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Dante did as I asked.
That was not hot. Not at all.
He moved quickly but carefully through the muck at our feet. My coughing and our footsteps were the only sounds in the sewer, though the unearthly quiet still lingered, as if the Black Annis wasn’t truly gone.
My hold remained tight on my knife, glancing backward into the smoky, dark expanse of tunnel behind us. I half expected to see a Black Annis scuttling across the ceiling, mouth stretched in a blood-curdling wail.
But there was nothing.
“Bingo,” Dante uttered in front of me.
I looked ahead to where he’d stopped—in front of a rusted but usable ladder. Leading upward.
“I’ll test it first.” I shouldered past him. The last thing we needed was a rung to break while he was climbing with the kid, causing the kid to fall and break his neck.
Again, Dante didn’t challenge me as I sheathed my knife and grabbed the rusty rail of the ladder, pulling it to test it before I started climbing. The metal didn’t so much as groan, but I still waited until I was at the top, using my fingertips and all my strength to press upward on the cover.
At first, it didn’t give at all, and my charred lungs threatened to fail, but I kept going, the sound of metal grinding fucking music to my ears as I pushed harder. A rush of relief washed over me as damp air rushed in, the blanket of stars overhead a welcome sight.
“Come up,” I called down to Dante in a hoarse voice.
I was sprawled out on the ground, gasping for air as the soft creaking of his ascent told me they were making it up okay.
Reaching forward when he made it to the top, I fought past the searing discomfort in my body to haul the kid up from Dante’s arms.
He wasn’t light. I was impressed that Dante had ascended the ladder without dropping him.
Then again, Dante hadn’t exerted himself doing any fighting that night. The least he could do was the heavy lifting.
With as much gentleness as I could muster, I laid Jackson down in the grass. I pressed my sore hand to his chest, wincing but keeping it still. He was breathing. I put my fingers to his neck.
“Pulse is weak but not life-threatening,” I murmured as I felt rather than heard Dante beside me.
His spicy scent mingled with the acrid smoke that would cling to my clothing for weeks.
I squinted at the light blasting through the darkness, illuminating Jackson’s features. Dante was also pointing his phone at his body so I could get a better look.
His face was caked with dirt and grime, a swelling at his eye, a bleeding lip. Some deep scratches on his neck, most likely from the Annis’s claws. She didn’t hit an artery.
“Her claws—”
“Not poison,” Dante answered before I could finish my thought. “Filthy, though. He’ll need to be on a strong dose of antibiotics. But luckily something modern medicine can treat.”
I nodded. His clothes were torn, reeking of smoke and urine. More bruises and scrapes decorated his body, but again, nothing life-threatening.
“She likely fed on him.” Dante frowned down at the boy’s unconscious face. He did not look peaceful, his features scrunched, contorted in terror. His hands were fisted at his sides.
“Not enough to kill him.” He pushed a strand of hair from Jackson’s face with exquisite gentleness. “But he’ll probably be sleeping a while. Needs a lot of rest.”
“And a lot of therapy,” I added, considering what this kid had seen, the nightmares he’d likely have for the rest of his life. His life would be shorter, as the Black Annis had fed on his very life force. But he’d live. For a while. Till adulthood. Maybe not to experience arthritis or meet any grandchildren he might have.
“But he’s alive,” I got to my feet, dusting off my jeans. When pain speared through my palm, I sank my teeth into my lip to avoid letting out a sound of pain. I took a deep breath. “We need to get him to a hospital. Hopefully anonymously. Though I’m sure you’d love the credit.”
Dante didn’t reply, just scooped up Jackson then fell into step beside me.
We walked in the direction of my car in silence. Well, for as long as Dante could handle silence.
“Your hands.”
