The Chaos Order (Fanghunters Book Three) (27 page)

“I mean look! Look at my poor finger.” She held what was left of her pinky up in the air. “It looks horrible,” she said in a whiny voice, her eyes brimming with tears. “I look like a freak!”

Dom took hold of her wrist. “It looks fine.”

Her eyes widened with hope. “Yeah?” she said in a more upbeat voice.

“Sure. No one will ever notice.”

She scowled. “I will!”

“Yeah, but no one
else
will.”

“You will!”

“No, I won’t. Won’t even mention it.”

She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“You’re lovely.”

“I know. Besides, it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Could it?”

“Hell yeah. You could’ve lost your whole hand, or your whole arm, and then how’d you be able to pull off any moves? If you tried to summersault like you did today, you’d just go around in circles!”

A burst of laughter erupted from Trixie’s chest. She then wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands
.

Dom caught her stare and looked her straight on. She stared back at him with her green eyes.

Dom ran a delicate finger along a wound on her hand. “Does that feel better?” he asked her, holding her stare.

“Yeah,” Trixie said with a sheepish grin.

“You’re very brave,” he told her.

“Yeah?” she asked, swaying to and fro in woozy arcs. “That’s nice.”

Dom lifted her hands out to the sides, his stare fixed on her glassy eyes; they whirled this way and that. An absent laugh escaped her.

Dom moved in.

He puckered his lips, drawing in close to her. He closed his eyes an inch away from her slightly parted lips, a cloud of tequila on her breath. His heart began beating hard; this was it, the moment had arrived and she wasn’t resisting.

He raised his eyebrows in anticipation, his lips centimeters from hers.

They touched.

And then her eyes rolled up into her head; she collapsed back onto her bedding. Dom stopped midair, his lips puckered, eyes still closed. He frowned in confusion.
Where’s she gone?

He opened one eye, and rolled it down. It fell on Trixie just lying there.
What’s she doing?
“Trixie?” he said. “You okay? Trixie!”

She let out a small snore.

Dom turned away. “Typical!” He slapped his thighs in frustration. He shook his head. “Way to go, Dom,” he said to himself and got to his feet.

He turned away, then turned back. She was still sleeping.

His head fell in his hand.
Great moves, jackass.

Feeling like a chump, he left her where she was, snoozing, while he went to Alicia’s to fetch some fresh bandages. As he left, her snoring intensified into a loud, steady rhythm.

PART FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

T
roy scanned the darkness around him like a blind man. It was his only company; had been for the last, what? Ten hours? Maybe more. He’d already fallen asleep on numerous occasions, so he had no idea.

Some other assholes like that Chichi guy and his goon buddies came by Víbora’s place soon after he was declared the Bloodthirsty One. Accompanying them were more of those weird monk-types with black robes and strange stares. They all surrounded him, examining him like he was some kind of relic, oohing and aahing, speaking non-stop in a language he barely understood outside of
‘si, amigo’
. They really did think he was that guy in that picture. El Sanguinario. Losers. They then handcuffed him to make sure he didn’t get away before throwing him in the trunk of a waiting car. And then, they drove. To where, they never told him. An unknown destination.

They went over another bump and he left the floor of the trunk and then hit it again with a thud. He groaned. “Goddamned Mexican cultists!” he spat to himself in the darkness. He had no idea where he was heading, no idea where he was. They also decided to throw a black bag over his head, you know, just to make sure he didn’t try icing any of them, and just in case he did something really naughty like see where they were heading.

All he knew was that he was being taken on some pilgrimage. Pilgrimage to where? The South Pole? They’d been driving for what felt like forever, and it didn’t seem like they were willing to stop any time soon. And not to mention the heat. The temperature in the trunk must have been in the hundreds. His clothes were plastered to his body with sweat. He thought of Trixie and his anger levels soared. Why did he ever listen to her? Once they released him from the sunbed, he should’ve just scrammed, left Chicago altogether, headed upstate. He’d heard Charleston was a nice place to hang out. Or even New York. Yeah, somewhere cold, without any sun. How the vamps survived in this sunny hellhole was anyone’s guess.

The good thing was that he was still alive. And if these freaks in the robes thought he was some kind of god, then let them. They’d probably protect him against all intruders. Although handcuffing him, putting a bag over his head, and then throwing him in the trunk of a car was no way to treat a god.

He hoped that they’d get the cuffs off at some point and then he’d be able to make a quick escape. He knew he had to take any chance he got.
The moment the cuffs come off, you run, Troy, you run like Forrest Gump,
he told himself.

They went over yet another bump and Troy was thrown this way and that. He smashed his elbow on the side of the trunk. “Owww,” he groaned in the darkness. “Hey! Where are you taking me?” he shouted. They continued on their journey regardless. He growled to himself. “This is the last time I ever cross the border. You hear? The last time!”

They went over more bumps and he smashed his knee. “Son of a bitch!” he moaned.

Then suddenly, they seemed to slow, and Troy realized it was because they were going uphill. The tires were crunching over some kind of gravel. Troy’s ears popped. They were going up and up and up. His head spun in the darkness. Where in the hell were they?

After a while, the car leveled out, went a bit further and then came to an abrupt stop. Everything went silent. Troy heard car doors close, then the trunk was popped, it creaked toward the sky.

“Hey, it’s about time,” he said with a sigh of relief to whoever it was standing over him. “Where are we?”

He was answered by rough hands grabbing hold of him.

“Hey!” he protested.

