Macabre Melody: Book 7 in the Spellsinger Series

by Amy Sumida

  “Bad move, demon-dog,” Jago muttered under his breath as he backed away.

  Slate's eyes flashed like lightning, and he started to move toward Cerberus. Cer tensed; eager for the fight. I rolled my eyes; knowing that I was going to get another beating because I'd be damned if I let Cerberus fight Slate alone. I moved forward into the fray.

  Before a single blow landed, we were all tossed to the ground as if a giant hand had slapped us down.

  Cerberus grabbed me and tucked me into his side as the earth rolled beneath us. Screams came from the civilians on the other side of the wall but those of us within the confines of the metal fence were silent with wariness. My eyes shot around me at the quaking stone buildings; wondering how these gargoyles could be stupid enough to build an underground city over a fault. But then the quake abruptly stopped. It didn't peter out; it just stopped. Five to zero on the Richter scale in a second.

  I glanced at Cerberus as he helped me to my feet. He scowled at me and then turned that scowl on Slate.

  “What kind of dumb fuck builds a zone over a fault? Where the fuck are we; California? You fuckers better not have taken me to California!” Cerberus and I thought a lot alike when it came to stuff like that. The fault thing, not the California thing.

  “There is no fault below us,” Slate growled as he stared around himself furiously.

  “Then why did we just get tossed around like a fucking James Bond martini?” Cerberus snapped.

  “I don't fucking know!” Slate shouted and then clenched his teeth together.

  No; this man did not like to lose his cool.

  Cerberus went still. He glanced sideways at me. “Not good.”

  I shook my head.

  “At least he didn't pull the trigger accidentally.” I waved my hand at the beast of a gun Slate was still holding.

  “You three”—Slate motioned at some gargoyles—“get out there and find me the epicenter of that quake.”

  “Wouldn't it be hypocenter since we're below ground?” I asked snidely.

  Slate sliced his stare back at me. “No; the hypocenter is the focus point where the quake originates. It obviously originated below us, despite the fact that we're underground. Thus, the point I want them to find will still be the epicenter.”

  “Don't fuck with a gargoyle when it comes to any sort of earth-related terminology,” Jago said with a grin.

  I just shrugged.

  “Get them back to their cells and then meet me upstairs,” Slate said to Jago.

  “Sure thing, Boss,” Jago murmured.

  “And keep your hands to yourself, Jago,” Slate tossed over his shoulder.

  Jago grimaced.

  “You know; you have the best bloodhound in all the realms here, and I don't mean me,” Cerberus called after Slate. “You'd be a fool not to use every advantage you have available to you.”

  Slate stopped, turned on his heel, and stared at me.

  “What the fuck, Cer?” I hissed at him.

  “Help him and get us the fuck out of here, El,” Cer hissed back.

  “He's not going to let us go because I solve a fucking earthquake riddle,” my voice rose with my irritation.

  “No; I won't,” Slate agreed. “But I might be inclined to grant you a few perks.”

  “Perks?” I asked warily. “Like what?”

  “First tell me what you can do.”

  “I spellsing,” I said blandly. “If I can put it into a song, I can make it happen. Have you learned nothing from watching me every day?”

  “You can make anything happen?” Slate asked with the smallest measure of shock.

  “Anything,” Cer said smugly.

  “I'm limited by lyrics and intent,” I added.

  “And are there lyrics that can discover why an earthquake hit a zone that's never been shaken before?” Slate kept his stare on me.

  “I can figure something out.”

  Slate looked back and forth between Cer and I. “Better meals for both of you.”

  Cerberus perked up, but I rolled my eyes. Food? Oh, please.

  “What do you want?” Slate asked me.

  “I want time out of my cell somewhere that I don't have to deal with the other inmates.” I crossed my arms and lifted my bloody face. “Every day. And also better food for Cer and me. And I want books. I saw the other prisoners with books. Action and horror; no non-fiction.”

  “Books?” Cerberus huffed. “How about a fucking television?”

  “And a working television for Cerberus; either with cable or DVDs if you can't catch cable down here,” I added.

