Pay Dirt (Lost Falls Book 2)

by Chris Underwood

  “Ozzy!” Lilian yelled.

  I tore my eyes from the wraith’s. It only took me a moment to see what had alarmed her.

  The tomb door was opening.

  “Just what we need,” I muttered as I darted away from the wraith trapped within the circle. How long did we have until the wraith broke free? Another five minutes? Ten?

  We moved away from the door. I ducked down behind a stone cube, and Lilian did the same a couple of cubes along. I looked around and saw Holden and Ursula still cramming bags full of treasure.

  “Hey!” I yelled. “If you’re not going to fight, then get the hell out of here.”

  I turned back toward the door without waiting to see if they’d listened. If they wanted to get themselves killed, then so be it.

  The tomb door swung fully open and went still. In the darkness of the tunnel outside I could see figures slumped against the floor, unmoving. Dead? Unconscious? I didn’t know.

  But one figure was left standing. York stepped through the open door, arms raised above his head like a victorious king returning home. There was a puckered red crevasse across his throat, where the wraith’s blade had cut him back at the factory. Red powder clung to his clothes and coated his face. Isidora’s rat must’ve been right next to him when it released the powder from its pack. And yet still he stood.

  His blank eyes stared up at the ceiling for a moment, and then lowered to meet mine. He spread his arms out wide. In his right hand I saw the glint of gold. A fourth coin.

  “The light shines upon me,” he said with a rasp. “I am blessed by the divine. No magic can harm—”

  We started shooting. A thundering staccato roar filled the tomb.

  I sent three lead bullets his way, then followed them up with some silver. It was worth the cost. Lilian emptied one pistol, dropped it, and drew her second gun.

  My ears were ringing by the time it was all over. A haze of gunsmoke obscured my vision. The stink of cordite was thick enough to taste. A sudden silence engulfed the tomb, only disturbed by the scampering footsteps of Holden and Ursula fleeing down the side passage.

  The tomb was poorly ventilated, so it took several seconds for the smoke to clear. I waited, still pointing my empty gun toward the door, my heart hammering somewhere up near the back of my throat.

  A shape began to resolve in the smoke. I lowered my gun, unable to hold it up any longer.

  “Impossible,” Lilian whispered.

  It was. Impossible.

  And yet there he stood.

  34

  York lowered his arms to his sides. I scanned his body for blood, wounds, torn clothing. There was nothing. Every single shot had missed.

  “How?” I breathed.

  York smiled at me. “I am protected.”

  I stared into his blank eyes, into his twisted, evil smile. Then I picked up my sword, leapt over the stone cube I was using for cover, and charged at him.

  We would see how well he dodged a steel blade through his gut.

  I swung. Gave him my two-handed special. Brought the blade arcing toward his midsection. He raised his arms in defense.

  The blue-stained steel shattered against him. Shards of electric blue sparkled in the air and scattered across the floor. The sheer force of my blow still made him stagger back a couple of steps. Blood trickled from his arm where the sword had struck. But that smile never left his face.

  I glanced down at the hilt of the sword. A few inches of the broken blade still protruded, but it was covered with tiny cracks. One good whack and the rest of the blade would shatter as well.

  The wraith’s touch had weakened the blade. It had to be that. York was the luckiest son of a bitch I’d ever met, but that didn’t mean he was invincible. I tossed the sword hilt away and pulled my truncheon from my belt.

  Before I could swing it, York stepped forward, held out his hand, and touched his fingers to my forehead.

  I don’t know exactly what happened then. There was a blinding flash that exploded through my eyes and ripped through my brain. My burned hand suddenly felt like it was enveloped in lava. Sound left me entirely. I didn’t breathe. My heart didn’t beat.

  It must’ve only been a few seconds later when I came to. I was on my back a couple dozen feet from York. My whole body trembled. I no longer held my truncheon. I was wracked with terrible nausea, like everything dark and disgusting inside myself was trying to claw its way out of me.

