Wilder (8 page)

Chapter 12

G
uardian was tired. He was dirty. And even after days of fighting demons, his rage still simmered.

Stripping off his battle gear, he dropped it in the basket outside the cave.

He never took that stuff inside. He believed the cave would be the last citadel to fall to the demons. He would never stain his peaceful home with the residue of war.

Then he trudged in.

Two days ago—or three, he wasn’t sure—Charisma had asked for Isabelle. She had claimed Isabelle would heal her, and he’d experienced the kick of hope that Charisma could be healed. He’d left her sleeping and he’d been foolishly optimistic, imagining he could fetch her friend to heal her.

What an idiot he’d been.

They
were after him . . . whoever
they
were. He didn’t remember their names, but he knew they would always be after him. And he would be forced to remain belowground forever.

The upwelling of fear, frustration, and rage had sent him rampaging through the tunnels, seeking the bands of demons and destroying them. Now he was back, filthy, hungry, and exhausted. And a failure—Taurean had found him and reported that Isabelle was in Europe with no date set for her return.

Guardian so badly wanted to be able to talk to the people at the Upper East Side mansion, tell them how to find him when Isabelle returned, so he could help hasten Charisma’s recovery.

But when he questioned Taurean, she looked confused and upset, afraid she hadn’t done enough during her visit and afraid to go back. So for now, he would do nothing until he had talked to Charisma.

One glance at her cot on the ground proved she wasn’t sleeping now. In fact, no sign of her remained except a faint, womanly scent that teased his nose with false promise.

Regret pierced him. And concern.

While he was gone, had she slipped beyond all help? Had she succumbed to the demon’s venom?

No. His people would have found him, told him.

No, it had to be the other choice. She had recovered enough to leave.

He had hoped for this. Yes, he had.
He didn’t need a woman here, distracting him from his fight, teasing him, touching him, reminding him of what he could never have.

And yet . . . on his arrival, Charisma was the first thing he had looked for.

He hurried deeper into the cave, searching for someone who knew where she had gone, and when, and why. “Amber!” he shouted. “Where is she?”

Amber popped up her head from the hollow in the rock where she preferred to meditate. She spread her hands and frowned as if she didn’t understand.

He indicated Charisma’s empty bed. And knew a chill of fear, for Amber covered her mouth in horror.

Charisma hadn’t left on purpose.

Somehow, she was gone against her will.

Instincts screaming, he put his nose to the ground and went on the hunt.

Charisma knew where she was; she was lying on her back in a hollow in the earth in Guardian’s cave. She knew why she was there; she was recovering from a demon’s bite. The packed ground was hard and cool against her back. . . .

But something unfamiliar was poking her shoulder blade. She groped for it.

It was a button.

A button. On the ground.

The ground felt velvety, smooth. Not like dirt at all. And it had a button. It had . . . a lot of buttons. It felt like . . . upholstery, fancy rolled upholstery like on the antique chairs at Irving’s mansion.

She didn’t want to look.

But no. It was okay. The demon’s venom had hurt her vision, so she wore a blindfold. She couldn’t see anyway.

So she opened her eyes.

She
could
see: shiny metal and wood. Red velvet upholstery.

A coffin, her coffin, held her close.

She took one long breath to scream—and the heavy lid slammed down on her, hard and fast, muffling her, imprisoning her forever.

In the dark and the forever, she panicked.

She couldn’t get her breath. She couldn’t breathe.

She wanted out.
Get me out!

Abruptly, she stood alone at the base of a tall, sheer rock mountain. A small, dark cave beckoned.

She knew she had no choice. She had to go in. On the other side of the mountain was everything she wanted. Her friends. Her life, free from cruelty, evil, and anguish. She could linger here, but nothing would change. She had to go in.

She had to look for her destiny.

She also knew . . . knew she might never find it. Many paths led into the darkness. Only one was the right path. She might be—probably would be—lost in the dark for all eternity.

Charisma woke in truth.

She pulled air into her lungs in a mighty gasp.

She was standing up. In the dark. In utter and complete silence.

No birds chirping. No brook babbling. Still underground . . .

