The group hurried down the tunnel on the left, with Twig and Chance in the lead and scanning for traps.

Sharp and Bixby followed, guns out. Then came Rip and Blair in the middle with the others following. Sounds of gunfire died away quickly as they advanced.

“Note the tracks,” Lord Humphries said, from the back.

Rip looked down on the floor and found what the professor meant. Tracks from some type of cart marred the middle of the floor. The cart had evidently been rolled this way enough times to leave a permanent mark.

He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the tracks turned back into the room they just left. He filed the detail away for later.

At last the tunnel opened up into a much larger space, and the party slowed down as the possibility of threats increased. They stepped out into a cavernous room, reminding Rip of a very large subway station.

Indeed, on the far side of the room a train, of sorts, sat on a track. Four cars connected to what looked like a light rail electric engine. The train sat about 50 yards away, on a set of tracks leading down another tunnel heading out the opposite side.

Between them and the train, hundreds of boxes and crates were scattered about, including many on a platform near the train. Carefully, everyone approached, spreading out when they exited the tunnel.

Rip examined the train as they made their way through the veritable maze of crates.

“You guys have the Tube here?”

Blair creased her brows and said, “The what?”

“A subway? An underground train?”

“Not at all. What kind of cities do you have on your world? It seems you have all manner of conveyances. We have legs and horses. And occasionally airships. That’s about it.”

“What about boats?”

“Of course we have boats!” Blair snapped. “I meant ground transportation.”

He was about to mention she included airships, but he saw the look on her face and decided not to say anything.

Blair has a temper, he thought with a smile. An Irish temper. Wait . . . is that a bad thing to say in this world?

“How do they even have a bloomin’ train down here?” Twig said. “The smoke will choke up the tunnels!”

“It’s probably electric,” Rip said. “It almost has to be.”

“An electric train? There’s no such—”

“Heads up,” Chance said, pointing. “There’s a Fighter down over there.”

Everyone turned to look. Sure enough, what at first glance looked to be a pile of black leather on the floor, was in fact a man.

He looked dead, with several holes in his leather.

“There’s another,” Twig said.

“I think we found where everyone went down,” Bixby said. “Anybody see Lady Finley? Or the girls?”

“Over here!” Humphries said, off to one side.

Finley lay in a pool of her own blood, several bullets riddling her body as well. Everybody rushed over as Humphries bent down to touch her neck and search for a pulse.

Her eyes flicked open and she spit out a mouthful of blood.

“Ambush . . . hiding behind boxes. We didn’t see them . . .”

“You’ll be fine, Lady Finley,” Humphries said. “I have just the thing for this situation.”

He reached into his interspatial satchel and pulled out a small vial filled with amber liquid. Rip noted it glowed, slightly. Humphries tilted her head up carefully and lifted the vial to her lips.

“Drink it all.”

“Is that a health potion?” Rip said.

“It’s an experimental elixir devised by Professor Hollister’s research group. They’ve been studying the issue of whether the judicious imbibing of aether in liquid form proves beneficial in life-threatening situations such as this.”

“So . . . it’s a health potion.”

“It’s an experimental elixir, Sergeant Coulter. We have not had a chance to try it out on a gunshot victim in the field before now, and—”

“Thank you, Lord Humphries. Yes, I can feel it working.”

Finley sat up, the holes in her abdomen and chest visibly closing underneath the leather.

“Outstanding,” Humphries whispered, watching a hole in her face repair itself before his eyes.

“Lady Finley,” Sharp said. “Where are my girls?”

As if in answer, someone fired a gun from one of the train’s windows.

A stream of bullets plunked into wooden crates. A few screaming ricochets bounced off the concrete floor.

Chance yelled, “Hit the deck!”

Everybody scrambled for cover.

A bullet skipped across the floor and ripped open Sharp’s arm, leaving a long streak of blood.

He grit his teeth and said, “Bother!”

The train lurched forward, the slow clacking sound of metal wheels on the tracks echoing in the enclosed space.

“Lady Finley! Are the girls on that train?”

“I . . . I think so, Lord Sharp. I lost sight of them after I went down. I know they put up a good fight . . .”

The train picked up speed as its engine entered the far tunnel.

Rip jumped up, running in a zigzag pattern as bullets kept firing from the last car’s window. One grazed his neck, and he grimaced. But he kept running.

The shots ended abruptly as the last car slid into the tunnel, blocking off the gunman.

Rip picked up his pace, turning into the tunnel and easily catching up to the rear of the train. He jumped onto the little platform on back and climbed up.

He heard a soft grunt behind him and turned in time to see Blair leaping up and onto the platform with him.

She smiled and said, “You can’t go having all the fun by yourself, Ripley.”

He grinned back at her.

“You ready to save a couple vampires?”

Her smile disappeared.