Page 124 of Gemini Hunted
The Horn.
That fucking Horn.
I’m in the Vault. With the Horn.
All I gotta do now is deposit that artifact where it belongs.Exactlywhere it belongs. Wherever that is. But my attention’s really divided, because Mordred…
Oh, God, no.
Mordred.
Swaying on hands and knees, drinking in gulps of sweet air, crouched on the altar like a human sacrifice, I whip my head around to peer behind me, slinging my dripping ponytail out of my face.
The blazing expanse of the Academy Vault spreads before me, massive as a concert hall. The whole room gleams like the walls are sheathed in gold. The ceiling slops sharply to a pyramid point high overhead. Lit by burning torches, set at intervals in the sloping walls, the underground spring that disgorged me gleams in taunting beauty.
It’s a round pool rimmed in blocks of sandstone, rocks glittering with mica, the water’s still surface painted gold with torchlight.
A tangle of solid stone tentacles, eyes round and staring, beak gaping wide in agony, lies draped over the pool’s rim like an artist’s sculpture titledKraken in Distress.
I scramble around to view this nightmare squarely, then suck in a lungful of air that reeks of incense and shock.
“Oh, fuckinghell.” Horror rips through me and shreds my heart to bloody ribbons.“Mordred.”
My brain whirls into a tailspin.
I don’t know how to break an ossification curse. I’m not sure anyone does. The whole idea was not to trigger the thing in the first place. I’m surrounded by a vast and deadly cache of enchanted artifacts, piles of brassbound chests, dusty crates and sarcophagi and coffins, stacks of ancient books in a cobwebby jumble against the sloping golden walls.
Too bad I don’t know what any of these objects are or how to use them.
Trapped in my chest like a bird in a cage, my dragon bates and roars with anguish and rage.
Save him, Zara, we must. Save our mate!
Even through the shrieking clamor of my dragon’s mental meltdown, the Horn pulses like a heartbeat against my pelvis.
Right over my uterus.
Sweet bleeding Jesus, that artifact has power.
Raw, primal, untapped power.
I mean, my newly acquired and still erratic clairvoyance has been transmitting the message on all frequencies from Day One. This artifact is strong enough to save the witching world. I just need to suss out how to use it.
Maybe it’s powerful enough to save Mordred too.
Still crouching on the altar, directly under the peaked roof of this vast solid gold pyramid I’m trapped inside, I scuttle back around and tip my head back—way back—to eye the statue looming over me.
This colossus is a pregnant chick, busty and ripe with child under flowing Roman robes, crowned with a wreath of fresh fruit and flowering vines, with a sheaf of wheat draped gracefully over one arm.
Pregnant. Fruit. Flowers. Wheat. All symbols of fertility.
I’m staring at Ceres, the fertility goddess. Her outstretched hand descends toward me, fingers curled around empty space.
A space just big enough to hold the Horn.
Well, I was hoping it would be obvi where to return the thing once I got here.
Clairvoyance or coincidence, I catapulted blindly out of that death trap of a pond and flew straight here.
