Nik whistled, and I grinned. Who doesn’t love a secret passageway?

Constance reached through the opening, fumbling blindly for something. “There’s a lantern here, somewhere . . .”

“Here,” Nik said, holding up his hand, palm up. A writhing, glowing mass of living At flared to life, looking so much like some alien form of fire. It cast the area around us in an eerie incandescent light, making the world appear almost silver.

Constance’s eyes widened, and she licked her lips. “Thanks,” she said, eyeing the otherworldly mass for a moment before turning away from us.

We followed her through the opening to what appeared to be an old sidewalk—there was even an antique lamppost a few yards up the passageway and an arched opening for a window, though the view through the cracked glass only showed a mass of dirt, rocks, and rubble. The air down here smelled musty and earthy, sort of like a cave, but not quite. I’d been in spaces like this under the city before, areas leftover from the citywide regrade after the devastating fire of 1889. The old Seattleites had decided building a new city on top of the old one would be more practical and efficient than rebuilding the old. And lucky us, that meant that much of the original city remained . . . one only need know where to look.

“You won’t find this on the underground tour,” I said, voice hushed, as Constance led us further into the remnants of a Seattle long forgotten.

“I remember this place,” Nik said, his voice barely a whisper. He walked ahead of me now, sharing his light with Constance as much as possible. I watched his profile as he slowed and looked around, nostalgia transforming his features. He reached his free hand out, brushing the half-burned wood frame of another window opening. “This was a hotel—the Occidental. Mother and I stayed here once.” A wistful smile touched his lips. “This was the first place I ever had my photograph taken.” He laughed under his breath. “Re disapproved, but Mother was so eager . . .”

I smiled to myself, enjoying this rare glimpse into Nik’s past.

“Just a little farther,” Constance said, pausing and tossing a glance back at us. Only then did I realize how far behind we’d fallen.

Five minutes later, we reached an old armored door, the kind used on a bank vault a century or two back. PUGET SOUND NATIONAL BANK was engraved in the metal near the center of the door. Constance made quick work of the heavy-duty built-in lock, spun the wheel, then turned a handle, and the door slowly swung outward on surprisingly well-oiled hinges. “Stay here, out of sight,” she whispered, then passed through the vault doorway and headed for a second door just a few yards in from the first. It was smaller and rusted, with a several-inch square hatch at face height for a peekaboo window.

Nik nodded, and the two of us backed up a few steps, retreating into the passageway. I inhaled deeply, then held my breath.