Dom made it to the temple steps first. He ascended quickly, tossing a “keep up” over his shoulder. I shuddered when my foot made contact with the first stair. It felt like a million fire ants swarming over me, biting viciously into my skin with every step I took up the pyramid. The blood magic twined inexorably with this place would be agony on the senses of any mage with enough skill and conscience. So of course, it didn’t bother Ewan a lick.
He bounded up the stairs to the temple at the top like an overgrown lab, an eager smile stretching his face. I forced myself to run up the massive blocks of stone, sprinting past Dom, though every instinct I had screamed at me to get out of this place and return to the jaguar-infested jungle.
We reached the top at roughly the same time. The narrow stone entrance would only allow one of us through, and I leaped, edging Ewan out by mere inches. I nearly pumped a fist into the air and whooped. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
The summit of the pyramid was barren, and scarcely wide enough to fit the five of us. I stood at the edge, looking over the jungle at a handful of other pyramids, cresting the canopy like a pod of whales, breaching for air. Moonlight glanced off the ancient stones, creating an unearthly glow.
“There’s nothing up here,” Ewan complained, “except for this hole. The royal toilet, I presume?”
I turned to see the small round hole carved into the center of the small platform.
“That would have been used for the blood sacrifice,” I said.
“Which means, whatever we’re looking for is down there.”
Dom raised his eyebrows skeptically, before kicking a few pebbles into the orifice. We couldn’t hear them strike the bottom.
“We didn’t bring any ropes,” Cayman said, “or repelling gear.”
You will not need any, Valerius said.
I knelt near the hole and reached my arm down to the elbow, feeling around the edges for a handhold.
“Here,” I said. “There are ledges, I bet they go all the way down, like a ladder.”
Before the others could debate the risk, I dropped my legs into the hole and started descending.
***
At the bottom, the chamber was so dark as to be impenetrable to the naked eye, even one enhanced by a demon’s senses. Beyond me, Ewan’s lighter clicked and the cavernous space was filled with flickering red-orange light.
There were carvings on every wall, standing out in stark relief by the light of the fire. I recognized five of them, but only because I’d been staring at the opalescent tattoos that stretched from my breast to the crook of my elbow.
I wandered further into the cavern, stepping cautiously over broken bottles and small piles of trash until I came to an imposing altar. Jade ornaments, spiny oyster shells and eccentric obsidian blades gleamed in the dim light. The walls were roughly hewn stone, though time seemed to have sanded down its sharp edges. My hands came away tinged with dust when I ran them along one wall. I couldn’t seem to help myself.
This place was a part of history. A part of me in a very real sense. Perhaps a millennia or more ago, my ancestors had stood on this spot, a proud and unmolested people, going about their daily life. I had to wonder if they’d still be here now if things hadn’t played out the way they had. How different would my life have looked if the Mexica and their neighbors the Mayans had never been found?
My existential crisis was diverted by the arrival of Findlay, Dom, and Cayman. Findlay was bent double, breathing hard from the climb down. It was official. I was definitely going to drag him to a gym if we came out of this debacle alive. Little girls were boundless wells of energy, and he’d need to have some stamina to keep up with my niece.
“Bout time,” Ewan grumbled. “Get over here Finch. Can’t make heads or tails of this gibberish on the walls.”
“What, is Bryne too busy to translate for you?” I mocked.
Ewan’s lip curled. “None of your business, Valdez. If you’re so confident, why not ask Valerius to do the honors?”
His reluctance made my spirits lift, just a fraction. He hadn’t been leaning into Bryne’s abilities most of the journey. Was he running on magical fumes, so to speak? Dom ran his fingers along the walls in a fashion similar to what I’d done only moments before. He peered closely at the ideograms with a frown.
“Careful!” I said, slapping Findlay’s hand away as he reached out to grab a golden figurine.
“Haven’t you ever seen Indiana Jones?”
Findlay backed away sheepishly, wiping sweat off the back of his neck.
