Chapter 60
I have to stop thinking about those already dead and start worrying about the living. We need to get out of this situation…but how?
My mind grasps at any scenario it can conjure—rushing them, trying to get past and jump out the back of the truck, screaming at the top of my lungs in hopes some pedestrian hears and alerts the police before the ice truck is too far away…
None of them seem likely to succeed, and all are guaranteed to leave at least one of us bleeding out on the floor.
The truck makes a series of turns, then begins to pick up speed.
We’re leaving the town proper behind and heading out into the countryside.
Before long, the vehicle slows again, and the track becomes more and more rough.
We’re bounced against the floor, the wall, and one another, until at last it comes to a stop.
The door swings open, revealing bright daylight glinting off sand studded with rocky outcroppings, waves lapping at the beach just beyond. “This is as far as we can go in the truck,” Myers says. “Get out and walk. If you try any funny stuff, I’ll fill you with daylight.”
We have no choice but to obey. Mary takes a few unsteady steps away, but one of the men grabs her by the shoulder and puts his knife at the level of her kidney. “You and I are sticking together, doll.”
Myers nods approvingly. “Any of the rest of you try something, Mike here will gut the broad.”
He leads us north along the beach for what feels like miles.
To our left, the land rises, until ragged cliffs rear high above us.
As it does so, the beach narrows further and further.
Judging by the strands of kelp and tidal pools between the rocks, this stretch is only accessible at low tide.
A stiff wind brings the scent of rock and salt.
Sand almost immediately gets into my shoes, the tiny particles rubbing against tender skin. I want to stop and empty them, but I doubt Myers will let me.
The ruins of an enormous building perch along the clifftop, and I realize some of the boulders are actually chunks of fallen masonry. Some disaster took place here, though at least it doesn’t seem to have occurred recently.
“Stormhaven Cove,” Helen says. “Of course.” Seeing my confusion, she adds, “That was a lunatic asylum up on the cliff, but it fell into the ocean before I was even born. But before that, I’m told it was a smuggler’s den.”
“And it is again.” Myers sounds satisfied by the fact. “Now that bootlegging is so profitable.”
A sea cave—that’s why the rocks looked slick with moisture when Bianca and I reached through time.
Perfect for bootleggers, or the smugglers before them, to hide their ill-gotten gains.
When the tide is up, a shallow-bottomed boat could probably ferry cargo back and forth to a larger vessel with relative ease.
My guess proves right when a crack in the rock comes into view, tucked into the cliff face in a way that renders it nearly invisible until we’re almost on top of it. Men with guns lurk in the shadows to either side; they nod to Myers as we pass.
The interior of the cave is a rough split in the rock, formed by some ancient convulsion of the earth, its edges smoothed by centuries of tides.
It doesn’t look to flood completely, judging by the line of algae that ends about three feet from the sand-covered floor, though presumably king tides and storms force the water higher.
The air is chilly here out of the sun, and the roar of the ocean recedes rapidly, blocked by the stone.
After a few twists and turns, the jagged rock walls retreat, and we step into a far larger space. Torches burn all along the walls, and under any other circumstances I’d be enraptured by the natural beauty of the place. Now, however…
The cavern has been transformed into a temple similar to that beneath the pharmacy back in New York City. There are the two long tables, the seven symbols inlaid in a mosaic embedded within the stone floor.
Sunlight streams down through a large gap in the ceiling, probably torn open by whatever cataclysm destroyed the building above us. But rather than highlighting a throne at the end of the mosaic path, it glints off the bulbs, gauges, and tubes of Dr. Dane’s machine.
Zebulon Hart’s wizened form sits at the head of one of the tables, closest to the machine. On the table before him is an old tome bound in red morocco with gilt ornamentation along the spine.
Adrian lets out a soft gasp at the sight. “The Key of Mithras,” he murmurs. “Hart had it all along.”
At the table across from Hart sits a dark-haired man I don’t recognize. Both of them wear robes like the ones we saw in the pharmacy’s basement. They seem to be talking to a thin blonde woman wearing coveralls…and Dr. Dane.
Dr. Dane, who was so interested in speaking with the Swarm. Who wanted access to the Key of Mithras to complete her machine.
Who doesn’t seem to be restrained in any fashion.
What have they told her is going to happen? The same lies the Swarm offered them?
The group looks our way, and the dark-haired man rises to his feet. “What have you brought us, Frank?”
“Caine showed up, along with the investigator and some friends,” Myers replies. “I thought you and Mr. Hart might have some use for them, Mr. Vitali.”
The dark-haired man who must be Vince Vitali, head of the bootlegging syndicate distributing the Chrysalis-tainted alcohol, looks us over with an unfriendly eye. My heart pounds in my chest—should I try to fight back with my cold spell? Will it do any good?
Am I about to lose this set of friends like I lost Bianca and the others? Like I lost Emerson and poor James?
“They could be useful as sacrifices,” Hart says speculatively.
The past year and a half haven’t done him any favors.
He was old when I first saw him; now he’s positively ancient.
The last of his hair has left behind a bare skull, and his wrinkled hands are almost skeletal.
“Or…hmm. Mr. Evans is a strapping young man. Perhaps I can be transferred into his body and see if I like it.”
So this is what he was promised—the restoration of youth. Perhaps even eternal youth, jumping from body to body. Trying out different ones, accepting or rejecting them like choosing a suit at the tailor. All a lie, but one that’s caught him like a fish on a hook.
“As you wish,” the thin woman says. There’s a strangeness to her voice, the inflections just off enough to raise the little hairs on the back of my neck.
She’s one of the Swarm in a human body. Their representative here, no doubt making sure their human servitors do as promised.
The Swarm member doesn’t bother to look at us when it speaks, clearly indifferent. And why shouldn’t it be? Leaving a handful of humans alive for a bit longer changes nothing.
Myers points toward the farthest point in the cavern from both the ritual space and the entrance. “Tie them up and put them there,” he orders. “Keep an eye on them, make sure they don’t try any funny stuff.”
I’m grasping at straws as we’re herded away at knifepoint.
“Sit down,” growls one of the men, and we all obey.
The floor here is broken rock rather than sand, and incredibly uncomfortable.
As soon as we’re seated, they bind our hands behind our backs with rough rope, except for Mary who is already tied up.
She slumps against the wall behind us, eyes shut.
Does she have a bad concussion? A skull fracture?
I’m no doctor, but she doesn’t seem to be doing well.
The Swarm will simply kill her outright. They have no use for damaged bodies.
Once we’re bound, most of the men leave, except for two guards. I lean against Adrian, sick desperation swirling in my stomach.
“I don’t know what to do,” I whisper, tears pricking my eyes.
He glances at the guards, who stand perhaps ten feet away, looking bored. “Helen,” he whispers, a bit louder since she’s on my other side. Thankfully, the guards don’t hear him, but we have to be careful.
She turns to us and raises her brows in question.
“Do you have any spells to loosen our bindings?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have any of my knitting, either—everything was in my purse.”
One of the guards shifts and glances back at us. We immediately try to look innocent.
He turns back away, but we’re silent for several minutes, each of us no doubt trying to come up with some plan of escape. Nothing presents itself, and my despair deepens. As I told Adrian, I don’t know what to do. How to make things better.
Adrian, Helen, Dorset, and Mary are probably going to die here. And I’ll be sent back to the past to face whatever cataclysm is coming for the Swarm.
“I’m disappointed in you, Hellion,” Mary whispers from behind us.