The Siren (Laments of Angels & Dark Chemistry Book 1) (3 page)

“Lucia?” Vladimir asked, moving toward her with a puzzled look.

Lucienne held out a hand to stop him from getting closer. Her back arched and her head bent backwards, Lucienne touched the Siren’s mark to the cold surface of the biometric scanner.

It sounded like the sigh of the wind. Then a stone door slowly moved aside, exposing a crypt under a small swirl of stairwell. 

Shaking her braids back, Lucienne flew down the stairs. Vladimir was right behind her. “That was something, Lucia,” he said. “What did you—”

“I can’t tell you.” She turned to gaze into his eyes, sharply. “It’s my Siren’s—thing.”

Vladimir held her gaze for a second and shrugged. “Fine.”

A stone altar stood at the center of the crypt. On top of the altar a crystal box shone in the dark. Lucienne released her pent-up breath and lifted the lid. Inside was a curled scroll. Her shaking hands picked it up and flattened it. The artifact matched the description from the memories of her Siren’s mark. Lucienne pulled out her archaeological decoder. The scanner read:
ancient human scalp.

This ancient map would show her the way to the Eye of Time and help her stop the family war. She’d lead the Lams dynasty to glory once again. Lucienne stared at it, dazed by the significance of the moment.

A bell rang somewhere, piercing the silence and echoing along the stone.

Lucienne woke up and whispered, “We found the second scroll.” 

Vladimir gently removed the map from her hand, rolled it carefully, and inserted it into a scroll holder. “We can make a toast later,” he said, wrapping his hand around her waist and steering her up the stairs.

Five monks blocked the doorway of the chapel, glaring at their intruders. 

Lucienne’s Tibetan was limited, and she had a hard time understanding all these monks shouting at the same time. “What are they fussing about?” she asked.

“They said we aren’t going anywhere.” Vladimir shrugged. 

“I guessed as much.”  

Vladimir sighed. “Are you ready, pumpkin?”

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Lucienne said, swiftly pulling out a gas mask from her worship gear bag and hooking it to her nose.

Before the monks could shout a warning, Vladimir had donned a mask and tossed a teargas canister in front of them. He and Lucienne shot through a spout of grayish smoke and a hail of coughing and collapsing monks. Stepping over their writhing bodies, Lucienne and Vladimir lurched out of Gonkhang Chapel and sprang through the hallway. At a safe distance from the smoke, Vladimir pulled off his mask with a grin. “That’s what I meant. We’ll walk away in plain sight. Blend in with the tourists and pilgrims.”

Just then more footsteps rushed toward them from the end of the hallway. 

“Thanks for your confidence,” said Lucienne.

“Life’s full of unexpected twists,” Vladimir said. “Samye isn’t the Gelugpa lineage, but it still feeds thousands of monks.”

“Three hundred are
Khampas.
The best trained warrior monks!” Lucienne said. 

“We’d better go down the secret passages then,” Vladimir said.

Turning on her heel, Lucienne followed him.

The passageway was long and narrow with brick walls. Lucienne brushed aside the colorful silk hangings from the ceilings, trying to control her panting. She had always hated small spaces. But at least the monks’ fading footsteps offered her slight comfort.  

“You’re lucky that I know all the secret passages here,” Vladimir gloated. “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

“No!” Lucienne said, alarmed. “Why? Are you?”

“Of course not. Who do you think I am?” Vladimir chuckled. “Five more passageways and we’re out of here. But I think I should give you a heads up. The second to last passage is a tunnel we’ll have to crawl through.”

“How long is it?”

“Close to fifty feet.”

Swallowing, Lucienne cursed Vladimir in her head. 

Then they both saw it—moving toward them like rolling waves were monks in yellow robes and red belts, thrusting long spears before them. 

“Khampas.” Vladimir inhaled sharply.  

“You told me these were secret passages.”

“Yeah. I forgot the monks know about them, too.”

“Great. So what are we going to do about those spears?” 

“Tear gas. It’s too tight to fight in here.”

