Asylum

by K. A. Tucker

  Max grunted in response, not bothering to lift his head.

  I began to worry. Losing Leo was bad enough; I couldn’t lose Max. I had no idea how long it would take a werebeast to starve to death, and I wasn’t going to find out. I needed to get permission for Max to eat. “I’m going out there to find you food,” I announced. “I’ll be back.”

  That earned a chuckle. Don’t bother. Those damn cats are too precious to them.

  I ignored his skepticism, wagging a warning finger at him. “And don’t you so much as lick Julian while I’m gone.” Inhaling, my nerves fluttering wildly in my stomach, I pushed the curtain back and stepped out.

  At least a dozen heads whipped around to look at me, but no one approached; no spears waved in my direction. The chief, who now sat on a chair carved out of a tree stump, looked over, his unsightly eyes settling on me for a short moment before shifting back to the flames.

  He’s the one I need to convince. Eyes locked on my target, I moved forward, my legs suddenly stiffening so I walked jerkily. He watched me approach, intrigue in those hideous orbs. When it was clear I was coming to speak to him, a quick bark in his native garble scattered everyone, granting me a wide berth.

  I stopped about four feet away from him, and swallowed. “Do you speak English at all?” I asked. Those sickly eyes bored into me, but he said nothing. Clearly not. How am I going to convince him to let Max kill on his land? As I stood there, desperate for an idea to miraculously fall onto my head, the chief’s attention drifted down to my necklace, his brow puckering slightly as if he noticed something. His mouth opened to speak, exposing his rotted teeth. But then, with a quick glance over at our hut, he clamped his mouth firmly shut.

  I glanced over my shoulder to catch a snout poking out from behind the curtain of our hut. Max, watching. Always watching.

  A female pulled me back, mumbling. Her hands and arms clad in a pair of long gloves, she held out a bowl of small red berries. Up close, I could see they were crafted out of some sort of reptilian skin. Snake, perhaps.

  “Thank you.” I smiled, accepting the bowl. Gloved fingers reached forward to pick out a berry. She gestured toward her mouth. Eat, she was saying. “Yes.” I smiled again. “I understand.” If only someone would bring a nice fresh carcass in a bowl to Max . . . That gave me an idea, one that required my mediocre skills at charades. I pointed at the hut, then at the bowl.

  The woman nodded as if in understanding. She snapped her fingers and another woman ran over, carrying a second bowl of berries. For Julian. I shook my head. “I mean, yes, for Julian. But what about Max?”

  She stared at me “Big dog?” I said slowly and loudly, spreading my arms as far as possible. Still no acknowledgement. I sighed. Placing the bowls of fruit down on the ground, I dropped to my hands and knees and pointed at the bowl. No response. “Woof!” I barked. A chorus of high-pitched shrieks sounded, and I felt my face redden. They were laughing at me. I decided I didn’t care. Max needed to eat.

  Suddenly the chief spoke. “Demon dog . . . need blood?”

  He does speak English! “Yes!” I rushed to my feet. “Max needs to eat. He’s starving.”

  The chief stared at me for a long moment and I began to doubt that he did understand. Finally he opened his mouth; one word escaped. “Crocodilus.”

  I frowned. Crocodi—“Crocodile?”

  He nodded once, as if passing a ruling. “Crocodilus. Demon dog eat.” He waved dismissively toward the jungle. A few tribesmen snickered but I ignored them, proud of my accomplishment. Max wouldn’t starve now. “Thank you! Thank you!” I exclaimed. Not thinking, I reached forward to shake his hand. Luckily the chief had lightning-quick reflexes. In a split second, he had the blunt end of a spear jabbing into my shoulder to block me before I made contact with him.

  Flustered, I picked up the bowls of fruit and rushed back to the hut. Way to go, Evangeline. Shake the hand of a poisonous man. That would end your problems quickly.

  Max was waiting for me by the entrance. “Did you hear?” I exclaimed, grinning, as I placed the fruit down beside Julian.

  Of course I heard, he muttered.

  For a starving werebeast, he didn’t sound too grateful. “Well . . . what are you waiting for? Go catch a crocodile!”

  Did you also happen to notice the laughter that went with his permission?

