0.5 One Wilde Night (7 page)

The sensation of hearing the Magician’s voice inside my mind was entirely different now that I’d experienced it in real life. It was fuller, richer, filling up my skull.

“Earn your keep,” I said. “How do I get in?”

“Past the house, almost to the end of the gate. You’ll see the opening. The cave is thirty meters back, along the outer rim of the lower walkway.”

“Meters. Great.” I shuffled past the mansion, just another tourist out for a pre-dawn stroll. When I’d nearly reached the end of the pathway, I saw it. As the Magician had indicated, there was a break in the barrier, a small fissure where the two types of fencing didn’t quite meet—the gorgeously ornate wrought iron of the front fence, and the sturdier chicken-wire-enforced screen that kept the jungle at bay. I slipped into the break and onto the other side. “I don’t have to worry about dogs or anything, do I?”

The Magician’s chuckle sent sensations shooting into places that had no business being shot. I shook my head, unslinging my pack. “And is my laptop going to be safe here?”

“I’m not a fortune teller, Miss Wilde. I believe that’s your specialty.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” I dropped the bag behind a large bush with bright white flowers visible despite the gloom. Hopefully there weren’t another sixteen bushes exactly like it on the way to the cave. Unburdened, I bent low and racewalked through the darkness. I wasn’t too late, I knew. But I also didn’t want to announce my presence any earlier than I had to.

I found the cave without another word from the Magician, which worked for me. Even his silence was starting to feel patronizing. The hole in the rock looked scrubby and not all that deep, but as I ducked inside, I caught the scent of fresh air, crisp and cool, unlike the heavy forest I’d left behind me. Where was it coming from?

I moved forward into the darkness, trying to hold onto my zen. I could turn on my phone
at any moment
to get more light. I was
not
spelunking in the middle of the wilderness, I was exploring a nice little hole in the rock beneath one of the most heavily trafficked monuments of modern times.

The cavern came to an abrupt stop, but of course that couldn’t be right, because there was still the breeze. And the breeze was coming…

I frowned. There was nothing but solid rock in front of me.

Since the Magician wasn’t providing any clues, and I didn’t feel like asking, I reached inside my jacket and pulled out a Tarot card. I flashed my phone light over it for a second, then winced.

Well, that was never good.

The card I’d pulled was the Ten of Swords, which didn’t make a lot of sense. I mean, yes, I had been betrayed—multiple times—tonight. Both times by men, as it happened, though I was pretty sure the Russian woman wasn’t a big fan. But none of this card’s seriously negative vibes resonated with me. I imagined it in my mind’s eye to avoid flashing my telltale light again. A man, collapsed at dawn, facedown on the ground, with ten giant swords sticking out of his back. Cheerful, but not particularly…

I glanced to my feet. Facedown.

Great
. “This had better be worth it.”

Grunting with the effort, my body beginning to balk at any movement that wasn’t climbing into a soft bed, I squatted to the floor, inching my fingers down the wall for guidance. Sure enough, about eight inches from the ground the stone gave way to open space. I waved my hand inside the space—and smacked against more rock. The opening was about two feet by eight inches, then. Good thing I hadn’t had that second serving of pie.

I stretched out my full length on the cavern floor and shimmied forward, trying to see ahead of me. Beneath me was all solid bedrock. But unless my eyes were deceiving me, the gloom appeared slightly…
less
gloomy on the far end of the narrow passage.

Or at least I told myself that. The prospect of getting stuck in this hellhole wasn’t terribly appealing.

Focusing on wide open spaces beneath sunny skies, I flattened myself beneath the rock overhang. I turned my head and screwed my eyes shut as the narrow passageway pressed downward over my neck and shoulders, threatening to crush me.

Merely a trick of my own paranoia and claustrophobia, I knew. But it was a very effective trick.

Propelling myself forward with fingernails and toes wasn’t a superefficient mode of travel, for the record. But I eventually got to the other end, slick with sweat that was equal parts cold and hot. Fresh air was much stronger here, though. A glance skyward told me why.

An oculus had been carved into the side of the mountain. This narrow, perfectly round portal seemed tailor-made to view the moon, which, though currently in its waning stage, nearly filled the entire opening. It was nearing the half-moon mark. Which probably meant something to Fernanda, if not to me.

