We file one by one into a cool, damp warehouse, and I cringe as a sulphuric scent assaults my senses, making my nostrils flare. Drew snickers at me, and I glare in his direction, holding my breath to keep the rancid smell out. I know it’s only going to get worse once we’re in the tunnels.
We walk down a dark hall—passing one wide, bright doorway leading into a cavernous room—that turns sharply and becomes a much smaller room. I suck in a breath when my eyes fall on a wall full of weapons. Daggers and swords of differing lengths, as well as throwing stars, clubs, and chains.
I watch as workers choose their weapons and remove them from the wall. Drew and Nina come back, each of them holding a blade with such familiarity that I know they go to the same one every night. Drew’s has a handle made of intricate silver, while Nina’s is gold, almost red, like a flame. Both suit their handlers, I think faintly. Out loud I say, “Why swords? New Ve isn’t exactly lacking when it comes to modern weaponry.”
“Think about it,” Drew says, bringing out a third sword out from behind his back. He hands it to me with a dramatic bow, and I take it gingerly, afraid I’ll accidentally stab someone. “The vamps don’t trust us with guns. And unless you’ve got some impressive upper body strength, a club will only slow the weepers down. Swords make sense. They’re quick and clean.”
I nod to indicate I’m listening, but my attention wanders as I study the weapon he’s chosen for me. The steel is lighter than I expected. The half-rusted hilt I’ve wrapped in my shaking fist is etched and gilded, the edges revealing it was obviously silver in another lifetime, but I can’t discern whether the shapes are meant to be flowers or birds.
Workers have already started hurrying from the room. There’s a sense of urgency hovering in the air, and Nina is the first of us to break away, setting a brisk pace that even my long legs must put in a little effort to follow. I note how other workers are carrying their swords—tucked beneath the armpit, blade down—and do the same with mine. An instant later, we reach the wide, dusk-lit doorway again, and this time everyone goes through.
“Wait here,” Drew says as we walk to the center of the space, touching my elbow. I just nod. He jogs away, toward a row of dented lockers, where Nina already stands. She finishes the combination on her locker and it swings open.
While Drew starts rummaging through one of them, too, I look around, curious about this place in spite of myself. The warehouse itself is fairly empty, but the space is well-lit with fluorescent lights and skylights overhead. Along the far wall, three enormous doors loom, made of metal and rust. The acrid scent of them drifts through the air. Standing against another wall, there’s a row of lockers.
Movement draws my gaze upward. High above us, there’s a middle-aged human in a box with clear walls. His bald head gleams in the harsh lights. He must turn on a microphone, because feedback crackles for a moment, and then his voice blares into the stillness. My pulse races at the mention of my name, and I turn toward Drew with wide eyes, who’s returned to me with two pieces of clothing draped over one arm. Dangling from his other hand are two pairs of boots. I know without putting them on that they’ll be too big.
“Relax,” he murmurs, holding his arm out to me. Understanding, I take one of the shirts. No, not a shirt, I realize as it unfolds in my grasp. A green jumpsuit, its color like forest leaves during a storm. Oh, god. What are we going to be doing that requires a full body suit?
Drew gives me yet another smile—I’ve already seen it so many times that I can conjure it from memory. But there’s nothing funny about our circumstances. It feels like all the blood has drained from my face and rushed to my heart, where it’s overworking to keep up.
“Everything is going to be fine,” Drew says under his breath, squeezing my elbow. However brief this offering of comfort, I see several workers around us stiffen when his hand makes contact. “Remember what I told you.”
“You mean the part about making sure I don’t get killed?” I manage, unzipping the jumpsuit with cold fingers. All I know is that I don’t want those doors to open—nothing good awaits in the belly of New Ve, a city of monsters, blood, and death.
Following Drew’s example, I step into the jumpsuit and zip it over my clothes. In doing so, I notice the workers closest to us sliding their swords into a holster on the backs of their jumpsuits, pointed vertically, blade downward. Handy. I fumble with my sword as I try to follow suit. How do they do it without a mirror?
Drew hurries to help, his eyes gleaming with barely-suppressed laughter. I’m too nervous at the thought of what’s coming to react.
After my sword is tucked away, he hands me a pair of boots, and I start the process of putting these on, too. Still talking above our heads, the bald man finishes giving out the assignments. A moment later, there’s an ear-splitting buzzing sound. Red lights flash.
The crowd instantly disperses as those three doors begin to rise, hidden gears creaking and groaning. Once again, my heart picks up speed like an animal on the verge of fleeing. Forget dying at the hands of a weeper—I may fall down dead of sheer terror. Drew must see something in my expression, because his eyes dart to the bald man up above before he puts his hand at the small of my back and propels us into the closest tunnel.
I glance behind my shoulder in time to see Nina’s lavender eyes notice the touch. Her mouth tightens, and this time her expression is unmistakably furious. She breaks into a run and joins a gathering of women up ahead. I hear her asking them about someone named Rowan. Everyone’s footsteps echo around the shadowy space. The metal walkway shudders with each footstep and movement. I resist the urge to grab onto the handrails. My gaze flicks to the darkness below, half-expecting a glimpse of movement.
“Why don’t they just close off the tunnels?” I murmur, more to myself than Drew.
He flashes a grin at me anyway. “You really are a princess, aren’t you? Haven’t you heard of public transit? Or flushing a toilet? We need those tunnels open or the street will overflow with people and shit.”
Nina comes back, tugging at the long, thick gloves she’s wearing. She overhears the end of Drew’s response and remarks, “What a lovely image.”
Just as Drew starts to respond to her, someone calls his name, farther down the ramp. Drew hollers back a greeting, making me wince, and he leaves us without warning, his long legs eating up the distance quickly between him and the other group. I watch him go, and a moment later, my sensitive ears pick up his voice, telling an animated story. “Is he just this kind to everyone?” I wonder out loud.
“Pretty much,” Nina answers. She doesn’t look at me. I feel the dislike rolling off her, the distrust, and words fail me. There’s nothing I can say to reassure her, because the truth is, I am a predator. I am a disruption to their lives. Maybe it would be best for everyone if I just promised to stay away from Drew…
He returns a few seconds later, though, interrupting the uneasy silence between Nina and I. As though he’s completely oblivious—or maybe just truly unfazed by everything—Drew fills it with his easy chatter. As he starts talking about a new music video made in one of the other five cities, we arrive at a machine room, of sorts. A mammoth generator hums across the length of the dim space. Pipes shudder and hiss overhead. Along a far dirt wall, there are multiple service elevators that look seconds away from falling apart.