Forgotten in Darkness (28 page)

Cy’s fear level shot through the roof. He could handle spells and maybe even poison with his
senariai
’s help. But being knocked around by a daemon in this body was a world of hurt he knew would end with the old ticker turning off. Right now, though, death didn’t sound so bad.

With a downward swipe like a guillotine hitting into its home, Djoser struck his left leg.

Cy shrieked. In horror he stared at his leg, now severed at the knee.

In his mind, she screamed.

Djoser swallowed convulsively.

His eyes blacked over.

Cy gritted out, “Finish it. Don’t you want the kill?”

Those black soulless eyes zeroed in on him. Djoser clenched his hands together as if fighting the temptation.

Come on, do it. End this,
he silently pleaded, hoping he didn’t transmit to her.

Djoser tossed an oversized zip tie into Cy’s lap. “Now you have a choice. Do nothing and bleed out. End your life. Or tie it off and live.” He leaned close and whispered, “But if you choose life, we’re not doing it the easy way anymore.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

Blood oozed from his leg rapidly forming a dark puddle.

She screamed in his mind,
Don’t die. I can’t do this without you.

He thought,
This is for the best. I cannot keep secrets for much longer. They are secrets worth dying for.

Don’t be a coward. Put that tie on your leg,
she ordered
.

Cy told himself but not her,
I am not a coward. I am but doing my duty.
Okay, that was bullshit. He was scared shitless of what was to come. Of what Djoser would do. He’d rather die than face it. His brain floated in a pre-blackout phase. Not good.

A man’s voice floated down from the ceiling, “Mother of God. You’re a kid. What won’t these fuckers do?”

Cy spotted a blond head peeking through one of the ceiling tiles.

The man pointed his middle finger. “You put that dying thing on hold. I’ll be right there.”

Less than a minute later, the door of his cell opened. The blond guy’s overgrown hair was in spiky disarray. Someone had worked over his face recently, given the nasal swelling and purple left eye. His clothes were a bloody mess, suggesting he’d been beaten with something sharp.

And then he was kneeling in front of him. “Look at me. I am going to use that zip tie and we are getting the hell out of here.”

This guy wants me to live? Who is he?
thought Cy.

She said in his brain,
Yes, live!
Her music infused him, warmed him, and took away the pain.

“It’s no use. I’ve got an electronic security band on the other ankle that will kill me if I try to escape. Leave me to die.”

The guy zip-tied his gushing stump. He lifted up the pant leg of his intact leg. “That’s tricky. But we’ll figure it out.”

Cy pulled at the zip tie, desperate to work it free.

The blond pulled away his hands. “Chill. And leave it be. We will get out of here. I promise you.”

“Even if we get out of here, I’m worthless without a leg.”

“That is grade A bullshit. I don’t know how long you’ve been here or what demented shit they’ve put you through, but I’d venture to guess you’ve been here a while, given that you look like a scarecrow. You will live through this and you’ll be fine. You know how I know?” The guy poked at his chest. “You’re a survival rat like me. I’ve seen guys with missing limbs do—you know what, we’ll sort out your mental shit later. Right now, I’m real sorry, but you’re coming with me.” He hefted Cy over a shoulder and carried him out of the cell.

Cy asked, “Who are you?”

“Name is Markus.”

“Why do they have you here?”

“Me and the professor were up here in Asheville looking for a girl.” He opened a cell door down the hall
.

A rumpled guy walked out and pushed up his reading glasses. “Who’s the kid?”

“I’m not sure. What’s your name, kid?”

“Cy.”

Markus rotated so Cy could make eye contact with the older fellow. He intro-ed, “Dr. Stephen Levin, archaeology professor, this is Cy, a very recent amputee.”

Stephen shook his head. “I just don’t get these weirdoes. They beat you to hell, Markus, and they cut off this kid’s leg. But they didn’t do anything to me.”

“What’s the girl’s name? The one you’re interested in,” Cy asked.

“Shay McGinnis.”

“I heard she escaped Djoser…er, Terek once already. They capture her again?”

“Dunno,” Markus mumbled. “Shhh. I hear footsteps. Some of those bastards must be coming.” He put Cy down onto the floor and although gentle, Cy swallowed a moan when pain crested.

Markus ordered, “Stephen, stay put. Out of the way. I’ll take care of this.”

