by Alyson Noel
Or should I say, demons. After all, there’s an entire army of them.
The second thing I notice is how no one seems to be the least bit alarmed by the giant-sized, malevolent beings that surround them. Barely sparing a glance at the variety of tails, and hooves, and horns, and misshapen heads. Not to mention the faces that appear to be a grotesque mix of animal, human, and some other unidentifiable beast that originated in a very dark place.
The crowd just continues to shuffle along in their numbed and glazed state. And when it’s my turn to pass, despite my best efforts to blend with the rest, it’s not long before one of those long, ragged claws reaches toward me, as he shoves his face close to mine. Its dark slitted eyes peering so close, I break into a sweat.
This can’t happen.
I can’t afford to be outted.
Not now.
Not after getting this far.
I steady my breath and stare straight ahead, covertly wagging the pack of cigarettes before him as I send a silent prayer to my ancestors, the elements, my talismans, anyone who might be willing to listen. Praying the tobacco offering will work as well as it did the last time I was here, and heaving a sigh of relief when he accepts the bribe and tosses it into his mouth, plastic wrapper and all.
We pass through the tunnel that leads to the cave, then we slip through the entry and on past the den. Making our way down the long hall where we crowd into a semicircle, listening to, from what I can make out, some sort of initiation speech.
The words a bit muffled from where I stand, though I’m still able to discern things like: Great opportunity … rare blue tourmaline … a fortune to be made … free room and board … None of which leaves me with any more insight than I started with.
Though one thing’s for sure—the only fortune to be made will be for the Richters. These people won’t see a dime of it.
A moment later, we’re moving again. Pushing through the second wall that leads to the valley of sand, where we begin our trek across the desert terrain. My fellow travelers so glazed, so obedient, I wonder if they even realize what they’re doing, where it is they’re going. It’s as though they’re caught in a trance, programmed to do what they’re told and not to react to anything unusual.
When we reach the point where the hill crests and the ground gives way, I’m careful to shield myself from the mass of flailing limbs as we tumble toward the Lowerworld, where I leap to my feet and scramble behind a guy twice my size. Adjusting my hood so it shields the better part of my face, hoping to go unrecognized until I’m ready to be seen.
“Welcome!” Cade calls, his voice deep and sure. “I’m glad you all could make it—that you’ve decided to reach a little higher—do something more meaningful with your lives than spending your days slumping over the bar, getting sloshed out of your minds. Our cause is a great one, and you should be proud of your part in it…” He drones on, reciting a speech that’s completely unnecessary. These people are captive. His to command. There’s no reason to go on like he does, other than the fact that he loves to hear himself speak. Finally reaching the end when he says, “So, it’s time we get started. I see no reason to delay. But first—your uniforms.”
He reaches into a large cardboard box an undead Richter has placed by his side and goes about tossing heaps of black, short-sleeved T-shirts bearing a picture of him into the crowd, like he once tossed souls to the army of undead Richters.
“Take one and pass the rest,” he barks. “This is so you never forget who you’ve sworn fealty to.” His gaze grows darker as he takes in his subjects assembled before him.
When the guy in front of me hands me a T-shirt, I take a moment to examine it. Noting how the grin in Cade’s picture is a perfect match for the one he wears now.
Fake.
Empty.
A meaningless void.
It’s the smile of a psychopath.
An egomaniacal freak with no access to human emotion, so the best he can do is imitate.
I crunch it into a ball and discard it at my feet. I have no intention of wearing it. No intention of working for him. My immediate goal is to determine what he’s up to. And then—
And then I’m no longer sure.
This wasn’t part of the plan.
“You’ll be mining for tourmaline. Pure blue tourmaline. Which, just so you know, is one of the most precious, rarest, and therefore most costly, stones on earth. Though make no mistake— you will enjoy all of the labor and none of the profits. And any of you even considering pocketing a rock you think no one will miss—think again. We are watching you at all times. The price for that kind of treason is immediate death with no questions asked. And any of you wanting to turn back—it’s too late. There is no escape.”
