Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) Page 23

  “We’ll stay with you, because you make eight.” She peered back toward where they’d been herded into the maze. Light from the tiki torch glinted off her silver collar. “But we should go. He’ll be coming soon.”

  The Minotaur.

  Mecca had an idea of what they’d be facing, and it wasn’t a Minotaur, but she wondered if Alicia had been right. Did it matter whether Tina believed it to be the Greek mythical creature or the mythical horror monster? Mecca looked at the women and men surrounding her. They all watched her with anticipation and hope, tinged with the raw look of fear behind it.

  Mecca wasn’t sure she was ready to be a savior.

  The light music in the background turned to carnival music, louder and brash. Sinister. Whoops and cheers came from the front of the maze. Mecca felt those around her shift uneasily, like antelope surrounded by lions. She didn't blame them. Whatever was going to happen had just started.

  After a minute, the music changed back to the softer, electronic sounds from earlier and the cheering quieted.

  “Listen,” Mecca began. “If we stay along the right wall, we will eventually hit the side exit. We may run into some dead ends first, but sooner or later, the exit will turn up. Is everyone okay with that?”

  Many heads bobbed and a thin hand lifted to get her attention. The young man looked as dirty and underfed as the rest of the captives, but a dark intensity shone from his deep blue eyes.

  “What happens if we run into the Minotaur?”

  Mecca squeezed Tina’s hand before she answered. “There isn’t a Minotaur. But I think what we’re going to find is much more dangerous. And there’s probably going to be more than one.” Mecca nodded at his heavy, silver collar. “I don’t know why they protected your necks, but I don’t think it’s for anything good. We’re going to be fighting vampires.” For all practical purposes, this was true.

  The ragamuffin men and women exchanged glances and Mecca felt the tide of emotion shift from fear to disbelief. Modern world sensibilities replaced captivity’s mental anguish. Murmurs filtered through their small group.

  “You’re kidding, right?” the young man asked. “Vampires?”

  “I’m not kidding,” Mecca said.

  “Why are vampires less believable than a Minotaur?” Alicia’s voice silenced the whispers. “We need to move. We need to get out. And we need to stick together if we’re going to do that. We can argue over monsters later.” She pushed forward, bringing Tina as well as Mecca along with her.

  They walked along in silence, standing two or three deep, a quiet group of shadows in the dim light of the corner torches. The sharp scent of green touched Mecca’s nose. The hedge didn’t seem to being moving with the season, like the trees of the woods. She reached for a leaf, rubbed her fingers on the waxy surface. Evergreen.

  They came to a corner and stopped. A ripple of whispers slid through the group. Mecca and Alicia exchanged glances. Mecca released Tina’s hand and said, “Stay here. I’m going to look.”

  Her heartbeat thrummed in her ears as she crept forward. She decided then and there that she hated hedge mazes. She crouched low and then peered around the leaves. Breath caught in her throat.

  She hadn’t expected to see anything, but on the other side of the long, horizontal pathway stood a young man, his neck free of any collar, silver or otherwise. Short and stocky, with broad shoulders and close-cropped, black hair, he looked like any college football player. The way he cocked his head made her think of a dog.

  Mecca pulled back with very slow movements. When she looked to the group, she laid a single finger over her lips and made brief eye contact with each person. Wide eyes and nods met her gaze.

  She wiped her sweaty palms on her thighs. They wouldn’t be able to turn this corner and get around to the next one if he didn’t move. She peeked around the hedge again. He paced a ten foot line with slow steps, almost like a guard. Like a toll.

  Warm fingers touched her arm, and she jumped. Alicia patted her forearm and gave her a smile and then looked around the side of the hedge. Mecca felt the young woman’s body stiffen. When Alicia had seen enough, she leaned in so her lips almost brushed Mecca’s ear. The pungent smell of unwashed skin touched her nose. Alicia’s voice came to her in a low hum.

  “You’re not wearing a collar. You look like one of them.” They locked gazes for a long moment until Mecca understood what Alicia meant. When Mecca nodded, Alicia stepped back with the others.