“Keep in mind this isn’t my strong suit,” Dom said, holding up a red flare, “but I think we’re in a temple dedicated to Mictlantecutli, the god of the underworld.”
“Duh,” Ewan said. “So we’re in the right place at least. But how do we get in?”
Dom didn’t immediately answer. He kept his eyes trained on the wall, edging his way around the room as he read. He paused near the altar, and lowered the flare to illuminate the small figure crouched behind it. It was resembled a grinning skull wearing a headdress. I’d taken it for a statue at first, but now I could see the spindly skeleton below, wrapped in jaguar pelts and partially preserved in resin.
“Cayman, could you rustle up the priest again? I think I might need some help with this bit. It’s a dialect I’m not familiar with.”
Cayman nodded his head, his piercings flashing in the flickering firelight gathered on Ewan’s palm. At once, shapes began to emerge from the walls. We were joined not only by the shade of the priest but half a dozen milling specters in various states of undress, many with their chests cut open and a gaping hole where their hearts should be.
I edged out of the way of the nearest. He stared at me vacantly, seeming befuddled by the gore splattering his chest.
“Sacrifices,” I breathed, looking back towards the entrance. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I realized I was stuck in some kind of underground blood deposit.
The priest, directed by Cayman’s will, approached Dom. He began speaking at once, the ancient language falling from his tongue as easily as his native French. The priest gestured to the wide gateway behind the statue. It seemed decorative, packed with stone. My overactive imagination and love of action films got the better of me. I began sizing it up, searching for a stone out of place or a seam that would signal a door that led into the beyond.
Rather than remain idle while the two talked, I set my pack on the floor and rummaged in it until my fingers made contact with the Thread of Ariadne. I was once more struck by how small it was. No bigger than a spool of thread, it would have been a comfortable perch for my house spirit, Horst, to nest on.
A pang of homesickness stole through me at the thought of the querulous German spirit. I’d been forced to leave him, the baby dragon Halcyon, and my elderly neighbor Phyllis with the barbegazi— collateral to make good on my deal. They were no doubt better off there, instead of sweating it out on our journey through the Yucatan. But I couldn’t help wishing I’d given them all a better farewell. If this went south, there was a real likelihood I wouldn’t get a chance to see them again.
I drew a length of thread around my wrist and tied it securely. Despite its flimsy appearance, when I tested it, it appeared to have the tensile strength of titanium. The Cretan Princess had known what she was doing when she enchanted it. I doubted even Ewan’s ill-gotten weaponry could sever this without a concerted effort.
I secured Findlay next and then offered the thread to Ewan, who tied his own wrist with a noose, just to show off.
“Go ahead and see if you can rustle up Vogel, Cayman. If she’s in an afterlife, it might take her a little while to make it back to this plane of existence. I don’t think Dom’s going to be through for a while.”
The shaman began setting up a small casting circle, with Vogel’s enchanted gun in the center. While he could summon any ghosts whose remains were buried nearby, this was going to take some mor
e advanced spell work.
Dom conversed with the spirit for a few more minutes until, at last, he turned to the rest of us, grim-faced. Whatever he’d learned from the dead priest, it wasn’t good.
“The gate has to be activated by a blood sacrifice,” he said. “Preferably one that results in death.”
“I’ll do it,” Ewan volunteered at once, a touch too eager. I caught on to his game immediately.
“As much as I’d like to rip your liver out through your nose, Ewan, I’m not going to let you fall on your sword. I know you don’t have an altruistic bone in your body.”
Ewan spread his hands, gesturing at the loose circle of people gathered in the temple. There was a sixth figure forming near Cayman’s elbow, but it was barely more than vapor.
“How else do you propose we do this? We’re the only ones who can die and come back. The shaman needs to stay here and fish the victor out once we’re through, and you’re too yellow to end Dom. So which of us will it be? I know I don’t want you dyin’ and coming back with new powers. Between you and me, I feel like Findlay has outlived his usefulness.”
