Sirens and Scales

by Kellie McAllen

  In fact, I wouldn’t shift back to human until I healed for a while. I liked having intact ribs, and I had no idea how much fourteen feet of broken ribs would translate to human anatomy. I expected a lot of pain.

  Moving hurt, and it took every scrap of strength to reach the packed dirt beneath the staircase. Larger bones littered the ground, and while the walls glowed with the dim, ruddy light, I hid in the shadows cast by the discarded bones, all of them large enough to be human.

  Next time, I’d remember when I slithered around with my head held high, gravity tended to make a mess of things for me, resulting in catastrophe. At least the hole hadn’t been wider; bouncing along the edges had slowed my tumble. As far as traps went, I gave the designer credit. In fact, the designer deserved an award for effective trap usage. A few bites would be a suitable reward for good work.

  A humanoid would’ve tripped and possibly snapped an ankle, making them easy—and noisy—prey. I’d thumped my way down and splashed into the water, which had been noisy enough, but as long as I hid among the bones and stayed still, most wouldn’t notice my presence. I doubted even a sensitive nose could pick out the musk of a black mamba among the reek of decay. I could barely smell myself, and I knew what I was looking for.

  I waited, but no one came to investigate my haphazard descent.

  Long after I’d tired of waiting, I emerged from my hiding place and resumed my exploration, my body aching from my nose to the tip of my tail. Like my tumble, no one investigated my vocalized displeasure, and I abandoned my stealthy creep for a more productive search, testing the ground for any more false sections of floor.

  I didn’t make it far before I discovered another pit with my nose, and I lowered my head inside. For the first few inches, darkness blocked my vision, but once I broke through the magic covering the ground, sound assaulted me. Someone screamed, the high-pitched wail of an ending life, and in the gasped moments of almost quiet, others groaned. A faint glow below betrayed still, dark waters several feet below.

  Pulling my head free, I drew my body forward, braced so I could get a better look, and once again lowered my head through the illusion. With a few extra feet to work with, I could make use of the dim illumination to pick out the shadows of the room below.

  Bodies hung on the walls, reduced to shadows against dark stone and root-threaded earth. Some lived, the sources of the agonized cries and moans. Most were little more than skeletons held together by scraps of flesh that should’ve long since crumbled away to dust. I gave my eyes a chance to adjust to the gloom.

  Below me, the shallow water hid the corpses of at least two humanoids, so far decayed I couldn’t tell their species. A body hung from the nearest wall, close enough I could touch with my nose if I really wanted. I didn’t, especially since the poor bastard hadn’t been dead for too long; I’d be able to troll missing persons databases for him to begin learning his story—and the stories of the others imprisoned beneath the forest.

  I’d hate every minute of it, but his body would allow me to escape the place once I got a better look around—and see if I could save any of the victims. Shuddering at the thought of touching a corpse I hadn’t made, I stretched, touched his shoulder, and slithered down his back to the floor. I wish I didn’t have to breathe; I could taste the rancid, acrid bite of old death on my tongue. It wouldn’t surprise me if in a few days, after I transformed back to human, I’d need to go to the hospital. Diseases ran rampant where death lingered, and I didn’t want to think about what was on the ground.

  It wasn’t dirt, and that’s all I needed to know.

  I wanted to murder the mastermind for daring to cheapen life so much, creating a hell for those unfortunate enough to still live far below the ground. If I could save even one, I’d accept the risks associated with such a feat. To save one, I’d have to go where I might be found, explain what I’d seen—and how I’d done it.

  I’d have to, if I wanted to keep breathing, sacrifice my chance to kill the killer.

  Saving one meant more than saving myself. Some problems solved themselves, and no matter what the cost to me, I couldn’t let such vile evil walk free to hunt again.

  But first, I had to find those who lived and see if any could be saved. If I transformed and risked the broken bones from my tumble, I might be able to get one person out. Otherwise, I’d have to race the clock back to civilization and hope I could return without making the predator aware of my infiltration.

