Not Your Average Hot Guy

by Gwenda Bond

  I can’t stop a smile. “You trusted me?”

  She growls. It makes my smile broaden, but I know I’m not doing myself any favors here.

  “Why didn’t you mention this two-part thing before now?” she asks.

  “I honestly didn’t know until I felt the spear shaft nearby.”

  She doesn’t soften. “And why didn’t you know they were here?”

  “The precautions Solomon mentioned,” I say, and drag my non-flaming hand through my hair. “I didn’t sense them on the grounds. They have some kind of spell or item that cloaks them, even from me.”

  “But aren’t you a fallen angel? Shouldn’t you still be more powerful than them?”

  I should have paid more attention to Porsoth’s lessons and Rofocale’s rules, to Father’s legends. “I swear I’m not lying to you.”

  She takes that in. “How long before they figure out there’s a piece missing—if there really is?”

  “I don’t know for certain, but I doubt it’ll be immediate. They’ll have to try using it.” Surely their plan isn’t to launch right into bringing about Hell on Earth. Then again …

  “Where’s this tomb?” she asks.

  I can hear the wheels turning in her head. I can get this night back on course. I have to. “The cemetery is in Lisbon, about an hour by train. Should I zap us there?”

  She takes a second to answer. “I need a breath. I have to think.”

  I can also practically see her remembering where we are as she shivers and looks around in vague panic.

  “I’m guessing you don’t want to think down here. Should I zap us up top first?”

  She exhales a shaky breath. “Is there another way?”

  I consider offering to carry her, gathering her up in my arms to make her feel safe. As appealing as the thought is, that won’t go over well. “We could walk. There’s a path up to the surface.”

  A grim nod. “Then we walk.”

  She must be rethinking her association with me. But … at least she’s still talking to me for now. “Follow my path exactly.” I hesitate. “Unless you want me to follow you?”

  “No, I’ll stay behind you.”

  “I am sorry you’re afraid.” I hold up my hand, a makeshift torch. “I didn’t know.”

  She takes out her phone and thumbs the flashlight app bright. Technology and magic, not that far from each other these days. “I’m not afraid.”

  “All right.”

  She sighs. “You weren’t lying about that at least.”

  “About what?” I ask, and place my foot on the first of a series of rocks that will lead us along the pool at the bottom of the well and to the winding steps cut into the Earth that lead to the top. This would be pretty in the daylight.

  “Whether you can read minds,” she says. “Or are all-knowing or whatever.”

  “Only the big guy above is all-knowing. And you do have free will. We can’t see your thoughts, only certain information about things.”

  “Like the spear.” There’s a splash and I turn to see her foot plunge into the water. The night at least is warm. I reach out to help her recover her balance.

  The touch is like being pulled into a planet’s orbit. I want her to like me too much. I want her too much.

  She sways into my grip and I consider leaning forward and—

  She pulls her foot up and steps deliberately away, back onto the rock. “Thank you,” she says. “Wait, no, no thank you. You’re why we’re down here. Let’s go.”

  I hesitate, but decide not to press my luck. I gently release her and find the next rock. I listen hard and hear her careful progress behind me. We reach the spiral path and start climbing.

  Finally, she breaks a long silence. “What is this pit anyway? Is that the kind of thing you can know?”

  Yes, this I can manage. “The whole estate is meant to evoke the various schools of mysticism the owner subscribed to. A journey from innocence to experience, light to dark, Inferno to Paradiso.” We’re on the third level from the bottom now. “The well has nine levels. Some say they represent Dante’s nine levels of Hell. There were also nine levels of paradise.”

  “So you feel at home down here.”

  Given how much she hates the place, this is not a flattering observation. “Hardly. But it’s an interesting place.”

  We’ve made it all the way to the sixth level, inching along.

  “I bet you think I’m an idiot,” she says. “For trusting you. For believing I could do this. I’m such a screw-up.”

