Free Die and Stay Dead by Nicholas Kaufmann Page A

turned green, and we navigated through the maze of short, curved streets just south of Canal. On either side of the road, narrow tenement buildings crowded shoulder to shoulder on top of restaurants, jewelry stores, storefronts selling knockoff perfumes and handbags, and the occasional Eastern medicine supply store with its bamboo shades drawn. Signs and banners hung from every fire escape and flagpole, printed with big hanzi characters I couldn’t read. Every corner seemed to have its own fresh fish shop in the process of closing for the night. Men and women in white smocks retrieved buckets of shrimp and crab off the sidewalk and rolled down their metal gates. We turned the corner at a large restaurant with a string of red paper lanterns dangling from its eaves, and found Bayard Street. On the north side of the street were buildings marked 84 and 86, but there was no 84A. There was, however, a narrow alley between the two buildings. So, 84A Bayard Street was either the alley itself or, more likely, a building whose entrance was inside it. Philip managed to find parking on the street, which in Chinatown was nothing short of a miracle. We got out of the Escalade and crossed into the alley.
    Clouds of steam billowed out of vents from the surrounding buildings and drifted like phantoms through the alley ahead of us. Beneath the rusted fire escapes, feral cats rummaged through overturned garbage cans and open Dumpsters. When they spotted Philip, they yowled in terror and ran off to their secret hiding places. Smart cats.
    A wooden door was set in the brick wall at the far end of the alley. There was no number, but it had to be 84A Bayard Street. There was nothing else here. A strange glyph had been carved into the door. Not a hanzi character like the others, it was something else, a rune that reminded me of the magical symbols I’d seen etched along the tunnels to the Nethercity. Whoever Yrouel was, it was clear he was no stranger to magic.
    Bethany traced the glyph with her finger. “It’s a protection spell. It’s supposed to keep out evil.”
    Philip tried the knob, found it unlocked, and pulled the door open. “Well, look at that, it let me right in. Guess the spell doesn’t work.”
    Inside, we descended a plain cement ramp that came to an end about a dozen feet below street level. At the bottom of the ramp was a small, concrete antechamber. A circular, steel door with a big, wheel-shaped handle in its center stood in the wall. It was the kind of door you’d expect to see on a bank vault or in a submarine, not hidden under a Chinatown alley. I looked to either side of the door but didn’t see a doorbell.
    “I guess Yrouel doesn’t like visitors,” Philip said.
    “Too bad. We’re not leaving until we talk to him.” I banged a few times on the steel door with my fist.
    Philip chuckled. “Knocking. You humans are adorable. I could pull this door out of the wall in two seconds.”
    Bethany looked up at him. “Maybe you’d better let us take the lead. I think this situation is going to require some finesse. Tearing doors out of walls isn’t liable to get Yrouel talking.”
    Philip shrugged. “Just say the word and I’ll get him to talk.”
    Bethany rolled her eyes. “One of these days, I’m going to have to teach you about subtlety.”
    “Come on, open this damn door,” I muttered. I raised my fist to pound on it again, but Bethany caught my arm, stopping me.
    “I guess I’m going to have to teach you, too,” she said. “He’s expecting Calliope, right? I don’t think she was the type to bang on his door like a maniac. Just give it a second.”
    I heard a lock disengage. The round handle in the middle of the door began to spin, turned from the other side.
    “See?” Bethany said.
    “Nobody likes a know-it-all,” I grumbled.
    The door swung inward, revealing a floating form on the other side. My jaw dropped. The first thing I noticed was the big, metal chair, which had no legs and hovered a good