“AND NOW FOR TONIGHT’S CONTESTANTS … IN THIS CORNER … HAILING FROM ATLANTIS … WITH CLAWS FORGED IN THE PRESSURE OF THE OCEAN’S DEEPEST DEPTHS … THE GREAT … THE WISE … THE INDOMITABLE … CANCER THE CRAB!”
The spotlights danced around the crab’s legs before coming to a harsh glare reflected upon its shell. It raised its pincers to try to protect its stalk-like eyes. Crabs, nor scorpions for that matter, have vocal cords, but I could hear the rush of air spitting from the crab’s mouth as it tried to get out of the spotlights’ reach. But as it moved away, it was snapped back into place. Seemed that it was still magically tethered against the wall.
It was difficult for me to watch.
The fans, on the other hand, loved it. Their hooting and jeering rose to a fever pitch, and many screamed, “Cancer!”
Finally the spotlights harassing and blinding the giant crab were extinguished, leaving only the glow of the night sky projected onto the ceiling. One of the twelve constellations was now filled in with a pale-yellow glow. Cancer the Crab.
“AND IN THE OTHER CORNER … MOLDED FROM THE ROCKS OF TARTARUS … THE QUEEN OF THE DESERT AND SCOURGE OF THE CAVE … THE ONE … THE ONLY … SCORPIO!”
The spotlights returned, looping around and settling upon the scorpion’s dark carapace.
The crowd went wild again as whoops drifted and echoed from one side of the arena only to be returned by the fans on the other side. “Scorpio!” “Cancer!” “Scorpio!” “Cancer.”
From where I stood, it seemed like I was caught right at the split-off line, the arena half to my left rooting for the crab and those to my right cheering for the scorpion.
These people were insane. Their bloodlust crackled through the atmosphere like heat lightning.
The lights went out again as the constellation Scorpio was illuminated in a pale yellow glow on the ceiling. Dim lights along the arena floor illuminated the arena while preserving the darkness masking the crowd in anonymity above it. From where I stood, I could barely see my hands in front of me.
The kappa beside me raised his voice. “I must ask you to return to your seat.”
I smiled. “Ain’t happening.”
His frown turned into a grin as evidenced by his white canines that glowed in the dark. “Then I’m going to have to—”
Before he could react, I pulled his head forward, forcing the water that sloshed in the hollow of his head to pour out. Thing about kappas: they draw their strength from that water. Empty the cup and they go limp. Which was exactly what this kappa did.
He slumped backward against the stone wall of the walkway and I gripped him by the shoulder and elbow as I spun him into the dense curtain in a fluid motion. He got all wrapped up in it and sank to the floor.
Behind me, the announcer said, “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. LET. THE. GAMES … BEGIN!”
There was absolute silence, and then the sound of shattering chains.
And then, with a sound like crashing thunder, the beasts collided in a fury of claws on chitin.
“Those fans are crazy,” I said to Orion as I followed him past a snack booth and a set of bathrooms. There was a camera up ahead pointing at an inconspicuous door set against the wall and we hung back while Arachne did her thing.
Orion turned to study me. “I heard a scuffle on the other side of the curtain. What happened?”
I shrugged. “An usher got a little handsy. I took care of it.” I glanced over my shoulder. “That being said, we should probably hurry up before someone fills his cup.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I said with a smirk.
Orion shook his head.
We can’t all be Mr. Stealthy, I thought but didn’t say. We were on the job. Time to keep the snarkiness to a minimum.
Our comms crackled in our ears. “Camera disabled,” Arachne said. “Took a little longer than usual. Some mad firewalls in the system.”
We moved toward the door as a burst of cheers boomed from the arena. There was no one else around in the tunnel.
“You get any sleep?” I asked.
“No but Red Bull,” was Arachne’s answer.
I sighed. Arachne loved that stuff too much. It was no wonder she was the brand’s current poster girl model (the human half of her, anyways).
Oh well. If it got her through the mission. I had my pomegranate gum.
We approached the nondescript door with a keypad.
