by May Burnett
Still, an abduction makes no sense if that is the motive. The most logical solution would have been to inject me with some drug overdose and let them find me dead in bed, another tragedy among the decadent rich. The papers would pontificate and shed their sanctimonious comments on the matter, and three days after the funeral everyone but Mom and Grandmother would have forgotten all about me.
Well, and Hell. I would have been avenged, I’m sure. Better this place, however dark and foul, where at least I can still hope for survival. And if I get out of here, I will not wait for Hell to avenge me, I’ll do it myself, with a blunt knife.
I surprise myself with the bloodthirstiness of my plans. Focusing on Diego as the most likely culprit I imagine him bound to a stake, with a blindfold over those unusual gleaming eyes and a foul-smelling pad stuffed in his mouth.
Stop, I tell myself. Torture is wrong under any circumstances. I don’t have to sink to their level.
Maybe not. If I get the chance for real, I probably will not follow through. But imagining things I might do to my abductors in vivid detail at least helps to pass the time.
How long will I have to stay in this place? How long can I survive without water? At least it’s not too cold, though the humid air makes the silk cling uncomfortably to my damp skin. It is originally a pale blue, but by now must be stained and filthy.
I wonder why I’m not bound or gagged myself. Is this place so secure that it’s not necessary? Am I the only denizen of this darkness? I cautiously call out, “Hello? Anyone there?”
The echo tells me that the cavern is even bigger than I supposed. I listen hard. There is no answer, but a few seconds later I hear something slither, like a huge snake moving among the bones on the ground.
I go still, barely breathing, and desist from making any more noise.
Just what is this place?
13 Hell
For the rest of the night, Hell and Myra searched the house. Hell focused on the male guests, but found nothing suspicious. The large servant wing did not yield any clues either.
Remembering Melinda’s remarks about her brothers, Hell searched their rooms with special care and went over their papers and laptops.
Pedro, the eldest, had a passionate correspondence with a woman in Tokyo. Their emails were most explicit. Maybe his late arrival had not been merely for business reasons.
Jorge turned and tossed in his sleep. He apparently liked to gamble and lived right up to the limits of his huge income.
Esteban finally stumbled to bed around five in the morning, fully dressed, and immediately began to snore drunkenly. He had brought no less than four rifles along on this family visit. Hunting was clearly his passion in life. There were a couple of reprimands from his father among his emails, because he’d missed important appointments while indulging in this pastime. Rifles and alcohol seemed like a bad combination to Hell, but Esteban did not look guilty as he lay there in bed, breathing heavily.
Hell marvelled how Melinda could have come from the same genes as these three young men, to whom he would not have given the time of day. Could they be complicit in their sister’s abduction? Would they be able to sleep with such a thing on their conscience?”
He heard Pallas’ voice in his ear, from one of her lectures. “Conscience only afflicts some ninety per cent of humanity, and even in them it is wonderfully flexible. A good many have none to begin with.”
Her brothers’ sleep proved nothing, one way or the other.
What most irked Hell was the lack of evidence for any supernatural involvement. None of the men he’d investigated so far used any indigenous sacred objects. They seemed to have no religion at all, apart from socially inspired attendance of major Catholic feasts; all had brought Christmas presents. In their lives dedicated to money and pleasure, worship of ancient deities surely had no place.
14 Melinda
I have no idea how much time has passed since I first woke up in this strange cave, but it feels like an eternity. At some point I have emptied my bladder on the bare ground, and afterwards crawled for a good distance, though for all I know I’m crawling in circles. I still dare not walk in case there is some crevice hidden in the floor.
Thirst is starting to plague me, despite the humidity of the air.
I wonder if the snake – if it is a snake – is listening to my movements. Esteban used to keep a viper in a glass terrarium when I was a child, and I uneasily remember how it ignored the scampering mice he fed it until it was good and hungry; no mouse escaped in the end. I believe snakes have excellent hearing. I pitied the mice, but not enough to save any of them from Esteban’s pet snake. I wish now that I had, but of course I was only about five or six at the time.