  She sounds so vulnerable. I stop moving so she’ll pay attention. “No. I don’t think believing in yourself is stupid. I admire it. It takes strength to try. And you haven’t failed yet.”

  She grunts.

  “I realize you probably hate me. I felt the power of the spear. Even just part of it. Giving it up … must have been unpleasant. It’s been hidden for a very long time and you found it. Doesn’t sound screwed up to me.”

  She doesn’t respond, and instead speeds up and pushes past me. We’ve made it to the top.

  I glance around and don’t see any cape-wearing cultists. “Coast is clear,” I say, and watch as Callie collapses on the paved ground past the inverted tower’s exit.

  “I just need a sec.” She bends her knees and loops her arms, dropping her head between them.

  Footsteps. Coming our way. Hell’s bells again.

  “Sorry, that’s not going to be possible.” I nudge her shoulder with my leg and offer her a hand. “On your feet.”

  “Why?” she asks, pushing up without taking my hand.

  “Someone is coming. They should be too busy, but I can’t swear it’s not the cult. This way.”

  My spirit—voluminous, inconvenient—is buoyed by how quickly Callie climbs to her feet and joins me. If he is still around, something tells me Solomon Elerion will take pleasure in traversing the less hospitable parts of the grounds. Callie may not like dark pits, but Solomon would have a lot in common with one. He might feel at home there.

  I prod her toward an opening in a nearby hedge that should allow us to see who’s approaching without being seen.

  “That stuff they were saying before,” Callie whispers. “Are you who you claim?”

  “Is anyone?” I ask. “This seems like existential ground for the moment.”

  Callie stays on the path. “I want an answer.”

  “I’m not playing for the heavenly side, if that’s what you’re asking. That much should be clear from my letting them take the spear,” I say and wave for her to hurry up. “Whoever is coming is getting close. Come on.”

  I wish again that I had Rofocale’s knowledge to get me out of this fix. I’m keenly aware that I may have underestimated the cult.

  And everything else …

  Not to mention, I’ve made little progress toward my own deadline.

  “You know, if I did let them catch me,” Callie says, “at least I’d be guaranteed proximity to the spear.”

  Worry stabs me with a sharp knife. “Yes, but I might not be able to help you escape.”

  “You didn’t last time.”

  “Technically I did, just not right away.”

  “I feel like it’s stupid to trust you again—there’s probably not even anyone coming.”

  Before I can protest and do the sweep with my senses I’ve forgotten I could until just this moment, I breathe an actual sigh of relief at the sight of my sweaty security guard friend. He rushes up to us in wide-eyed amazement. I didn’t think to question why the guard helped us before, against the cult—other than that he’s a guard. If only I’d used my stronger senses, I could’ve avoided Callie questioning the wisdom of staying near me. Again.

  “Who was that back there?” the guard asks. “What should we do?”

  He believes what I told him earlier. Still.

  I turn to Callie and decide to gamble. Father always says it’s fun. “Are we going to Lisbon or not?”

  I brace for her to say no way. I’m no
t sure how to convince her, and I can’t blame her for doubting me. She’s only being smart.

  “Just there, then home,” she says.

  Right. She can’t get back without me—at least, not in time to open the business. I forgot that small detail in my favor. I swallow my smile to keep from further irritating her.

  “We’re going to Lisbon? Why?” the guard asks.

  “We are.” I give him my most serious look. “But you must stay here and wait. It’s become too dangerous to act just now.” I lay my left palm on his shoulder. I switch to Portuguese. “One day I’ll return, when it’s safe.”

  The guard starts to ask a question, but I take Callie’s hand in mine and we make our escape from this infernal estate.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CALLIE

  The world turns to screams in darkness and blood rushes through my ears as Luke zappities us somewhere, presumably Lisbon.

  When the seemingly endless shrieking nightmare ends, I want to either throw up or shove Luke.

  I am gutted. Gutted.