  Cerberus grinned. “Thanks, El.”

  I nodded at him. I got you, buddy.

  Slate smirked. “Done. But I want results.”

  “I can't guarantee that I'll give you the answer you want to hear, but I will find the truth for you,” I said confidently. “Whatever truth there is.”

  Slate waved me over with a quick flick of his hand. I glanced at Cerberus before I went, and he winked at me. That man had more confidence in me than my mother.

  The Zone Lord looked me up and down. The loose cotton tunic and pants I'd worn out to the yard were covered in dirt and blood; as was my body. He grimaced at the muck and then jerked his head toward Building 1; AKA Gargoyle Headquarters. I'd noticed the sign posted on the building during my few minutes of peace in the training yard. Who the hell lives in a place called Building 1? What was this; the Gargoyle Military?

  It wasn't as if there was a horde of buildings in the complex that needed numbering. There was Building 1, Building 2 (the cell block), and then the arena that joined them. I didn't see a sign on the arena. Technically, they were all one structure. It was ridiculous to number them.

  I followed Slate into Building 1 but instead of going up to his floor, he veered down the left side of the hallway and headed straight back into what appeared to be barracks. We didn't pass any other gargoyles, although there were a few shut doors. Most were open to reveal tidy rooms with modest furnishings. Slate strode past all of them and into a storage room. He swiped a couple things off the shelves, shoved everything into my arms, and then led me back out to the hall.

  I looked over the items as I followed him into an empty room. There was a towel, a bar of soap, and a gray jumpsuit made of heavy cotton.

  “Clean up and make it quick.” Slate opened the door to the room's little bathroom. “I don't like waiting.”

  “No one likes waiting.” I rolled my eyes as I passed him.

  I tried to shut the door, but he held it open.

  “A little privacy?” I huffed.

  Slate leaned back against the open door, pinning it to the bathroom wall, crossed his arms, and smiled slowly.

  I put the stack of stuff down on the lid of the toilet and then crossed my arms back at him. “Then I'll stay dirty.”

  Slate chuckled and angled his eyes away. “I'm not leaving you alone in here.”

  “Cause I might tear off a bathroom fixture with my brute strength and knock you over the head with it?” I made an annoyed sound as I chucked off my shoes and got into the tub/shower combo fully clothed.

  Slate laughed harder.

  I undressed and tossed everything over the top of the shower curtain before turning on the water. I slipped my hand out around the curtain and snatched up the soap.

  “Why didn't you just do that in the first place?” Slate asked in exasperation.

  “You pissed me off.”

  Another chuckle.

  After my brisk shower, I slipped a hand out for the towel but it wasn't where I'd put it. I peered around the curtain and found Slate standing just out of my reach with the towel dangling from his fingers. He smirked; the left side of his mouth lifting higher than the right. A twisted smirk for a twisted man.

  I narrowed my eyes at him, ripped the shower curtain off its hooks, stepped out of the tub with it around me, and snatched the towel from him. Slate nodded as if he approved and then turned his back toward me. I gaped at h
im. I could wrap the shower curtain around his throat and—

  “Stop giving me that murderous glare and get dressed, Killer,” Slate said softly.

  I glanced in the mirror, but he wasn't looking there. He'd just assumed. I snorted and dropped the curtain to brusquely dry myself before I hurried into my underwear and then the jumpsuit. The jumpsuit was way too big for me; made for gargoyle men no doubt. I had to roll up the cuffs at both wrists and ankles before I put on my shoes.

  “Okay; ready.”

  “Fucking finally.” Slate headed out of the room without a backward glance.

  For someone so intent on not letting me out of his sight, he did a good job of ignoring me.

  Before we made it to the stairs, the three men Slate had sent out to find the earthquake epicenter came through the main entrance. They zeroed in on Slate and met us halfway.

  “Found it, Boss,” one of the men said. “Outskirts of the Zone; the clearing on the East side of the Shopping District.”

