Siren's Secret

by Trish Albright

  It recessed into the wall.

  She lost her balance and quickly jumped to Alex’s level as Alex moved out of the way. Then the next step recessed, and they crawled farther down. The sound of a hissing frenzy became ominously louder as they were forced to go lower and lower.

  “Make it stop!” Alex said.

  “I can’t!” Olivia shouted, scrambling behind Alex, seeking a safe ledge.

  Finally, it stopped.

  “Wrong turn?” Alex gasped.

  Olivia struggled for air. She looked at the wall. “I guess. Here’s another path.” She pressed in the key, and they began a new ascent.

  Until … thump.

  “Alex?” Olivia didn’t move, staring at the asp on the block in front of her.

  “Use this.” Alex shoved the spear into Olivia’s hand in exchange for the lamp. “Swush it. Before it uncurls!”

  “Swush isn’t a word.”

  “Of course it is. It means the act of swiping and pushing. Swush.”

  “Oh.” Olivia stuck the spear out between the wall and the snake and pushed. Only her swush was more like a spank.

  “Swush it, Olivia. Harder!”

  The asp began to curl lazily around the pole of the spear. Olivia lifted and pushed harder, but the asp continued to slither around the spear until it lifted its head and fanned its hood. Both women knew what was next.

  “Ahh!” Olivia threw the spear as far into the pit as possible, and though safe for the moment, she could not stop shaking. Even her teeth chattered.

  She felt Alex’s hand on her shoulder. “Equally effective. Shall we continue?”

  Though the duchess was trying to make her feel better, Olivia saw the slight wobble in her hand as she returned the lantern.

  Olivia got them back up to the top, level with the door, and within two stones of escape. She paused. Strange that there was only one more key. Of course there was a final test. “Oh, hell. Get ready for anything,” she warned her companion.

  Olivia pressed the final key and a stone came out under the door.

  “We’ll have to jump,” Alex said.

  “What if the rock isn’t stable? Or if it’s slippery? Or we overjump and fall to our death?”

  “It’s only four feet. You could take a long step.”

  Olivia wasn’t sure. She pressed her body against the wall, exhausted. Despite the cold, she was hot, sweaty, and her hands were clammy. “You can do it. You’re a Stafford.” It came out sounding like an accusation.

  “Yes,” Alex agreed. “It is nice to know who you are.”

  She pushed Olivia aside and stepped across with a little hop. “You are Olivia Katharine Hastings Yates—professor, explorer, adventuress, killer of angry asps, and puzzle mistress extraordinaire. I don’t think a few feet of air is going to keep you from achieving your goal. Now straighten up and move your arse over here.”

  Alex put on her leather coat and reached out her hand. “Take my wrist … in case you do decide to stumble and fall thirty feet to a grisly death.”

  Olivia reached across. “Thanks.”

  She stepped across, false confidence in place, but nearly certain this would be fine. She stepped onto the stone at the same time that she heard a familiar sound.

  Thump. Then something else slapped at their linked wrists. Thwack.

  Olivia jumped backward. Instinctively. Away from one danger and into another.

  Her body dropped and air rushed her ears with an all-too-familiar …

  Woosh.

  Samuel pushed himself to his knees and checked on Worthington and the others, his heart pounding rapidly. They had dropped only about four feet, but it had effectively scattered the group. Soldiers scrambled to secure their weapons.

  Samuel pointed to an opening on the other side of the room, about four feet high. “There,” he said. “A passage.”

  They began to crawl through hurriedly, as no one was certain the floor wouldn’t drop again.

  What awaited them was a long, wide, rectangular resting chamber with approximately fifteen-foot ceilings, benches, wall art, and little side tables made of stone—probably meant to hold candles or lamps. Guards went to work setting up torches on the walls as they had in previous rooms.

  Samuel and Worthington hurried in the direction where they’d last heard the women—only there was no door.

  Worthington cursed as he searched the space. It seemed as though they were at the end of the tomb.

  “It has to be another puzzle,” Merryvale said.

