Dungeon Crawl (The Twenty-Sided Sorceress Book 8)

by Annie Bellet

  That’s when the chamber started to shake. A huge chunk of rock smashed down from the ceiling.

  “Shit,” Levi said.

  “Stairs,” I said, throwing up my shield again, but above us. This time I did it without the aid of my hands as I clutched the jar.

  Another huge piece of the ceiling crashed right at the base of the stairs, blocking off the path upward.

  “Nevermind,” I yelled as rocks bounced off my hasty shield.

  “Through here,” Harper called out from behind me as I stumbled backward.

  I turned and followed her through the now-gaping doorway. Ezee and Levi were right behind me. The hallway was narrow but lit with electric sconces that flickered but stayed on as we moved at a quick and not entirely cautious pace away from the collapsing chamber.

  The shaking stopped after about forty feet down the hall. Just ahead, over Harper’s head, I saw that the path branched, the hallway dividing into two halls that veered off at forty-five degree angles of each other. Harper stopped at the junction and turned around.

  “Should we go back?” she asked.

  “Let me jog back and check the damage,” Ezee offered. He was already at the back of the line.

  “We shouldn’t split the party,” Levi said. He clicked his tongue against his lip ring. A new nervous gesture for him, I guessed.

  “If I yell, come running,” Ezee said.

  He turned and jogged back down the hall. I hadn’t noticed the hall curving, but it must have because he disappeared from sight. After a tense minute, we heard his footsteps coming back. His face told me everything I needed to know.

  “Way too much of the ceiling collapsed. I can’t even tell if there are stairs anymore.” He shook his head.

  “Well, the air smells not too stale, and there are lights. So, maybe another way out?” Harper said.

  “Left or right?” I said, turning to look at the hallways.

  The walls and floor were stone, rough-cut from what looked like greyish basalt bedrock. Looking up, the ceiling was about ten feet overhead and also stone. Good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic. We were deep underground, from what I could tell.

  Harper moved into the right-hand passage and sniffed. Then she backed up and did the same for the left.

  “Right,” she said. “Air is moving more that way and smells fresher.”

  “That old roadkill smell is stronger here,” Levi said.

  My nose was fried from the circle’s magic but the death incarnate smell had faded as we moved away from the ritual room. The jar in my hands didn’t smell strongly of the magic. I imagined the seal on the lid which was keeping the glowing green liquid in was also containing the magic’s scent. Small mercies.

  “I vote right,” Ezee said.

  “Take the jar and then get behind me,” I said to Harper. I figured it was safe enough for her to hold. Whatever picking it up had triggered had been in the ritual room. I thought perhaps a delayed reaction to crossing the circle, but I didn’t know for sure.

  She made a face, but took the jar and tucked it under her arm so she could keep wielding her crowbar in front of her. I started down the right-hand hallway. The electric sconce lights were spaced farther apart in this direction and the sharp bend in the hall took me by surprise. We turned to the right almost ninety degrees and found another door. It was in the same style as the last door. Old wood with heavy iron bands. The hinges were reddish-brown with rust. It wasn’t locked, but instead was barred on this side with a thick beam of wood.

  “That looks promising and not at all ominous,” Harper said, peering around me.

  “Should we go back and try the left hall, or see what is behind door number two?” I asked over my shoulder.

  “Maybe it is the way out,” Ezee said.

  “I vote we open the door,” Levi said.

  Harper shrugged. “Need help?”

  Her hands were full and it was my turn to make a face at her. She grinned.

  I gripped the heavy beam and heaved it up out of the iron brackets. Harper moved back so I could drop the beam against the wall a couple steps back. I checked my hands for splinters but found nothing. The stinging in my soft gamer’s palms must have been from the weight of the old wood. This door didn’t gape open once unbarred.

  “Here goes nothing,” I muttered as I gripped the brackets like they were handles and pulled.

  Turns out, there were zombies behind door number two.