I strain my own ears, but all is silent – as a grave? No, I determine, this is not going to be my grave. This is going to be just an adventure that Hell and I will laugh about in future years. He will find me, and even if not, I will find an escape myself. I’m not as powerful as he, but I’m not stupid.
My knees and hands are torn and bleeding from several hours’ careful movement, when I hear the slithering of the giant reptile again.
And to my surprise, I can also see it now. There is a dim green glow in the cavern, emanating from the reptile. The snake has small useless wings, and must be a good ten metres long. It moves towards me with sinuous grace and speed. Escape is clearly useless. I stand up and face it.
The creature stops a short distance away and raises its head in a swaying motion, higher up than mine. I stare into its gleaming golden eyes with their vertical slits. There is an inhuman intelligence in them.
Having nothing to lose, I talk to it.
“Please don’t eat me,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “as you can see, I am thin and small, hardly a sufficient meal. However, my family and boyfriend will gladly provide a whole herd of pigs, sheep, or cattle in exchange for me. Or chicken or fish, whatever you prefer.”
A long forked tongue emerges from the snake’s mouth, and probes my skin. I remain motionless, staring into the cold eyes of the snake.
“I don’t know how I got here, but my boyfriend will find me soon. He is a god and if I am dead he will wreak terrible vengeance. If you help me, on the other hand, he’ll reward you. Think about it.” Does the snake understand Spanish? I can only hope.
For a long time – at least three minutes – the snake looks at me, its head still swaying gently. Then, to my amazement, - though as Hell’s girlfriend I really should not be surprised at anything – it morphs before my eyes into a middle-aged, tall indigenous woman. She is naked but totally at ease in that state.
Only her golden eyes remain similar, though the pupils are now round. In fact they remind me of someone. “Are you related to my cousin Jacinta’s boyfriend Diego?” I blurt:
“My son,” the woman says shortly. Her gaze on me is not friendly. Just like her son she scares me to death.
“You are a local Goddess, I believe? I am honoured to meet you.”
“I am Yila. I was here long before you humans arrived,” she confirms. “Humans used to worship us, but now they have mostly forgotten we exist. You have destroyed my forest and pullulate like ants. You are good for nothing but the occasional snack.”
“I’m sorry you feel like that,” I try to sound sincere, though personally I could never worship this snake woman. “May I know why your son Diego – if that is really his name – brought me to your cave? Do you have another home above ground?”
She hisses. “What a lot of useless questions. He occasionally brings me an offering, as a tribute to his mother. I don’t tell him whom to take. But they usually don’t talk back before I devour them.” She adds, grudgingly, “At least you have some backbone.”
“I was not bluffing about my boyfriend being a god,” I tell her again. “He is the son of the Greek gods Zeus and Hera, and would take it very amiss if you harm me.”
“Somebody in your family gave you to my son,” she slyly observes. “Those are
his rules – the victim has to be offered by a near relative.”
My throat closes up for a moment in shock. Can that be the truth? Maybe Jacinta hates me even more than I was aware.
“Oh. Well, how come they get to offer me, and I never got the chance to offer one of them?” The whole thing seems extremely unfair to me.
“It has to be one of our worshippers. You don’t qualify.”
“No, I’m afraid not,” I admit. “May I ask where this huge cave is located?”
“Not anywhere on your earth. Your boyfriend will not find you here. Only my family can enter and leave.”
That does not sound good. “Well, what do you want, that is in the power of a rich human or a god, and will get me out of here?”
She is silent for a while, looking at me with those unnerving golden eyes. It is difficult to remain calm and hide my fear, which she can probably smell on me, anyway.
“Tell me more about that god you claim to know,” she says at last. “What are his powers? Where does he reside?”
