The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [214]
It was draining to speak runes. There was so little magic left in this world; he had to draw the energy from himself. Though he longed to, he did not dare open the iron box and touch the Great Stones for power. The moment he did, the wraithlings would know he was here, and so would Duratek. He kept muttering the runes through clenched teeth as he continued on. He had to get down to the complex of rooms beneath the building.
Just ahead, a security guard opened a door with a magnetic card and passed through. Travis hurried after, slipping through the door before it closed and locked. No eyes saw him, no ears heard him. The corridor ended at a pair of elevator doors. The guard swiped his card again; the doors opened.
“Hey there!” a voice called out.
Travis shrank back against the wall, trying to press himself into an alcove. Another guard, a portly man in need of a shave, waddled down the corridor like a duck whose tail feathers had caught fire. “Hold on, Jackson. It looks like we still need you up here.”
The guard at the elevator turned around. His eyes were flat, lifeless. “What is it?”
The heavyset guard halted, breathing hard. “We're having some problems with overeager fans. They keep trying to get backstage to see Mr. Carson. We need an extra hand.”
Jackson glanced at the elevator with his stony eyes. For a moment he stood without moving, like a machine waiting to be operated. Then he turned and started back down the corridor. Travis only had a moment. He dashed into the elevator. The doors whooshed shut behind him.
He turned around. There were no buttons on the elevator's control panel, no way to open the doors. The elevator whirred into motion. He felt light; it was going down.
The elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. Beyond was a white room illuminated by fluorescent lights. A row of hard plastic chairs stood against one wall, opposite a desk with a computer terminal. A guard stood beside the entrance to a corridor; a gun was holstered at her side. Her eyes were as hard, as dead as those of the man Jackson.
Those eyes flicked toward the elevator. The guard squinted, taking a step forward. Travis muttered the runes again and again under his breath. He was shaking; he didn't know how long he could keep this up.
“Is someone there?” the guard called out.
The computer on the desk beeped. She moved a few steps back and glanced at the screen. Travis didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, past the desk, into the corridor.
He was silent and virtually invisible, but his passage must have stirred the air, for the guard turned around, and her hand moved to the gun. However, Travis kept racing down the hallway, and he doubted she would be able to leave her post to follow him. At least, that was what he told himself.
The corridor branched. Left or right? He tried to picture the plans of the cathedral in his mind, but all he saw now were a jumble of lines, like runes he couldn't read. Footsteps echoed down the right-hand corridor; he went left.
Doors lined the hall to either side, all of them unmarked save for numbers that meant nothing to him. He tried one of the doors. It was not locked.
Beyond was a windowless office. Books lined the shelves and papers cluttered a desk. Travis moved on.
He tried several more doors. All revealed offices or labs empty like the first. It seemed this was the place some of Duratek's researchers did their work. But where were they?
Maybe they don't need the scientists anymore. Maybe their work on the gate is done, and they've all been reassigned to other projects.
Or maybe another use had been found for them.
The corridor turned and widened. Travis passed another guard station, but it was abandoned. Why would they leave this place unguarded? It didn't make sense.
Silver light oozed into the corridor, and a coldness crept over him. Maybe it made sense after all that the area was abandoned. No living person would freely choose to be near the wraithlings, and though they served