by C. T. Adams
Perhaps they had finally succeeded. Perhaps—
A piercing scream filled Nasil’s ears and made him flinch involuntarily. Sargon stood and turned his attention to the flickering torch light that illuminated the other chamber. The scent of his anticipation, his joy, brought pleasure to Nasil’s heart. But then the scream abruptly cut off and his master frowned in the silence.
“What was that?” came a male voice from the darkness ahead to their left. “Was that a scream?”
“So what if it was?” another man replied in a bass rumble. “None of our concern. Hey, there’s a light ahead. Maybe we’ve finally reached the end of this stinkin’ cave.”
The first voice, a thready alto, quavered a bit. “Let’s just get our money and get out of here, Alan. Getting tigers is one thing, but I don’t like this. It feels like a setup.”
Nasil saw the men first, and stepped toward them. Sargon didn’t turn to the arrival of the poachers. He continued to watch the torch, waiting for any sign. A woman appeared from the lit chamber, followed by a huge black man with long dreadlocks and a bare chest. Nasil stepped back so Sargon could approach them.
When the poachers rounded the final bend, Nasil held up a hand to stop them where they stood. The tall, stocky poacher who had been identified as Alan started to open his mouth to say something but stopped when Nasil moved forward like lightning and flexed a hand around the man’s throat tight enough to silence him.
“Be quiet or die!” He let some of his remaining power flow toward the men and hissed the words into the poachers’ faces so his master would not be interrupted. The men glanced at each other nervously but obeyed. Nasil took a few moments to check the men for weapons with his free hand. The fools had honored their bargain. Each was unarmed save for a small knife.
Sargon stepped forward until he was within inches from the woman. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air. “Dr. Portes? What went wrong this time?”
The tiny Guatemalan woman shook her head and wiped the smear of red covering her hands off on the front of her smock. Nasil noted that the thin poacher paled a bit at the look of annoyance on the woman’s face.
“The same as happened last time, my lord. She was not the one. We had hoped to expand her abilities through the ritual, but the power consumed her.”
Sargon’s voice was calm and soft, which Nasil knew was when he was at his most dangerous. “Is she still alive?”
The harsh laugh from the black man was quickly eaten by the cave, just as the scream had been. It was as though the cave itself fed on their presence. No echoes would reach the outside world.
“She is not,” he replied harshly. “She was torn apart before the ritual completed. I told yo—”
Sargon had the African pinned high against the wall, his neck held at a painful angle before he could complete the word. The flow of magic was stifling and it was all Nasil could do to keep the poachers from bolting from sheer terror. The scent of their fear was powerful enough to bring a disturbing gleam to Rachel Portes’s eyes.
“You do not tell me anything, Zuberi. You are here only at my sufferance, and you will hold your tongue or I will turn you over to the doctor for an appetizer. Do you understand?”
Nasil was pleased to see the nearly living fear in Zuberi’s eyes. He should be very afraid. He nodded with what little movement Sargon allowed him.
Sargon released his hand and his magic, and Zuberi dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Were it not for the human poachers present, Nasil knew that Sargon would have used only his magic to punish the man, so as not to soil his royal hands with the likes of a cat.
Dr. Portes stepped forward quietly. “The room should be cleaned before the next attempt, my lord.”
Sargon held up his hand and she fell silent. “In a moment, Doctor. Let me first greet my guests. Nasil, release them and bring them before me.”
Nasil led Alan and his friend to where Sargon once again rested on his pillows.
Alan rubbed the red marks on his throat and pointed a long, black metal flashlight menacingly at Nasil. “You and me, buddy. When this is done, we’re going to go rounds for that little stunt.”
Nasil doubted that he would be given that honor, but smiled the tiniest bit and nodded to the fool.
“So,” the man strutted forward toward the master. “You’re Sargon, huh? Well, you got your tiger. Now we get our money.”
Sargon’s face lit up with a broad smile. “I’m afraid that you’re very confused. I do not have my tiger, so you get no money.”