  Alicia had a very good head on her shoulders. Even if it meant Mecca was screwed.

  With bravado she hardly felt, Mecca straightened her back, lifted her chin and strode around the corner.

  “What the hell?” he said. He narrowed his eyes at her. “How’d you get this far back so fast?”

  “I’m just that good.”

  His voice reminded her of wool, scratchy against her skin. “Bullshit.”

  She gave him a flirty grin. “Emilia put me in the side entrance. She likes me.”

  He took a moment to consider this as his gaze slid up and down her body. Just the look in his eye made Mecca feel slimy.

  “Yeah?” he said. “Where’s your bag?” He patted a brown burlap hump on his hip: an oversized fanny pack, adhering to him like a tumor.

  What the hell was that for?

  “Damn! This is my first time. Was I supposed to bring that in? It’s so ugly.”

  Laughter grumbled from his throat. “Not planning on winning then, hm?”

  “I guess not. Unless you want to lend me yours.” She sidled toward him and melded her lips into a seductive smile — at least she hoped it looked seductive.

  Distrust fogged his eyes, but he grinned. “What’s in it for me?”

  “What do you want?” Another step closer.

  “Hmm. Such an interesting question. I could ask for a lot of things.”

  “Yes, you could.”

  He watched her with an appraising look in his eye. “I hate to leave a damsel in distress.” The condescension dripped from his words. “How about when I win, I give you my pouch, and you can have whatever might be left in the maze?”

  “That's very kind of you.” She wanted to punch him. “What do you need to win?”

  “Four players. Well, five counting you. Four hearts should be enough to win.” He smiled, showing teeth so white they almost glowed in the shadowed maze.

  “And you'd give me the pouch after you're done? You'd do that?” She'd gotten within a few steps of him. He didn't move away.

  “Sure I would.” The gleam in his eye told her he'd prefer to do other things instead.

  “Well, I don’t know.” She slowed her speech down, laying on the sultry tone. “I guess that probably breaks the rules. Do you think we can get away with it? Teaming up like that?”

  “Can’t know till we try, yeah?” His lips curled up in a feral grin. “You in?”

  Mecca paused, made like she was thinking it over. “I guess it’s the only way to get a prize. Okay, deal. Shake on it.” She offered her hand, wrist limp.

  His skin was like cool leather against hers. She didn’t hesitate. Her energy shot into him, searching for the Cavern, trying to find that little spark of life that didn’t belong to him.

  He felt it. Felt her.

  He tilted his head, something like a dog does when spoken to, and then he yanked his hand away. Mecca’s heart rattled her ribcage as her energy came home, thrown back by the break in contact. She’d thought she could hold onto him. Thought she could weaken him enough to be stronger, to bring him down.

  He looked like an animal; as if he wanted to rip into her, tear her throat out. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “Nothing,” she said, innocence in her voice. “I shook.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He looked her up and down, but entirely differently than before. He pointed a long finger at her. “You look like a half-breed to me. Maybe you should be wearing a collar.”

  Mecca shook her head and took a step back. Maybe she could lur
e him into coming closer, if she played like she was afraid. It wasn’t much of an act. Terror iced her veins. For each step she took away from him, he moved forward.

  Thorny branches poked her back and thighs. Nowhere else to go.

  One corner of his mouth lifted, though she couldn’t call it a smile.

  A high-pitched shriek tore across from the other side of the maze, chilling the air. She'd never heard a scream so filled with terror. It stopped abruptly, and the maze fell to silence. Mecca’s gut wrenched, but her attacker only broadened his non-smile.

  “You’ll scream like that too, little lady.”

  Condescending bastard. Now he was just pissing her off.

  A white blur flashed across her vision, and pain exploded in her jaw. The coppery taste of blood flooded her mouth. She reeled back into the hedge. Branches stabbed against her, and some part of her brain registered the sound of fabric ripping before she bounced forward and tumbled to the grassy ground.