  Bracing for the worst, I started counting bodies. Everyone nearby was dead, most of them old enough I’d have to get their identification from bone or hair samples. Three, including the man who’d serve as a ladder for my escape, were fresh enough I’d be able to look for their faces. I did what I could, pressing my nose to theirs seeking any sign of life but finding none.

  The first survivor I found didn’t have long to live, and she hung by her hands from a hook in the ceiling, her breaths rasping out of her. Human noses couldn’t detect encroaching death, but I’d learned its deceptively sweet scent, and when beside her, she stank of it. Old and new bruises mottled her skin, and disease stained her flesh. Pain, too, had a scent, and she reeked of it.

  I didn’t believe in any faith; I’d given up on the salvation of my soul long ago. I wasn’t sure who I prayed to on her behalf, but I did it anyway. I hoped the afterlife had something better and kinder for her, or that she got a chance to live again in a happier world, one that valued her.

  Even at my fastest, I wouldn’t be able to help her, so I did the only thing left to do, the one thing I’d sworn to myself I would never do. I was no angel, but I brought death to her so she wouldn’t suffer through the hours waiting for the inevitable. Picking her throat as my target, I lifted myself up and struck, sinking my fangs in deep.

  In a healthy human, it could take hours to die from my bite, although I packed more of a punch than my natural brethren. The lab tests I’d had done on my venom put my potency at unnatural levels, and my minimum dose was over a hundred milligrams per bite more than natural black mambas. With a bite so deep, held as long as I had, she’d gotten a full hit of my venom.

  Death wouldn’t tarry coming for her, and I doubted she noticed me.

  I found four other victims on death’s door, their bodies clinging tenaciously to life, broken and waiting to go to the next life. It wasn’t until I found the screamer I held hope one might live. He hadn’t been hung up to die—he was contained in a cage with the lock out of his reach. I wouldn’t need a key; nuts and bolts bound the chains together preventing his escape.

  The reason he screamed would be simple enough to resolve. He raged, and his cries promised hell on his captor.

  I would help him get his freedom—and revenge—if I could. I saved him for last, checking the others in the prison. Those with no hope of survival I put out of their misery. Two, who might cling to life if I acted fast enough, I left hanging, afraid to move or touch them. I would do what I could.

  I slunk to a corner, braced for the pain I’d inevitably put myself through, and shifted. As I’d feared, I’d cracked or broken ribs on my way down, but while it hurt to move, I could, which would have to be good enough. I had a victim to free, an escape to mastermind—and a murder to plan. I’d abandon every last one of my rules when I found the predator behind the torture and death in the prison, giving him the most horrific, painful death I could. I’d take him to death’s door, over and over again, nurse him back to life, and repeat until I secured my place in the darkest pit of hell before sending him there first to tell the devil of my deeds.

  By the time I finished, the devil would find it a challenge to punish me for my crimes.

  I strode to the cage, his scream cut off, and he sucked in a breath. “You’re not him.”

  “I’m not,” I agreed, my voice hissing. My torn hand throbbed, but I ignored the pain while I unscrewed the bolt and removed the chains from the cage. I didn’t ask how long he’d been a victim; deep underground, there was no way for him to tra
ck time, and asking would only hurt more than help. “I found this place by accident.”

  “Some accident. How’d you get through the maze? He’d let us loose in the maze to watch us die.”

  “Carefully,” I lied, and new worries roused. How could we had experienced such different things? Did he lie?

  Was he the predator? I tensed, wondering if I’d stepped into a trap of someone exceptionally depraved. If he tried anything, I’d shift, bite him, and be done with him. Maybe I was naked, but I wasn’t helpless.

  I was never helpless. In time, I’d regain the advantage if I lost it. Lifting my chin, I undid the chains and tossed them away.

  “How?” he demanded.

  “Luck,” I lied again, wondering what would happen when I released him from his cage. “What’s your trick?”

  “Lycanthrope. I’m a wolf.”

  Great. I’d found another lycanthrope. “I must be cursed. Aren’t lycanthropes supposed to be uncommon? You have the hybrid form?”

  He shook his head.

  “All right, fluffy.”

