Legacy of the Lost

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  And despite being a relatively minor transgression, I almost couldn’t bring myself to cross that roped-off line.

  “Cora,” Raiden hissed. “Come on!”

  I could hear voices echoing from above. People were drawing near to the top of the stairs. In a few seconds, they would round the corner and see me.

  With a squeak, I turned and ran toward the rope, practically leaping over it, and rushed past Raiden, deeper into the sheltering darkness. I stopped when I could no longer see much of anything at all and figured I was just as likely to trip and break my neck as I was to find an entrance to the catacombs. More likely, probably.

  “Cora,” Raiden whispered, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. He was right beside me, but how he’d gotten there without me hearing him was beyond me. The man could move like a cat. A big, deadly, manly cat.

  “Holy bejesus, Raiden!” I hissed. I huddled against the brick wall, clutching my chest and breathing hard. “How do you do that?”

  “Do what?” he asked, voice hushed.

  All I could do was shake my head. Not that he could see it.

  Raiden was suddenly a lot closer. His body pressed against the side of mine, and his palm came to rest on my abdomen, holding me steady against the wall.

  My stomach did a little flip flop, and my heartbeat thudded in my chest. My senses were on overload, and I was hyper-aware of everywhere Raiden was touching me. Despite the cool, damp air, I was suddenly roasting. I’d never been touched like this. Not even when we’d kissed. Not ever.

  Part of me wanted to flee. It was too much. He was too close. But part of me wanted him closer. After a lifetime of going without physical contact with other people, I quickly seemed to be acquiring a taste for it. I savored it. Craved it.

  “Quiet,” Raiden said, his lips a hairsbreadth from my ear. His breath tickled the tiny hairs that had escaped from my ponytail, giving rise to goosebumps that started on my neck and spread down my back and chest until my whole body was covered.

  I could hear footsteps on the stairs, punctuated by the rapid pounding of my heart. A burst of laughter from the passing group shattered the heavy quiet.

  I jumped, heart leaping into my throat.

  “Easy,” Raiden breathed, his hand pressing more firmly against my abdomen.

  Of course, his close proximity wasn’t doing a damn thing to calm my nerves. By the time the group had passed and the sound of their footsteps had faded away, every cell in my body was awake and alert, and I was all but buzzing with nervous energy.

  Raiden removed his hand and stepped away, and I had to suppress a whimper. Pathetic, I know.

  I heard a gentle rustle, and felt his elbow brush mine as he unzipped his backpack. My eyes must’ve been adjusting to the darkness, because I was just able to make out his shadowy silhouette.

  I watched him, eyes opened as wide as they would go. My breaths sounded insanely loud in my ears. I worked on slowing my breathing, making each inhale and exhale as quiet and controlled as possible.

  “Here,” Raiden whispered, tapping something against my arm. “It’s a headlamp. Put it on, but don’t turn on the light, yet.”

  My fingers fumbled with the device. I grabbed it by the stretchy headband and turned the whole contraption around in my hands until I found the hard, light-up part, which easily fit in my palm. Blindly, I fitted the headlamp onto my head, situating the light on my forehead, then stared at the dark shadow that was Raiden.

  I wasn’t positive but it looked like he was wearing something more substantial than a headlamp. Something that looked more like a mask with binoculars attached. Then my brain kicked in, and I realized what was on his head—night vision goggles. Duh.

  My shoulders slumped a little. I wanted night vision goggles, but all I had was a lame-o headlamp.

  “Come on,” Raiden whispered, grabbing my arm. He tugged me deeper into the shadows.

  We moved slowly, following the ramp downward. My footing wasn’t very sure, and while Raiden might have been able to move as quietly as a cat at a regular pace, in my case, slow and steady meant quiet and undetected.

  We weren’t at it for long. It couldn’t have been more than a minute before Raiden stopped, halting me alongside him. It was darker down here, and there was no longer enough light even to make out his silhouette.

  I looked at him—or at least, where I sensed he was. “What is it?” I asked, voice barely audible. “What do you see?”

  “A wall,” Raiden said. His grip slid down my arm to my wrist, and he guided my hand out ahead.

  My fingers touched cool stone. Even through the thin leather of my gloves I could tell the wall ahead was covered in a film of something that was both somewhat sticky and slightly slimy.

  “Gross,” I murmured, pulling my hand free and bringing my fingertips up to my nose for a sniff. The grime smelled earthy and musty. Figuring it was mold, I wiped my hand on the side of my pants.

  “The walls down here are stone, but this one is brick,” Raiden told me. “Looks like it was added later . . .”

  I frowned. Once upon a time, this might have led up from the ancient entrance to Hadrian’s mausoleum, but it wasn’t a passable route any longer.

  “Does the wall look new, or old?” I asked. The mold made me think old, but I wanted to be sure before I let my hopes rise too high.

  “Definitely not new,” Raiden said.

  I smiled to myself.

  “That’s a good thing?”

  I nodded, knowing he could see it thanks to his fancy eyewear. “My mom still marked this place as having an entrance to the underground. If this wall isn’t new, then it’s not blocking the entrance she used. There’s another way into the tunnels.”

