Solomon's Seal

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  West went below first, then Mr. Rolph. I followed them, Curtis coming after me then two more men whose names I hadn’t yet picked up. It wasn’t the sort of group for friendly introductions but both looked late thirties or early forties. One was African American and built like a linebacker, head shaved bald and with a square jaw you could punch and probably break your hand on. The other walked slightly behind him and was like a size-down version—a Caucasian guy who brought to mind a bulldog, short and broad and he had a small nose and jowly cheeks. At this point, I didn’t need to know anything about them to trust that if they were with West, at least they would have my back. Until he got the ring, maybe.

  Blackness wrapped around us at the bottom of the first pitch and already I missed the light of day. If I ever wanted to go caving for pleasure again after this, I’d be surprised.

  Air was stale and vaguely moist, and it took several breaths to grow accustomed to it as we walked. Equipment waited fifty feet east of the surface pitch where the second drop was; just glancing into it had my stomach in knots, remembering the creature climbing up. A mess of limestone chunks and dust still waited at the bottom and if I looked closely, I could glimpse trails of blood from West’s wounds. If the venom or injury still bothered him, he hadn’t shown it yet that morning.

  I went first this time and dropped down another level in silence, just the squeaking of the descender on the ropes breaking the quiet. The corpses—both of the dead merc and the drakon—remained as faint shapes in the darkness. I turned on my helmet’s lamp as I stepped away from the rope and shone it around the space. “Anyone know where we’re going?”

  West touched down behind me and stepped silently to my side, his headlamp on as well. He gestured ahead. “We need to work our way back around there. There has to be other paths to the room.”

  “And if there isn’t?” I chanced a look up at him; his helmet shadowed his face but the light on mine cut brightness over his blue eyes.

  “You can be the one to let Ashford know you couldn’t find his artifact.”

  I grimaced. “Point taken.”

  He didn’t glance back at the others descending but started forward for a small archway opposite the one we’d left in the night before and I followed. While I might not trust his company, it was that or wait for Curtis.

  West walked like he owned the cave, shoulders back and steps confident. I wouldn’t say I cowered, per se, but I definitely let him take the lead. If we were going to be eaten, I was fine with him being the appetizer. But the silence bothered me, so I cleared my throat. “You seem to know your way around a cave.”

  He crossed a cavern ahead of me, barely glancing around for danger—perhaps his preternatural Buttons-senses picked up things I couldn’t. “The point of the questions last night was so that you wouldn’t distract me today.”

  “Just wondering why Ashford hired me instead of sending you.”

  The others made the slightest noise behind us, working their way along. West paused for a moment to glance at four possible exits, then went for the farthest one left—it was in the opposite direction of where he said we should be going, but he seemed so damn sure of himself, I didn’t argue. The exit was a narrow tunnel and we had to turn to squeeze through. Limestone pulled at my braid and cracked on my helmet as I stepped sideways, my boot treads scratching the ground. I glanced back the way we came and vaguely saw lights; the others hadn’t quite caught up but West made no move to wait for them so I didn’t either. Wind whistled through this space, and whatever breaths the cave had offered previously, now it was closer to showing what it was truly capable of as a forceful breeze blew past me.

  Water rushed in the distance, white noise that seemed to echo in the narrow space, and god I prayed we wouldn’t run into another sump. I might forfeit my pay—and possibly my hands—just to avoid that.

  West slipped free of the narrow tunnel ahead of me. Darkness opened ahead and he stepped down, the top of his helmet bobbing as he climbed. “You weren’t supposed to be hired at all.”

  I stopped at the end of the passage. “Excuse me?”

  He offered his hand but I was still staring, dumbfounded. With a shake of his head, he stepped forward and grasped my wrist, giving me a tug. My feet slipped on the damp rock and his grip moved to my elbow, guiding me down as I regained my bearings.