  I frowned. “Yeah . . . so what?”

  Max sighed in exasperation. Crocs hide in the water so they’re harder to kill. Plus they taste like rubber tires and their blood, like ink.

  I grimaced, his description about as unappetizing as the thought of eating mice and rats. “Will they satisfy your craving?”

  I suppose, Max answered reluctantly.

  “Well then, go! And I don’t want to see you back here until you’re full of rubber!”

  And leave you here? Are you nuts?

  I rolled my eyes. “Because it’d be better for me to go into the jungle with you—full of snakes and tarantulas and God knows what—to watch you wrestle crocodiles for dinner. I’m probably safer right here in this hut than anywhere else in the world right now.”

  Max answered with a deep harrumph. He knew I was right. Okay, but stay in here. Don’t get into any trouble.

  “Don’t touch them and I’m good, right?”

  You almost blew that one with the chief a minute ago . . . nearly gave me a heart attack. Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can. With that, he ran out the door with renewed vigor, likely from the prospect of hunting. He trotted past a crowd of jeering tribesmen, letting out a few growls, but not stopping. At the edge of the clearing, he turned to glance back at me.

  “Go!” I waved him on impatiently. That’s all it took. He tore off into the jungle.

  Intent on heading back into the hut to devour the bowl of berries—and Julian’s, if he didn’t wake up soon—I was a little disappointed when the chief summoned me to him with a wave. Don’t touch them and you’ll be fine, I reminded myself as I headed back to the fire. Once again, his men scattered as I approached.

  “Sit,” he ordered, pointing his spear behind me to a small tree stump two of the tribesmen rolled into place three feet away. Obediently, I perched myself on my makeshift chair. He followed suit, settling down in his throne.

  We sat in silence, staring at the fire, watching the men feed it from the opposite side. It was now double the size as the previous night’s fire, and the heat it produced made the tropical temperatures that much more uncomfortable. Sweat poured down my forehead. I briefly considered moving back, but I suspected that would insult the chief’s god of fire. So I wiped my brow and sat quietly until I couldn’t anymore. “Thank you for letting Max hunt,” I said.

  He nodded, a tiny smirk on his mouth. He understands me . . . I wonder where he learned English? More awkward silence followed. Finally he said two words; two I hadn’t expected. “Cursed heart.” He pointed at my necklace.

  Reaching up to roll the pendant in my fingertips, I nodded. “Did Sofie tell you that?”

  He shook his head. “I see.”

  Frowning, I looked down at the opaque black heart, then back at him. He sees?

  “Two souls trapped. I see. One is you. One is green-eyed girl. Long brown hair. Curls.”

  That matched Veronique’s description, based on the portrait in Viggo’s parlor . . . but how could he see it?

  He held his hands up, his fingers intertwined. “Tangled.”

  I bobbed my head up and down. “Yes. Kind of, I guess. They’re bound together.”

  Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees and stared levelly at me. “I . . . untangle?”

  I felt my brow knit together. “What . . . do you mean?”

  He entwined his fingers as he had done before, then pulled them apart. “I untangle two souls.”

  I swallowed, sure he meant something different. “You mean . . . so they’re not bound together?”

  He nodded once.

  Blood rushed to my ears as excitement made my h
eart pound. “You can do that?” I whispered.

  He nodded again, adding casually, as if offering to wash my car. “I do now?”

  “Now?” I repeated like a dim-witted parrot. “Sure. Yeah, I mean—yes, please! Seriously?”

  With a nod, a flick of his wrist, and a flurry of barked orders, he sent tribesmen dashing in different directions like a pack of gerbils. They returned with long wooden poles and the same platform the chief had sat on the night before. I watched in amazement as they positioned stands around the outside of the fire and erected all four posts in under a minute. I guess he does his magic from up there.

  The magic that would release me from my curse. Was this really happening? I looked down at the pendant. This seemed too easy. Sofie had spent years looking for a way to break the curse, and this abomination with the feathered hat and hideous eyes figured he’d just untangle the souls. Of course! So simple. Too simple. Could something go wrong? “This won’t hurt either of us, will it? Will I be safe? Will the other soul be safe?” I suddenly asked. The last thing I wanted to do was get Veronique killed. She didn’t deserve that, and I was as good as dead if it happened.

