They finally get a lead and follow it to the end. Very interesting story that includes some cool history about Seattle!!
Description from Richardson's site: Pioneer Square’s homeless are turning up dead and mutilated, and zombies have been seen roaming the underground–the city buried beneath modern Seattle. When Harper’s friend Quinton believes he may be implicated in the deaths, he persuades her to investigate. But the killer is no mere murderer–it is a creature of ancient legend. And Harper must deal with both the living and the dead to stop the monster and its master…unless they stop her first.
Quinton put his backpack on the floor and shot me a crippled grin. Like Will, I’d met Quinton when my world changed. Since he’d discreetly and quietly installed the office alarm, he’d become my regular go-to guy for anything electronic, especially if it was odd or hush-hush. A little secretive, quirky, distinctly geeky, he fit well with my own taciturn nature and we’d been instant friends–and unlike with Will, I didn’t have to hide the creepy stuff from him. Now he stood just inside the doorway and looked as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome.
“Oh. Hi,” I said, letting my curiosity draw a little silence between us.
“Hi,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. His usual ease had been replaced with an unhappy nervousness and a swirling mist of smoky green, mottled like some kind of sick mold, wrapped around him in the Grey, clinging to his long coat. “Umm… Harper. I–there’s a–err…. Can you come look at something?”
“Now?” I asked, glancing my watch. It was 1:12. Less than an hour until lunch with Will.
“Well, yeah. Now would be good. This is kind of important.”
I found myself standing up and reaching for my own coat without giving it any thought. I owed Quinton, I liked him, and I’d only seen him nervous and jumpy once–not even vampires caused him to lose his cool–so whatever was bugging him had to be nasty. “What’s the problem?”
“I really want you to see it first–before anyone else gets to it. I don’t want to give you false information because I don’t know what’s going on myself.”
“All right. Where are we going?”
“The train tunnel.”
“Oh, goody,” I said, grabbing my bag. “Frozen gravel and garbage. My favorite.” In spite of my cynical tone, I felt a little tickle of pleasure at getting out from under the paperwork on my desk.
“Uh… Are you carrying?”
“Is that going to be a problem?”
He looked relieved and hiked his backpack up on to his shoulders. “No, no. I just want to be sure. Just in case.”
That piqued my caution and curiosity. I followed him out the door and paused to lock it behind us. “In case of what? Is this going to get hot?” “Shouldn’t but… I don’t know what’s going on, so I figure it’s better to be prepared.”
I nodded and we went downstairs and out of the building. Quinton hurried me along but said very little as we wound our way through the historic district and down to King Street Station. Since lunchtime was over and the commuter trains hadn’t yet started the evening runs, the train yard and rails near the station weren’t busy. Quinton led me up to the Sounder train entrance at Fourth Avenue north of the train station.
“Why here?” I asked as we worked our way down the stairs toward the platform. My knee felt stiff but it wasn’t throbbing, and I thanked my foresight in putting on the goofy-looking elastic brace under my jeans.
“It’s closer to the tunnel than going through the station, and the platform personnel won’t see us if we swing around the bottom and stay behind the stairs while we walk. They don’t care that much since there’re no freights at this time of day, but they’re supposed to run you off if you’re down on the grade.”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to come out of that nice warm station if they can avoid it.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, “but we don’t want them to get interested in us.”
“You’re being very mysterious about this,” I commented, ducking around the bottom of the stairs and onto the tracks in his wake. He kept his personal life to himself, but this sort of dodginess was unlike him and it intrigued me even more than what we might be approaching.
We began crunching through the gravel and cinder toward the mouth of the Great Northern Tunnel, our breath coming up in puffs that vanished rapidly in the cold, dry air. It was a distance of about a block, but it felt longer. There were concrete walls on each side that held up the streets and buildings above and made the stretch from the stairs to the tunnel mouth seem close and claustrophobic even with the blue-white winter sky above us. A few crows cawed at us from the street railings, but the area was surprisingly uncluttered with Grey things.
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