  He pounced on her, tossing her on her back. Her head hit the ground hard, squarely on the knot from her run in with the stable wall. Bright lights flashed across her vision. Sharp pain bounced around inside her skull to join the dull ache already there. She couldn’t even get her limbs to move. The man straddled her waist and pinned her arms at her sides beneath his knees.

  He leered down at her as Mecca finally pushed the dazed feeling away and gathered herself enough to struggle. He wore scratchy wool slacks — who wears wool in Georgia, like ever? — so her bare arms were no help to her, restrained underneath. When she bucked beneath his weight, he grinned.

  “I’m sort of glad you don’t have a collar. It’ll make this a lot easier.” He leaned over as he spoke, and the warm, spoiled scent of bad breath washed over her. It struck her funny that something so frightening would have regular, garden variety halitosis.

  Her laugh sounded like a bark.

  He frowned and then snorted before leaning down. His lips brushed the side of her neck gently, like a lock of lover’s hair. His tongue, wet and warm, snaked along her skin. Then she felt a single pinprick.

  Mecca turned her head to face him and then jerked forward, taking a trick from the Scar's playbook. Her forehead crashed into his temple, and stars brightened her vision again. He swayed for a moment and satisfaction coursed through her.

  Swift movement near the hedge caught her eye. Silent, the rag-tag group of captives moved as one, rushing from their safe spot around the corner. They slammed into the man on top of her as one entity, bowling him over onto the ground earning them a surprised yelp.

  Mecca watched, stunned, as they held him down; seven scrawny, filthy humans pinning a struggling Visci.

  “Hurry!” Alicia called to her in a fervent whisper. She strained against his thrashing left leg. “You said you needed to touch him. We can't hold him for long.”

  Mecca, her head throbbing all over, pulled herself onto her hands and knees and crawled to where he lay prone, still fighting. He snarled and redoubled his efforts, but he had half a dozen people almost lying on him. Even super-strength wouldn’t help him against those odds.

  Gnashing his teeth, he leaned up and tried to bite Tina, who had his left arm pinned with the help of two others. She jumped back with a cry and landed on her tailbone. Girl kept falling on her ass.

  Mecca dragged herself up and swung a leg over, straddling him the same way he’d sat on top of her. She ripped open his button down shirt. He had a broad chest, covered with a light carpet of black, curly hair. She laid both hands on the cool skin of his chest, the wiry hair tickling her palms. When she looked into his eyes, the animal hatred she read there came through her like a knife. But it didn’t matter. She mirrored it back as she sent herself into him.

  She sought the Cavern, slid into that big, hollow place and searched for the little ball of human energy she knew she would find somewhere. Closing her eyes made the search easier. She concentrated while he tried to wrench away from the dozen hands holding him down. Behind his growling, she heard the wondering murmurs of the other captives.

  All the thoughts and sounds fell back when she spotted the golden ball of energy in a nook of the Visci's Cavern. Its edges shone a bright green. Mecca had never known whether the different colors meant anything. She saw and also felt the stolen humanity there, as if it wanted to reach out and embrace her. Silver tendrils bound it to the Cavern wall. That this stolen energy kept this monster alive made her ill.

  Her own energy, a golden brilliance edged in deep blue, encompassed the little piece of life, and she gently tugged at it. Her taking of the energy could be more controlled this time, since she wasn’t fighting for her life.

  It must not have been a part of him for very long, or maybe he was young, because the energy ball came away from him easily. Mecca wrapped her own energy, her own life around it and drew it away.

  She looked at him again and judging from the widening of his eyes, Mecca figured he felt her taking his life. She didn’t try to do it fast; she didn’t try to make it painless. He wouldn’t have given her that consideration when he had her on her back.

  The farther away from the Cavern she took the stolen energy, the more wild-eyed he became. His thrashing intensified, but his strength was waning; Mecca didn’t feel like she was riding a mechanical bull any longer.

  He let out a yell, but he slammed a hand over his mouth.

