TWELVE

Nick was roused by the sound of his alarm and rolled over in bed, searching for his cellphone within the blankets. Sleep the night before had been lacking, and he had decided that a couple hours’ rest couldn’t hurt, since he was likely to be up for most of the night. He found the phone wedged under Damon’s pillow, and pulled it out, silencing the alarm.

There was a message waiting for him. Van had sent him a text sometime when he had been napping.

Meet tonight. 9 pm. After Dusk.

Nick swore when he saw it. After Dusk. It truly was the worst place she could have asked him to meet. Seriously. Was she trying to get him killed?

He rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He just had time for a quick shower before he needed to head out.

After Dusk, was a private club in an old Victorian mansion, located on the outskirts of town, which catered exclusively to vampires and the humans who endeavored to impersonate them. The vampire part of the equation was simple enough; the mansion provided a haven for them—a bed and breakfast of sorts—where they could sleep protected and get an adequate meal without the fear of raising suspicion. Vampires that were visiting Kingsford often made the estate their first stop.

Now the humans that attended the club were of a different sort entirely, many having adopted what they considered to be a “vampiric” lifestyle. Often the participants even tried to look the part, by dressing in Victorian attire (or how they romanticized vampires should appear). These humans could generally be categorized further into one of two groups.

The bleeders often participated in voluntary bloodletting by either donating blood, or by allowing the vampires to drink openly from them, as many were often addicted to the euphoric high that they received by the act.

The select few, who had been dubbed drinkers, took their understanding of the lifestyle to a different extreme by consuming the blood of the other participants, or by sampling what was readily available from the bar. They too, often received a high from the consumption when the blood they were ingesting was other than human.

It was not, however, a venue that was welcoming if you happened to be wolven.

As Nick approached the vicinity of the mansion, and her spacious estate, he pulled his bike to the side of the road. There was a wheat field bordering the property and he had spotted an overgrown laneway which he assumed was used solely for moving farm equipment into the field. Unmounting, he walked his bike across the narrow pathway to the fence line, and that’s where he left it; along with his helmet and jacket, hidden in the deep shadow of the railing, to continue the rest of the way on foot.

A tall black iron fence surrounded the estate. From here, Nick could see the enormous mansion with her steep gabled roofs, decorative windows, and towering turrets. It was a truly wonderful spectacle and as he’d only heard stories from Damon, it was much larger and grander than he had ever imagined.

It left him with a feeling of awe and fear, as he realized that behind those walls were perhaps more vampires than he had ever met in his entire lifetime. Vampires that were not kin to Damon, who would not honor a treaty forged nearly two hundred years ago, if a wolf happened to be stupid enough to cross their borders.

He must be out of his mind. There was no other explanation for it. He should have sent Molly, but she and the girls had gone to some spa. He could have brought Nathan, but all things considered, Nate wasn’t much of a vampire to begin with; and if push ever came to shove, he would defend Nick to the very end, no doubt losing his own life in the process. No. It had to be him; but for the simple fact that the others wouldn’t understand what he was after. As it was, Vanessa was waiting for him, and it was deemed bad manners to keep a lady waiting.

He pulled out his cell phone, dialing Van as he shrank down into the surrounding crop of winter wheat. The night was warm, and he could hear the insects chirring their nightly tune. They appeared to mock the ring from his phone, which seemed much too loud under the circumstances.

Thankfully, Van answered almost immediately. “Hello, Nick? Where are you?”

Nick sighed. There was no backing out now. “Hey, Van. I’m out by the fence line. It’s not like I can just walk through the front door, so… how are we going to do this?” He hoped that he didn’t sound as bitter as he felt. He was starting to feel edgy. His wolf was not entirely happy with the situation and for once he had to agree.

“Oh, crap! I didn’t think about that. Sorry, Nick.”

“So where are you, exactly? Is Leland with you?”

“Yeah, he’s here. He’s been renting a room up on the third floor.” She broke off then to talk to someone whom he assumed was Leland, before coming back. “Leland says that we can put a candle in the window. How’s your parkour?”

Great. Now all he had to do was climb the fence, approach the mansion without being seen, avoid any security cameras that might be along the building, and then scale to a third story window. Sure, no biggie. What could go wrong?

