“Head back around,” she instructed the pilot. “Toward the river.”
The pilot glanced at Samuel, who nodded his consent. The Lynx swooped down toward the water, then leveled out several meters above the choppy surface of the river. Selene looked at Samuel and motioned toward a rocky riverbed up ahead. The raging waters crashed along the side of the steep granite slope.
Samuel peered through the windshield. “I don’t see a way inside.”
“There used to be a river entrance just there,” she explained. “It must be submerged now, but it should lead straight into the catacombs beneath the dungeon.”
Samuel did not question her assertion. He turned toward his men.
“Looks like we’re getting wet.”
The strike team immediately went into action. Locker doors were slammed open to reveal multiple wetsuits and other pieces of diving gear. Selene was impressed; apparently Corvinus’ men were prepared for anything.
As the Cleaners suited up, Selene glanced at Michael’s body one last time. It was possible, she knew, that she would never leave the ruined castle alive. She wanted to think that they might have beaten Marcus to the site, but she knew that was highly unlikely. Chances were, the hybrid Elder was waiting for them below. They could only hope that he had not yet liberated his equally fearsome brother.
Marcus is bad enough, she thought. Heaven help us if we have to take on William, too. She recalled the fearsome albino beast depicted in the ancient woodcut. Viktor and Amelia had needed an army of Death Dealers to capture William the first time. What hope do we have, especially now that he’s allied with Marcus?
A fatalistic mood descended upon her. She would do her best; what other choice was there? Perhaps Corvinus’ blood would give her the edge she needed. Perhaps not.
Bending down over Michael, she lightly kissed his forehead. The inert flesh felt cold against her lips. She rose and turned away from the body, her eyes shimmering like ice crystals. She wiped away the incriminating moisture, then strode over to the chopper’s side door. Unfastening the latch, she yanked the door open in midflight, allowing a gust of freezing air to buffet the interior of the Lynx. Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the doorframe as she checked their position.
“Closer,” she shouted to the pilot.
The Lynx descended into a low hover above the river. The wash from the copter’s blades stirred up the already foamy water, sending concentric waves crashing against the rocky shore. Selene felt the cold spray against her face.
By now, Samuel and the other Cleaners had geared up for the dive. He tossed Selene a transparent face mask. She glanced at it briefly, then tossed it back to him. She didn’t bother with a wetsuit either; her slick black leathers were still damp from fighting Marcus beneath the pier. Staying warm and dry were the least of her concerns.
Instead she reached out and claimed a Remington 870 combat shotgun from the weapons rack. She deftly slung the weapon’s strap over her shoulder.
“Ladies first,” Samuel said.
Selene wouldn’t have it any other way. Shooting him a look, she leapt from the chopper without hesitation.
Gravity grabbed her and didn’t let go. She plummeted, falling fifteen feet toward the river below. Her boots broke the surface of the water with a tremendous splash as she sank beneath the waves. Five more splashes confirmed that Samuel and his men had hit the water as well.
The icy water was even colder here in the mountains than it had been in the city. The freezing cold came as a shock, but Selene’s undead nature protected her from hypothermia. Moonlight filtered through the murky water above her. She surfaced long enough to conduct a quick head count, then dived beneath the waves once more. Waterproof flashlights lit up the way before them as she swam toward the mouth of a submerged tunnel. The Cleaners followed closely behind her.
Darkness swallowed them as they left the moonlight behind.
The French had a word, oubliette, which referred to a hidden dungeon in which an unfortunate prisoner could be forgotten forever. It was a fitting term for the granite tomb in which Viktor had confined William. Immortality only added to the diabolical cruelty of the concept.
Marcus stood before another stretch of seemingly impervious wall. A second ornate design, twice as large as the one before, was carved into the solid rock. Lodging his torch in an empty sconce, he extracted both parts of the key from the pockets of his overcoat. He carefully inserted the pendant, its inner blades once more withdrawn, into the larger component he had captured from his father. Making sure the pieces fit together securely, he again activated the hidden hinges inside the pendant. The bronze blades blossomed outward, engaging with the larger key. A new set of intricate blades opened along the outer edge of the joined keys.
