Chapter 25: On Track

XXX

I woke very early from a dream in which I was earnestly giving the Dark Lord a detailed report meant for the Order. I only realized what I was saying as I saw the smile slowly spreading across his face.

I dragged myself into the lav and lit it with the strongest lumos I could muster. There was no need to be quiet, as Dick had gone back to the lab until Tuesday. I splashed water over my face and told the mirror, "he's dead," several times. Maybe I could convince my reflection; it never seemed to work on myself.

It was still dark outside the window, but it would be useless to try to go back to sleep. I made tea and breakfast and tried to think.

Whoever had made the skin would have had to find a 'donor,' kill him, remove the skin without damaging it, set the spells on it, and finally use something of mine to set it on me. It was not a short or easy process. It was messy and risky. Whoever it was would need someplace where they could be certain they would be undisturbed. It was a large undertaking; they would have to be vindictive and absolutely certain of my survival after the battle.

For the vindictiveness at least, my beads held several good candidates. The fact that the beads hadn't activated could mean that someone else had made the skin, or that my enemy was still in England. However, Dick was right; the timing did suggest that the skin had been made in the States.

If I could find where it had been made, perhaps I could find some trace left behind by its maker. I wasn't sure how to do that; I had no trace from the skin man to make a directional charm: no hair, no blood.

I set down my mug. If the skin man really was keyed to my blood, to track me, then my blood would have been present at its making. If there was any trace of it left, then perhaps I could track it. The difficult part would be to ensure that the directional charm didn't constantly point at me. Well, there were ways around that.

I had to raid Dick's cupboards and office cabinets for supplies, but at last I had everything I needed. Rather than filling Dick's flat with fumes, I decided to brew out at my sanctuary on the island. I apparated out at eight in the morning, before the first ferry. My room was as I had left it: half-ruined, empty. I reset the wards, then went to work.

It was a simple application of Frazier's first principle of Dark Magic: the part may affect the whole and the whole the part. The 'whole' in this case was a few drops of my blood that I added to one end of my directional charm. The 'part' would be any other trace of my blood nearby. I completed the charm at about five in the evening, and hour after the last ferry had left. Looking at my work, I could almost hear Lucius' voice sneering, "how very elegant." It was an old popsicle stick I had found on the shingle, run through with a rusty nail.

"Shut it, Lucius, It'll work."

It worked perfectly. I activated the charm and it swung around to point steadfastly at me. Brilliant. That was the problem, of course. I was the nearest source of my blood.

I took the charm out to the shore and dug through my bag for my emergency potions supply. There they were, my last four vials of Polyjuice and the hairs I had picked up from the salon, months ago now. Only four vials, four hours. I would have to work fast if there was any trace to be found. I couldn't spare the month to brew any more.

I prepped the first vial and downed it. I was that blond teen again. Well, it didn't matter, I would have to move under a disillusionment anyway for greatest speed. I picked up my bag and the directional charm, which was swinging very slowly. I thought I might not be getting a hit at all until it finally settled in a wavering arc between west and southwest. A very faint signal.

I apparated to my point behind the ticket booth on the wharf in Boston Harbor. Could the signal be getting stronger? My popsicle stick had narrowed its arc, swinging side to side by perhaps thirty degrees. If it had narrowed so much in the course of only a few miles, I must be close, maybe within the city itself. I didn't want to think of the implications of that. Whoever had tracked me had gotten quite close.

I started running, past the wharfs and into the city streets, but I realized I would be too slow. Disillusioned, I had to constantly dodge and duck around traffic and pedestrians. I couldn't keep it up.

I stopped in a sheltered spot between a news kiosk and a fire hydrant, took my broom out of my bag and unshrunk it. I rose on it very slowly, then headed out at a height of about forty feet. I greatly disliked flying in cities. Too many wires, poles, people and buildings. Still, I had to move; I knew I would run out of time otherwise.

I flew slowly, zigzagging between the buildings with one eye ahead and one eye on my popsicle stick. The arc was still narrowing. I worried that it was leading me to my old house, that I had left some trace that the skin hadn't eliminated, but while I was flying over the Commons, its bearing changed suddenly to due south. That couldn't be my house. I landed in a clear spot of lawn near the south edge of the Commons and began to walk.

For the first few blocks the signal became clearer with every step, until at once I lost it completely, my popsicle stick spinning aimlessly. I stopped dead, and was immediately jostled by a pedestrian. I stepped out of the way quickly, and luckily she didn't seem to notice.

I looked down at my charm. It was pointing directly at the spot I had just vacated. I stepped back into place and it swung wildly again, until I chanced to tilt it and it swung firmly to point straight down.

It was somewhere directly below me. I looked around. What could be below me? I was near the outside edge of the sidewalk in front of a plaster-fronted apartment building. Perhaps there was some basement room that extended below the sidewalk.

Someone was approaching the door, so I shadowed her footsteps and slipped in after under my disillusionment. She took the lift up, and I scouted around the lobby until I found the stairs to the basement.