  As my eyes cleared, I found Lilian kneeling beside me, one hand on my chest while the other held her gun outstretched. Her touch was painful, almost unbearable. I didn’t push her away.

  I heard panting, and when I found the strength I lifted my head. York was approaching with small, shuffling steps. He looked like he was having trouble holding himself upright, but that damn smile never left his face.

  “Can you feel it, Ozzy?” he rasped. “The power that resides here. This is the grave of a martyr. A holy place. A divine place.”

  I groaned. “Doesn’t feel divine to me.”

  “The light’s touch hurt me as well, the first time I felt it.” He tapped his cheeks just below his milky eyes. “Mortal eyes cannot comprehend the light. It’s blinding. Overwhelming. I will help you, Ozzy. Together, we’ll burn away the darkness inside you, if we can. And if not, your body will burn in the light’s cleansing touch.” As he talked, he shuffled closer, smiling down at me.

  Lilian stood and pointed her gun at York. I had to admit, it was something of a relief to not have her touching me.

  “Don’t take another step,” she said.

  York paused. “There is no light inside you,” he said to Lilian. “The stink of death clings to you.”

  “Lilian,” I muttered. “Get out of—”

  York fixed his blank stare on her. I felt a prickling heat, like I had when York had stared me down in the factory. This time, though, it was fainter. This time he wasn’t looking at me.

  Lilian screamed. The gun fell from her hand and she clutched at her chest like her heart was on fire. With her back arched she collapsed to the ground beside me.

  She wasn’t the only one to feel the effects of York’s stare. Contained within its circle, Morley’s Vengeance began to writhe in pain. Its agony didn’t appear to be as extreme as Lilian’s—like me, it was only feeling the heat of a fire centered on Lilian.

  “The living dead fear the light of the divine the most,” York said over the sound of Lilian’s screams. “They cannot face it without being destroyed.”

  I shouted wordlessly. He didn’t stop. Lilian’s skin seemed to be smoking under the intensity of York’s gaze. I blinked, and for a moment I could see shapes dancing in my vision, like I’d been staring into the sun. A purple afterglow seemed to surround York’s body. But it didn’t originate with him. In my mind’s eye I could see ropes of light stretching from Morley’s sarcophagus and feeding into York’s aura. He was leeching the energy of this place, drawing its power for his own.

  Finally, he broke his gaze with Lilian. She made a small noise and collapsed limp against the ground, smoke rising off her body. Her eyelids flickered. The revenant inside her had been burned to within an inch of its unlife.

  The wraith also ceased its writhing. It glared out of the circle at York. He didn’t seem to notice.

  York took a deep breath, gathering his strength. He stepped closer to me. I shuffled backward, unable to rise. But even though York was clearly exhausted, he had no problem keeping up with me.

  “I must seem a cruel man to you,” York said. “As did Morley, in his time. If you could only see what I have seen.” He smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps you will, if you survive. I am not here for treasure or riches or power, like your friends hiding down that passage. There is only one thing in this tomb I need. The key that will open the door that will let in the light. They will walk upon this Earth, Ozzy, and they will make it something beautiful and pure. We just have to open the door for them.”

  “Who? Who the fuck are you talking about
?”

  “The gods, of course. I have seen them.”

  In the back of my addled mind, I heard a small boy’s voice. Bright man wants to come in.

  I propped myself up on one elbow and spat a glob of black blood onto the floor. My insides were still churning with whatever the hell York had done to me.

  “You’re an idiot,” I said. “You’re being used.”

  “I am a tool of the divine.”

  “There are plenty of powerful entities around these parts, and none of them have motives that are pure. Something is manipulating you. It’s lying to you. Don’t you understand?”

  His smile became one of pity. He shook his head, then turned his attention toward the sarcophagus of Morley the Profane. “Morley’s murderers tried to bury him deep. They crafted a tomb that would ensure he could not be found by magical means, and sealed it so not even the strongest machines of the time could penetrate it. They turned his wraith, the last remnant of his soul, to their own uses, sealing it in charmed glass so that anyone who tried to open the tomb would inadvertently release the wraith upon themselves. And then, finally, they wove a spell that would pluck memories of Morley from the minds of all those he had encountered.

