13

VIOLENT BUDDHISTS

12:00 p.m. Tsaparang, The Lost Empire of Guge, Tibet

I held on as the jeep rounded its way along the rocky mountain path. More desert than arid, there was no vegetation to speak of to soften the dirt roads or keep the dust down. It was hot like a desert as well, though I still wore my heavier cargo jacket and jeans. As soon as we hit the top of the city ruins the temperature would drop despite the sun, and then again once dark settled. The city fortress blended into the pale rocks of the mountain, all except the red monastery, like an imposing block, a beacon, signaling civilization in an otherwise hostile environment. It also completely negated any camouflage. Whether they hadn’t needed it or hadn’t cared . . .

During Jebe’s lifetime, when the Mongol forces had been ravaging the eastern and western worlds, Tsaparang had been the capital of a small Tibetan kingdom called Guge, a trade point on the silk road linking India and ancient Tibet. For years now the IAA had written Tsaparang off as having no supernatural elements, meaning it was a favorite spot to train undergraduates, despite the remote area. Though lucky for us, the IAA student groups were still a few months away from their research visits.

Despite its reputation as a “safe” site, Tsaparang and the Guge had long been suspected of inspiring the Shangri-La legend, but no proof had been uncovered in the decades’ worth of research that had followed. That didn’t stop the rumors from persisting. Having an entire population disappear off the face of the planet will do that to a place. Shortly after they were discovered by Portuguese explorers in the 1620s, the entire civilization of Guge vanished. As in no trace. No descendants, no Be Back Soon notes, no bodies.

Theories abounded. Some historians claimed they were wiped out by disease introduced by the Europeans, while others claimed it was through centuries’ worth of battles over the silk road trade route. Then there were those who thought the Guge had run afoul of the supernatural; cursed with infertility by a minor local deity, fallen prey to vampires or another local monster that decided they were a delicacy.

Seriously, it happened; look at the legends out of Transylvania.

None of them were perfect, but they earned you a respectable B to A- on a paper, unlike the remaining theory, which, although plausible, was still the stuff that automatically garnered you a D, C- grade on a paper.

That when invading forces came, the Guge simply up and left . . .

. . . through an entrance to Shangri-La. Hidden underneath the massive tunneled depths of the ancient Tsaparang fortress.

Not a bad theory as far as the hypothetical went, except for one problem; not one archaeologist in two hundred years had found a single mention of Shangri-La anywhere in the mountains or temples of Guge. Not a single magic inscription.

They also hadn’t found any trace of Jebe’s treasure horde—or at least not that I could find mentioned in the stacks of research.

What can I say? I liked a good wild-goose chase.

And one thing was certain, there was no way Guge was on the IAA’s or the mercenaries’ lists.

I sat back and watched as the dark clouds continued to ebb over the horizon, about as dark as my mood was going. If there was a secret entrance under Tsaparang for Shangri-La, then I had a much, much bigger problem than trying to outsmart elves and mercenaries.

If the IAA, with all their influence and power, hadn’t found anything in the entire two hundred years they’d been looking, what hope in hell did I have?

At least we’d managed to outsmart the Chinese at the airport. Never underestimate an elf with a satellite connection and a penchant for hacking, or an incubus who hates paperwork as much as I do.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

I glanced away from the dark, roiling clouds to find Rynn watching me. “I’m not so much thinking they’re pretty as I am worrying about where and when they’ll start their downpour,” I said. Not that I was against rain—considering the arid mountain range, they could probably use every drop they got. But hiking?

Though the city might have been abandoned and free of archaeologists at the moment, that didn’t mean we could waltz right in. The IAA frowned on that sort of thing—and so did the Chinese, who happily provided the guns and guards.

Meaning we’d have to get creative.

Rynn pulled the jeep up into what passed for a parking lot at the bottom of the white city ruins—a faded red marker in the dirt and a collection of cars arranged in a haphazard ring.

“Just where are we supposed to meet this tour guide?” Rynn asked.