There were storage rooms, a laundry room, supplies and cartons, but all along my charm pointed steadfastly to the outside wall. I could even pinpoint the exact spot, but it didn't do me any good; there was no sign of a door or any way to continue. There must be some other way in.

I was running out of time on my vial of Polyjuice. I lost my disillusionment when it ran out and the change took me. I stayed in the laundry room until I felt my body settle into its familiar shape and I could recast my disillusionment.

Back out on the street I looked around for another possibility, but nothing looked likely; no underground carpark, no subway entrance – but I had passed a T stop recently. Where was it?

I began retracing my steps towards the Commons. A few blocks away I found it: the Boylston Street Station on the Green Line.

I hurried down the steps, clinging to the wall to avoid the press of commuters. I jumped the turnstile and headed into the station proper. I would need my directional charm again, soon. I stepped into the bathroom. I had to catch myself and remember to use the women's. I locked myself in a stall and took my second vial of Polyjuice.

My disillusionment fell away again as I took on my teen girl form. It was just as well. It would be very hard to board a crowded train under a disillusionment.

Back out on the platform, I took out my directional charm, feeling a bit ridiculous. Not too ridiculous, as I was overshadowed by the extremely drunk man loudly giving his opinion on dog leash-laws to a frightened couple and anyone else in range and the busker who apparently thought that playing the trumpet badly should inspire people to give him money. The blond in ill-fitting clothes following a popsicle stick was a minor distraction at best.

My charm was now pointing determinedly south. A metallic breeze was blowing through the station, followed by a loud rush and blue flashes in the tunnel to the north. A southbound train was pulling in. Well, what else? I got on.

There were no seats. I managed to get myself a spot at one of the poles in the general press. I hung on with one hand and held the charm with the other, still pointing directly south.

There was a lurch that made everyone stagger and we began to move towards my goal. The train did not keep heading south, however. A few minutes after we left the station the tracks curved sharply to the right, and the train, of course, followed, screeching and throwing up sparks.

All the standees staggered again as we went around. I was trying to watch my charm… but what the hell was someone's hand doing on my arse? I spun around, but no one was touching or even looking at me. I gave my very best glare at everyone to cover all the possibilities. When I looked back at my charm it was pointing southeast and wavering as we traveled away.

Damn, I was clearly not on the right track. I must have missed something. I got off at the next station, Arlington, and had to wait for the next train back to Boylston. I could feel my time slipping away, but there was nothing else I could do. I couldn't exactly disillusion myself or apparate off a crowded platform.

The northbound train was much less crowded, and I was able to get a seat by the window on the right. This time I could watch closely, and as we rounded the curve and my charm swung from southeast to south, I saw a dark-shadowed area to the right of our tunnel. Was that it? It was the best possibility I had.

I got off at Boylston , hurried up to the bathroom, and recast my disillusionment. Back down on the platform, I got as close as I could to the southbound tunnel and looked into its depths. I had maybe twenty minutes left on the Polyjuice. I would have to try to get as far as I could now. There were red and white warning signs on the opposite side of the tracks: Danger Electrified Third Rail. There was a gruesome little picture of a lightning-bolt menacing a stick figure. I didn't want to end up like him, so I'd have to stick close to the near side of the tunnel. Trains, there was also the problem of trains. The next southbound train was just pulling in. If I entered the tunnel as soon as it pulled out, that would give me the most time. When it rumbled away, trailing dust and sparks, I jumped down and started after it.

The tunnel was lit irregularly by caged bulbs hanging along the sides that cast a yellow glow. After the first ten or so, there were only blue bulbs, submerging the tunnel in a dim watery twilight. As I hurried along the tracks, I noticed that there were narrow alcoves every ten meters or so, perhaps so train workers could take refuge in the tunnel. I started keeping track of each one as I passed it.

It was slower going than I liked, trying to step carefully over the ties and rails without tripping. An abandoned work boot was half-wedged under a rail. I didn't like to think about that. The charm was still pointing south. A faint breeze was blowing on the back of my neck. I could smell metal. Shit. I scrambled back to the nearest alcove, half-stumbling over the ties.

I made it just as the lights of the train were glinting off the tunnel walls. It swept past an instant later, impossibly loud, a blur of light and sparks and with a wind that sucked all the air from my body. When it had gone, I grabbed my knees and just breathed. I knew I should follow after it as quickly as I could, but my legs felt a bit wonky.

When I went on, I started counting the paces between alcoves. I made it past four alcoves and was a little over halfway to the fifth when the breeze picked up again. I started to run. Where the hell was the bloody alcove? It wasn't where it was supposed to be. Shitshitshitshit. I could see my shadow cast sharply in front of me and the sudden glare. The wharf, I thought, and turned –

When I landed in my apparition spot I let myself slowly slide down the back of the ticket building until I was sitting. I rested my head on my knees. That was it! Damn muggles and their damn trains. Like hell I was going back down there while the trains were running.

