Archangel's Shadows(158)

            Grabbing the falling half of the window, he lowered it quietly to the floor, then slid in, his kukris in hand the instant his feet touched the carpet. One ear open for Ash, he scanned the room to find it comparatively bare, though there were a few feminine accoutrements lying about.

            Including a pretty yellow scarf with purple butterflies half hanging out of a drawer.

            His mind flashed to the photo of Felicity with her friends, all with cocktails in hand . . . and Felicity with that scarf around her neck.

            This had to be where she, Lilli, and the other victims had lived before Giorgio put them in the crates. The place where they’d tried to become “good enough” to move into Giorgio’s Vampire Quarter house. Clamping down his rage, and taking a quick look around to make sure he wasn’t missing anything, he stepped out into the corridor.

            To the left was what proved to be a bathroom when he pushed the door open. It, too, was empty. As was the room next to it. That room had a tiny decorative balcony on the side not visible from the street, but it was so small he could see no one was on it from a glance through the sliding doors. That left the right-hand side of the floor.

            It had two doors, and the first one was locked. Sliding away one of his blades, he took a small metal wire from his pocket, another little trick he’d learned from his larcenous friend. Ten seconds later, there was a small click that said he was in. The sound was tiny, but Janvier knew some older vamps had hearing that was preternaturally acute. Putting away the wire, he waited, listening at the door.

            Sounds from within, but they were odd, muffled.

            He very carefully nudged the door open while keeping his body out of the way. When there was no other sound, he pushed it fully open and slammed his back against the corridor wall again.

            More muffled sounds, louder now.

            He glanced in, saw a woman bound hand and foot, something stuffed in her mouth and her curly black hair a tangle against the thick gray carpet. Mascara ran down the clammy white skin of her face, terror in her eyes. Lifting a finger to his lips, he checked the rest of the room and found no evidence of another individual. He looked out into the corridor to ensure it remained clear, then went down beside her.

            “I’m going to untie you,” he said quietly. “But if you start crying or making any other kind of noise, I might not be able to get you out.” There was no knowing if Giorgio had guards in this place and Cornelius was a powerful angel, even without Lijuan feeding him energy. “Nod if you understand.”

            A frantic nod.

            Janvier took out the gag first. It turned out to be a balled-up sock.

            “My friend, Marta,” she whispered through her dry mouth and cracked lips. “The brunette who brought us here took her.”

            “We’ll find her.” Cutting the ropes, he led her to the room with the sliding doors. They proved to be locked by a keyed dead bolt. It took him precious seconds to pick the lock, but when he slid the doors open, he saw his hunch had been right: rusted but with no indications of dangerous wear, there was a large pipe on the outer wall that went all the way to the ground.

            It had enough joins to provide a grip.

            Shrugging off his leather jacket, he gave it to the woman who’d confirmed her name was Bridget. Her skintight jeans and little boots would protect her legs from the cold, but she wore only a bustier on her top half. “I’m going to help you over the railing to that pipe.” Thinking of her hands on the icy metal, he remembered he had Ash’s gloves in his jacket pockets, told her to slip them on. “Climb down as silently as you can.”

            “What about Marta?” she asked, having wiped the backs of her hands across her face. It had further smeared her makeup, but her eyes held more anger than fear.