She reached out her hands, hoping to encounter . . . something. A wall. A piece of furniture.

Nothing.

But she wasn’t blind. No. She wasn’t. She was wearing a blindfold, and all she had to do was take it off and she would see . . . something. Everything. And that stuff about her eyes being burned was just so much bull fed to her by someone who was now playing games with her. Or who existed only in her nightmares.

Where was Guardian?
Had
she dreamed him? She wanted Guardian.

It struck her how much she hoped he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Like the coffin, like the cave, was Guardian a part of her subconscious’s ravings? Was this a trick? Was this all madness . . . ?

She realized she was standing rigid, with her hands straight at her sides as if she were afraid to take off the blindfold.

But she was Charisma Fangorn. She was afraid of a lot of things—in her business, only the foolish didn’t fear the dark—but she was not afraid to take off that blindfold.

No, removing the blindfold wasn’t what she feared.

It was seeing what lay beyond.

Lifting her hands took effort, but she touched the knot at the back of her head, untied it—wouldn’t it have just been easier to push it off her face?—and unwrapped the blindfold. And stared at . . . nothing.
More
nothing. Total darkness.

She saw nothing. She heard nothing. She felt no draft of air, sensed no other being. She was alone except for . . . except for the earth.

Panic built in her mind.

She was far below ground. She could feel it. She could smell the deep, rich, life-affirming, death-dealing earth. She could feel the first faint spark of excitement from the stones at her wrist.

But how did she get here?

She knew the answer. Pretending she didn’t would not help her.

In her sleep, she had heard the call of the earth and followed it. Sleepwalking.

How many times had this happened in the safety of the mansion? Usually she awoke before she wandered very far and took herself back to bed. Once or twice she’d come to consciousness to see Martha or McKenna talking to her gently.

This time . . . this time Charisma had escaped from the Guardian cave.

Or maybe
that
had been the illusion.

She groped the spot on her shoulder where the demon had bitten her.

The bite wasn’t an illusion, and she was thin and weak, so Guardian was
not
a figment of her imagination.
Please. Be real.

But how could he, or anyone, find her and return her to the surface? She was lost again below the city, marooned in the deepest dark where no light could ever penetrate, where even the demons did not come.

She could go forward. She could answer the call of the earth.

But . . . she was so afraid.

The earth beckoned her to its heart, wanting her to come, to face what she must become. She knew that transformation must involve pain and anguish, a release of self, and ultimately . . . death.

The coffin and the cave were real. She knew it in her heart. Death stalked her, and challenges waited in the utter dark of that endless, twisting cave. Her destiny was calling to her, even though she tried to ignore its grave demand.

“Charisma . . .” Her name echoed softly, eerily.

She held her breath.

Had the earth developed a real voice to call her?

“Charisma, don’t move.” Soft and low. “You’re on a bridge.”

No, that couldn’t be the earth. It didn’t sound like its call.

“There are chasms on either side of you,” the voice said.

Oh, great.

“Did you hear me?” The voice was deep, but distorted, as if it came across a great distance.

“Yes, I hear you,” she said.

“Speak softly.” The voice sounded nearer. “The rock here is rotten and pockmarked. A loud voice or sudden noise could start an avalanche.”

Nearer. And clearer.

It was
his
voice. Somehow Guardian had found her.

“We want to be very quiet,” he said faintly, “very cautious not to dislodge a stone.”

She nodded. She was not about to say another word.

She could see a dim red light now, moving slowly toward her from far away, casting its feeble illumination on a narrow path cut into a sheer cliff.

Of course. The way to the heart of the earth would always be challenging.

Who made up these stupid rules?

Now he started across the bridge toward her—the really narrow stone bridge that groaned under his weight. She felt the rock shift under her feet, and moaned softly in terror.

He moved even more slowly.

She couldn’t see him, only the hand holding the flashlight with the red filter.

Red for improved night vision, of course, and possibly to be healthier on her eyes. But better safe than sorry.

The bridge groaned again, as if protesting his weight.

The light stopped.

In that low, soft voice he said, “This won’t support me. You’ll have to come here.”

“Okay.” In an abstract corner of her mind, she noted that she sounded a little squeaky.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“No.” Still squeaky.