“It’s called Adventure Tibet hiking tours,” I said, and fished the confirmation email out of my phone to read it aloud. “ ‘Meet at the bottom of the Tsaparang city steps near the parking lot.’ ” I supposed “parking lot” was a euphemism for any collection of cars numbering more than three. “ ‘Your guide for the Tsaparang city and monastery will be waiting for you in the certified official Adventure Tibet red jacket.’ ”

“Certified official? What does that even mean?” Carpe asked, peering over my shoulder.

Carpe was getting as bad as my cat when it came to personal space. I shoved him back. “It means the only way to roam around this city without getting arrested by the Chinese is with an approved guide,” I said, hopping out of the jeep and carefully easing Captain’s backpack over my shoulders. He was taking a nap, and I hoped to keep it that way. The less I had to explain my “medical anxiety pet” on hiking trips, the better—especially considering how much Cat-pain had been chirping at Carpe.

Carpe struggled getting his own pack out of the jeep. To be sure, Rynn hadn’t packed it light for the slight elf, but I got the impression the only hiking Carpe did outside World Quest was to the local coffee shop for his daily caffeine fix.

I headed toward the ancient white steps to the city, the red temple even more ominous-looking from this vantage point. Maybe that was why the Guge had forgone their natural camouflage: to instill ominous fear with a single temple painted red.

Rynn and Carpe fell in behind me. All three of us were dressed in hiking gear; boots, cargo jackets and windbreakers, baseball caps, and loose, Dri-Fit pants. Like I’ve always said, why stand out as thieves breaking in when you can stroll right through the front door?

I spotted a collection of brightly colored windbreakers gathered on a hill of dried grass. They were standing around what I assumed, due to his height, was a man. He was wearing a bright orange-red windbreaker. “I think I found them,” I said.

“And how do you expect us to find the armor exactly if we’re supposed to be on a tour?” Carpe whispered.

“Easy. Once we have our bearings, we get lost. Literally,” I told him. I left out the part where I admitted I had no fucking clue where to start.

“And that doesn’t strike you at all as reckless?”

Rynn snorted. I shot him a glare, but he otherwise remained silent. “You got a better idea?” I asked Carpe.

That caught him off guard. “Well . . . no,” he said.

If I ever did amass a treasure room, someone, please remind me to at least mention where it’s supposed to be hidden. “Then I’m going to recommend you stop complaining about my methods and start worrying about something much more important. Like how the hell to get us out of jail once the Chinese catch us.” Unlike Rynn, who seemed to think we’d be able to bluff our way out of any misunderstandings, I had no such faith. The Chinese antiquities guards weren’t stupid. Getting lost on a real hiking trail in the wilderness? Okay, sure, they might bite on a good day. Getting lost in an ancient city? They’d do the smart thing and figure we were thieves first and ask questions once we were behind bars.

“This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?” Carpe said under his breath.

“Usually is,” Rynn said.

I tuned Rynn’s and Carpe’s squabbling out and turned my attention back on the hikers. Still no sign of the Zebra outfit or any other mercenaries. I hoped Carpe’s intel was right and they were all still sitting in Vegas.

I spared another side glance at Carpe, struggling under his pack.

Friends close, enemies closer.

We reached the small group of hikers huddled together, and I took silent stock. Eight in total, nine if you included the guide. Fit-looking, all dressed like we were, in hiking gear.

One of them waved, and the guide turned for the first time to face us. I frowned as I caught sight of bright red hair under a yellow baseball cap. There was something familiar about him; the stance, the bright red hair. . . . I narrowed my eyes. “Oh for the love of— You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I picked up my pace, Rynn jogging to keep up. “Alix, did you see something?” Rynn asked, on edge again, searching for mercenaries in the sparse landscape.

“In a manner of speaking.” Yup, I was certain now. Not only the stance and red hair, but also the glint of too-white teeth as his grin spread ear to ear.

