No, I will not be a slave.
She would die first. Something at her core hardened. She would use her last moments to kill the man who had killed Rodger—to accomplish what she had set out on this journey to do.
The path bent away from the pool and the trees and merged into a cobblestone walkway. This trail curved toward a windowless section of the castle. She saw only one door to the right… with no one guarding it.
The path continued toward a short stairway that climbed to a platform with a single seat made of bones. She wasn’t surprised to find sitting there a man in a full suit of armor, with Siren-skull epaulets on both shoulders.
El Pulpo.
Here was the man she had traveled across the ocean to kill.
Her eyes went to two cages that flanked the throne. Skeletal remains were strewn on the floor of the left cage, and a human figure was curled up in the cage on the right. She couldn’t see a face and wasn’t even sure the person was alive.
Behind the throne rose a sculpture of an octopus, its long snaky sucker-covered arms splayed in all directions. The metallic arms glimmered in the sunshine.
Miles began to stir as she walked. She held him steady, her muscles burning under his weight. Part of her wished the dog would remain unconscious. He would be better off that way if they were going to kill and eat him. She didn’t want him to suffer anymore.
Magnolia considered running for the railing and diving over the side with Miles in her arms. Then neither of them would have to suffer.
It would be a painless death, and for a moment she would be free to stare out over this beautiful, mysterious world. But the desire for revenge, and the will to survive, were ingrained into her soul. She could never take her own life, especially when she still had fight left in her.
The robed men left the shade of the trees and walked along the stone path toward their king. They all stopped on the first step to the throne and looked up to face el Pulpo.
Magnolia stopped with Miles about ten feet back from the bottom step.
She could feel the presence of the two men behind her and knew that if she tried anything, they would plunge their spears into her flesh. So she remained standing, trying to be strong, praying that Deliverance would descend from the sky to drop bombs on el Pulpo’s ugly face, or that X would show up, guns blazing.
But neither scenario was likely.
She was going to be raped, tortured, and eaten.
Miles stirred awake in her arms, eyelids flickering and finally opening. She gently set the dog down and told him to sit.
Disoriented but alert, Miles did as ordered, resting on his haunches and taking a quick scan of his surroundings.
“It’s okay… It’s all going to be okay,” she said.
Only, of course, it wasn’t.
El Pulpo reached up and took off his helmet.
“You sick son of a bitch!” Magnolia shouted.
Armor clanked behind her, and one of the soldiers yelled, “¡Silencio!”
She slowly turned to see both spears pointed at her heart.
“¡Bajen sus armas!” shouted a gruff voice.
Turning back toward the platform, she watched el Pulpo, king of the Cazadores, walk down the steps, past his priests or servants or whatever the hell they were.
He had grown some hair since she last saw him. A short-cropped strip ran from his widow’s peak over the top of his caramel-hued scalp. The eye that X had destroyed with a needle years ago was nothing but a hollow socket now. His remaining eye studied Magnolia, and his thick brown lips opened to reveal jaws rimmed with sharpened yellow teeth.
He was a massive man, with wide shoulders and tree-trunk calves and arms. When he was a few feet away, he was already towering over Magnolia. His rancid breath hit her face. Apparently, el Pulpo did not recognize her from the Cazador ship back in Florida, and for that at least, she was grateful.
“Tienes miedo,” el Pulpo said to her. “You afray.” Then he said something in Spanish to the soldiers, who laughed.
Miles came up off his haunches, growling low.
The Cazador king looked down at the dog, grinned, and then barked, spreading out his arms, the Siren skull crests on his shoulder pads rising up like skeletal wings.
Magnolia held her ground, but Miles backed away.
“I’m not afraid,” she said. “I came here to kill you.”
El Pulpo licked his thick lips. Then he gestured for one of the men behind him. A bald, gray-bearded servant in a brown robe scurried forward, hands clasped.
The king spoke to him, and the man faced Magnolia. In near-perfect English, he said, “My name is Imulah. I am a scribe serving King Pulpo in all his glory. Our lord speaks only a bit of English, so I will assist in translation. To start, he wants to know your name and where you came from.”
Her eyes met the servant’s. There was empathy there, and a subtle nod as if to say, Do as you’re told, and it will go better for you. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he lowered his shiny pate in obeisance.
“My name is Magnolia,” she said, standing as tall as she could despite her injuries. “I am from the sky, and I’m here to kill your king.”
The servant glanced up and slowly shook his head, as if he didn’t want to relay her words.
“Go ahead, tell him,” Magnolia said.
The man swallowed and looked to el Pulpo, who was scrutinizing him with a deep gaze from his single eye. They exchanged several words, and el Pulpo reared his head back, laughing uproariously. His deep voice echoed off the metal castle walls.
The other servants all stared at the floor, but the two guards behind her chuckled.
Magnolia remained stone-faced. She crossed her arms over her torn shirt.
El Pulpo laughed for another few moments and then ran a hand over the strip of hair on his head.
Walking forward, he came within inches of her face and then clamped his teeth together. She turned her head slightly, holding the air in her lungs to keep his rotten breath at bay.
He leaned in, his eye roving back and forth as he studied her face, neck, chest, and body. She closed her eyes, shivering when his cold tongue ran up and down her cheek.
“Tu eres guapa, he said. “You muy beautiful.” Then he pulled back and gave the small robed man another order.
“He wants me to tell you that he needs a new queen.” The man paused, then added. “He said his other ten wives will be jealous at first, but he will protect you. Your dog, however…”
Magnolia looked down at Miles, then back to the man. “You tell your king that if he hurts Miles, I will bite his tiny pecker off and throw it to the fish. I’ll fit right in with you sick cannibal pricks.”
The servant’s eyes widened, and he quickly shook his head.
“Tell him.”
Again el Pulpo laughed at her words. This time he put a hand on his chest armor, directly on the engraving of the octopus.
“Me gusta,” he said, chuckling. “Me gusta mucho.”
His grin remained, showing off a wedge of pink stuck between his two front teeth. It looked a lot like flesh.
Was that the smell on his breath? Was she breathing the scent of roasted human flesh?
Her stomach churned at the thought. She suddenly didn’t feel so strong anymore. Her shoulders sagged, and her knees started to buckle.
Imulah looked at her with the saddest gaze she had ever seen—the gaze of a man who had lost everything, including his soul. She wondered about his life, where he was from, how he had come to live here with these people.