  Silence settled, only interrupted by the gentle, filtered music coming from the front of the maze. She never broke eye contact with him. He’d already shrunken in the few minutes since she’d straddled him. His body felt like an old man’s beneath her.

  She watched him closely as the energy ball broke free. It came away from him the way a flower pops from its stalk.

  The life force rushed into her, but not the slamming crash of Hayden in the parking lot. This time it washed over her like a wave on the beach, overpowering, but not violent. It filled her and pushed back the thumping pain in her head until it was only a nagging tickle. Surprised, but grateful, she sighed her relief.

  A last look of fear swept over him before he began to fade. His movement stopped and finally, his eyes, sightless, stared past her. Then he began to really shrink, cave in on himself. The dry smell of dust hit Mecca full in the face.

  She finally stood, her feet still on either side of his emaciated hips. She looked around her. Ashen faces stared back, some with terror etched on their features, others with confusion and a few, like Alicia, with awe.

  Mecca felt like a zoo exhibit. No one spoke. No one smiled. They only stared.

  She moved to one side of the corpse and then knelt down and unfastened the hip pack from around his waist. At least it would help her in faking out any others they might run into.

  She glanced back at the group again. They hadn’t changed position at all. She just had to get them out of the maze and tell them how to get to the road. She could handle being a circus freak until then.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Claude

  Edward Bingham leaned forward, his voice lowered, spittle flecking his lips. “I think it was those damned purists.” He shifted his weight from his club foot. Edward's enormous head sat on top of a thick neck, and oversized, milky eyes made him look as if he couldn’t blink. His grey hair, thinned and stringy, hung like threadbare theatre curtains. “They killed Hayden.”

  Emilia's brow crinkled. “Who would that be, Edward?”

  Claude listened to the exchange between Emilia and Hayden Bingham's father. He had hoped to glean more about Emilia’s plan before the obligatory hostess duties overtook her. Mecca’s presence still sang in his blood; she lingered nearby.

  Now, however, he knew with Edward's terse accusation, any information would no longer be forthcoming. Emilia would be too preoccupied with the current situation.

  “I don't know, right offhand,” Edward said. “I mean to say, I don't have any names, as it were.” He pushed glasses with thin metal frames
up the bridge of his nose.

  Claude thought the glasses were an affectation. He didn't think Edward could see properly with or without them.

  “But the war has come to Atlanta. That much is obvious.”

  Emilia raised her slender hand. A diamond-studded tennis bracelet slid down her forearm. “You shouldn't jump to that conclusion. Are you even sure he's been killed? Hayden always had a way of disappearing.”

  “Of course I am! Do you think I didn’t feel it? He died in horrible agony.” Edward’s plump face contorted, the corners of his lips turning downward. He blinked several times, very quickly, thin membranes of eyelid barely covering his huge eyeballs. “And confusion.”

  “Oh dear,” Emilia said. “I hadn’t heard anything about it. Of course, Hayden rarely checked with me.”

  “Yes, well, it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part, I’ll have you know.”

  “I have no doubt of that, Edward. After the Gathering, I will put a call in to—”

  For half a second, the room brightened. Claude's senses overloaded. Edward Bingham’s yellow linen suit made him into a lemon; the silver of Emilia’s sequined halter called down the starlight. The scent of pine choked him. Then things settled back to normal. Claude hoped his surprise at the change didn't register on his face.

  Emilia's pause lasted less than half of a second. Claude may even have missed it if he hadn’t felt the same sudden, intense rush.

  “—my contact at the police department and let you know what I hear. In the meantime,” she continued, “please don't rush to conclusions. Hayden was not without enemies, as you well know, both human and Visci.”

  “I know it must have been the purists.” Edward bristled, straightening his back. “Hayden may have had enemies, but none that would kill him. I'm sure of that. No, it had to be one of them.”

  Emilia exchanged a glance with Claude, her lips pursed into a tight, pale line. He knew she wouldn't tell Edward about Mecca. She would let Edward’s accusation of Hayden as a casualty of war go on. If the rumor escalated though, it really would bring the war to Atlanta.