  The bullet had torn through the side of his neck and while the wound was mostly closed up, Alek’s throat was still a mess of bruising with an angry red furrow. Washing the blood off revealed that the wound wasn’t quite closed, either, clear fluid oozing out from the swollen skin when he moved his head too much. Moving his arms also pulled on his neck skin, something Alek had never really thought about before this moment. He opted for a button up shirt and left his pants and shoes on, not daring to bend much.

  Intellectually, Alek knew he wasn’t in good shape for a fight. It didn’t matter. If Rachel found the shooters before he did, if something happened to her while he was convalescing, he knew he’d never forgive himself.

  This was his mess to clean up.

  “You hungry?” Rachel said as they pulled away from the apartment. Junebug and Vickie had watched them leave with apprehension on their faces, but didn’t try to stop him. They weren’t crazy. Rachel had just opened the car door and pushed back the seat all the way so he could get in more easily.

  Talking was bad enough, and swallowing water had been painful, partially from just moving his jaw. Alek did not want to contemplate what chewing and swallowing solid food would feel like.

  “I’m fine,” he said. His belly growled, giving lie to his words and he sighed.

  “Really? Because I’m always starving after I have to heal.” Rachel gave him a side glance that spoke volumes as she turned onto the main road.

  “Swallowing is hard,” Alek grudgingly admitted.

  “Milkshake it is, then,” Rachel said.

  The kid behind the window in the McDonald’s drive-through peered into the Sheriff’s SUV at Alek, eyes widening, but he kept his mouth shut, handing over the milkshake and the large Coke.

  “Thank you,” Alek said as he took a sip of milkshake. The cold felt good on his throat and the sugar would help his growing headache.

  “Sure thing,” Rachel said. “Just don’t do anything rash if we run into trouble, okay?”

  “I never do anything rash,” Alek said. He sucked on his straw, keeping his body as still as he could. He’d never noticed how many damn potholes and rough spots the roads in Wylde had. Did not humans pay their taxes for a reason?

  The neighborhood the call had come from was out on the edge of the town proper, just before Wylde turned into wilderness and ranches. The houses here sat on large lots, most a quarter to a half an acre, giving the neighborhood a private but still suburban feel. Mr. Coleman’s house was a pale green ranch style, a build echoed in the houses around it, including the one across the street. The potential target house was pale blue, but looked much the same; single floor, ranch-style layout. Coleman’s house was near the road, while his neighbors’ homes were set back farther on their properties. Rachel drove by without stopping and turned up the next side street.

  “I’m going to walk back, I don’t want the car just sitting there in case someone is around. I want them to think I just drove on by like normal,” she explained.

  Alek sucked down the last slurp of milkshake and opened his door.

  “Alek, stay here, please?” Rachel said.

  “No,” he said.

  Her brown eyes met his icy gaze and she backed down instantly, looking away with an audible huff. Alek suppressed a smile. Dealing with fellow shifters was a relief in many ways over dealing with his mate. Jade did not give two thoughts to body language or aggression and she never backed down if she could help it. Of course, if she were here, she wouldn’t be walking cautiously down the street. She’d likely go in, m
agic blazing.

  “Something funny?” Rachel muttered as Alek caught up to her with a single long stride.

  He hadn’t hidden his smile as well as he’d hoped. Ah well. “Thinking about Jade,” he said. His mate solved her problems, and anyone else’s that she cared about, with fireballs.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Rachel said, misinterpreting his comment. “And will be ready to kill you for putting yourself in danger while injured.”

  “The birds sing, the sun shines,” Alek said. He sniffed the air. None of the smells were out of the ordinary. Fresh-cut grass, dust from the road, day-old dog urine on that mailbox post. “No danger.”

  “Yet,” Rachel said.

  They approached the house from the side. No car was in the driveway and the double garage was closed up. There was nothing evident from peering in windows, but Alek caught the faint scent of wolf shifter as he rounded the back. Someone had left a shirt hanging over a deck chair. He smelled it, being careful not to touch it and leave his own trace there. His memory tried to place the scent, but whatever it triggered hung just out of reach.

