“They aren’t your run-of-the-mill zombies either,” Artemis added. “For one, they retain some semblance of intelligence. They also don’t eat flesh.”
Well . . . that had to be a good thing. Not eating flesh was a surprising improvement over zombies. I’d had the misfortune of running into some a few months back.
“They prefer bone marrow.”
Oh, fuck . . .
Artemis gave me a look of contempt. He was still blocking my way. “Ah, and now she sees the predicament she’s wandered into.”
“You’re bluffing.”
He arched a blond eyebrow at me. “Maybe you manage to get past me, knock me out, get into the lower levels.” He loomed over me. “But do you really want to find out firsthand whether the bone marrow–eating pirates are a figment of my imagination?”
Goddamn it. Much as the warden hadn’t wanted to risk calling my bluff, neither could I call Artemis on his. And I trusted him even less.
“What do you want? Treasure? A favor? I’d offer to put in a good word with Lady Siyu, but I think we both know that would do more damage than good.”
For a moment—a very brief one—something flickered across Artemis’s face that struck me as regret, or maybe shame.
“Simple,” he said, the discomfort showing through now. “I want you to forgive my—indiscretions.”
“Indiscretions?” He said it as if the whole fiasco in LA had been nothing more than a faux pas at a dinner party.
“Ah—yes,” he said, looking even more uncomfortable, if that were possible. “Forgive the incident—and accept my apology.”
There was a formality to it that struck me as very supernatural—the supernaturals had more social rituals than attendants at a debutante ball. Even so, I didn’t get the impression that he was particularly remorseful. About anything. Ever.
I snorted. “Not a chance.”
A flash of anger worked its way across Artemis’s face. Now, that looked more at home on his features. “Why the hell not?”
I started counting my reasons off on my fingers. “Because I don’t trust you, you’re despicable, the definition of a misogynist, I don’t like you, and I don’t for one second think you mean it. And that’s the polite version.”
Artemis’s nostrils flared, and I could see him bite back a retort. Instead of lashing out, though, he let his breath out between his teeth, making a soft hissing sound. After a moment he said, “Agree to forgive me for my indiscretions, and I’ll let you go on your suicidal venture below. But I’m coming with you. As I said, Lady Siyu specified alive.”
I laughed at that. I couldn’t help it.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Laugh all you like. I might not be my cousin, but I did just take out all three guards and infiltrate an IAA prison without having to get myself thrown in. As much as you hate to admit it, you need me.”
That was the crux of it. I did need help. There was some kind of supernatural bullshit going on—there was no way Artemis wanted my forgiveness out of the bottom of his rotten black heart—but I didn’t see that I had much of a choice. Not if I wanted to find the Tiger Thieves and save Rynn and everyone else from the Electric Samurai.
“Fine,” I said, my hands clenched by my sides.
Artemis crossed his arms and didn’t move out of the doorway. “Say it.”
Of all the stupid supernatural bullshit to run into down here . . . “Fine. I forgive you for being a psychopathic supernatural.” At Artemis’s prompting I sighed and added, “Who tried to turn me into some kind of monster.”
“Wraith, actually. But that should do.”
I shook my head. Artemis. Who with enough alcohol and/or dim light was Rynn’s green-eyed doppelgänger. Yet another reminder that it should have been me in that armor. Not Rynn.
I shoved my emotions down lest Artemis pick up on them as I grabbed the map to the lower dungeons and pocketed the idol. He was the last damn supernatural—no, make that entity—on the planet I wanted watching my back in a dungeon. If I’d been looking for another way to complicate my side project . . .
“Let’s get this the hell under way before more guards show up,” I told him. “And there’d damn well better be ghouls down there,” I said as I pushed past him. I heard his footsteps fall into line behind me.
“For your sake, I hope I am wrong.”
Even I had to admit he sounded sincere. A shiver ran down my spine as I took a left down an unlit, little-used corridor. Time to find me a pirate. And hopefully not his ghost.
