by Jenn Stark
Settling in at my desk, I swiped the keyboard of my computer and the machine whirred to life. Before I could start thinking about whether or not my suite came equipped with a coffeemaker, a line of text appeared on the screen.
I CANNOT RE-ENTER YOUR MIND WITHOUT PERMISSION.
“Seriously?” The line winked out, and I glanced to the floor. The cards were still there, the Magician at the top of the makeshift spread.
Was it my imagination, or did ol’ Trump One suddenly seem a little peeved?
My computer beeped, and I refocused on the screen. The geo-tracker program had come up, and along with it, my cheerfully glowing tracking pixel. “I love you, little blue dot.” I murmured. It wasn’t moving either, which meant Frogger had been tucked in for the night. Even better.
I expanded the map and leaned close. They hadn’t traveled that far, which made me happy, but they were definitely outside the city, which made me less happy. They appeared to have holed up to the south, a little inland, apparently right in the middle of a national park. Which meant I wouldn’t be able to sneak up on them.
Then again, it also meant they wouldn’t be hard to find. I eyed my cards appreciatively, smiling at the five of pents and Chariot. “Holy place and overland drive, check and check,” I murmured. Tijuca Forest National Park boasted arguably one of the most recognizable tourist attractions in all the lower Americas, if not the world: the one-hundred-and-twenty-five-foot-tall gleaming-white statue of Christ the Redeemer, perched atop Corcovado Mountain.
“Interesting location.” The Catholic Church wasn’t exactly unused to the idea of co-opting pagan places of worship to celebrate its own faith, so it was entirely possible that once upon a time, Fernanda’s deadly fertility ritual had played out in the open sky on that hunchbacked mountain overlooking the sea. Eventually, maybe some pious Portuguese had come along, appreciated the view as much as the next person, and settled in for the long haul.
Either way, I had a feeling my little amulet wasn’t going to be found out in the open, at the feet of the enormous statue. Given the location, I also suspected that the current possessor of the amulet was Fernanda, and not the Russian woman or Nigel…because either one of them would’ve already fled the country.
But the high priestess and her cult had a decided preference for sky-clad soirees. That wouldn’t fly in front of a Christian icon, not even during Carnival. So where would they be?
I eyed the park at the bottom of Corcovado, Parque Lage. A few clicks brought up a photo and description, listing an old estate given over to tourism, a steep trail up to the Christ, several manicured gardens…and a cave.
Bingo.
I rebandaged my side, dressed hurriedly in a new version of my tank, pleather hoodie, and leggings, then pulled together my meager belongings with care. The park would normally be closed at this hour, but it was the last night of Carnival. There was no telling what that could mean. The trail to the statue would probably be blocked off, but perhaps the gardens were accessible.
Either way, since I’d gotten a temporary reprieve from my exhaustion and pain, I needed to hit it. I had a feeling that blue dot would be moving again come dawn.
I shoved my laptop into my bag, my phone into my jacket. Then I turned to my go back of tricks for additional supplies.
Before leaving for Rio, I’d packed for your standard Amazon adventure—jungles, caves, cities, water. I didn’t need most of what I’d brought, though. A gun would’ve been handy, but ricocheting bullets in a cave probably wasn’t a good idea. Instead, I pulled a few knives out of my kit and stashed them on my body. A lighter and some sticks of live dynamite sounded like a poor escape plan, but I brought them with me for good luck anytime I went underground, and tonight was not the night to ignore superstition. I tucked a line of thin rope into my jacket as well, and a spare Tarot deck, just because.
Burdened of body but no longer of soul, I slung my bag over my shoulder and left the hotel. Even at this hour, a cab was easy to come by, and I directed the driver to a café about six blocks away from the mountain. During the drive, I stared up at the magnificent statue of Christ the Redeemer, which was bathed in bright white lights as it presided over the reveling city. It seemed an oddly serene counterpoint to the chaos in the streets—the dancing and singing, the drinking and laughter. As if it knew secrets that none of the rest of us did.
