River of Eden

by Glenna Mcreynolds

  Something behind her caught his eye, and the instant change in him warned her something was wrong.

  “Will, we have to—”

  “Stop, Annie,” he said, keeping her from saying anything more. “It's too late.”

  “Too late, indeed,” said another voice coming from behind her, a voice Annie knew down to the marrow of her bones.

  She froze where she was on the ground, hardly breathing for the sudden fear gripping her heart. Corisco.

  Soldiers crossed from behind her to go and stand on either side of Will. One took the knife from his hand. Two more grabbed his arms while three kept him in the sights of their rifles.

  With a measured tread, Corisco slowly circled her, coming into her line of sight. Without meaning to, she drew herself back, her instincts more powerful than any source of pride or arrogance.

  He was worse than she'd remembered—slicker, even more diabolical looking, with his black eyepatch and the bizarre white streak running back through his coal-black hair. His face was thin, nearly cadaverous, his uniform impeccably neat.

  “Welcome to Reino Novo, Dr. Parrish,” he said, his smile a sardonic curve. “Or should I say, welcome back?”

  Corisco turned away, and Annie saw his gaze slide down Will's mostly naked body, one eyebrow quirked in disdain.

  “I'd heard you'd spent some time with the Indians, Dr. Travers, but I seem to have underestimated the affinity I'd heard you felt for the native peoples. Are the other rumors true as well? The sucur? A lost city of gold? People say you found one in the forest.”

  “This is the lost city of gold,” Will said through gritted teeth, the soldiers holding his arms tightly behind his back.

  To Annie's surprise, Vargas laughed.

  “How very astute of you, Doctor. It is, indeed. Reino Novo, the new El Dorado. Lock him up.” Vargas's smile faded as he turned his gaze back to her. “And bring the woman with me. We have much to… discuss… don't we, Dr. Parrish?”

  Will lunged forward, but the soldiers held him back, and when he continued to struggle, one of them stepped forward and rapped him sharply on the head with the butt end of his rifle.

  He collapsed like a stone, and Annie felt her life starting to flash before her eyes.

  “Come, doctor,” Vargas said to her. “We'll go up to the house. I believe you have a number of things you want to tell me.”

  Oh, God. She was going to die.

  FROM WHERE HE SAT in his chair in the jungle, nearly catatonic with surging waves of greed, his men laboring mightily below him on his chair's poles to make even the slightest headway, Fat Eddie watched Vargas take the little cat away. The lost ten thousand reais meant nothing to him now, in light of the most magnificent mountain of gold he'd ever seen. A small measure of pride seeped through his greed. He had brought diamonds and emeralds for the eyes of the stupendous piece of work, and he would be careful not to lose a single one when he tore the whole thing down and had it shipped to Manaus. His men were already moving into place, securing the river and setting charges along the docks and in the fueling station.

  Gold. More gold than he'd thought existed anywhere in the world, and it would soon be his, nearly as soon as Corisco Vargas would be dead. Given Guillermo's attachment to the woman, Fat Eddie figured Vargas would be damned lucky if he survived his little Night of the Devil whether Eddie got to him or not. Eddie figured that despite all his elaborate plans, the only devil Corisco Vargas was going to conjure was already in the forest glade, knocked out and lying facedown in the grass.

  He chuckled quietly to himself, his belly rolling. Oh, yes. Corisco had gotten himself a devil indeed, a brujo who would take him straight to hell.

  CHAPTER 27

  Any doubts corisco had held about his methods, designs, and goals were gone. She had come to him. Out of the dark of night and the deep forest of the northwest frontier, Annie Parrish had come to him.

  He leaned back against his desk, sitting on the edge, his whole being awash with the pleasant glow of success and the early light of dawn. He had her, and now she would tell him what he wanted to know, or she would die. Behind her, the glass cage lay broken and empty, the occupant having become far too physically aggressive after its first bout of cage rattling early the previous evening. But Corisco even had that situation under control, the beast recontained in its alternate abode, awaiting its next meal.