  “The one we were going to build the new housing in?” Slate asked.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Slate nodded and reached back for me; taking me by the wrist. The men parted for us as Slate tromped outside. There was a black Jeep waiting; Jago leaning against the back. He straightened when he saw us.

  “What are you doing here?” Slate asked him.

  “Thought I'd go along.” Jago shrugged.

  “No.” Slate's stare slid from Jago to me. “No; it's after six. You're off duty.”

  “I know; I want to see Elaria do her thing when she doesn't have to kill someone.”

  “She's not doing her thing for your entertainment,” Slate growled. “I'm taking her alone.”

  “Alone?” Jago glanced at the men behind us.

  “Do you think for one second that I can't restrain her if she tries something?” Slate asked in a low, dangerous tone.

  “She can be wicked fast, Boss,” Jago said carefully. “And she's cunning. You've seen her tactics. She could turn lyrics around mid-song; go from looking for the source to killing you.”

  Shit; Jago had been paying attention. Point for him.

  “Yes; I've seen her in action.” A muscle in Slate's jaw ticked. “And I can handle all of those actions. Now, move aside.”

  Jago held up his hands and moved. He widened his eyes at me when Slate wasn't looking. I barely had time to shrug before Slate was hoisting me up into the passenger seat. He strapped me in as if I were a kid; leaning forward to whisper in my ear.

  “You try anything, and I will fucking kill you. I'll drop a stone on your head faster than you can blink.”

  “Got it, Boss,” I murmured.

  Slate jumped in the driver's seat, turned the key, and spun the Jeep in a circle. Men rushed to open the gates for him so he didn't have to slow down. We sped out into the Zone.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Shopping District happened to be right outside the gates; an interesting choice of city planning there. I guess Slate wanted to draw the crowds of Beneather tourists to the games. Anyway, despite our proximity to the district, it was so large that it took us fifteen minutes to reach the end of it. We drove by glittering stores with exotic items for sale and restaurants that seeped mouth-watering scents into the street. Cars pulled out of the way when they saw Slate coming and pedestrians stopped to gape at us. Slate barely noticed; his cold stare set directly before him and his lips pressed together in a furious line.

  “You're freaking out,” I whispered in surprise.

  Those blade-edge eyes shot to me; a glare that probably made most people quake in their boots. I laughed.

  “This is funny to you? Do I need to point out that you are trapped down here with the rest of us, and if we get buried alive, you shall too?”

  Sobering thought. I stopped laughing.

  “Wouldn't you be able to keep the stone from falling?” I asked in a small voice.

  “All of it at once?” He laughed scornfully. “I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”

  “That would be a no,” I muttered.

  “I'd probably be able to construct a barrier for myself and a few others. My men could save themselves,” he said. “But the rest of the Zone would be destroyed. I know you don't care, but there are thousands of beneathers living here. They'd all die.”

  “Why wouldn't I care?” I scowled at him.

  He sneered derisively.

  “Oh; right,” I said with an air of epiphany. “I'm a heartless killer. Yeah; I don't give a fuck. Just as long as Cer, Tessa, and I survive.”

  “That's my point,” he said in a clipped tone. “You won't. Because you can be damn sure that I won't be saving you.”

  “Ouch,” I said with a grin. “You are scared, aren't you?”

  “Choose your next words very carefully, Spellsinger.”

  “Just an observation.” I shrugged. Sheesh, had he read a book on how to verbally intimidate people? “You wouldn't think an earthquake would upset a gargoyle so much.”

  “As I said; I have more to think about than myself.”

  Slate pulled the Jeep into a dust-spraying stop. We'd left the city portion of the Zone behind and were parked in a barren, stone and earth clearing maybe a thousand feet wide. Building material was piled in neat rows; steel bars and lumber. There were no construction machinery or cement. All of that was unnecessary when you had stone magic and gargoyle strength.

  Slate jumped out of the Jeep, and I followed suit. He strode to the center of the space and then closed his eyes; holding his hands out over the earth. He walked slowly, in an outward spiral, until he finally stopped and opened his eyes.

  “Here.” He pointed down. “This is the epicenter.”

  “What do you sense?”