  “And by ‘in,’ you mean ‘down,’ right?” Raiden clarified.

  “Yeah . . .” I narrowed my eyes. “Got something in mind?”

  “Would a sewer grate qualify as a potential access point?”

  My slight smile broadened to a grin. “A sewer grate would be a perfect access point.”

  The Catholic Church was notorious for co-opting ancient sacred sites and converting them to serve a purpose that benefitted them. Centuries ago, when the church first started modifying this site, they wouldn’t have held much regard for the ruins of Hadrian’s tomb. This ancient monument had merely been a convenient and defensible place for the pope to set up shop. If the modifications included converting the lower part of the ancient structure into something akin to a sewer, then so be it.

  “All right,” Raiden said. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I heard his first few retreating footsteps, then nothing.

  As I waited for him to return, I quickly grew unsettled. Down here, in the absolute darkness, I felt unbalanced and paranoid. Every whisper of a sound, every gentle movement in the air—both real and imagined—intensified the feeling until I was certain I was being watched and half-convinced I would be attacked at any moment.

  “All right,” Raiden said, mere feet away.

  I yelped, stumbling backward until my shoulder hit the sticky-slimy brick wall. I slapped my hands over my mouth just as Raiden’s fingers curled around my upper arms.

  “Hey,” he murmured. “It’s just me.” He rubbed his hands up and down my arms.

  I knew that—in my head—but my body wouldn’t stop shaking.

  Raiden pulled me away from the wall and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, hugging me close. He rested his cheek on top of my head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I wanted to relax, to accept the comfort he was offering me, but I was too on edge.

  Raiden didn’t relent. He held me more tightly against him, his hand rubbing gentle circles against my back underneath the backpack. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

  Ever so slowly, the shaking subsided and instinct took over, allowing my muscles to relax and my body to ease into his.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, loosening his hold so he could pull back a little. His knu
ckles brushed over my cheek ever so gently.

  I nodded, not fully trusting my voice at the moment. My heart was pounding in my throat.

  “All right.” His lips brushed against mine ever so softly, and then he released me, letting one hand slide down the length of my arm until he found my hand. His fingers engulfed mine, warm even through the leather gloves. “You’ll be able to turn on your light soon,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Like I had much of a choice. I was blind as a bat down here and, thanks to Raiden, more than a little weak-kneed.

  Raiden led me back up the ramp about twenty paces, then stopped once more. “It’s not too far of a drop,” he said, voice hushed. “I’ll lower you down, and then I’ll follow.” He led me forward one more step. “Feel along the ground in front of you with your foot. Find the edge of the opening.”

  Following his instructions, I tapped my toe in a slight arch in front of me, then extended my leg out farther and started back the other way. And almost fell through the hole.

  I squeezed Raiden’s hand, using it to help me regain my balance. Taking a deep breath, I inched closer to the opening.

  “Sit on the edge and dangle your feet into the hole,” he said.

  I crouched, easing down onto my butt. “What’s down there?”

  “Some standing water, some mold, probably rats and roaches . . . nothing too crazy.” As he spoke, I could hear him moving around to the other side of the opening. “Give me your hands,” he said. “I’ll lower you down.”

  I reached out, searching for him blindly. His fingers wrapped around my wrists, gripping me tightly through the leather of my gloves. I did the same to him, though my hold didn’t feel nearly as effective.

  “Is this hurting your arm?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t hurt at all, anymore.”

  “Good,” he said. “Scoot forward.”

  I stared at the place where he would have been could I have seen anything at all. “Please don’t drop me,” I whispered.

  “Never,” Raiden said, voice filled with conviction.

  Putting all of my trust in him, I scooted forward, sliding off the edge and dropping into the dark abyss. The soles of my boots touched water first, then solid ground.

  “All right,” I told Raiden. “I’m down. You can let me go.”

  His hands slipped free from mine.

  And then I heard the most terrifying sound I could think of: the clang of metal on stone as Raiden dragged the iron grate shut overhead.

  He was shutting me in. Trapping me down here. Alone.

  29

  I stood in the mausoleum-turned-sewer, boots soaking up the drainage water and whatever other sludge was mixed in, totally stunned. My heart drummed a quick staccato, and my breathing picked up until my ragged breaths were all I could hear.

  Raiden—I’d trusted him implicitly. Not once had I second-guessed his intentions or feared he would do anything that could even remotely count as a betrayal, all because we’d grown up together. Because I had feelings for him. Because he had feelings for me, or so I’d thought. The idea that I couldn’t trust him had never crossed my mind.

  And now I was stuck in absolute darkness in the mausoleum tunnels beneath Castel Sant’Angelo with nothing but a headlamp and a backpack full of random, useless things.

  The headlamp!

  Frantically, I raised a hand to my forehead and felt around the front portion of the headlamp, searching for a way to turn on the light. I found a small, soft button on the top and pressed it. The beam of light that flared to life was so bright that it blinded me for a few seconds.

  As my vision returned, I squinted and looked up at the grate.

  Raiden dropped down, his boots making a splash in the murky standing water.

