Kitty in the Underworld kn-12

by Carrie Vaughn

  “I’m sorry,” I managed to gasp. “That probably wasn’t the reaction you were looking for. But actually I’m not sorry.” Now it was the gobsmacked looks on their faces making me laugh. On the one hand this was all spooky and terrifying, with dim lamps and dark caves and monsters and blood. On the other hand … Yeah, what else could I do but laugh?

  “You are Regina Luporum,” the vampire declared.

  I hiccupped again. My stomach hurt. “You’re not serious,” I managed to gasp. That was a joke, it had always been just a joke.

  “We’ve brought you here to fulfill your role. Your fate,” he said.

  “Who the hell are you people?” I asked.

  “Your destiny,” said the vampire, in a tone that suggested he thought this was obvious.

  I stared. Sudden gooseflesh covered my skin, even though the temperature wasn’t that cold. The cave was insulating. But I was naked and vulnerable. I did have a clearer idea of who my enemy was, though: fanatics, of unknown origin and purpose. Small comfort that they seemed to need me for something not involving blood sacrifice and death. I couldn’t shove my mind past the crazy part.

  “I don’t understand,” I said, fiercely as I could manage. Wolf was present, glaring out in challenge. My teeth were bared. That didn’t seem to make a difference. They were all very good at maintaining neutral expressions. They had a plan, and so far I hadn’t done anything to disrupt it.

  “You will,” the vampire said, turning a cracked and ominous smile.

  “Like hell,” I muttered. If they wanted to keep me here, they’d have to work for it.

  Likely, one of the openings in the cave led out, and one didn’t. Fifty-fifty chance. I looked at them both, trying not to give away that I was looking, and made a plan. Neither exit had an obvious slope, up or down. The whole place was flat, so that didn’t help. The two lycanthropes stood near the left-hand tunnel, which meant my chances of reaching it before they stopped me were slim. I might be able to fight them both off, but I didn’t want to bet my freedom on it. On my right, the human magician stood. Her, I could flat outrun. Of course, the vampire would probably be able to stop me no matter what. Unless, just maybe, his ancient, wizened appearance meant that his strength and reflexes had also decayed. I could hope.

  I couldn’t prepare, I could only go.

  I launched, running as I stood, stumbling forward and letting gravity do the work. Still cramped and woozy after shifting just a few hours ago, I hadn’t had a chance to stretch and unkink my muscles. Couldn’t think about it. Just aimed myself at the tunnel and ran. Didn’t look behind me, only saw my captors’ reactions out of the corner of my eye. Appearing startled and determined, they came after me. I had to be faster.

  And hope this was the tunnel that would take me out of the mine.

  Leaving the wider space, I escaped into darkness, under an arcing passage of stone. Two parallel steel lines imbedded in the tunnel floor formed a pathway—rails of a former oar cart system. The tracks glittered, covered with a patina of rust and crystallized minerals, running through the previous chamber as well. They gave me a path to follow.

  The ceiling became lower and cut into my speed. I suddenly wished I was Wolf, able to cover this ground in seconds. Then the tunnel began to slope—downward. A bad sign, but I was committed. Maybe it only sloped down a little way before sloping back up. Please …

  The tunnel opened into a chamber, roughly round and lit by another of those battery camp lanterns, giving off the palest glow, just enough light to be able to navigate by without crashing into the rough-cut walls.

  I slid to a flailing stop in the middle of the room, looking around, desperate for an exit that wasn’t there. It was a dead end. Fifty-fifty chance, and I picked wrong.

  Trapped and panting for breath, I noticed the markings on the floor. Dark lines and curves drawn in precise patterns, symbols placed at regular intervals. I could just make out more symbols on the walls, and amulets of metal, bone, and wood secured in place, corresponding to the marks on the floor. I stepped softly, following the track of the pattern, tracing with my gaze until the whole of it became clear—a five-pointed star inside a circle, about fifteen feet across. Traditional European arcane symbolism. This was a magician’s ritual space.

  Maybe I’d spoken too soon about the sacrifices.

  Footsteps pounded into the room after me, the four of them fanning across the entrance to block my escape. I was trapped. But I stood my ground, staring back at them. Not ducking a millimeter in the face of their challenge.