3
PIRATES OF THE PERUVIAN COAST
The Albino Prison, going down.
For eighteenth-century pirates, get off on the third floor . . .
“Artemis, shine the flashlight over here, will you?” I said as I examined the door we’d found at the end of the corridor. Old wood reinforced with iron rails, then fitted over the top with an iron grate, spikes facing inwards. It certainly looked like a serious attempt to keep ghosts and other scary things out—or in, as the case might be.
The grate was newer. I’d wager it had been installed only a hundred or so years ago. Sure enough, once Artemis managed to angle the light properly, I found the divots where the posts had been drilled into the rock.
That meant I’d be looking for a newer key. I crouched down in front of the lock and started going through Miguelito’s collection. There were only three newer-looking keys. I tried to fit the first into the lock. No go. On to the second . . .
“How about Curse of the Incan Princess?” Artemis said from behind me.
I shook my head and jiggled the second key, doing my absolute best to tune him out.
“Fine, what about The Pirates of Patagonia, then?” It wasn’t working. For one, he was right behind me; for the other, he was an incubus. He could feel just how frustrated I felt every time he opened up his mouth. Key number two was also a no-go. This time I had to wrench it back out, swearing as the metal stripped away.
The third time was a charm.
The key fit, but it didn’t want to turn. Where was a can of WD-40 when I needed it?
“Fine, what about Pirates of the Peruvian Coast? That has a nice ring to it.”
The key turned, then stuck. I wrenched it and gained only a fraction of a turn for my efforts.
“Well?”
If I didn’t answer, he’d just keep going. I spun around, shielding my eyes from his flashlight beam, which was conveniently aimed right at my face. “No, all right? The movie’s been done. You can’t just change the titles and hope people won’t figure it out. It doesn’t work like that.” For the past five minutes he hadn’t shut up about his great plan to remake the pirate movies in this place.
Artemis arched an eyebrow. “Actually, depending on what part of the movie industry you’re in, that’s exactly how it works. Granted, those movies tend to show a lot more skin and not be so concerned with scripts.” He glanced around. “But the scenery and costumes—or lack thereof—are important. Separate the amateurs from the professionals.”
I shook my head and went back to the lock. Of course Artemis would go straight to the porno industry. Somehow that seemed fitting for an incubus. Filming a porno in a haunted prison . . . sorry, allegedly ghoul-infested prison. There! Finally. The lock gave with a shriek of metal and swung open. Careful to avoid the spikes, I started on the door lock. It was older, and I had to try more keys. A label or two would have been nice. The keyhole was large, so I started by size.
“For a smart girl, Alix, you have very little understanding of how the entertainment industry works.”
I made a face as I counted off the keys, trying not to mix them up. “Enough to know you can’t just put a coat of paint over something and pass it off as something completely new.”
Artemis tsked. “Which one of us is the expert?”
That was debatable. And a moot point. “People aren’t that stupid.”
“No, you’re not that stupid. The vast majority of the human race rather enjoys being fooled. It
’s probably why you find yourself in so much trouble,” Artemis mused.
Four keys down, half a dozen to go—let’s hope five was the charmer—there! It clicked, and the lock began to turn. Not wanting to jam it, and without any oil handy . . .
I found myself in trouble because I didn’t know when to say no or keep my mouth shut, not because I refused to swallow all the regurgitated bullshit the world at large tries to cram down your throat. “Not everyone wants to stuff their faces with junk food.”
“No, but the world would really prefer it if you did.”
I cranked the key gently, ever so gently, and was rewarded with the sound of the ball bearings clicking into place. I held my breath as I eased it along, until finally the lock gave and the door cracked open, eased by air on the other side trying to escape—a mix of fresh sea mixed with stale, cavernlike smells I was used to. For that much sea air to accumulate, there had to be a sizable number of drafts—maybe even another few exits.
I waited, listening for the sounds of anything moving on the other side. Artemis had the good sense to keep still and quiet as well. Maybe I’d get lucky and anything that might be waiting would eat Artemis first.
