Chapter Nineteen
Summertown, Present Day
Encased in the clumsy PPE with its self-contained breathing apparatus, or SCBA, Arta slogged forward, desperate for a glimpse of Eliana. Sweat poured down his back and congealed in a pool of dread at the base of his spine. Fear of falling, fear of what he would find kept pounding in his brain and heart.
Why hadn’t he told her he loved her? Why hadn’t he confessed this truth right after he told her about his Persian lion persona? She didn’t flinch. Wasn’t that enough of a sign that she was the one? He was an idiot.
Lord, spare this woman, please, she is a good woman, a hard-working woman, a woman of valor. I beg of you, please keep my true love safe and sound.
He edged toward the sinkhole that swallowed his determined jinni hunter and angled his headlamp to search the void. There, there she was. A crumpled heap of yellow PPE lay next to the overturned wagon. He turned his head. The rails looked as if they’d buckled and fallen into the chasm, like a twisting banister in an old house. A banister. How many times did he slide down that polished oak railing in his house, with his mother shouting at him in Farsi that he was going to kill himself? Time to put all that practice to use. And, yes, he might just die trying.
There was no time for stealth. He must get to her. He removed his gloves and twisted the SCBA straps through the handle of the metal camera box. Arta pulled his gloves back on, tugged at the case on his hip, and took a deep breath of canned air. If he had a leather belt to put around the iron, he could improvise a zip line, except it was going down. Way down. He lay on the ledge, grasped the metal railing with his gloved hands, swung his legs around the curvature, and placed the soles of his boots on the face of the old coal bed.
Now or never. He pushed himself off and slid down, yelling as his stomach remained behind him on the ledge. The heat from the friction on the gloves began to burn his palms.
Shit, that hurts.
Distracted by his blazing hands, Arta slammed onto the ground with a thud. Momentarily stunned, he was grateful he didn’t fall on his back onto the SCBA gear. That would mean broken ribs, not a bruised tailbone. He stood on watery legs and stumbled to Eliana’s side.
“Eliana, I’m here.” He knelt down, pressed the radiocomm again. “Speak to me, please.” No response. A black terror the size of the sinkhole began to suck him down.
No, no, no. Damn the SCBA. He needed to see her face. The hand-held air quality monitor indicated the oxygen level at twenty-one percent and carbon dioxide and other noxious gases well below the threshold for concern. He turned off the flow of oxygen, and pulled his hood off. The air in the long unused coal mine was musty, but breathable. A few feet away, the slow clicking of the RID unit gave evidence of normal background radiation.
Using gentle hands, he repeated the process with Eliana’s gear, and cushioned her head with her hood. Miraculously, her breathing apparatus was still functioning. Illuminated by the headlamp, her face brought tears to his eyes.
So beautiful. So brave. So headstrong. He removed his singed gloves and felt a pulse in her neck. Not bounding, but evidence of life, for sure. One at a time, he pried each eye open. Pupils equal and reactive. A good sign. Without a CAT scan or MRI, there was no way to tell if she sustained a concussion. After that fall, anything was possible.
“Eliana?”
No response.
Now or never.
“If you don’t wake up, you’ll never know how much I love you. From the moment we met and shook hands, I was bedazzled by you. Every time you spoke, even when you were angry, I heard poetry. Regardless of our differences, maybe even because of them, you are my beloved. You fascinate, frustrate, and infuriate me—and I love you for it with every beat of my heart.”
He took a deep shaky breath. “I want to marry you, have children with you, grow old with you. I have no idea of what lies ahead, but I know I want you at my side, for all time. Please, please wake up so we can start our future together.”
Tears threatening to burst into sobs, he leaned forward and kissed her lips. She tasted like cinnamon, honey, and dates. An exotic scent like frankincense or myrrh met his nose as he nuzzled her neck.
“Please wake up, my love. My life will have a dull, aching void if you die. You will be a phantom limb, an ache I cannot touch, but a pain I feel with every breath I take.”