Markus slow walked to the end of the hallway where it cornered. A shaved bald Hashishin stepped out with a pistol held chest high, prepared to put a bullet into whoever he ran into.

The skinhead was unprepared for the speed with which Markus latched onto his wrist and yanked him forward. With his opposite fist, Markus hit the guy in the throat.

The Hashishin grabbed at his throat, gun thudding to the ground. Markus twirled the skinhead face-first into the drywall. The edge of his left palm connected with the back of the Hashishin’s neck. The guy fell to the floor. Cy held his breath waiting for the guy to get up. Not a twitch. Must’ve whacked the neck vertebrae at the perfect level. Dead.

A second Hashishin rounded the corner, gun in hand.

Why the guns?
Cy thought. These guys were supposedly trained to be knife aficionados. These must be the younger trainees.

With no time to turn, Markus abruptly backed into the hostile, and head-butted the guy’s nose with a sickening wet crunch. Before the Hashishin could pull a speedy reverse, Markus latched onto the wrist holding the gun and pivoted, pulling the Hashishin with him. He head-butted again and backwards slammed the guy into the wall. One more blood-splattering head butt and Markus squatted. The Hashishin fell forward, making it easy to shoulder him and throw him head first into the floor. Lights out.

Markus stepped away and stood motionless for several long silent seconds. No others appeared. He knelt to retrieve one of the lost guns. Efficiently he ejected the magazine to gauge amount of ammo and reloaded the piece. He held the gun toward Stephen. “You know how to use this?”

“Where’s the safety?” Stephen rolled the gun in his hands.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Markus waggled his index finger in the air. “This is your safety. Keep the booger hooker off the bang button until you’re ready to fire. Point and pull the trigger. It’s loaded and I already chambered the first round. You’ve got sixteen rounds in there. Got it?” He picked up the other gun.

Stephen pushed up his glasses. “Rounds means bullets?”

Markus rolled his eyes. “Cy, can you use a gun?”

Cy nodded.

Stephen stood straight and indignantly retorted, “We are not arming a teenager.”

Markus looked between the two of them. “For right now, you carry it, Stephen. I don’t want Cy getting any suicidal thoughts. But I recommend you not shove it in your waistband since there’s no safety.” He paused, the corner of his lips twitching. “Now, that would be one very nasty discharge.” For the first time, Markus broke a grin.

****

The SUV slid to zero mph at the Sanctum guard post. Dakar and Khyan watched from the shadows of the forest.

Astrid hopped out solo and flashed her badge. Ballsy woman. “We have a warrant that allows us to search the premises.” She held out the paperwork.

Three Arabic-looking guards glared arctic chill. The one in charge cocked a dark eyebrow. Dakar used
seichim
to scan the guards. The putrid decay typical of advanced dark magik oozed from the one in charge. The Hashishin leader didn’t fidget or even reach for the paper. He remained controlled and confident.

Astrid had no clue of the danger she faced.

The Hashishin leader smirked. He grabbed her warrant and tore it down the center. In a thick Arabic accent he said, “This has been rescinded.” He handed over a document.

While scanning she said, “I don’t work for the FBI. This is…interesting and, if you don’t mind, I’ll hold onto it. My boss is a bit higher up. So open the gate. If you don’t, then you’ll be in violation of this order.”

His hand snaked out and wrapped her wrist. He uttered what Dakar recognized as a truth spell. “How many are in that car?”

Astrid stopped tugging to free her hand. Her face went slack and she slurred like she was two tequilas shy of lights out. “Three.”

Good girl.
Technically, there were only three in the car, the humans that had tagged along. The rest of them hovered nearby.

The Arab waved his free hand. A swarm of darkly dressed men squared off around the SUV, several toting assault rifles. Most gripped or twirled knives.

Now it’s our turn,
thought Dakar.

Within seconds and thanks to Javen and Khyan, all hostiles were down. Dead. Messy. Hacked into oblivion by knives, maybe even their own.

Khyan pointed to Kane in the driver’s seat—a silent order to stay.

Dakar smiled.

His knife hissed past Astrid’s cheek into her captor’s shoulder.

Her captor released and stumbled away.

“Move, Astrid,” Dakar ordered.

Astrid mouthed a silent N-O. She twisted and jabbed her knee into her captor’s nuts.

