The Sunken City Trilogy by Phil Williams

Author:Phil Williams [Williams, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ordshaw, contemporary fantasy, urban fantasy, Horror
Publisher: Rumian Publishing
Published: 2019-12-02T22:00:00+00:00

Pax crept quickly through the burnt-out building. Letty’s assurances hadn’t made the place feel safe, given the sharp edges of its scorched fixtures and the lack of clear light. Had the Blue Angel chosen this place for a drop-off after learning about the fire, or had it started the fire to create a drop-off point?

Was this her over-thinking, like Letty said?

Entering the kitchen, Pax was drawn to dim green light. The cylinder sat in the middle of the room like a fluorescent camping lantern, the love child of a masonry jar and a nuclear reactor. Behind it, the remnants of the outer wall stood two feet high; chipboard and tarp covered the space above. To the right, a charred star emanated from the skeleton of cabinets and hinges. The source of the fire. At least Pax had solved one mystery: some prat had failed to use an oven properly.

Pax moved closer. No sign of hideous clawing in the walls. No electric squid limbs. Didn’t look like the ash-dusted tiles were going to break apart and reveal a pit of teeth.

She approached the jar and scooped it up. Just as she turned to leave, crack – the floor broke apart around her boots. She shrieked as she dropped, plunging into something. She heaved at her legs but both feet were stuck. Regaining her balance, clutching the glo, she looked down and swore.

Not teeth, but scarcely better: where there’d been tiles before, there was a dark, pulsating mass. Like the acid slug from the chapel, it moved fluidly, bulging undulations illuminated by the liquid’s light. It was wrapped around her boots, up to her ankles, and tightening. Pax heaved at her left leg, leaning into it, but it wouldn’t move.

“Get the fuck off me!” she yelled, but it closed tighter and sucked down. She was being dragged into it. Pax shifted the jar under one arm and threw the other out, looking for something to grab hold of. She twisted, clawing at the tarp and boarding of the broken wall. The thing sucked at her calves like living mud. She swore again, getting a fistful of tarp, but the material ripped, high up, and fell on her like a drape. She flapped it frantically out of her face and grabbed out again, but her fingers scraped against the boards, nothing to hold onto.

It had pulled her down to her knees, enveloping her. She planted her free hand on the floor, pushing back against it. Barely slowing it. It kept sucking, pulling her further – into what? An expanding, moving, squeezing mud.

Should’ve seen this coming, she told herself. Did see this coming. Stupid, stupid.

She checked the doorway, the shadows. The living mud squelched up around her thighs. No one was saving her this time; no fairy entourage, no Casaria with a miracle weapon. She took deep breaths, gritting her teeth and pushing harder against the floor.

And all for this dumb fucking liquid.

She looked at the jar. They’d said ridiculous things about it, hadn’t they? It helped Apothel’s fight.

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