The thin man with the ferret-like face finally got over his fear enough to smell angry. “Whoa! You wanted a tiger, and we got you three tigers. Don’t jack us around, asshole.”
He started to step forward aggressively, but stopped when Nasil was suddenly in front of them, blocking the path to his master.
Alan stared him down, despite the scent of fear and twitching of his eye muscles. “Me and Mickey worked our butts off to get those tigers and we’re taking our money, even if we have to take it off your dead bodies.”
When Sargon stood and put a hand on Nasil’s shoulder, he stepped back with a bow. The master’s voice began light. “There’s no need to argue, gentlemen. While I can assure you that you did not deliver my tiger, I’m certain we can work something out. The error was mine. I did not tell you the specific tiger we wished you to deliver. You did actually capture her, but then left her to be discovered by the authorities. I was not pleased.”
His voice had dropped nearly an octave during the speech and ended with enough scorn to cut through the anger of the men. They watched the tall, olive-skinned man with nervous eyes as he stepped closer and closer. Sargon let his angry magic leak out until it was a suffocating cloud that the men wanted to run screaming from.
But just when they were ready to bolt back into the blackness of the cave in terror, Nasil was surprised to see Sargon stop and smile.
“But, as I said, gentlemen—we can work this out.” He reached into the pocket of his tailored slacks and removed a leather bag tied with a strip of rawhide. He held it up for the men to see and shook it. The richly toned clinking inside made the men’s eyes light up greedily. “In this bag are gold coins equal to half the money you negotiated with Nasil.”
The pair looked at each other. “Hey!” Alan nearly shouted.
Sargon raised his hand in a seemingly placating manner. “Never fear, gentlemen. The gold coins inside this bag are very old and very rare. While the actual value as a metal is indeed half, the value as antiquities might be double what you anticipated—with a little work on your part to find the right buyer.”
Alan gave a knowing smile. “So, for leaving the fourth tiger for the Germans to find, we have to pad shoe leather to get all of our money, huh?”
Sargon raised one brow. “Precisely.”
The ferret-faced man named Mickey looked suspicious. “I want to see the coins first. I know a little bit about gold.”
“As you wish.” Sargon tossed the bag to the ferret-faced man. “But I would be very cautious not to get your finger oil on the coins.”
The poacher waved away the comment. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He loosened the leather thong carefully and eased one of the coins into view, using the leather top of the bag to hold it. He stepped closer to the torch and squinted as he turned the captured coin to see the reverse.
“So, whatcha think, Mickey?” Alan asked as Sargon returned to his cushions with a small smile.
Mickey let out a slow whistle and looked excitedly at Alan. “Man! Either this is the best damn forgery I’ve ever seen, or this coin is an honest to fucking God Spanish doubloon. This freaking bag might be worth a fortune.”
Sargon raised his hands and leaned back. “As I said.”
Sargon took the moment to stand and walk over to Mickey. He licked his palm slightly while the other man wasn’t looking. “Do we, as you say, have a deal?” He held out his palm to Mickey, who was almost too busy staring at the coins in the bag
to notice. But when Sargon cleared his throat, he looked up and the dry heat scent of embarrassment found Nasil’s nose.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” He shook Sargon’s hand and then returned his attention to the coins.
“And you, Mister, er—Alan?” The tall man was shaking his head, little movements that betrayed the fact that his instinct was telling him something completely different from what he was hearing. But he finally shook Sargon’s hand.
“Then our business is at an end. You may go.” The look on Sargon’s face made Alan turn back more than once as they stepped into the cave.
Nasil smiled quietly as Sargon released Rachel and Zuberi before the poachers had reached the end of the torchlight.
Sargon raised his voice and called out to the poachers. “Oh! And gentlemen? One more minor detail.”
They stopped and turned around. The beams of the powerful flashlights hurt Nasil’s eyes, but he wanted to see the looks on their faces, so he squinted and kept watching.
