The Chosen (13 page)

“My father doesn’t like to be away from the ocean for too long,” Monica said with a hint of amusement in her voice. “He finds the water soothing.”

He probably would need more than soothing water when he learned he had a Darkin in his home for dinner, Remington thought.

All around the paving stones surrounding the fountain were tropical plants, their wide-leafed foliage lush and many shades of green. Exotic flowers dripped like purple water from a small shrub, and small yellow flowers danced on slender stems along the walkway. The sweet fragrance of honey and something spicy was strong in the air, and the buzz of insects mingled with the soothing sound of running water. “This is magnificent.” Remington waved an expansive hand around the courtyard. “I’ve never seen such a vast variety of tropical foliage in anyone’s home before. Did your father bring the plants back with him from his travels?”

Monica glanced at Remington and gave him a secretive smile. “The plants . . . and other things.”

China nudged him, her sharp elbow finding a niche between his ribs. He huffed, not so much from the sharp jab as from surprise. He frowned at her.

She crooked her finger at him to come closer. Remington bent down. “Look at those.” Her harsh whisper was hot against his ear. Her breath smelled of the peppermint tooth powder he’d found at the mercantile, and her hair like vanilla cream as it brushed his cheek.

Along one wall of the garden was a small alcove with three squat statues. They looked like ugly little dwarves to him, but there was something about their squared stone faces and the unusual carvings of snakes and scorpions and skulls surrounding them that was intriguing, and he paused to inspect them. They looked remarkably similar to the squat little statue he and China had brought with them.

“Want to bet he and Diego snagged those from some ancient ruins?” China said softly.

She was probably right. From the calculations he’d made from Diego’s map, their goal lay far to the south on the eastern coastline near Veracruz. He wasn’t sure how Captain Nation planned to get them there without sailing all around South America, but he’d learned that often just going with a situation could yield better results.

Monica clanged the large brass ship’s bell by the front door of the adobe house. The door opened, and a wiry man greeted them. His skin, weathered nearly to the shade of dark cherrywood, made his white hair and the bright white stubble on his face seem brilliant in comparison. He wrapped his arms around Monica in a tight hug.

“Father, I would like to introduce you to our guests,” Monica said softly, pulling herself out of her father’s arms to stand at military attention beside him.

Captain Nation’s nostrils flared, and his eyes narrowed. “What is this? You’ve brought a Darkin to my home?”

“She is part of Mr. Jackson’s exploration party.”

The old man’s gaze shifted back to Monica, the harsh lines in his face smoothing some. “Jackson? Part of the Chosen?”

Monica gave him one curt nod. “The very same, Captain.”

Captain Nation turned back to Remington and looked him up and down. “Well, he certainly looks like an explorer.” He extended his hand in greeting. “Welcome to my home, Mr. Jackson.”

“Thank you, Captain Nation. This is not a social call, however. We were told by Diego Mendoza that you could take us with your submarine to the place where they hid the last piece of the Book of Legend from the Kingdom of Navarre.”

Captain Nation pulled at his whiskered chin and glanced about the walled garden. “Where is the rest of your party?”

“It is just myself and the shifter.”

The captain cast his dark gaze in China’s direction. “And you, shifter, are you indentured to him?”

 

 

It was laughable. She’d never been indentured to anyone in her life and was damned if she’d start now. Only her father held any kind of lasting hold over her, and that was by a mixture of equal parts devotion and fear. But China also realized they needed to humor the captain if they were going to use his boat. She hitched her thumb at Remington. “No. I’m in it to help him recover the missing piece of the Book of Legend so the Chosen can reunite it.” It was the truth. She just didn’t bother explaining what she planned to do
after
they’d reunited the Book.

The old man’s mouth split into a wide smile. “Excellent,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “So the rebellion has begun, then?”

His change of demeanor took China aback. “Rebellion?” She knew the vampires were rebelling against Rathe, but perhaps there were others as well. The thought sent a chill through her. Perhaps there was a way to escape him after all. She’d never considered it possible before, but the tantalizing idea sparkled and fizzed in the back of her brain.

The captain looked around the garden and into the darkening evening skies. “It’s not safe to discuss it out here,” he murmured, as he tapped his ear in a silent gesture to meant others might be listening. “Please, come in.”

The inside of Captain Nation’s home looked like he’d gutted an old sailing ship and then had an adobe house built around it. Even the wood-lined walls curved, bowing out. Old wine barrels, topped with colorful blue pillows, constituted the chairs he offered them.

He settled into a leather chair and glanced at his daughter, who’d shut the door behind them. “Monica, be a good girl and fetch our honored guest some refreshments.”

