“We’ll get Ollie,” Ian told me. “You leave. Now.”

I pointed at the pile I’d made. “Hatching eggs!”

Ian nodded, and put both of my hands on the rope then squeezed them hard to tell me to hold on.

I’d barely gotten a good grip when Yasha and Rolf hauled me up and through the hole in the ceiling. Sometimes, it’s good to be small.

Once topside, it was graffiti and garbage as far as the eye could see. Though the only light was Yasha’s and Rolf’s headlamps, and the occasional lightbulb down what looked to be a train tunnel. I was about to ask if this was the old Forty-second Street station when I saw a dingy, black-and-white-tiled “42nd ST.” barely visible on the far wall.

Rolf was alert to any movement from the surrounding dark, and I knelt next to the open grate, willing Ian and Calvin to hurry. Yasha reached in to the pulley, unwound the rope holding Ollie, and he and Rolf quickly lowered him to the ground. Ollie started to flail around which only excited the spawn even more. Ian got in Ollie’s face and whatever he said, made the little guy go pale; I could see it from here. The chittering from the spawn rose in pitch and intensity.

Ian cut the ropes on Ollie’s hands and arms, leaving Calvin to take care of the ones on his legs and ankles. Ollie pulled his gag out and didn’t make a sound. Thank God for small miracles. He must have known that what the ghouls had done to him would pale in comparison to what Ian would do if he even thought about opening his mouth. Ian and Calvin hauled him over to the ropes and got him hooked up.

Yasha and Rolf hauled the much-heavier-than-me Ollie out of the hole with only minimal swearing. At least I assumed Rolf’s angry hisses were Norwegian curses.

Once he was out, Ollie sucked in air to say or scream who knew what.

I clapped my hand across his mouth. Ollie complied. Miracle number two.

I glanced back at the now seething pile of eggs. The spawn were hatching and frantically clawing their way free of their eggs.

Ian and Calvin quickly pulled themselves hand over hand out of the concrete bunker/monster nursery. A group of newly hatched spawn scuttled on all fours to reach the ropes. It wouldn’t do any good, but it was still all I could do not to reach down and start hauling on those ropes myself. When Ian and Calvin got within reach, Yasha and Rolf reached down, grabbed the drag handles on the back of their armor, and hauled them the rest of the way out. Half a dozen spawn were halfway up the ropes when Ian and Calvin detached the ropes from their harnesses, sending rope and grendels falling to the bunker floor. More spawn started jumping for the ladder, though “launched” would have been a better description, coming mere inches from reaching the bottom rung.

Rolf had a grenade in his hand, his blue eyes gleaming. He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade in the exact middle of the egg pile. I expected a boom. Instead there was a hiss and a loud pop as flames raced over the eggs that had just hatched, and those struggling to free themselves from their eggs. The insides of the eggs must have contained a fatty substance. It popped and crackled like bacon on a too-hot griddle.

I watched in disgusted wonder until the stench wafted up through the grate opening.

Rolf pulled another grenade from a pouch on his armor and dropped it straight down. He winked. “Incendiary grenades. That’ll discourage the jumpers. Not to worry, I have the other kind, too.”

Ian and Yasha quickly lifted and replaced the grate back over the opening and Calvin rolled what looked like a railroad pushcart on top of it. Calvin talked fast into his comms as Ian and Yasha got on either side of Ollie and hauled him to his feet.

Suddenly, my comms came back to life. All hell had broken loose somewhere.

“This is Lars. I’ve got movement ahead.” Shouts and gunfire erupted in the background. “Spawn. We’ve got spawn.”

“Sandra here. Watch your six, Lars. They’re behind you, too. Hang on, we’re coming in.”

“Tunnel’s packed with ghouls.” It was Roy. “Clearing a path to y’all now.”

Explosions filled my ears and shook the ground, knocking me on my butt and pieces of concrete from the walls.

Calvin gave me a hand up. “Lars’s team found the main lair in a series of old maintenance rooms down there.” He flashed a grin full of white teeth. “Sounds like we’re missing quite a party.”

I stared back at him, dumbfounded. None of the guys appeared to be in any hurry to get down there to help. “Aren’t we going to help them?”

“They’ve got their job,” Ian said. “We’ve got ours. The two adult grendels weren’t in the lair.”

Oh crap.

“What time is it?”

“Thirty minutes ’til midnight. We think they’re already making their way to the surface. After we get Ollie close to the surface and cut him loose, we’re going big-game hunting.”