Grasping the support bar of the fence, he climbed to the top, hand over hand, using the toes of his sneakers to help keep him from slipping. When he reached the top, he placed his hands between the spikes, before raising himself up on his stronger arm and balancing momentarily, before shifting his hips and swinging his legs over. When he had cleared the top of the fence, he pushed off and let gravity take care of the rest. He landed in a crouch, before glancing up at the mansion. He could now see a small flickering light in a window on the third floor.

From his position, he could see the front of the mansion, with its grand circular drive. It was well lit there, and he could see the lights of several vehicles as they approached. Most of the security, he reasoned, would be there. Not that there would be too many stupid enough to try to infiltrate a structure which catered almost exclusively to vampires—present company excluded, of course.

Thankfully, lying between him and the building were several manicured hedges and flower gardens. He used these for cover as he made his way to the side of the building, until he reached the spot beneath the window where the candle was.

Three windows over, the building jutted out, and in the corner a large drainpipe ran its way to the eaves at the top of the building. His best option would be to shimmy his way up the pipe, and then use the decorative framework surrounding the windows to make his way over. It even appeared that there might be a small ledge in the stonework below the windows, which would give him something to place his toes on. If nobody happened to notice him as he passed by the windows, he might be able to pull this off…

Grasping hold of the drainpipe, he gave it a shake. It held strong and seemed sturdy enough. Along its length, the pipe was affixed to the wall by metal clamps, which gave him an impressive foot hold as he began to climb, hand over hand until he was adjacent to the first window on the third floor.

From here, he could see that he had been right about the ledge. It was only wide enough to rest the ball of his foot upon but coupled with the window trim and the handholds offered by the ancient brick, it would be more than adequate.

The drapes on the first window were closed as he sidestepped his way along. When he reached the second window however, he almost lost his balance as the occupant inside opened the window. Two sets of hands reached out and grabbed hold of him, as Van poked her head out and greeted him with a smile. “Howdy stranger.”

Together she and Leland helped haul Nick through the window, where the three of them tumbled to the floor below.

“Welcome.” Leland, a small man with peach fuzz for a beard and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses sat beaming at him excitedly. “I hear you have some work for me.”

Nick nodded as he rose from his spot on the floor. He pulled out his cell phone. “I’m hoping that you might be able to track a phone for me. I’m interested in seeing which cell towers it pings, and whether it’s possible to get a triangulation.”

“That sounds easy enough.” Leland moved to a desk on the other side of the room, taking a seat. It was overloaded with computer equipment, and it looked like Leland had been staying here for quite some time. “We just have to discuss payment.”

Nick nodded as he fished some bills out of his pocket. “I brought plenty of cash.”

Leland shook his head. “Nah, I don’t want your money.”

Nick’s eyebrows arched. “Then, what do you want? A favor?” He couldn’t imagine having anything else of value that would entice the hacker.

“No… I do want a form of payment.” He was fidgeting as he glanced uncertainly at Nick, and otherwise looked extremely uncomfortable.

“Well, if you’re contemplating sex Leland, then I call top.”

Leland’s eyes widened. “Gawd, no. Nothing like that—

“Oh, for Satan’s sake, Leland, you’re freaking the boy out!” She looked at Nick apologetically. “He wants blood, Nick. Just a vial of your blood.” She glared at Leland then. “Now was that so difficult?”

“You want… a vial of my blood?”

“Uh, two vials, actually.” Leland corrected him, seeming brave now that the subject had been broached.

“Yeah. No, dude. I can’t do that. Especially in a place like this. You don’t know what would happen if a vampire got a hold of my blood.”

“Oh, no. That wouldn’t happen… it would be solely used by me.”

“Screw that, Leland.” Van looked annoyed. “You promised me a taste.”

Nick closed his eyes as he screwed up his face. He pinched the skin atop the bridge of his nose before kneading his forehead. He could feel a headache coming on. “Okay. This shit is getting weird. Seriously Van? When did you become a drinker?”

“I’m not, really. I’ve only tried V the one time. I’m just curious, ya know.”

Nick shook his head. “No. Not really.” He looked at Leland. “There has to be some other payment you’ll take. Are you sure the sex is off the table?”

“Dude.” Leland looked at him like he had just kicked his puppy.

He felt his principles wavering. What choice did he have, really? He needed his help. “You’ll be careful? I mean, you promise it won’t leave this room?”

