Chapter 51
Horatio
Horatio palmed his forehead. It was bad enough they had the wannabe dictator Komodo stomping along behind them, but now Ormond might be hiding somewhere? His agitation didn’t compare to Sugar’s, though. He stood over the bloody footprint, staring.
“Only you can escape my rope work, Snake,” he said. “Someone helped him, but who?”
“Probably the same one who carried him down here. He’s two pints low. I could tell by the weakness of his flavor. No way he’s walking unassisted.” Snake scowled.
“Let’s follow the blood,” Horatio said. “We can turn back if we hit a dead end.”
They crept down tunnels as twisted as tree roots. The walls closed in on them, and the heavy, damp air made it difficult to breathe. After they’d walked at least a mile, Seven’s flashlight beam illuminated a windowless metal door. When Snake tried his usual magic, the warding knocked him backward.
“Great, now what?” he said, rubbing his ass.
“I’ll bet it’s not bulletproof.” Sugar snapped a silencer on his Glock and warned them to step back. One shot, and the door swung open.
The sudden brightness stabbed Horatio’s eyes. He blinked, momentarily blinded, but the glow wasn’t empty. Voices drifted from ahead.
Sugar took the lead. Horatio, Gunner, and Snake readied their guitars.
Komodo fisted his short sword. Seven and Dagger tailed them, blades gripped tightly.
As they emerged from the tunnel, a large room stretched under fluorescent lights.
Four jail cells lined the space, two on each side.
Ormond was in the first cell on the left, a bandage across his neck.
He let out a squeak when he saw Sugar and scuttled under the cot like the rat he was.
Dragon was housed in the cell across from Ormond’s, and Juno next to him. They pressed against the bars, frantically motioning for them to turn back, but Dagger ran ahead, shouting his brother’s name. Without warning, a figure stepped out from a dim alcove.
“Not one more step!”
“Anole?” Komodo bellowed. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Uncle. How nice of you to drop by.” Anole stood still, feet apart—rifle in one hand and what looked like a flamethrower in the other—the nozzle pointed directly at Juno and Dragon. “Come any closer, and I’ll turn them to ash.”
Horatio stopped in his tracks and raised his guitar. “Put the weapons down, or I’ll turn you into bloody chunks.”
“Go ahead,” Anole sneered. “I dare you.”
Guitar set to stun, Horatio played a chord, but the strings only whispered. He tried multiple settings with the same results. Panicked, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his chest, but the sigil didn’t stir.
“He’s mine,” Dagger muttered. He pushed both hands forward, fingers clawed, but only managed a few sparkles. He growled in frustration.
“Yes, pixie, your powers are null here, as are the Guitar Slayer’s, all thanks to a device your precious brother made for me,” Anole said.
“While you held a gun to my head,” Juno shrieked.
He was a few inches taller than Dagger, with the same coloring and build, but his tattoos were completely unique.
Like his brother, he had the threatening aura of a much larger creature.
“He said he’d burn Vixen to the ground, Dagger! I had no choice.”
“Not your fault, Juno,” Dagger cried.
Dragon’s one good eye stared intently at his brother. “It’s all on Anole. He’s the traitor we warned you about, Komodo.”
“Traitor? Try savior.” Anole kicked open the empty cell next to Ormond. “Drop your weapons and get inside.”
“Never.” Komodo balled his fists. “Release your father at once. I won’t say it again.”
“He’s beyond help, brother. Do as he says. I can’t bear to watch another death.” Dragon’s voice was tight with anguish.
“Why are you doing this, son?” Komodo pleaded, voice soft.
“Get in the cell!” Anole’s fingers twitched on both triggers.
They left their weapons on the floor and marched in, single file. The sound of the barred door slamming shut made Horatio’s stomach drop. He rubbed his chest and felt nothing. No prickle. No tingle.
Would the prophecy really leave him powerless now?
Anole leered at them, forked tongue lolling out the side of his misshapen mouth. “Look at the great Komodo, trapped in a cage of his own making. How does it feel?”
