Sweet Legacy
Page 19

It’s like the air itself is purer here.
Which I suppose makes sense. If you’re going to be an immortal god living in a magical realm, wouldn’t you want the cleanest air around? Mother would be so envious.
Halfway down the second hallway, Alaia stops in front of an open doorway. It is wider than a normal door—at least six feet across—and is topped by a graceful arch. Through it I can see a landing and the top of a spiral staircase.
“This way lies the dungeon,” she says, leading us. Her voice quivers as she adds, “From here I go no farther. I must return to my master’s side before he notes my absence.”
Gretchen reaches out and takes Alaia’s hand. “Thank you for leading us here.”
“You are most welcome.” She turns to the golden maiden. “I wish you good speed, sister. We all hope you succeed.”
The two women—creations—embrace.
“We shall be united,” the golden maiden says.
Alaia nods and then turns and retreats silently back the way we came. Without a word, Gretchen walks through the doorway.
The winding staircase—again pure white marble—leads down into the bowels of Mount Olympus. We begin circling, leaving the brightness of the halls behind and descending single file in a spiral that seems like it will never end. Down and down. We must have traveled at least five stories when Thane suddenly grabs my shoulder.
“Stop,” he whispers, loud enough for Gretchen, Sillus, and the golden maiden several steps below to hear.
We all freeze, waiting. My heart thunders in my chest, and I listen.
At first I don’t hear anything—just the echoing silence of our combined breathing in the enclosed stairwell.
Then . . . I do.
It starts as a soft purr, like a cat contentedly lounging on someone’s stomach—not my stomach, of course. I’ve never been allowed a pet. Mother is violently allergic.
Gradually the purring gets louder . . . angrier. It turns into something more like a rumble, a soft roar . . . and then a louder roar.
Then the creature reaches the top of the staircase. For a moment, there is silence, and I cross mental fingers, hoping that it moves on. The next roar echoes down to us, beating against us like a violent wind, the sound amplified by the solid walls and the narrow column of air, like a pipe in a church organ.
“Run!” Thane shouts.
No one stops to ask why.
In a clatter of shoes on steps, we pound down the stairs, heading down to I don’t know what—danger? Safety? Uncertainty. Away from whatever is clambering down the stairs above us.
I feel the heat first, blowing down from above like the waft of warmth radiating off a patio heater on a cool summer night.
Then another blast, this time hotter. The white stone around us glows red-orange with the light of flames.
“What is it?” I shout.
The welcoming committee, a male voice says in my mind.
“Thespian dragon,” Thane answers, urging me faster and faster down the stairs.
Then, finally, in a rush, we’re running out of the staircase and into the dark, low-ceilinged space of what is obviously the dungeon. The walls are covered with the same damp, dark stone I saw in my vision.
“Over here,” Gretchen calls out, heading for an innocuous door in the wall opposite the stairwell.
She grabs the handle and pulls. When the door doesn’t budge, she lets out a primal roar and twists the handle as hard as she can, and the lock gives way.
She jerks the door open, waves us all through, and then joins us inside what appears to be an unused closet, pulling the door shut behind her with a solid clank. Once again, we’re plunged into darkness. No one makes a sound, not even the whoosh of panting breath, as we wait.
The growling we heard in the staircase becomes louder. Closer. Beneath the crack in the door, amber light seeps in along with a hot puff of air.
The dragon is right outside the door.
I bite my lips to keep from shaking. The warmth of a hand on my back calms me. Even in the dark, I know it’s Thane. I feel something stronger than touch whenever we connect, something there in my core. I reach around and take his hand in mine, squeezing as another burst of light and heat invades our little space.
Then, after an eternity of our not moving and barely breathing, the light is no more. The heat is gone, and the growling and purring are replaced by an eerie silence and the soft drip of water on stone.
Still, we wait. Just in case.
It feels like forever as we sit in darkness, wondering if the dragon is gone yet. The feel of Thane’s palm reassures me. His pulse, surging against mine, gradually returns to normal.
Finally, when I can’t stand it anymore, I ask, “How did it know?”
“Know what?” Gretchen asks, turning on her flashlight.
“That we’re here.”
She and the golden maiden exchange a look.
“What?” I ask.
“Too many,” Sillus says. “Monster notice.”
Thane frowns.
“Should we separate?” the golden maiden suggests.
With Grace back in our realm, we are already divided. Splitting up further can’t be a good idea. I squeeze Thane’s hand again.
“That won’t help,” Gretchen says. “We just have to move faster.”
The door creaks as Gretchen pushes it open and peers out into the dungeon. It must be all clear, because she slips out and gestures at us to follow. On my way, I glance at Thane. He is watching me and scowling.
I start to ask, “What?” but Gretchen notices my hesitation and snaps, “Hurry up.”