Hermes. Courier extraordinaire for thieves everywhere. I had used Hermes for years to get antiquities to my buyers, but it was only recently I’d met Hermes in person and discovered he was yet another supernatural, a powerful one, who fashioned himself after the patron god of messengers and thieves everywhere. Or, for all I knew, he was the source of the legends. Regardless of reasons, he’d taken a recent interest in me and my involvement in supernatural politics.

I heard Rynn curse beside me as he caught on. He’d never met Hermes before, but I’d described him well enough, and it wasn’t like Hermes was a recluse. A bit of a wild card if Rynn’s sources were to be believed.

Not two, but three supernaturals now . . .

Hermes flashed me a wide grin, but with no outward sign of recognition.

“And here we have the final three of our group for today’s hike. Did you find the place okay, ah . . . ” Hermes didn’t drop his smile or character as he glanced down at his phone. “. . . ah, Harmony, Greg, and . . .” He made a show of peering at Carpe. “You must be Bob. You can call me Hemey.”

It took willpower to smile and wave at the group. Hemey. Hilarious. I just hoped he hadn’t done anything drastic to the tour guide who was actually supposed to meet us.

Best not to think about those kinds of things when it came to supernaturals.

Rynn and Carpe followed my lead in waving and saying hi to the small group. Well, Rynn did. Carpe just stood there looking mildly ­uncomfortable—but considering it worked for him, I let it go.

Hermes turned his attention back on the group proper. “Today we’ll be inside Tsaparang, the ancient fortress city of the lost Kingdom of Guge, one of the many Buddhist kingdoms that dotted this region between the eighth and sixteenth centuries. But don’t let modern-day Buddhists fool you; these Buddhist kingdoms warred with each other and their neighbors like any other empire. The bloody and tumultuous reign of the violent Buddhists.”

Hermes paused for the good-natured chuckles from the crowd before starting up the steps to the fortress and continuing his introduction. “It’s still debated how Tsaparang, the fortress city, became the capital of the Kingdom of Guge. According to some accounts, it was designated the capital by Namde Wosung around 838–841 CE, right after his father was assassinated. Others claim it wasn’t until around 900 CE . . .”

I tuned out as Carpe jabbed me in the chest. I glared at him. “What?”

“Couldn’t you have come up with something a little more original than Harmony? And Bob? Come on, I do not look like a Bob.”

“He has a point,” Rynn said, joining in. “Considering you just retired Charity.”

“It’s thematic. It helps me keep in character.” Early lesson learned; it’s real hard to remember whether you’re supposed to be a Claire or Rebecca when you’ve gone through a couple rotations. Thematic names like Harmony, Charity—and my all-time favorite, Temperance—jog the memory on the sly. “And it’s not like Bob is your new name. I was going with bland and generic.”

“Accurate if nothing else,” Rynn added. I gave him a jab for that one, before tuning back in to Hermes’s lecture as we headed up the roughly cut steps toward the red temple.

“Regardless of how it came into existence,” Hermes continued, “by the tenth century Guge was a regional power in control of an important trade route between India and Tibet. As you may have noticed, Tsaparang is a fortress city, perched on a pyramid-shaped rock rising about five to six hundred feet out of the sparse landscape. Whereas the commoners lived at its base, the royalty and nobility lived at the top, the only means to reach them this twisting stone staircase.” A roll of thunder cut him off. “Which, weather and time permitting, we will see today. First though, we’ll be stopping at the two public temples—the Lhakhang Marpo, also known as the red temple, and the Lhakhang Karpo, you guessed it; the white temple, which both lead to an extensive underground warren of tunnels.”

Tunnels, finally, something I needed. I raised my hand. “Oh! Hemey, quick question,” I said, in an excited voice like I figured a hiker named Harmony visiting Tibet for the first time might actually use, “you didn’t mention what the tunnels were used for.”