Komodo held his hands up, palms out. “What sent you down this dark path, nephew?”
“He blames me,” Dragon said.
“I blame both of you!” Anole grimaced. “You raised me from birth to be a soldier, but instead of letting me lead an army, you made me assistant to the king’s personal chef!”
“You needed to learn discipline, Anole,” Dragon said.
He whirled around to face his father. “No. I needed you to believe in me. But when you failed to see my true potential, I carved out my own path to greatness, and now King Meridian can’t make a move without me.”
Dragon’s shoulders slumped. He stared at his feet while he spoke. “You cheated to get a higher position, and once in it, you manipulated a confused young man to feed your own ego. All you’ve created is fodder for your impending court-martial.”
“Of course, I manipulated him! Regicide is out of the question, thanks to his mother’s enchantments—but I found other ways. I banished the royal council and then put the bug in Meridian’s ear that his tepid reputation left him vulnerable to attack.”
“That’s why the king recruited so many Reptilians?” Snake asked.
“Right you are, vampire.” Anole’s face split into a grin. “I told him, ‘You can’t be killed, my king, but your throne can be stolen.’ You should have heard him beg. ‘Help me, Anole, I can’t fail my mother.’” He laughed. “As if he cared about anyone but himself.”
“You should talk! Everything you do is for yourself,” Juno said, eyes flashing.
“Lies! Everything I’ve done is for Sauria. And when it rises, it will be because of me.”
“You can’t possibly win.” Komodo pointed to Horatio. “I’ve seen what this man can do. He is, without a doubt, the man from the prophecy. Mark my words, he will destroy you.”
“He can’t destroy me, uncle. So far, all the prophecy has done is serve me well. Meridian was already scared witless when his brother Alistar showed up with that scroll. Fear of the Guitar Slayer played right into my hands.”
“It was Anole who told the Reptilians to kill your friends, Sugar,” Ormond whispered.
Anole spat in Ormond’s direction. “Shut up! The only reason why you’re alive is because Tegu took pity on you. I ordered my soldiers to kill all of you that night, but they were just as impotent as you, Turk.”
Horatio pressed himself against the bars. “You’re the reason Gunner and Snake almost died. That was all on you, not Meridian.”
“Glad to hear you’re finally clued in.” He bared his jagged teeth at Snake. “Remember when we met back on Earth? And you said that you were the villain in this story? Well, I’ve proven you wrong. The real villain is me!”
“That role fits you, Anole,” Komodo said. “Meridian was barely a man when he lost his father—”
“When he murdered his father, you mean,” Anole sneered.
“I have known Meridian since he was a boy, and I am certain he did not murder King Vane,” Komodo said. “He was broken after losing him—and he’s still broken. I am ashamed of you, Anole. Preying on the weak does not a strong man make.”
Komodo’s words punched Horatio right in the heart. “Meridian really is just a pawn,” he whispered—the sound of his voice only audible to himself.
“How dare you speak to me that way,” Anole cried. “I hold your life in my hands, uncle!”
Dragon punched his fist into the cell door with such force that the bars bent into the shape of his hand. “This is why some of us eat our young. I wish I had devoured that cracked egg when your mother begged me to.”
“You bastard! I’ll rule everything one day. A shame you won’t be alive to see it!”
He jerked the rifle up.
The blast came—sharp and sudden. Dragon’s body curled against the impact before hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
“No!” Komodo screamed. “How could you? Your father would have given his life for you without question. You were his world.”
“Stop lying to me!”
A click.
A hiss of vapor.
The scent of gasoline.
Horatio’s vision lit orange as a fireball roared toward them—blinding, all-consuming. He splayed his arms before he felt it: the sting in his chest, the pressure beneath his ribs.
Fingers of green mist snaked from the sigil, coiling around the blaze, driving it back toward Anole, whose wail was met—and drowned out—by others.
“Not yours. Ours.”
This time, the voices didn’t whisper. They screamed—through him.
He wasn’t merely the vessel.
Horatio was the prophecy.