Burnt Offerings - Laurell K. Hamilton [147]
Wren’s voice startled me. “You can take the lead now, Anita.”
I looked down the steps and found Wren several steps below, almost halfway. The darkness down below spilled around his feet like a pool. He was far enough down that a really ambitious vamp might have grabbed a leg and pulled him down. I hadn’t been concentrating. My fault.
“Come back up, Wren,” I said.
He did, and he was oblivious to the possible danger. Damn. “The stairs are concrete, which makes it safer. You should be okay.”
“Do I still have to stomp every step?”
“It’d be safer,” he said.
“If I feel it going, I yell?”
“Yes,” he said. He brushed past me.
I stared down into the Stygian depths. “I need a hand for the railing in this suit. A hand for the gun. I’m out of hands for a flashlight,” I said.
“I can try and shine a light in front of you, but it won’t be where you need it.”
“Don’t worry about it, unless I ask.” It took me over a minute, maybe two, to fumble the Browning out of its pocket. The gun was definitely going in one hand. I had to use two hands to click off the safety in the bulky gloves. I slid my hand inside the trigger guard on the trigger. I’d never have carried a gun like this normally. But my gloved finger didn’t want to fit inside the trigger guard. I was ready to go now. If I put safety first, I’d never get a shot off in time. I’d practiced with winter gloves on, but I’d never dreamed of having to shoot vamps in a Haz-Mat suit. Hell, I didn’t know what a Haz-Mat suit was until today.
“What’s the holdup?” Fulton’s voice. I’d forgotten he was monitoring everything we said. Like being spied on.
“These damn gloves aren’t exactly made for shooting.”
“What’s that mean?” he asked.
“It means, I’m ready to go down now,” I said. I kept the Browning pointed up and a little forward. If I fell in the suit and accidently fired a shot, I was going to try very hard not to shoot anyone behind me. I wondered if Detective Tammy had her gun out. I wondered how good a shot she was. How was she in an emergency? I said a short prayer that we wouldn’t be finding out, got a death grip on the banister, and stomped the first step. It didn’t fall down. I stared ahead into the thick blackness at the middle of the stairs. The sunlight cut across the darkness like a knife.
“Here we go, boys and girls,” I said. And down we went.
46
WATER LAPPED AT the last few steps. The basement had turned into a lake. Wren’s flashlight passed over the dark water like a tiny searchlight. The water was a solid blackness, holding all its secrets close and quiet. A coffin floated about ten feet from the stairs, bobbing gently in the dark, dark water.
Even over the wheezing and whoosh of my own breathing, I could hear the water lapping. There was the sound of wood rubbing together like boats tied up at a dock. I pointed, and Wren’s light followed my hand. Two coffins were bumping against one another near the far wall.
“Three coffins visible, but there should be four more. One for the guardian, one for the vamp on the stairs, and two more.”
I took that last step into the water. Even through the suit I could feel the liquid like a distant coolness, a liquid weight lapping at my ankles. The feel of the water was enough to speed my breathing, send my heart pounding in my throat.
“You’re going to hyperventilate,” Wren said. “Slow your breathing.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to make it slower. A count of fifteen, then another breath.
“You okay?” he asked.
“What’s going on?” Fulton asked.
“Nothing,” Wren said.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“What’s happening?” Fulton said.
“We’re missing four coffins. Two could have sunk, but we still have two missing. Just wondering where they are.” I said.
“Be careful down there,” he said.
“Like a virgin on her wedding night,” I whispered.
Someone laughed. Always good to be amusing.
I tried stomping on the next step, knee-deep in water, and my feet went out from under me. I was suddenly