  I couldn’t keep the Holy Lance out of the hands of the Order. Some guardian I’m turning out to be. Now here I am, half-trusting Luke again already—because he was nice to me and told me I’m not a screw-up. And also because if he’s telling the truth, maybe I can salvage my inability to hold onto the spear. That part of it, at least. If only I’d ever read a handbook for a night like this …

  “You okay?” The concern on his gorgeous face seems real.

  I force myself not to soften. “Do not do that again. Give me a little warning, please.”

  “We had to come here sooner or later,” he protests. “It was a dramatic exit for effect.”

  I suppress the renewed urge to shove him. Or grab him and hold on tight. I’ve been trying to avoid touching him, because despite the betrayal my brain is teaming up with my body to threaten a mutiny.

  I briefly close my eyes and take a slow breath to get my focus back. A new question, one I probably should’ve already asked, occurs to me. “How do I know that you won’t just give them this part too? Why isn’t your deal still going?”

  “Our deal was for them to get the spear and technically they have a part of it. Deals with Hell tend to favor us meeting the letter of the law, not the spirit—or the other way around if it works better for us.”

  “Typical,” I say as if any of this is.

  We’re on a quiet street, that nearly full moon still above us. A calico cat slinks along the top of a high stone wall that stretches in either direction, interrupted only by a closed iron gate. What I don’t see is a single tombstone or grave marker. Did he lie to me?

  My hands go to my hips. “Where’s the cemetery we’re going to?”

  “Cemitério dos Prazeres—the Cemetery of Pleasures—is just beyond the wall.” Luke punctuates this with a sweep of his hand. More dramatics.

  I channel my body’s dumb attraction to him into a healthier emotion: frustration. “And how are we supposed to get in there, MacArthur genius of Hell? Climb?”

  The smile he’s giving me dims, and I almost feel bad. Almost. “Have you no faith?”

  “In you? No. I thought we covered that.”

  A hint of the pout he wore earlier returns. “Fair enough. But I’ll show you.” He walks toward the entrance. “It’s not like this is how I planned my evening either, you know,” he says over his shoulder.

  My interest spikes, despite my knowing I should stop being interested in Luke. I catch up. “What did you have planned?”

  He hesitates. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Something demonic, I take it.”

  “I’m under a lot of pressure too,” he says. “Believe me or don’t. Either way, we’d better get a move on. I zapped us outside rather than inside in case Solomon’s smarter than I think and they’ve somehow beaten us here.”

  Much like the entire evening since Solomon Elerion showed up at the Great Escape, I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing or not. But something in Luke’s voice makes me think he’s telling the truth. Besides it’s not like I can afford to get abandoned in Lisbon or let the cult win.

  Once we reach the gates, I see a broad tree-lined avenue inside that ends at what looks like a small church. Fancy mausoleums surround it on either side, casting toothy silhouettes in the night. So we are at the oddly named Cemetery of Pleasures. But …

  “Can you go inside here?” I ask.

  His pretty forehead creases. “Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

  “Sacred ground.” The idea of being sent to possibly face Solomon Elerion alone again isn’t a good one.

  Luke takes a moment to process, then waves away my concern. “Oh no, cemeteries aren’t sacred ground. Not unless it’s people buried inside churches. The living made that one up to comfort themselves, but as far as reality goes the only things here are old bones and bodies. The souls are what matter in the after. The only place I can’t go inside here is that chapel.”

  “Oh.” He might actually prove useful this time. I reach out and rattle the locked gate, the iron cool against my fingers. I consider trying the key I found in the altar, but something makes me keep it in my pocket. “We get in how?”

  “I told you—easily.” He flicks his hand and smoke emerges from it, shaping into the form of a key not unlike the one I have.

  I know I’m supposed to be impressed, so I school my expression into boredom. The smoke key flows into the lock and then, voilà, presto, just as Luke claimed, he reaches out and lifts the catch open.

  “After you,” he says, pushing it wide enough for us to enter.

  I ignore his smug look and walk in. He closes the gate behind us.

  This is no potter’s field for paupers. It’s far too grand for that.