“On my honor.” Leland was positively beaming. “Now what’s the number you need tracing?”

Nick moved to stand by Leland at the computer. Instead of reading out the number, he simply brought it up on his phone. He didn’t want Vanessa to know it was Damon’s number he was tracking, for the same reason he hadn’t told Molly that he was missing. There was no sense in worrying either girl.

When he had attempted to trace Damon’s phone earlier, the result had put Damon not only out of the city, but out of the country as well. He’d immediately checked the floor safe in Damon’s room, to find that all of Damon’s passports were accounted for. He hoped that Leland could make some sense of the trace. He stood patiently while Leland worked his magic at the keyboard. He was navigating a map with a series of colourful markers; little flags, each of which had its own ring encircling it. “Are those cell towers?”

“Yep.”

“So, what’s the general distance between the towers?”

“Well, that depends. If you’re in the city, they’re usually grouped closer together to provide better cell service. Generally, they’d be one or two miles apart, but they can be as close as a quarter to a half mile. Outside the city on flat terrain, there can be thirty or forty miles between them. It depends on a lot of factors really. Do me a favor and call that number.”

Nick did as he was told.

“Huh.” Leland was staring at the screen. Nick could see the reflection of the monitor in the lenses of his glasses.

“What is it?” Val asked, sounding bored. She had flopped down upon Leland’s bed as soon as they moved to the computer, unable to feign interest in what they were doing.

“Well, the signal… it isn’t acting normal.”

“How do you mean?” Nick asked.

“Cell towers work by passing the signal along to the next closet tower until it reaches its destination. And the signal does just that—until it reaches this point,” Leland indicated a spot on the map, “where it then jumps to a tower hundreds of miles away. It’s literally impossible… and yet the signal is behaving as if these two towers are adjacent. It makes no sense, whatsoever.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Can you get me the location of that cell tower?” Nick asked, pointing to the first conspicuous tower Leland had indicated.

“Sure thing. But I’m not sure how that helps you. Did you want me to try a triangulation? See if that clears things up?”

Nick shook his head. “Nope. I’ve got what I came for.”

Leland shrugged and reached out his hand. “Give me your phone, and I’ll program it into your GPS.”

When Leland returned Nicks phone to him, Vanessa finally rose off the bed from where she’d been lazily watching them.

“Ready to do this?” She looked at Nick expectantly, while Leland passed her a small cloth-bound kit. She set it on the bed beside her before unfolding it and revealing its contents: a set of hypodermic needles and some syringes.

“Wait. You’re doing this?”

“Yep. Why the heck did you think I was waiting around?” She calmly attached a needle to one of the syringes, before readying a second. She nodded towards Leland. “You didn’t think I was going to let this clown poke you.”

“You’ve done this before?”

She grinned at him. “Of course. You know I’m taking nursing at the college, right?”

“I did not know that.”

“Well, I promise that you are in good hands. I’ve already passed my phlebotomy course and blood drawing is really quite easy, plus I get a ton of practice in this place.” She stared at him, while he hesitated. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of needles… a big guy like you?”

“What? No, of course not. I’m just wishing there was a way around this.”

“Nope sorry. So, uhm, why don’t you slip off your shirt and we’ll get this over with.”

“My shirt?”

“Unless you think you can roll those sleeves up past your elbows.”

“Okay. Good point.” Nick pulled his shirt off before taking a seat on the bed beside Van.

“Oh, dear gawd.” Van said in a voice which was of slightly higher pitch than normal and for the most part, under her breath.

“Something wrong?”

“Oops, I’m sorry. Did I say that out loud? It’s just that I, uh… always wondered what it might look like… under there.” She turned to look at Leland. “Are you completely sure the sex is off the table, cause I would seriously consider a threesome right about now.”

“Very funny.” Nick extended his arm to her. “Now can we please get this over with.”

She took a moment to examine the veins in both his arms before selecting one, and a couple minutes later, the dastardly deed was done.

Nick watched as Leland took much diligence in transferring his blood into what looked like small test tubes. When he was done, he screwed on a cap before holding one up to the light and examining it like it was liquid gold.

“Holy hell. Double V. Never thought I’d see it for myself.”

“You people are sick.” Nick slipped his arms into his sleeves before pulling his shirt back on. The entire situation was unsettling to say the least. “Truly, sick.”

