Change, page 13
Freelance spoke. “Wrong?”
Her answering bark held more of a whine at the end than she liked.
“Drink?”
She growled.
Dark water poured through the gap in her cell and formed into a tall, graceful, but translucent woman holding a golden jug. Hundreds of tiny braids rose into a high ponytail, held in place by a snake skull and pouring down her back in a black cascade that matched her floor-length chiton and was only two shades darker than her skin. Silver bracers covered her lower arms, intricately decorated with the skull and wave motif that hemmed her clothing as well. She studied Zita.
Even though she had nowhere to retreat, Zita stood her ground and stared back at her, nose lifted and quivering with the need to move. Both the nymph and jug smelled of marsh water that was both sweet and soured at once.
“If you bite me, you will regret it, coyote, for even gods had best be wary of Styx. Did you understand what I said to him?” she whispered in ancient Greek. She tapped a silver-sandaled foot on the ground impatiently.
Zita huffed and cocked her head to the side. She nodded slowly.
The nymph’s brows rose. Her voice remained barely audible. “Interesting. Do not think to claim the Underworld, as you are already tied elsewhere and have no claims upon the dead. Your power reeks of life and movement.”
A snort escaped Zita at the thought of ruling anything.
Something in the nymph’s shoulders loosened. “Our realm is more stable with gods abiding in it, even ones that do not rule us, so we obey the fallen king and queen on sufferance. No true death god or hero has come here to replace Hades, who they devoured. The closest is the godling in the next cell, and it would take time to turn his power to suit the Underworld.”
“What?” Zita’s question emerged as a quizzical half-whine. The demons ate someone? Literally like cannibalism or some other way?
“Do you know nothing? Gods may claim but one realm at a time, and the fallen ones want their old realm back. Even if they did not, they cannot claim this land. The king’s power is unsuitable for the same reason as yours, and his queen because she repudiated rulership here long ago. They were enraged to find the path to retake Olympos barred because someone stole their throne.” The nymph regarded Zita solemnly.
Pinche Chiron and his secrets. Wyn didn’t mention any of this... did she? I don’t think I would’ve missed this unless she mentioned it when we were shopping. Zita grumbled to herself mentally, but held herself still.
“Because you chose the favored form of someone who annoyed them for centuries, I will not mention they hold one of the new gods of Olympos in their dungeon for now. Should you dare to call upon Styx, however, you had best have a reason that pleases me or your secret will be no more.” With those words, the nymph dissolved into dark water and flowed out the window.
Something down here makes people super bitchy. Also, we really need to have a long talk with that centaur about everything he’s been holding back on. Zita shook her head and paced, sorting through escape plans. Far too many were discarded as unworkable.
***
Not long afterward, her ears perked at the sounds of multiple booted feet marching across stone.
“Time for your break. We’ll handle the prisoners. Take lunch,” a gruff male voice ordered. It had the same sound as the one that had protested Hera’s offer to Freelance.
A younger, confused voice replied, “But it’s the start of our shift, sir, and we ate right before it. Unless our watches are off, we don’t get to leave our stations for—”
Something hit with a meaty thwack. “You do today. We have the Lausanne attack right after breakfast tomorrow, and we will need all able-bodied men on deck given the casualties in Barcelona and the tight time frame to collect some holy hostages while we’re there. Fortunately, Surt is enough of a distraction on his own that most of our forces can focus on our primary objective, the peace conference. Guards here will get no breaks during the operation. Now, am I your captain or not?”
Zita’s ears perked. No mames. This isn’t going to end well. I somehow doubt they’re here to help anyone.
“We’ll go now. Thank you, sir.” Protester abandoned his resistance, and a second man echoed his words.
“Leave the keys.”
“We don’t have keys to Aoede or Arca’s cells, just the male metas. The hostage keys are with Meyer.” Metal jingled and boots moved quickly over stone.