I swallow. Am I going to betray Hell and his family to some enemy by telling her all I know? A quick glance around the squalid cave in which she lives tells me that this snake is probably no match for Hell, even on her home ground.
The Greek Gods have survived for millennia, and can no doubt hold their own.
I start to talk, though my throat is getting sore from thirst.
15 Hell
The family was late to rise, only natural after a ball, though the household staff began their usual tasks soon after six in the morning. Hell had briefed Myra on the ball, the inheritance tangle, and the people comprising the household. Seeing his sister wearing Melinda’s face, and dressed in a pair of Melinda’s favourite linen slacks and matching top, made him miss the real Melinda even more keenly.
“I’m not sure I can be as perky and vivacious as Mel,” Myra said, doing up the tiny mother of pearl buttons of her blouse. “Our temperaments are rather different.”
“Apart from her mother, nobody in this place knows her that well. We both saw more of her in our school, than her brothers have over the last few years. Anyway, nobody is always vivacious, especially after a late night. They will see what they expect to see.”
“Except for the person who kidnapped the real Mel, if they are even here. I hope they give themselves away quickly, I’m not at all sure how long I can keep this up.”
“All we need is to pinpoint a suspect,” Hell said. “We’ll force them to speak the truth. In fact maybe we should have done that with the brothers already tonight.”
“Yes, why didn’t you?” Myra fixed her dark hair in a pony tail with a coloured rubber band, the way Mel used to do. Hell’s heart lurched at the sight.
“If some local god is involved, using our powers on one of his worshippers would put us immediately at odds,” Hell pointed out. “We are on foreign ground, and father has told us to avoid any incident with foreign deities, remember.”
“Who cares when Mel is in danger? This is not like you, Hell.”
Hell shrugged uncomfortably. “I know, and mainly it’s just a feeling I have, an instinct if you like, that we had best be extremely careful and discreet, or it could harm Melinda. Once we have her back and safe, I’ll fight these local gods myself, to the death if necessary.”
“All right, it’s your show. Down to the left on the first landing, right?”
“Yeah,” Hell sighed, and followed his sister, invisible to everyone else, as she went to confront Melinda’s family.
The yellow Salon, where breakfast was served, was a light, spacious room facing the gardens, decorated with big bunches of fresh flowers. On a pristine white tablecloth, impeccably ironed, a lavish buffet was set out – scrambled and soft-boiled eggs, sausage, ham, baked beans and tomatoes, fried fish, fresh fruit, croissants and baguettes, butter, and urns of tea and coffee as well as jugs of fresh tropical juices. Around another table, Melinda’s grandmother and parents, as well as Pedro, Jorge, Jacinta, and Aunt Teresa, Jacinta’s mother, were already seated.
“Buenos días, everybody,” Myra said with Mel’s voice.
“Hello, darling! Up at last?” Mel’s mother replied with a fond smile. Hell carefully scrutinized all the faces, but apart from Jorge’s scowl nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
“How does it feel to be the richest heiress in Colombia?” Pedro asked Myra. “Congratulations, by the way, I didn’t get around to saying so last night.”
Jorge’s scowl deepened at his elder brother’s words, and he viciously speared his mango with a silver fork.
“Thanks. Maybe I can still get Grandmother to change her mind,” Myra replied, as she indicated her choice of food to the maid standing by the buffet and took an empty place at the table. “How did you all sleep?”
“Like the dead,” Melinda’s father said. “The mountain air here always has that effect on me.”
“I had a strange dream of being taken away from my bed,” Myra said casually, pouring cold water into her glass from a covered pitcher.
“We have so many guards around the house, nobody could to that,” her grandmother assured the false Melinda. “No need to worry, sweetheart, you are safe as houses here in my place.” Hell wanted to shake her.