As if summoned by me thinking her name, an all-too-familiar shuddering moan sounded from beneath me, loud enough to vibrate the stone floor.

Relief washed through me.
Here we go.
Where Fernanda was, the amulet would be, too.

I rolled back to my feet, then jammed my hand into my side, where my bandage was feeling decidedly…moist. Whether due to my exertion or my proximity to the frog amulet, my exhaustion and pain was coming back in waves. Working along the wall, my eyes finally getting accustomed to the darkness, I crept down the tunnel. Along the way, I listened to Fernanda’s wails, which changed in cadence in a decidedly non-fun way as I got closer. As if what should have been a joyride had suddenly hit some very bumpy road.

The cavern trail angled steeply down, and unless I was mistaken, my feet were registering actual stairs cut into the rock. Stairs meant civilization, which should have made me happy. Civilization meant there had to be more than one way out of this cave.

But the closer I got to Fernanda and her cries—which mounted in genuine pain and distress, not passion—the worse I felt. My chest where the amulet had lain against me was so hot I would swear my skin was about to crackle, and my legs seemed made of lead. I trudged on, willing myself forward until I reached a bend in the rock. There were still no guards in sight, but I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. Probably neither. Not too many people would be arriving at this party from an eight-inch crack in a cave wall, I suspected.

As I approached, the darkness lessened, replaced by flickering light. Torches? Campfire? Would there be S’mores?

Then Fernanda burst forth in another wail, loud enough to make my spine ache. I straightened against the rock, becoming one with the wall, and dared a peek around the edge.

Visible through the doorway at the far end of the corridor, Fernanda lay in a heap by a fire, moaning pitiably. She didn’t look damaged from what I could tell, or at least no more damaged than she’d been the last time I’d seen her. I edged forward carefully, pausing in front of a door cut into the rock. I glanced quickly into the chamber to my right…then stopped cold.

Well. This was unexpected.

Chapter Eleven

Nigel Friedman lay flat on a pallet in the middle of the stone chamber, apparently asleep. His hands were bound, his mouth gagged. Worse, he was once again completely naked except for a kind of ornamental loincloth, that would probably have looked amazing on some Brazilian fertility god.

On Nigel it looked vaguely ridiculous.

I stared at him, hard, but apparently my supernatural skills didn’t extend to remote wakey-wakey. And his feet weren’t bound, which meant his captors expected him to move at some point, so chances were good that nothing was seriously broken. Then again, they could have simply hamstrung the insufferable asshat. Nothing like a quick slice to the Achilles to take a man down.

I winced but faced forward again, slipping past the open doorway. I couldn’t fix Nigel’s problems yet. Not until I fixed my own.

Nevertheless, I crept more slowly along the passage. Fernanda had gone quiet, reduced to whimpering sobs, but I could no longer see her. The crackling of the fire grew louder as I approached, but oddly, the corridor remained empty. There wasn’t even a watchdog to sound the alarm.

That…suddenly didn’t feel right.

A movement to my left registered a moment too late. I jerked back, but wasn’t fast enough to evade a large troll-like guard who lunged at me from a crevice in the rock.

“Hey, hey, hey!” I tried to twist away, but the guard seized my upper arms and shoved me forward into the chamber. A quick recon revealed a second guard standing beyond the fire, then an opening for another chamber guarded by yet more burly men. I had a feeling that second chamber wasn’t exactly empty, based on my last experience with Fernanda in a dark place.

As for the Princesa, she was on her feet again, dressed in a white filmy robe thing. She glared at me haughtily from across the room.

Interestingly, she wasn’t crying anymore. Nor was she mewling.

I think I preferred that Fernanda. This one scared the crap out of me.

I sagged in Thug the Guard’s hold, too tired all of the sudden to put up the pretense of a fight. If Fernanda was pissed, she could take a swing at any time. Now that I was in her presence, all the strength I’d been storing up to get me here had fled. I’d probably tip over onto her fists and call it a day.

Fortunately, the high priestess of the Icamiabas appeared to be in more of a mood to talk. She pointed at me with a flurry of Portuguese that included one word I’d never forget: Princesa. Since my princesa-ing was done for the night, I focused on the fire.

