I allowed myself to collapse to the floor as I laughed in triumph. There were close calls and then there were close calls.
Gulping down some deep breaths, I closed my eyes while I waited for Orion to crouch down beside me and ask if I was OK.
“Orion?”
When I received no answer, my heartbeat started to hike.
“Orion?”
I was just pushing myself up when the sound of clapping echoed up from the shadows of the Rock Forest. Twisting around I saw Orion standing with his hands raised in surrender. Red will-o’-the-wisps glared out from black cage-like lamps held by two rows of figures materializing from the darkness. On each side of them, Typhon’s guards, some dressed in padded leather beast tamer’s outfits and others in dark colored commando gear stood at attention. I immediately recognized their green-tinted night vision goggles as the set of familiar eyes I’d seen earlier. Should’ve known, I was no stranger to using similar models back in my operating days.
Pushing his way through the ranks of beast tamers and mercenaries, the unmistakable form of the Minotaur trudged toward Orion with a metallic stick held between his hooves.
“Theo!” Orion called out. “Run—”
Electricity sparked and Orion fell forward upon the rock floor. The Minotaur jabbed Orion’s prostrate form with his cattle prod again. There was another spark and Orion’s body convulsed. He grunted.
“SORRY, old friend.”
I froze. I wasn’t abandoning my partner like I did at the Arena, no matter the circumstances. A moment later, another voice cut through the darkness.
“Very good,” Typhon’s voice boomed. He sauntered down an aisle of red-lit wisps, cuts littering his face, his business attire ripped and shorn by the bullets and knives of the Brotherhood of Zeus. He clasped his hands together in gratitude as his eyes alighted on my prone body. “I knew we could work together. Thank you. Thank you for unlocking the Gate to Atlas.”
“Well … Crap”
I didn’t have a play, I thought as I picked myself up off the ground. Typhon had a whole troop gathered around him and those mercenary commandos had guns. All I had was a spotlight on my wrist and even if I managed to blind enough of them to escape into the Rock Forest unharmed, Maximus would just sneak up on me and …
I glanced at the sequoia-sized stalagmite and the now-discernible gate, partially crushed in by Maximus’s attack, watching as the Minotaur and several of the commandos approached with claw-like tools and a bag of explosives.
“The reasonable thing would be to surrender,” Typhon called out to me.
“Yes, dear,” Echidna joined in, strolling down the red-lit aisle to join her husband. “I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
Bitch …
“What are you going to do?” Garfunkel asked.
“I don’t think she has a choice,” Simon said.
My eyes played over Orion as a commando yanked him to his feet and secured his wrists out in front of him with nylon cord. We made eye contact and Orion winked, that awkward wink he used to give me to signal he had a plan.
I raised my arms in defeat, careful not to blind any of Typhon’s cronies as a show of my good faith.
Typhon snapped his fingers but before a commando could secure my wrists, Gan stepped forth from the entourage and tied my wrists. I kicked him in the shin; he may have had the upper hand, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t give him a welt as a souvenir.
He hobbled away, and received the oaken cask into his arms. The cask with the lava axe. If I could only get my hands on that …
“From cupbearer to axe bearer …” I whistled and Gan stared at me unapologetically. “You’re a real cold one,” I continued. “I mean, do you even care about all the Brotherhood of Zeus members who got killed at the mansion?”
“I serve only Typhon,” Gan said with a solemn nod.
Yeah right, I thought. The sneak. Telling me some story about the meaning of family. Unless he was actually still undercover for the Zeus gang …
Typhon clapped a hand on Gan’s shoulder. “He made a fine double agent inside that foolish organization. How do you think I knew the opportune time for my chimera horde to strike and wipe them out?”
“Oh yeah?” I said, focusing on my enemy’s boastful smile. “Seems you didn’t eliminate them all. I mean, they crashed your little Arena party, made you bleed your own blood and tore up your nice clothes.”
Off to the side, the Minotaur and commandos started planting explosives around the crumpled-in gate.
