approached resolutely. Cole had her bag over one arm.
I had resigned myself to whatever fate awaited me. I very much doubted we would walk away from this. They would drain us, leave us stranded on the shores of death, or else resurrect us to their soulless life. I seldom thought of this. Cole took up my days. In six months I hadn’t been alone for more than a few hours at a time.
We stood a moment, contemplating the tomb, just visible beyond the glaring light. A watchman, had he passed, might have seen an unexplained blur as we shifted in place. We were invisible now. I knew it as I knew vampires.
“So this is the mouth of hell,” I said.
Cole laughed. Her hand brushed mine.
“Thank you, Father,” she said.
I nodded.
We stepped into the light.
A great, basalt tomb yawned before us, a long staircase descending into the dark.
“Listen,” Cole whispered.
From the mouth came the high-pitched whine of a violin. Had I never seen a vampire, I would have known a dead man sawed those strings.
“Come on,” Cole said. She gripped the strap of her bag with one hand and pulled me after with the other. Before I lost sight of her in the darkness, she set her jaw, light sparking in her eyes. I wondered where the source of that light was. The flash had been the color of flame.
Stone surrounded us. We stumbled downward, following the music. It stank of must, here. Iron. Old bones. Other tunnels crossed ours. Other staircases branched away. The music lay straight ahead, always.
Slowly, a light grew, illuminating green veins in the ancient stone. I grit my teeth, swallowing as we passed, imbedded in the stone itself, the skulls of men and women interred here in forgotten times.
We came to a landing with a corroding granite balustrade. A great torch-lit chamber lay below us, swarming with figures. On the other side, directly facing us a labyrinth of cloisters, niches, and stairways branched and tunneled across an endless expanse of stone.
“Ant hive,” Cole whispered.
Helplessly, I tiptoed to the balustrade, seduced by the warren of strange shapes and stairs that led nowhere. The music swelled around us, majestic and insane, drifting up from the chamber. The dark clad bodies, writhing and tossing beneath me, cast no shadows, their actions stark in the light of the torches they had set on all sides of their hall.
Not a hive, I thought. A kingdom.
I started as Cole touched me.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ve found a way down.”
A set of craggy steps let us in at the back of the hall. The vampires remained oblivious as Cole and I clambered down. I hardly had the sense to feel afraid anymore, so intent was I on the details of their strange dwelling. Broken statues of the Virgin lay in a pile beneath a fallen arch. Cole’s high heel caught in the eye-socket of a skull.
We made it halfway across the chamber before they noticed us. A man bending his partner over in a volcada, bared his teeth. The couple next to him stopped in the middle of la chasse. One by one they all grew still. The hellish fantasia died. Only the fires stirred.
You are unworthy, they told us, voices cold within my mind. Why have you come?
Cole stepped forward.
“Ash Marcus,” she told them. “You will give him back to me.”
As one, they smiled. Lips slid audibly across teeth.
The unworthy are not permitted here.
“We are not unworthy,” Cole said.
Laughter. This time, they spoke with their minds but laughed with their mouths. I sweat as a waft of rotting breath swept over me. Cole had taken my hand and her grip was steel.
“Let us dance!” she shouted over them. “Kill us if we displease you!”
The laughter ceased as they pondered. Then their shoulders relaxed. The women slumped, leaning against their partners. Some of the men nodded in tandem.
Proceed.
“Music,” Cole said. “A tango Argentine.”
An unseen band swept bows across strings and we began.
Months ago, we had decided it was no longer enough to simply dance. If Cole was to rescue Ash, we would have to live our trials.
So our tango was not sophisticated or soft or beautiful. I hadn’t even been able to practice all the firuletes because I knew I could only give most of them once. What we lacked in refinement, we made up for in terror.
This was a tense dance, but isn’t it always? The tango is life, they say. And life is a pull and withdrawal, a tug and a