tentacles that were pulsating and tightening around the boys’ waists. Another, larger appendage slapped against the side of the car with a wet
thwap
. It coiled around the frame of a nearby door before striking, snakelike, at a frail-looking gentleman with a bag on his lap. At the slightest touch, the man went soft in his seat, slipping away from danger and onto the floorboard, loose enough that he could have been deboned. The tentacle reared back, ready to attack again.
Screams rolled through the cabin like a wave.
At that moment, the railcar jerked forward and the tentacle was torn free, and it disappeared into the charcoal night. The screaming calmed into hushed discussion, though thepassengers were noticeably compressed into the center of the bench seats and as far from the glassless window frames as possible.
Velvet leaned over the back of her seat and helped the older soul, now conscious, into his proper place.
“Are you all right?” she asked, patting his shoulder.
He shook his head, glancing back and forth, confused, and then his eyes went wide with memory. “Oh, God.”
“What?”
“It showed me …” His voice trailed away and his face, crinkled with ash, dropped into his palms. “It showed me horrible things.”
She patted his shoulder again. She knew she should say something. Something comforting—but the words wouldn’t come. Velvet turned and faced forward as they traveled the hundred or so remaining yards to a track interchange.
A pair of gruff-looking souls in coveralls chained the funicular cars to a massive wedge and then backed away as the car shook violently and began its long trudge farther up the steepening hill. The wedge acted like a stair and kept the train as level as could be expected during a shadowquake. Normally it ran quite smoothly, but now it rocked and the train rattled and squeaked as the entire wedge began to roll underneath them.
Velvet scanned the faces in their car, half expecting their fear to be dissuaded simply by the presence of the Salvage team, but the tendrils of mist were dark, and the shadows still crept in through the arched openings in the doors, reminders of the black tentacles and their dark work. It dawned onher then, it wasn’t enough that her team would eventually do something about the shadowquake. The fact was, they weren’t doing anything about it currently.
She decided to remedy that and climbed atop the wooden seat, bracing her hands against the ceiling for support.
“Nothing to worry about!” she announced, arms outstretched in what she hoped was a show of strength. She’d seen Madonna do it in some movie about South America or something, also Nixon, though throwing up peace signs didn’t seem to fit the moment. “Your Salvage team is here to protect your afterlife.”
She looked toward Luisa for approval and was met with a grimace and a finger slice across the little girl’s neck, the international symbol for shutting the hell up.
There were some nods among the passengers, and some murmurs of dissent, or encouragement; it was hard to tell amid the grinding of the gears and the moaning of the ropes that pulled the railcar up the steep and treacherous incline. Her money was on the prior, though.
“Smooth,” Luisa pointed out when Velvet sat down. “Really empowering.”
“You think they bought it?” Velvet whispered.
“Absolutely.”
She brightened but noted a smirk at work on Luisa’s lips; they were even quivering. “Really?”
“Not a chance.”
Velvet sank back into the seat and groaned.
Outside, the blurry shadows of rocks and precipices fell away to a solid wall of obsidian as the tram entered the shaftinto the lower depths of the station. The sounds of souls screaming in the distance fell away, and the passengers grew eerily quiet.
Velvet considered the cause of all this, steeling herself for the job at hand, whatever that might be.
Witches, mediums, fortune-tellers.
The blackest kind of magic.
Sure, most of
thwap
. It coiled around the frame of a nearby door before striking, snakelike, at a frail-looking gentleman with a bag on his lap. At the slightest touch, the man went soft in his seat, slipping away from danger and onto the floorboard, loose enough that he could have been deboned. The tentacle reared back, ready to attack again.
Screams rolled through the cabin like a wave.
At that moment, the railcar jerked forward and the tentacle was torn free, and it disappeared into the charcoal night. The screaming calmed into hushed discussion, though thepassengers were noticeably compressed into the center of the bench seats and as far from the glassless window frames as possible.
Velvet leaned over the back of her seat and helped the older soul, now conscious, into his proper place.
“Are you all right?” she asked, patting his shoulder.
He shook his head, glancing back and forth, confused, and then his eyes went wide with memory. “Oh, God.”
“What?”
“It showed me …” His voice trailed away and his face, crinkled with ash, dropped into his palms. “It showed me horrible things.”
She patted his shoulder again. She knew she should say something. Something comforting—but the words wouldn’t come. Velvet turned and faced forward as they traveled the hundred or so remaining yards to a track interchange.
A pair of gruff-looking souls in coveralls chained the funicular cars to a massive wedge and then backed away as the car shook violently and began its long trudge farther up the steepening hill. The wedge acted like a stair and kept the train as level as could be expected during a shadowquake. Normally it ran quite smoothly, but now it rocked and the train rattled and squeaked as the entire wedge began to roll underneath them.
Velvet scanned the faces in their car, half expecting their fear to be dissuaded simply by the presence of the Salvage team, but the tendrils of mist were dark, and the shadows still crept in through the arched openings in the doors, reminders of the black tentacles and their dark work. It dawned onher then, it wasn’t enough that her team would eventually do something about the shadowquake. The fact was, they weren’t doing anything about it currently.
She decided to remedy that and climbed atop the wooden seat, bracing her hands against the ceiling for support.
“Nothing to worry about!” she announced, arms outstretched in what she hoped was a show of strength. She’d seen Madonna do it in some movie about South America or something, also Nixon, though throwing up peace signs didn’t seem to fit the moment. “Your Salvage team is here to protect your afterlife.”
She looked toward Luisa for approval and was met with a grimace and a finger slice across the little girl’s neck, the international symbol for shutting the hell up.
There were some nods among the passengers, and some murmurs of dissent, or encouragement; it was hard to tell amid the grinding of the gears and the moaning of the ropes that pulled the railcar up the steep and treacherous incline. Her money was on the prior, though.
“Smooth,” Luisa pointed out when Velvet sat down. “Really empowering.”
“You think they bought it?” Velvet whispered.
“Absolutely.”
She brightened but noted a smirk at work on Luisa’s lips; they were even quivering. “Really?”
“Not a chance.”
Velvet sank back into the seat and groaned.
Outside, the blurry shadows of rocks and precipices fell away to a solid wall of obsidian as the tram entered the shaftinto the lower depths of the station. The sounds of souls screaming in the distance fell away, and the passengers grew eerily quiet.
Velvet considered the cause of all this, steeling herself for the job at hand, whatever that might be.
Witches, mediums, fortune-tellers.
The blackest kind of magic.
Sure, most of
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