“Excellent.”Harold looked up at the demon's expression, suddenly fearful of the consequences of asking for his help. Still, it was too late now. It was pay the piper or spend the next few years in prison with only his books and demons for company. Actually, that didn't sound so bad. “Come on, then. Let's find the others and get out of here.”
“They're just up ahead and to our right.”
Now that Harold had an idea of where they were, he could identify small sounds coming from that direction. The scraping of metal against metal, for example, and Gill's low tones of vampiric command which, by the steadily increasing volume, didn't work on a zombie. He went toward the sound at a brisk pace, mindful of the approaching disaster.
He pushed open the door to Room 503 and jumped at the full seven foot majesty of a golem, thankfully inactive. The room was twice the size of the others he'd seen and had several doors off, one of which was marked 'autopsy suite'. He shuddered and concentrated on Dill. Or Sam, he couldn't tell which was in charge until they spoke.
Lucy ran up to him and clutched at his leg. She was holding a screwdriver and dug it into his skin, looking for screws to undo. He hefted her up onto his hip and confiscated the tool.
Gillian tuned to him, blasting her with her voice of command. Since he, too, possessed vampire blood as well as his human and demon stock, he was also immune to the effect, though the sub-harmonics made him want to open his bowels. Fortunately, he resisted. “Tell him to stop, Harold. Maybe he'll listen to you.”