  The white woman, the magician, drew up the rifle-looking gun she’d been holding hidden by her leg, and fired. I turned, an instinctive move to protect myself rather than an attempt at escape, which would have been futile.

  A familiar punch and sting hit my shoulder. Snarling, I yanked out the tranquilizer and threw it away. Too late, it had already delivered its dose, and the tingling spread through my chest and arms. Stumbling, I retreated to the back wall. Started to press myself against it, but itching stopped me. There was silver here, just as there was silver everywhere.

  The magician loaded another tranquilizer dart and fired again. Woozy now, I was more concerned with getting away from the wall than with dodging the shot, which suddenly seemed like a distant thing. On the ground, I was aware of flopping like a fish, scraping my skin. Then I couldn’t move at all, and they were all there, looking down at me. I couldn’t read their expressions, however much I wanted to see anger, regret, annoyance, sadness, anything.

  I faded out altogether, still confused, unable to figure out how to solve this riddle.

  * * *

  I EXPECTED to wake up back in the cell, the cubbyhole where they’d first put me. I hoped they’d put me there, because my clothes were there. They wanted my Wolf, which meant they wanted me naked, and I was sick of being naked. But the pervasive light and open space meant I was back in the tunnel, the antechamber to the ritual space. And still naked. The grit of the floor dug into the skin of my thigh, shoulder, arm, cheek. I smelled of earth, like I’d been buried.

  The vampire was speaking. Intoning, rather, in the formal diction of a poet or a storyteller, like he had before, but this time he recited from a story.

  “May the Roads of Enkidu to the Cedar Forest mourn you and not fall silent night or day. May the Elders of the broad city of Uruk-Haven mourn you. May the peoples who gave up their blessings after us mourn you. May the rivers of silt and waterfowl mourn you, may the pasture lands mourn you … May the bear, hyena, panther, tiger, water buffalo, jackal, lion, wild bull, stag, ibex, all the creatures of the plains mourn you…”

  The others stood around him, their heads bent in prayer. This was like being in a church service, but for a religion I’d never encountered. I should have been praying along out of politeness, but I was too baffled. I remained still, quiet, hoping they didn’t notice that I’d woken up.

  “I mourn for Enkidu, my friend … the swift mule, fleet wild ass of the mountain, panther of the wilderness…”

  I couldn’t tell how much time had passed since they knocked me out. It must have been the same night, if the vampire was still here. I might have been out for a few minutes, a few hours. It might have all been a part of a dream. Why was he reciting from the Epic of Gilgamesh? This had to be a dream.

  The vampire continued, “Enkidu, the first beast, wild man of the hills who guides all who come after. The greatest warrior, the greatest friend. We remember, we tell the tale, how great Gilgamesh tracked the wild man through the hills. Gilgamesh, king of men, challenged the king of beasts to battle, to see which of them would rule all, for they were evenly matched and only battle would decide. But Enkidu could see the prowess and dignity of the other, and so yielded his claim to any crown of man or beast. Willingly, Enkidu followed Gilgamesh and became his guard.”

  I knew this story, but I’d never heard a version of it like this. In the original Sumerian version, Gilgamesh and Enkidu became friends. One didn’t serve the other
. Enkidu was on my list of possible werewolves. Another possible hero for me.

  If I hadn’t been a captive audience, not to mention naked, I’d have been fascinated by the way the vampire’s voice echoed in the tunnel, and the way he changed the story to suit whatever arcane purpose he had in mind. Instead of being fascinated, though, my dread built.

  “Gladly, Enkidu gave his life to save Gilgamesh, taking into himself the weapon meant for the other. Gilgamesh could not be spared, but Enkidu knew his sacrifice would be celebrated—”

  “No,” I said. I couldn’t take it anymore. So much for them not noticing I’d woken up. They probably started this because I’d woken up. It was about me. And here I was thinking this couldn’t get any crazier. “That’s not right, that isn’t how the story goes. Enkidu knew their quest had gone too far, that they were in trouble, but Gilgamesh wouldn’t listen to him. Enkidu died cursing Gilgamesh, and nothing Gilgamesh did overcame his grief at losing his best friend—”

  “We honor Enkidu’s sacrifice,” the vampire said, glaring at me, because who was I to say his version wasn’t right? Maybe he’d been there. Or maybe it was just a story.

