Page 16 of Outfoxed

Most would, as breaking the rules would end any hope of them gaining access to Asylum. With the amount of money my contract would win them, gaining entrance to the underground city would be a possibility for them. In any other quadrant, the money wouldn’t get them far, but I was a walking retirement fund in the Alley.

I needed to have a stern talk with Sandro if we ended up stuck together on neutral ground again. I would ask him why the hell he thought I was worth keeping when handing me over would pay his way for a damned long time as long as he wasn’t stupid with his money.

Then again, he wasn’t from the Alley; I wasn’t worth as much elsewhere. I’d just be a good boost rather than a holy grail for him in that case.

First, I needed to get to the gym without picking up a bounty hunter. After the gym, I needed to get to work. The odds of getting from the gym to work were generally in my favor, as they were only a block apart. Getting to the gym would pose a challenge. It would take at least forty minutes if I took the most direct path, and in reality, I couldn’t afford to take the most direct path—or establish a pattern. I’d have to switch up my route every day while keeping a close watch over my back and making certain I didn’t draw attention to myself.

I really needed to find time to poke around my new home as a fox to locate a bolt hole. I could afford thirty minutes; I wouldn’t have much time for exercising and practicing at the gym but having a bolt hole was worth even more than honing skills I’d absorbed through observation.

I wasn’t even sure if I did half of them right, but I tried when I could anyway.

Armed with my handy flashlight, I snooped around the cellar. I moved some of the heavier crates, which contained glass bottles filled with water or canned food. Behind the supplies along one drafty wall, I located a panel, roughly two feet wide and tall, which blew a steady stream of cool air into the room. I tested crates until I found a few containing cans I could stack together and make steps out of. To my relief, the panel was held in place with a set of clips and came out with a few tugs.

While two feet wasn’t a lot of space to work with as a human, it was plenty spacious for me as a fox as long as I controlled my size. After a good rest, I was even willing to bet I could handle extra transformations, although I might not need to depending on where the shaft led.

Excitement bubbled up within me, and after gathering everything I needed for work and leaving the flashlight out where I could hold it in my mouth, I transformed.

Then, with the help of my stacked crates, I wiggled into the shaft and explored. While angled at a rather sharp incline, someone had built the ventilation shaft with using it as an escape route in mind; rough material was glued onto the metal to make it easier to climb. It didn’t creak or groan beneath my weight, which led me to believe it was either encased in concrete or was embedded in solid ground.

As I climbed higher, the breeze of fresh air intensified, and I became aware of the buzz of fans farther ahead. Until I transformed again, I wouldn’t be able to check my watch, but the vent’s length surprised me. Whatever fan blew the air in meant business, and someone maintained it; no dust littered the passage when it should have been choked with it.

I could only believe magic held responsibility for the vent’s cleanliness, but I couldn’t imagine how any of the Alley’s magic could keep something tidy and free of dust.

It felt like an eternity before the vent angled out and opened into a dark space beyond. Air gusted into my vent, and armed with my flashlight, I peered into the unknown.

Within some of the maintenance tunnels for Asylum, huge fans kept air circulating. One such fan was installed on the ceiling, sucking in filtered air from above into the tunnel. A honeycomb of vents, just like the one leading into my storm cellar, lined the walls. Most were barely large enough for a man to squeeze through if determined—or required to clean out the shafts.

Unlike other sections of the maintenance shafts, tiered levels led to the openings with steps reaching the ceiling.

How had my landlord gotten such a shaft? Why had the cellar been abandoned? Had it once been a part of Asylum’s initial building process? The next time I ventured through the shaft, I’d have to think of some way to measure the distance or guess based on where the maintenance tunnel emerged.

Finding my way out would be interesting, especially if the place was monitored properly. Some tunnels were. Some weren’t.

Learning the maintenance schedule for the area rose to the top of my to-do list. Until then, I’d have to take care, dodge people, and hope for the best. Hoping for the best rarely worked well, but sometimes, it was all I could do.

To make sure I could find the entrance that led to my cellar again, I counted vents from the end wall to the stairs leading to my vent, which was on the fifth level. I estimated there to be at least three hundred vents, which worked in my favor. Maybe someone might poke their nose into my business from the vent, but finding which tunnel was mine would take someone a lot of work—or blueprints of the area and knowledge of my new address.

All I could do was hope that the bounty hunters didn’t have access to the blueprints or checked the city records for leases.

Some risks were worth taking, and while I was worth a pretty penny, I’d gamble that none of them were high enough on the social ladder to have access to Asylum’s blueprints. Keeping a close eye on the exit to the tunnel—and other ways in—would cover my bases. Maybe.

I spent a few minutes considering my options, of which there were few.

Screw it. I couldn’t afford to just sit around and do nothing. I couldn’t afford to walk right into the welcoming arms of a bounty hunter, either, but it beat being a coward afraid of the dark. Now, if it were Sandro’s arms welcoming me, and we happened to be on neutral ground, he wouldn’t have to do a whole lot of talking to get me out of my clothes.

I needed to get some action sooner than later. I blamed the damned fox in me, as I’d spent all winter and the majority of spring slapping her perverted little nose so she wouldn’t get us into trouble.

If I let Sandro get us into trouble, she’d never let me live it down—and she might court trouble with him, as she had a possessive streak a mile wide and didn’t appreciate letting go of a man once she caught him. She took the pining for lost loves thing a little too far, which made it hard to date anyone with any expectation of having a good time and wandering off at my whim.

Disgruntled over my predicament, lack of a love life, and unfortunate chain of troubles, I set off at a ground-eating lope in search of ways out of the maintenance tunnel. I struck gold within a few minutes, locating a ladder leading up to a manhole cover with the chained crowbar marking it as an Asylum entry.

Score. My new home was linked to Asylum’s system, and if shit went to hell in a basket, I had an easy way in and out of trouble.

Delighted with my discovery, I shifted and scrambled up the ladder, making use of the crowbar to ease the manhole cover up enough I could peek out. A debris-strewn street put the entrance somewhere in the outskirts, which meant the maintenance workers likely hiked through the safer tunnels to maintain the ventilation fans.

I didn’t dare believe luck smiled on me, but I would take the few offerings tossed my way.

Scrambling out, I returned the cover to its proper place, kicked around some debris to hide its location, and checked the time.