Infinityglass (Hourglass 3)

I went farther and farther as the strobe lights continued to pulse. The lack of windows made the walls close in and tripped off a rare bout of claustrophobia. By the time I reached the next open space, my chest was tight. Even though I was freezing, sweat trickled down my back. Once again, I listened before turning the corner. Good thing.

Voices echoed against the slick surfaces of the walls and floors. One was Poe’s; I could tell by the lilt of his English accent. The other was male and cocky.

“I won’t tell anyone what you have here,” Poe said. “You can just let me go.”

“Someone already knows what I have or you wouldn’t be here.” A lighter flicked, and a shadow appeared on the wall across from me. “Paul Girard sent you.”

Cigarette smoke wafted toward me, and my body shook with the effort to stay still.

“We’ve discussed joining forces, but couldn’t reach agreeable terms. He leans too far toward greed for my comfort.”

Join forces, my ass. My dad didn’t play well with others.

The man’s shadow grew smaller, his voice louder. He had to be inches away. I reached into the side pocket of my bag. The timing needed to be perfect.

Heels clicked on the concrete floor. “If you came to work for me instead of him, I could make it worth your while.”

“I’m not interested in working for anyone,” Poe said. “I’m telling you—”

“Tell me this,” the man said. “Are you interested in being alive?”

I raised my stun gun and stepped around the corner. “Are you?”

The man’s eyes went wide when I tagged him in the chest. He hit the ground like a full sack of groceries, his limbs akimbo, still twitching. A wet spot spread across the front of his pants.

I looked up at Poe, who exhaled in relief. He had a fat lip and a trickle of blood coming from the corner of his mouth, and his left wrist was handcuffed to a doorknob.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I ported into the worst possible place. The guy was on me in seconds. He’s the only one I saw, but I’m pretty sure he was waiting for backup.”

“I hit the backup in the head with a stool. He shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That’s my girl.” Poe used his bloody right hand to gesture to his left. “I’m going to need a little help. Our friend with the bladder control problem made damn sure I wasn’t going to get close enough to a veil to port out of here.”

I checked the guy for the key to the cuffs, found it, and set Poe free.

“Do I want to know how you know what a handcuff key looks like?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Let’s move.” Poe slipped his knife out of his boot and I followed him into a long, wide room with a chill factor worthy of iceberg storage. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

Poe scanned the room, muttering under his breath. “NT27. NT27. NT27—here.”

The labeled shelf held a clock made of solid glass, with no internal hardware, but wildly spinning hands. An astrological chart beside it displayed lit, moving stars. A flat jewelry box held rings in different sizes. Some of them glowed.

“There.” Poe pointed with the knife. “To the far left.”

A small wooden chest stood open, revealing a pocket watch nestled in black velvet. It was the size of a half-dollar, the metal shiny, but not reflective. I picked it up. It was warm rather than cold. The gears on the back were exposed, but that was the only remarkable feature.

“I am not impressed. At all.”

“You don’t have to be.” Poe tilted his head toward the open door. “Let’s go.”

“What about the other stuff?” I pointed to the rings and moving star chart. “We can’t leave it here.”

“What you’re holding was handmade by Nikola Tesla. Thanks to his skills, it’s more than a pocket watch—”