A few grunts of protest erupt from the crowd, but it’s not like Cade cares. He expects nothing less than their absolute submission, and there’s no doubt he’ll get it.
He turns on his heel, confident that we’ll follow (we do), as he leads us across a blackened scorched land to an elaborate mining operation guarded by an army of more undead Richters. The sight of which leaves me gaping in astonishment.
I’m out of my element.
Out of my league.
The double-sided knife I’ve stashed up my sleeve is a joke, no matter what Paloma claims.
There are way too many Richters—way too many heads to remove—versus only one of me.
While the athame may hold the power to slay Cade, I won’t even get that far before I’m overcome by the rest of them.
I’ve completely miscalculated.
Ignored common sense in favor of anger and thoughts of revenge.
Despite Valentina’s claim: Your intent fuels your will, and your will is your way—I don’t see how either one of those things will bring me to victory when I’m so outnumbered like this.
I crouch behind the guy before me, tipping my hood just enough to see what a mess this place is.
The mine is the cause of this environmental disgrace. The very reason why the ocean is polluted and the fish are all dying. But Cade won’t care. Violating the Lowerworld will not only result in profit for him but will also ensure that the Middleworld will soon fall to ruin—just as he planned.
When my fellow travelers crowd into the shaft, I slip free of their ranks and hide among a grove of burned-out tree carcasses. Stealing a moment to observe the goings on while I decide my next move.
There’s no reason to take any chances. If I’ve any hope of helping these people—of getting them out of here—I have to make it back to the Middleworld, where I can consult the elders and come up with a much better way to handle this.
When the entire group disappears inside the mine, Cade looks around with a creepy self-satisfied grin.
A creepy self-satisfied grin that fades the instant he tips his nose in the air and captures my scent. Whirling in my direction, his eyes deep, opaque, and fathomless, he says, “Do you know what I find most fascinating about ravens?”
I swallow hard. Slip the athame into my hand. Watching as he snaps his fingers and raises his arm, smiling in triumph when a moment later Raven, my Raven, obediently lands on his finger.
“Not only can they be trained to come on command, but they’re also exceedingly gifted at mimicry. They can repeat all manner of sounds and phrases with absolute perfect pitch. For example—” He peers at Raven, cooing softly when he says, “Go ahead, tell Santos what you know.”
Right on command, Raven’s purple eyes glimmer as he croaks, “The Seeker loves the Echo.” His voice a perfect match for Cade’s.
I remove the sheath from the blade, keep it close to my side.
“Cute, huh?” Cade gives Raven an affectionate tap on the head. “Of course, we’ve only just started, got a ways to go still.” He releases Raven, watching him lift into flight only to land on a branch just a few feet away. The sight of it causing Cade to make a face of distaste. “He’s so nosy.” He shakes his head and returns his attention to me. “How did you
stand it?”
He strides toward me, as I grip the hilt tighter. Fingers pressing into the smooth black wood, ready to use it at the first opportunity. Allowing myself to exhale only when he stops a few feet away.
“But then you’re not here to watch stupid pet tricks, are you? And surely you’re not seeking a job, or at least I should hope not. It’s mind-numbing, soul-crushing work that wouldn’t even begin to utilize your many talents and skills.” He tilts his head, runs his tongue across his front teeth. A move so lurid, so obscene, I have to force myself not to react. “It’s not exactly what I had in mind when I approached you about working together. So, why don’t you just admit it, Santos, you’re here to see me.”
He shoots me one of his smug grins, and before I can stop myself, I say, “You’re completely delusional!” I step free of the tree, seeing no point in hiding when my cover’s been blown.
“Am I?” He regards me carefully. “And yet you can’t stop thinking about me—what’s up with that?”
I roll my eyes in reply. “You can’t do this. Despite what you think, the Lowerworld is not yours to control.”