  “But a man’s existence cannot be so easily erased—especially not a man so great as Morley. Fragments of the Profane remained. Some, who had guarded themselves against witchcraft, remembered. A few rare individuals recalled his story. It is they who called to me. It is they who shared the glory of the Profane with me.”

  He looked back at me. The bastard looked so happy I had to make sure he wasn’t jerking himself off through a hole in his pocket. He crouched down next to me and reached for my coat.

  I weakly tried to fend him off. He just pressed his fingertips against my forehead again and the fire returned. My vision went white again.

  I came to, coughing and retching. I knew without a doubt I wouldn’t survive another touch like that. I’d be burned up from the inside out.

  There were tears in my eyes. I wiped them away and blinked down at my hand. It was streaked with black. What the hell was he doing to me?

  My eyes slowly cleared. I looked around and saw York over by the sarcophagus. His back was to me, but I could tell he was staring up at it with reverence. His hand formed a loosely clenched fist at his side. As he shook it, I heard the clink of metal.

  Swallowing back bile, I stuck my hand in one of my pockets. My fingers closed on nothing. York had taken the coins.

  Stepping up to the sarcophagus, York took one of the coins from his hand and pressed it against the black glass. When he removed his hand, the coin remained stuck to the sarcophagus like some unholy fridge magnet.

  As he repeated the process with the remaining coins, he began to speak again.

  “In his travels purging the world of darkness, Morley came across something, an artifact that had been concealed for centuries within the body of a being of great and terrible power. A dark gift from an even greater power, perhaps. But Morley saw that it could be turned to the use of the light. To keep it safe, he too concealed it within himself. Locked it away. Until now.”

  With a monumental effort, I rolled over and pushed myself up on my hands and knees. Lilian lay a few feet from me, unmoving. Further away, Morley’s Vengeance stared at York from within the circle that held it trapped. There was no sign of Holden or Ursula. They were probably keeping their heads down. Once Lilian and I were dead and York had got what he came for, they’d reemerge and escape with their loot.

  What a sucker I was.

  York placed the last coin onto the sarcophagus. I felt a vibration deep in my chest. There was a soft groan of stone shifting.

  York jumped back just as the lid of the sarcophagus slipped off and fell to the floor with a booming thud. It landed on its edge, teetered for a moment, then crashed down into the open space surrounding the suspended sarcophagus. The four gold coins scattered across the floor near York’s feet. He didn’t pay any attention to them. He only had eyes for Morley the Profane.

  The sarcophagus had done a pretty good job of preserving him. I’d been expecting a skeleton; instead I found myself staring at a mummified corpse stuffed into a stone box only just big enough to contain him. His skin was wrinkled and pulled tight against his bones, giving him the look of a dried piece of fruit.

  He wore no clothes. I didn’t think they’d rotted off him—it looked more like he’d been naked when he was entombed. He hung upside-downand back-to-front. I didn’t know if he’d been positioned like that as a deliberate insult, or whether it was some part of the ritual that had sealed him away.

  York inhaled deeply, then bowed his head like it hurt his half-blind eyes to look upon Morley for too long. A couple of seconds later I caught a whiff of a musty, stale scent wafting across me.

  “I have searched for you for years,” York muttered to the corpse. “You’re more glorious than I could’ve imagined.”

  The corpse should’ve fallen out of the upright sarcophagus as soon as the lid opened, but it appeared to be stuck in place. The reason became clear as soon as York reached up and started to pull Morley’s corpse down. I heard a peeling, tearing sound. Morley’s skin seemed to have fused slightly to the bottom of the sarcophagus. As soon as York began to loosen it, though, the corpse came tumbling down.

  York caught Morley in his arms and cradled him like a groom carrying his new bride across the threshold. Carefully, York crouched and laid the body on the lid of the sarcophagus.

