Night had already fallen by the time Huik and the officers reached the Pasadena area.
The car's headlights cut along a dirt track bordered by old trees and tangled brush. Darkness pressed in. Rain peppered the windshield, the wipers thudding back and forth.
They passed beneath the 210 freeway and rolled on a few more yards until the road ended at a thicket of wild shrubs, branches, and rocks. Beyond it, a stream ran.
"Alright, boss…" Mike said from behind the wheel. "This is as far as we go."
"No problem," Huik replied. "I'll walk to the gate—it's close."
"Want us to come along?" Tom asked. "This place isn't friendly. And it's pitch-black."
"No need, Officer," said the golem. "I'm armed, I've got a flashlight, and I'm used to dark forests… I was a ranger on the other side."
The officers nodded. Huik stepped out, pulled an umbrella from his pack, and popped it open. He said his goodbyes and slipped into the brush. The officers watched him vanish behind the shrubs.
Gravel crunched as the car turned back toward the avenue.
Huik listened to the rain, the distant hiss of traffic overhead on the freeway, the croak of frogs in the wet.
He lit his way with his phone.
The streambed was rocky and running high. He hopped across stones to avoid the current, careful not to slip—the whole world slick and glistening as the rain thickened in bursts.
A clearing opened ahead, rimmed by trees and a black pond. At the far side, he recognized the rock formation—horn, nose, jutting chin—like the profile of a horned demon. That shape had given the dam its name, the concrete wall rising around the bend.
To one side of the rocks yawned the entrance to a tunnel, sealed by a metal gate.
Huik started toward it—then froze.
Branches cracked. Something had stepped where it shouldn't.
He swung the light toward the sound. Only brush and trunks and dripping leaves.
He swallowed. Memories of beasts and bandits flashed across his mind. His hand found the pistol under his shoulder, ready for anything.
He edged toward the pond, beam low, and stopped at a set of tracks.
Crouching, he studied them.
Animal… but the toe-deep imprint and weight distribution told a different story. Whatever made these had walked upright. On two legs.
Again, the forests of his past rose before him—long nights tracking lycanthropes away from the mountain mining camps of Carpathos. Too many times he'd followed prints like these, driving the beasts off… or hunting them.
More branches shifted. He straightened, light sweeping the brush. The feeling of being watched prickled the back of his neck. For a heartbeat, he could swear a shadow slid between the trees.
"Come out, whoever you are," Huik said. "I don't like jokes."
The branches eased aside.
His hand went to the holster. He braced.
"What's the problem?" a gravelly voice asked behind him.
Huik spun, weapon up—his light falling on an old elf with long hair and longer ears, a touch of vampire to his silhouette.
"Careful, son… that stings," the elf muttered.
Huik exhaled and lowered the gun.
"Damn," he breathed. "Sorry. Thought you were something else."
"What? A ghost, a vampire, or a thief?" the elf said, amused.
"Something… nastier," Huik replied, recovering, holstering the pistol. "You must be Charonte."
"The very same, Mister Huik Miner, I presume."
Huik nodded.
"Good. Let's hurry—the rain's picking up," the elf said, tipping a bottle to his lips.
They hugged the rock wall and skirted the pond's edge.
"I've been waiting over an hour," Charonte grumbled. "Thought you weren't coming. Went to the store and back, but I took the path. These bones don't climb dam walls anymore."
"We hit an accident on the way… and traffic."
"I can imagine. Ah, I miss the old days," Charonte said, voice going wistful. "This used to be a pretty spot. Pasadena folk loved their picnics here—until they built that damned wall and spoiled it."
They reached the iron gate. Charonte pushed. It groaned open, the sound echoing down the tunnel.
The passage felt wrong—graffiti clawed over every surface. Somewhere along the wall, someone had scrawled:
WELCOME TO HELL
Charonte pressed his thumb to a diamond set flush with the concrete, hidden inside the paint. A mechanism clicked. A door slid aside.
They stepped into a broad chamber Huik would never have believed lay under the rocks. An arched ceiling, side galleries, stacks of crates—some stamped with the Zonapiac logo.
A short, plump elf flipped through manifests, scanning labels. A goblin stacked boxes onto skids beside her.
"Tess, Zonki… all good? Brought burritos," Charonte said, dropping a paper bag onto a crate.
"All good," the elf answered. "Three shipments to Breewik, two to The March, one to Lenizia."
Charonte flashed a thumbs-up.
"When the Empire took control," he explained as they walked, "a wave of exiles slipped to this side. Tried to set up a rebel base… got crushed before the plan was born. The infrastructure stayed. Now it's for online vendors and the occasional traveler like you."
"I see," Huik said.
They reached a chamber centered on a stone well ringed by metal hoops.
"Here we are. The vortex," Charonte said. "His Excellency Antearis sent the coordinates. I'll power it up, set the program, and when I say jump—you jump."
"Is it safe?" Huik asked.
"It's been running for the last ninety years," Charonte shrugged. "I suppose so."
He flipped the switches. The generator whined. Fingers tapped across a terminal. The rings began to spin, light corkscrewing up from the well, turning into a churning spiral.
Charonte tweaked the dials. The vortex brightened.
He held out a hand. Payment first.
Huik paid. He hesitated, stomach fluttering.
Then he steadied himself… and jumped.