I was roused from my shock a few minutes later by the Polyjuice wearing off. The disillusionment fell away too, of course. Well, let it go, I didn't need it at the moment. The trains wouldn't stop running until after midnight. I decided to get food.

The food helped my attitude considerably. I realized I hadn't eaten since my early breakfast at five in the morning. I took my time with it, paid my bill and walked slowly back to the Commons. I sat on a bench under a disillusionment as the city quieted. Just before midnight I went back down to the Boylston Street station and waited for the last train to come rumbling through, the last staggering passengers to leave the platform. Finally the metal shutters were rolled down, closing the station for the night.

No more trains now, I told myself. Not until five in the morning. Perfectly safe, as long as I didn't touch the third rail. I took a breath and jumped down into the tunnel. Shortly after the point where I had my last near encounter with the trains, the tunnel began to widen. The weak blue bulbs didn't nearly fill the darkness. I cast a lumos.

The tunnel was splitting. On the right side the tracks descended and curved away. On the left, a rusted set of tracks rose on a gentle incline and disappeared behind a padlocked chain-link fence into a completely black tunnel. Well. I took my third vial of Polyjuice and brought out my charm again. It pointed straight down the darkened tunnel.

I cut the padlock with a spell and repaired it once I stepped through. No need to advertise my presence.

No wonder it had been abandoned. It was a much smaller tunnel, shaped like an egg on end. Those trains that had tried to run me down would never fit in here. The tracks, when there were tracks at all, were rusted and bent. There was a small ledge running down the left side and both walls were crowded with alcoves. The arches came every meter, but were much smaller than the ones in the large tunnel. If you were working here when a train came along, you wouldn't have to run for an opening, but it would be much trickier to fit in it entirely. Every step I took echoed and bounced off the rounded walls.

I passed a crushed can, a baseball cap, a twisted socket wrench, a glove, a crisp wrapper. Eventually, the tunnel opened again, another tunnel joining mine on the left; there were two identical egg-shaped dark openings in front of me. Even standing directly between the two tunnels, I couldn't see any difference in where the charm was pointing.

Except… when I had been using the charm above ground, I had been on the right side of Tremont Street and just to the left of that apartment building. It had to be the right-hand tunnel. Above ground, the three-block walk from Boylston Street station was nothing, but in the darkness it stretched out forever.

Finally my charm began to swing slightly to the right and I came up along a low metal door set into the right wall of the tunnel. I cast both hominem and specialis revelio, but there was nothing. If anyone had done their work here, they had abandoned the place. I ducked into the room.

It was a small square room, the far wall covered with pipes and metal fuseboxes. The main feature of the room as a two and a half meter diameter burned and blackened circle dead center on the floor. My charm was pointing into the far corner.

I carefully edged around the burnt area to the forest of pipes on the wall. Scrabbling on my hands and knees in the corner, my charm finally led me to my target. It was a cork vial stopper stained with my blood. Whoever had made the skin had a whole vial of my blood. Had they collected it from the shack? I had left enough there, after all. I pocketed the cork.

Unfortunately, whoever it was had cleaned up after themselves with fire. I turned back to the burned circle. The chalk or salt marks that must have contained the fire were gone now, but they had clearly done their job. The ground inside the circle wasn't entirely even; there were blobs of blackened melted glass. The remains of the vial? I strengthened my lumos and started to examine the ground inch by inch.

My Polyjuice ran out while I was still working. I hardly noticed except that I no longer had to tuck blond hair behind my ears to keep it out of my face. When I was done, I had a small pile of detritus outside the circle.

Three blobs of melted glass, some metal that might have been a belt buckle, two smaller bits of metal, a puddle of rubber, and several bits of burned plastic. Rubbish. I sorted through the bits and pieces. The only bit was remotely encouraging was the smallest piece of metal. It had more of a gleam than the other metal and there was a chip of something white stuck to it. The tiny chip was quite hard, white gradating to yellowish, like a piece of bone. Or tooth.

At once I realized what it was: a filling and a bit of tooth. The liquid metal might have protected the tooth fragment from the fire. I was probably holding the last of the skin man's body.

A/N: Hey kids, only wizards with apparition licenses in good standing should attempt to walk on subway tracks. And remember, everyone, never piss on the third rail.

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers! Many astute readers have suggested feeding the skin to those adorable little piranhas at the lab. The only problem with this idea, (as Snape knows from the story of the man who tried to destroy a skin by Fiendfyre and was suffocated by its ash) is that physical means of destruction do not eliminate the skin's purpose in its component parts. It could be very risky if the piranhas pick up that purpose after ingesting the skin. Dick and Snape will be discussing this problem and other possible solutions in a later chapter. I do love hearing all your theories though, so keep them coming!

(By the way… Dick and the piranhas have just had a special cameo appearance courtesy of author Notwolf in her wonderful story The Voldemort Diaries. Go check it out!)