  “Samuel,” Worthington called, his face grim. “Over here.”

  Samuel joined his brother-in-law. Around the west end of the room were murals of the puzzle rooms they passed through showing both solutions and their morbid failures.

  Samuel studied the ancient art the duke indicated. The image showed one person escaping up a maze of circuitous stairs, while another was knocked off the stairs and depicted midair, falling into the pit of eager vipers’ jaws, while a third was being devoured.

  “Please tell me we did not leave our women in that room,” Worthington said.

  Samuel swore, nearly pulling out his hair. “We have to go back.”

  Merryvale stood with them, unable to express the magnitude of his fear. “Asps!”

  “Gasp?” Worthington asked. “Yes, it’s—”

  “No! Egyptians asps! Poisonous. Venom. Certain death,” Merryvale said, his words filled with horror.

  “I got that part!” Joshua shouted, furious. “But thank you for clarifying.”

  Before Samuel could intervene he caught the sound of an eerie wail echoing through the chamber. Several guards tensed, whispering that the tomb was haunted. Others froze as the wail became louder. It was getting closer. He frowned, rubbing the hairs at the back of his neck, recognizing something familiar.

  He had just worked out the mystery when the tower-room art he and Worthington studied exploded in front of them.

  Bits of wall splintered forth violently.

  He lifted a hand defensively, but it did not stop the creature flying at him or prevent him from being knocked flat on his ass.

  Then darkness surrounded him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Some things just were not fair. One, the women getting the snake pit room. Two, nearly getting out, only to be attacked by two asps simultaneously.

  Jumping was instinctive. And it eliminated the asp between their arms. Unfortunately, when Olivia dropped, the snake plopped on her shoulder, some part of it slinking under her chin and against her neck, before fortunately sliding off her back.

  Their light clattered into darkness, hitting a couple stones before landing with a thud, softened by the layer of snakes curling about.

  Fortunately, the duchess did not let go. Olivia blessed her tough American stock. She truly doubted another Englishwoman of her acquaintance would have saved her. She swore that, if she lived, she’d rethink her prejudices about Americans.

  The duchess meanwhile had leaped through the doorway, providing an anchor for Olivia’s weight. There was one more asp, stunned by its own fall, making its way toward them.

  “The floor is slanted,” Alex said, reaching her free hand under Olivia’s armpit. “Slippery. Can you get your other arm over the edge?”

  “Yes, but … don’t move,” Olivia whispered. “It’s coming.”

  “I know,” the other woman said through clenched teeth. “So do it now. If it bites me, you’ll die as well.”

  Olivia pulled herself up, getting traction against the wall while Alex held her, and managed to get her other shoulder over the edge.

  “Stop,” Alex hissed.

  Olivia didn’t move. She knew asps responded to vibration more than sound. The women clung to each other in their precarious position, trying not to move. In the dark, they had only sound to tell them where the danger lay.

  They did not like what they heard.

  It was the sound of slither over leather. Olivia’s heart pounded. The asp was explori
ng the duchess’s back.

  For long moments they held, their grip getting slick. Finally there was no more sound.

  “Where is it?” Olivia whispered.

  “My back. In my hair,” Alex said, breath shallow.

  “Let me go,” Olivia insisted. “Then flip on your side … fast. I can hold on.” Olivia wasn’t sure Alex had the strength left to move. “If you die, I die. Let go. Now!” Olivia said, her voice harsh.

  Alex let go and flipped violently. They both heard the landing of the asp, followed by a sliding sound. The duchess reached under Olivia’s shoulder and helped to pull her to safety. “Careful. Remember, this room is slanted.”

  She’d no sooner said the words when Olivia began to slip. Olivia grabbed for the edge and missed. Instead she caught Alex and pulled her down with her.

  It wasn’t a room.

  It was a funnel.

  And it was steep.

  Olivia slid on her back, reaching out. The slide narrowed into a turn at one point, then widened … as it dropped.

  They both felt the steep drop at about the same time, their surprised wails echoing around them. It lasted for one very, very long breath.

