Emery had a similar pack, his being newer, a designer brand, and bright red. He’d made a case for using a satchel instead and lost the argument, and then lost another argument when he suggested wearing cargo pants and using the pockets for all the spells. He did not enjoy the fashion that had been pushed on him, and his sour expression, even here, proved it. In addition to the fanny packs, they had on leather pants and sweaters, all in dark colors, much like Darius.
“If you need to use those spells, do so,” Darius went on, handing Emery a torch. They all had backpacks, but Emery’s and Penny’s were full of supplies humans needed, like food and water. Darius held all the essentials for the trip. Anything they couldn’t bring, they planned on stealing. “Refraining is best.”
Penny nodded and did everything in her power not to back away from that black maw in front of them.
“Set?” Darius’s stare was still beating into Penny.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, gripping her torch much too tightly.
“Remember, you will need to follow my lead,” Darius said. “You will need to do as I say. Only strike out when I say so. Only strike out at whom I say to. It will take all of my effort to navigate this place. You need to take my commands and follow my lead.”
“Yes, yes, I know. I heard you the first eight hundred times,” she grumbled, losing the battle of wills with herself and taking a step back.
“Hunch for all you are worth, stay behind me and in front of Emery,” he continued. “Keep your hands down. Do not make magical clouds. Do not get startled and accidentally strike out. Use your magical concealment spell for sight, smell, and sound. Do not release it unless I say otherwise.”
“I said I know.” She scowled at him.
His stare pummeled her for another beat before he nodded and turned around, facing that horrible maw. She swore she saw him take a deep breath before starting forward. Any place that made Darius nervous was nowhere she wanted to go. But heading to a noose wasn’t appealing either, and she would’ve been pushed onto the platform if not for Reagan.
She reached back and clutched Emery’s hand as she stepped into the blackness, the two of them silently weaving a concealment spell that she then pulled around them. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. An unnatural cold slithered over her skin and seeped into her blood, the feeling closer to fear than magic. Or was this magically induced fear? She couldn’t be sure.
Blinking her eyes open did no good. The world beyond was pitch black. She bumped into Darius’s muscled back and jostled against Emery’s front.
Something splattered against her forehead.
“Flipping flapjacks!” She released a plume of magic she hadn’t realized was ready to go. Or maybe it hadn’t been. It zipped into the sky and bloomed in the darkness, a flower of blues and pinks and purples, light in a dark place. It showered down like a firework, raining sparkling light.
She felt Darius turn, his breath dusting down on her face. She could feel his anger thrumming between them.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “Something hit my head.”
“Drops of water,” he replied, turning. “The ceiling drips. Do not do that again.”
“Once was probably plenty to get noticed,” Emery murmured.
Yeah, it probably was, especially since it was still streaking the ink-black sky.
“Light your torches.” The heat from Darius’s back dissipated, cold taking its place. He’d stepped forward. “These are stairs. Take caution.”
“Right, right. Stairs to go down,” she said, conjuring up some fire to cover the tip of her torch.
Emery stepped beside her as the flame slowly grew, illuminating the tiny bubble around them. Together they descended, Darius a few steps ahead and not needing the spell—he’d been down here before. Emery flinched.
“What?” she whispered.
“One of those drops. It’s disconcerting.”
“I have a feeling this whole place is going to be disconcerting.”
“You’re probably right.”
She stumbled at the bottom, expecting a step and not seeing one, having been looking ahead rather than down. As if someone had flicked a switch, low light flooded the area. The light skimmed the rough-hewn ground. Large walls made of sharp rock, twelve feet high or so, rose in sections, creating dry canals. Creatures crowded into the little pockets of darkness, their movement suggesting they were communicating in some way. This had to be the market.
Darius veered right, aiming for a large opening between one set of the walls. They passed three of the seller stalls, not unlike the ones that had populated the medieval village she’d worked at in Seattle. Only two were active, one with a crowd of hairy creatures and the other with a lone troll, watching them with a grumpy expression.
Darius slowed at the fourth stall, stepping to the side and out of oncoming traffic, which comprised of a few demon-looking creatures. They’d aimed to come at the low tide, as Darius called it, when the market was the slowest. Apparently he’d cataloged such things.