  But this wasn’t right. The story of Gilgamesh was about hubris. The point of the vampire’s retelling seemed to be that all powers, even the wildest, will bend toward a righteous goal—a righteous leader. That we must defer to the leader. Him.

  The vampire spread his arms, encompassing the others in a fatherly gesture. His tone changed, becoming commanding, decisive. Story over, on to phase two. “You—do you stand witness for Enkidu?” the vampire said.

  The werewolf answered, “I stand witness for Enkidu.”

  “Do you stand witness for Sakhmet?”

  “I stand witness for Sakhmet,” said the were-lion.

  “Do you stand witness for Zoroaster?”

  “I stand witness for Zoroaster,” said the magician.

  Then the vampire looked across the cave at me. “Do you stand witness for Regina Luporum?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Impatient, he repeated, “Do you stand witness for Regina Luporum?”

  “That’s not even a real story. It’s something Marid made up.” And Marid was twenty-eight hundred years old. How old did a story have to be before it was “real”?

  “What is your answer?”

  “You call me Regina Luporum, you say I’m some kind of queen. Is this how you treat a queen?” I gestured to myself, naked and grubby, hungry and thirsty, woozy from the drugs they’d pumped into me.

  Appearing anxious, the werewolf stepped forward. His jaw was taut, and his eyes held a desperate blaze. He glanced at the vampire, as if asking permission or looking for a reaction. When the vampire remained still, silent, the werewolf spoke.

  “We had to break through to your wolf side. Your primal self. Your true self.”

  “You think this is it, do you? Well, fuck you.”

  Could have heard a pin drop, as they say. I wasn’t sure what response they expected from me, but verbal rage obviously wasn’t it. Which meant they probably didn’t listen to my show. Oh well.

  “You people have to let me go. I don’t belong here. Please,” I said, because surely it couldn’t hurt.

  “But we need you,” the were-lion said. Like the wolf, she had a desperation to her that disturbed me.

  The werewolf took hold of her hand, squeezed, and she settled. The two of them had never moved more than a handbreadth apart, not since I’d been watching.

  “Then tell me what you need me for,” I said.

  “To play your part,” the vampire said. He moved closer, staring. He was trying to catch my gaze, but I knew better than to be caught. I focused on his leathery neck, or on the others, pleading with them, as if I could beg them to help me. As if they’d go against the leader.

  “I can’t play my part if you won’t tell me what it is. What’s your plan—blood sacrifice? You going to gut me over your circle in there and read my entrails?” That sounded plausible enough to make my breath catch. I glared to hide my fear.

  “Oh, no,” he said, smiling. “We need your life.”

  And what did that mean?

  He continued in a steady voice that was probably meant to be calming but instead came off as condescending. “We can’t reveal meaning to you. You have to understand. Listen to your instincts.”

  My instincts were telling me to wrap my jaws around his throat and rip into him with Wolf’s fangs. I had to clamp down on a sudden roiling in my gut, as Wolf stirred and tested the bars of her cage. We were already naked, it would just take a tiny push to set her free … I continued breathing calmly, locking that cage as tightly as I could, keeping Wolf still. I didn’t want to shift again and lose control of what I could say.

  The vampire’s lips pressed in a thin smile, as if he knew what I was thinking. He knew what buttons to push. He was thinking he could bring out another dead rabbit and trip my circuit, forcing me to Change. I couldn’t let that happen.

  Instead of starting another bloodbath, he came to within a few paces of me, just out of reach, and crouched, bringing himself to my eye level.

  “You will understand,” he said, his expression full of sympathy and righteousness.

  But I hardly heard the words. Up close, I got a better look at the amulet around his neck: a coin on a leather cord, ancient and bronze. A Roman coin. The image had been defaced, mangled by hatch marks, smashed and misshapen.

  A coin of Dux Bellorum, defaced. Which made him one of the good guys. Didn’t it?

  “Where did you get that?” I whispered. I leaned in, resisting an urge to reach out and touch it. Maybe it was something different. It only looked like a Roman coin and would turn out to be plastic or wood. It was just old, not defaced.

