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“One of us is free."
Nikki frowned. “What do you mean?"
" She has died. The spell of binding has dissolved." Elizabeth, Nikki thought. Was Michael responsible? Was he okay? “How did this happen?"
"He who bears her taste killed her. We will trust him now. Help him, if we can." Fear swirled through her. She reached for the link, only to be met by silence. Michael wasn't blocking her, but he wasn't answering, either. Why? “Is he okay?"
"He walks away."
She licked her lips. If he could walk, he wasn't seriously hurt. Hopefully. “Where is he headed?"
"Down to the cave of magic."
"This the same place Cordell's going to?"
Ginger nodded. “He goes to prepare for the binding." They had to kill him before that happened. Cordell had already shown them how strong he was. If he succeeded in binding a flame imp within him, he might well be unstoppable. “Will you look after Rodeman for me?"
"Yes. You go to the cave?"
"Yeah.” If Michael was headed there, then she was too. “Which way do I go?"
"Follow this stream. It is the quickest way down there." She nodded and hoped the stream got no deeper than it currently was. If there was any swimming involved, she'd have to find another way down. “Thanks. You'll go look after Rodeman now?" Ginger nodded. “We will be seeing you later.” She climbed out of the stream and walked away. Nikki glanced up. The flame imp still hovered above her, pulsing green light across the wet rocks surrounding them. “You leading the way?"
As if in answer, the imp darted forward, hovering near the small gap through which the stream disappeared. She'd have to get down on her hands and knees to get through it. Great, she thought. Just what I need .
The imp disappeared into the hole. Green light whirled at her from the other side. She sighed and got down on all fours. It was a tight squeeze. The rock dug into her hips as she scraped by and would have torn her pants had she been wearing anything but jeans.
The tunnel on the other side gave her no room to stand. The walls seemed to loom in on her, glistening black in the muted light of the flame imp. She shivered and wondered if it was just the water's chill or a premonition of trouble headed her way.
She crawled on. The water tore at her, chilling her flesh and numbing her hands and feet. Rocks cut into knees and hands, but she could barely even feel them. Her teeth chattered, a sound that echoed through the darkness, mocking her.
The imp drifted on. The tunnel began to slope downwards, and the rush of the water grew stronger, pulling her forward. She battled to remain upright as the churning water leapt in icy fingers across her back, soaking her completely. Ahead, the water roared, the sound almost deafening. Waterfall, she thought, and hoped it wasn't very large. Or very deep.
The rocks under the water became smoother, making it harder to gain any hold against the rushing torrent. She slipped, going under, gulping water as the current grabbed her and smashed her sideways. Panic surged, and she thrust upward into a sitting position. She coughed so long she could barely breathe, her face hot and throat raw. The imp flashed past her, green tinged with red. A warning, but she wasn't sure of what.
She hugged her arms across her chest and tried to stop her teeth from chattering. She should have tried to stop the water from flowing instead. It would have been a damn sight easier. Lord, she felt so cold that her bones ached with it.
The flame imp ducked past her again. Heat rolled across her skin, a moment of warmth that was gone all too soon. It hovered several feet away, its muted light showing a sharp turn to the right in the tunnel. The roaring of the water was close. The waterfall couldn't be all that far away. She sighed and began crawling forward again. The water surged past her, tugging at her cotton sweater, thrusting it up to her armpits. She ignored it, crawling on, knowing she had to get out of this water soon. It was becoming harder and harder to move.
She rounded the corner, and walls gave way to space. The roar of the water intensified, echoing in the darkness. The imp hovered again, light whirling green and red, highlighting the downward plunge of the stream.
Gripping a nearby rock to steady herself against the water's pull, she peered over the edge. It was a good twenty-foot drop. Not a great distance by any means, but long enough when there was no other way down and she couldn't swim. Nor was there any way of telling how deep the pool at the bottom was—or if it was even deep at all. She might jump and end up breaking a leg—or worse. She bit her lip and looked at the flame imp. “I don't suppose there's another way down, is there?" It whirled in place, color flashing to red. She took that as a no. “Damn,” she muttered. She'd have to jump and hope for the best.
She pulled herself upright, standing close to the edge, staring down. She didn't want to do this. It was stupid to do this. If she broke any bones, she'd be no help to Michael. But what help was she standing here shivering?
She was watching the water splash and dance, unable to make that final leap, when the decision was taken from her hands. Pain hit her, blinding in its intensity. Michael's pain, so sharp, so heavy, that it knocked her sideways—over the edge of the waterfall and into space.
Chapter Twenty-two
Michael regained consciousness slowly, aware at first of only the pounding ache in his head. But gradually other sounds seeped through, registering in his mind. Flames crackled and danced somewhere close, washing warmth across his skin and filling the air with the pungent smell of pine. Beyond that, water bubbled and gurgled—a stream, rushing past quite strongly. Between those two sounds came another—a low, guttural chanting. Cordell doing God knew what. Michael tried to open his eyes but couldn't. Something seemed to be gluing them shut. He sniffed, tasting the air. It smelled like dried blood—his blood, probably, if the ache in his head was anything to go by. He tried to move his arms, but they wouldn't budge. He twisted his hands. Rope burned into his wrists, and there was very little leeway. He tried moving his feet and got the same result. He twisted his head, trying to wipe the blood off his face and onto his shoulder. All he succeeded in doing was sending the madman in his head into a drumming frenzy. Red flames of pain shot through his brain and he groaned.
The chanting stopped. Wind sighed, moving toward him.
"So, the ex-lover awakens.” Cordell's voice was low but sharp. He smelled diseased—decayed. He smelled as unpleasant as a room full of zombies.
"Even if you kill me, Cordell, you won't get very far.” He began to twist his arms, trying to loosen the bindings around his wrists. “The Circle knows all about your activities here. They will hunt you down and kill you."
"Yeah, right.” Cordell snorted. “That sounds a little like Get Smart syndrome to me—would you believe a hundred men? No? How about fifty? No? What about two men with a semiautomatic?" The man was a nut—and who in the hell was Get Smart?
