by Amy Sumida
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 him. 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.”
“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; like 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.”
“Below the ice?” He repeated; his brow lowering.
“The side furthest away from us,” I clarified with an impatient huff. “The fractures radiated outward from your epicenter.” I pointed to the place we'd been standing. “I couldn't figure out what had caused it so I went lower.”
“Past this icy crust?” He lifted both brows.
“Into what should have been the mantle.” I nodded. “There was water there.”
“Water.” He scowled. “Cracks inside an ice crust and water in the mantle. You're fucking with me, Spellsinger, and I'm not someone to fuck with.”
“I'm not fucking with you,” I growled. “Stop cutting me off and listen!”
Slate pressed his lips together and glared at me.
“The was an ocean encased in that ice and there was something swimming in it,” I said. “A dark shape.”
“It was probably a diamond.”
“I wasn't a fucking diamond! It moved with sentience.”
“A dark, sentient shape swimming in an ocean encased in ice beneath my zone,” he said dubiously.
“Don't act as if this shit isn't possible, gargoyle,” I put emphasis on his race to remind him that we were Beneathers and anything was possible in our world. “That's what I saw; an ocean around a dark shape. I tried to reach it but the water became thicker and pushed back against me until I was expelled into my body.”
“It expelled you?” Slate scowled again, but this time it was pensively.
“Yeah; like an eruption.”
“What the fuck?” Slate growled as he pushed away from the Jeep. He stalked to the epicenter and stared down at it as if he could see what I had. “What the fuck?”
“My sentiments exactly.” I stared at his feet.
Something was down there; something alive that had enough power to crack a plate of ice thicker than Slate's skull.
Chapter Thirteen
Slate returned me to my cell and then went to meet with his men. A couple of hours later, Jago brought Cerberus and me some exceptionally nice dinner trays on a rolling cart. There was a box of books, one of DVDs, a DVD player, and a television on the lower shelf. Cer got his TV, and I got my paperbacks. But I didn't hear anything more about the earthquake until the next day, after my arena match. Slate sent Jago to bring me to dinner. I grumbled the whole way there.
“Your boss is a bastard who doesn't keep his word.” I sent an angry glare at the prisoners training in the yard. “I was supposed to get some time outside my cell; not just food and books.”
“Take it up with him,” Jago huffed. “I didn't make a deal with the Devil; that was all you.”
I stewed all the way to Slate's dining room. And there the Devil sat; at the head of the table, waiting for me as if we had a date. There was a nice spread on the table before him and a glass of whiskey in his hand. He nodded to Jago, and I was left alone with him.
“Sit down,” Slate said. “Have something to eat.”
“When do I get that time outside my cell?” I got straight to the point.
“Right now.” Slate waved his hand at the room. “This is not your cell.”
“Oh, you think you're funny, huh?”
“This is it, Elaria.” Slate sipped his drink and considered me. “The terms were; outside your cell and without the other prisoners around. There is only you and I here. Now, sit down.”
It was better than nothing. I grimaced but took a seat and filled my p
late.
“And Cerberus?” I asked.
“Is eating exactly what we are.” He frowned at me. “I think you got the better end of this deal; the information you gave me is not helpful.”
“So you haven't discovered what's in the water?”
“I'm still not sure that I believe you about the water and the mysterious darkness within it.” His eyes narrowed to slits; like razors flashing between his lids.