by Tana Stone
“You will?”
She hesitated slightly. “If you help me get Serge, you’ll have my complete obedience.”
A warm hand enveloped hers, and she noticed that her hand vanished when he held it. “I will hold you to that, Madeleine.”
His voice was so serious, her stomach did a somersault. Shit. What had she just promised?
Tightening his grip on her invisible hand, he tugged her forward. “My sensors say he is in the bottom level of this palace. We should find a back staircase over here.”
They moved swiftly down the high-ceilinged corridor until they reached an apparent dead end.
“So much for a back staircase,” she muttered, glancing over her shoulder to where they would need to backtrack.
“It’s here,” Brok said. “It must be hidden.”
Madeleine eyed the ivory-stone wall. “A secret passageway?” She began tapping the hard rock and heard Brok doing the same. After a few moments, one of the smaller stones sunk into the wall—presumably after Brok had pressed it—and a panel slid open.
“This place definitely has a lot of secrets,” Madeleine said as she was pulled into the hidden stairwell.
“Agreed. I understand more and more why they do not want to have diplomatic relations with other planets.”
“Because they don’t want the rest of the aliens to know how freaky they are?”
“Something like that. It would be hard to explain the reasoning behind keeping your entire population drugged.”
Madeleine shuddered as she recalled how out of it she’d been when the pill had taken full effect. She genuinely hadn’t cared what the Spartosian prince had been about to do to her. Part of her had actually welcomed it, although that never would have been the case if she’d been sober. She gave herself a small shake, brushing off the sense of shame and regret she felt, even though nothing had happened. She liked to think that she lived on the edge and embraced the unknown, but even that was too far for her.
Brok kept her tucked close behind him as they moved quietly down the spiral stairs that wound into the bowels of the building. With one hand on the stone wall, she felt it grow cooler and slightly damp as they descended, and she wondered if they were under the city’s water level.
At one point, she heard voices coming up from below and growing louder. Brok flattened her to the wall seconds before a pair of females passed, and she held her breath until the high, chirpy conversation had moved up the stairs. The pressure of his large body against hers didn’t startle her the second time, and she missed the heat when he moved away.
“Almost there,” he whispered, as they reached a landing that spilled out into another corridor. Instead of being bright with soaring ceilings like upstairs, this hallway was dark and dank with flickering sconces on the walls giving uneven light. There was a lingering scent of mildew, and the far-off sound of dripping water. They were definitely underground, and the thought made goosebumps prickle her flesh.
“This isn’t a dungeon, is it?” she asked, her voice cracking. She couldn’t stand it if Serge had been locked up in another cell.
“I do not know. I do not think so.”
Without another word, they moved down the hallway toward the sound of voices and clattering. The scent of mildew was soon replaced by the smell of fish. But not raw fish, fish that was being cooked. Not that either was especially pleasant.
The sounds grew louder, and the voices rose, and Madeleine almost cried out when she recognized Serge voice amid the cacophony. “He’s there. Up ahead.”
Brok didn’t respond, but the pressure of his hand on hers increased, and he moved faster. They rounded a corner, and the corridor opened up into an enormous kitchen with people bustling from the ovens that lined one wall to the tables in the center of the room to a long, stone countertop that ran the entire length of another wall. Some of the workers were Spartosians, but even more were aliens of all kinds. A tall, purple-skinned female kneaded a mound of dough on the counter while a squat, horned alien sat at a low table cutting the skin off silvery eels. Other massive aliens with crimson skin and bald heads that brushed the ceiling hauled enormous cauldrons onto roaring flames.
Madeleine scanned the room until she located Serge in a far corner. He sat on a stool, scraping the flesh of a strange eight-legged fish. His hair was fuchsia, and he was muttering furiously to himself.
“That’s him,” Madeleine said to Brok, lifting the hand he held to point to the Gatazoid. “I can’t believe they put him to work in the kitchens. He is not going to be happy.”
Even though she knew she was about to get an earful from Serge, she didn’t care. She was so happy that he was safe and not locked in some sort of Spartosian dungeon.
Pulling the invisible Drexian behind her, Madeleine snaked her way through the bustling kitchen. She got a few curious looks, but most of the workers were too busy with their tasks to care too much about her.
“Serge!” she cried, when she reached him.
The Gatazoid snapped his head up at the sound of his name and his face broke into a wide smile, then it quickly morphed into outrage as he assessed her damp clothing. “Where have you been? Did you go swimming while I’ve been slaving away down here?”
“Not exactly.” She didn’t want to go into the details of her unpleasant encounter with the Spartosian prince. Not there, at least. “We’re here to get you out.”
Serge blinked his large round eyes at her. “We?”
“I’m standing next to an invisible Drexian warrior who came to rescue us.”
Serge’s expression did not change. “Invisible?” His shoulders sagged. “The pressure has finally gotten to you, hasn’t it, sweetie? It’s okay. I don’t blame you. It’s been a tough few weeks. I’ve almost hallucinated a few times myself.”
“I’m not hallucinating,” Madeleine insisted. “Captain Brok from Inferno Force is right next to me.”