“What about the door—” I started to ask and then the keypad beeped and glowed green, and Orion opened it for me.
We slid inside.
“It’s creepy down here,” Simon said.
It was. The lights were motion-sensor-activated, so the way ahead was pitch black. I drew out my cell phone and pulled up my photos of the tunnels. Almost immediately, my phone’s screen went blotchy and then faded to black.
I reached a hand to my ear. “Arachne?”
“Theo … got the … out … Bull … hear you …”
I turned to Orion. “There’s the EMF interference devices Arachne was talking about.” There was a crackle in my ear and I fished out my earwig as it started smoking. Orion’s ears started sparking, too, and I had to help him extract his.
I exhaled as loudly as I could. “I don’t even know why I always opt for the most expensive gear—it breaks on me every time. Sometimes before the mission even begins.” Images of the broken taser flashed in my mind.
Garfunkel blew a spit wad off to the side in the darkness as he filed his tiny fingernails to a point. “Face it. You’re cursed.”
“Shut it.” I turned to Orion. “I’m glad you’re here to guide us or else I’d be screwed.”
Orion scrunched up his face.
I stared back at him. “What? Don’t tell me you’re lost. We’re not lost, are we?”
He chuckled nervously. “Of course not. We take the next right, follow the tunnel four hundred yards, another right and then a left. The storeroom is down the stairs on the right.”
“Simple,” I said. “Now lead on please. It’s only a matter of time before Typhon’s people realize they’ve been breached.”
Orion held up a hand, sniffing the air. “Also, I smell a cat hair.”
“Umm OK. I just recently adopted a cat. Probably some cat hairs on my dress.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s feline but definitely bigger than a housecat.” He sniffed again. “And I’m picking up a musky scent, like that of a bull. It smells … familiar.”
I stood with my hands on my hips. “You smell an oversized cat and a bull? Sounds to me like maybe you’re got some farm scents stuck up your nostrils.”
Orion stroked his chin. “Nay. I would wager that they are guardians of these halls. Come, let’s be quick.”
“Guardians?” Simon whispered fearfully in my ear.
We walked in relative silence, the dim automated lighting stretching out before us, illuminating about ten or fifteen feet in front of us. Orion stopped at intervals to listen for the footfalls of guards. We didn’t hear any. And luckily there weren’t any cameras down here either. Thank the GoneGods for small favors.
“Is it just me or is it getting darker down here?” Simon asked after a few minutes.
We stopped and a silence thicker than maple syrup fell on us.
We waited.
“Guys, I think I heard something,” Simon said.
Silence.
There was a click and the dim lights above us shut off.
“Guys—”
“A-booga-booga-booga!” Garfunkel shouted.
I nearly jumped out of my skin, and Simon would have fallen off my shoulder had he not been clutching so tightly to his shoulder pad. The lights above us, sensing motion, turned back on, revealing Orion standing there scratching his head.
I shook my head. “Garfunkel, pull that stunt again, and you know what will happen.”
The familiar on my left shoulder straightened up while Simon, said, “Theo, I don’t know if I can do this. I’m too scared
.”
“We’re almost there,” Orion said as he turned to face forward again, the lights continuing to light our way as long as we continued forward.
It wasn’t long before we made a left turn and before us lay a set of dusty descending stone steps.
I heard Simon swallow. Luckily Garfunkel kept his mouth shut for once.
“You see any traps?”
Orion shook his head. “Want me to go first?”
“Nah I will. I’ve watched Indiana Jones enough time to be able to dodge any flying darts or spinning sawblades.”
Simon tugged at my hair. “Darts? Sawblades?”
“I’m joking.” I hope, I didn’t add.
“Outdated Security”
There were no traps and the door wasn’t locked. Surprising, since before me was a dusty storeroom stacked with more crates and chests of antiquity than a museum. Of course, it wasn’t a museum but rather Typhon’s hidden underground vault. And wow, was there a lot of stuff here. It seems that besides hosting illegal beast fights, he also collected lost artifacts and items of mythical lore.
In other words, the place was filled with cursed objects. I just had to find the right one. Orion had opted to remain outside at the top of the steps in case we got company.