  And now its fated meal had arrived, in the shape and form of Annie Parrish.

  He'd had her cleaned up, the mud washed from her face, the feathers removed from her hair. His servants had done a commendable job of restoring her to beauty— and the São Paulo dress was lovely on her, everything he'd hoped it would be, what little there was of it. “Death shroud” was perhaps a better description than “dress” for the diaphanous wisp of golden silk twisted artfully around her body. Plenty of skin had been left naked to the touch, her breasts barely cupped in a golden demitasse of a bodice, the rest of her torso left uncovered, the remaining silk wrapped once low around her hips and draping in a single fall to the floor down the middle of her legs. It was too bad the two of them wouldn't have more time to enjoy it, but the forest had come alive with anarchy in the night and was going to require his attention. Fat Eddie had taken his invitation to return a little too seriously, and Reino Novo was actually under attack. No more than a few snipers, he'd been assured by his new captain, a man who had been with him nearly as long as Fernando had been, snipers who were systematically being taken out by his soldiers, but even the best-trained troops needed the firm hand of authority to guide them.

  Cut down by a curare dart and a knife, Corisco mused. He could not have devised a more fitting death for his old captain—but he would have tried. He certainly would have tried. Failure was not an option in Reino Novo, and Fernando had failed. It had been Corisco's own efforts that had brought Annie Parrish back to him. The truth had been in a small pack clipped around her waist.

  He held up her orchid next to his own, the pair of them exquisite beyond belief. Having studied his for a year, he was very sensitive to any changes in it, and when held next to Annie's orchid, his did change, its light—so subtle in its vacillations—instantly began cycling on a different frequency.

  Power was all he'd ever wanted, the power of the devil frog visions, the power of fear, and the power of gold, but perhaps in truth, the greatest power he'd brought to himself was in his hands.

  “You see it, don't you?” he said, looking up at her.

  And indeed she did. Her gaze was riveted to the pair of orchids. She'd had her year of studying her flower as well as he'd had his, and he didn't doubt that her observations were at least as astute as his own, probably even more so, given her profession.

  “Do you know what it means? What they mean?” he asked, pushing off the desk and walking toward her.

  Her eyes never left the orchids. Her expression, though, was hard to read. Awe was there, and rightly so. He felt the same emotion coursing through him. Whether he understood them or not, he was certain the orchids were responding to each other. But there was something else in her face, and oddly enough, it took him a moment to realize that it was fear. Not fear for herself, he would have recognized that instantly. She was afraid for the orchids, which left him slightly nonplussed. What did she think he was going to do? Smash the glass holding them?

  A smile curved his mouth, condescending in its humor. “I won't destroy them, you know.”

  Finally, her gaze flicked up toward his.

  “You won't understand them, either.”

  “And you will?” he asked, sounding deliberately doubtful.

  “Given time and a lab. Yes.”

  It was an option he hadn't considered, having her work for him instead of dying for him. The idea was certainly intriguing.

  “What about Travers?”

  Her expression altered ever so subtly, and Corisco wanted to chide her for being so transparent. She'd been less easily read in Yavareté, more of a challenge, but love
had a tendency to soften one's defenses as well as one's brain.

  “He's brilliant. Far more so than me.”

  “So I should keep him and kill you?” he asked with feigned casualness, and was delighted by the frightened ambivalence he got for a response. It was his forte, really, torturing with chaos, churning people up and turning them inside out, usually metaphorically, though once he'd actually done it.

  Ah, but he and Annie—they'd had such a time of it in Yavareté. Stripping her down for Fernando had been his only mistake. He should have kept her all to himself. Under the influence of the uyump blood potion, she'd nearly glowed, even in the dank gloom of the Yavareté jail.

  Killing her would make his reputation. She was well known, high profile, and had once been highly respected. Killing her would prove to everyone how dangerous it was to come into the Amazon, into his Amazon.