  “Henry.”

  “Whatever you say, fluffy.” I got out of his way and opened the cage’s door. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen a pair of lion centaurs, have you?”

  He pointed at one of the corners. “I’d say they died a year back, maybe more.”

  I looked Henry over, who didn’t look like he’d been in captivity for a year. “How do you know?”

  “He comes down in the morning and likes telling us the date. He keeps me alive because he thinks I’ll be useful.”

  “As what?”

  “A babysitter.”

  A maze, an underground lair, bones scattered in the hallways, and a prison mostly occupied by males? I could guess what lurked beneath the Black Hills, and I didn’t like it one bit. “You have got to be kidding me. You got grabbed by a minotaur?”

  “He’s a juvenile,” Henry replied, ducking out of his cage and pulling his shirt over his head, which he held out to me. “He’s had me here for six years and twenty-three days.”

  Since wearing a dirty shirt from a living man beat stealing something from a corpse, I pulled the threadbare material over my head. “Lovely. How’d he get a hold of you?”

  “I was hiking. He might be a juvenile, but he hits hard.” Henry glanced at the woman I’d killed. “She’s been here six months. He’d take her to the maze every morning, and she’s always refused him. She’s the one woman he’s caught so far.”

  “Do I even want to know what he’s been feeding you?”

  Henry sighed. “Animals. Rabbits, mostly. He’d give me a choice: shift and eat, or starve to death.”

  I wouldn’t blame him for surviving. “And you say he comes in the morning?”

  He nodded.

  “Time to get moving, then. Follow me,” I ordered, heading back to the where the hole in the ceiling was. Grimacing over having to touch a corpse, I climbed, used the wall for leverage, and jumped for the ceiling, snatching for the ledge of the hole I knew was there but couldn’t see.

  Pain lanced up my arms, especially from where I’d punched the leopard in the mouth, but I got my shoulders through the gap and struggled to escape from the prison.

  Hands grabbed hold of my ankles, and with a grunt, the lycanthropy shoved me up. “Make space.”

  I obeyed, scooting away from the opening. Like me, Henry struggled to pull himself through the opening. I grabbed his arm, dug in my heels, and dragged him out of the prison.

  The lycanthrope’s gaze unfocused, and he stared, his expression turning neutral. “Are you sure you know the way out?”

  I decided the minotaur—if it was a minotaur—toyed with someone’s mind rather than creating an decent physical maze. What I didn’t understand was why Henry was affected by it and I wasn’t. Then again, it could be anyone with the right talent.

  Damn it. Someone capable of rewriting what someone perceived would be a difficult hunt at best. Taking hold of Henry’s wrist with my uninjured hand, I limped in the direction of the stairwell.

  Everything was as I remembered when I’d tumbled, and having learned from my mistakes, I tested every step on the way up, finding several disguised holes. Henry followed, silent and subdued, obeying my every word without question. It made my work easier, but I worried, too.

  How would he react in the so-called maze? I guided him, tensing every passing minute.

  At the top of the stairwell, Henry stumbled to a halt, his breaths bursting out of him in short gasps. He twisted around, his gaze darting, as though we stood at an intersection of many halls rather than at the beginning of a straight corridor with an easy run to freedom; the first intersection was at least twenty feet ahead. I tightened my hold on his wrist. “Henry?”

  “It’s impossible. We’ll never get out of here.”

  I wondered what would happen to him once he reached freedom. Under normal circumstances, my human nose couldn’t detect fear or other emotions, but his was so strong it overwhelmed even the pervasive stench of death from below. “Follow me,” I ordered, taking a step forward.

  “But that’s the darkest path.”

  Whatever magic had been used on Henry, it was strong enough to completely override his reason. Vampires could beguile their victims, but I’d never seen any other magic like theirs. The possibility of a minotaur behind the dungeon, even a juvenile one, worried me. Minotaurs had one use for female sentients: breeding. As far as I knew, males were considered competition or food. Why keep Henry?

