by Deborah Camp
Patting his own pockets, he located his stash of matches and struck one. He touched the flame to the end of the torch. The fire sputtered, smoked, caught. Griffon waved out the match when he was sure the torch’s flames had the strength to carry on. Holding the flaming club aloft, Griffon surveyed the underground world.
“It’s immense!” he whispered, and his voice came back to him four times.
The cavern room was as big as a barn, with a flat floor and smooth walls. Stalactites speared the air above him. Calcium deposits created lace of subtle colors around them. Half a dozen stalagmites stood in the center of the area, slowly climbing toward the steadily dripping rock icicle, twice the width of a man, that fed them.
Griffon shook off the eerie feeling that tried to rattle his nerves. Stepping cautiously and lightly so as not to alert anyone to his presence, he traversed the length of the cavern room. At the far end the area narrowed to a space just wide enough for a man but only tall enough for a boy. Griffon doubled over and forged ahead, guided by the gray and black smears left by torches. The dampness seeped into his bones. Feeling totally out of his element, he tried not to think about how terrifying it would be if a gust of wind blew out his torch and threw him into solid darkness.
How far should he go into the belly of this beast? he wondered. Was it possible that this underground maze held captive Lily and Cecille? And what of Anson and Ham? Were they around the next bend, waiting to thrust a knife into his heart?
His nightmare visited him again, reminding him of the prophesy of his own death. Before entering what Jasper called the bad under place, Griffon had been playing a hunch that Cecille might have run off with Anson. His nightmare had tended to confirm this suspicion. But now, as he walked soundlessly in the bowels of the earth, sensations came to him more clearly. He found he could sort them out, and realized this must mean that he was drawing near the sources of these emotions. His heartbeats quickened, and he lengthened his stride.
He’d deciphered Cecille’s feelings wrong, he thought. She had not acquiesced, but struggled with guilt. Why did she feel guilty? He emptied his mind of all else to concentrate. He sensed Cecille in the rock walls and corridors. Like leftover odors, he sniffed out her fear, her ebbing strength, her guilt at having placed a bet in such a dangerous game. Her spirit came to him in tatters, bruised, faded, soiled. A knot of anger grew in his stomach as the certainty of her molestation took root.
“Dirty bastard,” he hissed between his teeth, anger overriding the creepy sensation spawned by the cavern. He’d been wrong—dead wrong?—about Cecille, and he felt bad for it. He’d thrown her into cahoots with Anson, when all the while she’d been his frightened captive; the thought made him burn with inadequacy. It wasn’t like him to be so far off track. But then, this case was very different from any other he’d worked. Lily hadn’t been around him during those others. Lily, his temptation. Lily, his sweet distraction.
His shirt grew damp, sopping up the wetness on the walls when he brushed against them. When he reached a forked place, both choices showing smoke marks, he paused to catch his breath.
Which way? he wondered, peering left, then right. Which would lead him to Lily? Lily. He’d been sensing Cecille, but what of Lily? Why couldn’t he sense her as well?
Griffon closed his eyes and concentrated in the way Thurman had schooled him. Plastering himself against the cold, wet wall, he spread his hands flat against the slippery surface behind him. He imagined sloughing off his past, his present, his every thought and notion like layers of skin. Finally, he was an empty vessel, ready to receive sensations.
Lily? He sent out the thought, transmitting through his mind, a human telegraph machine. It’s Griffon, Lily. Can you hear me? Can you call to me? Do it with your mind, Lily. Do it now.
He began to tremble from the exertion. He imagined his senses outstretched and floating. They picked up nothing.
Lily! Are you here? I’m in the cavern. Call to me. Lily!
Nothing.
Lily, talk to me. It’s Griffon. Listen to me! Lily Jane Meeker, you call to me this—
Something.
Griffon’s eyes popped open, but he stared blindly. All his sensory powers focused on that faint inkling, a frail signal flashing in his brain. His inner receptors flailed, located, investigated. It was Lily. Beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead, but he paid no heed. He concentrated with all his might, grappling for a better hold on that weak signal.