The smile didn’t falter. “That’s because no one really knows. A couple of historians suppose they were built for escaping from invading forces, but no exits have ever been found. It also might have been a labyrinth to disappear prisoners, or somewhere to hide goods, though I have a hard time seeing how they could have used them for storage. Over a hundred years archaeologists have been mapping Tsaparang and found mostly a collection of dead ends,” he said and gave the crowd a sinister look. “At least that’s what they figured when the various explorers didn’t make their way back out.”

“People get lost?” a German woman in a white windbreaker asked, a concerned look on her face.

“Hemey” turned his watt-level smile on her. “Not to worry, Camille, I guarantee you we’ll only be exploring the mapped sections.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking, Alix?” Rynn whispered as we approached the red temple.

“That if I was a treasure, a set of lost tunnels is very well where I might be? Oh, you’ve got no idea.” The three of us had fallen to the back of the line.

“And what are we supposed to do when the guards come looking for us? Have you thought of that?” Carpe whispered.

“Run like hell and hope they’re a lousy shot?”

“That’s not a plan at all.” Carpe shook his head. “Is she always this comforting on missions?” he asked Rynn.

“Not a mission, Carpe,” I told him. “It’s a clusterfuck of a job we’ve been roped into—and for your information, I’ve gotten much better when it comes to plans. You should have seen me before I met Rynn.”

He stared at me, mouth open.

Captain rustled inside my backpack and made an inquisitive mew; I guessed it was because Hermes’s scent was joining in the mix. “Yeah, I’m wondering what the hell he’s up here for too, Captain,” I said. “Let’s go ask, shall we?”

I figured Carpe couldn’t get into too much trouble with Rynn watching him, so I left them to complain at each other as I trudged past the other hikers to where Hermes—sorry, tour guide Hemey—was talking with the keeners of the hiking group. I fixed a smile on my face and waited patiently.

Finally, he turned his bright green eyes on me. “Hey there, Harmony. Any questions you’d like to ask me about the ancient city of Tsaparang?”

“You can tell me what the hell it is you’re doing here, Hermes. I’ve already got two too many supernatural entities on this derailing train ride. The last thing I need is one more.” And definitely not the king of fucking thieves . . . though I didn’t say that. It was implied.

The smile didn’t falter one bit, though it did drop from his eyes. “Let’s just say I doubled down on this new endeavor of yours.”

Supernaturals betting on whether humans lived or died . . . “Rule of bets, Hermes: get out while you’re ahead.”

Hermes glanced over his shoulder to make sure the main group had gotten ahead.

“You know,” he said, “sometimes I think you get it, and the rest of the time . . .” He sighed. “Piece of advice? Stop thinking about this being a one-off.”

I went cold, a black pit twisting in my stomach.

“Just accept it, kid. You’re caught up in something bigger than you, bigger than your two supernatural buddies over there. And since you just so happen to be one of mine—” He gave me a once-over. “I’ll tell you, no one, like seriously no one, ever expected that to happen. I mean, you thieves are twitchy at the best of times.”

“I’m not one of yours, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”

Hermes shrugged. “Well, the details are sketchy on that part, and really I have like no say in the matter, so we’ll just have to accept the lot we’ve both received, as lousy as it might seem. For both of us.”

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly what I felt about supernaturals divvying up humans into boxes as they saw fit, but Hermes didn’t give me the chance.

“You realize Cooper didn’t stumble across the cursed artifacts on his own?” he said. “I mean, I just assumed you figured that part out on your own—your grades before you got kicked out suggested some form of intelligence.”

I bit my tongue at the derogatory and unconstructive names that popped into my head at the thought of Cooper. Cooper had been the postdoctoral student in charge of the dig that had led to me being expelled by the IAA, not in small part due to him lying through his teeth. He’d been behind the theft of the cursed artifacts that had led to an undead army being raised in Los Angeles—and framing me. “Yes, I realize Cooper didn’t figure out how to resurrect an army of living dead on his own,” I said.

“And if you think that waste-of-space incubus Artemis just stumbled across some old incubi rituals, I’ve got a fantastic magic bridge to sell you as well.”

