Catacombs (The Sekhmet Bounty Series Book 2) (13 page)

“Just no distractions.”

“I can get you that.”

I dug into my backpack and pulled out the stems of the flowers I had kept, carefully plucking off petals and slipping them into my pocket. “We need a plan.”

I led Frost to the metal door. “Stay behind me. You’re my priestess, here to help me free him. That’s it. Other than that you don’t talk. Okay?”

She nodded. “I think I can manage that.”

I took a deep breath then reached for the handle. The door opened to a crowded but kind of cozy room that looked more like it belonged in a castle than a labyrinth. This wasn’t quite the prison I had imagined him in. Now, more than ever, I wanted Frost’s curses to work on him. If I couldn’t kill him, he’d damn well be uncomfortable for the rest of time. I glanced around the room again. No one else was there—at least, no one we could see.

“Oh, lord of ointments, grace us with your presence,” I announced as we walked inside. “Slaughterer of souls, maker of oils, lord of wine, and wearer of perfume.”

“I do love the old titles.” The deep growl of a voice came before Shezmu revealed himself, seemingly stepping out of the wall. His tongue ran over his muzzle as he looked at me. “It’s been too long since I had a decent meal, Sekhmet.”

“But you wouldn’t want to devour me.” I smiled at his lion face, my eyes flickering to the butcher knife in his meaty hand. His body was round and stocky—hardly an intimidating figure, but his presence filled the room and pushed at the walls. “But you already know that, don’t you? I’m here to free you. If you kill me, you will never leave.”

He tilted his head in consideration. “There is another who shares your blood, and I am starving.”

I took long strides toward him. “But my sister has no sense of adventure. She would never make it through the maze. I’m your only hope.”

“And the other? Is she to be a sacrifice to ensure my goodwill?”

I shook my head. “She is a priestess. She is here only to ensure your escape.”

“Ah.” His eyes rolled around as he looked at her. “I believe she was stunted. Why is she miniature?”

Frost’s eyes narrowed.

I barely held back a smile. “She is small, but I promise she is not defective. She can do what I brought her to do.”

“Very well.” He groaned as he went past me toward a table along one wall, completely filled with piles of books and parchment that was probably made from skin and pitchers and jars. He laid the knife to the side and poured himself a drink of thick red liquid. “This does nothing to satisfy my hunger. I was promised meals and was sent garnishments. There was a time lesser beings trembled at the very sight of me. Now look at me. Wasted away.” He patted his enormous stomach.

“Soon you will be free to once again hunt whoever you like, but first I believe you owe me my treasure.”

He took a long drink from his glass, never removing his eyes from me. “I have made no such bargain.”

I pulled in a breath through my teeth and glanced back at Frost. “That isn’t what I was told.” He didn’t respond. “I guess we came here for no reason. Let’s go.” I started for the door.

“Wait,” he commanded. “I’m aware of the cost for release, but as I recall, I was to deliver payment myself.”

I shook my head. “That’s no longer the case. We will collect it, then free you. I apologize for the slight to your honor, but that is the demand.”

He tapped his finger against his glass as he stared at me. “I have not seen one of your kind since I was tricked into this prison.” He refilled his glass to the brim. “But how am I to know that you are the one I’ve been waiting for? Where is your proof?”

I hadn’t expected that. How could I prove I was my father’s daughter? “You will have to take my word.”

“No,” he said. “You will defeat the spirit Pamiu, and the priestess and I will watch. None other has bested him. Let us see if he will stand down before you. Pamiu, come.”

Icy wind blew through the room, swirling around in the center, grabbing papers and debris until a smoky figure formed.

The air caught in my lungs. He looked just as he did in pictures. My father stood before me, proud and tall, even if he was monochromatic. He withdrew a sword from his side and swung it at me with no hesitation.

I dropped to the floor just as the blade whooshed over the top of me. I didn’t have any weapon larger than the demon-killing knife, so it would have to do. I rolled away from him and pulled my weapon. Staying low to the ground, we squared off against one another. He took another swing that I deflected, but my heart wasn’t in the fight.

I wanted to stare at him, memorize his face, but instead I was forced to battle him. I deflected blow after blow until my arms ached, but I wouldn’t go on the offensive. Not against him. He attacked harder and faster, but I easily matched him move for move, like I knew what he was going to do before he did it.

But it would never end like this. Either we’d fight forever, or I’d wear myself out and eventually make a mistake. I ducked his next swing and did a somersault toward him, sheathing my knife as I came back to my feet. I held up my hands before him, my eyes locking with the ghost of his.

He took a step back and swung hard, but I forced myself to remain still and not fight back or dodge. Just before the blade got to me, he pulled back—then dropped it to the floor with a clatter. He took a small step toward me, then another and another, until finally he reached toward my face, though his fingers never met it.

“Femi.” My name floated toward me on the wind.

“Father,” I said, swallowing hard.

He shook his head, disappointment sinking his shoulders as he tried to touch me again and failed.

“I’m satisfied,” Shezmu announced, taking a seat on his golden throne. “Come. We will discuss your payment for my freedom.”

My father shook his head again, more forcefully than before.

I wanted to talk to him and explain. Greedily, I wished I had hours or days to spend with him rather than seconds, but seconds were more than I ever had before. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed, then turned to make a deal with his murderer.

“Pour us a drink,” Shezmu said, thrusting his glass at me.

I took it without a word and carried it to the table. Dipping my fingers into my pocket, I slipped out the petals from the plant at the beginning of the maze and dropped them into his glass while I poured the blood. I handed the cocktail to him then took a couple steps back.

“You believe you deserve the box.”

“I am merely a messenger.”

