Page 95 of Gemini Hunted
So I creep down those steps like the killer I am, hugging the wall where the shadows are thickest, placing my big boots with care so I don’t make a sound. Going slow enough to let my eyes adjust.
By the time I reach the bottom, I can see fine. Good enough to make out the faded Art Deco speakeasy decor down here, the cobwebby bar where we hold our keggers, the dark bulk of the oil drums we use for light and heat. Underneath the musty smell of mildew and stale beer, my sharp Mogadon nose picks up the tang of old blood.
Used to be a dungeon down here in medieval times, where they’d punish unruly students. Taking detention to a whole new level. Our new headmaster, same guy who just spruced up the forest around our perimeter with lethal mantraps, likes to joke that he wants to return us to our roots. That’s what he means.
Despite the clammy air down here, I’m starting to sweat.
“Helvitis,”I mutter, scowling at the spot.
The spot where I fully expected to find the acid-eaten body of Nikolai Romanov. Russian oligarch, master spy, all-powerfuldirector of the Arcane Investigative Bureau. Maybe with a littlerigor mortissetting in around the face.
Instead, he’sfokkinggone.
Which means—somehow—that viper’s still on the slither. He’s down here somewhere, breathing and armed and deadly.
Somewhere very close to Mallory and Jae and the Gemini queen.
Chapter Twenty-One
Zara
“I might be queen of the witching world,” I tell the small group of friends and lovers clustered close around me in the musty-smelling darkness of the tunnel’s creepy confines. “And yeah, me wrapping my head around this whole royal destiny gig took a minute. I’m queen. But I’m not, like, a god.”
“We don’t need divine intervention to find our way through these catacombs,” Mallory says patiently, her freckled face lit up from underneath by the comforting beam of her flashlight. “Just a really good location spell. I have one all teed up.”
Vasili, who’s still looking pale and kinda rough around the edges but who totally rejects any hovering over his head injury, gives Mal a suspicious look. “When precisely did you become such a powerful witch, McSnicker? You’ve certainly shown no aptitude for witchcraft in the classroom.”
Somewhere behind me, Mal’s Cajun werewolf lets out a warning snarl—a warning clearly aimed at V—that makes my scalp crawl.
Jae Labête’s prowling at the rear of our Scooby gang, guarding our backs and seemingly not needing any light for that assignment beyond the wicked green glow of his own eyes. TBH, he creeps me out. Both Mal’s guys are kinda freaky, especially the absent Draco. But I’m not the one fucking them.
These days, I’ll gratefully accept any political allies I can get.
Plus I’ll need those powerful bloodlines, like the exoticloup-garouwerewolves of the Louisiana bayous and the brutal protection of the telekinetic Mars clan mafia, standing at my side when I ascend.
Queen or no queen, that’s one truth I’ve internalized. My free agent cat burglar days are history.
And I can’t queen it alone.
“I can do common magics.” Mal clutches the Book of Flame and Breath defensively to her skinny chest and sidles away from Vasili. He used to bully her and the rest of the student body, same way he bullied me, so I can’t blame her for being nervous about being trapped in this tunnel with his malignant self. “That’s all a location spell is. Common magic. I left my sweater in the Academy library—you know, accidentally but on purpose?—after class to anchor the spell.”
“Oh, wow.” Neo pushes his glasses up his nose and looks impressed. “The library is directly above the Vault. That was so clever, Mallory.”
Mallory looks a little awkward at the praise, which she doesn’t tend to hear much around this Academy, given her class geek status. She ducks her carroty head to hide a blush. “Uh, thanks. Anyway, a simple location spell will lead me—and all of us—right to the Vault.”
“I agree with Mr. Mercury. That’s a very resourceful strategy. I’ll ensure you receive full marks for ingenuity per the exam rubric, Ms. McSnicker.” Lucius gives her an approving nod that makes my Goblin King sneer. Lucius tends to fall back on formality when we’re around other students.
But V only gives him a hard time when Lucius goes all Old World formal withus.
My headmaster’s grisly thigh injury is thankfully healing, like Neo would say, shifty-swifty. So fast that Lucius has not only stopped limping, but slipped back into the role of exam proctor. (I honestly don’t think he can help himself.) He’s started recording marks for our individual contributions to solving the Dean’s Challenge with a neatly sharpened pencil and the leather-bound grade book he’s produced from our backpack.
I mean, at least he isn’t toting his oxblood leather briefcase around these catacombs.
Honestly speaking, I need to exert all my willpower not to ogle my wolf, all shirtless and furry-chested, with his thick thighs and muscled butt filling out Ronin’s leather pants. Maybe that’s the tail end of my heat talking.
Or maybe that’s just Lucius.
“So… catacombs. Who knew?” Reining in my runaway libido, I force myself to turn away from Lucius’ yumminess (for now) and play my own flashlight over Exhibit A.