“That’s good.” He spoke so soothingly, she knew he was worried.

But she
wasn’t
afraid of heights. Not normal heights. But heights above a bottomless chasm in a midnight dark cave in the middle of the earth—well, that was a different story.

He shone his flashlight slowly across the bridge, giving her a sense of where she must step.

The way was narrow, the darkness beyond bleak, and every step was littered with pebbles and slippery, broken stones. She edged forward, each movement an agony of fear . . . and all the way, she fought the demand of the earth to come the other way, into the harsh unknown.

Guardian spoke softly, constantly encouraging her, and she concentrated on him, used him to block out the increasingly strident call of the earth.

At last she took the step that took her off the bridge and onto solid ground.

As she did, the stone cracked.

Her foot slipped.

Guardian grabbed her, saved her from the chasm.

The bridge broke.

In a mighty roar, boulders poured into the gap.

He pulled her into his arms, and she clung to him, burying her face in his fur. He backed away from the cataclysm, keeping her close, protecting her as the stone continued to crumble beneath their feet.

At last the tumult died.

They halted, panting.

She thought she felt his hand touch her hair. “Very bravely done,” he said. “But I think we must not linger. I’ve never been here before, but nothing about this place is safe.”

“No kidding.” Her voice had returned to normal, if normal meant it wobbled only a little.

He placed her in front of him and guided her with his light. “How are your eyes?”

“No problems so far.”

“Good.” He sounded so pleased. So relieved. “You’ve had time to heal. If . . . if they continue to be well, I could show you my cave. It is more hospitable than this place.”

“I would like that. Let’s get out of here.” She was feeling more like herself every moment.

Maybe because he kept his arms around her and walked close behind her, and this felt like . . . protection.

Chapter 13

G
uardian and Charisma climbed out of the depths, and as they did, he marveled that she had come so far on her own, through a night so dark even he had been blind much of the time. Something had taken her into the hidden parts of the earth, something that frightened and appalled her. Yet for all that he’d known this woman for such a little time, he knew she would stand up against any fear, and face it straight on.

He could learn a few things from her . . . perhaps if he did, the fact that she was soon going to see him in all his beastly glory wouldn’t worry him.

Yes, he could face down a hundred demons without a quiver—but one small woman made him tremble.

He sighed.

“What?” she asked. “Did I take you away from something important?”

“Not at all. Nothing is as important as the safety of my guest.” He debated telling her the truth. “We’re getting close to the Guardian cave.”

“Yes.”

“There’s light there.”

“Yes?”

“I wonder what you’ll think when you see me.”

“Do I seem the delicate type?” She turned so quickly, he almost lost his grasp on the flashlight. “Go ahead. Show me.”

He realized his jaw was unattractively ajar. He shut it. “I’m not ready,” he said, and sighed. He sounded like a virgin.

“What have you got to do?” she asked. “Shave first?”

“You have a smart mouth.” He’d had to face this particular fear before. He’d had to brace himself for other people’s horrified reactions.

But Charisma
mattered
.

“Yes, I do have a smart mouth. Also, I’m insensitive to others’ feelings.” She paused. “What are you going to do about it?”

He found himself grinning. “I’m going to scare you with . . .
the monster
!” Like a Boy Scout trying to frighten the other campers, he raised the flashlight under his chin.

Her loud, terrified gasp startled him. He hadn’t expected her to actually . . .

Shit.
Now she was stifling laughter.

She wasn’t afraid. She’d been pulling his paw. “Fine.” Disgusted, he brought the flashlight out a little farther so she could actually see him.

Silence.

How odd to stand here in the dark, the only puddle of light the one he directed at himself, at his misshapen body wrapped in a cotton tunic, and wait for judgment from a woman he barely knew, but cared about too much.

Finally, she said, “You’re very tall. I envy you that. I’m on the petite side.”

“You’re short,” he said without thinking.

“I see I’m not the only one who’s insensitive.”

Apparently she wasn’t as impressed with his looks as he expected. Or maybe she was just being tactful—although that seemed out of character. “So what do you think?”