“Hey. Do you know how much this goes for on the street?” Leland asked sounding smug.

Nick turned on him feeling murderous. “You promised it wouldn’t leave this room.”

“Oh, no. Of course. I was just thinking, that if I had your blood…” he wisely let his voice trail off as Nick continued to stare.

Nick took a deliberate step towards the smaller man, relishing in his immediate look of unease. “Don’t make me hurt you, Leland Brown.”

“Ah, okay. While this is sweet,” Van was suddenly standing between them, “some of us should probably get going.” She turned to face Nick, smiling. “I’d offer to walk you out, but… you know… vampires.” She shrugged.

“Yeah, I think I’ll leave the way I came.”

“Excellent choice.” She followed him to the window. “I promise, if he tries anything stupid, I’ll kick his ass myself.”

Nick smiled as he slipped out the window, setting his feet upon the small ledge. “I’ll hold you to that.” He said before pushing off with a back flip and letting himself fall to the ground below.

*

Back in town, Nick pulled his bike into a deserted parking lot. He had arrived close to the coordinates Leland had provided. Unzipping the breast pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the vial of potion that he had picked up earlier that afternoon, as well as a blue toothbrush that belonged to Damon. He popped the cork off the bottle, which held a violet-coloured liquid, and put the business end of the toothbrush inside, swirling it around as he did. He wasn’t sure—perhaps it was only his imagination—but he thought he saw a little flash of light as the objects merged. At any rate, the potion did seem a little more glowy than it had been a moment before. Digging into his jeans pocket he brought out the necklace he was planning to use as a pointer. It was a hammered copper cross, strung on a black leather cord that at one time, Damon had worn religiously. He coiled the cord around his fingers so that the cross was lying center in his palm, before he discarded the toothbrush and splashed a bit of the potion across its surface.

Immediately the cross sprang to life; lifting up from his palm as it yanked against its tether. If he hadn’t wrapped it around his hand, he probably would have lost it as the necklace was wasting no time in trying to reunite with its owner. He unwound the cord to give it more freedom and headed off in the direction it was intent upon.

He was glad for the darkness, and the absence of people as the cross was indeed glowing with a sparkly purple light as it led him along what were usually busy streets. He was in the commercial district and thankfully most of the stores had closed for the night. Two blocks east was restaurant row, (that area of the city where the apparent goal was to cram every known fast-food chain into a two-block strip) which would still be busy this time of night. Fortunately for him, the cross decided on a more westerly route.

Rarely did it want to follow the layout of the streets; instead, it had him weaving through parking lots, strip malls and alleyways, car dealerships and at one point, even an elementary school, until he eventually reached a lower-middle class neighbourhood. He trod through streets with family homes that looked like they had been built in the seventies and eighties, with wide expanses of lawns—unlike the newly developed areas where cookie-cutter houses were crammed together like sardines. At the back of the neighbourhood, where the street came to a dead-end, he came to a tall stone and cast-iron fence through which he could see a vast cemetery beyond.

Not looking forward to scaling yet another fence, he instead began working his way around the perimeter, while the cross fluctuated like the arrow on a compass; north was definitely somewhere inside. He reached the entrance where a rusty chain on the ground between the massive gates indicated that someone had recently trespassed. There was a gravel laneway with recent tread marks; he could see where some vehicle had perhaps spun out too quickly, leaving a deep groove in the dirt.

He swung the gate open, and followed the drive as it wound its way up towards an old chapel that sat on the crest of the hill. It was here that the necklace was leading him, and he found it strangely ironic that the cross had brought him to an actual church, before he stashed it away in his pocket.

The door like the gate before it swung easily open, and he found himself in a stuffy little entranceway. He entered the church and was met with an immediate cornucopia of smells; dust and mildew hung heavy in the air, with an underlying putrid smell that reeked of mice droppings, urine and undoubtedly the fetid stench of their carcasses. It was a shame really because at one time he imagined it had been a beautiful place of worship. He could see that a lot of craftmanship had gone into its original design; into the woodwork above the entranceway and windows and the pillars that reached towards the vaulted ceiling.