Once the sound of feet died away, the captain said, “Gentlemen, we have a beating to administer, a tragic escape attempt to arrange, and little time to do so. You two are on guard duty, and you man the elevator. You know the cell we want, right? Gunter, Kai, leave all your weapons except your brass knuckles on the table. Since you’re both extra tough, you get to ensure his injuries are real and make them a lot worse while Wolf and I cover you. I’m not losing more men to that bastard.”
“You won’t.” Someone laughed and cracked their knuckles.
Zita rolled her eyes. Her brain caught up to the logical target. They can’t reach anyone but the male non-hostages, which is the Russian, Freelance, and possibly the Atlantean. Of those, who killed a bunch of them and then got a huge job offer?
She barked as the elevator drew closer.
An unfamiliar voice asked, “What’s with her?”
The captain sniggered. “Arca? Probably crying for walkies. She’s lucky to be alive. I heard she was almost dead when Zeus finally pried Hera off her. They had to check her pulse and everything.”
His men laughed.
Zita snarled and scrabbled at the stone wall as they passed her cage and stopped nearby. Freelance!
Something nearby clicked.
She howled. When she found a pitch that echoed, she used it as much as possible. While I doubt Freelance was sleeping before, he definitely won’t be now. If I can distract them from him, all the better.
“That bitch is driving me nuts,” one man complained.
The captain spoke. “Ignore her and get in the cell. Take the cage away.”
Grinding and creaking answered his shouted command.
Her stomach clenched. Zita stopped howling and began trying to shift. Over and over and over.
Every time, it failed.
“Not even going to face your death like a man? That’s fine. You wouldn’t be the first coward we’ve dragged out of hiding and killed.” The sneer in the captain’s voice was obvious.
She broke into another echoing howl.
Someone swore.
Something splashed. A silenced gunshot rang out, followed by two others in rapid succession and the sound of a scuffle, swearing, and grunting. The scents of blood and death flooded the air.
Her ears rang as regular guns went off and she stopped howling.
Guards swore.
A man screamed, the sound fading with distance before cutting off.
That was a guard falling. I don’t think that voice was Freelance, but Dios... Zita kept trying and failing to shift.
After a few more silenced shots, the cell went silent again, other than rustling.
Regular gunshots went off again, but this time they came from farther away and rock cracked under the barrage.
From the guard area above, a man said, “Did we get him?”
“I don’t know. What I want to know is how the hell he got a gun? We stripped him down to his underwear,” an unfamiliar voice answered.
Doggedly, Zita kept trying. This is turning into a bloodbath, and I can’t pinche shift? I spent months practicing constantly to not to shift by accident, and now it’s work?
A single silenced gunshot went off, and someone cried out above.
Freelance has the silenced gun if it’s shooting upward, she reasoned as she continued her efforts.
“I moved the elevator away so he can’t use it to get out. We have to wait for a patrol to arrive and then—” The words cut off with another silenced gunshot.
The Russian called out encouragement from his cell in his language. “Kill them all, but save the witch for me! Koschei will finish her!”
Hoarse and cracking, another voice joined in using Atlantean. “Destroy the craven air breathers! Free me so that I might avenge myself and earn a glorious death in battle!”
Zita huffed and took a moment to shake herself. Am I the only person here opposed to murder sprees?
Swearing, someone ran, boots slapping against the stone floor.
A minute later, her ears picked up another sound, a familiar one. Harsh breathing, the slide of skin over rock, and the quiet crunch of pebbles.
“Yes! Climb over here and release me and we will have glorious vengeance!” The Russian’s cackle was gleeful.
Freelance is climbing up to the guard station. Her tongue lolled. That’s my ma—Based on what I saw of the cliff and our climbs together, he should be able to handle it if his injuries aren’t as bad as they seemed. I need to focus on shifting and getting out of here. Dios, keep him safe. Zita took a deep breath and promised herself a long drink of not-scary water when she got the chance, and went back to trying to shift.