“I’m not altogether sorry to be cut out of the succession,” Pedro told the family, putting down his coffee cup with a decisive gesture. “I’ve been thinking of relocating to Japan, and founding my own company there. I will be doing that now, as soon as I’ve handed over my responsibilities in an orderly fashion. I’ll also be getting married in Tokyo. You are all invited.”
Hell scrutinized him carefully, but could not find any indication that Pedro was anything but sincere.
“Married! What excellent news!” Melinda’s mother exclaimed. “Who is she? I am looking forward to having grandchildren soon. You’ve all made me wait long enough!”
“Congratulations,” Myra added in Melinda’s voice. “I hope you’ll be very happy.”
The rest of the family echoed her words, though Jorge was less effusive than the others. Pedro told them about his Japanese girlfriend, not hiding his devotion to the woman; Hell had already gathered as much from Pedro’s emails. It was maddeningly normal and civilised.
Myra turned to Jorge. “What about you, are you also planning to strike out on your own?”
“Not just yet. I have invested too much time and effort in the company to just walk away. And you haven’t inherited yet.”
“Jorge,” their grandmother said with a slight frown. “Remember that it is my decision. Your sister had nothing to do with it.”
“Yeah, right.” Melinda’s brother threw the cloth napkin on the table and got up, full of nervous energy. “Please excuse me for now.” Jorge left the breakfast room, while the others looked at each other in dismay.
“He’s not taking this well,” Melinda’s father said drily.
“How do you feel about it?” Myra asked.
Melinda’s father smiled. “It was a surprise, and at first I felt a bit disappointed. But I already own almost twenty per cent of the company’s shares from father, and if the rest passes directly to the next generation, the family saves a lot in inheritance tax.”
“But you expected my brothers to get their share?”
“We all did, but it’s not like they’ll starve. Mother is right that big fortunes should not be broken up. Besides, your brothers will get my shares eventually.”
Hell could tell that the man was speaking the truth as he saw it. One suspect less, then, not that he’d have expected Melinda’s own father to be behind her disappearance.
Jorge was the prime suspect, but his scent was nowhere in Mel’s room. Did he have a confederate?
Hell easily located Jorge in the mansion’s extensive rose garden, and noiselessly shadowed him. The young man went straight to a hidden corner behind the blooming bushes, his heavy tread on the white gravel path eloquent of strong feelings.
Once arrived in t
his location Jorge cast a careful look around to check that he was by himself. Making a complicated gesture with his right hand, Jorge called out “Yasmatolotl!” in a low voice.
A minute passed, then there was a sudden flash, and another young man stood in front of Jorge, looking at him with a cold expression. Hell had noticed him in the ballroom for his extraordinary good looks –Jacinta’s fiancé Diego, though apparently that was not his real name.
“You dare to call me!” Diego said. “I hope you have a good explanation.”
Jorge nervously bowed. “Last night you assured me that I’d never see my sister again, that the matter was taken care of. Yet today she waltzes in at breakfast, the picture of health.”
“You lie,” Diego said coldly. “She is in my mother’s realm, probably devoured by now.”
“Devoured?” Jorge swallowed, and paled. “I don’t want to know the details. Anyway, something must have gone wrong, she’s still here. You can see for yourself.”
“Impossible. A god does not make mistakes.”
Oh, yeah? Hell thought, trying to put away his horror at Melinda’s predicament and gauge the other god’s power. This one had certainly made a terrible mistake in his choice of victim. Could Hell force him to bring Melinda back?
Diego was looking at Jorge with a frown now. “I see you believe you are speaking the truth. You will be served to the Great Snake yourself if you lie.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Jorge said with an audible gulp. “This is inexplicable. Could she have escaped?”
“Nobody escapes from the Great Snake, and anyway, a human could not find her way back to this realm.”
Hell felt his heart sink as he realised these local gods had created their own inaccessible realm, like New Olympus or the Underworld.
“Maybe the Snake took pity on her and let her go?”
“It would be the first time. No, it cannot be. Does your sister have a twin?”