Typhon straightened the scrap that remained of his torn dress shirt collar. “No matter—”
“No matter?” I taunted. “They caught you with your pants down.” I paused as I let my eyes fall suspiciously to Gan before continuing. “The Zeus gang-cult-whatever has you on the run down here. They’d love all the shadows down here. Perfect for an ambush.”
My taunting didn’t have the exact effects as I’d intended because Typhon started laughing. Great belly laughs full of mirth and inconsequence. He stood that way for over a minute while Echidna patted his arm pacifyingly.
“Look at his eyes!” Garfunkel blurted out.
I did. The irises of Typhon’s eyes had elongated vertically, bursting into a cold reptilian yellow.
“Oh no!” Simon gasped. “Theo, he’s going to punch his hand into your chest!”
It certainly seemed like it—Typhon’s posture modeled when he killed that investor during his lab presentation. I steeled myself, prepared to dodge out of the way if he made a play for my heart.
But instead of stepping toward me, Typhon advanced toward Orion. Rolled back his torn shirt sleeve. Traced a circle over Orion’s heart. Blinked his reptilian eyes …
“Don’t,” I said, jerking as several mercs restrained me. One of them wrapped a thick dark cloth over my arm tattoo so that no light showed through.
Typhon lifted his finger from Orion’s chest, slowly. “Don’t?” In the red glow of the caged wisps, Typhon’s sharp grin appeared like the devil incarnate. “And why not?”
“Because—”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t shear his head from his shoulders. What sacrifice are you prepared to make? Are you willing to hand over Libra now?”
“Never!”
Typhon laughed. At a sign from the Minotaur, Typhon nodded and the explosive charges placed around the stalagmite gate detonated in a single blast.
Typhon turned back to me. “Your energy reminds me of me when I was younger … not that I was ever young. Not truly,” he said, stared at his fingers which suddenly sprouted claws. “I was created this way. Why? To be the scourge of Mount Olympus. I only wish the gods would come back so I could crush them like tiny fleas. Again!”
A fit of coughing wracked Typhon’s lungs and he doubled over. Echidna reached out and rubbed a palm over his back in circular motions.
I laughed. “You really think you’d stand a chance against the gods if they showed up right now? You can barely catch your breath.” Kick your enemy when he’s down and all that jazz.
“Theo what are you doing?” Simon wailed.
Typhon appraised me with wary eyes as he leaned forward over the ground. Dark hair hung over his eyes and with his “reptile hand” he swept it back and away.
“I won’t be this way for long,” he spoke through gritted teeth. When his coughing subsided, he stood up and waved some of his commandos to him. Most of them were satyrs, large-framed and hairy beneath their tactical vests and helmets. Their leader, one of the largest and with goat hair streaked with gray, raised a fist to his head in salute and his troops followed suit.
“Scout the way ahead,” Typhon ordered. “I want no surprises.”
They nodded and proceeded over to the gate, dust still billowing up from the detonation.
Typhon lingered before Orion. “I should have given you a stronger dose of the Sin Formula.” He swiveled my way. “And you …” He chuckled, his golden eyes holding my own. “Keep proving to be a good investment
. I’ll keep you around just in case I need you to locate the tomb’s final door. The attainment of my ascension goes to you.”
I spat at his feet.
“The Titan’s killer hid the entrance well,” Typhon said.
“Who killed Atlas?”
A crooked grin split Typhon’s chin from his nose. “Zeus.”
The satyr commandos appeared from the mouth of the gate, powerful headlamps shining from tactical gear affixed to their heads that would make Prepper Joe jealous.
The commando leader stepped forth, his gray grizzled hair rippling as he placed an arm straight across his abdomen and genuflected. “Sir, it is as you described. A few tripwires in the main hall. We have disabled the traps but there are no doubt plenty more throughout the crypts and side passageways.”
“Crypts!” Simon wailed.
Behind his shades, Garfunkel said, “I love crypts.”
Typhon’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Good. Good.” He paused long enough to glance at Orion and me. “And we have the Wayfinder—” Another fit of coughing overcame him and Echidna handed him a water bottle. He drank.
