Dark Muse (23 page)

But she did just that. She shoved him so that
he backed right onto the black A—and it held. It wasn’t supposed to
be the E note. They’d just assumed that, due to their choice of
doors.

“Oh, Edgar, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he said. “I stepped back, maybe
more than you pushed. Maybe I wanted to step backwards. Put myself
in the hands of fate .”

“Shut. Up.” She grabbed hold of his face and
kissed him—quick—then pulled away and dropped her head. “You can’t
leave us. Not now.”

He struggled to find the right words, but
couldn’t.

Otis looked at the others, who couldn’t find
the right words, either.

“This doesn’t mean he’s dead. Nothing here is
what it seems,” Muddy said. “We now search for two people.”

“Time to go?” Otis stepped onto the same A
that Muddy did and felt it hold steady. “Ready to lead us,
maestro?”

Muddy bowed his head. “I’d be honored.”

He recalled the song, the main lick, the riff
that everyone knew. It played repeatedly in his head and sung to
him. Sure, it was in the key of E, but began on an A note. He felt
certain the others knew it, save for the twins, but he would make
sure he held onto them tightly as they stepped from stone to
stone.

“Listen,” he called back as they lined up
behind him, “one on a stone at a time. We don’t know how much
weight it can take.” He looked down at his feet and saw why the
tile Poe pushed him onto didn’t fall. It had a pair of wings on it,
the icon of the band whose song would either save or kill them. Why
didn’t he notice it before?
Because it was too simple
.

What supported it? Something solid or was it
something he couldn’t comprehend?

“Ready?” He felt like he was beginning a
deadly game of hopscotch.

He jumped from the A to the A#, or Bb,
depending on the musician’s preference and found himself standing,
alive. He found the B just two feet away and jumped again. Then to
the E off to the side. Another problem arose as more tiles stood in
his way. “But I finished the riff!” He hummed the famous line in
his head.

“Maybe there’s a repeat?” Otis called out to
him, the abyss below causing his voice to echo in multiple pitches.
“Remember the whole guitar line. Maybe you have to keep going.”

Geez, just when I think I have it down.

Poe called to him. “Well, if it was only
eight notes, people or ‘things’ could possibly jump it instead of
figuring it out. Look on the bright side; you love this song! Keep
going!”

So he sucked it up and did what she said. He
could do this. After sensing the pattern ahead, he jumped with a
bit of confidence. He turned back to the group. “Are you watching
where I step?”

“Yeah,” Lyra replied. “I see the pattern. Too
bad you don’t have something to drop on each tile, just in
case.”

“Like bread crumbs!” Otis could never keep
his two cents to himself.

“Or guitar picks?” Lyra offered the plausible
solution, but Muddy never carried more than three or four at a
time.

“Don’t think about it, just go, but be
careful,” Poe said. “It’s a simple path once you can see it. Take
your time. We’ll follow. It’s so simple even a bass player can do
it!” How they could joke about this after Corey’s fall, he didn’t
know. Stress did weird things to people.

Moments later, he found himself hopping
across to safety. He gazed down and saw no tiles under his feet. “I
made it!” he yelled to the band and the twins at the winged stone.
“You can do it. Just go slow and take your time.”

This was going to be easy now. It had to be.
He did it and didn’t screw it up. They wouldn’t either.

And they didn’t. From A to Bb to B to E,
repeated with the lowered E, then over and over again, they jumped
like a spastic caterpillar connected by faith. All made each jump,
even Poe, who swore she could see just fine. Maybe in here she
still could.

Just as it all was going well, everyone
jumping, humming the song along to themselves, the stones
reverberating the deep, rich tones of the song, it happened. They
heard his call from below.

“Guys!”

Corey? Really?

“I’m down here,” called a voice. “I’m beat
up, but I’m alive.”

Relief drained coils of tension from Muddy’s
body as his friend’s words echoed up to where he stood. They had
been in such a rhythm that the disembodied voice shook them off
beat and out of their solemn trance.

“Corey!” Otis cried and skidded to a halt on
a B tile. “Is that you, big man?”

