Immortals After Dark 04 - Wicked Deeds on a Winters Night

fares ill after three weeks inside that lightless crypt.” In a confessional tone, she added, “Seems you forgot to leave her any food or water.”
    “I scented nothing, sensed nothing... ” At Nïx’s implacable expression, Bowe shook himself—he didn’t need to be thinking about the implications; he needed to be doing something about them.
    “Lachlain, can you help me arrange transportation?” He dug for clothes, battling dizziness. “If I leave within the hour I can get there today before sunset.”
    “Aye, then.” Lachlain exhaled. “Of course, I’ll help you with anything you need.”
    Though Bowe had made it sound like a routine task, freeing and squiring Mariketa back to the States would not be without numerous difficulties.
    On his last trip, the “roads” had been difficult to navigate. Now that the rainy season had fully arrived, they might be impassable. Especially since Bowe would be forced to drive a stick shift with one hand and a stump. And now that he was weakened, it was possible the human soldiers teeming the area could subdue and actually contain a Lykae, even when he was fully turned. Bowe would have to evade them until he had the mortality spell removed.
    Raising the tomb’s portcullis had been nearly impossible even when he’d had all his strength and both of his hands... but now? “I’m going to need to bring something like a pneumatic lift to help me get into the tomb.”
    When Lachlain nodded, Emma said, “I can get you a satellite phone, too, so Mari can call at the earliest opportunity.”
    “Aye, and I’ll need more of that stuff they’ve been trying to feed me. The drinks and gel packs. And some kind of med kit just in case.”
    Nïx clapped with excitement at the activity, looking as addled as ever. “I can help, I can help! I can get you a rhyme for Mariketa!”
    Lachlain, Emma, and Bowe briefly paused to glare at her.
    “You can’t leave home without it!”
    “ Anyway... ” Bowe continued, “I just went two weeks without food or water. Three will no’ kill her.”
    “Incorrect.”
    Bowe glanced back at Nïx. His voice broke an octave lower when he asked, “Why incorrect?”
    She squinted at him and momentarily appeared puzzled at where she was. “What’s incorrect? Am I incorrect?” She buffed her nails. “I so rarely am.”
    Barely stifling the urge to throttle the weird being, Bowe grated, “You told me I was incorrect when I said three weeks will no’ kill the witch.”
    “Oh, yes, that . How am I supposed to remember conversations from last year? I can’t see inside that crypt—bad voodoo and major mojo keeps prying eyes out—but common sense says Mariketa is likely dying.”
    “ Dying? How? ” he rasped, knowing Lachlain was studying his harsh reaction.
    “Because, pet, young Mariketa the Awaited has not yet turned. She is still... mortal .”
    Another car whistled overhead.

10

    B owe’s machete hacked through a braid of woody liana vines as he pushed forward through the brush. The trail to the tomb that had been cleared just weeks ago had already grown over.
    As he’d predicted his last time here, the conflict between the two human armies had since erupted. Bowe had had to ditch his truck miles from the tomb because soldiers were planting mines all along the roadways.
    He burned with urgency to get to Mariketa, but his body could do only so much in this state and burdened with his pack—which weighed over three hundred pounds with the gear he’d been forced to bring.
    Earlier, the action of gathering supplies and hastily readying for the trip had helped Bowe keep his mind occupied, but during the flight down, he’d wanted to claw the walls of the plane in frustration. From his bag, he’d snatched Nïx’s missive addressed to “Mari the Awaited.” He’d ignored the Valkyrie when she’d insisted repeatedly that he bring it, until she’d become so furious that lightning had begun to spear down all around them. It had grown so violent that even Regin and the witches had backed off, spooked.
    Alone on the plane, he’d ripped open Nïx’s black wax seal and read the bizarre contents—a rhyme about mirrors and whispering and secrets. The words had inexplicably given him chills.
    And reading it had only killed moments of the wait. With nothing to do but think, he’d wavered between hating Mariketa and fearing for her life. Bowe despised what she’d done to him—and what she was—but he did not want her to die.
    Another