Solomon's Seal

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  My foot sank down behind her teeth and I pushed off, but my boot caught. I pitched forward, blinking as the ground rose before me, scrambling to free my foot before she chomped down. As her head twisted, gravity took hold and I was rushing forward, limestone and dirt greeting me with a hard landing. Blood and saliva splat with a loud, wet noise as I crashed on the ground.

  No sooner had I hit when I was up, running, dripping dragon bodily fluid. I hit the wall with bloody palms out, panting, chest heaving, feet still itching to run before I realized stone blocked my way. I turned, blinking against the darkness to scan the cavern.

  The ground thundered as the drakon fell.

  She slumped forward, bleeding heavily from her mouth, eyes closed. A heaving breath blew out and she stilled.

  The cave went silent.

  22

  The Seal of Solomon

  I eased off the wall, my weary gaze on the dead dragon.

  My feet were still slow to respond and arms ached as I struggled out of the helmet and the plastic parka. I left them in a heap behind me, then plucked off my gloves and finally the handkerchief.

  Martin rounded the drakon, eyes wide and somewhat horrified. “You jumped in its mouth.”

  I cast the ruined gloves on the ground and my helmet on top. “Yes.”

  “You jumped in its mouth, Olivia.”

  Besides our differing philosophies, this was precisely why we didn’t work as a team. I thrust the blood-soaked handkerchief at him as I walked by in search of my backpack.

  “Its mouth.”

  “I apologize for not sending a postcard while I was there.”

  “And...that guy turned into a tiger?”

  “Yes, he does that sometimes.”

  West himself stepped around the dead creature, furless and quite naked. I gave a wet, racking cough but considering I was nearly eaten by a mythological monster, I was feeling fairly okay.

  Hands gripped me, freezing me in place, and tilted my head up; I looked into West’s eyes, still bright blue despite the poor lighting.

  “I’m quite all—”

  But he had my head tilted and peeled back my eyelids one by one. “You were the mouth of something venomous.”

  “Hence the parka.”

  That didn’t sway him, however, as he wrenched my head into the light and peered in my eyes again. “Did at any point—”

  “Just blood when I stabbed her.” I clenched my hands into fists as struggling would likely do me no good. “Again, I covered myself up to prevent venom from getting in any sensitive places. I’m fine.”

  “Any itching?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Burning or pain?”

  “Oh, there’s pain, but it’s in my ass in the form of you.” I paused. “That came out closer to a sex thing now that I say it out loud as you manhandle me while naked, but I assure you I mean you’re irritating me more than any venom could.”

  West muttered something and let me go; I blinked a few times and tried to regain my wits. My arms ached and I rolled my shoulders a few times as I walked. My coveralls were wet and crusted with blood, making it awkward to move, so I stripped out of them. This left me in shorts and a tank top. Chill cavern air touched my bare skin but I felt better able to breathe and move. I found my bag, took out my spare gloves to wear, then slipped the strap over my shoulder.

  “I suggest hurrying,” Mr. Rolph said as he came up beside me. “In case the small ones realize their mother is dead.”

  “Quite right.” I glanced around and found Pulaski alive and well. “Oh, Mr. Pulaski, you remember my instructions regarding my brother?”

  Light flashing on his gun as he withdrew it was my answer.

  Good man.

  “Liv,” Martin started but I shook my head.

  “Still my ring, Martin.”

  “Liv!”

  That was his Warning Voice. The one that said something was up. We used it, he and I, as children when we inevitably got into shit and he knew a reprimand was coming before I did.

  I always listen to that voice.

  I approached and went with him as he led me away from the others. He tilted his head down and lowered his voice. “Who hired you?”

  “Who hired you?”

  He stood straighter, giving me that big brother look.

  Which did absolutely nothing to intimidate me. “I’m condescending to listen to you when I should be sending you on your way—you need to make it work my while.”

  “How about who tried to hire me?”

  Son of a bitch. Son of a BITCH. I kept a straight face. “Moses Ashford.”