Nasil could see the growing concern on Alan’s face at Sargon’s smile. How little these foolish humans understood their kind.
“Yeah? What else?”
Nasil felt a burst of power tingle his skin as Rachel readied herself to transform into her animal form.
The low chuckle from his master tightened Nasil’s throat again as Rachel stepped forward. Sargon ran a slow hand down her leg. His voice was soft, but Nasil knew it would carry to the men’s ears because he had their full attention. “The poison that is now seeping into your palms will begin to affect you soon. In about thirty minutes, you’ll be completely blind.”
The two men stared at their palms in abject horror and began to rub them frantically against the fabric of their pants. Mickey dropped his flashlight and scrambled to recover it, all while keeping his total attention on Sargon.
“If you make it to the entrance of the cave, the gold is yours to keep. Of course, you’ll be sightless, but what is that small detail to a millionaire?” Sargon stood and stepped toward the torch. He pulled it from the holder in the wall and ran his hand through the fire until the flame glowed green from both his magic and the venom still on his palm. He carried the torch back to the cushion.
The poachers were slowly backing away, trying to keep from stumbling but wanting to make sure they heard every word. “You’re insane, Sargon! We’ll go to the cops! You’ll wind up in prison for the rest of your life.”
Nasil chuckled and Sargon let out a laugh of fierce joy. “Prisons have crumbled to dust around my feet while I still remain, gentlemen. You should probably leave now. I believe that Nasil timed the journey from here to there at twenty-two minutes—if you run.”
Sargon looked at them with the cold, unfeeling eyes of a snake. But the pair truly understood the nature of their deal when Rachel completed her transformation. The sudden horror on their faces was worth the pain in Nasil’s head from the flashlight and green fire.
“But I don’t believe it will be a problem for you to beat Nasil’s time, since the lovely Dr. Portes will be chasing you. I wouldn’t suggest you let her catch you. I’ve heard she’s quite a…handful. I’ll be magnanimous and give you to the count of ten. One—”
With a rush of air that sounded quite a bit like a scream, Alan and Mickey turned and ran at full speed into the darkness of the cave. “Two…three…oh, to the devil with it—ten.” Sargon stroked his hand again down one of her legs, one of the many that surrounded his cushions. “Bring back the gold if you would, my love.” He put his lips close to her mandibles and licked a drop of poison from her fang, while the spider leaned into him. He shuddered briefly as the venom burned his lips and tongue. He ran his teeth over the small hole it cut into them.
“Ssshall I allow them to reach the light, my lord?”
Sargon smiled, but there was no emotion in his eyes. “Consider them a reward for your efforts with the ritual. You must be quite drained. Do with them what you will.”
The nearly silent scuttling of her feet against the stone as she started the chase unnerved Nasil.
“My lord Sargon?” Zuberi’s voice was small and quiet from the wall where he still remained.
“Yes, Zuberi?”
“I do not wish to seem too bold, my lord, but the poachers failed.”
Sargon sighed and turned to the big Swahili. “They did indeed, Zuberi. And I suppose you are hoping that I will allow your plan to proceed?”
Zuberi dropped to his knees in front of Sargon’s pillow and remained prostrate. His words were slightly muffled by the stone touching his lips. “I believe it’s a good plan, my lord. I will not fail you as they did.”
Nasil watched sweat form on the broad, dark back as Sargon pondered the situation. “I will give you a chance—but only one chance. Bring her to me before the next full moon rises and you will have repaid your debt to me. Now, if you’re quick you may join Rachel in the feast.”
Zuberi raised his head with a smile. He kissed Sargon’s slippered foot before melting into the darkness of the cave in a blur.
Nasil waited until Zuberi was out of earshot before he stepped to Sargon’s side. “I believe it unwise to trust them.”
“I know you do, Nasil. But Rachel Portes excites me as no woman ever has, and Zuberi has undeniable skill for this particular venture. He has reason to bear a grudge against the Monier clan, so all eyes will point to him and the fools will not even look further. Besides, they’re both expendable.”