  This was a room of floor to ceiling columns, each roughly two feet in diameter and organic, made over time as ceiling stalactites and floor stalagmites merged. They dwarfed us as we moved downward, and the sound of rushing water intensified.

  “My hire recommendation apparently wasn’t seen as enough for this trip.”

  Hmm... “Mr. Rolph?”

  West said nothing.

  “Or Moti?”

  That got me a look.

  I elaborated. “There was some talk that he was put on the team rather unexpectedly. And he seems to know both you and Mr. Rolph.”

  “He’s gone now. Don’t worry about it.”

  Thank you for the non-answer, douchebag. “Laurel said she was told to put together files on potential hires and I was high on the list.” So perhaps Ashford didn’t trust his judgment? Something was going on here, but I didn’t expect West to be forthcoming with the details. Whatever he was, he wasn’t on my side of this. “Perhaps Ashford thought two cavers were better than one?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I followed a few steps behind as we navigated boulders and neared the rushing water. “I still think, given your Buttons-form, you would’ve been more useful here than any of us.”

  We paused beyond a grouping of stalagmites and cluster of columns where a narrow, foaming stream ran. It wasn’t wide, maybe six to eight feet at most, but the flow was strong enough that, if we hit a deep spot, I thought we’d easily be swept away if trying to wade through. Water struck jutting rocks in its path, splashing and spraying a fine mist in the air, and snaked into darkness ahead. I wasn’t sure if we’d have to cross it or not, but West was spending a fair amount of time studying it.

  “I have...other duties,” he said at last, returning to the previous conversation, and he sounded as though he chose his words with care. “And couldn’t be sent.”

  “But you could be sent to rescue us?”

  He began following the stream, keeping two feet from the edge and studying the landscape as we moved. While he said nothing, it was enough for pieces to slide into place.

  “Ashford doesn’t know.”

  West still didn’t speak until we’d gone several more feet and glanced over a precipice where the stream turned into a waterfall, rolling down a dozen feet into a large, aquamarine pool below. The pool itself, while lovely, wasn’t particularly remarkable; what was, however, was its shape.

  The water formed distinctly into a six-pointed star.

  At least we’re going in the right direction. The others carried the equipment, and we’d need them to set up ropes to descend; while jumping several feet into the pool might not be too bad, there was no way to climb up it afterward.

  I paced a few steps away and rubbed at my tired eyes.

  West remained near the precipice, studying the area. “My employer doesn’t like to be troubled with problems,” he continued at last. “He expects results. I intercepted any messages pertaining to this mission and dealt accordingly.”

  “Lucky us.”

  He spun to face me, crowding my space; I took a step back and hit a column, and his hands came out to strike the limestone on either side of my shoulders. His expression was serious and cold, stare holding my eyes. The ice in his irises flashed, for a moment looking more beast than man, and I tensed head to toe.

  “Yes, lucky for you,” West said carefully. “I admit no one knew what you would encounter here and perhaps the backup you were sent with should’ve been more thoroughly vetted, and you have done the best you could do with what you were given, but none of that changes the fact that you would be dead right now if I hadn’t intercepted Fabrini’s call for help,
broken Ashford’s agreement with government officials and dug our way in to find you, and saved your life. Sarcasm isn’t needed nor is it becoming of you, Ms. Talbot.”

  I started to snark back but shut my mouth, pressing my lips together. He was right. And the glint of warning in his eyes certainly helped to hold my tongue. I swallowed uncomfortably, disliking both his proximity and the fact he had me trapped, and kept my voice low and even. “You’re right and I’m sorry. Thank you for what you’ve done so far, and for not sending me back home without an opportunity to retrieve the ring and my paycheck.”

  My fingers twitched into fists and I held my breathing steady as he scrutinized me.

  “You’re not scared of me.” Not a question. A statement.

  “No.”

  “Even knowing what I am.”

  Whether he referred to the big cat or being Ashford’s enforcer, I didn’t know. “I’m raising a six-year-old. You’ll have to do a lot better than turn into a tiger or shoot people to scare me. Don’t mistake that for trust, however.”