What exquisite workmanship, Marcus thought. He spared a moment to admire the ingenuity and skill of Selene’s late, unlamented father. The long-dead metalsmith had been quite talented for a mortal. A pity his craft cost him his life.
Delaying no longer, he inserted the master key into the depression upon the wall. He held his breath as he turned the key clockwise. His action was rewarded by the sound of clandestine machinery fulfilling its destined function. Harsh grinding noises echoed within the gloomy catacombs as a vertical sheet of rock descended into the floor. Marcus glimpsed a cramped, coffin-shaped alcove almost completely shrouded in darkness. Straining his eyes, he spotted only a few stray glints of metal, reflecting the flickering glow of the torch.
“William?”
He impatiently snatched the torch from its holder and stepped toward the open sarcophagus. The claustrophobic dimensions of the cell both appalled and angered him. Bad enough that Viktor had condemned William to eternal imprisonment, but in so small a space as well? There was barely enough room to move, let alone rest in comfort!
The sputtering torchlight revealed the enormity of his brother’s torment. The snow-white albino werewolf hung limply within the upright sarcophagus. Silver manacles were clamped around his forelimbs, chaining him to the rough brick wall at the rear of the cell. His eyes were closed in uneasy slumber. His muzzle twitched restlessly. Deep grooves had been scratched into the granite floor of the oubliette, where the beast’s paws had clawed uselessly for at least six hundred years. His fur was matted painfully. So had his brother hung all these centuries, Marcus realized, deprived of food, water, and even light for countless generations, all thanks to Viktor’s perfidy!
How has he endured it? he wondered. I would have gone mad.
He could not bear to see his brother suffer so a moment longer. He rushed forward, intending to liberate William from his sadistic bonds.
The werewolf’s eyes snapped open. Blood-red orbs stared at the world with feral rage. Taken aback, Marcus stumbled backward as his brother lunged at him from the cramped confines of the sarcophagus. A ferocious roar reverberated against the damp stone walls.
William’s chains were longer than Marcus had anticipated. The crazed werewolf drove his startled brother across the corridor into the wall opposite his tomb. He drew back his bestial head and opened his jaws wide.
“Be still, Brother,” Marcus said in a soothing tone. Regaining his composure, he knew nonetheless that his life was in deadly jeopardy. The werewolf’s bloodlust had often been beyond his control, even before he had been starved for centuries. It was possible that he didn’t even recognize Marcus. Still, the Elder stared coolly into his brother’s crimson eyes. “I would no sooner hurt you than I would myself.”
For a second, he feared that the long centuries of confinement had indeed driven William mad. Then the werewolf’s eyes narrowed as he studied Marcus’ face. Recognition dawned upon the beast’s inhuman features. Rubbery black lips lifted in a smile.
That’s better, Marcus thought. Even after all this time, their bond remained strong. Marcus regretted that he had ever conspired with Viktor to capture his brother, no matter how urgent that necessity had appeared at the time. This is how it should have always been.
The two of us united against the world.
An unexpected sound intruded upon their reunion. Marcus cocked his head to listen. William looked distinctly puzzled by the unfamiliar noise, but Marcus recognized the muffled whump-whump of an approaching helicopter.
It seemed they had company.
Chapter Twenty-one
Selene was almost out of breath by the time they reached the end of the flooded tunnel. She kicked her way to the surface and gratefully inhaled the dank air within the castle. Samuel and his Cleaners followed her lead. She heard the men suck in the air as they splashed to the surface all around her.
Their flashlight beams darted around the ruins, checking out their surroundings. They appeared to be in one of the lower levels of the castle’s sprawling dungeons, at a junction between two shadowy passageways. A damp stone floor beckoned to them, and they waded out of the sunken pool onto slightly drier terrain. The Cleaners stripped off their diving gear, while Selene slipped the shotgun off her shoulder and hefted it in her arms. A searchlight was mounted beneath the barrel of the pump-action rifle. Ice-cold water dripped from her hair.