“It’s a bridge or magic beans, not both.”

“Thief, remember? Don’t like rules cramping my creative nature.” Hermes, Hemey, or whatever the hell else he wanted to call himself, continued. “The problem is that no one’s wanted to talk about it because no one really had any clue about who was behind it. Supernaturals get sketchy that way. They’d rather avoid problems than hit them head on. Consider it a collective fault.” He gave me another appraising look. “Until, that is, the elves threw their hats in the game. A suit of dangerous magic armor, what would those librarians want with that?” Hermes said, making a tsking noise.

If I wanted anything out of Hermes, I was going to have to play his game. “Maybe they’re being manipulated by the same person—or thing—that arranged Cooper and Artemis. It doesn’t tell me anything except someone is serious about screwing with everyone.” And I was stuck smack in the middle of it, not running for a safe hiding spot while the whole thing blew over like everyone else with a brain.

Hermes chuckled to himself. “I can see the wheels churning back there, slowly, but at least they still work. You should see this other thief I’m working with.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Hermes shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve got some inside intel and leads, but that’s not either the question or the game, which is what you seriously need to start worrying about.”

“That one group wants to come out in the open and the other doesn’t? Already got the memo, but thanks for playing.”

“Your attitude? I just can’t even—” Hermes sighed. “Not wrong, but that’s the bigger picture. Think smaller. What is it the elves—or someone manipulating them—want the armor for?”

Yeah, not like I already hadn’t been trying to figure that exact thing out, but there were still too many options. “It could be anything, from a supernatural wanting to take the world over by violent force or beat his fellow supernaturals into submission. Or any countless idiotic reason. It could just be another collector like Mr. Kurosawa wanting a fancy new paperweight.”

“If you think anyone wants this suit for a paperweight.”

“I know, I know. Catastrophe, then.”

Hermes was silent for a moment. “Let’s try this from a different angle. What do you know about the suit?”

I shrugged. “It’s dangerous, drives the wearer mad forcing them to pick fights, eventually takes over their mind and body—”

“Too deep, kiddo. Surface superficial stuff.”

I thought about it. “It’s picky about its hosts; it doesn’t want just anyone.”

“Annnd?” he prompted, glancing over his shoulder back at the tour. “Seriously, I don’t have all day here. The hikers are going to start thinking I’m hitting on you. So is the boyfriend. Incubi are more territorial than the bastards let on.”

I remembered what Rynn had said about Atticus, the sole supernatural the armor had encountered. “Things get really violent when it takes over supernaturals.”

“Ahhh,” Hermes said. “Now that is interesting.”

“Great! Fantastic! How about you help me along here and tell me what the hell that means.”

Hermes made a face. “Ah, yeah, no can do. Against the rules. As you might have deduced by now, I’m more of a neutral party.”

“Then why do you even care who wins?”

“Because one side is much worse than the other.”

Whatever insult I’d been ready to throw next caught in my throat at the look on Hermes’s face. He wasn’t playing games this time.

“Let me put it this way. You need another big win, kiddo, otherwise there’s going to be big trouble on the very near horizon, the kind neither you nor your friends can handle or hide from.”

“Great. Is that all the advice you have for me?”

He shrugged. “Well, sometimes the decisions you get to make are not the ones you’d like. Other than that? I got nothing.”

More riddles than help . . . that’s what I got for asking a supernatural. “Has anyone ever told you that as an ad hoc impromptu mentor you kind of suck?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit of a train wreck to be a hero? Got news for you, kid—I didn’t sign up for this either, but every now and again even us thieves have to get our hands dirty.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “And no more get-out-of-jail-free cards. You’d be amazed the disaster that caused my side. Well, maybe not disaster. More kerfuffle.”

Oh for Christ—“Fine. If you can’t help, what are you even doing here?”

“Simple. To make sure the other team at least makes a show of playing fair. FYI—I don’t expect them to.”

