Throne by Phil Tucker Page B

below us. What you’re going through seems more real, more urgent, than anything else. I was scared that you had already gone below by yourself, and the thought of that, of my still being up here, safe and sound while you tried by yourself to face that thing…” Isobel looked up, eyes bright now with her own tears, “Of course I’ll help you, in any way I can.”
    Maribel took a deep breath, a sudden weight lifting from her, and for a moment she felt almost dizzy. Then she smiled, a broken smile, the best she could manage and nodded her head, unable to speak, to convey her gratitude. Isobel laughed and came forward, off the couch, to hug Maribel tight, and after an awkward moment of indecision, Maribel hugged her back, feeling the psychic’s wet hair against the side of her face, the fresh smell of her shampoo. Looking up, she felt her stomach suddenly clench at the sight of the phooka standing in the hallway, watching them both, great horns curling just below the ceiling, a knowing smile on its saturnine face. Maribel stiffened, and after a moment Isobel pulled back, searching her features. Maribel tore her eyes away from the phooka even as it stepped back into the shadows of the hall and gave Isobel a tight smile.
    “Ok,” said Isobel, sitting down on the rug before Maribel and crossing her legs “Well, just because I’m helping you doesn’t mean this isn’t crazy. Where are we going to start? What are we going to do when we find it? Do you have a plan?”
    Maribel reached up to wipe her face dry once more and nodded, “Yes. All you have to do is find the way in. I’ll do all the rest.” She felt a flicker of hesitation as she thought of telling her about the phooka, and then discarded the idea. “Can you do that? Find the way in?”
    “A couple of days ago I would have probably told you no, but now? Maybe. Just thinking about that thing makes me feel uneasy, so maybe if I focus on that unease, I’ll get a sense of where to go?” Isobel paused. “But… what’s your plan when we’re down there? It’s… this thing is terrifying. It’s not something you can intimidate, or talk to. It’s just a raw, physical, emotional need. A hunger. How are you going to force it to do what you want?”
    Maribel pursed her lips grimly, “Leave that to me. I’ll take care of that when we get there.”
    Isobel shook her head, “Alright. I can’t believe we’re doing this, but fine.”
    “Thank you,” said Maribel, reaching out to take Isobel’s rough hands in her own, “I can’t say that enough. How much should I—what do you want to charge for all this?”
    “If helping you stops the nightmares, I’ll do it for free,” said Isobel with a grin. “However, let’s leave talk of money till later. When do you want to start?”
    Maribel nodded, and with sudden energy stood. “Now, of course.”
    The psychic gave her a lop-sided smile, “How did I know you were going to say that?”
     
    Half an hour later they both stepped out into the cold. The haze that had so engulfed the city these past few days had grown thicker, so that the far end of the block was barely discernible. A yellow taxi hove into view, and then faded away as it drove off, the red brake lights floating eerily for a moment after the main body of the car had become obscured. Maribel pulled the broad belt around her jacket tight about her waist, and slipped her hands into the fur-lined pockets. Isobel gave her a nervous look, and then settled her shoulders, raised her chin.
    “Okay, be quiet for a bit, I’ve got to concentrate.” She closed her eyes, then allowed them to half open so that her irises were but a glimmer of darkness between her thick lashes. A couple of deep breaths, and then she nodded. “I can feel it. It’s faint. And awful, but there. All right. This way. I’m just going to walk in the direction that feels most wrong.”
    They walked. Isobel moved ahead at first with hesitation, but then with growing determination,