The Ophelia Prophecy (16 page)

“Come or
go
.”

Asha jumped as someone ducked into the opening—someone more mantis than man. The creature’s body rested on four powerful back legs, and his arms terminated in inward-bending claws rather than hands. His insect parts were a mottled gray and white, while his face and chest were black. His eyes were set farther apart than Iris’s, and his wings were smaller and folded close to his body.

The creature’s claw extended, curling over a knob on the inside of the shutter, and he started to pull it closed. Carrick slid a booted foot out to catch it.

“We’re coming,” he said, ducking into the low doorway.

The bugman extended an arm, stopping him. Carrick growled as the claw slid across his midsection, gripping the hilt of his knife.

“No weapons,” the bugman said firmly.

After a moment’s consideration Carrick nodded, and the Manti tugged the blade free and stepped aside.

Asha followed the priest, instinctively squeezing as far away from the bugman as she could. The shutter slammed closed behind them.

Carrick started down the steps before her eyes had adjusted, and rather than be left in the entryway, she grabbed his arm for support.

The room at the foot of the stairs had to be below street level, which explained the name. If it had any of the unwholesome smells often associated with underground spaces, you’d never know it for the sweet, floral scent hanging heavy in the air. Far from being damp or chilly, the space was a nest of giant pillows lit by metal lamps wrought in the shapes of flowers ranging along supports that looked like vines. There were half a dozen tables between the cushioned area and the bar along the opposite wall.

Carrick led her to one of the tables, and they sank down in fat, comfortable chairs.

A man came from behind the bar to frown down at them. “Sagrada,” he grunted.

Asha exchanged a nervous glance with Carrick, unsure whether this was a greeting or a question.

“Yes,” replied the priest.

The man stumped off on what looked like a cricket leg on one side, and oddly, an artificial limb made to look like a human leg on the other.

“What did we just agree to?” she asked Carrick.

“Not sure. I think maybe we’ve ordered something.”

She made a quick and wary survey of the tavern’s other patrons—a handful seated in the cushioned area and two at the bar. There was music playing, chanting and rhythmic, though not very lively. Still it seemed unlikely they’d be overheard if they kept their voices low.

“How will we pay?” she asked.

“Hopefully Iris will be here soon.”

The statement terminated in a growl, and she returned her gaze to his face. He leaned close to her, allowing his eyes to range over the room from under the hood of his dark brows.

“I don’t like this place,” he said.

“I can’t say I do either. Why did Iris send us here?”

“She said the Guard wouldn’t look for us here. The place has a nasty reputation, and a connection with some kind of religious underground.”

“The ‘sacred rebellion’?”

“Mmm.”

They sat up as the bartender plunked glasses down in front of them—tall and skinny, about a quarter full of a liquid that looked like water. It was hard to be sure in the strange light. He left again without a word.

“Did she say why she wanted to help you?” Asha asked, leaning in again.

He raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Only that otherwise I’d be going to some kind of lab, where I might be dissected. I don’t even know if she was telling me the truth.”

She eyed him, feeling empathy for his situation. It wasn’t so different from her own. “I think she was. I overheard her talking to Pax.”

He gave her a haunted, hungry look. “It’s true about me…?” He trailed off, swallowing loudly and looking away.

“The wolf thing?” she said softly.

He gave a quick nod.

“That’s what they said.”

He closed his eyes.

She reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. “I’m sorry.”

He flinched and looked down. “You’re not afraid of me?”

“Why should I be? Are you any different than you were before you knew?”

“
Yes
.”

“Okay. Maybe.” She ducked down, catching his eye. “But neither of us can go back to what we were before. We have to decide what comes next.”

“I’m not sure we’ll have much choice about that.” He picked up his glass, sniffing its contents before replacing it on the table.

“We could leave now.” Her heart picked up speed as she contemplated heading out again into the city. At least in here no one seemed to be paying much attention to them.