Nasil acknowledged the fact with a dip of his head. “But their kind are untrustworthy—”
A man’s scream from the darkness was swallowed by the sacred cave, and another followed in seconds.
Sargon chuckled. “Yes, Nasil. Aren’t we all?”
Chapter Three
“DO YOU PLAN to sleep away the day, little cub?”
Antoine turned his head to the familiar voice and struggled to open his eyes. It wasn’t as easy as it should be, and that worried him. His senses returned first, and he felt a slight breeze overhead, heard the stuttering whir of a mechanical fan and the clinking of tableware. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Coffee with chicory, fried bacon, eggs, and bread. But underlying the food scents were other ones. Clean linen with a hint of dried blood, his older sister’s musk perfume, and the soft fur scent of Grand-mère.
He realized he was lying in a bed because of the cool thickness of the sheets under his hand, the fluffy pillow that threatened to smother his head, and the weight of blankets over him. But he shouldn’t be in a bed. Should he?
A tapestry that covered one entire wall was the first thing Antoine saw when he could finally focus without pain. The rich blues with gold, greens, and vibrant reds that portrayed scenes from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales demanded recognition. So, he knew where he was, but couldn’t figure out for the life of him how he’d come to be here. He snaked one arm from under the quilt and put it to his eyes to discover a cloth bandage encircling his head.
Merde! What in blazes happened to me? But then the memories slowly started to filter into his brain—the police station, the dead tigers, the girl and—
He sat bolt upright in a panic. “Where is the girl, Grand-mère? Where is Tahira? Is she safe? What happened?”
A tiny, white-haired woman, a lynx in her animal form, stepped to where he could see her. She uttered an exasperated breath. Although Giselle Bertrand was not a blood relative, she had raised Antoine after his mother died, and he would always think of her as his grandmother.
“Pfft! Would I not have told you immediately if the young woman was not safe, petit fils? She was in the van with you, somehow still in tiger form after moonset. You lost control on the icy road and crashed into a tree near where we were breaking camp.”
“How did we get to Charles’s mansion? Where are my cats and the troupe?”
She clucked her tongue and jumped up lightly to sit next to him on the thick down mattress. She patted his leg and he moved it to give her room. “We are competent to run the show wi
thout your continual presence, Antoine. The cats, save for Babette and the cubs who are housed in the basement lair, and most of the performers have returned to America. Charles and your sister stopped by for a visit on the way to their winter home in Siberia. He foresaw your accident and sent us to you. Amber made certain that the girl was changed back to human form and you were both put into a sleep until you could recover.”
Antoine touched the bandage again and Giselle noticed his concern and the quickened beating of his heart. She laughed brightly. “Ah! No need to worry, little cub. Margo instructed Matty to bandage your head so the linens wouldn’t be ruined while you slept. The cut on your head was quite deep, but I’ve no doubt it’s healed by now.”
“I need to see the girl, and then Charles.” He started to slide out the opposite side of the bed when Giselle grabbed his arm.
“Non, Antoine. The girl is still asleep and Charles has gone. You must rest, regain your strength. Amber said you were badly drained.”
Antoine’s brow furrowed. “He left? Why would he—?” He shook his head with annoyance. “Then I’ll have to call him. It’s imperative that I speak with him.”
It would do no good to explain to Grand-mère about the vision. She couldn’t grasp the concept when he was a boy, and little had changed other than a grudging acknowledgment that he actually was a seer. No, he needed to get an interpretation of some of the images from his mentor because he was certain it involved the girl.
He was surprised when Giselle didn’t remove her hand from his arm. Instead, she tightened it and pulled him back. “Once again—non, little one. You forget your place. Charles is fully aware of everything, as he always is. He left specific instructions for you regarding the Hayalet girl with Margo. If you will not rest, then you will eat. The telephones are not working because a road crew cut the underground lines. We’re fortunate that Charles maintains a generator for electricity or we wouldn’t have that either.”