The guy grunted, but to his credit didn’t grip the jewels before he spun and fled, ripping the knife from his shoulder and dropping it in his wake.

She palmed her knife and declared, “The fucker has R-I-P written on his gravestone.”

“He is mine,” Dakar shot over his shoulder as he sprinted into pursuit.

“No way!” Astrid screamed, tearing after him.

Dakar glanced back, and slowed to let her speed past. He was impressed the girl kept up. Her military grade combat boots slammed asphalt through the gate of the Sanctum, and then took a sharp left into the woods. Her hands fisted, gripping her knife tightly. She dodged low branches and jumped bushes. A low-hanging limb scratched her cheek. With a curse, she wiped away its sting, but didn’t slow.

One p.m. and the thick humidity made for arduous breathing. Sweat coated every inch of his skin. He loped behind her, curious to find out what exactly she planned. His first duty was to protect her as an innocent. But obviously she had an agenda that wasn’t exactly on par with the rest of her team who were all about search first, kill later. This girl acted like this was a personal vendetta.

When he pulled alongside her, she murmured, “Fucking testosterones always think they can beat me.”

He shot her a grin.

She flashed him a middle finger.

Dakar veered a sharp right, yet kept his eye on both her and their prey, who was now but yards ahead.

She threw her knife to land dead perfect into the fleeing bastard’s left calf, bringing the guy to his knees. She ripped the knife from his calf in sequence with landing her right fist mid-nose with a gratifying crunch.

A snake twice the size of her biceps shot from the guy’s billowing shirtsleeve, wrapping itself around her arm. Triangular head…venomous.

Dakar grabbed the serpent behind its jaws with both hands and stopped its impending strike. “Go ahead. Bite me,” he taunted.

The snake released her and pushed itself into a launch that landed its fangs into his left forearm. With a grunt, he yanked the head off his arm, fangs dripping venom, and cleanly severed the head from its body. With a toss, snake parts flew into the bushes.

Astrid scanned the perimeter. “Fucker is long gone. Damn it.” She gazed at the area where the viper struck Dakar’s forearm. “What kind of snake was that? Are we talking African seconds-to-death?”

“Not for me. For you, though…after a few minutes you would have had a face-to-face meeting with whomever you believe is god of the afterlife.” He prodded the bite area. “Burns a bit. It will probably swell.”

“Why won’t it kill you?”

“Trade secret. You should return to your people. I can protect you no longer.” He winked, pivoted, and stalked back toward the entrance gate.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Shay. Come on. Wake. Up.”

“Stop it. I’m awake.” Shay glared at the blond guy with wild spiky hair shaking her so hard her teeth clicked. When her vision cleared, she recognized Stephen and the kid on the floor.
Score.
Everyone in the same location.
Wahoo.
“Where am I?”

“Hashishins must’ve recaptured you,” the kid said. “We’re on the main floor a few doors down from what sounds like a group meeting. Lots of chanting and whatnot. Probably bad news for you.”

“Oh my God, what happened to your leg?” The kid’s leg was a bloody mess. And missing a huge chunk. Something deep and furious clenched deep in her gut. “Did Djoser do that?”

Cy opened his eyes to meet her gaze and nodded.

A mental whirlybird took over her brain when she moved to sit upright. “You guys have got to get out of here.”

“Totally agree,” said the blond who sounded congested through his swollen nose. The guy had to be in a world of hurt, given the blood seepage on his shirt and the bruises up his arms.

“Who are you?” Her jelly legs wobbled as she stood. She threw a palm against the wall to steady herself.

He flashed a charming grin. “Markus.”

“You’re Kira’s cousin, right?”

He frowned. “You met her?”

“Yep. Spent some time with her and the guys. She warned me you’d probably already have some half-assed escape plan in effect.”

“Half-assed?” Markus scowled.

Stephen snort-laughed. “She’s got your number.”

“If it was up to you, we’d still be sitting on our asses complaining about our fate in a prison cell.” Markus rounded on Shay. “If you were with them, then what the hell are you doing getting captured into this nut house?”

She pointed at Cy.

He squeaked out, “Me?”

She nodded. “All part of the plan. They’re coming for you.”

“You met Dakarai, then, and remember?”

“Met him. No so much on the remembering part, but whatever.”

“I don’t get it. You always remember.”