by T. M. Cromer
“Can’t we talk about this,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m great at setting things to rights. I mean look what I did in here. It’s cleaner than when I started.”
A choked snigger sounded to her left. She gave Ollie an odd look.
“At least someone has a sense of humor,” she muttered.
They descended a trillion stairs and followed a tunnel for what seemed like miles. Finally, when Autumn was certain she would drop from exhaustion, they reached their destination.
The smell of decaying flesh and feces nearly gagged her.
Real fear clawed at the back of her throat and made it difficult to swallow.
“Yeah, no. I’m not staying down here. It’s not sanitary,” she croaked out.
Again, Ollie choked off a laugh. It earned him a glaring reprimand from his more serious companion. Ollie grabbed a nearby torch resting in a holder on the stone wall. He held it aloft while Mr. Stern worked a key in the rusted padlock.
“That’s pretty old. It’s probably not going to work,” she babbled and eased back a few steps. “I’ll tell you what. You release me, and I’ll disappear. I promise neither me nor any future Thornes will bother any of you again.”
The ancient lock disengaged, and Mr. Stern jerked his chin at the now open doorway.
The smell triggered her gag reflex and tears streamed from her eyes. “Please,” she begged.
Autumn was only tough to an extent. The idea of being locked in a dark room with Goddess-knew-what type of rotting things residing there petrified her to the extreme.
Ollie walked in and lit another torch inside what was, in fact, an oversized stone cell.
Mr. Stern shoved her hard enough to make her stagger.
When she righted herself, she screamed. Not just any scream. It was the type of bloodcurdling scream to bring down walls and shatter windows. Later, if she lived, she’d pride herself on how long and loud the sound was. Horror movie worthy, in fact.
A fist slammed into her jaw. The excruciating pain nearly caused her to black out. Holy crap! How did MMA fighters take that kind of abuse and still remain upright?
The blow knocked her into the nearest wall. Bones and chains clanked together and triggered another terrified scream. Rough hands jerked her sideways. The shackles binding her hands along with her powers were attached onto another chain. The position forced her arms above her head and was more painful than she could’ve imagined—had she ever thought to imagine it. In no time, her shoulders would ache, fatigue would set in, and she’d lose feeling in her limbs. No doubt, that’s what the design intended.
Her breaths came in rapid little pants, and she feared she’d hyperventilate.
“Please, Ollie. Don’t leave me here. Please.”
Ollie cast her one last long, regretful look, bent low, and backed out the door.
“Ollie! Please! Please, Ollie,” she sobbed.
Soon snot and tears poured unchecked down her face.
“Goddess, if you hear me, please help me,” she cried over and over until she was hoarse and exhausted.
Minutes, then hours, crawled by. There was no way to block out the smell or the horror of the space. The blackened eye sockets of various skulls grew and receded in the flickering torchlight. The mouths of the dead gaped open in terror or pain. How long had they been made to suffer? She supposed she’d be spared the indignity of their fate when they burned her.
Worn out, with nothing left to do, she dozed. A scratching noise penetrated her subconscious and brought her to an abrupt waking state. Heart pounding, she listened.
Did the shadows in the corner move?
When a shape emerged from the corner, she screamed for all she was worth.
Chapter 15
Bitter cold penetrated Keaton’s unconscious state and urged his brain into immediate wakefulness. His teeth repeatedly slammed together in an uncontrolled chatter. Good Christ, he was cold. He wondered if the furnace in their house had gone out.
Chloe! She had to be freezing.
He opened his eyes and stared at the dawning sun.
Confusion set in. Where was he? How did he come to be on the side of a mountaintop in this inclement weather?
The pounding in his brain wouldn’t allow him to piece together why he lay in a snowbank outside a large castle-like wall. There was something he needed to remember, and if his damned teeth would stop moving long enough for him to think, he could.
Boots appeared in his peripheral.
“Are you done with your nap, boy?”