Muddy found his throat closing up with
emotion. His friend had survived the fall.

“It’s a long story, guys, but listen to me.
Hurry or you don’t get to hear it.” Almost a minute passed before
he spoke again. “Something’s coming after me. Something big.
Hungry. There are doors ahead of me, two, actually. Which one
should I choose?”

“Run!” they cried in unison and a few seconds
later, heard a door slam. Scratching sounds followed, but no
scream. Had he made it? Muddy had to believe he that did. Had
to.

At least Corey was still alive. The two-ton
weight on his heart crumbled in half, but they still had to find
him. Before whatever was chasing him did.

But, the echoing of the door that slammed
deep below them shook the walls of the abyss, which in turn rattled
the floor.

It shook again. Then they heard something
howl. Its deep cry reverberated in harmonics, hurting their ears.
It was a low note, low enough the quake the tiles, but rich enough
to drop them and knock off their inner balance.

“Run,” Muddy yelled. “It senses us. Run to
the other side.”

They ran, but whatever was down there jumped
and yowled again, this time aiming its voice higher.

Lyra screamed and grabbed hold of Poe, who
tried to steady her. Muddy almost felt Poe’s fingers just before
both went over the edge. He heard a thump, twice, right below the
tiles and then a sliding sound.

“Edgar,” Poe cried, “we’re slipping
somewhere. Find us!”

He didn’t allow himself to be upset. They
would be fine, just like Corey. They had to be.

The only way to save them was to get to the
out of the room and find a way down.

* * * *

After their voices trailed away, Muddy
assumed they were safe for the moment and attempted to help Otis
and Luke. The pair jumped together and nearly made it. Nearly.
Three steps away from the long ledge on which Muddy stood, they
heard the thing launched itself upwards again. It had been climbing
something beneath the tiles, something in the abyss. This time, it
must have been pretty angry that it missed out on Corey and the
girls. Claws that dwarfed what the sirens had reached over the top
of the tile Luke and Otis were jumping onto and caught Luke’s boot.
The teen steadied himself, but his eyes went wide.

A face peered over the top of the stone and
froze the three of them. What Muddy saw would give him nightmares
for the rest of his life. Eyes of prism-like colors and
mouths—plural, opened and snapped in all directions. That explained
the harmonic voices.

Luke looked at where Muddy stood then gazed
downward.
Down?
Muddy thought.
Are you kidding?
He
grabbed hold of Otis, who was gripping his drum tight, saw what
Luke saw and jumped off the stone. He heard the same shallow
thumps, followed by a shifting sound. The thing howled in
frustration again, likely because two more meals had tumbled
away.

“Muddy!” he heard Otis call, “run. We’ll be
fine, I think, if this path takes us out of here and not into that
thing’s supper dish.” The voice faded as Otis spoke and now sounded
far away. “Get through that door and do this job!”

He saw the face of the creature again, those
eyes, flashing at him now like strobe lights at a bad school dance.
Was it trying to hypnotize him, making him an easy dinner? He
resisted and ran to the door, which turned out to be a pair
instead. They stood in front of him, each clearly marked. Each
note’s letter was carved into a dark mirrored door in a font he
never saw before.

One was G. The other was F#.

The lady or the tiger? Life or death?

Was it the blues scale or the formal major
scale?

He ran toward the F# and nearly crashed
through it before he realized something. Who built this trail and
the tricks within it? It was meant to keep the Tritons from killing
the slaves, just like the Egyptians, Babylonians, Mayans, etc. They
had a way in and out, but wanted to keep those who threatened them
far from success.

Only a slave who knew the pure power of music
to keep one’s soul alive would choose what he did. So he dove
headlong, smashing through the G door, just like the E. Scattered
shale or fine quartz covered him in his landing, but nothing
followed him. He looked back and saw that another door slid into
its place. He checked for cuts and bruises and found himself
unscathed, physically. Would the creature be able to follow? He
prayed not and ran down a narrow pathway—right into the mouth of
his next task.