  Martin nodded. “And given the number of laws this is in violation of—”

  “Spare me the altruistic spiel—I can recite it by heart now.”

  He leaned closer still, not answering my cocky grin with a roll of his eyes or any of his usual joking responses. “I came here to get it first. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  I braced my hands on my hips, trying to look comfortable though my sore arms just wanted to dangle uselessly at my sides. “So tell me?”

  Martin said nothing. The chilled cave air was starting to get to me and if he was going to pull the “just trust me” card, he thought me stupider than ever.

  “Nice try. See you on the next hunt.”

  “Liv—”

  I ignored him and swiftly returned to the others, rubbing my bare forearms for warmth as I went. Any sweat from the earlier excursion was iced dry and I needed to get warm.

  West had a pair of pants on at last and carted a shirt and boots with him but the rest of his gear was gone. He pulled out a watch from his pocket and green LED light flashed as he checked the time before returning it. “Your brother probably left a vehicle near whatever path they took in here—I’ll see he and the remaining member of his team are taken to the surface immediately.”

  That made my life infinitely easier—if West could be trusted. “Alive?”

  He paused and cast an unreadable look at me. “Excuse me?”

  “My brother is not to be harmed, Mr. West.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And I’m not to be here, Olivia—killing Dr. Martin Talbot of all people would certainly draw more attention than I’d like to my presence.”

  It was better than a shallow promise of his word. I nodded. “Okay. See you later.”

  “Probably not, as I intend to see your brother off to Addis Ababa and then I’m heading home.”

  I blinked. “Oh.”

  His smile turned cocky. “I’ll miss you too, of course.”

  Bastard. “I wish you all the best at keeping your pants on in future endeavors, Mr. West.”

  Before moving, he fished something else from the pocket of his black pants and tossed it at me; I caught the tiny camera I’d worn while in the cave the past few days.

  “Turn it on once I’m gone,” he said.

  Right. And I supposed he’d edited himself out of any footage from when he’d rescued us. I tucked it around my ear again. “Got it.”

  “Liv,” Martin called as he was thrust by gunpoint in the direction of the exit.

  “I’ll call you about Thanksgiving next month—give my best to William.”

  Whatever reply he had for me was lost as they left the cavern.

  I turned on the cam and started my long trek across the massive chamber, fumbling around my belt for where the walkie-talkie was tucked. It had survived the trauma of the drakon’s mouth, lights flashing as I turned it on. I waved it at Mr. Rolph so he could raise his own, and spoke into the crackling receiver. “Any idea what we’re looking for? Over.”

  Mr. Rolph took the right side of the cavern. “Any part of the cave that looks like manmade alterations are intact. The Seal’s symbol would be prominent. Over.”

  I’d left my helmet behind me so pulled out a flashlight to shine around the space instead. The light didn’t reach far and we had a lot of combing to do.

  The path around the dragon’s body wa
s long and I stepped over chunks of limestone she’d dislodged. We should’ve had a larger team and proper equipment—we could’ve set up actual lights been able to find something better. Mr. Rolph and I could spend a week down here ourselves and not find a thing if this was meant to be an archeological dig.

  The floor in some places looked like the remnants of tile still—it stretched all across the chamber. A temple of some sort, once—Martin might’ve known more. Or he at least would’ve brought someone who would know—perhaps I should’ve kept him around. It didn’t surprise me Ashford tried to hire him first before discovering Martin didn’t have a single mercenary bone in his body. Apparently all those genes went to me.

  The flashlight hit a spot of darkness thirty feet ahead as I continued forward. I wedged it under my arm and reached instead for a glowstick; I gave the stick a crack and tossed it. Green light illuminated a set of crumbling steps.

  I lifted the walkie-talkie again. “I found something. Over.” I didn’t look but assumed Mr. Rolph was on his way over, so slipped the walkie-talkie back snugly in its belt loop, reached for a gun, and cautiously stepped down the stairs.

  The narrow walls were carved with the odd symbol of the Seal. Hair rose on the back of my neck and icy chills rolled down my spine; this lower space was silent and unthreatening but I didn’t like it. I paused and cracked another glowstick to throw to the end of the hall.