  I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

  He was still wearing the night vision goggles, making him resemble some kind of high-tech, robo super-soldier. He extended his arms overhead, reaching for the iron grate, which covered one-third of the hole. He wasn’t quite tall enough, his fingertips barely able to skim the bottom of the grate. With a heavy exhale, he lowered his arms, pressing one hand against his side and wincing slightly. All of the exertion must have aggravated his rib injury.

  Raiden looked up and around, then turned his attention to me. He flinched, angling his face away from me and flipping up his night vision goggles.

  “Ow . . .” He closed his eyes, rubbing his eyelids for a few seconds, then looked at me again, his eyes narrowing as he shielded his face from the light of my headlamp. “What?” he said. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I realized my mouth was hanging open, and snapped it shut. “I thought—” I shook my head.

  It seemed ridiculous now. Of course he wouldn’t toss me down into some underground ruins only to abandon me moments later. This was Raiden, after all. He would never betray me.

  “Never mind,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”

  His eyes narrowed further. “Right . . .” He didn’t believe me. Probably because I was a big fat liar.

  This mattered. Me doubting him mattered. After everything he’d done to keep me safe. After he’d voluntarily left behind the normal, sane world for the insanity that had become my life. What was wrong with me?

  Raiden reached up, removing his night vision goggles completely. “So where to now?” he asked as he returned the headset to his backpack and pulled out a second headlamp, identical to mine.

  I blinked a couple times, then finally snapped out of my stupor. “Oh, um . . .” I pulled one arm free from my backpack’s shoulder straps and twisted the bag around to the front of my body. I unzipped the main pocket and dug out my mom’s journal.

  “Why don’t you grab your Glock while you’re in there,” Raiden suggested. He fitted the headlamp around his head and turned on the light.

  I looked at him for a moment, still unable to believe I’d thought he’d betrayed me. Guilt twisted in my gut, and ashamed, I returned my attention to my bag. I tucked the journal under my arm, holding it to my side with my elbow, and stuck my hand back into the bag to fish around for the handgun. I found the Glock at the very bottom of the bag and pulled it out. Gun held limply in hand, I looked at Raiden, unsure what to do with it.

  “Pants,” he advised. “Front or back of your waistband. Your choice. It’s not chambered, so you should be safe enough from accidentally shooting yourself.”

  I stared at him for a moment longer. “Gee, that’s super reassuring.”

  Raiden shrugged. “Unless you have another idea . . .”

  With a breathy, exasperated laugh, I tucked the barrel of the Glock into the front waistband of my jeans, not entirely certain I wasn’t about to blow off some or other necessary extremity. I zipped up my pack and resituated it on my back, then opened up the journal to the two-page spread displaying a map of the Roman underground tunnels.

  “All right, if we’re here,” I said, pointing to the tiny circle marker drawn along the square of tunnels underneath the old fortress, “then we need to head this way”—I traced my finger along one side of the square, leading away from the circle marker—“which should be north.” Brow furrowed, I looked first up the tunnel, then down the other way before focusing on Raiden. “Which way is north?”

  “Good question,” he said, raising his arm and turning his wrist so he could see the face of his watch. It was one of those huge tactical watches with a million features. After a moment, he turned to the right and pointed up the tunnel. “North is that-a-way.”

  I glanced down at the map once more, studying the series of turns we would need to make coming up—left, then a quick right, then straight, right, left, left, right—and then we should be within Vatican City’s borders . . . assuming this map was accurate and up-to-date. These tunnels and catacombs were ancient; there was no saying what state they were in, now, even if they’d been passable whenever my mom had drawn the map.

  The only reassurance was knowing she’d made it into the
vault—and back out—mere weeks ago. She must have used the underground passages, which meant there was a passable route.

  I shut the book and tucked it back into my pack, then resettled the backpack on my shoulders. “This way it is, then,” I said, heading up the passageway.

  The tunnel was relatively featureless, the walls made up of large, roughly rectangular stones stacked in an offset bricklayer’s pattern and curving overhead into an arched ceiling. Other than the several inches of standing water and the musty mildew smell, the nearly two-thousand-year-old passageway was in excellent condition.

  I could hear Raiden following close behind me. The sound of sloshing water echoed off the ancient stone walls. Even he couldn’t move silently down here. My socks were already soaked, making an additional squelching sound with each step.

  As we approached the end of the tunnel, turning left was our only option. I paused at the corner and peered down the new tunnel. It looked much the same, other than the person-sized opening on the right-hand side some ten paces in. The opening itself was about six feet tall and two feet wide, supported by a red brick archway that looked out of place among the imperfect stone blocks, almost like it had been added later.

  “This way,” I said, shooting Raiden a quick glance over my shoulder, then heading straight for the opening in the wall.

  I stopped when I reached the archway and skimmed my gloved fingertips over the brick. It was only a little slimy from whatever strain of mold favored these dank, dark tunnels. I looked back at the passageway beneath the fortress, then ahead at the narrow tunnel on the other side of the arched opening. It wasn’t new, not by any definition of the word, but it was newer than the mausoleum passageway.

  The walls were rough and uneven, with long, deep chisel marks cut into the stone, as though the route had been carved through the very bedrock.