He smirks. Looks all around. Gesturing to a surrounding landscape that would seem to beg otherwise. “Perhaps you should take another look,” he says, observing all the damage and destruction he’s caused. Clearly pleased by the bleak state of wretchedness he’s single-handedly wrought.
I ready the blade in my hand. One eye fixed on the army of Richters keeping a close watch on me, the other on Cade.
“I’m guessing you’ve come here to kill me.” He smiles patiently, like you do with a very slow child.
I clamp my lips shut. Refuse to confirm or deny.
“That’s the second assassination attempt in one day.” He runs a hand through his hair, his lip curling as though amused by the idea, while my own reaction is anything but.
If I’m the second attempt, then Dace was the first.
It also means he failed.
Failed in the way of the prophecy?
My body stiffens. My heart fails to beat. Aware that the game has just changed, and yet there’s a part of me that refuses to believe it.
If something did happen to Dace, surely I would have felt it. Surely I would’ve sensed it in some way.
Wouldn’t I?
“I always forget what a newbie you are.” Cade slips behind a mask of chagrin. “So, allow me to give you a little piece of advice that might spare us this brand of awkwardness in the future. You’re not going to kill me, Santos. Dace isn’t going to kill me either. Believe me when I say that any attempt on my life will not bode well for either of you. Not to mention that your pathetic little Wiccan pruning knife is hardly up to the task.”
I shift the knife behind my leg, secure it from view.
But he just laughs. “What—you think I can’t see it?” He studies me closely, sighing as he adds, “Maybe I’ve overestimated you. You’re a much slower learner than I thought you’d be.” His eyes slew over me, lingering in all the wrong places. “Do us both a favor and run along so we can both try to forget this ever happened. I’m a patient guy, Daire. And I’m truly trying to work with you here. But you need to work with me too. You need to accept the fact that there’s no point in going after me. You’re in way over your head. It’s my world, Seeker—you’re lucky I allow you to live in it.”
Despite what he says, I remain right where I am. Imagining the thrill of rushing toward him—the satisfaction of slamming this blade straight into his heart. Assuming he has one.
“In case you don’t get it, this is me being altruistic. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. And, other than these little transgressions you seem to insist on, I’m thrilled to see you turning out to be a much better business partner than I ever expected. In other words, I’m not ready to kill you just yet. Believe me, you’ll know when I am.”
“But perhaps I’m ready to kill you.” My voice rings surprisingly steady as I make a move toward him, noticing how he fails to so much as flinch.
“Well then, I’d say you’re about to find yourself faced with a major dilemma.” He grins, purposely swiping a hand over his chin in the way Dace often does. The sight so disarming, I have to force myself to take the next step. “What would you rather do, Daire? Kill me—or save the life of my twin?”
With only a handful of steps left between us, it’s a distance I can easily close in one single leap.
“Yours to decide.” His voice grows bored as he focuses on a space just past my shoulder, challenging me to follow.
At first I refuse, convinced it’s a trick.
But when I hear a low rasping moan—the sound of someone in pain—chased by a trickle of Dace’s usual swarm of warm loving energy, I raise the knife high over my head, determined to do it—slay Cade while I can.
Then I abandon the idea just as quickly.
Instinctively knowing that the reason Dace’s energy is so faint is because his life force is fading so swiftly that in the time it takes to kill Cade, I’ll run a serious risk of losing Dace too.
I race toward him. Dismayed to find him discarded, left for dead, just a few feet away. His torso shredded and blood-soaked, his hands covered in bite marks, his arm awkwardly jangled and skewed at his side.
I sink to my knees and pull him to me. My need to save him the only thing driving me. It’s all I can focus on. All I can see.
My love for him completely consumes me.
Unfortunately, it consumes Cade as well.
Allowing him to morph. Grow. His clothes shredding at the seams, as his body bulges and stretches—undergoing a transformation that’s as spectacular as it is gruesome. Transmuting into a scaly-skinned, snake-tongued beast three times his normal size.