Since my driver was focusing on the road, I edged open my laptop. Sure enough, the blue dot was holding steady. I snapped the machine shut, satisfied. I’d have to ditch the laptop somewhere close to the mouth of the cave, then pray I got out of the cave with my hands still intact so I could recover it. Losing my hands would be bad. I’d become very attached to them.
We pulled over to a café, which was, as I’d hoped, still going strong. After paying my fare with a tip so sizable the cabbie met my gaze with instant understanding, I exited the vehicle and watched him drive back toward the brighter lights of the main city. Around me, revelers showed no sign of taking a break for Lent, and I shouldered my pack again.
I hadn’t gotten two steps when my phone rang. Which was a problem, because no one had the number. Not even Father Jerome, since my feed was scrambled.
“Wrong number,” I muttered to myself, willing it to be true.
It wasn’t.
Chapter Ten
I fished inside my jacket pocket, then pulled out the device and swiped it on. The caller ID read a word, not a number, so that made it easy.
Even if the word was sort of obnoxious.
I tapped my earpiece to connect, then re-stowed my phone. “How did you get my phone to recognize you as ‘The Magician’? Is that a new feature I need to shut off?”
“As I mentioned, I can no longer enter your mind as easily. You must invite me—at least inside the front door.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You really should.” The Magician’s voice sounded like chocolate dipped in butter toffee. Suddenly, I realized: man, I was hungry.
I eyed the restaurants on either side of me. Chances were, the dining options at four a.m. weren’t going to be stellar, so maybe I should hold off until after my little amphibian rescue campaign. The last thing I needed was to be harfing up bad shrimp when I was running for my life.
I turned onto the R. Jardim Botanico and started hoofing it for the park. High above me, Christ the Redeemer stared out benevolently over his flock. I really hoped I didn’t have to climb all the way up there. My boots were sturdy, but the trail looked like it’d been designed by mountain goats.
“I can help you, Miss Wilde.” The toffee-chocolate voice was in my ear again, and my ear was happier for it. “If you’re trying to determine how far you’ll need to climb up the mountain, you’ll be pleased with this answer. The amulet you seek is three levels below the entrance to the cave you found on your laptop.”
“Uh-huh. And how do you know that?”
“If it’s a matter of Connected interest, then I’m interested as well. One thing I am curious about, however: Why did your client choose this amulet, in particular? He appears to be playing his hand quite close to the vest.”
“Not going to happen, Magic Man. I don’t kiss and tell.” Instantly, I was assaulted with the image of the Magician’s mouth on me, burning into my hipbone. My voice was a little strained when I spoke again. “You got anything else I can use?”
Silence floated across the airwaves.
“What, now you’re playing hard to get?”
Still nothing. I crossed another street, the path beginning to angle up slightly. I was approaching the gardens. As I cut right into the main road, however, the stitch in my side woke up with the effort. And started to burn.
That’s not all that was burning. I adjusted my tank to get some air to my chest, wincing as the material brushed against my skin. Only I would get zapped in the shape of a frog. Seriously, it couldn’t have been a wolf? Or maybe Hello Kitty?
I saw the building, which seemed promising enough unti
l I realized it was locked down tight, with security fencing along the entire front of it. Crap. “Okay, you wanna be helpful? Be helpful. How do I get in here?”
More silence. Rolling my eyes, I clicked off my earpiece. “Fine, Magic Man. Crawl into my brain. But only—”
“It’s more than enough. For now.”
The sensation of hearing the Magician’s voice inside my mind was entirely different now that I’d experienced it in real life. It was fuller, richer, filling up my skull.
“Earn your keep,” I said. “How do I get in?”
“Past the house, almost to the end of the gate. You’ll see the opening. The cave is thirty meters back, along the outer rim of the lower walkway.”
“Meters. Great.” I shuffled past the mansion, just another tourist out for a pre-dawn stroll. When I’d nearly reached the end of the pathway, I saw it. As the Magician had indicated, there was a break in the barrier, a small fissure where the two types of fencing didn’t quite meet—the gorgeously ornate wrought iron of the front fence, and the sturdier chicken-wire-enforced screen that kept the jungle at bay. I slipped into the break and onto the other side. “I don’t have to worry about dogs or anything, do I?”