Keaton inched his head up to view the owner of the boots. Memories flooded back.
“Alastair Thorne.”
“Where’s my niece?”
With great care, Keaton turned his head to look in the direction of the monastery. “I don’t know what they did with her.”
“Were you not with her?”
“There were too many of them,” Keaton ground out as he eased up from his prone position. He took exception to the insinuation that he’d left her to her fate. “I was knocked out.”
“Useless. The whole damned Carlyle clan. Not a one of you with a lick of sense among you,” Alastair ranted. “Tell me you at least got the stone.”
Keaton’s brows hit his hairline. “We have no idea if Autumn is dead or alive, and you’re worried about the fucking stone?”
“So you didn’t get it,” Alastair concluded with a sneer. “Why am I not surprised?”
If every muscle in Keaton’s body wasn’t cramped and in excruciating pain, he’d beat the pompous prick to a pulp. “Fuck. You!” was the best he could manage through his chattering teeth.
The blond warlock studied him for a long moment. His expression changed from angry disgust to long-suffering. “I suppose my niece will be irate with me if I leave you to freeze to death.” With a snap of his fingers, Alastair restored warmth to Keaton’s limbs.
Keaton was able to unfold his arms enough to grab his pounding head.
“Stand up, useless boy. Let me see.”
As he clamped down on his tongue to prevent the building tirade, Keaton rose and shifted.
“Jaw and temple. Perhaps you didn’t go down without a fight. Stand still.”
Alastair removed the black leather glove from his left hand. He placed glowing fingertips to Keaton’s pounding temple. All pain ebbed away in a slow trickle.
“Better?”
“Much.” It was hard to force out the thank you, but he managed.
“Tell me everything that led up to your face-plant in the snow,” Alastair ordered.
When Keaton was finished relaying the details of their showdown with the ninja monks, he asked, “Do you have any ideas on how to get her back? The head honcho, Lin, had a magic-busting trick or two up his sleeve.”
“It’s like Lin knew she was coming,” Alastair mused.
“Or at the very least, knew what she was when we showed up.”
“Yes.” Autumn’s uncle eyed him in speculation. “You’re sure you don’t know what happened to the stone after Lin charged the room?”
Keaton shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry.”
A spark of something resembling amusement lit the older man’s dark-blue eyes. “Mmm. Well, let’s stage a rescue, shall we?”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Quiet.”
Alastair closed his eyes and tilted his head as if listening for a specific sound.
Keaton thought the guy was a few Fruit Loops shy of a full bowl, but he wasn’t going to piss off the powerful warlock.
“This way.”
“Uh, Alastair? That’s away from the monastery.”
“If you are going to question every decision, you can stay behind. I’ll send Autumn back for you if the cold doesn’t get you first.”
After five minutes of walking in the sub-zero temps, Keaton spoke up again. “Can’t you just, you know, blink us there or something?”
Alastair halted and whirled, leaning forward until he was practically nose to nose w
ith Keaton. “You’re a powerful magical being. Quit whining and start acting like one.”
“How do you suggest I warm myself, huh?” Keaton snapped in turn. “I must’ve missed that particular class.”
“Your parents should be shot for neglecting their duty to you. Perhaps if you’d have been raised properly, you wouldn’t have broken my dear niece’s heart.”
“Dear niece? Ha! She can’t stand you. And don’t you dare threaten my parents!”
Alastair laughed in straight-up amusement. “I noticed you didn’t deny breaking Autumn’s heart.”
“No. I’ll own up to my part.”
“Good. I like you a smidgeon better now. Which isn’t saying much.” Alastair rubbed his hands together. “Okay, to warm yourself, you need to build the warmth from the nucleus of each cell.”
Keaton hung his head. For fuck’s sake, he was never going to be warm again.
“Pay attention, boy. I’m trying to help you,” Alastair growled. “I don’t have all damned day.” He sneezed, froze for a second, then fisted his hand. “Bloody locust,” he muttered.