Call to me, Lily. Concentrate so that I can find you. Put all your strength into it and I’ll—
Griffon! Help me, help me! I can’t hold him off. Griffon!
He was running before his mind comprehended the movement. Racing, panting, whipped by panic, Griffon followed his heart. Lily’s frightened voice boomed in his mind. Then he heard her scream and he raced headlong, no longer cautious of a possible ambush, not giving a damn about danger around the corner, death around the next bend. He knew only one thing. Someone was hurting Lily, and he meant to kill the son of a bitch with his bare hands.
Crossing a strip of rock that formed a natural bridge above a basin of black water, Griffon flew, his athletic grace serving him well as the space narrowed again to a ledge barely the width of a man’s foot. He needed no directions, guided by Lily’s frantic thoughts. Skidding around a corner, he ducked into a small pocket in the rock. Somewhere along the way, he’d discarded the torch, no longer needing it because the area ahead of him was bathed in pale light. A corner of his mind noted that torches, stuck in crevices, lit the area. Shadows danced like imps. His pupils adjusted, revealing Ham Jeffers hovering above Lily, who lay on the floor, her dress partly ripped from her body, her hair tumbling, her face blotchy from being struck by the flat of Ham’s hand.
Griffon pounced with a roar, his body colliding with Ham’s and knocking them both sideways. Lily scrambled out of the way and pulled the torn material of her dress over her breasts. She crouched in the shadows, a frightened ball of humanity. Shivering, she tried to collect her senses. Things had moved so quickly, it was difficult to know what was safe, what wasn’t, what was happening before her very eyes.
When she’d run from Ham, she’d almost slipped off the rock bridge. Ham had grabbed her just in time, keeping her from drowning in that brackish water. But he’d forced her back into this hole and had set about molesting her. She’d fought, but her energy had been sapped. Then she’d heard Griffon calling to her and she’d responded. Hadn’t she? Hadn’t she called out to him?
The events rotated like the colors in a kaleidoscope until she was dizzy. She closed her eyes. Grunts, groans, the sounds of fists connecting with bone and muscle resounded, and she opened her eyes again. Ham lay on the floor, not more than three feet from her. His eyes bulged in his head, and he made a garbled sound as Griffon, straddling him, squeezed his throat. Griffon peeled back his lips, exposing glinting teeth. He looked wolfish, the predator getting the best of his prey and relishing it.
Lily thought of how Anson had strangled his wife and didn’t want to watch Griffon choke the life from anyone—not even someone as evil as Ham Jeffers.
“Griffon, no!” She waved frantically at him.
Griffon paid her little attention, but he did take his hands from Ham’s throat to strike him a vicious blow with his fist. Ham’s head rocked sideways; he expelled his breath with a groan and went limp. Out cold.
Pushing off him, Griffon extended one hand to touch the side of Lily’s face. “Any bones broken? Can you stand, walk?”
“Yes, yes.” She nodded, clutching at what was left of the front of her dress.
“Here. Wait.” He yanked his shirt up over his head and handed it to her. “Put this on.”
“No, I—”
Cutting through her weak protest, he gathered the shirt in both hands and pushed the neck hole down over her head. He helped her poke her arms in the arm holes and then settled the shirt over the front of her dress, covering her. Gently, he freed her hair from the collar, then a
rranged it about her shoulders.
“That’s better, hmmm? Come on, love. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Not without Cecille.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Yes.” She nodded, winced, placed tentative fingertips upon the bruise blooming on her right cheek. “With Anson. He’s vile, Griffon. I’m afraid he’s done awful things to Cecille. She l-looks so pale, so lifeless.”
“Where is she?”
“Out there somewhere.” She motioned in a general direction, unsure of where she was at present. “I hate it in here, Griffon. It’s so cold and dark. The dark frightens me.”
“You stay here and I’ll find Cecille.”
“No!” She grabbed his forearms, holding tight. “Don’t leave me!”
