“Now what?” asked Sarah, once the taxi was pulling away and we were alone in the inevitable crowd. She clutched her laptop to her chest like a talisman, like it could somehow protect her from what was going on around us.

“We go down,” I said. I took her suitcase, hoisting it easily, and motioned for her to follow me down the steps into the station.

I didn’t realize before coming to New York that the city was actually served by two different subways. There’s the municipal subway, which covers the island of Manhattan and shows up in a lot of movies and TV shows. Then there’s the PATH, the Port Authority Trans-Hudson train system, which connects Manhattan to the nearby state of New Jersey. Lots of people commute to work from Jersey City and Newark, allowing them to enjoy the benefits of being right by the Big Apple, without also enjoying the high cost of living.

Sarah and I paid our single-trip fares to get into the PATH system. Then we walked to the end of the platform, where I checked my phone to be sure that I had the right schedule in mind, took her hand, and pulled her down into the darkness.

Things I do not recommend trying at home: navigating an active subway system in the dark, knowing that if you’re wrong about your timing, you’re going to find out what it feels like to be on the losing side of a squirrel-meets-semi road kill scenario.

Things I do recommend trying when there’s a chance that you’ve been followed by members of a pseudo-religious order that would really enjoy the opportunity to wipe you from the face of the planet: risking that road kill scenario. I knew the way along the tracks, but the Covenant didn’t, and we’d have ample opportunities to escape if they did decide to pursue us into the dark. Besides, only a crazy person would walk between stops when there was a nice convenient train. If the Covenant was following us, they’d hopefully assume that we’d taken some secret shortcut down into the sewers and waste time looking for us there. In its own way, this was the smartest stupid thing we could possibly have done.

Sarah and I stuck close to the wall, walking as quickly as we dared. I didn’t pull out my flashlight, much as I wanted to. That much light would be a beacon for anyone who happened to be looking for us.

“Sarah?” I murmured. She jumped a little. I squeezed her hand. “Are we alone down here? As far as you know?”

Sarah took a deep breath. I glanced back, and saw that her eyes were starting to glow faintly. That was a good sign. As long as she had something to focus on, she wouldn’t dwell on the fact that we were potentially being followed by people who’d been equipped to block telepathy like hers. Margaret had lost her charm, and was hence “visible” to Sarah’s specific way of looking. The others weren’t.

Two hidebehinds watching us from behind the service door; homeless man asleep in an alcove; family of bugbears passing through, Sarah reported finally. And rats. Lots of rats.

“Which means none of Bill’s servitors have been through here recently. That’s good.” Servitors were the lizard-man servants of William the dragon. They used to be humans, before they were kidnapped and mutated by a snake cult. These days, they mostly skulked around in tunnels, eating rats and trying not to be seen. Nothing gets complicated like a cryptid ecosystem.

It is?

Sarah sounded anxious enough that I doubted she even realized she wasn’t speaking aloud. I squeezed her hand. “It is. There’s nothing down here that can’t defend itself.” I was including us in that statement. I had my weapons, I had Margaret’s weapons, and I knew my environment. As long as we could avoid being flattened by a train, we were almost in the clear.

The tracks ahead of us were becoming easier to see; we were almost to Christopher Street. I started walking faster, pulling Sarah with me. The light from the platform was like a beacon guiding us home. We were almost there when the tracks began vibrating under my feet.

“Run!” I shouted.

We ran. When we reached the platform, I boosted Sarah up, ignoring the startled looks from the people waiting for their train home. I threw her suitcase after her. Then I grabbed the edge of the platform and vaulted myself clear, my feet moving out of the danger zone a mere second before the train came rushing into the station. My heart pounding in my ears, I bent forward and braced my hands against my knees, panting.

“Lady? You okay?”

“Fine.” I lifted my head, forcing a grin. My Good Samaritan recoiled. I guess my grin wasn’t all that reassuring. “Sarah, come on. We have to get out of here.”

Wordlessly, Sarah grabbed her bag off the platform and nodded to me. I took her hand again, and we ran for the tunnel connecting the PATH station with the subway. If we could just catch the train, we’d be safe.

We caught the train.

The ride from Christopher Street to the Meatpacking District was short, which was a good thing, since I don’t think either of us could have handled a long trip bundled into a metal box full of strangers. Sarah kept her head bowed and her eyes closed, looking for all the world like a wilted flower. I knew that meant that she was scanning the people around us constantly, looking for signs of danger. She was going to have one hell of a headache by the time we reached the Nest. I couldn’t say that it wasn’t worth it.

When we pulled into our final destination, I tugged her out of her seat and led her, eyes still closed, out of the train. I didn’t leave the station. Instead, I walked the both of us over to the benches against the nearest wall and pushed Sarah into a sitting position, whispering, “Keep looking.” Then I pulled out my phone.

Uncle Mike answered on the third ring. “Where are you?”

“Hey, Mom. I picked up that movie you wanted.” Translation: I may be under surveillance, I am currently at the train station. If I’d been on the street, I would have picked up the dry cleaning; in a bus station, the groceries. It was a simple code, but it worked more than well enough for our purposes.

“Shit. Sarah with you?”

“Yes, that sounds good.”

“She been compromised?”

“I’m pretty sure.”

“Shit.” This time, the profanity was delivered with far more feeling. “What can I do?”

“Did you check the mail today? I’m expecting a package.”

“Sure thing. Hang on the line.” I heard the soft clunk as Mike put the phone down, followed by the equally soft, but far more ominous “snick” of a crossbow bolt being slotted into place.