“What the hell was that chirping sound?” Keaton asked, whipping his head back and forth to pinpoint where it came from.
“Never you mind. Close your eyes and concentrate.” Alastair placed the flat of his hand on Keaton directly above his stomach. “Here. Everything you do is done from your solar plexus. Imagine a warm ball of light. Can you visualize it?”
Keaton nodded.
“Good. Pull that ball into you. Here, where my hand is. Do you have it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, now imagine that ball growing, shooting its light through to your head, hands, and toes. Feel the warmth building?”
Keaton’s eyes flew wide. “Yes!”
“Keep that ball pulsing in your core as you walk. You’ll stay warm.”
Other than the initial surge of power when his parents had removed the spell that bound his powers, Keaton had never felt the magic as strongly. “Did you do that? Create that energy?”
Alastair smiled with what Keaton imagined, for him, was genuine warmth. “No, son, that was all you. Well done.”
The smile froze and dropped from his face. Once again, Alastair tilted his head as if to listen. “They know we’re here. Place your hand on my shoulder, and whatever you do, do not let go.” He mumbled an incantation in what Keaton assumed was Latin. “Walk in my footprints and don’t make a sound.”
Men rushed into the wooded area and surrounded them.
Unfazed, Alastair held a finger to his lips with one hand and pointed forward with the other.
Keaton painstakingly placed each foot in the hollowed-out footprints Alastair left in front of him. A glance behind showed no indentation at all. It was slow moving, but the other men didn’t seem to know the two of them were there. How the hell was that even possible? If they got to their destination alive, he planned to find out.
Soon enough, they were beyond the tree line, and the army of crazy, ninja monks was behind them still searching the woods.
“You can speak now, but be careful to keep your voice low,” Alastair told him. “You may let go of me.”
Keaton was loathe to do so. He’d never admit it, but there was a comfort in touching the warlock, as if the guy had a magical force field that would protect him from all things.
“Perhaps one day, I’ll teach you how to create the shield,” Alastair said as if he’d read Keaton’s mind.
The fucker was eerie.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“The entrance should be close. Look for a marking that resembles a dragon. It will be carved into the trunk of a large tree.” Alastair grabbed his arm before he wandered away. “Boy, I don’t need to tell you to be stealthy. If you are caught, I’m leaving you here. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Find the dragon.”
“It seems I already have,” he snarked.
Alastair’s chuckle rumbled around them. “Careful, I’m starting to like you.”
It took roughly five minutes, but Keaton discovered what could only be described as the carved dragon Alastair was referring to. “I found it,” he called softly.
“Stay there, and when I tell you, place your hand in his mouth.”
Apprehension chased up Keaton’s spine and burned as the tension built in the back of his neck. “Am I going to lose a hand?”
Alastair snorted his amusement. “I hope not, but I’ve never entered this way before.”
Keaton shot him a sharp glance. “You’ve been inside this hellhole?”
“Once, a long time ago. Be ready.” He moved around another tree. “Ah, here it is. Okay, slowly place your hand inside the mouth.”
Keaton inched the fingers of his right hand inside the hole. Sweat pooled on his lower back. He realized too late that he should’ve used his left hand. In the event he had to gnaw his arm off at the wrist, he’d still have use of his primary hand.
“Oh, boy?”
He froze as Alastair’s voice drifted to him. “Yeah?”
“Think positive thoughts. Anything else might cost you a limb.”
Keaton shoved aside the daydream of murdering Alastair and worked on blanking his mind. Thank God—er, the Goddess—Autumn taught him meditation in order to purify himself for their lessons.
A loud scraping sounded, and the ground shook beneath him.
It was an effort, but he tamped down his dismay.
Alastair appeared at his side. “You can remove your hand. Good job. Come.”
They descended stairs that looked like they’d been carved into the earth centuries before. Some were more worn than others. Moss partially covered nearly all the steps and made the journey to the bottom treacherous.