No response. He rocked back on his heels and bowed his head. How would he get help for her if she had a brain injury? All he had was his ability to change into a lion.
Dear God, what should I do now?
****
Jolted out of the black hole of unconsciousness, Eliana stared at the back of her eyelids, her heart jack-hammering in her chest. He loved her. Part of her wanted to leap up and sing like a Broadway star. Another terrified part of her wanted to run and hide. Yet another, peevish part wondered why he hadn’t spoken up sooner. Did she need to be at death’s door to get him to confess his love? Was that safer for him? Or was it safer for her?
The last thing they needed was emotional entanglements that could threaten the mission. She needed to be cool, calm, and collected. Not hot and bothered by his kiss which left its smoldering imprint on her lips. Her neck blazed from his touch and she craved more. Good thing the PPE deterred her impulse, or she might have done something incredibly stupid, like grab him and pull his well-muscled body on top of her to finish what he so foolishly began. She blinked, stared up into darkness, and opened her mouth to respond—and the sound of crickets ricocheting off the hard walls of the tunnel interrupted.
“Arta, what the hell is going on?”
“You’re awake.” His face hovered over hers. In the darkness, his headlamp blinded her with its intensity. “Where do you hurt, what can I do for you?”
“Help me up. How long has the RID unit been clicking like that?”
“That just started. It’s been doing a slow click, like the background radiation noises you showed me before.”
“I need to get up.”
“Not a good idea. I need to examine you for breaks.”
Turtled on her back, she refrained from a tart response. “If you don’t help me up, we risk more than a few broken bones. I don’t want to glow in the dark, do you?”
Arta moved behind her and pushed while she pulled herself up to sitting. “How’s your back?”
“I won’t be sleeping on it much in the future.”
“Can you raise your arms? Wiggle your fingers and toes?”
Eliana slowly twirled her hands and waved her fingers. Her left ring finger throbbed. Did she smash it in the fall? The dark made it impossible to assess if the signet ring remained intact. She lifted first one, then the other leg, and flexed her ankles. “Can we get this show on the road, please? We need to cover up.”
She rolled over to her knees. “They should put jet-packs in these suits.” She pulled the hood on and tapped the radiocomm. Nothing. She lifted the headpiece. “My radiocomm broke in the fall. We’ll use hand-signals.”
Arta nodded.
Hood up, SCBA in working order, she made her way toward the RID on rubbery legs, her headlamp imitating the way her legs felt. She walked and searched for the shoebox sized device, and all the while her heart fought with her mind about Arta. On the one hand, he was smart, sexy, and sizzling as a sidewalk on a July day in Baltimore. On the other hand, his kisses were like caramels, sweet and addictive as a sugar rush, minus the calories.
When she’d awakened with his lips on hers, heat coiled around her core, squeezed her in an intimate embrace, and screamed for release. She shook her head and the lamp veered in erratic loops in the void. Foxhole sex. That’s what her body craved. Fear of dying kicked her biological clock into the alarm mode. No sex. Not until she found her love match, “blessed by the ring,” whatever that meant. She promised her mother on her deathbed. End of discussion, raging hormones. Get back into work mode and find the damn RID.
There.
Half hidden behind a bould
er, the beige instrument lay on its side. She stopped and turned, pointing. Backpack over his shoulder, camera case on his hip, Arta halted and waited for her lead. She lifted the box and inspected it. Dinged and scratched, but still intact and clicking, the needle squarely in the green zone.
She took two steps forward. Crickets shrieked, and the needle headed for the red zone.
Eliana held the device at eye level. Higher levels of radiation, definitely cesium.
Hands shaking, breath rasping in her ears, she continued walking. She wondered if they would come face to face with Old Thiess, the werewolf of interest, or an ‘Ifrit in another guise.
She stopped, and Arta plowed into her.
He held his hands palms up in the universal “What’s going on?” gesture.
Eliana shook her head.
Something’s off.
The RID clicked louder, urging her to move through a tunnel into a larger opening.