Vladimir and Lucienne placed their gas masks on their faces in sync, before he pulled the pin and reared back for a long throw. With the canister still in the air, the monks put on gas masks.

Lucienne’s jaw dropped. Vladimir gestured frantically to go back the way they had come. When they turned the next corner, they heard more footsteps a few blocks ahead.

They slipped off their masks, their breathing labored.  Behind them, the Khampas were in hot pursuit; in front of them, an assembly of monks roared.

“We’re being hunted,” Vladimir said.   

Lucienne was unfazed. In fact, she was rather relieved—she wouldn’t have to crawl through fifty feet of cramped tunnel. She stroked a string of colorful beads around her neck with a smile.

Vladimir shook his head. “The drawing on the ceiling represents fifteen hundred years of Tibetan religion and culture.”

“If we’re dead, we won’t appreciate it,” Lucienne said. “Besides, the 1980s’ renovation is hardly relic. If you had studied the monastery’s history instead of fooling around, you would know the Chinese Red Guard destroyed most of the monastery during the Cultural Revolution.” Lucienne eyed the monks, who were closing in on them from both sides of the passage. “I need a hand.”

Vladimir held Lucienne’s waist, hoisting her up. “I studied the monastery’s history instead of fooling around. I just hope you understand I’m in kind of a sentimental mood right now.” 

“We’ll discuss your mood later—if we get back in once piece,” Lucienne said. She removed the strings of beads from her neck and pressed them against the ceiling.

As soon as Vladimir set Lucienne down, they sprang to a safe distance and quickly inserted earplugs. Lucienne twisted her left earring. 

The beads erupted with sparks of fire, followed by clouds of smoke. Cement, splinters, and rocks poured down. An opening bigger than a manhole appeared in the ceiling, letting in sunlight through the dirt and smoke.

The monks ceased their advance, gesturing frantically, and shouting among themselves. 

Lucienne darted toward the hole, looking up. On the roof a few yards away from the edge of the open ceiling sat a marble lion head. “I didn’t blow it up!” she said with delight, tossing a military grappling hook. Its claws caught the lion’s head.

Lucienne tugged on her end of the rope, making sure the hook bit the lion tight. Pulling the earplugs out of her ears, Lucienne jumped up the rope and climbed with the skill of a lizard.

The monks’ shouting boomed through the passage. They were suffering hearing loss from the blast, but that didn’t stop them from charging blindly toward their enemy.  

Lucienne yanked out a seven-foot steel whip, and Vladimir produced his sanjiegun. The sanjiegun was state-of-the-art, with three sticks linked by steel chains. He spun it through the air, warning the monks to back off. The sanjiegun whooshed. To enhance the effect, Vladimir mimicked Bruce Lee’s battle cries.

The warriors exchanged looks of annoyance, then fury. But in Lucienne’s eyes, her partner’s moves were like poems.
What a magnificent animal!
she thought. In a few seconds, she had reached the ceiling. Her long legs swept up onto the roof. Lucienne landed in a crouch, amid the debris.

“Hey, Lucia, don’t leave without me!” Vladimir called. “The monks will tear me apart.”

“I doubt it.” Lucienne swung the rope toward him. Still wielding his sanjiegun, Vladimir snatched the rope and started climbing. The monks charged like a runaway train. 

Two spears from opposite directions thrust toward Vladimir. One spear went for his ribs while the other tried to slice the rope above his head. Vladimir’s sanjiegun snapped out, knocking the sharp head of the spear away from his ribcage. “That was mean, dude,” he told the monk in Tibetan.

Wrapping her feet around a bronze bell at the edge of the ceiling, Lucienne dove back through the opening. Her whip lashed out, just in time to wrap around the other spear that almost sliced the rope and yank it up. The two monks attacking Vladimir staggered back, surprised.

Lucienne’s whip tossed the spear toward the ranks of the monks. The warriors fell back to dodge it.

Vladimir hoisted himself up to the roof like a big cat at top-speed. Forcing her whip to make one last stinging snap, Lucienne followed him.    

