distress, not passion—the worse I felt. My chest where the amulet had lain against me was so hot I would swear my skin was about to crackle, and my legs seemed made of lead. I trudged on, willing myself forward until I reached a bend in the rock. There were still no guards in sight, but I didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad. Probably neither. Not too many people would be arriving at this party from an eight-inch crack in a cave wall, I suspected.
As I approached, the darkness lessened, replaced by flickering light. Torches? Campfire? Would there be S’mores?
Then Fernanda burst forth in another wail, loud enough to make my spine ache. I straightened against the rock, becoming one with the wall, and dared a peek around the edge.
Visible through the doorway at the far end of the corridor, Fernanda lay in a heap by a fire, moaning pitiably. She didn’t look damaged from what I could tell, or at least no more damaged than she’d been the last time I’d seen her. I edged forward carefully, pausing in front of a door cut into the rock. I glanced quickly into the chamber to my right…then stopped cold.
Well. This was unexpected.
Chapter Eleven
Nigel Friedman lay flat on a pallet in the middle of the stone chamber, apparently asleep. His hands were bound, his mouth gagged. Worse, he was once again completely naked except for a kind of ornamental loincloth, that would probably have looked amazing on some Brazilian fertility god.
On Nigel it looked vaguely ridiculous.
I stared at him, hard, but apparently my supernatural skills didn’t extend to remote wakey-wakey. And his feet weren’t bound, which meant his captors expected him to move at some point, so chances were good that nothing was seriously broken. Then again, they could have simply hamstrung the insufferable asshat. Nothing like a quick slice to the Achilles to take a man down.
I winced but faced forward again, slipping past the open doorway. I couldn’t fix Nigel’s problems yet. Not until I fixed my own.
Nevertheless, I crept more slowly along the passage. Fernanda had gone quiet, reduced to whimpering sobs, but I could no longer see her. The crackling of the fire grew louder as I approached, but oddly, the corridor remained empty. There wasn’t even a watchdog to sound the alarm.
That…suddenly didn’t feel right.
A movement to my left registered a moment too late. I jerked back, but wasn’t fast enough to evade a large troll-like guard who lunged at me from a crevice in the rock.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I tried to twist away, but the guard seized my upper arms and shoved me forward into the chamber. A quick recon revealed a second guard standing beyond the fire, then an opening for another chamber guarded by yet more burly men. I had a feeling that second chamber wasn’t exactly empty, based on my last experience with Fernanda in a dark place.
As for the Princesa, she was on her feet again, dressed in a white filmy robe thing. She glared at me haughtily from across the room.
Interestingly, she wasn’t crying anymore. Nor was she mewling.
I think I preferred that Fernanda. This one scared the crap out of me.
I sagged in Thug the Guard’s hold, too tired all of the sudden to put up the pretense of a fight. If Fernanda was pissed, she could take a swing at any time. Now that I was in her presence, all the strength I’d been storing up to get me here had fled. I’d probably tip over onto her fists and call it a day.
Fortunately, the high priestess of the Icamiabas appeared to be in more of a mood to talk. She pointed at me with a flurry of Portuguese that included one word I’d never forget: Princesa. Since my princesa-ing was done for the night, I focused on the fire.
Bingo.
The frog amulet was lying on a white satin pillow, cushioned above a literal avalanche of stones banked up around the flames. The stones were carved in all sorts of figures, from fish to snakes to monkeys to birds. As if sensing my interest, the guard
As I approached, the darkness lessened, replaced by flickering light. Torches? Campfire? Would there be S’mores?
Then Fernanda burst forth in another wail, loud enough to make my spine ache. I straightened against the rock, becoming one with the wall, and dared a peek around the edge.
Visible through the doorway at the far end of the corridor, Fernanda lay in a heap by a fire, moaning pitiably. She didn’t look damaged from what I could tell, or at least no more damaged than she’d been the last time I’d seen her. I edged forward carefully, pausing in front of a door cut into the rock. I glanced quickly into the chamber to my right…then stopped cold.
Well. This was unexpected.
Chapter Eleven
Nigel Friedman lay flat on a pallet in the middle of the stone chamber, apparently asleep. His hands were bound, his mouth gagged. Worse, he was once again completely naked except for a kind of ornamental loincloth, that would probably have looked amazing on some Brazilian fertility god.
On Nigel it looked vaguely ridiculous.
I stared at him, hard, but apparently my supernatural skills didn’t extend to remote wakey-wakey. And his feet weren’t bound, which meant his captors expected him to move at some point, so chances were good that nothing was seriously broken. Then again, they could have simply hamstrung the insufferable asshat. Nothing like a quick slice to the Achilles to take a man down.
I winced but faced forward again, slipping past the open doorway. I couldn’t fix Nigel’s problems yet. Not until I fixed my own.
Nevertheless, I crept more slowly along the passage. Fernanda had gone quiet, reduced to whimpering sobs, but I could no longer see her. The crackling of the fire grew louder as I approached, but oddly, the corridor remained empty. There wasn’t even a watchdog to sound the alarm.
That…suddenly didn’t feel right.
A movement to my left registered a moment too late. I jerked back, but wasn’t fast enough to evade a large troll-like guard who lunged at me from a crevice in the rock.
“Hey, hey, hey!” I tried to twist away, but the guard seized my upper arms and shoved me forward into the chamber. A quick recon revealed a second guard standing beyond the fire, then an opening for another chamber guarded by yet more burly men. I had a feeling that second chamber wasn’t exactly empty, based on my last experience with Fernanda in a dark place.
As for the Princesa, she was on her feet again, dressed in a white filmy robe thing. She glared at me haughtily from across the room.
Interestingly, she wasn’t crying anymore. Nor was she mewling.
I think I preferred that Fernanda. This one scared the crap out of me.
I sagged in Thug the Guard’s hold, too tired all of the sudden to put up the pretense of a fight. If Fernanda was pissed, she could take a swing at any time. Now that I was in her presence, all the strength I’d been storing up to get me here had fled. I’d probably tip over onto her fists and call it a day.
Fortunately, the high priestess of the Icamiabas appeared to be in more of a mood to talk. She pointed at me with a flurry of Portuguese that included one word I’d never forget: Princesa. Since my princesa-ing was done for the night, I focused on the fire.
Bingo.
The frog amulet was lying on a white satin pillow, cushioned above a literal avalanche of stones banked up around the flames. The stones were carved in all sorts of figures, from fish to snakes to monkeys to birds. As if sensing my interest, the guard
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