Chapter Twenty-One #2
Luke makes a motion to continue moving. I follow him from behind the safety of the shipping container, racing to the ridge.
Taking the steps would put us right in line with the front door, so we make quick work of quietly scaling the dusty slope.
Luke’s faster than me, but I push myself to keep up as my feet slide over the loose soil.
We left the majority of our things in the van, but Luke insisted on bringing his backpack and swapped out the plethora of soul jars for weapons.
Now, it thumps against his back with each pound of his feet, the sound dull but still sound.
I skid into the garden surrounding the estate, trampling everything my feet touch. Before I fully face-plant into the trellis, Luke grabs my arm, slowing my momentum.
You alright? he mouths.
I nod, trying to catch my breath as quietly as possible. He turns to the trellis, testing its wooden lattice to make sure it holds.
I take in the stunning garden I just mowed down.
Most of the plants are unfamiliar, but I recognize the blue buds winding up the trellis amid the yellow as moonflowers.
On the exterior wall beside it is a row of bushes with plump dark berries.
My boots sink into the moist dirt. It’s all so out of place and strange amid the arid climate.
Luke taps my arm, dragging my attention back to the trellis and motioning me to go first.
The climb is tedious. My hands and feet move almost of their own accord, spurred on by the adrenaline pumping through my blood at the realization that we’re here. We’re going to save Krystal and the other women, and everything is going to be okay.
A morbid piece of me—the slice that keeps unceremoniously looking down—wonders what will happen should we get caught.
Would Beliar immediately off us? Would he still want me as a final sacrifice, or did he replace me?
I shouldn’t be offended, but the notion that even a demon might deem me replaceable is a new low.
Luke climbs beneath me, which doesn’t provide much comfort. If I fall, it’ll be impossible not to take him with me.
So, falling isn’t an option. My arms shake with the effort of ascending. I’ve never had an explicit fear of heights, but the farther we get from the ground, the more I start to question that.
Finally, the trellis ends at the edge of the open window. I poke my head up to peer inside.
It’s a bedroom. A grand space with a four-poster bed draped in gauzy black curtains, though not much else. As far as I can tell, both the bed and room are empty.
I shimmy myself over the ledge, but it’s harder than expected.
All my weekends of sitting on the couch binging reality TV have seriously depleted my upper body strength, which is rude since I still gave my arms a workout bringing forkfuls of takeout to my lips.
It takes everything in me to haul myself up through the window as if it’s the wall of the deep end at the community pool my dad used to take me to in the summer when I was a kid.
I was one of the youngest kids who passed the deep-end test, because I could get myself out.
I channel that same energy Mini Me had to push myself the rest of the way over. And okay, Luke’s hand pushing my ass also gives me a much-needed boost. But I would have had it otherwise.
Tumbling to the hard stone floor in an ungraceful heap, I roll out of the way as Luke hauls himself through. Of course, he has no problem skillfully swiveling his body so he lands on his feet. He stands to his full height and raises a brow at me on the ground.
“You can at least offer to help me up,” I grumble.
A grin flickers but falls as he surveys the room. He does hold a hand out for me, which I take. We stand in stillness, listening.
The estate’s stone skeleton masks whatever sound there might be. Luke crosses the bedroom to the closed door made of dark wood and curved at the top. Very castle-esque.
And just like the castles in the stories, we need to save the princesses trapped in the top.
Krystal would snort if she heard me equating her to a princess. The reminder that she’s likely mere feet away has me snapping back to reality. Luke’s right hand is on the knob, and his left grabs his dagger. I do the same.
Cracking the door open, he scans the hallway before stepping into it. I follow, molding myself to become his shadow. Iron chandeliers dot the ceiling. The stone wall is cool when my fingers press against it.
We creep down the hall, sticking as close to the left side as possible.
My boots do a good job of silencing my steps against the stone floors.
We pass door after door, but every one is closed.
Even though we agreed Beliar is likely keeping the victims on the third floor, now that we’re inside, it feels like an oversight not to do a thorough check.
I tug on Luke’s leather jacket, trying to silently relay my thoughts. He shakes his head. Trust me, he mouths.
And against all better judgment, I do.
We’re nearly at the end of the hallway, which opens into a grand staircase leading to the floor below. We can’t go any farther without getting detected, but there’s another hall we can turn down. Luke pauses to listen to the faint voices floating up the stairs.
“Word has traveled about you disobeying his commands and bringing the overworlders here. He isn’t happy, sire,” a voice says.
“I didn’t disobey, I simply…took some creative liberties.” I only know the responding voice is Beliar’s from the way arrogance winds through it.
“You had one job while in the overworld,” the first voice says, with a note of barely suppressed irritation. “He doesn’t take kindly to your interpretation of the task.”
“The target will come,” Beliar snaps. “One more day. Then the eclipse will be upon us and once the throats of those mortals are cut open, nothing will stop us from tearing down the veil for good. Not even him.”
Luke and I make eye contact, the foreboding words echoing between us. Certainly something to revisit later, but there won’t be a later if we don’t get out of here.
We turn down the other hallway, picking up our pace. At the end is a miraculous sight: a small spiral staircase leading upward.
At the top, Luke tenses, gripping his dagger. With his other hand, he gently pushes my chest, so my back is pressed to the wall. The direction is clear: stay put.
Pacing the hall is one of the archers, his bow in hand with his quiver slung over his shoulder. My breath shudders to a stop in my chest.
But he’s walking away from us—toward the other end. He doesn’t know we’re here. Right. He’s blind. As long as we’re quiet, we might be able to slip around him.
Luke presses himself to the wall, inching forward.
I do the same, holding my breath. Up close, the archer is terrifying.
He walks at a slow, even pace. Halfway down the hall, he pauses.
His head tilts toward the nearest door, though I can’t hear whatever he does. Deeming it insignificant, he continues.
His footfalls are heavy, like cinder blocks smacking the ground, though I can now tell he isn’t all stone.
It seems to blend with his flesh in an unnatural mix, covering his arms and disappearing under the tunic he wears.
Once he reaches the opposite wall, he abruptly turns to face us.
His mouth and ears are those of a person, and everything from his cheeks to his helmet is stone. But his eyes—
His eyes are golden.
Golden like the gaze of the animal I hit.
My mind skips, bringing me back to that night.
I do the same thing I did then—gasp. It gets stuck in my throat, resulting in a half-cough, half-wheeze situation that happens just like the car accident—too quickly to stop and yet horrifically slo-mo, spinning out of control before I can reel it in.
The monstrous statue jerks to attention as his eerie unseeing eyes lock on me.
He raises his bow, arrow notched straight at my heart.