“Of you? I think there are monsters, Guardian. I’ve seen them. I’ve met them. But you’re not one of them.” She took his hand, the one with the flashlight, and shone it in front of them again. “Come on. I want out of here before I . . .”

“Before you go back to wherever you were going?”

“I wouldn’t know how,” she admitted. “Not while I’m awake, anyway.”

They started walking again.

“That must have been quite a dream, to take you so far in the dark,” he said.

“I don’t remember.” Her voice sounded obstinate.

Whatever she had dreamed, she wouldn’t share it with him.

He understood. Most of his dreams weren’t fit to share, either. Most of his dreams would scare a demon into church.

The trail became a tunnel. The tunnel began to lighten.

They approached the large, arched entrance of the Guardian cave. Here light seeped in from above. He looked down at her, saw how thin she was, remembered her illness and Dr. King’s worries. “How are your eyes?” Guardian asked. “Should you put on the blindfold again?”

“Not yet.” He heard the note of panic in her voice. “Let me see where I am. Let me see that this is not a fevered figment of my imagination.”

“It’s pretty fevered,” he said. “Trust me. When I first saw the cave . . . to start with, I was crazy, so maybe it doesn’t matter what I thought then. But I still think the cave is . . .” Words failed him. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “We can check it out, but only if you’ll promise me that if your eyes hurt, you’ll let me know.”

“I’m stubborn, but not stupidly stubborn. I’m not going to risk my eyesight for a tour.”

“Then come on.” He stopped her just outside the entrance. “I envy you this first glimpse. It’s . . . bizarre. Odd. Fabulous. Glorious. A place beyond reason.”

“Okay!” She smiled. Dimples quivered. Her green eyes lit up with curiosity and greed. “You’ve sold me. Let’s see it.”

He guided her into the cave. His people were out searching for Charisma, and Guardian and Charisma were alone.

Inevitably, she looked up. “Wow. Just . . . wow.” She pointed up at the ruins high in the wall. “What’s that?”

“No one knows for sure.”

She faced him, planted her hands on her hips, and glared.

“Okay! This is pure speculation. It’s my theory based on nothing but gut feelings and the legends surrounding this cave. I think that long ago, a race of guardians came into the cave and made it their base. Here they lived, built homes and workplaces, and ventured out to fight the hell spawn that wander the underground.” There. He felt foolish.

She nodded thoughtfully, and looked up again. “Sounds reasonable to me. Someone created this place, and those ruins are spectacular. How do you get up to them?”

“You don’t.” He was firm. “There’s no way up.”

“Really?” She considered him suspiciously. “You’ve never gone up there?”

He grimaced and confessed, “Once. On a high ladder and with some climbing. That convinced me I never want to go back.”

“Ghosts?”

“I felt like I was being watched every moment.”

She shivered. “Cool.”

“I think whatever spells they cast, whatever protections they created are still in place. That’s why the Guardian cave is safe.”

“Cool,” she repeated.

Light shone down from the ceiling through skylights.

“How do you get electricity down here?” she asked.

“No electricity. The Belows tried to run a cable for me. Like rats, the demons chewed it through.”

She paced into the cave, ten steps, twenty, craning her neck, trying to see everything at once. “What generates the lights?”

“In the daytime, it’s sun.” He glanced up. “Not much more daylight now. At night, the stones themselves are phosphorescent.”

“
Really?
No electricity? No television, no Internet? Wow.” She clasped her hands. “That sounds kind of peaceful.”

Guardian grinned at her enthusiasm. “No Internet, but Dr. King carries a MacBook back and forth for me. He charges it on the surface, brings it down, and I use it.”

She paused, thought hard. “Dr. King. I remember that name. You said Dr. King saved my life.”

“He did. He’s a great guy.” For a lot of reasons.

“But he’s the one who didn’t want me to take off the blindfold.”

“For your own good.” Guardian carefully, tentatively asked, “After so much exertion, how do you feel?”

“Good.” She put her palm to her chest and took a breath as if testing her lungs. “Yes. I’m good. Better.”

Relief melted into Guardian’s bones. “Good. I want you to . . . heal.”

“Me, too, honey.” She sounded precisely like a tough girl.