  With a disapproving frown and a dismissive wave, he promised with an air of certainty, “Both souls free.”

  I allowed the smallest sigh of relief. Free at last . . . Free of this curse. Free of my hunters. Free to be with Caden, forever. Free to become . . . not human. I surrendered to the tidal wave of shock as it washed over me, the very idea too wild to be real. I would do anything to be free. Anything at all.

  The chief stood and marched over to the platform. He thumped on it with his spear, then looked over his shoulder at me. “Get on.”

  Wait a minute . . . Alarm bells sounded. I looked at the platform and at the posts, reaching at least fifteen feet into the air over the blazing fire, and then back at him, putting two and two together. He expected me up on that platform, hanging over the raging fire. “Umm . . . ” I faltered, images of me tumbling into the flames suddenly coming to mind. “Are you sure I should be the one going up there?”

  “To free your soul. Yes.”

  Was it freedom through death? “I won’t . . . burn, will I?”

  “No.” So confident, so firm. “Get on wood now. You will be free.”

  Free . . . Slowly rising from my stump, I took one step, then another, and another—sure that someone else’s legs were moving my body there, because I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. I finally reached the platform. It was about two feet by three feet in size—not a tightrope, but not exactly huge. Gritting my teeth and giving the hut and the woods a quick look—I knew Max and Julian would never approve of this—I stepped onto the platform.

  The entire tribe closed in. Even the tigers seemed to perk up. Everyone wanted to see the god of fire free me. Or burn me alive.

  My stomach knotted. “I don’t know if this is a good—”

  “Kneel!” the chief ordered, the blunt end of his spear pushing down hard on my shoulder.

  My legs buckled and I went down. Get out of here, Evangeline! Get off this board, now! my subconscious screamed inside my head, and yet it was somehow drowned out by a soft, subtle cooing: Free . . . free . . .

  The woman who had worked on Julian the night before appeared with a large jug. She lifted the spout to my shoulder and tipped it. Clear, hot liquid streaked down my body, covering my arms and torso, running over my back and thighs until it coated my entire body, pooling behind my knees. When her jug was empty, she stepped away.

  The chief nodded. The drummer began pounding his instrument in a steady, slow beat. Two groups of men flocked in with another set of long posts, these ones much thinner than the ones around the fire and with two-pronged ends. I watched as they each hooked the ends into the little divots on either side of the platform. “Do not move or you will fall,” the chief warned, his words instantly stiffening my body until it felt as hard as the board on which I knelt. Moving in unison, the men lifted me.

  I crouched, paralyzed by terror as I rose steadily toward the top of the four posts above the fire. At one point I squeezed my eyes shut, sure I was about to pass out. I kept them closed until a jostle indicated the men were placing the platform onto its four supports. Cracking one lid and then the other, I peeked out from this new vantage. The top of this contraption was even higher than I had anticipated, I realized as I looked down upon the roofs of the little huts and the leaping flames below. The rising heat just barely warmed my body, I was that high above it.

  The heads of the Death Tribe swayed back and forth as they circled the huge, blazing fire. There was no escape.

  11. The Race

  “Dear God,” I whispered, looking down at the fiery carnage on the waves below. Pieces of what looked like a large cargo plane lay scattered on the ocean’s surface, the water extinguishing the flames as each piece sank. We were about ten miles from the eastern shore of the island.

  “What are the odds?” Caden murmured as we flew over the mess in our tiny Cessna, heading for the west side of the island where a long, sandy beach would serve as landing strip. Everywhere else was too densely forested.

  “Those aren’t odds,” I growled. “That’s Viggo. He must have hijacked a Fed Ex plane. It would have had enough fuel to get all the way here.” I shoved my hair off my forehead. “Bloody idiot! Like that won’t attract attention.”

  “Do you think he’s made it to her yet?” Mage asked quietly.

  The very suggestion set Caden off. “Land this plane now—into the trees, if you have to. I don’t care,” he ordered the pilot.

