We pulled up outside a tall, squarish building, a clock extending out over the sidewalk.
“The shops are closed, ya know,” the cabbie said as Scout pulled money from her messenger bag.
“We’re just meeting our parents,” she said, passing the money over and opening the car door. “They went to see a show.”
That seemed to work for the driver, who took the money with a nod and watched in the rearview mirror as we scooted across the bench and out of the car.
We found Detroit outside beneath the clock. She was wearing a brown vest over a long-sleeved shirt, brown suspenders connecting the vest to a pair of wide-legged pants with lots of pockets. The map-making locket was around her neck, and she had an old-fashioned, silver-tipped walking stick in her hand.
“Thanks for meeting us,” I said when we reached her.
“No problem. It’s in everyone’s interest to deal with the monsters, and if vampires are the way to do it, that’s the way we do it.” She shrugged. “What exactly is the plan?”
“We’re going to talk to Nicu,” I said, offering up the explanation I’d come up with in the cab (the one that didn’t involve a Sebastian-related confession). “There’s no way the rats could move around the city without intersecting with the Pedway at some point. And if they’ve been on the Pedway, the vamps know about them.”
“So you want to talk to Nicu,” she said. “But why Nicu instead of Marlena?”
“He seemed a little friendlier,” Scout put in, after giving me a silencing glance. “So we’re trying him first.”
Apparently buying the explanation, Detroit nodded, then walked toward the building and peered inside one of the glass doors. She knocked on the glass.
“I am now officially confused,” Scout said.
“Me too. What are we doing here?”
“The Pedway runs through the basement,” Detroit explained, as a guard in a tidy blue suit and cap walked toward the door.
“Closed,” the guard mouthed, pointing at his watch.
Detroit, apparently undeterred, flashed the guard a peace sign. It took a second, but the guard nodded, then began the process of unlocking the door with a key from a giant loop.
“He supports peace?” Scout wondered.
“I made a Y,” Detroit explained, showing Scout the sign again. “It’s recognized by the community. And Mr. Howard here is very much a member of the community. So be nice to Mr. Howard.”
But Scout was too busy with her new trick to be mean—she’d made a peace sign and was staring down at her fingers. “Genius,” she said, eyes wide with excitement.
“You’ll have to teach that to Derek and Mrs. M,” I pointed out, and she nodded back.
Mr. Howard held open the door while we moved inside. Once in, he locked it tight again. “You on the hunt for Reapers tonight?” he asked politely.
“Not quite,” Detroit said. “But we appreciate the help, sir.”
Mr. Howard nodded, then gestured toward a set of elevators. “Basement level, if you’re headed into the Pedway.”
“Thank you,” Detroit said, and we were off again.
“Seriously, I want to go see Derek right now just to show him this. I know it’s not a big deal, but it’s like having a secret handshake. Haven’t you always wanted to have a secret handshake?”
“Not that I can recall right at this minute,” I said, as we followed Detroit through displays of makeup and perfume. “But I’m excited you’re excited.”
The main lights were off, but it was clearly a department store—floors of merchandise around an atrium in the middle. Although the stuff in the store was modern, the rest of it was old-school fancy. I stared up at the atrium. Fancy gold balconies ringed the floors above us like architectural bracelets, and the entire thing was capped by a pillow of frosted glass. The floor looked like marble. This place must have been really interesting in its heyday.
We followed the marble path to the elevators. There were two of them; both had brass doors engraved with flowers.
“They really spared no expense back in the day, did they?” Scout asked.
“I was just thinking that.”
When the elevator arrived, we stepped inside. Detroit mashed the button for the basement. The one-floor trip was short but jarring. The elevators were definitely old-school, and the jumpy ride felt like it.
We emerged into an area with lower ceilings and signs for restrooms and customer service areas. A giant sign reading PEDWAY hung on a corridor in front of us.
“Does it ever feel like we spend at least thirty percent of our Adept time just traveling around?” I wondered aloud.
“Oh, my God, I was just thinking that, too! We are totally psychic today.”
“You two are definitely something today,” Detroit said. She flipped open her locket, then projected the map hologram against one of the walls of the corridor. This chunk of the Pedway was actually much nicer than the last one I’d seen—the floors were fancy stone with glittering chips in it, and long wooden flower planters lined the sides. The ceiling above us was a single, long, glowing rectangle, like a superhuge fluorescent light.
The Pedway diagram looked like a subway map, with red marks in the shape of droplets—blood, I assumed—at certain points along the way.
Detroit scanned the route, then nodded. “Yeah, a couple more blocks, and we’re there.” She snapped the locket shut again, then turned on her heel and started walking, her giant pants making a shush-shush sound as she walked. The outfit wasn’t exactly covert, but then again, walking into a home of vampires probably wasn’t all that stealthy, either.
We walked in silence for a couple of blocks, occasionally going up or down a small ramp but generally staying in the basement level. After a few minutes, the scenery changed to “disco office chic.” The floors became orangish industrial carpet, the walls dark brick.
Detroit stopped in front of a glass door with a long handle across the front—the kind you might see in a strip mall office. She looked back at us. “This is it. You’ll probably want to be ready with the firespell and stuff.”
When we nodded, she pushed open the door. A set of old mini-blinds hanging on the inside of the glass clanked against it like an office wind chime. A haze of gray dust swirled through the air.
I glanced around. We’d walked into an abandoned office, the fabric-covered cubicle walls still standing. But instead of separating the room into little mini-offices, they made a maze that led farther back into the building. Bass from music being played somewhere in the back echoed through the room, vibrating loose screws in the cubicle walls. I didn’t recognize the song, but “paranoia” kept repeating over and over and over again.