Serge’s forehead furrowed. “How oddly specific.”
“She’s telling the truth.” Brok’s voice was low and deep. “I have come to get you both off Spartos.”
Serge yelped and dropped the knife he’d been holding. It fell straight down and lodged in the toe of his shoe. He gave another pained shriek, and his eyes fluttered once before rolling back in his head.
Chapter Ten
Brok caught the little alien before he slumped onto the floor. Since he appeared invisible, it looked like the Gatazoid was half slumped and half hovering in midair. Madeleine reached for him and helped hold him upright, while Brok knelt down.
“I’d better get this out of his foot.” He yanked the knife up, and Serge’s eyes popped open.
“What happened? What’s going on?” The alien glanced wildly around him and then his eyes dropped to the knife that seemed to be suspended above his foot. “Have I finally snapped?” He locked eyes on Madeleine, and he lowered his voice to a desperate whisper. “Am I going insane?”
Madeleine grinned and rubbed his arm. “You’re not crazy. I told you. Captain Brok is invisible.”
Serge eyed her warily then glanced over at the empty space, watching as Brok lifted the knife and put in on the table. He extended a stubby finger. “So, he’s right there?”
Madeleine shushed him as a few aliens glanced their way. “He has a special device that cloaks him.”
“Like Drexian ships,” Brok said, so only Serge and Madeleine could hear.
The Gatazoid nodded, this information seeming to appease him. “And you’re here undercover? To get us out of here?”
“Yes,” Brok said.
Serge stood and put his hands on his hips. “Well, it’s about time. I’m ready to blow this popsicle stand.”
Madeleine raised an eyebrow. She’d gotten used to Serge’s use of Earth expressions, but this was a new one for him.
“Can you believe they brought me down here?” Serge asked, sweeping his small arms wide. “Me, of all people, working in the kitchen? I told them my skills and qualifications, but did tha
t puffed up blondie listen to me? No, he did not. He dragged me down here. Here of all places! As if I’ve ever peeled a fish in my life.”
Madeleine patted the Gatazoid’s arm.
“I’m glad to see you’re fine,” Serge continued after a quick breath, glancing at the human female. “I insisted on being taken back to you, but did they listen to me? Of course not. Where did the queen take you, anyway?”
Madeleine swallowed. “It’s hard to explain. A kind of recreation area.”
A look of outrage crossed Serge’s face. “Recreation?”
“Yes, but trust me when I say you should not be jealous,” Madeleine told him. “Serge, there’s something really messed up about this planet.”
“Clearly. They put artists like me to work peeling fish.”
Madeleine rolled her eyes. “More than that. There’s something in the water that makes everyone kind of dopey, and those blue pills they gave us aren’t to prevent radiation poisoning.”
Serge touched a hand to his throat. “They aren’t? Don’t tell me they’re toxic. Am I going to die? I’m going to die, aren’t I? I knew it. This is the end of me.”
“You aren’t going to die. But they do lower inhibitions and make you do things you might not normally do.”
Serge tilted his head to one side. “That explains why I couldn’t stop giggling earlier. And you know I never giggle.” He cast his eyes suspiciously around the room. “So, everyone here is doped up?”
“Probably not the workers down here,” Brok said. None of the aliens in the kitchens seemed overly cheery or aroused.
“Typical,” Serge grumbled. “The warden down here runs a tight ship, and I haven’t seen a single person crack a smile the entire time.”
“Warden?” Madeleine looked over her shoulder.
Serge fluttered a hand. “Figure of speech, darling. But the creature who runs this place is not to be tangled with, I’ll tell you that much.”
Brok cast another gaze around the large, bustling room. Luckily, everyone seemed to be so intent on getting their work done that they weren’t paying much attention to Serge and Madeleine—and they couldn’t see him. If they could, he suspected their reaction would be much different.
“We should leave.” He interrupted Serge’s ever-growing list of complaints about his treatment in the kitchens.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Serge stood but immediately winced.
“Your foot?” Madeleine looked down at the small cut in his shoe.
“My toe,” Serge clarified. “It did get stabbed with a dagger.”
Brok would have hardly called the fish knife a dagger, but he didn’t bother to correct the Gatazoid. “Can you walk, or should we send another rescue party to get you later?”
Serge inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders. “Later? Bite your tongue. I’m getting out of here if I have to drag myself by my fingernails.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Madeline said, obviously choking back a laugh. She put a hand under one of Serge’s elbows, lifting him slightly.
Brok took Madeleine’s other hand—causing it to vanish from view—and started to lead her through the crowded, steamy room, with Serge hobbling along on Madeleine’s other side. When they reached the entrance to the corridor, Serge let out a high-pitched noise and stopped short.
A female with skin as green as Noovian whiskey and a succession of wobbling chins connecting her head to her body blocked their path. She was so wide they couldn’t get around her without stepping on the thick tail that curled around her on the floor.
Brok wasn’t sure what species she was, but she looked partly amphibian, with her thick and scaly skin. Whatever she was, she didn’t look pleased.
Her beady eyes fixed on Serge. “Where are you going?”
“He’s with me,” Madeleine said, her voice steady and unwavering.