China noted that he said guest, singular, but she decided at this juncture it was better not to comment on it. If Remington were indeed part of the Chosen, then he was indeed an honored guest, whereas she was, well, she was just his sidekick.

Captain Nation leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a manic gleam in his dark brown eyes. “One of the signs, foretold centuries ago by a vampire prophet named Kostick, was that a rebellion would begin among the Darkin in the days before the Book of Legend would be reunited by the Chosen.”

“Well I don’t know that it’s a full-fledged rebellion. I just have a personal interest in seeing the Book reunited by the Chosen.”

The old man took the glass of amber-colored liquor his daughter offered him and passed the silver tray of glasses to Remington. He raised his glass at them. “To the rise of the Chosen and the Book of Legend reunited.”

China took one of the glasses and glanced at Remington. He shrugged as if to say, what the hell. She lifted the glass in salute to Captain Nation’s toast. “To the Chosen,” she said.

The tequila was a damn sight stronger than she’d anticipated, but as smooth as could be.

Captain Nation smacked his lips with satisfaction, then pointed one of the fingers holding onto his glass at her. “You may be only one Darkin, but it is the smallest loose thread that causes a whole blanket to unravel,” Nation said. “If you are in rebellion, then there will be others.”

“The vampires are moving against him as well,” Remington added.

“What else was in the prophecy?” China pushed.

“There’s to be a blood price paid when the Book is reunited. The codex was specific about that. The Aztecs believed strongly in the power of blood.” Captain Nation’s brows furrowed in thought. “Things are moving faster than I thought.” He locked his gaze on Remington. “How close are we to the closing of the Gates of Nyx?”

“We have a little more than two weeks until the new moon.”

Captain Nation stood. “Monica! Why didn’t you say so? We have no time to lose. We must make for the coast tonight.”

Monica saluted him. “Aye, aye, Captain.” Her hand lowered slowly, and her face dropped. “There’s more, Father. Uncle Diego is dead.”

Captain Nation wobbled a bit, then fell back in his chair. “I am the last of us then. Cyrus, Diego, Bart, and me. We went after the pieces of the Book, the four of us. We wanted to know where they were hidden so the Chosen could find and reunite them.” He looked down at his wrinkled hands. “Am I that old?”

Monica grabbed him by the shoulder. “Rest now, father. I will see that we get the ship supplied and the horses ready.”

Captain Nation shook his head, the air of sadness thick around him. “You will go in my stead on this voyage, Monica.”

“But father—”

He held up a hand, cutting off her protest. “It is time we all do the things that must be done. I will take the statues north to Sir Turlock. You must take our adventurers south. We will meet, daughter, at the Gates of Nyx.”

They rode through the night. By the time they reached the western coast of Mexico, the sun was rising. It shimmered on the water like gold coins scattered across a vivid field of aquamarine blue.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” China said a bit breathlessly.

Remington shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was rather homely to be honest. Looks like a metal shark.”

China stared at him stunned. “The sun on the water?”

“No, the submarine.” He pointed at the dark hulk that rested near the shoreline. The dark iron ship did indeed look like a shark, with the higher arch of a back in the middle tapering down at either end to a finer point. A large screw propeller at the rear end of the machine gave the impression of a tail.

“Think it actually floats?”

Monica trotted up beside them. “It’s not supposed to float; it’s supposed to dive beneath the waves. Running under the water makes it harder for our enemies to spot us. It has compressed air ballast chambers to aid our descent and ascent. My father commissioned it after the Civil War from a builder named Simon Lake and had it loosely based on the design of Julius Kroehl’s
Explorer,
although on a much grander scale. Come this way, and we’ll get you aboard the
Chipirón
.” She dismounted, and both Remington and China followed her lead, handing the reins of their mounts off to a waiting crew member.

“You named your submersible ship after baby squid?” Remington sounded slightly appalled as they walked toward the machine.

Monica’s mouth split into a wide smile. “I thought it fit. She’s small, but fast in the water, and has a few surprising defenses. We’ll have you down the coast in no time.”

China watched with fascination as the front of the submarine seemed to open like a large mouth onto the beach. The waves lapped at the metal gangway. She wasn’t that comfortable with the notion of walking into the metallic machine, or with being in the water for that matter, but what choice did they have? Time was ticking away. The sooner they got to the temple Diego had told Remington his map led to, the better. They still needed to join the Book of Legend together before it could be of use at the Gates of Nyx. She followed behind the first mate and Remington into the belly of the beast.

It was immense and reminded China a bit of hiding out in an empty water tower. “This serves as our cargo hold and loading dock for larger objects,” Monica explained as they trekked past wooden crates and large objects covered over in thick duck-cloth sheets.