As I searched about, trying not to cough on all the dust I was raising, I kept a mental image of the sigil I’d memorized in my head. Since I had no clue what the object was and I couldn’t even look at it, that was all I had to go on.
I had just lifted a container about the size of a cigar box when Simon screamed from my right shoulder in his high-pitched but melodious voice. “Don’t open! Don’t open!”
I froze and studied Simon’s five-inch-tall frame.
“What’s inside?” I whispered.
“The Lesser Key of Solomon.”
“That’s real? I thought it was a book.”
He nodded. “Best to place it down softly. Don’t want to accidentally summon a djinn.”
Garfunkel nodded fanatically, his poofy hair bobbing crazily. “Aw come on, Theo. What’s the worst that could happen? I’ve always wanted to see a djinn.”
I set it down. “Well, Garfunkel, you’ll have to wait another day.”
Garfunkel crossed his arms. “You’re no fun.”
“Play nice,” I said. “And help me locate the artifact.”
“Play nice,” Garfunkel mimed. “And help me locate the artifact.”
I swear to the GoneGods … I am never having kids …
I turned back and surveyed the room.
Garfunkel pointed at a long wooden box that looked the size of a rocket launcher or maybe a spear. “Open that one. Open that one.”
“No, Theo, it’s that one!” Simon said.
I stooped and blew a century’s worth of dust off the top of Simon’s indicated suitcase-sized cask. My eyes went wide when I saw the engraved crest of the volcano surrounded by lightning bolts.
Bingo!
I unlatched the cask and opened the lid.
And stood ramrod-straight as the safety of a gun clicked off just behind my head. I turned slowly, staring at the six-foot-tall, claylike creature standing before me, its skin perfectly matching the color of the wall behind it like a chameleon.
Turns out that besides being filled with cursed objects, this museum of horrors also had a hidden golem security guard.
And this golem was brandishing an Uzi submachine gun.
“You dare intrude upon Master Typhon’s treasure trove?”
Treasure trove? Didn’t this golem know it was the twenty-first century? Judging by the cobwebs still falling from his creaking elbows and musty shoulders, probably not.
“You guys could have warned me,” I whispered to my familiars. “What do I do?”
Simon raised his tiny hand as if in a classroom. “They’re sneaky and experts of camouflage. But they’re also really slow!”
The golem, who could neither see nor hear my familiars, cleared his throat, the gun stock-still in his hands. “Human, I ask again. Do you intrude or not?”
I stood there with palms raised, evaluating the situation. “I do … not?”
Words.
“Then what are you doing here?”
I flashed the coyest smile I could muster. “I’m guessing this isn’t the bathroom?”
The golem looked unimpressed. “It is not. Are you joshing me?”
Joshing? Who says that these days?
While I appreciated Simon’s info about the golem, I would’ve felt a lot better had I known a little more about Jewish lore and its mythological creatures.
In fact, all these years later I was still getting used to the fact that mythical creatures now lived among us on Earth. There was a huge difference between hearing your father read you Greek bedtime stories—AKA myths and fairy tales—and seeing said mythical creatures in everyday life.
Yeah, sure. It was probably hard on the creatures as well—maybe harder, I guess—but people don’t like change.
And I don’t much like having guns pointed at me. Call it the Greek in me. Or the American (maybe both … yeah, probably both), but I was going to lay this golem’s ass out on the floor. I had all the special forces training to do it.
So instead of replying with my mouth (I hadn’t thought of a witty comeback yet), I let my hands and feet do the talking as I swiveled at the hips, lifted my boot, and swung out with my steel-tipped black dress boot.
I was anticipating on the golem having turtle-slow reflexes. But what I wasn’t counting on was that golems were also immoveable.
As in, they only move when they want to.
Or when they were hit by a truck, and since I wasn’t a truck …
My foot connected with the golem’s wrist and the gun didn’t even shudder. In fact, I think I saw the golem’s wax-like mouth inch upward into a grin. Cheeky little …
That’s when the golem’s finger pulled back on the trigger, spraying the room with a blinding burst of flame—and more importantly, the entire contents of its twenty-round 9mm magazine within two seconds flat—as I ducked beneath the barrage.