  “Wolf,” Rachel said. “Not anyone I recognize.”

  “Shifters live here?” Alek figured she would have mentioned it, but he asked anyway to be sure.

  “Nope,” she said with a shake of her head. “Human family.”

  He’d learned she kept a secret file where she tracked the shifters and other supernaturals that lived or came through Wylde as best she could. It wasn’t easy being the Sheriff of this place. Lots of things happened she had to help hide from the humans, and Rachel had dodged her share of Council issues as well. He was not the first Justice to be sent to the town.

  Just the last. He pushed the bitter thought away.

  “Nobody here, but I bet they’ll come back,” Rachel said.

  “Hide in woods?” Alek said, looking at the yard and gauging how well he could hide his tiger-self there. Not well. The yard was large, but a fence separated it from the house behind, and while there were trees, it was well maintained which meant not great for hiding. He wanted to shift, his human body was tired and hurting. He’d be more useful as a tiger at the moment anyway.

  “I got a better idea, come on.”

  Rachel’s better idea was knocking on the door of the house across the street and introducing themselves to Mr. Coleman. He was a stocky human with tanned, age-spotted skin stretched thin like paper over his cheekbones and jaw.

  “Sheriff, thanks for taking me seriously. Not sure what’s up over there, you know?” Mr. Coleman said in a surprisingly deep voice. He glanced nervously at Alek.

  “Sure. You mind if we sit a while in your place? It’s probably just someone keeping an eye on the place, but we’ll stay out of the sun that way while we see if they come back.” Rachel smiled at the man, bringing his attention back to her.

  “I was just heading out to see my sister, family dinner and all, but you and your, ah, you can stay long as you like.”

  The front room was a living room with a couple comfortable overstuffed chairs, an uncomfortable-looking small couch, and a very lived-in recliner. Alek’s nose told him the place had once, in its distant past, been home to a male cat who liked to spray. Mr. Coleman showed them where the bathroom was and then Rachel managed to talk him out of the house in a gentle, friendly way that Alek almost envied. People obeyed him, they feared him, often they desired him, but they didn’t exactly treat him like their new buddy.

  “Mr. Coleman needs to take his trash out,” Rachel said as she started moving curtains and arranging chairs so they could see out the front window. It gave them a good view of the house across the street.

  Alek took a seat after realizing if he shifted, they could run into space issues in the smaller, somewhat crowded living room. It would also make it more difficult to see out the window while remaining in shadow.

  “I can keep watch if you want to shift and rest,” Rachel said.

  He met her too-perceptive gaze and started to shake his head. That hurt and he stopped immediately, suppressing a wince.

  “I’m fine,” he said.

  Rachel made what he interpreted as a “suit yourself, tough guy” gesture and took a seat on the other edge of the picture window. They sat in quiet for a while and Alek started to think perhaps he shouldn’t be so stoic. His neck felt tight and hot, even swallowing saliva hurt now. Sitting quietly, he had nothing to focus on except his own discomfort or worrying about Jade.

  At least Jade would be fully healed, and she’d taken her friends with her. Alek had learned in the last couple years not to underestimate the twins or Harper. He’d seen them take on bigger problems than robbing a house. They would keep each other safe. No point worrying, he told himself. There was nothing he could do there.

  Here he could do something. If they could catch and kill the people after him before Jade got back, that would be one less danger, one less worry on her plate. One nightmare she wouldn’t have to pretend she did not have. Alek could not guard her in her sleep, could not keep her safe from the dream-Samir who made her shake and whimper in the night, but he could try to keep her waking hours safe, uncomplicated. Peaceful.

  So much for peace, he thought, feeling the burn of the wound in his throat as it slowly healed.

  “You think you will know these guys?” Rachel said, breaking the silence. She pitched her voice low, knowing they had no need to speak loudly and not taking the risk even though they were alone.