One of Typhon’s arms was still clawed at the end, his eyes still reptilian and yellow. His pocket bulged—presumably with the sundial pendant that Jersey wanted me to get. No matter how bad the situation seemed, I was still on the job. I’d have to be GoneGodDamned careful when I lifted it or I’d be missing my head or my heart.
His throat assuaged, Typhon turned and addressed his entourage of beast tamer thugs and commandos. With both arms raised, he said, “Now, we claim our destiny! The Heart of Atlas!”
Heart? Jack had mentioned something about a heart … Probably metaphorical for the Titan’s most prized possession—a hoard of creation crystals. And considering we were about to descend into a giant Titan’s crypt, I could only imagine the enormity of the treasure chamber brimming with raw power …
I sourly pictured Jack-O’-Lantern standing guard of the Others shanty town, utterly unconcerned by the looming fate of the world as Typhon neared the “mythical hidden power.”
Oh well.
A commando shoved me and Orion from behind and we stumbled forward after Typhon through the Gate of Atlas.
“Tales (And Tails) From The Crypt”
A wiry satyr commando urged Orion and me through the stone corridor. Via the light of the caged red wisps, and the bright headlamps of the commandos, I got sporadic flashes of why Typhon called this place a crypt.
A rectangular tunnel hewn through the rock in the times of antiquity. There was a certain Grecian influence to it—certainly not the work of elves or dwarves or even goblins.
Horizontal cavities lined the cold walls, the resting places of skeletons and coffers and vases. Surprisingly, there was little smell down here. Iron torch holders stood upright in the dark; I couldn’t imagine exploring in a cave this far down with nothing but a torch. I glanced down at the dark cloth concealing my magic tattoo so that I couldn’t surprise-blind anyone.
The main passageway was quite wide, and sheets of thick cobwebs veiled off long-forgotten side passages containing parallel vertical slabs of rock like stone bookcases holding the dead instead of books. Occasionally an Agadzagadza trickster lizard would lift its head to inspect us before dipping back into the shadows of rock shelves with a flick of its luminescent tail.
Commandos and Typhon’s other thugs investigated each branchway, the stone crypt echoing with footsteps dancing through the open-air burial plots and along the ceiling. At intervals, their radios squawked as they performed routine check-ins with each other. So far, they’d found and disabled several traps ranging from false floors with spike pits and spring-loaded, poison-tipped arrows. I’m all for adventure, but I was glad it wasn’t my job to clear the secondary passageways.
Twenty feet ahead of Orion and me, two burly satyr commandos trod step-for-step at either side of Typhon like imperial guards. Lifting the sundial pendant from Typhon’s pocket wouldn’t be easy, especially with my bound wrists.
And considering the confusing array of this catacomb, I figured it was only a matter of time before Typhon called Orion away from me to “find the way.”
I leaned into Orion’s ear. “Don’t help him.”
Orion chuckled. “I’ll lead us in circles while you try to pickpocket Typhon.” He glanced about at the horizontal shelves hewn out of the rock walls, at the multiple branches of passageways and the satyr commandos knocking down thick cobwebs. “Just focus on getting the pendant.”
The satyr commando guard behind us shoved the butt of his gun into my back.
“St-ahhh-p talking,” he bahhed.
I twisted my head and stuck my tongue out at the goat-man. The Minotaur trudged alongside us, paying us no attention. From the safety of a close grouping of commandos behind us, I saw Gan and Echidna. Gan still had the lava axe box in his arms.
Orion feigned stumbling so that he could lean into my ear again, quickly whispering, “I’ll have to sell it to Typhon that I’m still under the Sin Formula. But it’s me. Promise.”
He winked and I nodded, although part of me wondered if this was just some slick Seven Sins Formula act. It wasn’t like I had too many options.
“OK,” I said and received another thump to the back.
“Wh-ahhh-t did ahhh say?” the satyr commando bahhed again.
I nodded seriously to the guard and raised my bound hands up to my mouth, mimed zipping it closed.
“Wayfinder,” Typhon called back to us. “I require your assistance.” He paused. “And if you refuse or fail to lead us to the burial chamber, I’ll tear off your girlfriend’s head, mount it onto a candlestick and toss her body into one of the burial shelves.”