He scoffed, sipping the blood. “You have no intention of giving the prize to the one who hired you. That truth is written upon your face—as is your disdain for me. But there is also a determination to get that which you seek. That’s good. Well, good for me.” He drummed his fingers on his leg. “Which world do you intend to destroy?”

Holy crap, what the hell was in this box? “Any that stand in my way,” I replied smoothly.

He nodded his approval, taking another sip. “And how will you release me from this prison?”

“You will walk out with me. My immunity to the labyrinth will protect you. I will carry you out just as I will the box.”

He looked me up and down. “Then I shall let you live today. I make no promises for tomorrow, however. Your family owes me a great debt, keeping me here all of these years, but thanks to your devotion, you will be the last to die.” He said it like he was bestowing a great gift upon me.

My father’s eyes flickered from his sword, still at my feet, to Shezmu. Luckily Shezmu didn’t notice as he gulped down the rest of his wine. A strange expression crossed his face, and he looked closer at the glass. He reached his thick fingers inside and pulled out the last remaining petal. “What is this?” he roared, shattering the glass in his hand. Standing up, he swayed on his feet. I grabbed my father’s sword from the ground and put some distance between us. An angry god was a dangerous one, and the plant hadn’t worked as fast as I had hoped.

“It won’t kill him.” My father’s whispering voice floated toward me. “But a ghost will not heal, and it will sever his bond over me.”

Well, that was the best news I had heard all day. I went toward Shezmu with renewed energy.

“You dare to poison me,” he shouted, as he made a grab at me. I sliced the sword along his forearm, laying it open.

He screamed, throwing his entire self at me. He was too wide and the room was too small. I couldn’t avoid him. I braced myself for impact as he impaled himself on the sword, knocking into me. I pulled the sword back out as I fell. His hands immediately went to his stomach, trying to stop the flow of whatever was pouring out of him; it definitely wasn’t blood.

Wispy gray threads leaked from his gut and down to the floor, where they vanished into a round mosaic picture that I hadn’t noticed earlier next to his chair.

“What have you done to me, witch?” He took one step, then two, then fell, batting at the air and talking to himself.

“You freed us,” my father said. “You have released the souls of his victims. Over time, all of them will go and his strength will dwindle, but he will never die.”

I hopped up. “I was never going to let him go.”

“I know,” he said. He looked past me to Frost. He smiled at her, then pressed his hand to his chest and looked back to me. “You have become everything I knew you would, child. I wish I could stay.” He was already being pulled toward the tiles.

“Wait. Please. I have so many questions.”

He nodded. “Your mother has all the answers. You have my heart.” He disappeared beneath the floor.

I didn’t have time to mourn him again. We had to find whatever this box was and get the hell out of this place. “Cast your spells. I’m finding the box. I don’t know how long the hallucinations will last.”

I scoured the every shelf and miscellaneous stack of junk, as Frost took to casting her curses. Boils rose along every inch of Shezmu’s flesh, angry and red. His chest filled with feathers, so he’d never draw a comfortable breath again. The curses weren’t severe by any means, but between them and the ghost wounds, I was satisfied enough, especially knowing my father was free.

I knocked things around on the shelves, looking for this mysterious box that was apparently worth his freedom to someone, though my eyes kept going back to the mosaic on the floor. It told a story. I leaned over it lightly, touching the tiles where the floor opened. This was where the souls had escaped. It was the way we were going, too.

“How are you doing?” I called out.

“Almost done,” Frost said.

Shit. Nothing in this room looked like a treasure of any sort. It was mostly old broken-spined books and paper and jars and pitchers to hold his blood wine collection. I started searching the other side of the room. It had to be somewhere. If he was guarding it, he’d keep it with him…or on him.

“Done,” Frost announced.

“Almost have it,” I said.

I crept up on the hallucinating god. Ever so lightly I patted him down until I felt a hard lump in the side of his dressing gown. I leaned all the way over him and slipped my hand into his robe, feeling for the object. My fingers closed around a small square box. He reached out and grabbed me by the neck. I tossed the box to Frost without looking. It crashed against the wall. One by one I peeled his fingers from my throat and broke away, coughing.

“This is it?” Frost said, doubt heavy in her voice as she held up the broken wooden box. “It looks like cigars.”

I glanced over; she was right. Shit. He said it was a box. The room was plenty crowded with crap. The wine press, the shelves and shelves of jars and pitchers and papers and books, but no boxes. What sort of box would someone like Shezmu be hiding? Why go to all of this trouble unless it was important? Unless it was a big deal— Wait. I had it.

Pandora’s box.

“We aren’t looking for a box. It’s a jar. Clay, probably. Maybe metal. About the size of an urn. It’s a misnomer.”

“What is?”

“Pandora’s box. It wasn’t a box at all. It’s a pithos. A jar. That’s what we’re looking for.”

We collected every jar in the room and lined them up on the table.

Frost shook her head. “You pick.”

I studied each of them. The first was a smooth clay pot dyed green, decorated with grapes and vines. I The next was a metal stirrup jar, black and white, with a giant octopus painted on it. Third was a black and tan column krater, with animals painted around the top of the lid and people and horses on its base. The last one was tall and thin and bore colorful dolphins. Now all I had to do was remember my legends.

The jar was said to be beautiful, which vetoed the octopus jar. It was too plain for temptation. I studied the remaining three. I picked up the black and tan jar. “I think this is it.”

Frost chewed on her lip, but nodded. “Why?”

“It’s the only one with a lid. Had Pandora’s box been opened in here, it would have destroyed it and everything else along with it.”

I made room in my backpack for the jar, leaving behind most of my food and rope, and handed Frost the flashlight. I wore the pack across my front so I could hold on to it better. We were going to leave through the floor, just like the spirits. “Just step there.” I pointed at the mosaic. “I think that’s how he moves the bodies. Like a trash shoot.”

Frost gave me a doubtful look. “You first.”