The floor was solid hardwood, although well worn in areas, and he could see thin lines, tread marks in the dust, where it looked like a cart or wagon—something with narrow tires anyway—had been wheeled across the floor. He followed the tracks towards the pulpit where they turned left in front of the pews before continuing onward along the wall of the church until they disappeared into a small hallway. There was a door at the far end of the hall, and a shallow stone staircase that led either down into darkness or up a small flight of steps to an open door above. The tracks of course, pointed down, where he lost them on the stairs. He pulled out his cellphone and flipped on the flashlight before heading down.

The room below was cold, dark and empty. He scanned the room quickly with his phone, as he walked its perimeter, before deciding on an alternative form of search. Bringing up Damon’s contact, he called him. The phone rang quietly as he pulled it away from his ear, and between the rings he could barely make out a second fainter sound, before Damon’s voicemail picked up. Walking in that direction, he dialed again. Closing his eyes, he listened. There was definitely a sound coming from behind the wall—a repetitive barking—and he frowned as he realized.

“That jackass.” He muttered as he began frisking the wall. It didn’t take him long before he found an area in the stone where his hand pushed right through. It was as he suspected. There was no other explanation for the cell signals disruption. Arms outstretched like a blindman, he felt for the outline of the entrance before stepping through the portal.

*

Damon had once more lapsed into a pain-induced loss of consciousness; a sweet respite from the relentless burn of the blade. Liberty was taking her time as she meticulously carved deep into the meat of his chest. When she seemed happy with the result, she would reheat the blade in the little magical fire, before she pressed it against his raw and bloody flesh; which would sizzle and smoke at its touch. The smell of burning flesh—his burning flesh—was overwhelmingly acrid and hung heavy in the air.

He awoke this time, not by a splash of water to the face—which Liberty was only too happy to provide each time he had previously blacked out—but by a familiar sound. Damon forced his eyes open, the stinging burn across his chest once more coming into focus as a grunt escaped his lips.

He watched as Liberty set down her bloodied knife and instead reached for his cellphone in the pile of belongings, they’d earlier relieved him of.

Frowning, she glared at the caller I.D. before turning her smoldering look upon Damon. “It seems like someone is looking for you. Sad really,” she said with a pout as she set the phone down upon the crate and once more picked up the knife, “that they’ll never see you again.” She started back towards him; knife raised, a malicious smile on her lips. “Now, where were we?”

Slowly, she dragged the tip of the knife across the unmarred skin of his belly. He tried to withdraw from the blade; to tighten his midsection and suck in his gut. It was a response that was as hopelessly in vain as it was automatic. Retreat was futile. With his back against the wall, there was nowhere for him to go. Still the action did not go unnoticed by Libby, who bit her lip enticingly as she moved in closer still.

“What’s the matter?” Liberty asked when her face was dangerously close to his. “Don’t you like me?” Her breath was hot against his lips, the tip of the knife still resting against his stomach.

Behind her the cellphone came to life with the same strange ring as before, as it literally barked for attention. In that moment of distraction, Damon struck out with his forehead, butting his brow sharply into her face.

A surprised gasp of pain erupted from Libs mouth, and she took an unbalanced step backwards, arms flailing and almost stumbling over the crate on the floor behind her. The knife clattered noisily to the ground; momentarily lost as she brought up a hand to her injured face. Fresh blood adorned her fingertips.

“Son of a—” she caught herself mid-curse only to look up at him and smile. “I didn’t think you had any fight left in you.”

Once more the phone barked. Lib snatched it up, annoyed this time as she glanced at the same caller ID. Rushing forward, she mashed the device up into Damon’s face before breathlessly screaming at him. “Just who the hell is NIKO?”

“That’d be me.”

Libby’s eyes grew wide as a strong forearm snaked around her. She reflexively seized the arm, perhaps ready to fight, only to have the blade that she’d earlier lost press up tight against her throat. She immediately froze.

“Play nice, and I won’t hurt you anymore than I have to.” He told her before turning his attention to Damon. “Hold on. I’ll have you free in a second.”

Damon nodded, struggling to speak. “Wih—Witch.”

“Is that right?” Nick said looking down his chest at the redhead he held there. “You know, I can never tell when they aren’t green.”

Damon smiled and immediately regretted the action which stretched his split lip, but the look on Liberty’s face—a look of shock which immediately morphed into one of outrage—was an amusing sight.

