He found himself grinning. “I’m going to scare you with . . . the monster!” Like a Boy Scout trying to frighten the other campers, he raised the flashlight under his chin.
Her loud, terrified gasp startled him. He hadn’t expected her to actually . . .
Shit. Now she was stifling laughter.
She wasn’t afraid. She’d been pulling his paw. “Fine.” Disgusted, he brought the flashlight out a little farther so she could actually see him.
Silence.
How odd to stand here in the dark, the only puddle of light the one he directed at himself, at his misshapen body wrapped in a cotton tunic, and wait for judgment from a woman he barely knew, but cared about too much.
Finally, she said, “You’re very tall. I envy you that. I’m on the petite side.”
“You’re short,” he said without thinking.
“I see I’m not the only one who’s insensitive.”
Apparently she wasn’t as impressed with his looks as he expected. Or maybe she was just being tactful—although that seemed out of character. “So what do you think?”
“Of you? I think there are monsters, Guardian. I’ve seen them. I’ve met them. But you’re not one of them.” She took his hand, the one with the flashlight, and shone it in front of them again. “Come on. I want out of here before I . . .”
“Before you go back to wherever you were going?”
“I wouldn’t know how,” she admitted. “Not while I’m awake, anyway.”
They started walking again.
“That must have been quite a dream, to take you so far in the dark,” he said.
“I don’t remember.” Her voice sounded obstinate.
Whatever she had dreamed, she wouldn’t share it with him.
He understood. Most of his dreams weren’t fit to share, either. Most of his dreams would scare a demon into church.
The trail became a tunnel. The tunnel began to lighten.
They approached the large, arched entrance of the Guardian cave. Here light seeped in from above. He looked down at her, saw how thin she was, remembered her illness and Dr. King’s worries. “How are your eyes?” Guardian asked. “Should you put on the blindfold again?”
“Not yet.” He heard the note of panic in her voice. “Let me see where I am. Let me see that this is not a fevered figment of my imagination.”
“It’s pretty fevered,” he said. “Trust me. When I first saw the cave . . . to start with, I was crazy, so maybe it doesn’t matter what I thought then. But I still think the cave is . . .” Words failed him. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. “We can check it out, but only if you’ll promise me that if your eyes hurt, you’ll let me know.”
“I’m stubborn, but not stupidly stubborn. I’m not going to risk my eyesight for a tour.”
“Then come on.” He stopped her just outside the entrance. “I envy you this first glimpse. It’s . . . bizarre. Odd. Fabulous. Glorious. A place beyond reason.”
“Okay!” She smiled. Dimples quivered. Her green eyes lit up with curiosity and greed. “You’ve sold me. Let’s see it.”
He guided her into the cave. His people were out searching for Charisma, and Guardian and Charisma were alone.
Inevitably, she looked up. “Wow. Just . . . wow.” She pointed up at the ruins high in the wall. “What’s that?”
“No one knows for sure.”
She faced him, planted her hands on her hips, and glared.
“Okay! This is pure speculation. It’s my theory based on nothing but gut feelings and the legends surrounding this cave. I think that long ago, a race of guardians came into the cave and made it their base. Here they lived, built homes and workplaces, and ventured out to fight the hell spawn that wander the underground.” There. He felt foolish.
She nodded thoughtfully, and looked up again. “Sounds reasonable to me. Someone created this place, and those ruins are spectacular. How do you get up to them?”
“You don’t.” He was firm. “There’s no way up.”
“Really?” She considered him suspiciously. “You’ve never gone up there?”
He grimaced and confessed, “Once. On a high ladder and with some climbing. That convinced me I never want to go back.”
“Ghosts?”
“I felt like I was being watched every moment.”
She shivered. “Cool.”
“I think whatever spells they cast, whatever protections they created are still in place. That’s why the Guardian cave is safe.”
“Cool,” she repeated.
Light shone down from the ceiling through skylights.
“How do you get electricity down here?” she asked.
“No electricity. The Belows tried to run a cable for me. Like rats, the demons chewed it through.”
She paced into the cave, ten steps, twenty, craning her neck, trying to see everything at once. “What generates the lights?”
“In the daytime, it’s sun.” He glanced up. “Not much more daylight now. At night, the stones themselves are phosphorescent.”
“Really? No electricity? No television, no Internet? Wow.” She clasped her hands. “That sounds kind of peaceful.”
Guardian grinned at her enthusiasm. “No Internet, but Dr. King carries a MacBook back and forth for me. He charges it on the surface, brings it down, and I use it.”
She paused, thought hard. “Dr. King. I remember that name. You said Dr. King saved my life.”
“He did. He’s a great guy.” For a lot of reasons.
“But he’s the one who didn’t want me to take off the blindfold.”
“For your own good.” Guardian carefully, tentatively asked, “After so much exertion, how do you feel?”
“Good.” She put her palm to her chest and took a breath as if testing her lungs. “Yes. I’m good. Better.”
Relief melted into Guardian’s bones. “Good. I want you to . . . heal.”
“Me, too, honey.” She sounded precisely like a tough girl.