He recognized the rising panic in her eyes. “All right, Lily. Settle down.” Running a hand over her russet hair, he fashioned a smile meant to calm her. “You’re safe now. I won’t leave you. We’ll go together to find Cecille.”
“Anson will try to kill us.”
“He’ll fail.” Crouched before her, he took a few moments to examine the cuts and bruises visible on her face and hands. “Damn his soul. He hasn’t … he didn’t …?”
“No. You came in time.”
“Thank God.” He cupped one hand behind her head and hauled her against his bare chest. The touch of her cheek against him was sweet heaven, and his breath caught in his throat. “Thank God I found you. Did you hear me in your mind calling you?”
She nodded, rubbing her cheek against the silky hair on his chest. He smelled smoky, mossy, musky. Lily ran her hands up and down his arms, feeling the strength in them, grateful for their refuge.
“I’m so tired,” she murmured, wishing she could just give herself to him, let him carry her limp body from this horrid place and never look back. But she couldn’t. Not without Cecille. “I think I can find Cecille again. She’s in another room like this, but even smaller. There are torches in it. We can find the light.”
“Let’s go.” He took her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can get out of here.”
She went with him, following along behind. He grabbed a torch on the way from the room. A narrow path wound through the underworld. His skin glistened like copper, and Lily inched as close as she could to him, seeking his warmth and the security he represented in this dank, sinister world. Sensing light ahead, she looked past his broad shoulder and squeezed his hand.
“Up there. He’s lit a fire. Cecille says he does that. Shhh! Hear them?”
Griffon nodded and placed a finger to his lips, gesturing for complete silence. He transferred the torch to her, freeing his hands for battle. Tiptoeing forward, they approached the place. Griffon let go of her hand and sprang into the chamber. A fire blazed in the center of it, but no one crouched near it or in the far corners.
“Cecille?” Lily called.
“She’s not here,” Griffon told her.
“Then where? Where has he taken her?”
Griffon gripped her shoulders, heading off her rising panic. “We’ll find her. No hysterics now. There’s no time.” He bent his knees to be at eye level with her. “Lily, don’t fight me on this. Just do as I say. Close your eyes and reach out to Cecille with your mind. You can connect with her in a way I can’t. Do it. Empty your mind and think only of her. Search for her with your sixth sense.” He placed his hands on either side of her face in a gentle caress. “Close your eyes, love. Let your gift guide you.”
She obeyed, soothed by his raspy voice and supportive touch. His thumbs traced circles on her temples, erasing the pounding of hysteria and instilling peace. She tried to do as he’d instructed, putting aside her loathing of this underground world, her fear of what lay behind her and what lurked ahead, her tired, aching wounds and bruises. She thought only of Cecille.
Cecille. Cecille. Cousin Cecille.
And in her mind’s eye she saw Cecille being dragged along by Anson. Cecille sobbed. Anson cursed. He yanked viciously on her wrist, swore at her, threatened to hit her if she didn’t hurry.
“I see them.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you feel a direction?” Griffon asked.
Lily paused, struck by the notion, then responding to it. “Yes. Yes, this way.”
She took the lead, holding the torch and trotting along, drawn by Cecille’s flagging spirit. Inky shadows writhed along the passageway. The ceiling dipped. They doubled over, hurrying as best they could until, finally, the ceiling soared and they could straighten their kinked spines. Their breathing and footsteps echoed back to them. Darkness followed in their wake and stretched out before them. But then suddenly another bouncing light flashed up ahead.
“There they are,” Griffon said, snagging Lily’s shoulder and hauling her behind him. “Let me go first.”
“Do you want the torch?”
“No, you hold it. Do you think he has a gun?”
“I never saw one.”
“Good. Now stay back, Lily. Let me shield you.”
She hung back, touched by his chivalry, his bravery. She wanted to tell him, but it wasn’t the time. Later, she would say all those sweet things to him, she vowed, and that thought boosted her energy. Crouching a little, she trailed him, catching sight of the other light now and again. They seemed to be gaining on it when it abruptly disappeared.