She scanned the waiting junction. Intersecting tunnels led off in separate directions. Both paths were riddled with treacherous puddles and sinkholes. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, further obscuring her view. Mold glistened upon the stone walls, whose ancient mortar had practically turned to dust. A lizard slithered into a crack in the wall.
“Which way?” Samuel asked.
Selene closed her eyes, calling up long-forgotten memories:
Giggling, she and Cecilia raced along the murky passageway, dodging the straining laborers with heavy carts. “Last one there is a silly goose!”
Without a word, she turned and headed off down the tunnel on the left. She didn’t trust herself to speak, not when her voice might betray the powerful emotions the fleeting memory had stirred up inside her. She was quite literally treading the ruins of her own lost childhood. The past seemed to lie in ambush for her around every corner.
Never mind that, she scolded herself harshly. She had to keep her mind on the mission. The past is the past. Stopping Marcus is all that matters now.
Samuel motioned for his men to follow her. Weapons ready, they stalked warily through the blighted dungeons. Empty prison cells and abandoned instruments of torture made it clear that these subterranean chambers had borne witness to unspeakable pain and suffering. A human skeleton hung in shackles upon a crumbing wall, its fractured bones hinting at the abuse the poor prisoner must have received before he died. Faint brown bloodstains could still be glimpsed upon the uneven paving stones. An iron maiden rested against one wall, its lid hanging open to reveal a battery of rusty metal spikes. Metal pokers and branding irons lay on the floor beside a toppled iron brazier that had once been used to heat the vicious implements until they had glowed as red as molten lava. A wooden rack had all but rotted away, the tortured screams of its victims now lost to history.
Selene found it disturbing, yet strangely appropriate, that this hellish place had once been her childhood playground. Had her father realized the dreadful purpose to which these catacombs would be put when he’d accepted Viktor’s commission to oversee their construction? She wanted to consign such barbarism to the Dark Ages, where it belonged, yet were the interrogation rooms in which she and her fellow Death Dealers had extracted vital intel from captured lycans all that different from this medieval torture chamber? Selene had lost track of how many lycans she had killed and interrogated over the centuries, in the mistaken belief that their kind had been responsible for her family’s death. All she knew for certain was that no lycan had ever survived being captured by her; disposing of them afterward had been one of the perks of the job.
I belong here, she thought ruefully. This place is a part of me, in more ways than one.
A rat scurried somewhere above her and she glanced upward. Stone arches curved off into a stygian blackness that was beyond the ability of her eyes to penetrate. Her search-beam probed the darkness, but with only slightly better results. Large sections of the ceiling had crumbled away, and she could tell that there were definitely more levels above them, but the pervasive gloom made it difficult to make out the details. Only Viktor would need so many dungeons for his enemies, she mused. How many innocent lycans had he confined here back in the early days of the war?
They turned a corner, only to discover that the passage ahead was partially flooded. The floor before their feet sloped downward into the stagnant water. A slimy layer of algae coated the surface of the water. One of the Cleaners groaned audibly. No doubt he regretted taking off his wetsuit.
“This it?” Samuel asked. Going back for the diving gear was not an option; for all they knew, Marcus was only moments away from liberating William—if he hadn’t done so already.
“Yes,” Selene confirmed. She kept a close eye on the murky water, half-expecting Marcus to burst from beneath the concealing liquid as he had under the pier. Her shotgun was primed and ready.
Samuel turned toward his men. “Parks, Hapka,” he addressed two of the soldiers. “Keep watch and hold this position.” The men nodded in assent. “Stay sharp.”
He and Selene waded into the waist-deep water, accompanied by the other two Cleaners. Sludge covered the slippery floor stones beneath her feet, forcing her to tread carefully. A lizard swam across her path. Corroded iron chains dangled from the ceiling.
