The Chosen

by Theresa Meyers

  He carried a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string in one hand.

  China ran a self-conscious hand over her unbound hair and inhaled the delectable smell of Bay Rum and clean male. “Well, don’t you clean up nice?”

  He glanced down the corridor as someone came out of one of the rooms down the hall. “Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Yes, sir. Please come in, Mr. Jackson, sir.” China stepped back and waved an expansive arm, inviting him inside.

  A pulse beat at his temple as he surveyed the shadowy room, the crumpled sheets, and the cold hip bath near the window. His gaze returned to glide, as physical as a touch, over her damp hair, which hung down her back to dry. “Good,” he muttered, voice thick. “You got some rest.”

  China felt a blush heat her cheeks, foolish really. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She went to pull open the drapes, then stood with her back to the window, waiting for him to speak. How silly of her to have sweaty palms and an elevated heartbeat just because this man had bathed and used a little scented water.

  He’d changed his rumpled black coat, pinstriped dark pants, and dirt-smeared, once-white shirt into a crisp uniform of off-white jodhpurs and matching military jacket with tall collar and a row of shiny brass buttons marching down the middle of his broad chest. He had exchanged his black cowboy boots for knee-high brown military boots that accentuated the length and strength of his legs. And perhaps most shocking of all, he’d given up his black cowboy hat for a cream-colored pith helmet.

  He would have looked dashing if she’d been in England, or if she’d never seen him in his other clothes. But he looked so starched, so formal, she nearly felt sorry for him.

  “What on God’s green Earth are you wearing, Jackson? And why?” China waved a hand from his head to his boot tips and back again.

  Remington simply stared at her, his hand on the lapels of his crisp explorer’s uniform. “I was informed this was proper attire for jungle exploration.”

  China shook her head and ended up laughing until she doubled over. When she caught her breath and wiped her eyes, she took a deep breath. “There is no way you’re gettin’ me into a getup like that.”

  He raised one dark brow. “What’s wrong with it? Don’t like the hat?”

  “You look like an Englishman on holiday, not someone about to go head-to-head with a dark, unexplored jungle and the Aztec version of Hell.”

  Remington sighed as he walked farther into her room. “It was the only clothing the man at the outpost had in my size.”

  “Probably because no one else wanted to buy it.” China snickered again. “Sorry.” She forced her face into a more serious look. “It should work fine, as long as you don’t expect it to stay clean for more than five minutes.” And given the dusty streets right here in Caborca, maybe not even that long.

  A hint of a smile lifted the corner of Remington’s mouth, making the divot in his chin that much more enticing. “I don’t mind getting dirty for the right reason. Your turn to change. Are you ready to meet the captain?”

  “Almost.” She looked down at her clothing, which was rumpled beyond repair. After her bath she’d changed into the other set of clothes Remington had purchased back in Tombstone. It’d been crammed in the bottom of their traveling packs. There’d been so much blood on her other clothing she figured it was unsalvageable. “I don’t have anything to wear but this.”

  He shook the brown paper parcel he was holding. “You’re in luck. I’ve brought you something.”

  China snatched up the parcel and hugged it to her chest.

  “Sure you don’t need any help?”

  She threw him an arch glance. “I can undress myself quite well, thank you.”

  But he’d enjoy peeling her out of her clothing a lot more, Remington thought, sitting in the only chair as she sashayed behind the changing screen. As long as he remembered this was only a physical thing and didn’t get emotionally involved, it could prove entertaining. Silently, he began to count down the impending explosion he knew was coming. Five. The rasp of string being untied. Four. The impatient rip of paper. Three. Two. One.

  “Remington Jackson! What the devil is this?” China came barreling out from behind the screen, shaking the garment in her fist at him. “This is a dress. A dress! How on earth do you expect me to go hiking through the jungle in this?” She lifted it by the shoulders in both hands, glaring at it in disgust.

  It was really a very nice dress. Something elegant. Perfect for visiting the captain and making a proper impression. It would show off the slope of her shoulders, and if she wore her hair up, the arch of her neck. Now it was Remington’s turn to chuckle. It had been a choice between this dress and another one, red calico. He’d thought the black would be less apt to show wear and dirt during their journey. “I thought you would look lovely in it.”

  She gave him a sour look. “It’s black. I’ll look like I’m in mourning.”

  “Only for your dignity and mine.”

  “It’s downright awful, that’s what it is. If I hadn’t ruined my leather britches fighting those viperanox, I’d be back in them in a heartbeat.”

  He stared at her, thoughts running through his head of exactly how tight those leather pants would have become if they’d become wet. An uncomfortable heat swirled low down in his belly, turning to pressure. He didn’t need her as a distraction on this trip; too many lives hung in the balance, and he couldn’t afford to lose focus.

  China huffed. “You know, if I changed into a mountain lion, I wouldn’t have to deal with this damn dress at all.”

  Remington wanted to say, run bare naked through the jungle if you like, but he didn’t dare. She might take it as a challenge and do precisely that. The idea of seeing the flash of her bare, pale skin, forehead to toe, dashing through the forest brought to mind things he’d do best not to contemplate.