“True.” He studied her as he considered. “Who are you, anyway? How did you end up with them?”

She gave him an abbreviated version of her story, omitting what she’d remembered upon arriving in Granada. She felt a kinship with him, with both of them being on the run. Strangers to this city and having no one else. But due to recent revelations and events, his loyalties were probably a little up in the air, and she didn’t know if she should trust him.

“Why weren’t you sent with the others?” Carrick asked.

She picked up her glass and turned it in her fingers. “Pax can’t remember how we ended up at the reservoir, but he thinks I might. He thinks there might be some kind of plot, and that eventually he’ll get it out of me.”

“What do
you
think?”

She looked up and found his gaze fixed on her. Like Pax, she got the sense he’d know if she lied. “He could be right.”

“I’d never have guessed that’s what was between you. I assumed you were
with
him by the way he was acting. He’s very human.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “It’s confusing, isn’t it?”

The comment was directed more inwardly than at him, but he gave her a tight smile. “Very.”

Finding her mouth suddenly dry, she raised her glass to her lips.

Not water
. She made a face. The fluid was thick, and very sweet. She noticed a white flower painted on the side of the glass. As she lifted it for a closer look the blossom opened, showing the interior. She set the glass down quickly, glancing at Carrick in alarm.

But the priest’s gaze was focused behind her. She turned to see two masked figures descending into the room. She didn’t need to see their faces to recognize them.

Pax sat down in the chair next to her, and Iris across from him. Iris pushed two masks across the tabletop. “You’ll stand out without these,” she said, nodding toward the patrons in the cushioned area.

Asha hadn’t noticed they were masked, but it was hardly surprising considering the distractions of their
natural
physiology. One woman seated under a lamp had a full set of silky, lavender-colored wings.

As she and Carrick slipped on their masks the bartender reappeared, grunting the same, “Sagrada.”

“Wine,” said Pax, and the man stumped away again.

Pax eyed their glasses. “You didn’t drink any of that?”

Asha’s heart lurched. “A little,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Lord of the flies,” muttered Iris, as her brother gave a quiet groan.

“What is it?” Asha asked, her tongue feeling too big for her mouth.

“A drug,” he said. “You’re going to feel a little strange soon, if you don’t already. Don’t drink any more.”

“
I won’t
.” She wasn’t sure whether she’d answered out loud.

As the other three began to murmur about what to do—something about finding Carrick a place to hide for a few days until they could figure out how to get him out of the city—her head felt like it was floating away from her body. Every time she looked at something with an organic shape—the picture on the glass, the flower lamps, the decorative metalwork above the bar—it seemed to come alive in some way. She dropped her eyes to the table, trying to focus and clear her head, and she noticed a line of black insects marching out of the flower, off the glass, and toward her folded arms.

She shoved her chair backward with a yelp.

“Virgin.” The twittering, echoing voice was not one she recognized. It came from elsewhere in the room.

Iris muttered something sharp.

“I need air,” Asha said, rising unsteadily from the table.

Pax rose beside her, holding out his arm for support. She grasped it, and her body swayed. Their forms pressed together as he kept her from falling forward. With her head resting against his chest, she couldn’t help noting the lack of difference between him and the human males of her acquaintance. There was nothing exotic or alien about the way he smelled, or the rise and fall of his breaths. Nothing strange or frightening about the low rumble in his chest that accompanied the words, “Take it slow.” In fact, everything her senses took in about him was soothing and appealing.

He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her toward the stairs. Her feet felt numb, like they were asleep, and they ascended slowly, much of her weight in the crook of his arm. The gray mantis man opened the door for them. She glanced at him on the way out, and his scowling face stretched and distorted until she had to look away.

Outside, the low-lit street spun, and she gripped Pax’s arm. She tilted her face skyward, breathing deeply. In the patch of clear sky overhead, the stars were all doubled, and they too were making lazy circles. The effect was nauseating, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

“How much did you drink?” Pax asked in a low voice.