“Overkill, much?” I mumbled as I felt Simon take cover in my hair.
“He’s got class,” Garfunkel said.
Orion winked at me and hurried forward, placing an arm against his abdomen and genuflecting, wincing at the pain that must have shot up on his side from his Zeus gang wound. “That won’t be necessary, sir. I will do as you wish.”
“Yes, you better,” Typhon said.
Behind me, the satyr guard leaned toward my ear and said, “No f-ahhh-nny business.”
Garfunkel slapped his forehead. “Theo? Funny business? Nah.”
I glanced back at the line of troops and the red wisp glows eerily illuminating the cobwebs decorating the place. The place looked downright hellish, like something from a movie Garfunkel would pick when it was his night to choose.
“Hey, Typhon,” I called out and my enemy stiffened as he walked, the two satyrs at his sides stopping.
With clenched jaw, he resumed walking and said, “What?”
“I’m assuming it’s no coincidence you built your Arena right over one of Zeus’s secret treasure troves of power?” I paused. “It’s why you came to New York and built up your evil empire here after the GrandExodus, right? You knew it was here and you’ve been searching for the exact location all this time, finding inventive and brutal ways to fuel your income … So why has it taken so long to find it?”
Typhon scoffed and waved dismissively. “Why don’t you ask my lead excavator.”
I turned to the Minotaur, his halberd slapping against his back as he walked.
“I believe it’s called TECTONIC shifting.”
“So the tunnels of yore all collapsed?” I said.
The bull-man nodded. “So much DIGGING. So much BLOOD, sweat and TEARS. Many lives were LOST. Many possible PATHWAYS to take.”
I jerked my thumb toward Typhon. “I get that. But it still took that long? Why didn’t Typhon just have a bunch of Others burn some time to speed up the process? Not that I would endorse that. But your boss would.”
The Minotaur snorted. “We tried using magic IN THE BEGINNING. But the rocks here are littered with crushed CREATION CRYSTALS in the form of tiny BOMBS. A defense mechanism left behind by ZEUS. When magic interacts with THEM …” He brought his two hooves together in an e
choing clap.
“Goes boom,” I said.
He nodded. “There is ONE EXCEPTION: the SUBTLE magic of the WAYFINDER.” He indicated Orion trudging along up ahead beside Typhon and his guards. “His magic can DETECT THE WAY without setting off the …” The Minotaur brought his hooves together again.
“Makes sense.” I turned to my familiars. “You two have any questions for the nice Minotaur?”
“Can we go home now?” Simon said.
“Can I touch his halberd?” Garfunkel said.
We continued down the tunnel in silence for a good clip until the first satyr commando skipped his routine check-in. A little farther on, a second commando went silent.
The sound of crunching gravel whispered behind us and the Minotaur spun, drawing and gripping his halberd with both hooves. He took a few gulping sniffs up his broad nostrils. “IT’S HERE.”
It’s really interesting how bad guys get scared just like everyone else. From all around me, thugs and commandos began to edge their backs against each other. Some hunkered up and shouldered their guns, others leaned against the stone walls or posted up with a boot up on a carved-out shelf of rock.
I can’t say I blamed them much. Giant scorpion stalking you in a crypt twenty-thousand leagues under NYC?
No thanks.
I mean, how long had it been guarding this place? It probably knew every nook and cranny, in the dark. I guess it could’ve been worse … The skeletons in their burial spaces could have snapped to life and started clawing at us in the dark—
From the back of the main column of thugs and commandos a muffled scream echoed up to us. Of course, with all the spider webs dampening the sound and the excess of passageways, the scream could have come from up ahead.
Beside me, the Minotaur swiveled on his hooves, his cue-ball shaped eyes blinking out into the darkness.
“Simon,” I whispered, wishing very much that I had a weapon on me. “Anything I should know about this Maximus scorpion?”
Simon shuddered. “You’ve already seen him in action … His body is as black as the night, and he strikes fast, with pincers that can crumble boulders or steel girders.”
Axes and Angels: A Snarky Urban Fantasy Novel (Better Demons Series Book 1) Page 51