He supposed, with the tattoos and the leather, she fit the definition of a tough girl. But he’d seen her helpless and near death, and as far as he was concerned, she was delicate and far too mortal.
She wandered over to his desk and touched the computer. “So you watch movies and stuff?”
“I do. But more important, and I don’t like to brag”—he had his tongue firmly in his cheek—“I’m actually quite a brilliant programmer.”
She faced him. “If you can make coffee and know how to run a vacuum, you’re the perfect man.”
He knew that in this light, she could really see him now. But she didn’t flinch. In fact, she seemed only slightly impressed.
Her indifference made him stand a little taller. “I can clean the demons out of a tunnel.”
“Close enough.” She turned back to the cave.
Here and there furniture stood against the wall: a cupboard, groupings of chairs, and occasionally a folding screen placed to give privacy. Steep, narrow steps had been cut twenty feet up into the stone walls, leading to the alcoves carved into the rock. Up there, on one side, was Guardian’s library, with a long bookcase cluttered with a million books collected by other Guardians of other times, and a battered, broken recliner Taurean had procured for him from an estate sale. Free, of course. On the other side was his bedroom.
Like the world’s most improbable tour guide, Guardian said, “The place is a legend underground, always a sanctuary for the Warrior who defends the innocent, somewhere the demons cannot come.”
“That is a good spell. I wonder how they did it.” She ran forward a few steps toward a bird pecking into the dirt on the floor.
It fluttered and flew.
She laughed. “I wasn’t sure the birds were real.”
“They were here when I got here. I think they get trapped belowground, and somehow the lucky ones find their way here.”
As day faded to night, a faint glow began to emanate from stones placed into the walls and ceiling, like streetlight
s created to keep the night away.
“Amazing.” She waved an all-encompassing hand. “Why? How?”
“Maybe it’s magic. Maybe it’s the ghosts. Maybe it’s the memories of the ancient people who channeled the water and built the buildings.” Guardian looked at the library, willing an answer, and knowing it was not there. “I’ve looked and have found nothing—no paintings of Stone Age animals on the walls, no scrolls filled with ancient hieroglyphics. But it can’t be a mistake that it was built so close to the mouth of hell.”
“It’s definitely a sacred cave of some kind.”
“That being the case, we have the knowledge that someone before us fought to hold back the forces of evil. And that is a very great thing to remember. The battle has been fought before, and won.” Guardian allowed the peace of the cave to sink into his bones. In a low voice, he said, “We have to have faith we can win again.”
“That’s the problem,” she admitted. “I’ve lost faith. All I can see is a long fight against a rising tide of malevolence, and beyond that the coffin and the dark cave with too many paths . . . and only one is right.”
“Dr. King says . . . if you don’t know the right path—help comes to those who ask.”
“Do you believe that?” She faced him. “Do you really believe that?”
“I try.” He looked at her; she was grubby, defiant, with a frown of worry that wrinkled her brow.
She didn’t run from him, screaming. She didn’t seem impressed by his fur or his paws or his misshapen body.
In his eyes, she was beautiful, and even more so because she gave him hope. “I didn’t used to believe in anything, except living one day at a time, struggling, fighting, sleeping, eating, getting up to do it again. But lately I’ve started to think . . . there might be more.”
She observed him, intent and quiet. “I pray you’re right.”
“I do, too.” He listened to a commotion outside the cave. “Charisma, you should rest.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I have a battle to fight.” He turned as Moises burst into the room, Taurean on his heels.
“A group of the Belows,” Moises said in a gasp. “Attacked. Come! Now!”
No. Guardian wanted to stay with Charisma.
Charisma put her hands on his chest and shoved at him. “Go on. You were bragging about what a great warrior you were. Prove it.”
She made him smile. “Taurean will feed you,” he said.
“Good. I’m hungry.” She shoved at him again. “You take care.”
He headed out. At the door, he turned and found her observing him. “Put your blindfold back on. Rest!”
“When you come back, you’ll find me exactly where you want me,” she promised.
He pointed a stern finger at her, as if demanding she keep her promise.
Then he ran out, changed back into his fighting garb, and went to do his duty . . . as Guardian.
Chapter 14
Charisma woke slowly to the sound of rushing water and the twittering of birds.
But this time she didn’t automatically think she was back in her room in Irving’s mansion. Nor did she assume she was in the Guardian’s cave. Her dreams were vivid, even more than the real world, and she didn’t know what to believe.
Cautiously, she groped her face.
Yes, she wore a blindfold, and that was the reason she couldn’t see.
She sat up slowly, leaned forward, and rubbed her feet. They were sore, as if she’d wandered far underground.
She didn’t want to remember answering the call of the earth.
Even worse would be if she discovered that she’d hallucinated the whole episode. That would definitely head her right toward the loony bin. But also . . . she liked Guardian. He had faced death to rescue her. Plus he had a sense of humor. And a guy who looked the way Guardian looked . . . well, he could either laugh, or he could rampage around like Frankenstein’s monster and kill a bunch of people.
Then she’d have to take him out.
She didn’t want to do that.
He wasn’t that bad-looking, really. It was all a matter of perspective.