“Guess I’d better shut you up quick,” Nick spun around, taking the little witch with him.

Liberty apparently assumed that meant the worst for her, because she began to struggle against him, regardless of the knife at her throat. She dropped her weight, lifted her feet off the ground and using his arm as support attempted to swing her heels back into his shin.

What she hadn’t anticipated however was that Nick was freakishly strong. Her shifted weight hadn’t thrown him off balance as she’d expected. He could easily support her weight as she hung on his arm, and perhaps anticipating such shenanigans, had simply swung his arm out to his side, so that he was now holding her under his arm perpendicular to him, like a parent might tussle with an enraged toddler.

This only proved to further annoy Libby, who began kicking wildly and trying to slam her elbows into his side. “Let me go,” she grunted as she struggled.

“Uh-uh. I think that would be exceptionally bad for me.” He walked a few more steps before he fell to his knees beside an old steamer trunk, dropping her face-down to the ground along with him. He pinned her, knee against her back as he set the knife down to dig through the metal trunk.

That was when Liberty apparently remembered she was a witch, capable of casting curses and other such skullduggery. Her face screwed up in anger as she snarled.

“Incen—”

“Nope.” Nick muttered as he pulled her head back by her hair, before smashing her face roughly into the floor. He then raised her face again, which was now gushing blood from her already injured nose, to stuff a dirty bit of material he’d got from the trunk into her mouth.

Damon grimaced in sympathy. Well, he had warned her. He watched as she gagged on the rag and kicked her legs, as Nick seized her arms. He thought that Nick was being rather restraint, as he tied her hands behind her back, before addressing her feet in a similar fashion. If their positions had been reversed, he doubted he’d be nearly as nice.

When Nick was done, all Liberty could do was thrash around like a magikarp and throw them nasty looks.

Taking the knife, Nick stood and moved to his side. He put a gentle hand on Damon’s chin and grimaced as he examined his battered face before dropping his eyes to his chest.

“Aw, hell.” He muttered as he took in Liberty’s handiwork. Large letters had been carved deep into his chest: D E M O and the beginning of what was undoubtfully an N. “Stupid witch spelt your name wrong.”

Damon sputtered and choked as he tried not to laugh. It hurt fabulously. “Buh—Behave.” He was still struggling to get the words out, whether it was the spell they had originally silenced him with, or simply his dry throat and battered face that wouldn’t cooperate.

Nick slipped off the noose around his neck, being careful not to brush his face with it as he did, before turning his attention to his hands and the large metal spikes that had been hammered through them. He then turned back to Damon, offering him the leather strap at his mouth.

“This isn’t going to tickle.” He said, his somber eyes betrayed his feelings.

Nick was a bit of a bleeding-heart, and he knew that the idea of causing him pain, cut him deep. As a child he’d witnessed a lot of carnage and injustice; as a result, he had grown into a rather gentle and compassionate adult.

Damon nodded briefly and opened his mouth to accept the strap. Nick briefly returned the nod, his lips a taut line as he moved to Damon’s left hand. He slipped the flat blade of the knife under the head of the spike and turned to him once more. “Ready? On three.”

Damon once more nodded.

“One, two—”

He grunted, biting down hard as Nick pulled back on the knife, and with a flourish of pain, the spike came free, clanging nosily to the ground. Damon immediately curled his arm up to hold it against his chest. The muscles and tissue ached painfully after being forced in a static position for so long. They still had a second hand to free, when a loud clanging sound began beyond Nick.

Liberty had managed to worm her way into a position where she could kick her legs into the metal steamer trunk, obviously deciding that if she couldn’t free herself, she could at least sound the alarm.

He knew his right hand was much more mangled than his left and wasn’t surprised that Nick grimaced when he saw it.

“And again,” Nick said as he withdrew the second spike.

Pain exploded once more: in his hand, up his arm and set the cluster of nerves in his belly on overload. He pitched forward as his knees buckled, but Nick was there to catch him.

Nick threw his arm around Damon’s waist and Damon’s arm over his shoulder as he half-dragged, half-carried him towards the door. They were almost there when hurried footfalls on the stairs beyond, caused Nick to pause. Putting a finger to his lips, he let Damon slump to the floor, resting him against the workbench, before quickly moving to the opposite side of the doorway. A moment later, three figures came charging into the room.