  “Aftershocks.” Slate shrugged. “Don't worry about what I sense. I need you to tell me what you sense down there.”

  Slate pulled my collar's remote from his inner jacket pocket and pressed a button on it. I gasped as my magic returned, and I felt normal again. I took a deep breath as Kyanite rattled in my head.

  My love, are you all right? We are still working to find you. Why are we out of the arena?

  I need your help, I cut him off. There was an earthquake here; one that shouldn't have happened. I need to find out what's below my feet. Any song ideas?

  Of course. But, an earthquake? Truly? Can't the Gargoyles figure it out?

  Not as yet. Cerberus offered my services to get us some prison perks.

  Of course, he did. Kyanite sighed even though he had no lungs to exhale from.

  Ideas?

  “6 Underground.” Sneaker Pimps.

  Yeah; that might work.

  I could feel his preening even as the music started.

  Slate lifted a mahogany brow at me as the creepy tapping started. I launched right into it; the rolling, almost-bluesy lyrics pouring out of my mouth along with my magic. It was a song about death; about escaping the horrors of life. When you're buried six feet under, nothing can hurt you anymore. Absently, I realized that Slate might see it as a threat. It would be so easy to kill with these lyrics.

  But I wasn't using the song for its depressing, subtle message or even to kill the Zone Lord. I wanted the song's bare components; the words that would thrust my mind underground a lot further than six feet; through the rock and the dirt to what lay beneath. The music took hold of me, and I started to sway gently. I ignored Slate, who kept watching me with narrowed eyes and a finger poised above the remote. I was the music; I was the words. And I went where physical bodies couldn't; right through stone.

  I could still feel my body; the breeze cooling my wet hair, the muscles in my back tight with focus. But my consciousness was beneath it all. Down below my feet. Quiet and steady. Where everything was still and peaceful. Slate was right; there were no fault planes here. I reached the bottom of the Earth's crust and found it solid. But there was another crust beneath it; a very cold one. I dove through it. Ice. It was a thick layer of ice; li
ke polar ice cap thick. The surface of it was solid, but when I reached the bottom layer, I saw that it had fractures running over it as if a giant fist had been pounding against it. Here was the hypocenter of the earthquakes, but what was the ice doing there, and what had cracked it?

  I sent those questions into the music as I continued to absently sing back on the surface. My focus surged down further; into what should have been the mantle. But instead of magma and minerals, I found water. There was an ocean encased in ice below Slate's zone. What the hell?

  I tried to swim through it but the water was as thick as sludge. I pushed and it pushed back at me. And then I saw a dark shape floating in its depths. I reached for it—straining to see what it was—until I couldn't go any further. In fact, I was expelled back into my body like a geyser; gasping out of the song—out of the magic—and falling to my knees. Cold; I was so cold.

  Slate laid a strong hand on my back and gently rubbed. The heat coming off him was wonderful. “Are you hurt? Fuck; you're cold.”

  “No,” I whispered; my breath coming out as mist. I shrugged off his hand and stood. “No; I'm not hurt. Lose the fake compassion.”

  “What did you see?” Slate clicked my collar back on and Kyanite's voice faded along with my magic.

  I am with you even when you can't hear—

  I sighed and settled back into my magic-less existence. “I'm not quite sure.”

  “Try to explain,” he snarled.

  “I'm getting there,” I huffed as I stumbled to the Jeep and crawled into the passenger seat. “Persephone's pink panties! You're such a demanding fucker.”

  I was shivering violently; rubbing my arms as I glared at him. Slate followed me to the Jeep but didn't get in. Instead, he went to the back and pulled out a thick jacket. He settled the jacket around my shoulders with crisp movements. Then he leaned against the open doorway and glowered at me.

  “I saw a layer of ice beyond the Earth's crust,” I finally gave him his coveted info.

  “There is no ice—” He straightened furiously.

  “There is ice. Fucking look at me,” I cut him off and waved at my frozen breath. “There's a thick layer of it; solid on the top and cracked beneath. It looked as if something huge had slammed into it—from below.”