A few minutes later, there was a click and a metallic banging sound, like metal hitting rocks, that faded. Shouting broke out in the distance, but the cave system made it hard to tell how far away.
After a second, she realized the buzzing sound was gone as well.
Is the electricity no longer working on my cell? A canine laugh escaped her.
The Russian let her know what was happening. “No! Don’t leave! Come back and let me out!”
If he can get to the right tunnels, they’ll never find him, but he won’t know where to go. I’ll take a minute or two for a break, and then go back to trying to shift. Zita wrapped her tail around her feet and took a moment to breathe and loosen her muscles. Mentally, she ran through possible shapes that would work to escape now the grate was no longer electrified.
A couple of minutes later, she heard a group rush into the guard area above. They went from demanding Freelance’s surrender to swearing at the discovery of the other mercenaries’ bodies and checking on the remaining prisoners. The Russian spat at them every time the elevator passed his cell, leading to a lot of angry swearing and complaints. Someone finally retrieved a cattle prod to use when passing his cell.
She was amused when they debated how to figure out if she was still in her cell once they reached it, and consciously had to stop her tail from wagging. The longer they take trying to figure out if I’m here or not, the more time Freelance has to get away.
One tried to bribe her, telling her she could have a steak for dinner if she made a noise. When that didn’t work, they tried threats and insults.
She tuned them out at that point and remained silent, though it was killing her not to move for fear of the making the dried flower stalks rustle or her nails clicking on the stone. Methodically, she kept trying to shift and failing.
A piercing sound echoed through the cavern and stung her sensitive ears, wringing a pained yip from her and breaking her concentration.
“Ha! She’s in there! And you all laughed when I bought this multitool with sixteen functions including a dog whistle!” someone crowed.
When they found their captain’s body among the dead in Freelance’s cell, another round of swearing erupted. Based on the angry muttering, zapping sounds, and elevator creaks, they took several minutes to move the bodies from Freelance’s cell.
When one objected, another man asked if he’d prefer to hunt the escapee just to put him back into a cell with weapons already there. After that, they clustered up in the guard area arguing about which unlucky soul would have to leave the prison and call the palace to let Hera, Zeus, and someone named Achilles know that the bounty hunter was gone, more men were dead, and the battery for her cell had been pushed into the lava river. One claimed he couldn’t do it in case they needed his whistle to “keep Arca in line.”
It’s not a surprise anymore, güey, but at least I bought Freelance some time, she thought. She settled down, wrapped her tail around herself, and focused on shifting. With every failure, she dug deeper into her concentration and tried again.
The mercenaries sorted themselves out, leaving two of their number behind as guards.
Two hours after the bulk of the men had left, Zita... was a very tired squirrel.
Chapter Ten
Hopefully, she wasn’t going to die in the dark caves as a tree squirrel. For one thing, she’d hate to validate the Squirrel King’s claim that she was his nemesis.
Her throat was scratchy, her whole body ached, and she felt weirdly off-balance, but she’d done it. Por supuesto, now I shift when everything’s over? Question is, will I be able to do so again? The battery’s gone, so I need to get out now before they start up again with the torture or whatever they did to stop me from shifting.
Zita picked up the longest plant stem she could find and loped to the wall with the window. Her fluffy tail bounced as her small form easily scaled the rough stone. When she reached the narrow stone shelf, she squeezed herself as close to the wire mesh as she dared.
She paused for a moment at the wire, listening. When she didn’t hear any buzzing, she flung the flower stalk as forcefully as she could at it and backed up.
The chicken wire didn’t react.
Inching forward, she flicked her tail against the mesh.
Nothing happened.
Zita crawled forward and peered out.
While her angle was all wrong to see anything, the sounds of the guards moving things around told her that her actions might go unnoticed.
She chewed on the wire, though the metallic taste made her want to spit.