26

THE platform of the abandoned subway station was dark, dirty, and—aside from the occasional explosion in the chambers and tunnels beneath us—it was entirely too quiet. Broken wine and beer bottles littered the ground along with food wrappers, cigarette butts, aerosol paint cans, and discarded syringes.

To better listen for the adult grendels, we’d switched our comms to another channel. Calvin kept his on SPI’s main channel to keep tabs on the faint booms still coming from below, and to know when—or if—we could be expecting company up here that we actually wanted to have. Since we’d been tasked with stopping two adult grendels, it would be nice to have more than five of us to do it.

Ollie had his back against the wall, knees clutched to his chest. At least he wasn’t in a fetal position. However, he was babbling.

“What the hell’s he saying?” Calvin asked.

Ollie’s eyes were focused, but not on us. He had that thousand-yard stare that I’d heard sometimes happened after serious trauma. Being kidnapped by ghouls, hog-tied, and damn near fed to baby monsters certainly qualified.

Fortunately, I was fluent in panic attack.

“Ollie? It’s Mac. You’re safe.” Though safe for any of us was relative right now. “You need to hush until we can get you out of here.” I glanced at Ian in unspoken question. He nodded once. “We are getting you out of here, but you need to calm down. You understand?”

Ollie swallowed hard.

I figured that was about as much of a yes as I was likely to get.

“Calvin, what’s the fastest way to the surface?” Ian asked.

“The stairs to that pedestrian passageway I told you about. The one that—”

Ian’s warning glance cut him off.

I knew what he’d been about to say. The one the grendels would probably be using to get to the surface. A full-grown grendel was the last thing Ollie needed to see or hear about.

At the mention of a way out of his nightmare, any way at all, Ollie latched onto it like a life preserver. “I’ll take it.”

“You don’t want to go there,” I told him.

“If it’s away from this bloody—”

Ian jerked his chin upward. “What about the main Times Square station?”

“There’s a maintenance stairway,” Calvin told him. “Down that hall and around the corner. Secured with a chain and padlock down here, and a dead bolt topside.”

“Can you get through?”

Calvin spread his hands. “Please. You insult me.”

“Do it. Let’s get him out of here.” The “and out of our hair” was strongly implied.

At this point, Ollie’d probably gnaw through those chains with his teeth.

We got Ollie up and moving. Knowing that he was on his way out brought back the ornery little Englishman that most of us knew, but only one of us liked.

Ian gave Ollie a pair of twenties. “When you’re in the station, get on a train and go. Direction doesn’t matter. Just get as far away from Times Square as you can.”

“The Full Moon,” I told him. “On Thompson Street one block off West Third. Tell Nancy and Bill we sent you. They’re good people. They’ll take care of you.”

Ollie’s eyes went almost as wide as they’d been when we’d hauled him up. Terror mixed with distaste. “They’re werewolves.”

This from a man who sold shrunken heads and monkey brains for a living.

Yasha had just turned wolf again a few minutes ago and was standing guard down on the tracks, and while I hoped he hadn’t heard Ollie, I knew he had. Fortunately, Yasha was of a mind that people with distasteful personalities didn’t taste good. It was probably the only thing saving Ollie’s nasty bacon right about now.

“They’re. Good. Folks,” I told him. I didn’t care if he was traumatized. Rude was rude. “We’ve had this talk before.”

Calvin took Ollie’s arm and hustled him down the platform and out of sight.

I felt Ian watching me.

“And we’ve had this talk before,” I told him. “Partners, remember? I’m here. I’m staying.”

In response, Ian took a couple of steps into the shadows, and came back with a double armful of my armor, with my paintball rifle slung over one shoulder. “I know you’re staying; that’s why I brought all this up here with me.”

He started helping me get geared up, and I grabbed a couple of pieces and started hurriedly putting them on myself. Standing there on those subway tracks, I knew just how a naked turtle would feel out in the middle of a highway. I tried not to think that shell or not, that turtle was roadkill as soon as the first truck came along—or, in my case, grendel. I’d rather see the headlights of an oncoming train on those abandoned tracks. It’d be less terrifying.

Yasha smiled a wolfy smile at us, then it turned into a predatory grin as he loped down the tunnel and into the darkness. A few minutes later, he appeared in the dim light, having doubled back to patrol in the opposite direction. He’d pause occasionally and raise his muzzle, letting the air currents flow over his nose that was the size of my closed fist. As far as fists went, it wasn’t that big. As far as wolf noses went, it was enormous. He padded back to where we were, and with one smooth leap, landed lightly on the platform. He gave us a grumbling growl which I’d learned meant that he didn’t find anything and he didn’t like or trust it.