“You couldn’t tell me the whole positive-thought thing before I shoved my hand in the hole?” Keaton asked.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“Christ, you are Autumn’s uncle.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
Alastair halted before what looked to be an ordinary stone wall.
Keaton cursed. “It’s a dead end. What the fuck?”
“Ye of little faith. Pay attention, boy, you may learn something.”
“Will you stop calling me boy? I’m thirty-two years old. Hardly a boy.”
Alastair gave him one solid hit on the back with the flat of his hand. “To me, you’ll always be a boy. Now, can you shut up for more than five minutes to allow me to figure this out?”
Alastair held out a hand and created a miniature ball of light similar to the one he had Keaton visualize. The chamber lit.
“Brush off the dirt there.”
Keaton did what he was told and swiped his hand across the ancient stone to his left.
Alastair held the light closer to read the symbols. They must have made sense to the older man because he nodded and strode toward the corner of the room. He counted the blocks down from the top and shot a delighted grin Keaton’s way.
“This feels like we’re part of Raiders of the Lost Ark, doesn’t it?”
Keaton returned his grin. “It sort of does.”
“Come on, boy. Time to save the girl!”
Alastair pressed a stone to his right.
This time, Keaton understood the scraping noise for what it was—a secret passage.
“I cannot go in there or my magic will be neutralized,” Alastair told him with a quick check of their surroundings. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a skeleton key. “This will unlock the shackles.”
“How did you—?”
“Never you mind, son. Get in there and get her out. I’ll keep guard.” Alastair gave him a shove. “Go.”
Keaton stepped into the cell and let his eyes adjust. He didn’t have time to register his surroundings before a bloodcurdling scream nearly pierced his eardrums.
“Jesus, Autumn! It’s me!”
“Keaton? Ohmygod, Keaton!” she sobbed.
&n
bsp; “Shhh, babe. I’m here. It’s okay.” The rancid smell of the room caught up with him. “What the hell is that—holy fucking shitballs! Are these…?” He trailed off as he looked at the dead bodies chained to the walls around them.
Her ragged sobs brought his attention back to her. Keaton squatted in front of her and cupped her face. “Babe, look at me.”
Her eyes darted around as if she feared the bodies would come back to life at any second.
“Autumn, love, look at me. Just at me.”
She turned frantic eyes on him.
“That’s my brave sweetheart. I’ve got the key, and I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”
“O-okay.”
Although his skin was crawling under the hollow gazes of the dead, he managed to keep an upbeat tone as he worked the lock of her shackles. “You’re never going to guess who I ran into.”
“Wh-who?”
“Uncle Alastair.”
“Uncle Alastair?”
“Yep. And he taught me a nifty little trick to stay warm.” He shot her a reproachful glance. “One you should’ve taught me before we came to this god-forsaken place.”
Her eyes darted around, and she swallowed convulsively.
“Babe, I know this macabre setting is creepy as hell, but I’m going to need you to stay focused on me, all right?”
“All r-right.”
“Almost got it.”
“Hurry!” Alastair hissed from the opening.
“I’m trying!” Keaton barked. “This damned lock must be three hundred years old.”
“Older, but try faster.”
Alastair ducked his head back out, leaving them alone.
“If he hadn’t saved my ass, I’d deck him. I swear.”
“H-he saved you?”
“Yeah. He didn’t have to, but he mentioned something about you being upset with him if he didn’t.”
Autumn smiled through her tears.
“There’s my beautiful sweetheart. Welcome back.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead. The lock clicked, and he peeled the shackles from her wrists. “Let’s not hang out, huh?”
She shook her arms and moaned her pain.
“I’m going to carry you, babe. If you have some type of spell to make yourself featherlight, I’d appreciate it.”
Autumn took a few precious seconds to hug him. “I can walk. It’s only my arms and shoulders that hurt.”