Hermes turned and started back for the tour. He only made it a few feet away from me before he added, “I’m impressed you kept the guy around; good on you for not screwing that up. I’d watch the elf though. The incubus is a bit pedantic about them as a whole, but he’s right; they’re a tricky bunch on a good day. Then again, sometimes they surprise you. Guess you can’t brush an entire race with the same stereotype, kind of like you can’t brush all thieves with the same criminal coat of bad paint. Tends to peel off.”

“Do you ever give out useful advice?” I asked him. “Or only the half-ass California Zen spiel?”

Hermes made a show of checking his fingernails, which were way too clean and polished for a hiker. “I’m a thief. Another piece of wisdom for you? Sell the snake oil you have.”

He continued toward the waiting tourists. “All right, folks, who wants to hear about the assassinations that led to the creation of Guge and the invading armies that lost themselves in the underground tunnels?” he called out. And just like that, Hermes went back to being tour guide “Hemey.”

I stood where I was, watching Hermes until Rynn and Carpe caught up to me.

I don’t know if it was an ingrained knack for distraction or something to do with his supernatural nature, but not one of them spared a glance back at us, not once.

“Negative on the supernatural bullshit,” Carpe whispered. “Your terms, not mine.”

Distraction it was. “Well, the good news is Hermes doesn’t want to screw us over. I think. He’s also not going to help us. Says he’s here to make sure the other side plays by the rules,” I said.

“Whose side?” Rynn mused.

I remembered what he said about having one of “his” in the game. “Considering his track record so far, I’m optimistic he’s on ours,” I said. The tour had turned the corner toward the white temple. As good a time as any to get lost. . . . I headed for the red. “Is it me, or does the addition of another supernatural to the mix, however seemingly friendly, signal imminent disaster?” I asked Rynn.

“If you think having more supernaturals around is in any way, shape, or form a good thing, I have a bridge to sell you.”

The entrance to the abandoned monastery was before us, open, nothing blocking the way except the demarcation of red against the white. Deserted and bare on the inside, it sent a chill down my spine. The white stone didn’t repel me though. Rather it drew me in, a welcoming cold rather than repulsive. It was a strange sensation—and unnerving. I shivered as I stepped over the threshold.

Standing in the sparse temple room, no trace left of the religious trappings that would have adorned it, I could have sworn something whispered at me on the cold breeze that came through the windows. Like a voice trying to start a conversation. I strained to hear it. . . .

Captain mewed as his claws dug into my back through the carrier.

I snapped out of it to find Rynn watching me with a wary look. “Every­thing all right, Alix?”

I shook the cold off and took another good look around the bare room. Nothing. A figment of my imagination from being surrounded by supernaturals. It had to be.

“Fine.” Even though I said it, I wasn’t so sure. “Just odd seeing a meditation room so sparse. They’re usually decorated. This one’s had all the trappings removed, as if someone tried to erase it.”

“Let’s get to finding those tunnels,” Rynn said. “Because chances are good the mercenaries will get here soon. Then things will get really interesting.”

Carpe, who had busied himself opening up his computer, looked up. “You two really know how to brighten up my day, don’t you?”

We both ignored him and started scanning the meditation room the violent Buddhists would have used.

Violent Buddhists. If that wasn’t ominous, I didn’t know what was.

“All right, look for anything out of the ordinary, you two. Secret passages, hollow walls, anything remotely supernatural. Use your imaginations,” I said, and ducked into a second, smaller meditation room.

There were three meditation rooms in all—one large and two smaller side chambers, cut out of the rock itself. Much to my frustration, the two smaller ones proved as barren as the first. No closets, no alcoves. There weren’t even benches or shelves to rifle through. In fact, the only decorations in the rooms were a couple of spots of chipped paint and a single replication of a prayer altar holding a pot of incense that had long since burned out. Considering the temple’s bright red exterior, the insides were downright plain.

Carpe and Rynn joined me in the smaller chamber. “Nothing?” I asked them as I crouched down to check a corner where the plaster had chipped substantially. I was hoping to find some sign of a panel or secreted space underneath.