  The corpse’s shriveled face no longer resembled the handsome visage of Morley the Profane I’d glimpsed in the wraith’s reflection. He’d been pretty battered even before he’d become mummified in the sealed sarcophagus. Morley had died hard.

  I noticed a low thrumming sound coming from near the door. I glanced back to see the wraith staring silently at its own corpse. Its head twitched back and forth as it pressed itself up against the barrier created by the circle. Wisps of smoke were rising from the symbols Ursula had painted on the floor. They were faded, nearly gone now.

  Over by the corpse, York pulled out a small knife he’d had concealed somewhere. It was curved, with the inner edge forming the blade.

  “Forgive me, Morley,” he said. “I will show you that I am worthy.”

  He plunged the blade into the corpse just below the base of Morley’s sternum. It seemed more like cutting through leather than through flesh. With both his hands on the knife, York dragged it along, cutting open a slit.

  Behind me, the wraith’s thrumming grew ever so slightly louder. Was it in pain? Angry? I didn’t know.

  I tried to summon my strength once again. York was distracted. The wraith was still trapped—though I didn’t know for how much longer. This was my last chance to escape. Lilian couldn’t leave under her own power. I’d have to carry her. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could even carry myself. With York’s back to me, I got my trembling arms underneath myself and pushed. I got halfway to a sitting position before I ran out of energy. I rolled onto my side to keep myself from falling all the way back down. Whatever York had done to me had left me sapped.

  Reaching into my pocket, I fished out a small vial of one of Early’s concoctions. I knew from experience that it tasted like damp leaves and mud, but it would give the strength to keep going. I’d pay for it later, though.

  As I downed the contents of the vial, I noticed Lilian stirring. I slithered over to her.

  “You okay?” I whispered as I touched her shoulder.

  She groaned softly.

  “We’re going to have to move,” I said. “Can you walk?”

  “I…I don’t know.” She tried to move, then groaned again. “What the hell was that?”

  “Something more powerful than either of us.”

  As I tried to help Lilian sit up, I glanced back at York. He’d cut open a long slice in Morley’s abdomen. As I watched, he pulled open the slit and pushed his hand inside. I cringed at the sight. What the hell did he think he was trying to achieve?


  Didn’t matter. We had to get out of here while we had the chance.

  I could feel Early’s concoction working on me. I wouldn’t be up for a fight, but I thought I could stand now. I could run. As for Holden and Ursula, they’d have to figure their own way out.

  But as I stared at York, I heard Stuckey’s voice in the back of my head. The intensity in his gaze as he’d begged me not to let York find this place. I could still feel the ache in my face where he’d kicked me and ran to his certain death just for the chance to take York with him.

  He knew something. Something that terrified him. It had scared him worse than York, worse than death.

  If I ran now, York would win. And whatever came next would be on me.

  I turned to the tomb door. I could just make out the shapes of bodies in the tunnel beyond. At least three cultists knocked unconscious by the rat’s brain burn. And one other figure, lying just outside the doors. Scrawny, pale, young. A little bastard. A pain in my neck. A dumb kid. From here, I couldn’t see the hole York’s people had shot in Daud’s head. But I could see the blood streaked across his dead-eyed face.

  I glanced at Lilian. She seemed to be gathering her strength. Her eyes cleared and she looked over at York.

  “Are we running?” she whispered.

  I opened my mouth without knowing what I was going to say. Before I could decide, York interrupted me.

  “W…where is it? They said it would be here.” York stuck his hand even deeper into the cut in Morley’s abdomen. Desperation crept into York’s voice. “They said you possessed it.”

  “Ozzy,” Lilian hissed. “Are we running?”

  From somewhere nearby came a scraping, clattering sound. I looked around to see a small shape emerging from behind one of the stone cubes. A haggard-looking rat was crawling toward us, the string of a drawstring bag clutched tight in its teeth. Exhausted, the rat dragged the bag closer to us, its little chest huffing and puffing. With every movement I heard a distinctive clatter from inside the bag. The rat released the string and fixed me with its little beady eyes.