But right now, the Caster Tunnels were the closest thing to home that Link and Rid had. The Tunnels had become the one place they were free from the eyes and opinions of Gatlin County Mortals—none of whom were too short on either. The Underground was practically a full-time home to Macon, seeing as the whole town thought he was dead. Just goes to show, you can get used to anything.
“Hurry up, man.” Floyd was impatient. She was waiting with Necro and Sampson just ahead, and as Link and Rid followed them through the dimly lit carved stone cavern, it felt like old times. Flickering torches lit the way with uneven light, and Link could see as far as the straight stretch of tunnel before them reached, all the way to the unknown darkness.
Until a small something came weaving toward them through the shadows, and meowed.
Link looked ahead into the dark. “Lucille, what the hell are you doin’ down here? I thought you were headin’ out to see the Statue a Liberty? Maybe catch a show on Broadway? Too late for Cats.” He grinned, turning to wink at Ridley.
She groaned.
“Anyway. No Mortal sights down here, Lucille. Just a bunch a dumb old rocks and Casters.”
But Lucille didn’t care. She sat in a pool of light, delicately licking her paw. When Link tried to pick her up, she hissed at him.
“Fine. Be that way. If you get mugged, I’m not going to be the one explainin’ it to the Sisters. You’re gonna have to grease that hog yourself.”
“He’s talking to that cat.” Necro raised an eyebrow.
“I know,” Ridley sighed. “Lucille Ball. She’s sort of like the cousin of his best friend.” Link ignored them, cooing at Lucille. It was the friendliest Link had heard Rid get with any of the band, and he didn’t want to break up the moment.
“You’re kidding.” Necro looked from Link to Ridley. “She’s kidding, right?”
Link kept walking, with Lucille following ten feet behind. He knew better than to mess with the Sisters’ cat, even all the way up North. He should’ve known that cat could handle herself wherever she was.
She was tougher than any of them.
Now Link could see a light ahead of them in the Tunnels, where the passageway broadened into a crossroads. The words CASTER UNDERGROUND were laid into the tile mosaic in the walls where the pathways met. On the wall beneath the mosaic hung what looked like a hand-drawn map, held by an elaborately carved frame.
“Siren Hill.” Floyd pointed at a spot on the map. “That’s where we’re headed.” Then she pointed to a far tunnel. “That one.”
Link peered over her shoulder. “That’s how you get there? Not from the Mortal world?”
Floyd shrugged. “There are back doors, side doors, trapdoors. But yeah, more or less. The main entrance is from down here.”
“Just try to keep up,” Necro said, heading into the farthest tunnel. They followed her as she moved through the darkness, until she reached a stone staircase leading to a rusted metal door. By the time the others rejoined her, she was already pushing open the Doorwell—and the echoing stillness of the Underground gave way to something that could only be described as pure chaos.
Mardi Gras, Link thought. Beale Street on a hot night. Ever since he went to that creepy bokor’s shop with Ethan, he’d used the Underground to retrace his steps to the City That Care Forgot on more than one occasion. Doesn’t smell much better here, either.
The moment they stepped into the dim cavern, the noise overwhelmed them. Outside the Doorwell, the crowd was so thick that it was impossible to see past the first ten feet of people, even for a supersized quarter Incubus who was head and shoulders above almost everyone else.
“Can you see the door?” Floyd shouted up at him. She was a lot taller than Necro, but even she couldn’t see a thing.
“I think it’s that way. Hold on.” He ducked through the crowd, the others following in his wake. “There.” Link nodded and grabbed Floyd’s arm with one hand, guiding Rid with the other. Necro held on to Floyd, while Sampson brought up the rear.
Ridley glared at Link until he dropped Floyd’s arm.
“Look.” Floyd pointed. “Sirenes.”
Ridley scoffed. “Sirenes? That’s not a real thing.”
“It is now. Nox uses them to lure people into the club.”
They weren’t real Sirens, but they didn’t have to be. They were women so hot they could’ve been on the covers of Link’s car magazines. They wandered through the train station, selling tubes of bright red liquid to some folks and clear bubbling foam to others. Floyd was right—if you watched long enough, you could see they were pushing the crowd in the direction of the club.
Link was starstruck.
“Eyes forward, soldier,” Ridley said. All he could do was nod. The Sirenes weren’t wearing much; instead, they were wrapped in some kind of crazy lit-up fabric, like Chinese lanterns, or maybe human glow sticks.
As usual, when it came to Caster clubs, Link didn’t get it. This time, he didn’t mind. But he still didn’t get it. If my mamma could only see me now. She’d blow a gasket. He shook his head. “Didn’t we just come from breakfast?” he said loudly. “How is there so much nightlife with so little night?” It was the strangest thing he’d ever seen, and given the past few years, that was really saying something.
“Because,” Floyd shouted back, “this is probably still last night.”
“Or maybe tomorrow night,” Necro said. “Give or take a few days. The Underground never sleeps around here. Especially not when Lennox Gates opens a new club in town.”