  In the darkness, Olivia didn’t know what she’d hit, but she was glad her feet had hit it first. Her hands went up to protect her face as the slide ended and she was airborne … until the next obstacle stopped her cold. Then she fell over.

  She heard the duchess’s warning cry behind her. Somehow the woman didn’t land on her.

  Painfully, Olivia lifted her head and pushed her hair out of her face. She was on her knees. With the men. There was light. She was so grateful for light.

  Then she realized she was sitting on a rather warm body, her skirts enveloping the man’s face. A large hand grabbed her knee, under her skirts but over her cotton undergarments. She swiped at it, fidgeting over the assault, while it fought with her skirts and finally threw them up at her to reveal Stafford’s red face.

  “Professor,” he cracked, sounding pained. “It’s not that I don’t like this position, but next time, perhaps we could choose a softer landing.”

  “Gads, Stafford!” Olivia worried over the man, touching his head, cheeks, chest. “Are you all right? You made it.”

  “You seem relieved.”

  She smiled. “Yes! Oh yes!” She would have kissed him, but for the fact that her legs were spread scandalously across his chest and her father was helping her up. She turned to look for Alex. The duke had caught his duchess.

  “I’ve got you, my love,” he repeated over and over, running soothing hands over her back and stroking her hair.

  Alex was having trouble articulating. Her mouth kept opening, but nothing came out. Samuel grabbed her from Worthington. “Have you been bitten, Allie? What is it?”

  She pointed. Then she found the second spear nearby, grabbed it, and threw with amazing force toward the passage she’d just exited. Samuel jolted as the spear landed deep in the floor. The snake hissed and squirmed violently.

  “Disgusting,” Lampley noted, joining them.

  “Snake,” the duchess said.

  “Egyptian asp,” Merryvale corrected—until he got the cold glare from Alex. “Nasty snakes, they are …”

  “Thank you, Alex,” Olivia said. “You were very resourceful.”

  Samuel watched as the two women embraced, still recovering from their ordeal.

  Alex asked what they had accomplished. He told her. Her eyes smoldered and she began to shake. “You had to pick a lock? That’s all?”

  “Well, it wasn’t easy without you, my love,” the duke explained.

  She looked at Olivia and mocked, “Simple! We merely make our own steps! Far less deadly. Egyptian asps? Oh, how interesting. Do you know their poisonous venom can paralyze and kill you in a mere fifteen minutes? So interesting.”

  Samuel asked, “Was it bad?”

  Alex indicated her knife assembly, currently empty. “I have no more knives left.”

  “That was her wedding gift from Matthew,” Olivia explained. “It was quite useful.”

  “A lock. You had to crack a lock,” Alex muttered, walking away to see the rest of the chamber, every now and then swatting the back of her neck as if something were there. Her husband followed and put his arms around her, pulling her against him.

  “It looks like you forged a link,” Samuel said to Olivia.

  “Yes,” she answered, staring at him. “But I wish you had been there.” Her fingertips subtly reached out for his.

  “Uh, Stafford. My lady,” Lampley said. “Moreau needs you down at the other side.”

  Merryvale grabbed Lampley by the scruff of his neck, guiding him firmly away. “My daughter needs a moment to recover, Hugh. Moreau can wait.”

  Samuel wasted no time in taking advantage of the limited privacy. His fingers slid under the leather strap across her breast, his knuckles brushing strategically against a heaving curve under the thin material of her dress.

  He swallowed hard.

  So did she.

  He drew on the strap, pulling her to him. His arms went around her and held tight as she rested her head on his chest. Samuel stroked her hair, gently sorting out the tangles.

  “I missed you when we were separated,” Olivia confessed.

  “My brawn or my brain?”

  “Both.” She grinned up at him, a hand on his chest exploring with a featherlike touch.

  “Huh. That’s progress.” His thumb stroked under her chin, lifting her face, as he threaded his fingers through her hair. The flickering torch posted nearby illuminated her skin and reflected in her eyes. He turned her away from the light, holding her, lightly caressing the planes of her face. His heart pounded under her hand, but he didn’t give into his desire. He planned to kiss her. He was waiting.