  Then again, if it was a minotaur, a lycanthrope might be able to survive the not-so-tender care of a young minotaur. Stories claimed infant minotaurs teethed on human bones, which explained why there’d be so many imprisoned men.

  They were food for future young—or for their captor.

  Henry might survive the teething process until he was destined to become the youngling’s first meal, something that had likely ensured his survival—for the moment.

  I really hoped there was some other nasty behind the lair and not a minotaur. If another sentient viewed me as potential breeding stock, I’d start biting, then I’d beat the bastard to death before my venom could finish the job.

  Henry whimpered, but he shuffled along behind me without fighting. At the first actual intersection, he dug in his heels and jerked in my hold. “You’re going to run us into a wall!”

  “There’s no wall,” I assured him, dragging him forward. He cried out and fought me. Had he been in his right mind, he would’ve had the strength to defeat me, but while he struggled against me, I overpowered him and pulled him forward. He yelped before sucking in a breath.

  “The wall disappeared!”

  “As I said, there’s no wall.”

  “That mother fucking minotaur!” the lycanthrope howled.

  I had my doubts the minotaur was real, but I wasn’t going to gainsay him without proof. It could be a minotaur. It could be something equally vile, too, playing tricks with his head. It didn’t matter; whatever hunted in the Black Hills viewed people as dinner, and I’d been forced to kill out of mercy.

  I hoped the man I’d left alive would survive. A better person would’ve tried to save both men, but with one hand mostly out of commission and my ribs throbbing, I’d have a hard enough time getting Henry out without getting us both killed.

  Thanks to whatever was screwing with Henry’s head, the lycanthrope would be more of a liability than a help. I found a silver lining, though. Even with him fighting me, it wouldn’t take long to escape. I’d moved a hell of a lot slower as a black mamba, checking everything for traps—except the damned stairs.

  I really regretted I hadn’t checked the steps.

  The magic perverting Henry’s perception of the hallway strengthened the closer he got to freedom, until he shuddered and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  If I didn’t do something, he’d probably run right back to captivity. “Henry, just trust me. Keep your eyes closed. I’ll guide you the rest of the way.�
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  The lycanthrope growled but jerked his head in a nod.

  With his eyes closed, Henry was a lot easier to manage, although he still flinched every few steps, as though he still perceived something I couldn’t. By the time we reached the last staircase so we could crawl out of the damned tree, I shook. Tension, anxiety, and pain conspired against me, but I couldn’t stop, not until we returned to civilization.

  I wondered if a black mamba could ride a wolf. The thought amused me, and I took a few minutes to catch my breath while regarding the dirt steps with equal measures of trepidation and disgust. “We have to go up more steps, Henry.”

  “All right,” he growled, sounding more like a beast than a man.

  Once I got him to the surface, if he showed any sign of shifting, I’d bolt up the nearest tree and hope he’d been telling the truth about only having the wolf form. A hybrid lycanthrope would just rip the tree out by the roots and use it to bludgeon me to death. I’d never met a wolf capable of climbing a tree, so I’d be safe until he lost interest and found something else to hunt.

  If push came to shove, I’d spend a few days in a tree as a black mamba, wait until he fell asleep, and go about my business.

  Henry kept his eyes closed and stumbled up the twisting, earthen staircase with my help. When we finally reached the top, he shuddered, then he straightened, as though a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Opening his eyes, his gaze locked on the opening, and he scrambled for freedom, a howl bursting from his throat.

  The instant he emerged into the moonlight, fur sprouted from his flesh, his bones cracked and twisted, and he shifted from man to beast. He continued to howl, and I shivered at the sound.

  I dove out of the trunk’s confines, angled for the nearest tree, and grabbed the lowest branch, hauling myself up, jerking my feet out of the reach of the lycanthrope. As I had no idea how far a wolf could jump, I kept going, hissing at the throbbing in my abused, battered hand. My ribs hated me, and the sharp pains made it difficult to breathe.

  Given the choice between some torture and a messy death at the jaws of a newly freed lycanthrope drunk on freedom, I’d endure, climb as high as I dared, and play the same game. A human would be an enticing target for a wolf.