Once she’d gnawed enough of a hole in a corner to squeeze through, she poked her head out and checked again.
No one cried out at her appearance, so she slipped out of the opening and began climbing to the guard area. Fortunately, the unevenness of the rocky surface made it an easy climb, as her actions felt slower and clumsier than usual. She could blame only some of that on her exhaustion.
“Did you hear something?” a guard asked in Brazilian Portuguese. He sounded young.
Zita froze on the wall above the Russian’s cell, praying she’d chosen the right blend of gray-black to blend into the rock.
The other person scoffed and replied in the same language, though his accent marked his origins from a different region. “No. You’re just freaked because of the bodies have to stay here until we get permission to bury them.”
Well, that explains why Freelance’s cell was empty except for bloodstains, but this place still smells like several people died in a portable toilet in summer, she thought.
“It’s not that. Not just that. The upcoming mission isn’t right. I mean, I know we’ve all been promised a big payday at the end of everything, but going after a peace conference filled with holy men?”
Zita’s ears twitched, but it was the only part of her she allowed to move.
The other guard heaved a loud sigh before replying, weariness thick in his voice. “Listen, boy, don’t think too hard about it. You’re not even going on that mission. Follow orders and do your duty here; don’t question them, especially if they’re not even yours. That idiot captain and those men disobeyed and acted on their own. They paid the consequences. If they’d succeeded, they’d have suffered a lot more before dying.”
Since neither of them appeared to be paying attention to her, Zita kept climbing up the wall of the chasm until she reached the level the guards were at. She surveyed the cave.
A man was on either side of the stone bridge, though one was drifting back toward the door now they were done talking. They’d added a camp lantern since her capture, but it didn’t make the room brighter anywhere other than in its immediate vicinity. Unfortunately, her side of the bridge held the more grizzled guard, the elevator, and a pile of corpses, with very few other places to hide. The elevator cage and its associated mechanical parts were possibilities, but she’d risk discovery or injury if they used the elevator or grabbed the cattle prod leaning against it. A tiny toolbox sat beside the crank for the elevator.
Assuming my cell was the only one Hera sealed with rock, at least I can raid the toolbox for something to use as lockpicks if I can’t grab some keys. Given that I don’t know when the next patrol is due to check in, I need to get out of sight fast, though.
As she was creeping along the darkest patches of the wall, she picked up the sound of rapid footsteps. She darted behind the bodies, doing her best not to look at them or breathe too deeply. Her stomach roiled.
Clad in close-fitting modern body armor, an older man strode into the room. His long, balanced strides were those of someone who was used to walking long distances. Although he had to be at least sixty, he was lean with ropy muscles and his eyes flicked around the room with the cool assessment of a career cop... or criminal. However, something about the set of his mouth and the gauntness of his face beneath his white buzz cut suggested some kind of recent illness or injury.
“General Achilles! Sir!” Both guards leapt to attention.
Behind him, Stick sidled into the room, pushing a large black shield on wheels. He still wore his sling, but his body language held none of the pain he’d displayed earlier. He’d also changed into the same outfit as the other guards, complete with a handgun and oversized knife.
“Report! Has the bounty hunter been sighted again? Have all other prisoners been checked? Zeus and Hera were particularly concerned about Arca and Koschei. I wouldn’t be here in person if most of our repeaters weren’t down.” His English had a decided South African accent. Achilles scanned the guard area.
Said Russian chose this time to hurl an insult at them.
“I see he’s still here and feisty. Has the shapeshifter been verified?” The general lifted his eyebrows.
The older guard, the one closer to Zita, nodded and replied in his own accented English. “Yes, sir. She’s still a coyote, too. One of the men used a dog whistle and made her yelp.”
Oh, sí, don’t worry about me. Move along and don’t check my cell too close. Zita’s tail twitched, almost knocking into a smoke grenade hanging from a corpse’s belt. She grabbed her tail, absently fluffing the fur.