  Focus. Naked. Focus. Good God, now he was arguing with himself. “It’ll do while we meet the captain.” A little of his frustration with himself leaked into his tone.

  China gave a reluctant sigh. “Fine. For meeting the captain. But I’m giving you fair warning; the first opportunity I get, I’m finding me another pair of britches to wear.”

  Remington smothered a smile. That was just fine by him.

  They met Monica in the lobby of the hotel and followed her to her father’s house. The home of Captain Nation was far different than he’d expected.

  “Does that look like a porthole to you?” China whispered as they passed through the wooden gate with the unusual brass fixture in the high adobe garden wall. Early evening light filtered buttery and yellow through the pale green boughs of the mesquite trees. The soothing sound of running water greeted them as they entered a tropical paradise. Hand-painted tiles rimming the fountain reflected light onto the water as it sprayed and tumbled over the body of a mermaid. A sparkling silver stream poured from the upraised conch shell in her hand, overflowing two levels before filling the tiled basin at the bottom.

  “My father doesn’t like to be away from the ocean for too long,” Monica said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “He finds the water soothing.”

  He probably would need more than soothing water when he learned he had a Darkin in his home for dinner, Remington thought.

  All around the paving stones surrounding the fountain were tropical plants, their wide-leafed foliage lush and many shades of green. Exotic flowers dripped like purple water from a small shrub, and small yellow flowers danced on slender stems along the walkway. The sweet fragrance of honey and something spicy was strong in the air, and the buzz of insects mingled with the soothing sound of running water. “This is magnificent.” Remington waved an expansive hand around the courtyard. “I’ve never seen such a vast variety of tropical foliage in anyone’s home before. Did your father bring the plants back with him from his travels?”

  Monica glanced at Remington and gave him a secretive smile. “The plants . . . and other things.”


  China nudged him, her sharp elbow finding a niche between his ribs. He huffed, not so much from the sharp jab as from surprise. He frowned at her.

  She crooked her finger at him to come closer. Remington bent down. “Look at those.” Her harsh whisper was hot against his ear. Her breath smelled of the peppermint tooth powder he’d found at the mercantile, and her hair like vanilla cream as it brushed his cheek.

  Along one wall of the garden was a small alcove with three squat statues. They looked like ugly little dwarves to him, but there was something about their squared stone faces and the unusual carvings of snakes and scorpions and skulls surrounding them that was intriguing, and he paused to inspect them. They looked remarkably similar to the squat little statue he and China had brought with them.

  “Want to bet he and Diego snagged those from some ancient ruins?” China said softly.

  She was probably right. From the calculations he’d made from Diego’s map, their goal lay far to the south on the eastern coastline near Veracruz. He wasn’t sure how Captain Nation planned to get them there without sailing all around South America, but he’d learned that often just going with a situation could yield better results.

  Monica clanged the large brass ship’s bell by the front door of the adobe house. The door opened, and a wiry man greeted them. His skin, weathered nearly to the shade of dark cherrywood, made his white hair and the bright white stubble on his face seem brilliant in comparison. He wrapped his arms around Monica in a tight hug.

  “Father, I would like to introduce you to our guests,” Monica said softly, pulling herself out of her father’s arms to stand at military attention beside him.

  Captain Nation’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. “What is this? You’ve brought a Darkin to my home?”

  “She is part of Mr. Jackson’s exploration party.”

  The old man’s gaze shifted back to Monica, the harsh lines in his face smoothing some. “Jackson? Part of the Chosen?”

  Monica gave him one curt nod. “The very same, Captain.”

  Captain Nation turned back to Remington and looked him up and down. “Well, he certainly looks like an explorer.” He extended his hand in greeting. “Welcome to my home, Mr. Jackson.”

  “Thank you, Captain Nation. This is not a social call, however. We were told by Diego Mendoza that you could take us with your submarine to the place where they hid the last piece of the Book of Legend from the Kingdom of Navarre.”

  Captain Nation pulled at his whiskered chin and glanced about the walled garden. “Where is the rest of your party?”

  “It is just myself and the shifter.”

  The captain cast his dark gaze in China’s direction. “And you, shifter, are you indentured to him?”

  It was laughable. She’d never been indentured to anyone in her life and was damned if she’d start now. Only her father held any kind of lasting hold over her, and that was by a mixture of equal parts devotion and fear. But China also realized they needed to humor the captain if they were going to use his boat. She hitched her thumb at Remington. “No. I’m in it to help him recover the missing piece of the Book of Legend so the Chosen can reunite it.” It was the truth. She just didn’t bother explaining what she planned to do after they’d reunited the Book.

  The old man’s mouth split into a wide smile. “Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So the rebellion has begun, then?”

  His change of demeanor took China aback. “Rebellion?” She knew the vampires were rebelling against Rathe, but perhaps there were others as well. The thought sent a chill through her. Perhaps there was a way to escape him after all. She’d never considered it possible before, but the tantalizing idea sparkled and fizzed in the back of her brain.

  The captain looked around the garden and into the darkening evening skies. “It’s not safe to discuss it out here,” he murmured, as he tapped his ear in a silent gesture to meant others might be listening. “Please, come in.”