As the smoke filtered upward and the sound of splintering wood reverberated in my ears, I did a mental facepalm at the reckless destruction of all these historical artifacts. Father would be so proud …
I shook the thought from my mind as I detected movement from the shadows off to the side. Frick … another golem.
And resting in its hands was a cherry-stocked pump shotgun tilting slowly upward in my direction.
“Seriously, guys. A little forewarning would be nice!”
Garfunkel shrugged, and Simon hid his eyes as I reached into the open cask and drew out the wrapped bundle I’d been hired to procure.
It was about twelve inches long and would fit snugly in the deep pocket strapped to the inside of my right thigh.
I just had to get out of this place alive first.
I kicked off my heels (despite what femme fatales do in movies, running in heels is impossible) and spilled into the dimly lit hallway as the shotgun discharged, spattering buckshot inches over my shoulder blades.
Wasting no time, I pitched myself into a swift barrel roll to the side before either golem could reload (a feat I surmised might take them a few minutes, given their clunky fingers) and sprinted up the musty basement steps toward Orion, who was waiting for me at the top.
Orion tossed a smoke grenade downward over my shoulder, and then we took off at a sprint.
“Golems, eh?” Orion said, and he slowed his pace. I nodded and Orion chuckled as he ruffled in his duffel bag and tossed me a pair of running shoes. “Slow little fellas.”
“Slow, yes, but they definitely weren’t ‘little,’ ” I said with probably a little more sarcasm than I’d intended. But shit. Was I the only one who didn’t know about golems? I’m Greek. Golems aren’t. Gimme a break!
Orion smiled wryly. Casually. “Well, did you get it?” he asked as he adjusted the straps of his tactical backpack, a
motion that reminded me of grueling ruck runs during my special forces training.
“Of course,” I said, as if he hadn’t just damaged my pride.
He just stood there and studied me with a casual grin as if we weren’t in dangerous territory. As if he had everything figured out. As I think I’ve mentioned, Orion was cool as a cucumber. And how he managed to maintain his hair so well when he spent most of his time out in the woods hunting, stalking through the brush, and crouching by streams in pursuit of wild animal tracks, I’ll never know. (I guess I could just ask him …)
When his brown eyes lifted cautiously to mine, I swallowed.
“I’m just thinking back on the contract. The clause that said we’re not supposed to unwrap it. You didn’t unwrap it, did you? Your curiosity has gotten us in trouble before …”
My face flushed as my fingers gripped the bundle. “No I didn’t look at it.” Had I wanted to? Hells yes. I pointed a finger at him. “Next you’re going to ask if I got the right artifact. And yes, I did. It was in a cask marked by that sigil. Damn, Orion. You act like this is my first job.”
“Theo, that’s not what I meant. I’ve … got some years on you is all. More experience.”
I threw back my luscious (OK, comely—OK, simple) black hair. “Oh, so you have experience parachuting out of Lockheed C-130 Hercules transport aircrafts and scaling wet, rocky island cliffs on moonless nights?” Orion gave a curt Ahem and shook his head. “That’s what I thought, Star Boy.” Missions always seemed to bring out the best in me.
“Hey, now,” Orion said. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself, Star Boy,” I added again with a flush of unabashed pride. Shit. This man. I swear …
I turned my back to Orion and hiked up my dress. Stowed the wrapped bundle in the pocket strapped against my right thigh while Orion picked at his fingernail disinterestedly, which for some reason made me mad.
“If you’ve caught your breath now, I say we finish making our escape.”
I motioned for him to lead the way. “Be my guest,” I said with an exaggerated eye-roll. But to be honest, I was glad Orion was here. Without the use of my phone, I’d be screwed. I was already turned around. Was the next turn supposed to be a left? Or maybe a right? If anyone could get us out of here unscathed, it was him.
Axes and Angels: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Novel (Better Demons Series Book 1) Page 16
