A little stupefied, Ian stared at him, thinking it was a fortunate thing Marley was not still naked in bed, else the shaman would’ve seen exactly what Ian could do with that knife.
“Are you always so cheerful of a morning?”
“It’s after one, buddy boy.”
Fifteen hours. They’d logged fifteen hours of actual sleep.
The bathroom door opened, and Ian leapt to block the view. But Marley was already dressed, hair slicked back like a seal. She smiled and rose on her toes to brush her lips over Ian’s. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He doubly cursed Corin’s presence as he stepped back. “We’ve been summoned.”
Marley turned to the shaman, arching a brow at the shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “See something amusing?”
Corin made no effort to sober his expression as he rose, offering the other travel mug. “Oh, hell yeah. I’m going to enjoy watching Harm choke on all those dad instincts he didn’t get to exercise through your teen years.”
Marley sent him a bland stare.
Unrepentant, Corin gestured to the door. “If Ian will finish dressing, we can let the entertainment begin.”
As he led them through the labyrinthine corridors, Corin explained that this portion of the compound had originally been a mine during the Gold Rush days. The tunnels had obviously been reinforced and modernized to some extent. Electrical conduits ran the length and fluorescent bulbs lit the way, though Ian noted sconces with unlit torches were in place for backup. He automatically mapped their progress, though without having a proper starting point, it was difficult to keep in his head.
“Not that I’m not impressed with what you’ve managed to do down here,” said Marley, “but doesn’t it get kind of…repressive, living underground?”
“Oh we don’t live down here. This is mostly secondary quarters. We don’t tend to use them unless we’re under some kind of threat. Most everybody lives up top, in town.”
“In town?” asked Ian.
Corin pressed a code into a security panel and a metal door slid back to reveal some kind of root cellar. The air smelled of dry wood and dirt. The door shut behind them and Ian saw it was camouflaged on this side. Spellcraft made it blend into the dirt wall.
“Rabbit hole,” Corin said. “C’mon. I’ll show you the rest of the compound.”
He led them up rough wooden stairs and into a room lined with bookshelves. A couple of chairs were grouped at the front of the room beside the window. The only other furniture was a wooden desk, currently unoccupied, and a chest with small wooden drawers.
“You actually have a library?” asked Marley.
“Sure. Whenever anybody goes Outside, we have a policy of picking up a book or three and bringing them back. It’s an eclectic collection, heavy on the mystery and romance. Diego’s been campaigning for an expansion into sci-fi. And I’ve been working on the suspense.” Corin opened the door and gestured them out into the sun.
They stepped outside and got their first glimpse of the compound. A long, dirt street stretched before them, flanked on either side by wooden storefronts straight out of an old West movie set. Mountains rose behind the buildings, their wooded slopes curving like hands to cup the town. Ian could just make out a handful of roofs peeking out from the trees. It was charming and impossible and wholly unexpected given the underground bunker they’d emerged from.
“There should be outdoor speakers mounted playing The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly on loop,” said Marley. “Where are we?”
“This is Clementine. It’s a ghost town, or was before we got ahold of it. One of the places time forgot, you could say—except by the buffest of historians. And most of them think it’s pure legend. See, the miners who dug the start of those tunnels we use? They blasted their way into a drakyn’s lair. He was what you might call put out about it and decimated a large chunk of the population.”
“A drakyn?” asked Marley.
“They’re an ancient race of dragon shifters,” Ian explained.
Her eyes went wide, and wonder curled off her in pale lemon plumes. “Dragons?”
Corin jerked a thumb at her. “They’re so cute when they’re new. Anyway, we’re more than fifty miles from the nearest legitimate road. Rough trails and a dried up riverbed are the only other means in or out for those without teleportation or shadow walking abilities, and the cloaking spell takes care of any intrepid hikers who happen to stray too close, which has only happened twice since we set up shop. It’s a good place. A little rough, but it means a place to stay, to settle, for those who would find it too hard to elude the Council in civilization or too hard to hide from human eyes. We are a haven.”
A haven. This was so much more than the refugee camp Ian had expected. All around them were signs of a relatively simple life, well-lived. The kind of uncomplicated existence he hadn’t seen since before he was Made. God, that was appealing. To stop running and settle in this anachronistic and beautiful little spot, away from the rest of the world. He’d never have given it a thought before Ma
rley, but now…
She curled her hand around his, squeezed.
The wooden boardwalk echoed under their feet as they began to walk. Signs were painted, declaring Saloon. Hotel. Mercantile. There was even a stable at the far end of the street with horses standing in the corral, tails swishing in boredom as they munched their hay. Seeing them, Marley clapped her hands in delight, looking younger than Ian had ever seen her. They passed a building Ian recognized as a church. The doors were thrown wide, and from inside, hammers pounded, a saw wailed. His nose twitched at the scent of evergreens and freshly cut wood.