I glanced up at him.
He let out a long-drawn-out sigh and peeked around the doorway with his flashlight. “Let me guess, send the supernatural in first? Sadly, I agree with you on that point—but thank you for thinking to throw me to the proverbial wolves first. I’m starting to see why you like your Charity alias so much. Now, out of the way, before something not human figures out we’re here.”
My instinct was to snap, but instead I swallowed my pride and got out of the way. Artemis eased the door open, its hinges shrieking and making me wince.
Still nothing happened. He angled the flashlight through the door, illuminating a stone staircase covered with dust that wound its way in a tight circle downwards.
Still no noise—not unless you counted a faint breeze whistling through the corridors below.
I flinched as the flashlight was aimed right at my eyes.
“There’s still time to turn back,” Artemis said in an offhand manner. I made a face and took his flashlight, shining it down the stairs. I spotted the door below us, twenty or so steps down, about three or four turns of the stone down the pit. There were no railings to prevent one from falling off. I continued with the flashlight beam, but though the steps continued I didn’t see another landing.
That had to be it. I stepped through.
“Thought you wanted me to go first?”
“I decided I’d rather keep your flashlight,” I said as I ran the beam over the wall where the stairs were anchored into carved grooves. Looked stable enough . . . carefully I eased myself onto the first step of the staircase. It held, even as I eased my weight onto its center.
I breathed a sigh of relief. That could have gone a lot worse . . .
Then I made the mistake of shining the flashlight into the black pit below. A black, bottomless-looking pit.
“Well, now we know where the breeze is coming from.” I kicked a loose rock over the edge and waited, listening for it to hit bottom. It didn’t. Shit. Fantastic.
Seriously, where was a set of decent climbing gear when I needed it? Oh yeah, sitting in a locked, unlabeled closet—or on one of the guards’ eBay pages . . .
“Stay a few steps behind me and hug the wall,” I told Artemis, easing my way onto the second step, waiting and watching for signs of instability.
And doing my damn best not to look down . . . maybe the stone pebbles had hit water or enough sand that it had muffled the crash?
I tried not to think of it as I counted our way down the spiral steps.
“You realize this depressing place was built over a very old Incan temple?” Artemis finally said.
We were halfway down now, and so far the steps were holding. As much as I detested the idea of making small talk with Artemis, it beat thinking of careening into the black abyss below.
“Tell me more about these cursed pirates, Artemis.”
“Not much to tell.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him, two steps above me, hugging the wall as I’d told him to do.
“Well, start with what you heard and where you heard it.” For one, I needed the distraction from the black pit, and two, I was genuinely interested. Four hundred years of Peruvian/Spanish colonial history had yielded very little about the pirate prison and its inmates, which was odd. Pirates loved their superstitions—especially the ones that had anything to do with them. A story of a cursed pirate prison, however far-fetched, should have been too good for the debauched miscreants to pass up, especially once they were into the rum kegs. There should have been more mentions of it, and the fact that Artemis had uncovered more than I had . . .
“More legends than anything else, mostly from the locals while I was taking stock of the town. You’d be surprised how much little old ladies gossip. That’s something that certainly hasn’t changed in a few thousand years.” I shot him an impatient glance.
“A jaded little thing, aren’t you?”
“Kettle calling the pot black, Artemis.” Despite my best efforts I couldn’t help looking down once more. For Christ’s sake, Owl, just hug the walls, will you? It was bad enough that I didn’t have any climbing gear, but with Artemis as a dubious backup . . .
“Considering I’ve had a few thousand–odd years for my jaded disposition to really sink in, and you’ve had, what? Twenty-seven, maybe twenty-eight, years of existence?”
Then again, I was the one carrying the idol. Something told me he’d be reluctant to let it go over the edge. Despite his protests to the contrary, I didn’t think he was stupid enough to cross the Dragon Lady.
Shit.