The Magician’s chuckle sent sensations shooting into places that had no business being shot. I shook my head, unslinging my pack. “And is my laptop going to be safe here?”
“I’m not a fortune teller, Miss Wilde. I believe that’s your specialty.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” I dropped the bag behind a large bush with bright white flowers visible despite the gloom. Hopefully there weren’t another sixteen bushes exactly like it on the way to the cave. Unburdened, I bent low and racewalked through the darkness. I wasn’t too late, I knew. But I also didn’t want to announce my presence any earlier than I had to.
I found the cave without another word from the Magician, which worked for me. Even his silence was starting to feel patronizing. The hole in the rock looked scrubby and not all that deep, but as I ducked inside, I caught the scent of fresh air, crisp and cool, unlike the heavy forest I’d left behind me. Where was it coming from?
I moved forward into the darkness, trying to hold onto my zen. I could turn on my phone at any moment to get more light. I was not spelunking in the middle of the wilderness, I was exploring a nice little hole in the rock beneath one of the most heavily trafficked monuments of modern times.
The cavern came to an abrupt stop, but of course that couldn’t be right, because there was still the breeze. And the breeze was coming…
I frowned. There was nothing but solid rock in front of me.
Since the Magician wasn’t providing any clues, and I didn’t feel like asking, I reached inside my jacket and pulled out a Tarot card. I flashed my phone light over it for a second, then winced.
Well, that was never good.
The card I’d pulled was the Ten of Swords, which didn’t make a lot of sense. I mean, yes, I had been betrayed—multiple times—tonight. Both times by men, as it happened, though I was pretty sure the Russian woman wasn’t a big fan. But none of this card’s seriously negative vibes resonated with me. I imagined it in my mind’s eye to avoid flashing my telltale light again. A man, collapsed at dawn, facedown on the ground, with ten giant swords sticking out of his back. Cheerful, but not particularly…
I glanced to my feet. Facedown.
Great. “This had better be worth it.”
Grunting with the effort, my body beginning to balk at any movement that wasn’t climbing into a soft bed, I squatted to the floor, inching my fingers down the wall for guidance. Sure enough, about eight inches from the ground the stone gave way to open space. I waved my hand inside the space—and smacked against more rock. The opening was about two feet by eight inches, then. Good thing I hadn’t had that second serving of pie.
I stretched out my full length on the cavern floor and shimmied forward, trying to see ahead of me. Beneath me was all solid bedrock. But unless my eyes were deceiving me, the gloom appeared slightly…less gloomy on the far end of the narrow passage.
Or at least I told myself that. The prospect of getting stuck in this hellhole wasn’t terribly appealing.
Focusing on wide open spaces beneath sunny skies, I flattened myself beneath the rock overhang. I turned my head and screwed my eyes shut as the narrow passageway pressed downward over my neck and shoulders, threatening to crush me.
Merely a trick of my own paranoia and claustrophobia, I knew. But it was a very effective trick.
Propelling myself forward with fingernails and toes wasn’t a superefficient mode of travel, for the record. But I eventually got to the other end, slick with sweat that was equal parts cold and hot. Fresh air was much stronger here, though. A glance skyward told me why.
An oculus had been carved into the side of the mountain. This narrow, perfectly round portal seemed tailor-made to view the moon, which, though currently in its waning stage, nearly filled the entire opening. It was nearing the half-moon mark. Which probably meant something to Fernanda, if not to me.
As if summoned by me thinking her name, an all-too-familiar shuddering moan sounded from beneath me, loud enough to vibrate the stone floor.
Relief washed through me. Here we go. Where Fernanda was, the amulet would be, too.