  The steps of the others grew near but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t even offered a half-smile. Still I resisted going for my guns, both because I didn’t want to provoke him and I didn’t want to see the reflexes he alluded to earlier.

  West eased back at last, dropping his arms to his sides and standing straight. “Any more questions, or can we get on with this?”

  I didn’t leave my spot against the lumpy column. “Planning for any more macho displays of aggression and intimidation?”

  West seemed to consider this, tilting his head to the side. “One or two, maybe. I don’t so much plan as wait for a need for it.”

  This mission just could not end fast enough.

  “West?” Mr. Rolph called, probing.

  West held my gaze a few moments longer, then turned and nodded at our companion. “We need a—”

  Tension rippled through him as he turned; one hand came out to grip my shoulder and push me down, the other flicked a knife from his belt. My back scraped against the stone and my knees ached as I was forced into a crouch just as cracking stone thundered through the cave.

  My hands locked onto my guns and yanked them from their holsters, and I blinked against the rising dust, trying to make out what caused the disturbance even as a sinking feeling told me the answer to that. West was gone, disappearing into the pale limestone mist, the light from my helmet unable to track his movements.

  Something cut through the dust over me and I dove to the side just as a tail struck the column where I’d been crouched. Rock crumbled and I scrambled back, getting my feet under me, raising my guns. I glimpsed the tail again and pointed the barrels downward, firing, bullets spitting through dust and arcing blood across the ground as they met their target. Rocks rolled and crunched under my feet as I ran forward; I holstered my guns again and went for the combat knife, popping the thumb break and sliding it from its sheath. The drakon thrashed, hissing and kicking up dirt. Another gun fired and I hoped whoever was doing the shooting could see better than me—dust was settling but not near fast enough.

  I dove onto the creature’s back, knife raised, slipping back as it tried to whip me to the side. My right heel dug into the scaly flesh at the base of its tail and I pushed myself forward. The knife’s blade sank into its shoulder—not far enough. I clutched the handle with both hands and hauled myself up, digging my knees into its sides. My heart beat hard and if I’d had time I would’ve ripped off the stupid helmet that was tight on my sweat-soaked head. I wrenched the knife out and sank it forward again, this time hitting just behind its brain.

  The drakon turned and thrashed again, throwing the both of us to the side. We twisted, tumbled, and for a terrifying moment I felt it, along my back: the hard edge of stone and nothingness beyond.

  I had but seconds to fearfully try to scramble back when it was too late and we tipped over the precipice.

  20

  My Brother’s Keeper

  The world went by in a rush as we fell. My body slapped the water below, a deafening crack that sounded as bad as it felt when I hit. The injured drakon was over me, pushing me deeper into the water. Silt rose, blooming upward and destroying all visibility. I kicked at the bloody beast over me, jerked my knife from its head, and struggled away from it, flapping my arms madly and scrambling upward.

  My face broke the surface and I drew in a breath of cold cave air, water streaking from my helmet. The pond rippled. A dark, thick tail flicked up as the creature twisted. I swam back, choking on water, until I hit the edge of the pool. Elbows braced on the rock, I lifted myself up, scrambling away as the drakon dove after me. Dark crimson snaked through pool behind it as it swam.

  Hands grasped my upper arms and jerked me to my feet; I glanced back to see Mr. Rolph there and beyond him a swinging rope.

  The drakon drew itself from the water, bleeding profusely but still going. My fingers flexed around the handle of the knife I still carried as the beast clambered toward us.

  A chunk of limestone three times the size of my head sailed through the air and struck the creature, cracking its skull and painting bright red across the wet, rocky terrain on either side of it. It slumped under the hunk of stone.

  I choked out a breath and wiped uselessly at my brow, glancing around. My gaze shot upward to see West standing on the edge of the precipice, dusting off his hands. Again I looked at the hunk of rock, still intact by the drakon’s bloody head. I couldn’t fathom how much it weighed but I made a mental note to remember West could lift damn near anything.