“Griffon?” Lily rested her free hand against his back. “Where’d they go?”
“Shhh. Come on,” he whispered, moving slowly, caution evident in each step.
Lily clutched the torch tighter. Her nerves tingled, and she thought of all those spooky stories Orrie had whispered in the dark. She’d often said she loved to be frightened, but that opinion changed in the dank caverns. Being frightened was no treat. Spooky things and mysterious people were thrilling from a distance, but up close they lost their appeal. Up close they smelled of rot and decay. Up close they tasted bloody and bitter. Up close there was nothing thrilling in Satan’s heartless smirk.
After this, she doubted if she or Cecille would want to hear another scary story as long as they lived. Providing they emerged from these eerie caverns with their lives intact.
Griffon stopped so suddenly that Lily plowed into him. She bobbled the torch but managed to hang on to it. When she’d regained her equilibrium, she saw that Anson blocked their path. He held Cecille in front of him, a knife to her throat. Cecille’s eyes glittered in the dimness like chunks of blue glass.
“No, don’t!” Lily started past Griffon toward Cecille, but checked her stride when Anson hitched the knife blade higher under Cecille’s chin. Cecille cried out, and a drop of blood trickled down her white throat.
“Another inch closer and I’ll lay her open,” Anson promised. “I’ll gut her like a rabbit. Goldilocks here will tell you I mean business. Tell ’em!”
“Do as he says,” Cecille begged, her voice warbling with hysteria. “He—he’ll kill me!”
“That’s right,” Anson agreed. “I’ll kill this wife just like I killed my other one. There’s plenty of women in this old world, believe you me.”
“Did you kill Doralee before or after you kidnapped Cecille?” Griffon asked.
Lily glanced back at him, looking for his angle. He knew as well as she did that Doralee had died after Cecille’s disappearance.
“After. She’d be alive today if she hadn’t been so danged stubborn and set on having everythin’ her own way.” He never took his gaze off Griffon. “Doralee was barren. I took up with Goldilocks here thinking she could give me babies. But when I brung her home and told Doralee about my plans, Doralee pitched herself a fit.”
“Wonder of wonders,” Griffon said, drolly.
Anson skinned back his lips. “I had to kill her to shut her up. She said she wouldn’t let me keep Goldilocks. What was I going to do, hang on to a woman who couldn’t whelp or keep this one and see if she
could do better by me? Answer was clear in my mind.”
“Clear in your what?” Griffon taunted. “You mistake that lump of tissue between your ears for a mind.”
Anson chuckled. “You’re one of them Gypsy curs, ain’t ya? My pa married one and she threw off an idiot child. You Gypsies got tainted blood.”
“I believe it’s your pa whose blood is poisoned. As for Jasper, he’s got more sense than you and your other brothers put together.”
Anson narrowed his eyes. “Where’s Ham?”
“Dead, I hope,” Griffon answered smoothly.
“Ever heard of ‘an eye for an eye’? Maybe I should settle the score and kill Goldilocks where she stands.”
“You do, and you can prepare to meet your maker,” Griffon assured him.
Anson laughed and retreated. “Just hold your ground, Gypsy scum. Me and my missus is gettin’ while the gettin’s good. You follow us again and I’ll cut you open, rip out your guts, and strangle you with ’em.”
Lily looked to Griffon, expecting him to make a last, desperate lunge at Anson to save Cecille. But Griffon didn’t move, except for cutting his eyes in her direction and silently telling her to stay put.
“Griffon, we can’t let them go!” Lily protested.
“You keep away,” Anson bellowed, dragging Cecille with him, the knife glinting dangerously. Then the darkness gobbled them up.
“Griffon! Go after them!” Lily pleaded, grabbing his hands and trying to yank him into a run.
He placed a finger to her lips and cocked his head as if to hear better. Lily listened, catching the sounds of Anson’s and Cecille’s labored breathing, scrambling footfalls. Somewhere up ahead pebbles were falling and then leaves were rustling.
“What are they doing?” Lily whispered.