  Alek did not particularly want to talk about it, or talk at all, but sitting silently worrying and hurting wasn’t pleasant either. He sighed.

  “I do not know. But with the Council broken, the Justices are finding things are not so good.” Which was an understatement, but even with the Council out of commission and eating itself from within, Alek still felt loyalty to its former ideals and was not sure he wanted to divulge its secrets, even to a fellow shifter.

  “How so?” Rachel pressed.

  Alek thought over what he felt comfortable saying and the Sheriff waited patiently until he spoke.

  “There are reports of former Justices being killed,” he said finally. He left out that he knew some of them had been killed by former Council members or shifters working in their name. Carlos had kept in touch as best he could after the hellish events they had both barely survived in New Orleans. “Others dropping out of touch, though we were never close exactly. Without the Council to foresee danger, without their added power, there is trouble in places. Hard feelings from those we have dealt with.”

  Hell, he thought ruefully, his own sister would not speak to him because of what he had had to do when her friend broke their laws.

  “Chickens coming home to roost,” Rachel said. He saw her nodding out of the corner of his eye.

  “That is an American phrase?” Alek asked. He was not sure he had heard that one before.

  “Sure. Don’t you have something like it?”

  “Perhaps. I think we would say što poséješ’, to i požnjóš,” he said. “As you sow, so you harvest.” He was not entirely sure of the translation but it was close enough.

  “I know that it’s probably super secret business, but…” Rachel trailed off and they sat in silence. A car drove by, a woman with two kids in her back seat. It didn’t slow down.

  “The Council,” Alek said after a while.

  “All we know are the rumors, even I haven’t been able to track down much real information. Only that one of the Nine was killed.” Rachel’s voice was tight with nerves.

  Alek did not blame her. They were talking about the death of gods in a way. The all-seeing, all-knowing power that had ruled shifter lives with an iron fist for hundreds of years.

  That rule was ended. Alek’s heart felt like a lump in his chest but he knew he had made his choices, and he knew the end had come without his help. New Orleans had taught him that much, at the least.

  Turning his head would hurt too much, so Alek rotated his upper body on the chair to fa
ce Rachel. He’d hear a car coming, so he was not that concerned with taking his eyes off the house. Her jaw was set, the muscles twitching under tension, and she did not look over to meet his gaze.

  “Another of the Nine killed her,” he said. Rachel’s head turned and her eyes met his, wide with surprise. “I do not understand it all,” he added. “But the Nine were once just shifters like you or I. They were given their powers by the Fates, the power to forsee, to predict. But shifters are mortal and such powers were not really meant for mortals.”

  He paused, searching her expression for a sign that she was closing down, worried that Rachel would not want to hear her gods had been just men and women. Alek had run into that problem already and was gun shy, as the saying went, about facing it again. The only other shifter he had told this to had tried to kill him, after all.

  Rachel’s dark eyes were wide with surprise but the slight wrinkle in her brow and the tilt of her chin told him she was listening. Her hands rested on her legs, her ankles crossed was the only sign of defensiveness or closing up.

  “So they went crazy?” she said. “And you mean like the Fates from myth kind of Fates?”

  That was a more blunt way to state it. Alek took a slow breath. The pain in his throat was easing as the minutes ticked past.

  “Yes to both, from what I understand. The Council members are no longer stable, no longer anchored in the now, in reality.” He was not sure how to explain it, he barely grasped the concept himself. “All they see are death and threats. What once was potential has become real in their minds.”

  Rachel was nodding along as he spoke. “I guess if you see lots of probabilities and future events all the time, future crimes and danger; that could drive someone kind of crazy after a few centuries. So we’re really on our own?” The last was half statement, half question.

  “I think we are,” Alek said.

  “I’m all for law and order,” Rachel said. She managed a semblance of her usual grin and Alek relaxed a little. “But even with the Council, stuff slipped through the cracks a lot. I think we’ll manage. Our ancestors managed before the Nine, after all.”