  The dead are quieter than my chattering mind and we both follow their lead as we walk farther in. At the boundary of the church, Luke turns us toward the left. This is a cemetery unlike any I’ve ever been to—the signs make clear it’s arranged into streets. Most of the graves are aboveground mausoleums and we pass one with a glass door that allows us to see two shadowed coffins inside.

  A dozen escape room ideas pass through my head. I think of Mom and if she knows I’m gone yet or what happened. Of how upset Mag and Jared must be if they told her already.

  Focus, Callie, don’t freak yourself out. More.

  “Where’s the tomb we’re going to?” I whisper to break my uneasy train of thought.

  “Right over here,” Luke says. “Looks like the coast is clear from cultists.”

  I should’ve guessed which tomb. Monteiro, true to form, has an elaborate mausoleum covered in Masonic symbols and more of his occult bent in the design. I check with the compass on my phone and confirm it faces east, like a good Masonic Temple would. There are grandly carved, if aged, columns and statuary.

  A pale, dirt-flecked angel with a sword towers above us from the top spire, wings stretching out into the night. Directly in front of us is a black door, half-concealed by bare tree branches that have grown to stretch across the front. I scrape them aside.

  I try to sense something holy, or even good, beyond it, but come up empty. I can’t shake the suspicion that Luke is playing me. Speaking of which … “What are we going to do when we get the spearhead?”

  Do we destroy it? Hide it again?

  “Shouldn’t we worry about that once we have it?” he asks.

  “Okay.” But I’m worrying about it now. I already lost one half of the spear to the bad guys, and I don’t want it to happen again. “I take it that means you have no idea.”

  I hold my phone—at 20 percent and fading—up to the door to take in the detail. A beehive is carved into the surface, and the door knocker is a bee toting a skull. This guy’s sense of drama makes Luke seem reserved. The bees are more Masonic stuff, a symbol of industry, busy bees. There’s another old-fashioned keyhole, flourishes in the metal around it.

  “The house key of the mansion opened this too,” Luke says
. “Same architect.”

  Interesting. I put my hand in my pocket, and touch the key there. But I say, “You got it on you?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then smoke key, please.”

  Luke almost says something else, but then closes his mouth and extends his hand again. I want to see if his magic skeleton key trick works here. The smoke flows into the lock, but Luke frowns when nothing happens.

  “It must be protected against magic,” he says, grim. He squints. “I can try to find the key…”

  “No need,” I say, and finally remove the one I found in the basement at the chapel. “I’m pretty sure I have it. You’re not the only one who can keep secrets.”

  His mouth opens, and I’m not sure if I’ll answer his questions or not. He must not be either, because he doesn’t ask them. He steps aside to give me clearer access.

  “I’m impressed,” he says.

  I press away the need to bask in the compliment. My body suddenly becomes aware of how close we’re standing and my heart flutters.

  Please let this work. I fit the key into the lock and—

  The door to the mausoleum opens.

  “Even I almost said a silent prayer that time,” he says.

  Despite what Luke said about cemeteries not being sacred places, I can’t help saying one for forgiveness before following him inside the dark mausoleum.

  The odor of an old, undisturbed place hits my nose, and I breathe it in. The same scent as opening a long-shut closet at an estate sale. A treasure hunt of a different sort.

  Luke holds up his phone to light the relatively tight quarters inside. Two large stone sarcophagi carved with more symbols are inside, presumably holding the bones of Monteiro and his wife.

  “Do you think he’s buried with it?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Luke pauses. “You going to be okay in here?”

  “I’m not afraid of the surface.” I make it sound like he’s being ridiculous. But I stay within reach as we go farther inside.

  “Can you tell where it is?” I ask.

  Luke shushes me. “It’s here, but I’m trying to sense where.”

  He circles the sarcophagi, brushing a hand over the top of each. I force myself to stay quiet and try not to examine any shadows too closely. My phone vibrates and I discover the battery is draining fast, just 10 percent left. I’ve got no service here, of course. I switch it off and stash it in my pocket.