I rolled back to my feet, then jammed my hand into my side, where my bandage was feeling decidedly…moist. Whether due to my exertion or my proximity to the frog amulet, my exhaustion and pain was coming back in waves. Working along the wall, my eyes finally getting accustomed to the darkness, I crept down the tunnel. Along the way, I listened to Fernanda’s wails, which changed in cadence in a decidedly non-fun way as I got closer. As if what should have been a joyride had suddenly hit some very bumpy road.
The cavern trail angled steeply down, and unless I was mistaken, my feet were registering actual stairs cut into the rock. Stairs meant civilization, which should have made me happy. Civilization meant there had to be more than one way out of this cave.
But the closer I got to Fernanda and her cries—which mounted in genuine pain and distress, not passion—the worse I felt. My chest where the amulet had lain against me was so hot I would swear my skin was about to crackle, and my legs seemed made of lead. I trudged on, willing myself forward until I reached a bend in the rock. There were still no guards in sight, but I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. Probably neither. Not too many people would be arriving at this party from an eight-inch crack in a cave wall, I suspected.
As I approached, the darkness lessened, replaced by flickering light. Torches? Campfire? Would there be S’mores?
Then Fernanda burst forth in another wail, loud enough to make my spine ache. I straightened against the rock, becoming one with the wall, and dared a peek around the edge.
Visible through the doorway at the far end of the corridor, Fernanda lay in a heap by a fire, moaning pitiably. She didn’t look damaged from what I could tell, or at least no more damaged than she’d been the last time I’d seen her. I edged forward carefully, pausing in front of a door cut into the rock. I glanced quickly into the chamber to my right…then stopped cold.
Well. This was unexpected.
Chapter Eleven
Nigel Friedman lay flat on a pallet in the middle of the stone chamber, apparently asleep. His hands were bound, his mouth gagged. Worse, he was once again completely naked except for a kind of ornamental loincloth, that would probably have looked amazing on some Brazilian fertility god.
On Nigel it looked vaguely ridiculous.
I stared at him, hard, but apparently my supernatural skills didn’t extend to remote wakey-wakey. And his feet weren’t bound, which meant his captors expected him to move at some point, so chances were good that nothing was seriously broken. Then again, they could have simply hamstrung the insufferable asshat. Nothing like a quick slice to the Achilles to take a man down.
I winced but faced forward again, slipping past the open doorway. I couldn’t fix Nigel’s pr
oblems yet. Not until I fixed my own.
Nevertheless, I crept more slowly along the passage. Fernanda had gone quiet, reduced to whimpering sobs, but I could no longer see her. The crackling of the fire grew louder as I approached, but oddly, the corridor remained empty. There wasn’t even a watchdog to sound the alarm.
That…suddenly didn’t feel right.
A movement to my left registered a moment too late. I jerked back, but wasn’t fast enough to evade a large troll-like guard who lunged at me from a crevice in the rock.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I tried to twist away, but the guard seized my upper arms and shoved me forward into the chamber. A quick recon revealed a second guard standing beyond the fire, then an opening for another chamber guarded by yet more burly men. I had a feeling that second chamber wasn’t exactly empty, based on my last experience with Fernanda in a dark place.
As for the Princesa, she was on her feet again, dressed in a white filmy robe thing. She glared at me haughtily from across the room.
Interestingly, she wasn’t crying anymore. Nor was she mewling.
I think I preferred that Fernanda. This one scared the crap out of me.
I sagged in Thug the Guard’s hold, too tired all of the sudden to put up the pretense of a fight. If Fernanda was pissed, she could take a swing at any time. Now that I was in her presence, all the strength I’d been storing up to get me here had fled. I’d probably tip over onto her fists and call it a day.
Fortunately, the high priestess of the Icamiabas appeared to be in more of a mood to talk. She pointed at me with a flurry of Portuguese that included one word I’d never forget: Princesa. Since my princesa-ing was done for the night, I focused on the fire.
Bingo.
The frog amulet was lying on a white satin pillow, cushioned above a literal avalanche of stones banked up around the flames. The stones were carved in all sorts of figures, from fish to snakes to monkeys to birds. As if sensing my interest, the guard helpfully shoved me to my knees, putting me eye level with my frog prince.