She stopped to peer at the dial under her head lamp, and Arta plowed into her—again. She really needed to work on this hand signal thing. Next time she’d put her hand up. Her slow, careful gait warred with her urge to run. But, then, that was how she’d fallen off the ledge, into the sinkhole. She wasn’t doing that again. Her jinni sense had pulled her along like a magnetic tractor beam. Her legs took over and her body and mind had followed—right over a cliff.
That’s it.
Her jinni radar wasn’t working. No prickling sensations, not a single nettle sting.
Nothing.
Either her homing beacon had been knocked out of her when she fell, or they weren’t following a jinni. What the hell was it? Cesium for sure, but what source?
The needle buried itself in the red zone, and a million crickets raged.
Eliana stopped and stared around the small cave, seeking the source of the radiation. She pointed to her eyes and motioned to Arta to examine the space. The shaft of light from the headlamp snagged on something out of place.
What the hell? She took a step back, grabbed Arta’s arm and pointed.
Two dead snakes, one white, one black, both practically glowing with cesium gamma radiation lay intertwined on a rock shelf, like offerings on an altar.
Beneath her PPE, the snakes on her arms writhed. This was a trap. They had to get out. Now.
Tremors shook her entire body, and rumbles echoed in her chest. She turned toward the tunnel they had just walked through. Rocks crashed down, throwing up pebbles that dinged off their suits, and a cloud that blocked even the piercing halogen light beams of their headlamps.
They were going to die, and she hadn’t told Arta she loved him, too.
She was an idiot.
She clutched Arta’s arm until the rumbling subsided, and her legs stopped shaking. When the dust cleared, she could see a rockslide blocked their only exit. Do not panic. Think through all the options. How could they get the hell out of this hellhole? What did they have on hand they could use to save their lives? She weighed the good, bad, and ugly in her mind.
On the good side of the column, she wasn’t alone. She was with Arta, a guy she loved, and she was going to let him know. Somehow. On the good side, they had air in their tanks—for now. On the bad side, they were exposed to three hundred rem of cesium, and would begin to bleed internally if they couldn’t block the radiation. Plus, they were on their own, no one knew where they were, or where to look for them.
In fact, it was highly unlikely anyone would look here for them. They would run out of clean air in less than an hour and choke to death on coal dust. That was better than hemorrhaging to death. Maybe. Her dream of finding a love match had come true at the same time as her worst nightmare. They were running out of air, sealed in a small cave with radioactive snakes. And no way out.
****
The clicking racket of the RID piercing his ears, Arta lumbered in front of Eliana and pulled her away from the jinni’s taunting altar. The monster toyed with her, crawled under her skin, and played with her mind. As a psychiatrist he specialized in head games. The jinni, wherever he lurked, drew pleasure and energy from Ellie’s fear. Arta wanted to protect her, in any way he could, from physical and mental intimidation. Yes, they were trapped in a cave, yes their air was limited, but the snakes presented an immediate psychological threat. He needed to break the ‘Ifrit’s hold on Ellie’s psyche. How? He turned around in a slow circle, searching the cave for something. The camera case banged on his thigh. Had he been able to reach his forehead through his headgear, he would have smacked himself.
Of course.
He unstrapped the lead-lined case from his hip, removed the relics, and approached the serpents with care. Yes, he wore gloves, but the radiation levels posed major safety risks. Using a flat rock as a spatula, he scraped the floppy snakes into the metal box, snapped the lid shut, and fastened the clasps. The din of a million raging crickets ceased. He took a deep breath, started to turn, and was almost knocked down when she wrapped him in a clumsy embrace.
Their head gear touching, he shouted, “We’re going to be okay.”
She raised her head, gave him a weak smile through the scratched plastic, and shouted back, “From your lips to God’s ears.”
He clutched her as best he could through the bulky PPE and pondered their fate. He disposed of the radioactive snakes, but the clock continued to tick on their oxygen supply. With luck, there might be thirty minutes of air left in their tanks. Due to the hospital evacuation and ensuing chaos, the winery was empty when they arrived. Would anyone notice they were missing in time to find them? They needed to find a way out of the cave before they were forced to remove their headgear and breathe the dusty air filled with God only knew what. He didn’t want to die in this hole in the ground without knowing if she returned his love. No. They didn’t fight this hard and come this far to give up.