Should she take off the blindfold?
Yes, with Guardian she had seen the cave. But afterward her head had hurt and her eyes had throbbed, and she knew she had done too much.
Charisma flexed her shoulders. She felt pretty good now, with a lot of stiff muscles, but . . . she took a long breath, trying to gauge the change in the air.
Someone was watching her. She called, “Hello?”
Footsteps approached.
“Be calm. You’re safe.” The voice was male, deep, warm, reassuring, with a tinge of a Western accent.
Something was off about the footsteps, about his voice, and about him, but she couldn’t figure out what. First she had to ask, “Where am I?”
“Can you guess?”
“Yes. I’m in the cave.” She felt relief, as if the weight of the earth’s call was not so burdensome, and a warmth enveloped her. “But I don’t know you.”
“I’m Dr. King.”
Again she got that sense of wrongness. His voice was at the wrong height. “Guardian speaks well of you.”
“I have my moments.” Dr. King’s voice was self-deprecating, amused. “I’m here to help you.”
“Nice, but . . .” But if Isabelle were here, she wouldn’t need a doctor. Why wasn’t Isabelle here? “Listen. I have a vague memory . . . didn’t I ask for my friend?”
“Yes! Good recall.” Dr. King sounded pleased. “But your friend Isabelle is out of the country with the rest of your friends.”
Charisma groaned. “That’s timing. Are they okay?”
“I believe Mr. Irving Shea reported they were on a mission.”
“Do you know where?”
“Switzerland.”
“Good.” That meant they were making another run at opening the safety-deposit box, and Charisma knew as well as any of them how important that could prove in their battle against evil. “Just hearing that makes me feel better.”
“Excellent.” Dr. King’s voice shifted away. “Meet Amber.”
The faintest rustle of material brought Charisma’s head around to the side. A whiff of patchouli teased her nose.
“Amber is one of Guardian’s people . . . you’ll feel comfortable with her.”
What did that mean? Did he realize she wasn’t comfortable with him? “Nothing against Amber, but where’s Taurean?” Charisma had liked Taurean. The older woman was tall and peculiar, and gloriously free with her delusions.
“Taurean is not always available when we need her,” Dr. King said.
“I suppose not.” But how disappointing.
Dr. King continued. “Amber will guide you through your ablutions and get you something to eat—”
At the mention of food, Charisma’s stomach growled.
“—and then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to examine your eyes for distance and acuity.”
Should she tell him she’d already had the blindfold off? That she’d seen Guardian and viewed the cave?
Naw. Doctors got weird about their patients testing their limits before they were told they could.
So Charisma allowed Amber to lead her from the bed to the bathroom to the table, where the smell of something more than chicken broth made Charisma’s stomach growl.
She really did feel better.
She ate a bowl of beef pho.
She ate pesto pasta salad.
She ate Popeye’s chicken and biscuits.
By the time she pushed back from the table, she was smug, full, and happy—and curious. “Where is Guardian?” she asked.
“He had demons to chase,” Dr. King said.
“Good man.” Although she wished Guardian were here right now.
She heard the sound of a chair being pushed close, then the tap of shoes on wood.
Suddenly Dr. King spoke close to her face. “It’s twilight in the world above.”
She had
slept the clock around . . . again? That demon poison had seriously whacked her.
“Let’s take off that blindfold. I don’t think there’ll be any shock to your eyes, but please keep them closed until I tell you and then open them slowly. If you’re in pain or if you see fireworks, close them. You’re the one who knows best what you can bear.”
The blindfold fell away.
Charisma opened her eyes slowly.
The first thing she saw was a bald, African-American dwarf dressed in a suit and tie, standing on the chair in front of her. “Dr. King?” she asked.
“That’s right.”
Now she understood why she had thought there was something off-kilter about him. He was not at all what she expected. “I thought you’d . . . have a full head of hair.”
He grinned and relaxed. “I’m gay, too.”
“Of course you are. But I can’t see that.”
“What can you see?”
Slowly she turned her head. “Amber is very pretty.” She sounded surprised, she realized. She was surprised; she had been expecting a small, cheerful Buddhist statue of a woman. But Amber was petite and curvaceous, with curly blond hair that hung in wisps around her Marilyn Monroe face.
Amber placed her palms together and bowed.
Charisma bowed back.
They smiled in perfect accord.
“Shall we replace the blindfold?” Dr. King asked. “Or, if you like, you can simply close your eyes and Amber will guide you to the shower.”
“That’s right.” Charisma clasped her hands in delight. “Guardian promised me a shower.”
“In the stream.”
She shut her eyes and stood. “Lead me to it.”
Chapter 15
As Guardian approached the cave and removed his fighting gear, he remembered the last thing Charisma had said to him.
When you come back, you’ll find me exactly where you want me.
He wanted so badly for it to be true. If she was still here . . .
She wouldn’t leave without saying good-bye, though. He was pretty confident of that. For all that she was a smart-ass, she was polite and—he hated to make her sound mundane—she was nice.
When you come back, you’ll find me exactly where you want me.
Wilder The Chosen Ones Page 9
