdued, sticking close to us but not begging for attention. The smoke seemed to have damped his spirits as much as it had ours.

Quinton took my steel wastebasket and swept up the mess in the hall as I started pulling out the bags and the ferret’s traveling kit. The living room reeked of smoke.

As I put the necessary pet supplies together, Quinton returned and poked at some of his equipment. “Slag,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

“This stuff near the window. The smoke got in it. Most of it’s kacked. Including my Grey detector. Well. At least that’s something less to carry.” He sighed. “What’s the plan, then, supergirl?”

“Bug out, find a safe place, get some sleep. Then go after them while they think they have us on the run.”

“Risky. What if they grab you? I mean . . . they do intend to grab you, don’t they?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. But I don’t plan to give them any more chances. I’m making mistakes, but if I can get some sleep before they can catch up to us, get some information, then I may have the upper hand. If I move fast.”

Quinton nodded, starting to smile. “We’ll attack them first—gives us the options to act while they only have the option to react. I definitely like that scenario. Much better than the alternative.” He picked up a pair of bags and slung them up onto his shoulders.

He threw a handful of objects into another bag and zipped it up while I snatched my one bag and the animal kit. I went back to the bedroom to fetch the ferret and returned to see Quinton grabbing the handles on his last bag with one hand and Grendel’s leash with the other.

“What are we going to do with the dog?” he asked.

“Ben and Mara have a yard . . . and I want to talk to them anyway.” They’d been my first instructors in dealing with the Grey, and their home would be more than just a place to hide; I was pretty sure I would need their knowledge and help before this was done.

Quinton looked thoughtful. “Wygan must know you’re friends with them. And their place is close to the broadcast towers.”

“It’s the best I can come up with. We’ll just have to be careful.”

“It’s worth a try.” Quinton twitched the dog’s leash and Grendel trotted out like he’d been Quinton’s pet all his life. Dogs seemed to do that for him; I guess they knew he loved them.

We secured the condo and bundled our gear downstairs and into the truck. I only wished I’d had the energy to move it into the garage the previous night so it was less obvious to any watchers that we were leaving, but that couldn’t be helped. If we grew a tail, we’d lose it, and there wasn’t anything in terms of electronic tracking they could do that Quinton couldn’t defeat.

We drove away from my building and I wondered if I’d ever see it again.