Bingo.

The frog amulet was lying on a white satin pillow, cushioned above a literal avalanche of stones banked up around the flames. The stones were carved in all sorts of figures, from fish to snakes to monkeys to birds. As if sensing my interest, the guard helpfully shoved me to my knees, putting me eye level with my frog prince.

As the amulet and I exchanged a meaningful glance, a shuffling to my right betrayed the arrival of another set of feet. A moment later, Nigel crashed to his knees beside me.

“Oh good,” I muttered. “I was getting lonely.”

He snorted. “That’s not going to be a problem from here on out, love. There are about a dozen blokes ready for action in the next room. More on the way.”

Nailed that one, so to speak. “When’d you lose the amulet?”

“About thirty seconds after you did. The Princesa is nothing if not resourceful. They figured you’d be back, though, which is why they kept me around.”

Before I could puzzle through that one, Fernanda stalked toward me. With one sharp command, she directed Chief Thug to take off my jacket. I wanted to put up a fight, I really did, but the closer the woman got to me, the worse I felt. She was like Princesa Kryptonite.

Taking advantage of my passivity, the guard pulled my jacket off me, shoving me hard enough to make me sway as he balled up it and all my supplies, then unceremoniously dumped the whole mess into the fire. I sagged, watching numbly as the pleather curled up and blackened in the flames. The move gave a whole new meaning to the term “burner phone.”

Then I remembered the card reading from my hotel room. The Tower… meant boom.

Uh-oh.

Distracting me from my sudden realization, Fernanda positioned herself in front of me and took my right hand, speaking with urgency.

“Um, she does know I have no idea what she’s saying, right?”

Nigel cleared his throat. “That’s why I’m still here—I’m supposed to translate for you. And by the way, she’s preparing you for sacrifice.”

“I’m not scheduled for sacrifice today.”

“You’ll have to take that up with the headmistress.”

Continuing to mutter in Portuguese, Fernanda placed one of her jeweled cuffs on my right wrist, then one on the left. I wasn’t completely unhappy about my new accessories. Those hunks of metal would go for quite a lot on the open market. Assuming I made it out of here with both my wrists intact.

Fernanda’s sudden, sharp words brought my gaze back to her. Her eyes blazed with intensity, and she barked another command that ended with “Princesa.”

“She needs to quit doing that.”

Nigel’s snort was cut off as Fernanda finished her rant with something firm and absolute-sounding. Thug One hauled me up off my toes, and I hung like a ragdoll in his arms. The odd pose let my feet dangle against Nigel’s ass. I twitched my foot twice, and the Brit’s breath hitched. His fingers brushed my ankle and the weight of the knife I’d holstered there vanished. Then the second guard lumbered over and yanked Nigel to his feet. Both of us waited unmoving, locked into cave-troll-fisted grips.

I eyed the fire nervously as Fernanda began some weird and creepy chant. We didn’t have much time now.

“How’d you get down here, anyway?” I murmured to Nigel beneath her wails. “Because I have to tell you, the route I used wasn’t exactly handicap accessible.”

“Door directly behind us, to the left of where you came in.” He tipped his head toward it. “Narrow passageway, but easy to navigate.”

“Guards?”

“Every twenty feet or so.”

“Crap.”

“I thought you’d like that.”

“Despeer-se,” Fernanda demanded, waving at my shirt. Obligingly, Thug One let me go.

My shoulders slumped. “Do not tell me she just ordered me to strip.”

“You
are
getting the hang of this, aren’t you.”

“No,” I said, turning to him. I needed to hurry this along. “Tell them I will not begin the ritual or whatever the hell they’re talking about until I have the amulet around my neck. Tell them it calls to me.”

“But—”

“Make something up, Nigel. And make it good. I’m not the only liability here, and that loincloth of yours isn’t going to help you save your ass.”

Nigel spoke rapidly. His hand gestures were as expressive as his language, and Fernanda’s face turned from mulish to intrigued to finally happy.

I glared at him. “That was a whole lot more words than was probably necessary, I’m thinking.”

“You told me to make it good.” He shrugged. “And if we don’t get out of this, I’ll at least get to see you perform acts that defy physics before I die. There’s some satisfaction in that.”