The train door closed. Harzl, Cortney, and Gwyn turned to look as Spencer banged on it with his good hand. “Let me on, you stupid train!”
“He is very rude,” the Chicago Line projected into Harzl’s and Gwyn’s heads.
“Very rude indeed,” Gwyn agreed.
“I will hold him here until you send back help. I need to find the shifter and fetch back... that is... I need to get Sn—thechild...” Harzl stammered. He’d nearly said Snori’s name, and he wasn’t sure if the inspector had seen him. For all she knew, two shifters had run down the tracks.
Gwyn held up her hand. “Do not worry, you have your obligations. I see one of them has just run away,” she said, her gaze out the window.
Harzl looked out; the gargoyle boy was gone.
The wizard cursed, cradled his bad arm, and headed off toward the trolley tunnel.
Cortney started for the door behind Harzl. “We have to save him. The vampires will tear him apart for helping Nancy escape.”
“Your sister needs a transfusion,” Gwyn said. “I can do a magickal one on the way to the next station.”
Cortney looked down at her sister, and then to Gwyn, and finally to Harzl. “Please save him. We owe him everything.”
Harzl dipped his head. “Of course,” he said, and left the train in pursuit. The sooner he saved the child, the sooner he could save Snori.
The wizard picked his wand up from the ground to see that it was broken in half. Harzl grabbed him by the good arm and pushed him into the men’s room.
“Take your hands off me!” he protested as Harzl slammed the door shut and locked him inside. Then he went into the women’s room and locked the closet on that side, effectively jailing the wizard until help arrived.
“Northern Line will be here in twenty minutes,” the Chicago Line said as it slowly left the station.
“Great, that gives me fifty minutes to get the child, find my barghest, and disappear,” Harzl said to himself. It had been a great job while it lasted, but he knew he would need to get both beingsto the outer lands for safety. He didn’t trust the paranormal or human governments to do the right thing.
Harzl grabbed three things from behind the counter: his hoodie, his knapsack, and a security flashlight. If there had been any of the chocolate left outside the vending machines he would have taken one for the road. He would miss this job.
The trolley tunnel was barely lit at the entrance, and would get darker as they went. The kid would be terrified somewhere between the end of the platform and the beginning of the older part. That was where a crossway turnaround would force him to make a choice: wander into the dark unknown, or come back.
Harzl heard crying from nearby; he shined his light along the ground but found nothing, then searched above. There he was, sitting on top of a brick ledge behind some of the power grid; it was a bad place to be.
“Alex, stay put. I’ll come to you and help you down.”
“No! I’m not going back!”
“Alex...”
“My name isn’t Alex, it’s Alazavier Marcelle duFrancdeparis, they just call me Alex because they don’t want to learn my name. They don’t want me to have a name.”
“Hello, Alazavier Marcelle duFrancdeparis, I am Harzl Hellirverja of the Cavern Clan, and I will help you.”
“You... said my name correctly?”
“Names are important.”
“Do you know what I am?”
“I know you are a gargoyle, and from your name you are from the Paris clan.”
“My mother was from the Paris clan. I am from nowhere.”
“How old are you, Alazavier?”
“I’m seven in gargoyle years.”