  While the other team members worked their way down the rope, West leapt off the edge and landed with ease on the ground an inch from the pool. He stared at the unmoving drakon for a moment. “You’re bleeding.”

  Though I scanned the others, I found no one else hurt and hadn’t a clue who he meant—not until Mr. Rolph stepped closer to me, eyeing my head where I felt something dripping. I nodded when he reached for me and let him remove the helmet. I felt around the left side of my face and my fingers came away with blood staining my gloves.

  “It’s not bad,” Mr. Rolph said, switching my helmet to sit under his arm while he took my elbow and led me toward a spot back from the pool.

  I sat without being asked to and set down the knife while he rifled through his pack for a first aid kit, and pulled out my guns. I’d need to change the mags to some dry ones, dry the slides and the magazine holds.

  “We can’t keep stopping,” West said. He looked at Curtis then tallest of his guys. “McKay, Thomas, we go ahead, clear out what we can and draw them off when possible.” His gaze met mine. “Don’t be long. Quiet, quick. Get the Seal.”

  Before I could respond, he gestured for the others to follow and sprinted for the exit with Curtis and the member of his team, Thomas, at his heels, leaving the cavern silent and pressing extra weight on my shoulders.

  Mr. Rolph attended to my scrape while the third member of our remaining party paced around the fallen drakon, and I wondered if I was the only one disappointed that they seemed quite comfortable around water after all.

  “I am so tired of caves,” I said with a sigh.

  Mr. Rolph had thoroughly dried off the side of my face and firmly affixed a bandage to my wound. “I’ve been in worse.”

  “Oh?”

  “Chevé.”

  I blew a breath out between my lips in a low whistle. Chevé—in Mexico—was the deepest cave in North America, if I recalled correctly. “How’s this one compare?”

  His pornstache wiggled like a caterpillar as he smiled wryly, and then he snapped closed the lid of his first aid kit. “Much smaller.”

  I could barely even fathom it, actually.

  A glance at the new guy showed him still pacing, so I took my time moving my guns from their holsters and ejecting the wet magazines, lowering my voice to speak. “You’ve known West awhile.”

  “I have.” Rolph avoided my eyes, stowing the kit back in his bag.

  I’d need
to tread carefully with this one, but thus far he was the only person who seemed the most familiar with the man. “Despite his display this morning—or maybe because of it—I have some concern I’m going to be double-crossed. Quite frankly, I don’t trust Buttons, but thus far you have been reasonable to deal with, and I have seen your reactions each time someone gets waving a gun around: you try to diffuse violence. And West, even if he hasn’t acted upon your advice, I suspect at least listens. He recommended you to Ashford for this mission initially and you know him better than any of us.”

  Mr. Rolph zipped up his pack and sighed. “I met him in Seoul when he was fifteen, after he defected.”

  My blood iced over at that word. “Defected?”

  He met my eyes. “From the north.”

  Shit. A fifteen-year-old kid from North Korea? I knew little about the country but that he’d have to physically escape somehow—people didn’t just leave. “So it’s bad.”

  “He escaped a labor camp, Ms. Talbot.”

  Motherfucker. I rubbed at my eyes. “Jesus. They can do that?”

  “No, they can’t. But he did.”

  “So. Yeah, bad.”

  “He does his best given how he was raised, but he doesn’t see the world as you or I do. And I’m not telling you any more than that, so I hope it paints enough of a picture for you.”

  Oh, it did. I glanced away and focused on my guns again. Whatever I had seen or experienced in life paled in comparison to anything West did—no wonder he seemed to have issues.

  Steps crunched pebbles and dirt as the new guy continued walking around. I looked up at him and raised my voice. “So do you have a name?”

  It was the bulldog guy. He plucked off his helmet and swiped the dust off his face, then returned it to his head of buzzed light brown hair. “Cal Pulaski.”