“Not even a statue, just some bad plaster and rushed whitewash,” Rynn said.

“Same,” Carpe said.

Nothing. It was just chipped plaster. “Not exactly surprising. With the exception of a couple hidden idols and frescoes, the Chinese cultural revolution did a spectacular job stamping out religious artwork across China.”

Tsaparang, along with a large swath of Tibet, had been no different, it would seem—anything left out in the open was wiped out. Never underestimate the power of a large group of people determined at all costs to reshape their culture overnight.

I wondered . . . I’d read somewhere about a different temple, farther east in Tibet, that had managed to hide artwork from the Red Guards.

I found a piece of plaster higher up on the wall that had cracked through. I stood on my toes and peered at it. Was there something black underneath?

“Rynn, help me out with this, will you?” He was taller than me and could reach, versus me, who had to jump. “I read once about a group of helpful archaeologists showing a group of Tibetan monks how to cover their artwork with plaster to hide it from the Red Guards.”

A piece crumbled off as Rynn pried at the plaster, revealing an image underneath.

“They hid them,” Carpe said.

“Yup.” Hiding in plain sight. I shone my flashlight up on the patch that Rynn had uncovered. They were faint and more worn than I would have liked, but there were definitely frescoes hidden underneath. I was searching for anything that might indicate there was something more hidden underneath.

I found a corner that had the trace of a border, with lotus flowers drawn in the traditional style peeking out.

The only question was, was it magic or another false start?

Only one way to find out. Heart beating, I pulled my chicken blood water out of my backpack and sprayed the corner—carefully. I remembered what had happened the last time I sprayed chicken blood on a mural.

Nothing happened. Not a flicker, not even a pulse. I let out my breath. I’d been so sure. I turned to Rynn and Carpe. “Any bright ideas?” Both Rynn and Carpe shook their heads.

Great. Even the two supernaturals were stumped.

I turned back to the mural and removed more of the plaster. More lotus flowers and pretty designs, but a far cry from anything I’d seen in the Nepalese caves.

Come on, Jebe, you even said it yourself—the armor was wrong. Corrupted. I’ve got to think you had something to do with the fact no one has seen it in almost a thousand years. . . .

There was a scratch at the back of my backpack, followed by a tentative mew. “Picked a great time to wake up from your nap,” I said.

Captain replied with a more insistent mew followed by more scratching. Either he needed to pee really bad, or he smelled something.

I let him out. Instead of running for the nearest corner or looking for somewhere promising to dig, Captain sat back on his haunches and sniffed the air—and not in Rynn’s or Carpe’s direction.

Without any warning he darted out into the main meditation room. I swore and scrambled to grab my things before he got out of sight. So much for training.

Rynn beat me to it. “Alix, over here,” he called out. Captain was digging at a corner of chipped and crumbling plaster. No, wait, scratch that . . . he had the plaster between his teeth and was pulling it out while growling.

Somehow I didn’t think he was after mice in a stone city. I grabbed him before he ingested any and took a look. Captain did his best to wrest himself out of my arms to get back at the plaster. He chirped to get across the point. First supernaturals, now magic . . . “I’ve seriously broken you, haven’t I?” I said.

I examined the spot Captain had found. It looked identical to the other, right down to the faded lotus petals. I took out my bottle of watered-­down blood and started to spray. Nothing happened.

Maybe Captain had been chasing mice. There was something about this mural though—again I heard the whispered voice on the breeze that came through the temple, pushing me to keep looking.

“We’re running out of time,” Carpe said. I glanced up from the mural. Sure enough, Hermes’s voice was carrying down the stairs. The steps and height amplified his voice, but Carpe was right. We didn’t have much time until the tour group returned.

I turned back to the mural. Looks could be deceiving. “Maybe the portal part is central on the wall,” I said to Rynn. That would have made more sense; the center would be less likely to crack with age.