“And you are?”
Madeleine threw back her shoulders. “A guest of the queen. This is my attendant.”
The alien Brok assumed was the kitchen warden shook her head and her chins jiggled in response. “He was assigned to my work team.”
“That was a mistake,” Madeleine said. “Besides, he’s injured and needs medical attention.”
The warden looked him up and down. “He looks fine to me.”
“My toe.” Serge’s voice was not much more than a squeak, as he pointed to his foot.
The warden looked down, then up again, her thin green lips curling. “As long as his arms are functional, he needs to go back to work.”
Madeleine frowned then glanced over at the spot where Brok stood, her jaw dropping. Looking down, he saw that the cloaking device was flickering, making his body go in and out of view.
Grek. He tapped it, but not before the warden’s large head swung toward him, her hard, glittering eyes popping open.
“What’s going on here?” Her voice was as wobbly as her chins.
When his form vanished from view again entirely, he dropped Madeleine’s hand and stepped over the warden’s large tail. Coming up behind her, he hooked one thick arm around her neck before she could react. He used his other arm to hold the lock as he tightened the headlock and she began to struggle.
Both Madeleine and Serge stared open-mouthed as the alien started to claw at his invisible arms, her arms flailing and her tail swinging wildly behind her. Even a few of the workers in the kitchen looked over, gaping as the warden gyrated and convulsed for no apparent reason. Her green skin reddened as her movements slowed, and finally Brok lowered the limp creature to the ground.
“Is she…?” Serge asked, not taking his eyes from the limp figure sprawled on the stone floor.
Brok felt around her chins until he registered a pulse in her neck. “Just passed out.”
“He’s good at almost killing people,” Madeleine said.
“I suppose that’s a handy skill to have,” Serge mumbled, as Madeleine lifted him over the alien.
Brok could see that several of the kitchen workers had started to move toward the warden, looks of shock—and some of undisguised glee—on their faces.
“I don’t know what happened to her,” Madeleine said, with an exaggerated shrug. “She just collapsed.”
The workers murmured agreement. They’d seen her drop without anyone touching her.
Serge jerked a thumb toward the corridor. “You all stay here. We’ll go find help.”
Brok took Madeleine’s hand again, and the three of them started moving quickly down the corridor, turning a corner and running straight into a Spartosian female with nearly-white hair who was flanked by two shirtless blond males. He dropped her hand, so none of the aliens would notice its invisibility.
“There you are, dear.” The queen’s smile settled on Madeleine. “We’ve been searching all over for you.”
Madeleine’s momentary look of surprise was quickly replaced by one of relief. She took the female’s hand. “I’m so glad you found me. Serge and I were just coming to find help. There’s someone loose in the palace, trying to attack me!”
Chapter Eleven
The queen’s eyes widened. “Attack you?”
Madeleine nodded, trying to sound like a hysterical female. She hated playing the damsel-in-distress card since she abhorred women who pretended to be weak, but she also suspected that a fragile female would be more relatable. And more believable to the Spartosians. “Someone attacked your son when I was with him. I ran to get help.”
The imperious gaze slid to take in the dank corridor. “You ran to get help down here?”
Madeleine swallowed hard. Her story was starting to fall apart, but she knew she had to double down. When she was in doubt, she always doubled down. “I was in a panic, and I got lost. The stairways and passageways in this place are confusing.” She cut her eyes to the males attending the queen. “I thought there might be guards outside the doors, but there was no one there.”
The queen’s expression flickered.
Th
at’s right, bitch, Madeleine thought. You know why there was no one outside the doors. Your pig son dismissed them when he came in so no one would hear me if I screamed.
“I didn’t get a good look at who it was, but your son can tell you. He was hit from behind.”
She nodded. “He did say that.”
Madeleine let out a manufactured sigh of relief. “I’m so glad he’s okay. I thought he might be seriously injured. When I couldn’t find any guards, I found Serge, who’s been comforting me.”
Serge awkwardly patted her hand. “There, there, sweetie.”
“We were on our way to find help when we ran into you.” Madeleine gave the queen her sweetest smile, even though she felt her cheeks quiver from the effort.
“I’m pleased you were unhurt, my dear.” The queen recovered herself and seemed to have decided to buy Madeleine’s story. “I can’t imagine any of our people committing a violent crime like this. We just don’t have it in us.”
Because you keep everyone in a state of perpetual euphoria, Madeleine thought.
The queen drew in a sharp breath, darting a quick glance to both of the bare-chested males beside her. “There must be an alien intruder.”
Madeleine felt like pointing out that there were plenty of aliens working in the kitchens and, she suspected, in various menial capacities throughout the city. Spartos seemed to prefer it look like a homogenous society, but the idea that they didn’t allow other species on their planet was definitely false.
“Why do you think that?” she asked.
“We’ve been expecting that someone might…” the queen’s words trailed off as her eyes darted from Maddie to Serge.
So, they expected the Drexians to attempt to rescue them, Maddie thought. She’d known that the Spartosian claims of notifying the Drexian empire had been false, but it was interesting that the queen had almost let it slip.