  This time green shone over a low pedestal.

  It stood perhaps a foot and a half off the ground and was more a raised block than anything ornate. Spots for torches waited on either side of me, what had once illuminated the space having long burned out. The room at the end of the hall around it was small and dark, no extra doorways. The ceiling was low and I kept my head slightly bowed.

  The center of the pedestal had a layer of dust so thick it appeared nothing was there. I drew closer still and stooped, shining my light directly over it until the beams caught a bump in the sand.

  My breath ceased, pulse pounded. The room was eerily silent, no sign of trouble, so I holstered my gun. My fingertips trembled as I reached and brushed the sand away. I touched the bump and it shifted, casting dust to the side and my light shone on brass.

  The Seal of Solomon.

  I lifted the ring gingerly, gaze darting around as if I expected something to jump me at any second, but only silence met me. Again I looked at the ring and turned it over, blew the dust off the face of it. The Star of David met my gaze and curved Greek letters, symbols I didn’t recognize in the spaces around it. The true name of God, allegedly. Four jewels were inlaid and the band was thick.

  The power to control demons was quite literally in my hands.

  In theory, of course. While blind skepticism bothered me as much as blind faith, a healthy dose of it was always good, in my opinion. The existence of one type of supernatural thing did not validate the existence of everything. I’d yet to meet a demon, therefore could not assume this ring actually controlled something that might not be real.

  For the briefest of moments, I considered slipping the ring on, but the twist of dread in my gut was too great; instead I pulled a small black satchel from my pack and tucked it in there, then stuffed the whole thing down my shirt and into my sports bra. My bag could be lost at some point and things fall out of pockets; cleavage tends to be safest. At least mine is.

  I turned and startled at the sight of Mr. Rolph directly in front of me, my heart speeding at the jolt of adrenaline in my veins.

  His gaze passed me to the room at my back. “The Seal was here?”

  “Yes, I have it safe.”

  He scanned my hands. “You’re not wearing it, are you?”

  “No...would that be bad?”

  “Potentially.”

  I waited, holding my breath, that sense of foreboding still bothering me as I watched him warily. There was no relief to his expression, nothing I could make out beyond the helmet sitting low on his brow and thick glasses obscuring his eyes. We stood in a centuries-old tomb-like room and he could quite easily kill me, take the ring, and I’d never be heard from again—no matter how kind he’d seemed earlier, the truth was that I didn’t actually know the man at all.

  But Mr. Rolph nodded and turned, giving me his back in an obvious sign of trust. “We’d best hurry.”

  “Agreed.” I trudged after him, eyes fighting to sweep around the tomb again before heading forward, still expecting something to pop out at us. A cave-in, some ancient security system, anything but easily walking from the tomb. But the ring was snug between my boobs, no hand of King Solomon himself about to strike us for that blasphemy. “When will the plane be ready?” I asked as we headed up the steps.

  “It’ll take us a few hours to get out of here but West has probably already put in a call. Tomorrow morning is my guess. The same airstrip where we were dropped off.”

  I’d be home in another day and a half, then. I resisted the urge to do a little dance—it could wait until our return to camp.

  The air was less stale than below as we emerged into the cavern, dead Momma Dragon where we’d left her. Sticky blood coated the ground around her, reflecting green and white from tossed glowsticks and our flashlights. For a moment I paused to slip on my climbing harness and get it secure for the return trip. I needed to get my helmet on and then we could head for the surface—hopefully Curtis and Thomas had cleared any trouble waiting for us. My steps were rushed as we left the tomb behind, footfalls echoing in the large chamber. But as a prickle ran the length of my spine, my gaze was drawn upward.

  Where the ceiling seemed to be moving.

  I froze, confusion bleeding away under the terror icing me in place; I cast the flashlight up where the light couldn’t even skim the ceiling, but white eyes shone in the darkness—at least a dozen of them, these ones smaller than the first we’d encountered. Younger, perhaps, and feeling bold now that their mother was gone.