  But keeping her had its own obvious rewards.

  “I could keep you both, if there were enough orchids to make it worth my while.” It was a fair offer.

  “It could take years to find more.”

  “Not if a person knew where to look, and you do know that, don't you, Dr. Parrish?” he said, his patience thinning. They'd danced the same dance in Yavareté, and he wasn't interested in a repeat performance. “This is your life we're bargaining with, Doctor, yours and William Sanchez Travers's. Don't doubt me on that score.”

  A shouting from down toward the mines pulled his attention to the window. Something was going on. Setting the orchids aside, he picked up a portable two-way radio off his desk and headed for the patio off his office, calling his captain. Before he could raise the man, an explosion rocked Reino Novo.

  Corisco didn't miss a step, only walked steadily toward the doors, and when he reached them, stood tight-jawed, watching what was left of his number two dock flying in pieces up into the air. The number three dock exploded next, and Corisco felt a wash of cold anger pour down through his body.

  He turned and gestured to his guards. “You'll be eating your balls for breakfast if she's not here when I return. Dr. Parrish”—he turned fully to face her—“I suggest you consider my offer very carefully. Without the promise of more orchids, you're worth far more to me dead than alive.”

  Annie believed him. Down to the core of her being, she believed him.

  “What about Travers?” She had to know.

  “Fat Eddie finds him more interesting than I do,” he said dismissively. “Fighting has been going on around the plaza all night. Some of my cordeiros have been shot. Your Sanchez Travers was put in the main cage and wasn't in the best of health when he was thrown inside, having a bullet wound and a fractured skull. His chances of surviving the day were slim to begin with, and that he will die tonight with the rest of my sacrifical lambs is a foregone conclusion. It is your own life you are fighting for, Dr. Parrish, only your own. Please us both by making the wise decision.”

  WILL WOKE UP in the night with a splitting headache, his skull feeling as if it had been cracked open. He was sweating and cold, and that wasn't good, not on the equator. Squinting, he gingerly investigated his scalp. From the matting of blood and hair and the size of the lump he felt above his left ear, his head just about had been split open. He tried rolling over to get on his feet, and stopped in mid-roll, a whole new world of pain coming to life in his arm.

  He collapsed back down, a curse on his lips. What had he done to himself? he wondered.

  The soft murmur of voices behind him brought his head around. A group of Indians, frightened women and old men, were huddled together not too far from where he lay on his back, backlit by flickering light.

  Indians were good, he thought, better than soldiers, and he recognized Tutanji among them, which was even better. At least he wasn't alone. On the other hand, as his eyes adjusted to the night, he noticed they were separated from him by iron bars.

  The disturbing bit of information slid into place, and suddenly he remembered a few things that made any sense of relief premature.

  He'd been shot in the arm, and captured, and he was in a cage, one of Corisco's damned cages. The Indians were in another.

  A burst of automatic gunfire stuttered through the night, coming from down by the river, and he jerked his head around—a big mistake. Lights flashed before his eyes, each one ripping through his head and leaving a path of pain.

  Rolling back into a ball on the ground, he swore between his teeth. Either Corisco was starting his noite do diabo party, or Reino Novo was under attack.

  He prayed for the latter. Destroying Reino Novo had been his goal for months, up until… until…

  Something wasn't right. He was missing something important, something really important. He'd been heading for Reino Novo on his boat, the Sucuri, and he'd had diamonds and emeralds and…

  Annie.

  Annie was gone.

  It all came back to him in living color and an awful feeling of dread: the Night of the Devil, the race up the river, the dead soldiers, and Corisco showing up in the plaza and taking her away.

  He swore, a savage curse. Vargas had gotten to her, before she could get to the keys. That's how they'd been caught, trying to save the Indians and caboclos.

  The keys. He needed them. Pushing himself upright, he nearly passed out again. Shooting pains rocketed around the inside of his skull. A ragged groan left his lips. The keys. He had to get the keys and get out of the cage so he could save Annie, but he was a mess, a physical mess, wounded and beaten—like she had been in Yavareté.