  She looked him in the eyes. “Samuel?”

  Her voice was husky and low. She’d finally said his name. It gave him strange satisfaction, as if a barrier had been broken, a victory had been won.

  “Yes,” he acknowledged, pleasure filling him. “Can I do something for you, Olivia?” He lowered his head and brushed lips down the side of her neck, smiling as she shivered, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled demandingly.

  “What do you want, Olivia?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Samuel,” her gravelly voice begged. “Distract me, please.”

  Softly, against her ear, “With pleasure, my love.” Then he took her lips, tasting her, absorbing her, filling his essence with hers, tortured by her scent, her feel, her shape, and—most of all—her damned brilliant mind. He smiled, lost.

  He loved her.

  If only she would let him.

  He lifted his head to see her face in the shadows, relaxed and wanton in his arms, trusting him completely to give her what she wanted, to show her how it felt, to prove to her this emotion between them was more than friendship, more than lust, more than affection. He gently brushed back behind her ears the silky strands of her hair and cupped her cheeks before grazing his lips lightly over the curve of her smile. Then he could hold back no longer. He reached for a rounded curve above her thigh, slipped an arm around her back, and hauled her to him, making her feel how he felt for her.

  She rasped his name again with hesitant surprise.

  He plundered her lips.

  Olivia held on, pressing desperately against him. The feeling of him, his body, his heat—it surrounded her, made her head spin and her heart ache. She gasped, awareness and emotion overflowing, confusing her.

  She couldn’t get enough of him and she couldn’t understand it, but she demanded more. She loved the feel of rippling muscles under her hands, but even more, the knowledge that he would protect her no matter what trouble she fell into. He cared for her in a way no one ever had. It gave her courage.

  Her nails raked under an opening in his shirt, loving the heat of his skin and the crisp curl of hair between her fingers. Her hand pressed into him, nearly clawing as she inhaled and
pulled his head more tightly to her so she could plunder him.

  She’d forgotten where she was until Lampley nudged them both several times, finally shaking them out of their reverie. It was incredibly rude.

  He cleared his throat. “I really must insist,” he said. Then, at their irritated looks, he sighed and walked away.

  Olivia brushed down her skirts. “I feel better. Thank you.”

  Stafford grunted, dissatisfied. “I would like to have my leisure with you, Lady Olivia.”

  She lifted her nose at him and gave her hair a sassy toss. “Ladies don’t take their leisure in the manner you are suggesting, Mr. Stafford.”

  He clasped a hand behind her head for a quick kiss. “In case you didn’t know this, Professor, you’re not much of a lady.”

  She gasped, and he laughed. “You’re so easy. Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “The dead await.” He pulled her along to join the others. To Lampley, “Have you figured out what’s next?”

  “It seems like the end. No doors,” Lampley said.

  Olivia shook her head, perplexed. “It’s a tomb. There would at least be a sarcophagus.”

  Moreau joined them, accompanied by his men. He held the funerary cone. “Lady Olivia. You’re back. Excellent. Your services are needed. The art on the end is of particular interest to me.”

  “Lovely to see you too, Moreau,” Olivia said, following him. The duke and duchess were already there, staring at the image. They turned to Samuel for his reaction. He studied the pictures, then looked away, his face expressionless.

  “It’s a story of an astrolabe,” Moreau explained. “And look, on the crown here is the same symbol as on our funerary cone. That is the astrolabe I want.

  “What I would like to know, Lady Olivia, is what does the tale reveal, and is it among the treasures in this tomb?”

  Olivia studied the large section of wall. The entire piece was framed by three rows of five-pointed stars. In the center shape appeared to be an astrolabe; within it was the image of a dark-haired Egyptian, working metal. Around this were vignettes of the inventor holding the six pieces and giving them to five people. Each of the five traveled far away—across water, over mountains, through desert, to what seemed to be very distant lands—though it could well have been as close as fifty miles from Alexandria. All those conditions existed. And in the ancient days, faraway was relative.