Chapter
Nineteen

A long dark tunnel with angular twists and
turns stretched before the girls, reminding Poe of the mirror maze
down at the Jersey shore. The memories it recalled rang bittersweet
in her mind as the scene unfurled before her and Lyra. She swore
she was dead when they fell from the walk “not that way” obstacle
course above her, before landing on the slick rock slide which
propelled both of them down into the depths where only luminescent
moss from the walls led the way.

“This way,” Lyra had said, even though Poe
knew she had never been there before.

They followed the curving crevice which
served as a path from the base of the slide to the wide tunnel.
Poe’s vision held, even in the diminished light. She never
explained to Muddy or the others what she did see or how she saw
it, mostly because she didn’t care. Sight was sight and clear
outlines were a heck of a lot better than clouds and colorless
blobs, which were all she could see since the accident with her
father a decade ago. Too much of her school life pained her,
hearing the jibes and mocks from the girls and the lewd comments
from the guys who thought she was just as dumb as she was blind.
She often cursed her parents for passing along their intelligence
to her, even if it had skipped her father completely. Her granddad
could’ve run NASA if he’d wanted. But he didn’t. He did something
much worse and consequently, she wound up this way.

“Wow,” her new friend exclaimed with a
whistle. “What in the world?”

Part of Poe relaxed when she took in the
ordeal before her. The other part recoiled in pure fright, scaring
her almost as much as those nights when her dad went off the rails.
I don’t know, but it reminds me of a song my grandfather used to
play all the time in his band.”

Lyra shook her head. “You mean a song about
swinging or revolving doors?”

“Something like that,” Poe said. “I think the
trick here is the colors.”

“So the clue is a red door? Girl, you’re
confusing me. I really wish we had music here.”

“We do now. There are black doors, too. Just
look closely.”

Lyra squinted into the tunnel and the
full-sized, solid, hissing slabs. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s okay, I’m used to looking into the
blackness and making sense of it. Sometimes, that’s all I see.”

“Wait. Look past the gauntlet. Tell me what
you see.”

Poe strained her eyes, somewhat hurting from
using them for the first time in several years. Past the countless
doors, she saw what Lyra saw, an opening about a hundred or so feet
away. She could clearly see the end to this trial and hopefully,
one better than her previous outcome.

“Let’s roll,” said Lyra. “I think I’ve got
this. Follow me.” Before Poe could utter a word, the girl took off
like a cat. Even though she was nimble, cautious even, Poe knew she
was about to die.

“Stop!” She cried and reached out at the same
time, but was a hair too late. Her agony sung out in the tunnel in
a tone just out of tune. Pain usually pushed such noises sharp.

Lyra had run smack dab, headfirst, into a
door that hadn’t been there just a moment ago.

As Poe stepped across the threshold of the
first doorway, where the door wasn’t, a whirring sound filled her
ears and dread ran through her veins. “No,” she screamed,
harmonizing somewhat with Lyra’s own. The red doors started to
revolve, or opening and shutting, right as Poe began her sprint.
Just like the mirror maze down the shore, she thought. She raced
forward and pulled the falling form down with her to the ground,
pulling away from the living doors.

The girl lay dazed and covered with a red
coat of her own; not painted black by a long shot. “Why did they
open?” Her voice hung in the stale air, but just barely.

Poe scanned the body, noting small cuts on
Lyra’s face, arms and neck, each oozing blood, but nothing appeared
life threatening. Then again, she was no doctor and there were so
many slits in the flesh. She listened to the girl’s ragged breath
and attempted to decipher if the reason was pure fear coursing
through her lungs or internal injuries. She prayed the former, but
had no idea if she was right, given the way the door swung open
then slammed into her with such force. “You must have tripped
something.”

The girl regarded her with an amused look.
“Really?”

Poe smiled, despite her wishing to hold back.
“Sorry. The obvious. Still, you asked and I don’t know any more
than you do. Except—”

“Except what?” Lyra spat out something,
flecked with blood.

“The song. I don’t know how or why, but red
is never good. Usually, the only thing running toward it is a
bull.”

“Thanks again,” said Lyra. “You’re making me
feel pretty good here.” She coughed again, dotting her white
tunic.