“What’s under that?” China asked out of curiosity.

“Sensitive equipment. Mostly experimental, but some of it is for travel.”

Remington pulled off the ridiculous pith helmet and ran his hand through his hair as she looked around at the machine. “Your submersible is very impressive. Will it ride near the surface or can it run at deeper depths?”

A spark of excitement lit Monica’s eyes. “Beneath, to depths of sixty feet. It has both a pressurization system and air scrubbers to ensure we have recycled air to breathe for trips beneath the surface.”

She began to babble about things that held no meaning for China, who was feeling sicker by the second surrounded by this much metal. It sapped her powers, leaving her feeling woozy and weak. She pressed a hand to her cheek. A strong hand steadied her as her steps faltered and she wobbled.

“Looks like you don’t have your sea legs yet,” Remington commented. A clank followed by a loud suctioning sound made them both turn.

“That’s just the cargo door sealing,” Monica said with a flick of her hand as if it were something to be easily dismissed. For China it was anything but.

Being cooped up in any closed environment, even one as big as this, played havoc with her senses as a shifter. The metal was bad enough, but the overwhelming sense that the walls were pressing in on her, that was something she couldn’t control—hadn’t been able to since she was locked at regular intervals in a box by Rathe as a child whenever she displeased him. The box at least had been blessedly made of wood. It had taken time, but the box had allowed China to learn to change at will, and taking the shape of something small had allowed her to survive the confines with her sanity intact. Still, this submarine brought the familiar sensations roiling to the surface.

“I don’t feel so good,” she murmured, leaning more heavily on Remington than she wanted to.

“It was a long ride last night. Perhaps you just need some rest and something to eat,” he said as he pulled her in closer to his side, supporting her weight with the strength of his arm around her waist.

“Rest. Yes. Maybe that.”

“Can you show us to our berths?” Remington asked the first mate. She gave a curt nod and spun on her heel, leading them up a flight of stairs to the deck above.

The spaces of the submarine became instantly smaller and more confined the moment they left the cargo area. The hallways were almost narrow enough that Remington had to walk with his shoulders to the side since they brushed each wall, and there was only one way to walk down the halls—single file.

“Watch your step,” Monica said as she stepped over the rim of a portal door leading them from one section of the ship to the next. “Your berths will be here.”

She opened a door in the hallway to show a room where bunks were built into the walls, separated by curtains that drew across each berth. They were as large as coffins and had only enough head space between them for a person to sit up, well at least for her to sit up. China wasn’t sure Remington could. Panic welled up in her throat, making it suddenly harder to breathe. She didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but she needed to know if there was anywhere else she could sleep. “Do you have anything . . .” She chose her next words carefully. “Less confining?”

One of Monica’s brows arched upward. “Afraid of tight spaces, are you?”

China barely nodded. It was all she could manage until her body regained some kind of equilibrium, surrounded by all this metal.

“You can sleep in the map room if you prefer. I can have a cot set up there.”

China offered her a feeble smile in response. “Anything would be appreciated.”

Monica went back out the door they’d passed through and continued down the hall and up another flight of narrow metal stairs until they were on the top deck of the ship.

Once they reached the map room China sagged into a sitting position, propping herself up against one of the walls. Remington crouched beside her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

China glanced around at the metal walls. “Too much iron in these walls. It messes with my powers.”

He nodded. “I suspected it was something like that. Let me see what I can do to get you something to eat. That might help too.”

She gave him a weak nod, then watched him straighten and walk out of the map room. Rolled maps nested like wine bottles in a complex set of cubbyholes that covered one wall. The center of the room was occupied by a table that was bolted to the floor. A case against the far wall contained what looked like navigation equipment, sextons and all sorts of gauges and compasses.

“Excuse me,” a male voice said from the portal. China turned. “Captain said to deliver this cot and bedding to you.” The crew man was of average size and dressed in regular clothing rather than any kind of uniform.

China stood and gripped the table to steady herself. “Thank you. Put them over in that corner.”

He nodded and did as she requested, setting up the cot and placing the bedroll of blankets on it. China wobbled her way to the cot and opened the bedroll, spreading out the blankets before she sank gratefully to the cot and stretched out, shutting her eyes. The horrible nauseous feeling eased slightly. This was going to be a long trip, even if it was only a few days.

 

 

Remington returned with some bread and cheese on a plate to find that China was passed out and fast asleep on her cot in the map room.

“She’s not much of a sailor,” Monica commented.

“Shifters rarely are.”

She shrugged. “Too bad. I had something splendid to show you both. Now I suppose only you will get to see it.”