  “No,” I countered, though I was ready to open the door and drop out of the night sky, just to get to her. But we couldn’t crash. “We’ll need this plane to get Evangeline out of here. They can’t be far ahead of us. They won’t just walk in there, it’s too risky. They’ll approach with extreme caution. That should buy us a bit of time.” We’re coming, Evangeline.

  12. Visions

  The man in the tiger head pounded his drum with zeal, and my heart pounded along with him, amplifying the deafening beat. Hungry flames danced below me, taunting me, licking the posts that held the platform up but somehow not setting fire to them. At fifteen feet in the air, my wood platform was high enough that it would not catch fire, but close enough that the scorching heat rising up from the growing fire was now borderline unbearable. Sweat poured down my face and body, mingling with the clear, unidentifiable liquid to leave a sticky film on me. I wasn’t too concerned about that. I was more terrified that any shift I made would rock this contraption and send me plummeting to my death.

  The tribe’s chanting grew louder and angrier, culminating in a chorus of hair-raising screeches. From my precarious vantage point, I watched the chief walk up to the flames carrying a basket. One of his hands was gloved with that snakeskin material. My curiosity piqued, I very slowly, very carefully, leaned over, just enough that I could see him pull out a dagger and swipe it across his palm. Blood gushed out of the gash. I squinted. That can’t be right . . . The liquid coming out was . . . blue! He had blue blood?

  He held the dagger up against his mouth. His lips moved in a chant. Then he tossed the blade into the flames. His lips still moving, the chief leaned over and stuck his gloved hand into the basket. When it emerged, it was with a jet-black snake coiled around it. With a forceful swing, he threw the live snake into the fire. It writhed in the flames for a few seconds before growing still, succumbing to the fire.

  The tribe’s shrieking continued, some of the screeches so high that they rang in my ears, making me cringe. Then the cats joined in, their low roars balancing out the cacophony. I peered beyond the glare of the fire to see the beasts pacing back and forth along the perimeter of the clearing, their tails twitching angrily. But wait—their attention was directed outward, into the darkness, as if something was in the jungle beyond. They watched, waited. Please don’t be Max, I prayed. If it was, he’d be looking for the right moment to do some sort of im
possible canine leap up here to pull me down, likely burning himself alive in the effort.

  While I watched the tigers and worried about Max, a blue glimmer filled the sky around me and an icy cold sensation kissed my chest. I looked down to find the heart radiating with the same brilliant blue light as it had when I plugged it into the portal. Whatever the chief was doing was working.

  Beneath me, the flames rose, leaping closer and closer, tendrils reaching up to caress the edges of the platform. The scorching heat I expected didn’t come, but I cowered all the same, my arms hugging my body as if to protect it. And then the flames reached me. Just as Julian had been engulfed the night before, now the flames crawled up my skin, wrapping my limbs and torso in a fiery cocoon. Surprise dampened my terrified paralysis—I felt no pain. The flames danced over my body without singeing a single hair or a single thread of my clothing.

  Allo? a woman’s voice suddenly called in my ear, distracting me from my fiery coat. My head darted side to side as I looked for the source.

  “Hello?” I answered tentatively.

  Allo? Est-is temps? the woman said. I recognized it as French and I could tell she was asking a question based on the inflection in her voice. “Oui! Enfin!” she cried out.

  My eyesight blurred as swirls of bright lights replaced the jungle and the tribe. I blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on the world beyond. Finally the light spots disappeared and my eyes focused. Only it was as if I were underwater, my vision wavy, my hearing muffled. I found myself in the atrium—a horribly mangled version of it; the balconies now heaps of brick and stone, the gardens burned to the ground. Dozens of little fires smoldered all over the heaved cobblestones. And the air! I didn’t know if it was the heavy black smoke that hung overhead, blocking the view of the glass dome, or something else, but a foul stench curled my nostrils.

  A group of women stared at me. I didn’t recognize any of them and by the shocked, unfriendly looks on their faces, they had no idea who I was, but they weren’t particularly happy to see me. Discomfort washed over me under their gaze. Fumbling nervously at my side, my fingers grasped folds of soft material; I looked down at a gauzy white dress covering my body. Chunks of white marble lay around my feet—the crumbled remains of the statue.