They dragged him out of the trunk. His sandals touched grit and he stood upright. The hood was then ripped from his head. He was met by a full moon, huge in the sky. Beneath it were small hills that rolled all around them in a neat circle. His eyes then fell on the people surrounding him. A couple of goons like the gorillas back at the villa were standing either side of him. Ahead of him were those freaks in the robes, except there were more of them now. A small army of them. Some were carrying torches like they were going on a witch-hunt. A couple of them were busy lighting the torches protruding from the ground around them, giving the area some light.

“Hey, where am—” He turned his head as he spoke; he was cut off mid-sentence by the massive stone pyramid standing to his left. “I...?” he finished with a gasp, his jaw dropping.

He ran his eyes up the steps leading from the ground to a small entrance at the midway point of the pyramid. Halfway up the steps was another freak in a robe, holding a torch. A mask was obscuring his face. Troy then recognized the mask; it was the face of that Unholy Mother woman they were on about back at Víbora’s villa. Swirls for eyes and big fangs.

“What is this place?” Troy asked, his eyes fixed on the pyramid.

He was answered by a monk throwing one of those black robes over his shoulders. “
Vamos,
” he then said, pointing toward the steps.

“Can you at least get rid of the cuffs?” Troy asked.

“Go!” the monk answered, pointing forcefully at the steps.

Troy turned to face the temple. He sighed. “All right,” he said. “But, remember, I’m doing this against my will.”

“You go!”

He was shoved forward and he went, his sandals crunching grit. His entourage of black-robed monks swiftly followed up. As he drew closer to the pyramid, they broke out into a chorus of chanting. “
Oooh, ahhh...
”

A shiver jolted up and down Troy’s spine. He felt like a death row inmate being led to the gas chamber. The moon bathed the area in harsh light, giving the whole thing a kind of pagan sacrificial ceremony vibe.
They could’ve at least brought some fresh virgins along for the ride,
Troy thought to himself in disappointment at his predicament.

Troy started up the steps. The monk in the mask turned and headed for the entrance to the temple. Troy gulped, then followed, taking one step at a time, the chanting going on around him unabated. His eyes darted left and right as he ascended the steps. The surrounding area was all forest, not a house or building in sight other than this stone pyramid constructed in the middle of nowhere.
We’re all alone.
The thought terrified him.

Behind him, the other monks followed, their torches held high, their chanting in perfect unison. They were like the choir at the Godwin Baptist Church Troy was forced to attend when he was a kid, except with deeper voices.

He reached the summit of the steps and now the entrance to the temple was ahead of him. There was a fiery glow emanating from inside, which flickered off all of the stone surrounding him. The chanting now took on an echo-like quality. There were more monks inside the temple, chanting, their voices reverberating inside the hollow stone confines.

He swallowed as he stepped through the entrance. The inner chamber came into view; a vast stone sanctum, stone steps leading down to a stone floor where more monks were on their knees, congregated in a semi-circle around the far wall. Painted on the wall was her again: the Unholy Mother. Magdalena. Clutched in each of her hands was a snake, her left foot raised up in that dance pose. She was standing on a mountain of snakes that formed a pyramid shape. The snakes sat in what appeared to be a river of blood. The monks were bowing and praying to the depiction in perfect synchrony, their chanting dominating the airwaves. Their combined voices bounced off the stone walls, creating a massive thrum that vibrated Troy’s eardrums. Torches dotted around the chamber illuminated everything orange-yellow, making it look like a scene right out of Hades.

Troy watched the spectacle in bemusement. He’d been to a couple of frat toga parties, but they were a joke compared to this. I mean, these guys had their own ancient pyramid for Chrissakes.

The monk just ahead of him on the steps then spun to face him, realizing Troy had stopped moving. He thrust a finger toward the ceremony.

“Down there?” Troy asked, although he already knew the answer.

The monk just gave him a stern nod of his head.

Troy puffed his cheeks. “Okay...” He started down the steps, sandwiched between all the monks, the gorillas taking up the rear, just to add a bit of security, just in case he did anything stupid like try and escape.

He had a tentative look around as he fully entered the pyramid. There were more paintings on the other walls. They showed weird faces of different colors. He then spotted a familiar one on the wall to the left; it was him. El Sanguinario. He was there in his flowery red top, white pants, and sandals, doing his strange jig. His hair was wild, his eyes two hypnotic whirlpools. Grasped in each of his hands were severed heads, one female, one male. Blood dripped from their stumps.

Troy stared at the painting with one eyebrow raised.
Why do they think that guy’s me? Cause of the Hawaiian shirt? Man, these people are weird.

The chanting continued to reverberate as he made it further down the steps, his sandals scratching on stone. As he drew closer to the inner chamber, his nostrils twitched. A strange, sickly-sweet smell filled the air. He realized they were burning some kind of incense.
They’re nothing but a bunch of hippies
,
Troy thought to himself.
They probably just wanna sing Kumbaya.

He finally made it down the steps, his eyes rolling in nervous circles as he delved deeper into that cavernous catacomb. It was like entering the freakiest medieval church in the universe. And the entire congregation was stoned out of their minds.

The monks all continued to pray, oblivious to his presence. Troy stopped just behind them and watched. Down here, the smell of incense was now intermixed with an old, mossy musk that had no doubt lingered in the place for centuries. Hot smoke from the burning torches also made an appearance.

The masked monk then stepped up to him. Now up close, Troy realized that Mask was female. She pointed a slender finger over to the mural of the Unholy Mother, then at the ground near the semi-circle of praying monks.

“Go there?” Troy asked, nodding his head in that direction.

Mask nodded.