The underground drainage pipe smelled of copper, harsh cleaning acid, and the sharp, vinegar tang of neutralizing hydrofluoric bile.
Arthur Vance knelt on a dry concrete check ledge beside the massive, three-ton carcass of the Mire-Hydra, his work trousers rolled up above the knees, his cutting-open sleeves pinned to his shoulders with brass razor-sharp garters. Across his lap lay a clean sheet of heavy hardened rubber, upon which rested his rolled razor-sharp kit. Six interchangeable razor knife handles, curved bone chisels, blood-stopping metal tongs, and three wide-mouthed heat-proof glass sample jars filled with stabilizing formalin salt water.
Beside him, Grimm lay stretched out on the ledge, licking a shallow superficial scratch on his left shoulder where one of the hydra’s ursine claws had grazed his sub-skin bone coat. The hound’s tongue made rhythmic, wet rasping sounds, fully unconcerned by the wound. It was already sealing beneath a layer of dark, aether-rich coagulant.
On the rusted iron air-flow duct six feet above the water, Vesper sat in a tight crouch, her golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on the carcass below. Her whiskers twitched with every movement of Arthur’s hands, her notched ears rotating forward as she tracked the subtle scents rising from the dissected tissue.
