To Dwell in Darkness Read Free

through with things today, but he was going to prove her wrong.
    He shifted his backpack, feeling the sweat break out under his arms even though it was frigging bloody freezing in the upper concourse of St. Pancras International. He stood near the top of the escalators at the north end of the concourse, so that he had a good view of the length of both upper and lower levels. Moving to the glass guard wall, he looked down at the thickening rush-hour crowd. People were pushing and shoving, intent on getting their shopping and making their commuter connections. They were like scurrying rats, never looking up, oblivious to the glory of the sky-blue station vault.
    Nor did they care anything about the trains. Beyond Searcys, the yuppie champagne bar that straddled the center of the upper concourse, two sleek yellow Eurostar trains bound for Paris idled on their platforms. The bespoke-suited men and women sipping their after-work bubbly had no clue as to how incredible these trains were or what it took to keep them running. They took everything in their overindulged lives for granted. Well, they might not be quite so complacent when they went to their beds this night.
    Paul drew his eyes from the trains and checked his watch, then scanned the lower concourse again. The others should be here soon. Directly below Searcys, he could see musicians setting up for a concert. It was the first act of the station’s March music festival. That was one of the reasons they’d chosen this particular day—the crowd gathering to watch the band would concentrate more people in a small area, and the press coverage of the band would be an added bonus.
    A slight girl with spiky ginger hair knelt and lifted a bass guitar from a case, while a blond bloke fiddled with an amp. Passersby were starting to stop and watch. Showtime.
    Then he saw the group, coming in from the direction of the tube station at the far end of the concourse. Matthew, unmistakable with his height and loping stride, even with a watch cap pulled over his dark curly hair. Cam. Iris. Trish. Lee. And Dean, pulling the flat suitcase that held their placards, ready to be assembled. They wouldn’t have much time.
    He searched for Ariel but didn’t see her with the rest of the group. But she would be there somewhere, he was certain. As would Ryan.
    Paul frowned. There was something about Ryan Marsh that had never seemed quite right. And after what had happened with Wren, there’d been a look in his eyes that frightened Paul. Not that he could blame Ryan, God, no. He felt sick just thinking about it. But still, sometimes Ryan made him uneasy. He’d tried to talk to Matthew about it, but Matthew had blown him off, just like Matthew had blown him off that morning. Bloody Matthew always knew bloody best. Except maybe this time he didn’t.
    The big station clock over the sculpture of “the lovers” ticked round to five thirty. The musicians played a few sound-check bars on their instruments. The crowd in the center of the lower concourse seemed to move and swell like a living thing. The group had separated and wandered into adjacent shops, not wanting to be noticed until the band was in full swing and media cameras were rolling.
    Then, after a last tuning of their instruments, the ginger-haired girl spoke into the mic, and the guitarist hit the first bar.
    Showtime, indeed.
    Heart thudding in his throat, Paul shifted his backpack to one shoulder and stepped to the top of the escalator.
    Melody took the tube straight from Brixton to King’s Cross/St. Pancras. There was no way she could have crossed London at rush hour in her car and got to the station in time for Andy and Poppy’s concert. Even so, when “person under a train” came over the speaker as the train pulled into Oxford Circus, she felt a moment of panic. She hated being stuck on the tube. When a second announcement advised all passengers on the Central line to reroute, she