  “Run!” I barely had the word out before I was racing ahead, Mr. Rolph at my heels. Boot treads slammed against the limestone, skidded on dust and sand. My long braid whipped at my back, slapping my backpack that thudded against my spine. Though my right hand reached for the butt of my gun, I didn’t pull it out, not wanting to waste the time shooting when it likely wouldn’t deter the creatures at all. With their mother dead, they had nothing to fear and no reason to stop chasing us.

  I hadn’t time to find my helmet, just ran for the green glowstick highlighting the mouth of the cave and where the ground dipped into water before angling to a steep slope upward. I didn’t bother attaching my harness to the rig, just pushed my legs faster, pumping hard, and splashed through the water before taking a leap and grasping the rope. It gave slightly under my grip but held and I scrambled up. My feet scraped on wet rock, and while I ran on an adrenaline high, it would die eventually and the burn in my arms might slow me—I had to haul ass, fast.

  Mr. Rolph was right behind me, the sounds of him scrambling on stone and the bounce of the rope also in my grip echoing my movements. And just beyond us still was the scrape of nails on limestone and hiss of small serpent-dragons.

  The slope ran up another eighty feet that felt even farther away as I struggled upward—it might as well have been miles. Wet, mud-slicked rock slid under my boots and even with the gloves the rope strained my hands. Seventy-five feet. Seventy. We had to make it—had to.

  Sixty feet to go and I was aching, strength waning, when a sudden grunt of pain behind me caught my attention.

  I glanced back; Mr. Rolph was slipping, arms outstretched and grasping the rope, his legs dangling. A tear in his coveralls leaked blood as he kicked at a drakon at his heels.

  With a sinking feeling, I realized he’d been bitten.

  “Keep going!” he shouted, struggling up as more of the beasts closed in.

  I twisted, fumbled at my harness, got myself latched on just barely before slipping out a gun and firing at the creatures around us. These ones were smaller—still agile and fast, but shy
as bullets struck, and the handful following held back, watching me warily. At the bottom, more approached, creeping up the walls of the sloping tunnel.

  Mr. Rolph slipped, his feet losing purchase on the ground as he slid, hands scrambling to hold the ropes. I backed up in a hurry, holstered the gun, and snatched the sleeve of his coveralls, struggling to pull a man who weighed more than me up and onto his feet.

  Sweat slicked his reddened face as he grimaced. “I was bitten.”

  “You’ll be fine—just hold on.” He wouldn’t. Not with what I’d seen of that venom, not if he was human like all of us except for West, but I wasn’t leaving him behind. I managed to get a hold of his sleeve and yanked.

  Fabric tore but I didn’t let go, not as my muscles burned, not as my voice broke into cries with the strain. He latched onto the rope but held my gaze, resolved in a way that had panic clawing up my throat.

  The drakones rushed around us again now that my gun was down, growing bolder by the second. One leapt for me; I dodged and as it hit the slope beside me, I drew out a gun and put three bullets in its head.

  Another landed on Mr. Rolph.

  He slipped again and shouted as fangs sank into his shoulder. Fresh blood ran from the wound, spurting and fading into the dark mud on the slope. I shot the creature on his back but it was far too late.

  “You have to climb!” I cried, as futile as it was.

  But eyes behind bottle glasses met mine. “Trust West.”

  “We’ll get you help—”

  “Whatever West says, do it—”

  Mr. Rolph slipped and the blackness below swallowed him whole.

  23

  Crossed

  I gazed for a moment longer down the slope, still somewhat in denial—he’d been there one second and gone the next, his headlamp going out as he spun and hit the bottom. But I hadn’t time to process; the fierce, hissing drakones babies were closing in.

  And it was terribly dark now, just a faint glow coming from high above.

  I scrambled, the gun back at my hip—I had to be running low on bullets anyway—and climbed. Each step forward was more of a lunge, hands crossing at the rope and pulling as hard as I could. A noise of frustration left my throat as the sound of creatures echoed around me.