  “Here, little brother, drink this.”

  He looked up to see Tutanji opposite him, reaching between the bars to offer him a small gourd.

  “You are back, little brother,” the shaman said.

  “Yes, I am back,” he ground out in a whisper, careful not to cause himself any more pain. “The woman? Where is she?”

  “The Jaguar Woman?” the old man asked, and Will was confused all over again. He didn't remember any Jaguar Woman, not ever. “She is there.” The shaman pointed. “Inside the jaws of the golden anaconda, and truly, little brother, I fear her soul will be stolen tonight.”

  Will followed the old man's gesture past the cages to the tower of gold rising out of the plaza. The reflected flames of a circle of torches licked up the serpent's golden scales, higher and higher to the gaping jaws and the woman tied with her arms outstretched to the snake's gold fangs. Smoke curled around the curved, stalactitelike teeth, the flames making them glitter in chatoyant shades of red and yellow.

  His heart stopped for one shuddering second. It was Annie, and she didn't look like a jaguar to him. She looked like a woman terrified of dying. He slowly rose to his feet and stumbled to the edge of his cage, his hands tightening around the iron bars. She looked like a living sacrifice, like she'd said she'd felt the last time Corisco Vargas had captured her.

  Fear and guilt collided in his chest. He should have tried harder to get her out of Brazil, especially once he'd realized what was going to happen. There must have been a way.

  A guard passed by on his rounds, walking between the cages, tossing insults to the Indians and using the butt end of his rifle to rap the knuckles of any hands clinging to the iron bars.

  Will kept his hands inside his cage and waited until the guard passed, before returning his attention to Annie. The necklace he'd given her was still around her neck, though he doubted its ability to protect her now. The scrap of gold material wrapped around her body was meant to make her look like a whore, and the sight of it gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Corisco hadn't raped her before, and Fernando was dead. He tried to take hope in the two facts.

  “How long was I out?” he asked the shaman. It had been dark when he'd been captured. Maybe he'd only been unconscious for a few minutes, long enough for Corisco to get her into that outfit, but not long enough for him to have done much else.

  Tutanji's reply destroyed that idea.

  “You were gone the whole day, little brother
. The sun has come and gone and much fighting has started while you were sleeping.”

  Then the Night of the Devil was upon them, the players put into place. He looked up through the bars to the sky. There was no moon, only the sweep of the Milky Way. The noite do diabo was a dark moon night.

  His gaze came back to Annie. Anything could have happened to her in the amount of time he'd been unconscious. His only consolation was that she didn't look hurt. No blood marked her face or body, and even without the ropes tying her to the snake fangs, she looked as if she could stand on her own two feet. She hadn't been beaten.

  He turned to Tutanji, his voice tight. “We need to get out of these cages.”

  “Yes,” the shaman agreed, lifting the gourd again. “I'm waiting for the keys. Here. Drink this. It will make you strong.”

  Will took a good-sized swallow from the container and damn near choked on the bitter liquid as he handed it back, the taste a warning that he should have asked what the stuff was before he'd drunk it.

  Hell. Tutanji had half killed him dozens of times. There was no reason to think their current situation would change anything. The old man ran on Otherworld time. Then again, elixirs for a man's strength were Tutanji's specialty.

  And Will needed his strength. He needed it fast.

  He shook the bars on his cage with his good arm, but none of them gave way, not so much as an inch.

  A ring of keys, he remembered, had fallen to the ground in front of the cages. Now where had the soldiers been when he'd killed them, and how far could the keys have fallen from that spot? He turned to check his position, but turned too quickly and had to slap a hand onto his forehead.

  Sweet Jesus, his head was going to crack open.

  “Do you know where the keys are?” he asked, his voice a pained whisper. Streaks of light ricocheted behind his closed eyelids.

  “Yes. A monkey will bring them to us.”