And when he turns—when he raises his hands to his sides and focuses his attention toward the mine—a horrible rumble roars through the land. Prompting Raven to squawk and lift into flight as the earth begins to loosen and shift until it becomes a harsh roiling tremor that causes me to lose hold of Dace.
The ground splits between us—stranding us each on our own hellish islands. My panic scored by the boom of Cade’s malevolent laughter as he throws his head back, yawns his mouth wide, and allows those soul-stealing snakes to shoot free, turning toward me in full demon glory.
His mouth a jagged, obscene gash of snakes and gums, he says, “Thought I’d shake it up a bit. Loosen the tourmaline and make the stones easier to retrieve. We may lose a few miners in the process, but hey—that’s the price of business, right, partner?”
I look toward the mine, longing to help in some way. I can’t let him do this. Can’t let those poor people suffer any more than they already have. But the ground continues to split, further separating me from Dace.
“You’re no good to them dead. You’re no good to me either. Save yourself, Santos. While you still can. And while you’re at it, save my brother too. And the next time you come here to kill me, remember that it’s because of you that I’m stronger than you.” A crude smirk further distorts his demonic face. “Speaking of which, I should probably thank you for the latest infusion of power. Thanks to you, I’m stronger than ever. I can only imagine the kind of dirty deeds you two have been up to.”
The tremors intensify. The earth shaking so violently, the trees I once hid behind crash and fall all around me. And when one of them narrowly misses crushing Dace, I’m left with no choice but to risk the leap toward him.
My focus narrowed as I flail through the air. My legs kicking wildly as the toe of my boot finds purchase, but only briefly, before the soil crumbles and loosens beneath me. Sending me into a free fall—tumbling into a yawning dark chasm that offers nothing to grab hold of.
The pull of gravity dragging me down until the earth shifts again, moving toward me this time. Offering a hardened piece of packed earth I’m quick to grab hold of, followed by a succession of rocks. And the next thing I know, I’m seeking handholds and footholds, as I cautiously work my way up.
; When I’m over the ledge, I rush to the place where Dace lies. Sparing a second to ensure he’s still breathing, I toss his good arm over my shoulder, heave him up alongside me, and drag him along as I seek a way out.
Chased by an ever-increasing crevice splintering behind us and the sound of Cade’s mocking laughter singing, “Run, Seeker, run!”
thirty-five
Dace
When I wake, I have no idea how long I’ve been out.
All I know is it must’ve been bad, if the heady shroud of incense and candles are anything to go by.
Chepi reaches me first. But then I’m pretty sure she’s been there all along. Never really left. Her exhausted, tear-streaked face hovers over mine as one hand fusses at my hair, smoothing it off my forehead, while the other clutches an overused tissue she presses hard to her chest. Murmuring soft words of gratitude and relief—wanting me to know how much she loves me, how much she prayed for me, that Jolon’s spirit stood by me—until Leftfoot pushes her aside and stands in her place.
His own ministrations not nearly as loving, he says, “I thought for sure you were dead on arrival.”
I start to speak, but my mouth is so dry I have to force my tongue to separate from my teeth. “So, these are funeral candles?” I croak, my voice hoarse, underused.
“You can’t afford to make jokes.” He frowns. “You have no idea just how bad off you are. But soon, the medicinal herbs I gave you to numb your pain will wear off, and you’ll be newly enlightened.”
I slide my eyes shut, straining to remember exactly how I got here. My mind requiring a handful of seconds to warm up, wake up, and piece together the hazy remnants of a distant memory. And a moment later, when the scene comes barreling toward me in its hideously detailed entirety, I’m left wishing I’d been smart enough to leave it alone.
The hellish encounter gleefully unfolds in my head, lingering over the scene where Daire had to physically drag me out of the Lowerworld. Insistently rewinding it again and again, if only to punish me.
Humiliated doesn’t even begin to describe it.