I halted my descent as the staircase groaned and the stone slab under me shifted, sending bits of sandstone dust down into the bottomless pit. Artemis stopped as well. The acrid taste of panic filled my mouth as neither of us made a sound.
But despite the show, the stone step held under my weight. I counted to ten. Nothing happened. I gauged the distance to the doorway. We were halfway there, just needed to go slowly . . . ten more steps, and we’d be home free.
I held my breath as I placed my foot on the next step. It held. I let the breath out. “More local legends, less bullshit,” I said to Artemis, as I continued my slow descent, though this time I kept my voice to a whisper.
“Well, first off, they’re stories, so take them like everything, with a grain of salt—but you’d be surprised what you pick up passing through town and listening to the locals.”
“I did, and the locals didn’t say anything about pirates.”
“Rule of thumb, Alix, when mixing with the locals, actually mix with the locals. Not the ones who speak English and are university educated. In this case, I found some interesting conversations at a café outside the local church. Just happened the old Peruvian ladies were hanging out having their coffee.”
“Seriously?” I shot Artemis a glance over my shoulder, but there was no guile on his face.
He shrugged. “It might have been spiked with a little hooch, but who am I to judge what a tiny ninety-year-old great-grandmother sticks in her morning coffee?”
“Not that. I meant what did you hear, exactly. And how did you learn to speak—”
I was about to say “the local dialect,” which I’d been having problems with, despite it being mostly Spanish . . .
But I didn’t have a chance—the breath was knocked out of me as the stone step keeled sharply to the right, downwards and towards the pit. I lost my balance and hit the slab on my chest. It was a miracle I managed to stick the flashlight into my mouth before I crashed down.
My momentum didn’t help any. The step groaned against its stone anchor and shifted again, I slid another inch, my feet hanging off the side now. I searched for something to grab onto—
And spotted Artemis’s hand.
Of all the lousy times for a trust game . . .
<
br /> Sensing my hesitation, his face twisted. “Don’t be an idiot, take my hand.”
The stone shifted again, this time sandstone from its anchoring point in the wall careening down.
I reached for Artemis’s hand. He caught it and quickly made a double grip, which I latched on to with my other hand.
No sooner did he try dragging me back up than the stone step beneath me collapsed, crashing down into the abyss and taking the next three steps with it.
Artemis looked down and then at me. “All right. I’ll admit it, I’m glad you told me to stay behind,” he said as the three stone slabs continued their descent.
I glared at Artemis and shone the flashlight back down at what remained of the stone staircase.
Only three steps had fallen away—not an insurmountable gap.
More important, the doorway was only five steps below the gap. Five short steps.
I wondered if there was ever such a thing as going far enough.
I drew in a deep breath. I could make the jump; it was downwards, I wouldn’t even need a running start. Just had to hope to hell these had been a fluke and the rest wouldn’t collapse.
Artemis’s face went white as it dawned on him what I planned to do. “You can’t possibly—”
I didn’t let him finish. I leapt while the adrenaline still coursed through me—into the air, over the black pit, as the flashlight beam wavered, Artemis swearing behind me. I hit the step—and braced.
No cracking, no shaking, no tilting. Just the sound of my feet hitting the stone and my own loud exhale of breath.
The stone had held.
“Of all the stupid—”
I glanced back to where Artemis was cursing at me from the other side of the gap. “Yet here I am.”
“What the hell do you expect me to do?”
Me? I was the one with the flashlight. I made my way down the last four steps to the landing and the sole door. Much like the one upstairs, the wood had been creosote-soaked and reinforced with iron, along with a spiked grate that was a duplicate of the one above. Yup, this was definitely the place . . . “Stay there if you want,” I called back as I set to work examining the door. Much like the one upstairs and despite the iron grate, it had every look of a normal door and entranceway, still locked, covered with dust that had burrowed its way into the creosote. Not a hint of the supernatural to speak of.
Owl and the Tiger Thieves Page 5