  The inside of Captain Nation’s home looked like he’d gutted an old sailing ship and then had an adobe house built around it. Even the wood-lined walls curved, bowing out. Old wine barrels, topped with colorful blue pillows, constituted the chairs he offered them.

  He settled into a leather chair and glanced at his daughter, who’d shut the door behind them. “Monica, be a good girl and fetch our honored guest some refreshments.”

  China noted that he said guest, singular, but she decided at this juncture it was better not to comment on it. If Remington were indeed part of the Chosen, then he was indeed an honored guest, whereas she was, well, she was just his sidekick.

  Captain Nation leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a manic gleam in his dark brown eyes. “One of the signs, foretold centuries ago by a vampire prophet named Kostick, was that a rebellion would begin among the Darkin in the days before the Book of Legend would be reunited by the Chosen.”

  “Well I don’t know that it’s a full-fledged rebellion. I just have a personal interest in seeing the Book reunited by the Chosen.”

  The old man took the glass of amber-colored liquor his daughter offered him and passed the silver tray of glasses to Remington. He raised his glass at them. “To the rise of the Chosen and the Book of Legend reunited.”

  China took one of the glasses and glanced at Remington. He shrugged as if to say, what the hell. She lifted the glass in salute to Captain Nation’s toast. “To the Chosen,” she said.

  The tequila was a damn sight stronger than she’d anticipated, but as smooth as could be.

  Captain Nation smacked his lips with satisfaction, then pointed one of the fingers holding onto his glass at her. “You may be only one Darkin, but it is the smallest loose thread that causes a whole blanket to unravel,” Nation said. “If you are in rebellion, then there will be others.”

  “The vampires are moving against him as well,” Remington added.

  “What else was in the prophecy?” China pushed.

  “There’s to be a blood price paid when the Book is reunited. The codex was specific about that. The Aztecs believed strongly in the power of blood.” Captain Nation’s brows furrowed in thought. “Things are moving faster than I thought.” He locked his gaze on Remington. “How close are we to the closing of the Gates of Nyx?”

  “We have a little more than two weeks until the new moon.”

  Captain Nation stood. “Monica! Why didn’t you say so? We have no time to lose. We must make for the coast tonight.”

  Monica saluted him. “Aye, aye, Captain.” Her hand lowered slowly, and her face dropped. “There’s more, Father. Uncle Diego is dead.”

  Captain Nation wobbled a bit, then fell back in his chair. “I am the last of us then. Cyrus, Diego, Bart, and me. We went after the pieces of the Book, the four of us. We wanted to know where they were hidden so the Chosen could find and reunite them.” He looked down at his wrinkled hands. “Am I that old?”

  Monica grabbed him by the shoulder. “Rest now, father. I will see that we get the ship supplied and the horses ready.”

  Captain Nation shook his head, the air of sadness thick around him. “You will go in my stead on this voyage, Monica.”

  “But father—”

  He held up a hand, cutting off her protest. “It is time we all do the things that must be done. I will take the statues north to Sir Turlock. You must take our adventurers south. We will meet, daughter, at the Gates of Nyx.”

  Chapter 12

  They rode through the night. By the time they reached the western coast of Mexico, the sun was rising. It shimmered on the water like gold coins scattered across a vivid field of aquamarine blue.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” China said a bit breathlessly.

  Remington shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was rather homely to be honest. Looks like a metal shark.”

  China stared at him stunned. “The sun on the water?”

  “No, the submarine.” He pointed at the dark hulk that rested near the shoreline. The
dark iron ship did indeed look like a shark, with the higher arch of a back in the middle tapering down at either end to a finer point. A large screw propeller at the rear end of the machine gave the impression of a tail.

  “Think it actually floats?”

  Monica trotted up beside them. “It’s not supposed to float; it’s supposed to dive beneath the waves. Running under the water makes it harder for our enemies to spot us. It has compressed air ballast chambers to aid our descent and ascent. My father commissioned it after the Civil War from a builder named Simon Lake and had it loosely based on the design of Julius Kroehl’s Explorer, although on a much grander scale. Come this way, and we’ll get you aboard the Chipirón.” She dismounted, and both Remington and China followed her lead, handing the reins of their mounts off to a waiting crew member.

  “You named your submersible ship after baby squid?” Remington sounded slightly appalled as they walked toward the machine.

  Monica’s mouth split into a wide smile. “I thought it fit. She’s small, but fast in the water, and has a few surprising defenses. We’ll have you down the coast in no time.”

  China watched with fascination as the front of the submarine seemed to open like a large mouth onto the beach. The waves lapped at the metal gangway. She wasn’t that comfortable with the notion of walking into the metallic machine, or with being in the water for that matter, but what choice did they have? Time was ticking away. The sooner they got to the temple Diego had told Remington his map led to, the better. They still needed to join the Book of Legend together before it could be of use at the Gates of Nyx. She followed behind the first mate and Remington into the belly of the beast.

  It was immense and reminded China a bit of hiding out in an empty water tower. “This serves as our cargo hold and loading dock for larger objects,” Monica explained as they trekked past wooden crates and large objects covered over in thick duck-cloth sheets.