I racked my brains, trying to come up with a solution. I didn’t particularly want to lay down on the altar and have my throat cut. But if I let Ewan end himself, he’d come back stronger than I was, upsetting the already delicate power dynamic. He had enough of an edge.
“Your revolver,” I said finally.
“Hm?”
“Empty it of all but one bullet, Ewan. We’ll play for it. Russian Roulette. The loser dies, and we have our sacrifice.”
Ewan grinned at me, a flash of sunny humor flitting across his face. He reached lazily and plucked the gun from his side holster. He did as I asked, removing all but one bullet. He spun the mechanism once and beckoned me to stand nearer to the archway. Now that I was closer, I realized the design was a graphic representation of the tattoo for blood on my collarbone.
The rest of our group shuffled closer, watching the melodrama unfold.
“I don’t like this, Nat,” Dom hissed. “We could find another way in.”
“You talked to him, Dom. Is there another way that doesn’t involve bloodshed?”
Dom remained silent, stony-faced, and fuming. He knew I was right. The figure at Cayman’s elbow was more solid now, the vague outline of a woman visible in the flickering light of Dom’s flare.
Ewan lifted the barrel, placing it squarely beneath his chin, and pulled the trigger.
It clicked on empty.
“Drat,” he said, with disappointment on his face. “I suppose it’s your turn, Valdez.”
He spun the revolver on his finger once before handing it to me, grip first. I reached out stiffy, fingers closing numbly around the handle. Had I still possessed a heartbeat, it would have been battering my ribs. I hadn’t thought about shooting myself in a long time. And faced with the prospect now, I found it a lot less appealing than it had been two years ago.
Hefting the gun up, I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the muzzle to my temple, angling so I’d blow my brains all over the engraved wall and hopefully activate the unlocking mechanism.
Click.
A rush of air escaped me, and my finger trembled in the trigger. I cracked one eye, handing the gun back to Ewan. The relief was palpable, and Dom cast me a small smile.
And that was when it happened.
The ghost of Sienna Vogel stepped through the air, freshly called from her grave. Her face a rictus of anger, she seized an obsidian knife from the altar and shoved the blade through Findlay’s stomach.
Findlay didn’t even have time to scream. He collapsed, blood pouring onto the rapacious earth.
“Welp,” Ewan drawled. “Looks like we have a sacrifice after all.”
chapter
11
ALL I COULD DO WAS stare, horrified, at Findlay’s body as his life drained out of him. Oh, god. What was I going to tell Cat? How could I face Sophia? I’d just gotten their fiancé and father killed. I’ll admit, I’d thought about killing the weasel myself on more than one occasion. And it wasn’t like this expedition into hell was without risk. But I never imagined it would go down like this.
Sienna Vogel was still beautiful, even in death, and it was a testament to her power when she’d lived on the human plane. Most ghosts were left looking as they had the moment of their death. She shouldn’t have had much of a head. But instead, she retained the visage she’d had in life.
Tall and statuesque, she possessed a regal air that made even the most insolent soul pay attention, which—along with her unique ability to portal into alternate dimensions—had earned her the title Queen of Hell. Her platinum blonde hair looked more silver than blonde in her spirit form and was pulled back into a tight chignon, not a hair out of place. Her blue pantsuit was flawless, and she stared down at Findlay’s corpse with a mixture of anger and pity.
“That was for shooting me,” she said primly. She turned to the rest of us, seizing the edge of Ewan’s coat to clean the obsidian blade. The redneck gave her a dirty look.
“Must you?” he complained.
“Oh, don’t act so high and mighty, Saunders. I’ve been watching from the astral plane. You’ve had worse on your coat than this. Even before you bound yourself to a demon.”
So Vogel knew, then? It saved a long and wordy explanation, I supposed. But it still didn’t lessen my shock at what she’d done. Only a month ago, I would have paid good money to watch Findlay be stabbed. He’d been such a relentless pain in my ass since Cat had fallen into a coma. Now that I knew the truth behind all of that, however, I couldn’t help but sympathize. His desperation had to be keener even than mine, with two hostages held against him. With no real power, and no one to turn to, he’d made the best of a bad situation. I might have done the same, in his position.
