Hal nodded, whispering himself. "She's right, Miles. This is out of our league."
"Stay there," Miles told them.
He pulled away from Claire and, holding the lamp in front of him for additional light, walked slowly forward, careful not to step on any of the dolls. Glass eyes stared blankly up at him as he passed. The flickering flame of
This close, he could see that a vine had wound around the dwarf's feet and disappeared up the faded, rotted mated al that had once been clothes. The vine emerged once again on the underside of the arm and ended in the dried, outstretched hand. The vine was mint, he saw now, though mint did not ordinarily grow in a vine, and the way it came to an end just beyond the tip of the mummified fingers made it appear as though the small dead man was offering him a branch of newly picked mint leaves.
He remembered his dream last night, the old man with the mint spoon.
"A dwarf gave it to me."
Not knowing if it was the right thing or not, Miles picked the end of the vine, the branch of mint leaves, from the dead dry hand, and put it in the pocket of his shirt. "It keeps the head fresh."
Cool, clean air beckoned him from the dark doorway in the corner, and Miles turned back toward Claire and Hal. "Come on," he said, and his voice had no echo but died dully. "We're going out that way. Make sure you don't step on any of the dolls."
He needed to say no more. Claire came first, and she stepped gingerly between the figurines, following almost the same path he himself had taken. Hal gave her a moment's head start before doing the same. Miles waited for both of them to reach him then, single-file, they crossed the rest of the room to the doorway.
Once past the massive candle, darkness closed in again. They entered another rock tunnel, only this time the wails were rounded, as if bored by machine. There were no alcoves or side passages, just this one straight tunnel. Holding his lamp high, Miles led them forward. The ground began to slope upward almost immediately, and soon he
was being forced to take smaller steps just to maintain his balance.
The passageway continued upward, as steep as stairs. They were all breathing heavily, and Miles was about to suggest that they stop and take a break when he saw the sky up ahead.
Storm clouds.
He hurried forward, coming finally to the end of the rock.
They were out.
Logically, they had to be at the top of the canyon, but when they emerged from between two boulders embedded in a hillside, he saw no trace of any canyon, only those strangely formed buttes, jutting upward not from a flat sandy desert but from a huge marsh filled with water weeds and cattails. It was an incongruous sight, like modern buildings positioned next to the pyramids or a luxury resort in the middle of the rain forest, and that only served to heighten the sense of surrealism.
There was a strange shapeless glow above the marsh, not green like the phosphorescence of their talismans but red, like blood, and it winked on and off several times, as though trying to attract their attention.
Then it coalesced into something resembling a ball and began floating slowly away, toward the nearest, tallest butte. Beneath the glowing orb, he saw, was a stone walkway, slightly raised, that bisected the swampy overgrown ground. "Let's go," Miles said. Hal groaned. "Not again."
But Claire was already moving, and Hal followed behind. Isabella was leading them someplace, purposefully luring thatthemweret sOme not yet! cati nc lear of her own choosing, for purposes
When she had emerged from the lake, when he'd shared her visions, when he'd seen the destruction of New York and Los Angeles and dries all across the nation, Miles had believed her to be at peak power. He hadn't understood why she had not immediately embarked upon her mission but had instead waited around for them. He knew now, though. She needed them.
Or, rather, she needed him.
It didn't make any sense, but he guessed it had something to do with his father, with his heritage. Maybe she needed to absorb the power of all of the witches in order to carry out her plan.." and he was the last. Whatever the reason, she was provoking a confrontation, and there was nothing he could do but see this through to the end.
They moved into the shadow of the butte, and what little sunlight had been filtering through the dark heavy clouds was cut off completely.
Around them in the marsh they could hear the rustling, slithering noises of unseen creature so The red glow faded into nothingness and only the lamp lit their way, but the marsh was not as large as it looked and the butte was not as tall as it looked, and ten minutes later they were there.
She was waiting for them.
It was a vision of hell. The marsh ended and the ground was smoldering rock. A fence made of burned stakes surrounded a patch of brown tufted weeds and the decomposing corpse of what looked like a deformed elephant. There was a massive hole in the ground' That where I put her body."
--so black it seemed to suck up all available light, and hideous stone carvings lay tipped over and broken all the way to the foot of the butte.
Isabella stood upon a pile of ill-formed bones. Smiling at them. Hal shot at her.
He didn't wait for Miles' okay but simply drew his weapon and fired. As Miles expected, the bullets had no impact. They
cent rock. You couldn't kill what was already dead.
She floated toward them, her eyes locked on Miles'. They were the coldest eyes he'd ever seen, embedded in a face that was.." beautiful.
Yes, she was beautiful. He'd noticed it'at the lake, but it seemed more pronounced now. She was in her element. This environment flattered her, brought out her best features. She was dead, but he had never seen anyone look more alive. Her beauty was of a type he had never beheld before, a strange exquisite wildness. The only thing that marred the illusifias that odd tilt of the head, the weird angle at which her neck seemed permanently cocked.
Her eyes were working on him, trying to seduce him perhaps but either the necklace protected him, or his own feelings were so true and solid that nothing could dislodge them.
He hated her.
She stopped, stood before him, flat on the ground. "Miles," she said. "Miles Huerdeen. I knew you would come." Her voice was soft, musical, but had an edge to it, too. He had the feeling that, like her eyes, her voice was trying to work on him.
"What did you do to my father?" he demanded.
"I was helping your father," she said. "I want to help you, too. We must stick together, our kind. They all want us dead..."
She didn't know he was aware of her plans. She didn't know that he knew what she was.
He still had that advantage, at least, and Miles watched her while she spoke, trying to figure out what he should do.
He was not sure what he'd expected. A magic sword to appear? A spell?
May had provided them with fetishes of protection, he'd been given visions. Up until now he'd been
supplied with whatever he needed, and he'd expected that to continue..
But there was no sword, no magic spell, nothing. He wak alone with Isabella, and it appeared now as though he would have to physically attack her if he hoped to stop her an put an end to her plans of mass destruction. ;
He dropped the lantern and punched her hard in the gut. Isabella was caught unawares, but she was not hurt. How could she be ? She was dead. Her astonishment lasted only a few seconds. She spun away from him, out of his reach, causing him to stumble on his follow-up. His chance to use the element of surprise to his advantage had failed. Now they both knew where the other stood.