“Just a sip,” she grumbled. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’ll soon pass. Just keep breathing.”

She listened to the noises in the street. An echo of laughter, and festive music. She breathed the warm night air in and out, nice and easy. She opened her eyes and blinked at the temple spire. As it shifted from peach to mauve, she realized she’d made a poor choice of objects to refocus her vision, and she dropped her gaze to Pax’s face. When none of his features shifted in unexpected ways, she took a deep breath, relieved.

“It’s getting better,” she sighed.

“Good. Let’s walk a little.”

As he guided her, arm still circling her waist, she said, “That’s a potent drink.”

“It’s a hallucinogen, popular with the artistic community. It’s banned, but that doesn’t stop anyone.”

“Why is it banned?”

“It’s also popular with zealots. My father believes it’s dangerous.”

She glanced again at the temple, wondering if he was referring to the
sacred rebellion
. “What do
you
think?” she asked.

He eyed her with interest, and she found the dizziness returning—a different kind of dizziness.

“I think the zealots are becoming a problem, but not because of sagrada. It’s not the type of drug that makes people violent. I don’t think there’s any real harm in it.”

She swallowed. “I beg to differ.”

Chuckling softly, Pax guided her into an alley a few doors down from the tavern. Easing her back against a rough brick wall, he said, “Rest for a few more minutes. When you feel steady we’ll go back.”

He stood up, parting their bodies, and pushed back his mask. She did the same, and his eyes settled on her face. Warmth rushed to her cheeks, and to her abdomen.

“What will you tell your father about all this?” she asked him.

“I don’t know yet. I’m pretty much making it up as I go.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I noticed. The two of you seem in over your heads.”

“At this point I’d call that an understatement.”

“I still don’t really understand why.”

He hesitated. She couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness. “Then we both have a mystery, don’t we?”

*   *   *

Asha dropped her gaze, murmuring, “I guess we do.”

Pax regretted his evasive answer, but what exactly was he supposed to say to her? The truth would confuse and probably frighten her. He wasn’t even sure what the truth
was
.

“You feel well enough to go back?” he asked.

She nodded, pushing herself free of the wall. “Inanimate objects are no longer animate. Though that’s a blurry line around here.”

He smiled. She had changed since they left the abbey. She seemed surer of herself. More grounded, and at the moment, more relaxed. But that was probably due to the sagrada.

He held out an arm to her. “Just in case.”

She threaded her hand through his arm, and he reached for her mask. As he slipped it back into place, his thumb grazed the pale flesh of her cheek. Standing this close to her, he felt the quickening of her heartbeat. The surge of blood beneath her skin.

Her body had responded to his touch. And not for the first time.

Her lips parted, and he heard the breath move through them. Every sensation was intensified in that moment, and he felt like he was the tipsy one.

He reached up, cradling the back of her neck, and she gave a quiet gasp as he nudged her to the wall. Planting a hand on either side of her head, he lowered his lips to hers. Her face lifted, allowing him better access, and he groaned and pressed against her.

Her lips were soft, and slightly sweet from the sagrada. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, tasting the drug, and his heart slammed against the inside of his chest. She arched forward, molding her body along his, and the sound of her frantic heartbeat was drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears.

His tongue flicked lightly over her mouth until her lips parted, opening to him. He wrapped his arms around her as their tongues met.

“Friend,” called a voice from behind them.

Pax jumped and spun around.

“A word with you, if you’ll divide yourself from the lady a moment.”

THE DISCIPLE

“What do you want?” Pax snapped, angry at the interruption, and angrier still at himself for losing his head to the point someone was able to creep up on him.

“Forgive the interruption,” purred the man, whose face Pax couldn’t see due to the fact he wore both a mask and cloak. “I wanted to ask whether you’ve heard the prophecy? I’ve found that many people have questions, and often I’m able to help. I’d be happy to treat you and the lady to—”