He tapped her helmet, pointed to the pile of rubble, and pantomimed digging.
Eliana looked at him with a “you’re crazy” expression.
Nothing to lose.
He slogged his way over to the rockslide and pounded on the wall of rubble. A few rocks tumbled down, a large one landing next to his foot.
That wasn’t good.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d give himself a concussion—or worse.
A hard tap on his shoulder startled him. He turned and looked to where Eliana pointed at the ceiling of the entryway. A gap appeared in the wall of rock. He motioned for her to stand off to the side while he readied himself for another run at the wall.
She stepped back—and crumpled to the ground.
Heart jack-hammering in his chest, he lumbered to her side and knelt down. Her eyes were closed, her lips blue. Her SCBA gear. Did it spring a leak in the fall? No matter. He ripped her head gear off. Shallow rapid breaths. Not a good sign. He needed to get her out. In his human form, he was only as good as his two arms. In his lion form, he had four big paws and claws made for killing—and digging. He took a deep breath. Every other shift was involuntary. A bad time to test-drive his abilities, but what choice did he have?
God give me the wisdom and strength to do the right thing.
He crouched down on all fours and prepared for the change. His hands grew larger and the claws began to tear through his skin of his right hand. He grunted in pain.
Good, this was good.
A few more moments, and he’d be out of this suit and in his lion form.
Jump up on the ledge, enlarge the opening. Get Eliana out. Focus.
His left hand prickled and throbbed. He took a deep breath and bore down.
Now. He needed his lion form now.
The radio crackled in his ear. “Yo, Arta, can you hear me?”
Astonished, he raised his paw and touched the comm button. “Hong Feng? Is that really you?”
“Man, you were not easy to track down. Lucky for you, the FINDER detected your heartbeats and breathing in the rubble. You okay?”
His claws retracted and his paws became hands. “Elia
na’s unconscious.”
“Get as far away from this pile of crap as you can. We’re coming through.”
Arta dragged Eliana behind a large boulder. “Hang in there, Eliana. We’re getting out of here.” He covered her body with his, and an explosion shook him and left him with ringing ears. Dust and small stones rained down. The radio screeched and crackled.
“Move it, Arta. You gotta get out before everything caves in.”
Lights bright enough to land a plane shone through the now open entrance to the cave. Putting his hands under Eliana’s armpits, he dragged her backward, even as the walls shuddered and shook around them. He spotted the camera case and relics. For a split second he paused—and a coffee table sized boulder dropped on top of the outcropping with a thunderous bang. He’d apologize to the Imam when he saw him—if he survived.
A man in a PPE climbed over the rubble and pulled Eliana out of the space. Arta cleared the entrance, and another quake shook the mine.
Four men in hazmat suits, one of them pulling the suitcase sized FINDER, rushed at him, dragging him away from the entrance. One man put an oxygen mask on Eliana’s face, another snapped her into an airlift rescue vest and tucked the green oxygen tank under her arm, and a third hooked the vest up to a winch.
Hong Feng shouted in his ear. “She goes first, then you, then the rest of us. We have to get out of here fast. The guys up top will lead you out. Just follow them.”
The winch seemed to take forever pulling Eliana to safety. Eyes glued to her limp form, Arta prayed for a miracle. If only he hadn’t waited so long to tell her he loved her. If only he had said something sooner. If only—
“Go.”
A rescue net dropped at his feet. He sat down, wrapped his arms through the ropes, and swung through space. When he arrived at the top where the wagon had run off the rails, the winch deposited him alongside Eliana. Still wrapped in the rescue vest, face covered with the green plastic mask, she gestured like a wild woman until she spotted Arta. She stopped, stared at him, and began to cry. Between sobs, he thought she said, “I love you.”
Kiss of the Virgin Queen Page 19