“You stabbed him,” Dom croaked, voicing the thought that had been rattling around my skull for the last thirty seconds. I still couldn’t will myself to speak, and was grateful someone was doing it for me.
“Why, Vogel? He’s been helping us!”
Sienna’s expression barely flickered. “A life for a life, Finch. You’re lucky I didn’t choose you, for allowing him to live. You want my help in Mictlan? This is the price.”
She stooped, bending over Findlay’s corpse. His eyes were still wide open, fixed and unblinking, expression caught forever in a moment of stunned agony. She tapped two fingers between his eyes, voice imperious when she spoke.
“Up now, Findlay. No lollygagging. There’s work to be done.”
And, before our eyes, a silver shape rose out of Findlay’s chest, standing to its full and not very great height. Findlay’s ghost was more vibrant and solid than Vogel’s, no doubt because he was a relatively new spirit. He blinked down at his body in stunned silence for a few seconds before heaving a sigh.
“Shit,” he said. “I suppose I deserved that.”
“Indeed,” Vogel said dryly, turning on her heel.
“Now then, Dom, the priest said something about blood, right? I suggest you get a move on before Findlay’s sacrifice goes to waste.”
Dom looked down at the pool of blood spreading out from Findlay’s corpse and frowned. I rolled my eyes. Most mages were squeamish about actual blood, which is why they preferred less messy methods of killing. One of the reasons the Five had been in such high demand was that some of us didn’t mind getting our hands dirty; though even I preferred to loose my ranged bullets from a distance.
Findlay’s spirit reached towards his own body, trying to pull something from his jacket pocket. I reached in and pulled out a bloodied photograph of my sister.
“I’ll keep is safe,” I promised, tucking it away.
“May I?” I said, gesturing towards his corpse.
He nodded sadly.
My hands shook as I bent down and placed my palms in Findlay’s blood until they were dripping red. I shuddered, cupping my palms to carry as much of th
e life essence as I could, then sidestepped the altar and smeared the blood across the wall. The ancient stone soaked up the blood hungrily, until it was little more than a dark red stain. Then the stone archway dissolved like paper under a torrential downpour, and the way to Mictlan was clear.
Sienna sauntered into Mictlan with a lazy sort of confidence. Ewan and Findlay followed, dissipating into shadows before fading from view. Dom squeezed my hand and went next. I glanced back at Cayman, tugging on Ariadne’s thread to make sure it was secure. It felt light against my wrist, and was almost invisible in the dark tomb, but drew taut.
“Don’t worry,” the shaman said. “I’ll guard this end of the portal, so you can find your way back.”
I took a deep breath, and stepped through the archway.
***
The portal snapped shut behind us the second we were through. I only caught a brief glimpse of the spectral priest winking out of existence, and Cayman’s wary eyes tracking us before it closed completely. I was left staring at striated red and orange rock.
Craning my neck as far as I could, I barely made out the top of a mesa. The rock stretched into a pale gray sky, coated as far as the eye could see with wispy clouds. Scanning the horizon, I found mountains of a similar color far in the distance. A winding path cut a slash through a sandy golden wasteland, marked only by scrubby brush and stunted trees.
In all honesty, it reminded me of a memorable trek through Monument Valley, with Cat and my dearly departed grandparents. It was the first time I’d shot a gun. Cat had surprised a rattler and was nearly bitten as a result. The shot had gone wide, hitting a nearby mesquite instead. But it had startled the snake away from Cat. I found myself scanning the ground for any wildlife, trying to reconcile this desert wasteland with the black void that I’d always seen before, each time I died.
“Are you sure this is Mictlan?” I asked, staring at the mountains incredulously.
“Quite,” Sienna said with a sniff.
“It’s too bright. Where’s the sulfur? The darkness?”
Agent of Magic Box Set Page 51