  Confused, the vampire tilted his head. I had interrupted his speech. He didn’t seem to know what to say next, and regarded me as if I had sprouted wings. He had probably expected me to be awed by him, and afraid.

  “I know where you got that,” I continued. “You got it from Dux Bellorum.”

  His eyes widened in shock, anger, something. He wrapped a hand around the coin and backed away from me.

  I wasn’t sure what reaction I’d been expecting. I had hoped—optimistically, it turned out—that he would tell me about Roman, about how he knew the other vampire, how he’d acquired the coin, what he knew about its power. I wanted to have a goddamned conversation.

  I pressed on. “You know him—you’ve met him. Where? How? You got away from him. You wouldn’t have marked it up like that otherwise. I’ve met Roman, I’ve faced him myself. What can you tell me—”

  Grimacing, he stood in a rush and marched out. He took the tunnel to my left—the correct one. I wondered where he was going. No, I actually didn’t much care what the guy did. But I’d pissed him off. That was good. Nice to know he had a weak spot I could leverage.

  The blond woman, the magician, gave me a shocked look, then ran after the vampire. Leaving the two lycanthropes staring at me. They were holding hands, almost bracing against each other.

  Them, I matched gazes with. Straight on, full of challenge. I might have been sprawled on the floor naked, but I was better than this and I let them know it.

  “Gosh,” I said flatly. “What did I say?”

  Of all the wonders, the werewolf smiled.

  “You do understand,” he said. “You do know what we’re battling.” He said this with awe and hope. The woman raised his hand to her mouth and kissed it. I might have just handed them the map to buried treasure, the way they acted.

  I suddenly wanted to take a nap. Another one, hard rock for a mattress or not. The fuzz in my head had become too thick to muddle through. But I tried.

  “This is all about fighting Roman? You maybe think if you let me in on the secret I might actually be able to help?”

  “It’s—it’s more complicated than that.”

  Wasn’t it always? “Let me go. Just let me go.”

  “W
e can’t do that.”

  I growled in frustration. The pair turned and left the chamber as well, and I was alone. They hadn’t left a guard, they hadn’t chained me up. So I stood and ran after them—what was to stop me?

  Answer: another door, a few feet down the tunnel, bolted into supports drilled into the rock. The whole place was compartmentalized; they could lock me up anywhere.

  On principle, I screamed and banged on the door a few times. This one wasn’t any less solid than the one to that first cell. But I didn’t waste breath and energy lashing out any more than that.

  I curled up on the ground next to the door, hugged myself, and waited.

  * * *

  TIME PASSED and the door opened, scraping against the stone floor. I started awake and wondered if I could grab the door, haul it the rest of the way, tackle whoever was on the other side, run hard, find my way out of the tunnels—

  The door opened just a few inches, and it closed again quickly, just as soon as the were-lion shoved a bundle through. I could smell her, sense her moving quickly, but then she was gone again. I blinked, trying to figure out what had happened. My nose flared, smelling. She’d left a pile of clothing. My sweater, jeans, panties.

  I wondered what the catch was.

  Maybe she was being nice. Maybe I actually had an ally in this place. Or maybe this was a good cop/bad cop ploy. I’d put my trust in her—she kept giving me things, after all. Water, food, clothes. I was supposed to cling to her, and they’d use that trust to manipulate me into doing … whatever they were trying to do. Or maybe I was overthinking this.

  I didn’t much care what the ulterior motives were, I was putting my clothes on.

  Chapter 9

  I HAD LIGHT at this end of the tunnel. I had room to move around. And I felt a million times better being dressed.

  I went exploring.

  The antechamber, more of an extrawide part of the tunnel, didn’t have much to it. It was small, the remnant of mining activity. A vein of ore might have been dug out, and this and the adjoining cave were what was left. The old rails ran straight through, out the other side. I couldn’t guess how deep underground this was. Air must have been coming in from somewhere, because I was still breathing. It smelled musty, like chalk and silt, but not stale. The walls shimmered, and in some places had rounded mounds of colored rock, places where the water seeped through and deposited minerals in strange colors, patterns, and pencil-thin baby stalactites. I had no interest in touching the walls more than I had to, leery of the silver there.