Remington set the plate of food down on the table so it would be there when China woke. “What is it?”

“My father sent ahead instructions to have a Spider Walker put on board for you.”

Remington tensed. He didn’t care much for mechanical walkers, mechanical horses, or other forms of travel, even preferring to travel by stagecoach rather than train when it could be helped. “Spider walker?” he said cautiously.

“He said Marley Turlock had made it for him some time ago to help navigate the jungles that make up the interior. It can get over just about any terrain.” She marched at a quick pace back toward the cargo hold, and he followed, matching his stride to hers. Beneath their feet the hum of the engines vibrated through the flooring.

“And what about if there’s trees? Jungles tend to have a lot of those, I’m told.”

She rolled her eyes. “Marley knew what he was doing.”

“He always does.”

“It can climb through the trees if necessary. It’s very adaptable.”

They reached the cargo hold, and Monica stripped off the duck-cloth sheets from the large mounds China had asked about when they’d arrived on the submarine.

The eight long, tubular metal sections looked like long legs. “I thought you said it was a walker, not just the legs? We don’t have to attach those to ourselves or something do we?” He wouldn’t put such things past Marley.

“The Spider Walker comes apart in pieces so it can be easily stored in our hull. Over there is the main pod of it.” She marched over and yanked the covering off the bulbous shape. The distinct abdomen and cephalothorax of a spider came into view, but rather than many eyes, the front of it sported one single large glass canopy through which he could see two seats.

“The abdomen houses the water tank and steam engines. You two sit up front.” She motioned with her hand.

“Has it been tried before?” Remington was smart enough to know not to use Marley’s inventions, especially anything this large, without having them tested first. The last thing he wanted was to go up in flames or have the machine explode while he was in it.

She smiled at him, a look of understanding passing between them. “Don’t worry. We’ve used it several times. It’s safe.”

He nodded.

“Do you really think it’s necessary?”

“You’re going to be headed across the narrowest part of Mexico, but also one of the most treacherous. There’s jungles and mountains. Without the Spider Walker it could take months to travel on foot to the other side.”

“And with the Spider Walker?”

“A few days at most.”

Then she was right. They needed the Spider Walker if they were going to get to the temple in time to beat Rathe to the Gates of Nyx.

Monica bumped her fist against the side of her thigh a few times. “Mr. Jackson, I wondered if I might ask a favor of you.”

Remington nodded. “If I can grant it, I will.”

“Do you still have my uncle’s map?”

His hand strayed to his breast pocket over his heart. “Yes.”

“And the codex he gave you?”

He nodded.

“I’d like to work with you on decoding the codex to find the place names for the map, and, in exchange, perhaps you can give me the codex and map when you return.”

They’d mean more to her than to him once his mission was accomplished. “Certainly.”

She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you.”

“If we’re going to figure out the particulars on your uncle’s map based on the codex, we need to get started.”

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

The next two days passed far more quickly than Remington anticipated. Without him knowing if it was day or night, they blurred together as he worked by lamplight on the codex and map. He ventured out of the room where they worked only to stretch his legs, and while he ran into China a time or two, he was too preoccupied with finishing the map to talk to her much. He didn’t need the distraction, so he kept things as civil and polite as possible.

 

 

China couldn’t wait to get out of the machine. The tight confines of the submarine did not offer a lot of places where one could find solitude. Especially in human form. The heavy iron content of the metal kept her from being able to shift into something smaller. Only the round portholes offered any relief, and they simply looked out into an endless field of deep sapphire blue. And the deeper they went, the darker it became outside.

Not only did the rounded walls of metal seem to be constantly closing in on her, but the small spaces and tight places meant she was forever bumping into Remington. Now on their third full day in the machine, she’d had enough.

After what had happened in the mountain pass, she wasn’t sure how to talk to him. Things had become awkward again between them. Oh, he’d been kind—thoughtful even—at the time, but his eyes had been so vacant, so cold, she couldn’t help but feel that some of the spark she’d sensed between them had died there amid the carnage as well.

Perhaps that was for the best. If he ever discovered the truth behind how she was connected to Rathe, all hope of his trusting her would burn up faster than a match tossed in a haystack. Worse, having a Hunter’s help,
this
Hunter’s help, would even her odds of appeasing Rathe. She didn’t want Remington to know that she needed him perhaps more than he needed her.

No, it was much better if she just avoided him and the slippery sensations he caused.

As if summoned by her musings, he passed through the portal, blocking the way with the broad expanse of his shoulders. Immediately her traitorous heart kicked up the pace. Just being around him was enough to set off her senses in all the wrong ways. “Ah, China, I wanted to speak to you. I’ve been looking through Diego’s codex.”