He supposed, with the tattoos and the leather, she fit the definition of a tough girl. But he’d seen her helpless and near death, and as far as he was concerned, she was delicate and far too mortal.

She wandered over to his desk and touched the computer. “So you watch movies and stuff?”

“I do. But more important, and I don’t like to brag”—he had his tongue firmly in his cheek—“I’m actually quite a brilliant programmer.”

She faced him. “If you can make coffee and know how to run a vacuum, you’re the perfect man.”

He knew that in this light, she could really see him now. But she didn’t flinch. In fact, she seemed only slightly impressed.

Her indifference made him stand a little taller. “I can clean the demons out of a tunnel.”

“Close enough.” She turned back to the cave.

Here and there furniture stood against the wall: a cupboard, groupings of chairs, and occasionally a folding screen placed to give privacy. Steep, narrow steps had been cut twenty feet up into the stone walls, leading to the alcoves carved into the rock. Up there, on one side, was Guardian’s library, with a long bookcase cluttered with a million books collected by other Guardians of other times, and a battered, broken recliner Taurean had procured for him from an estate sale. Free, of course. On the other side was his bedroom.

Like the world’s most improbable tour guide, Guardian said, “The place is a legend underground, always a sanctuary for the Warrior who defends the innocent, somewhere the demons cannot come.”

“That is a good spell. I wonder how they did it.” She ran forward a few steps toward a bird pecking into the dirt on the floor.

It fluttered and flew.

She laughed. “I wasn’t sure the birds were real.”

“They were here when I got here. I think they get trapped belowground, and somehow the lucky ones find their way here.”

As day faded to night, a faint glow began to emanate from stones placed into the walls and ceiling, like streetlights created to keep the night away.

“Amazing.” She waved an all-encompassing hand. “Why? How?”

“Maybe it’s magic. Maybe it’s the ghosts. Maybe it’s the memories of the ancient people who channeled the water and built the buildings.” Guardian looked at the library, willing an answer, and knowing it was not there. “I’ve looked and have found nothing—no paintings of Stone Age animals on the walls, no scrolls filled with ancient hieroglyphics. But it can’t be a mistake that it was built so close to the mouth of hell.”

“It’s definitely a sacred cave of some kind.”

“That being the case, we have the knowledge that someone before us fought to hold back the forces of evil. And that is a very great thing to remember. The battle has been fought before, and won.” Guardian allowed the peace of the cave to sink into his bones. In a low voice, he said, “We have to have faith we can win again.”

“That’s the problem,” she admitted. “I’ve lost faith. All I can see is a long fight against a rising tide of malevolence, and beyond that the coffin and the dark cave with too many paths . . . and only one is right.”

“Dr. King says . . . if you don’t know the right path—help comes to those who ask.”

“Do you believe that?” She faced him. “Do you really believe that?”

“I try.” He looked at her; she was grubby, defiant, with a frown of worry that wrinkled her brow.

She didn’t run from him, screaming. She didn’t seem impressed by his fur or his paws or his misshapen body.

In his eyes, she was beautiful, and even more so because she gave him hope. “I didn’t used to believe in anything, except living one day at a time, struggling, fighting, sleeping, eating, getting up to do it again. But lately I’ve started to think . . . there might be more.”

She observed him, intent and quiet. “I pray you’re right.”

“I do, too.” He listened to a commotion outside the cave. “Charisma, you should rest.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I have a battle to fight.” He turned as Moises burst into the room, Taurean on his heels.

“A group of the Belows,” Moises said in a gasp. “Attacked. Come! Now!”

No. Guardian wanted to stay with Charisma.

Charisma put her hands on his chest and shoved at him. “Go on. You were bragging about what a great warrior you were. Prove it.”

She made him smile. “Taurean will feed you,” he said.

“Good. I’m hungry.” She shoved at him again. “You take care.”

He headed out. At the door, he turned and found her observing him. “Put your blindfold back on. Rest!”

“When you come back, you’ll find me exactly where you want me,” she promised.

He pointed a stern finger at her, as if demanding she keep her promise.

Then he ran out, changed back into his fighting garb, and went to do his duty . . . as Guardian.