Six-hundred-year-old memories guided her forward, until she reached the point where the secret door should have been. To her dismay, she saw that the concealed entrance was no longer hidden. Only a curtain of falling water guarded the forgotten alcove beyond.
Fuck, she thought. We’re too late.
She threw up her hand, bringing the procession to a halt. Samuel followed her gaze to the open portal. Selene nodded, confirming his fears.
“He’s already here,” she whispered.
Which almost surely meant that William was loose as well. She gripped the shotgun securely as she moved cautiously toward the exposed doorway. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a splotch of color to her left. She froze in her tracks. Her eyes turned involuntarily toward the wall beside her.
There, faded almost to the point of nonexistence, were the sun and flowers she and Cecilia had painted upon the wall six centuries ago. Her throat tightened as the carefree laughter of two happy children echoed at the back of her mind. Cecilia was long dead, as was the innocent girl Selene had once been, yet this chilling memento of their golden childhood had somehow survived all these years, lying in wait to stab Selene in the heart when she least expected it.
“What is it?” Samuel asked, sounding both puzzled and concerned.
“Nothing,” she replied tersely. Through sheer force of will, she silenced the heart-tugging laughter in her head. She tamped down any and all distracting emotions, at least as much as she was able. Her voice and face were as cold as the frigid water lapping at her hips. “Let’s go.”
She turned away from the painted sunburst and stepped through the unlocked doorway. A sheet of falling water drenched her head and shoulders. Ice-cold droplets wormed their way beneath her collar and trickled down the length of her spine. Samuel and his men followed her through the alcove until they reached the low staircase leading up to the crypt beyond. Selene was disturbed, but not surprised, to see the empty sarcophagus open before them. Shattered silver manacles lay on the floor in front of the vacant tomb.
“We’re too late,” she said.
Her eyes fell upon the key, still lodged in the wall beside the sarcophagus. Marcus must have left it behind, now that he no longer needed it. She tugged it free of the lock and removed the pendant from the other component of the key. The crest-shaped emblem felt heavy in her hand, weighed down by centuries of loss and thwarted romance. Sonja had worn the pendant to her death, as had Lucian hundreds of years later. Selene remembered finding the pendant beside her head after she and Michael had made love, then watching Mar
cus rip the pendant from Michael’s chest while her newfound lover lay impaled upon the iron strut.
She fought back tears. For Marcus, the pendant had been merely a means to an end, to be discarded after it fulfilled its preordained function, but for Selene, the centuries-old relic represented everything she had lost over the years, from her family’s slaughter to Michael’s tragic end. All could be traced back to Viktor’s machinations—and her father’s unwitting part in the ancient conflict between the Elders. For a moment, she wished that Viktor was still alive, just so she could kill him again.
Then her Death Dealer training reasserted itself as she forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. Their situation was not good: Marcus, the very first vampire, and William, the first werewolf, were both at large and unaccounted for. Her searchlight scanned the corridor around, but Selene found no sign of either brother. Had they already fled the castle, or were they lurking in the shadows at this very minute, waiting for the right opportunity to fall upon Selene and her mortal companions? Despite the personal danger posed by the latter scenario, it was still better than the alternative. The entire world would suffer if William escaped to spread another epidemic of uncontrollable lycanthropy throughout Europe and beyond.
The mission was now all about containment. Neither William nor Marcus could be allowed to leave these ruins alive.
Works for me, she thought grimly. Her fist tightened around the pendant.
Karl Hapka stood tensely at the entrance to the flooded corridor, just as Samuel had ordered. Part of him was relieved that he hadn’t been required to wade through the freezing water again, yet he couldn’t help wondering what the rest of the team might have found up ahead. Along with the other guard, Parks, he listened nervously for growls, gunfire, screams… or any combination thereof. Bracing himself against a crumbling stone wall, so as not to be attacked from behind, he swept the beam of his searchlight back and forth along the sepulchral tunnel. His finger rested on the trigger of his Uzi.
03 - Evolution Page 20