The broad open space brought Lucienne joy—cloudless blue sky and endless tiled roofs. The late afternoon sunlight trickled through Vladimir’s golden eyelashes, turning his hazel eyes the color of the sun-dazzled ocean. His golden brown hair captured the sunbeams and smelled of spring rain. Lucienne drank in the sight of his beautiful tanned face, smiling as if swimming under the influence of aged wine.

“Can’t get enough of me, I know.” Vladimir flashed a lopsided grin. “But now’s not the time for romance.”

“You’re being ridiculous again.” Lucienne’s smile turned to a growl.

Vladimir dragged her up. “Well, here’s something that’s not ridiculous—run!”

Lucienne glanced over her shoulder to see the monks climbing through the hole in the roof.

Vladimir and Lucienne dashed onto the rooftop. Under their feet, Samye Monastery was laid out like a giant mandala. “We’re far from Wuzi Hall,” Vladimir said. Wuzi was the main temple that represented Mount Sumeru. The Tibetans believed that Mount Sumeru was the mythical mountain at the center of the Universe. Lucienne had witnessed how the pilgrims prostrated toward the temple.

“We’re close to the east corner of the Ling temple,” Vladimir continued, looking at the mountains in the distance. “We’ll get to the wall and climb the mountain, then head to our glider. What would you like for dinner?”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about dinner right now,” Lucienne said. “Look down.”

Tibetan drumbeats blasted from the courtyard. A dozen warrior monks made their way through the herdsmen’s ritual dance, followed by at least a hundred monks maneuvering through dancing girls wearing pink hats. The crowds clasped their hands and followed the dancers’ chanting, as if sword-carrying monks and explosions were simply part of the celebration.

Lucienne and Vladimir hopped from a sloping shingle roof to a cement-tiled roof. “We need to break for the wall at the southeast corner. It’s closest to Mount Hepori.” Vladimir pointed at an oval stone wall topped by tiny chortens that surrounded the entire monastery. The gates were heavily guarded by the warrior monks.

“Between the wall and Mount Hepori is a vast plain,” Lucienne said.

“So? I heard you’re a fast runner.”

“My costume isn’t designed for running.”

“Easy, Lucia. I got you in; I’ll get you out. I promise.”

“I hate promises.”

“Me, too, but I don’t break them. I’ll get you out, even if I don’t make it.”

“I won’t leave you behind.”

“You must if the situation calls for it, Lucienne Lam.” 

“If the situation calls for it, will you leave me?”

“Without a doubt,” Vladimir said. “This is about being practical. It’s about survival. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“That’s heartwarming,” Lucienne said coldly. “But you just contradicted yourself on your promise of getting me out.”

“Men are complicated, aren’t we?” Vladimir sighed.

Lucienne ignored him. It was better than showing the contempt she felt. 

They came close to the wall at the southeast corner. Vladimir jumped off the roof, and Lucienne followed. As soon as he saw her rolling, then popping into a crouch, he broke into a run toward the wall. Lucienne sped after him. “Give me the bat hook,” Vladimir said.

Lucienne pulled out the military hook from her bag and handed it to him. Vladimir launched the hook. Its claws clutched around several chortens. “Go!” Vladimir flung the end of the rope to Lucienne. The next instant, she had reached the base of the wall and started climbing while Vladimir stood watch on the ground. Lucienne flipped to the other side of the wall and hurled the rope back to Vladimir. “You got it?” she asked.

“I never miss.”

A moment later, she saw Vladimir atop the wall, carefully avoiding the sharp chortens. He landed easily, retrieved the bat hook, and ran after Lucienne toward the mountains. The threatening sound of drumbeats faded as they put distance between themselves and the monastery.

“The sweet taste of freedom.” Vladimir laughed. It was short-lived.

Waves of red and yellow robes rose on every mountain, flapping in the wind.  

“They’ve discovered our glider and cut out our escape route,” Vladimir said. “Maybe Samye is indeed protected by Bön demon. I never should have parked near the sacred Hepori.” 

“Isn’t it a bit late to wallow in regret now?” Lucienne said. “We’ll just have to fight our way out.”