I winced as Rynn kicked the wall with his boot. Plaster crumbled away, revealing more of the fresco and the start of a colorful tree of life. I tried with the chicken blood again. Still nothing.

Yet Captain wriggled around my feet and started scratching at the wall once again.

Wait a minute.

Plastering. Shit—Jebe would have come through here in the twelfth century. There was no way the inhabitants of a Tibetan stone fortress had any reason to plaster anything—not when they had the smooth stone surfaces to work with.

“Guys, I think whatever magic they hid here is on the rock itself, underneath the plaster.” And there was no way we had time to excavate it properly. I grabbed a small hammer out of my bag, along with a medium pin. I lined it up against the wall. Seeing what I planned to do, Rynn followed suit with a knife.

I closed my eyes and lined up the hammer over the pin. Oh God, this wasn’t how I wanted to start my day, ruining a four-hundred-year-old fresco . . . I struck the pin and watched it crack the surface plaster and the heavier one with the fresco underneath. Rynn had better luck, sending a large swath crumbling. I took another swing and hoped the meditation room had been built with some sound dampening in mind.

On the third strike the remaining plaster slid down the wall, taking the four-hundred-year-old relief crumbling all the way with it, revealing the artwork underneath.

Unlike the paints that had been used on the plaster, this was a scene of carved and colored bones set into the stone. It wasn’t a gate at all but a battle. “I think that’s Jebe,” I said, brushing the remaining plaster off one of the images, a white-gray figure in a sea of black and red, shrouded in what looked like lightning.

There was something written underneath.

I set to work brushing away the remaining plaster to uncover the script with my hands, and when that failed, with a brush from my backpack.

“Careful, Alix,” Rynn said.

“I am being careful. It’s a warning—in Sanskrit, Chinese, and Cyrillic. They all say the same thing. ‘Beware he who searches the Lightning Suit’—or something to that effect.”

As I said the words, a chill fell over me—and anger, deep red anger at the scene before me. I shook it off. What the hell was coming over me? The suit was here; I didn’t have time for my brain to take a vacation. All I had to do was figure out where the next stop along the treasure trail was.

“Remember what happened the last time, Alix,” Rynn said, the warning heavy in his voice. I looked down at my hands, where the spray bottle was. I hadn’t realized I’d picked it back up until Rynn said anything.

Carpe rounded the corner from where he’d taken up a lookout just outside. “Hermes is stalling them in the other temple, but you need to hurry.”

“Yeah, ah, let’s start taking photos—fast—then we’ll run some tests with UV before I get the blood out.” Less likely to make the whole thing explode.

I placed the blood bottle by my feet and tossed a camera to Rynn before turning my UV light on the image. It was ominous—and strange for a Tibetan temple, with the blacks and reds whirling together . . . angry at Jebe, for coming here, for staying, for locking everything up.

I shook my head again, clearing it. “What?” I asked, realizing Rynn had said something.

“Nothing active, not in any of the different spectrums.” It looked like Rynn was going to say something else—he was frowning at me—but there was a noise back in the hallway that even I heard.

Carpe was no longer hanging by the doorway.

Rynn swore. “Stay here, I’ll see what the elf has gotten up to. I’ll be back in a second.”

He added a few choice words, but my attention was already back on the mural of Jebe.

I picked up more bits of color mixed in with the dark blacks, grays, and reds. Pinks, oranges, even yellows—the details on the various armies’ dress. The colors were well preserved; not all that surprising, considering the arid nature of the place and the fact it was hidden away from bleaching sunlight.

I blinked as I picked up a line of pink—no, make that red. Thin red lines peeking out from pieces of bone inlay. Something made me lean in and smell the stone. The metallic singe of magically preserved blood flooded my senses. Now that, I most definitely recognized. . . .

I held my flashlight up to get a better look. There were a few etches made into the wall where the red had been laid. I could see the lines of blood now woven into the mural, brilliant red, surrounding the combatants with their strange phosphorescent-like glow . . . if the phosphorescence was on an acid trip. . . .

I blinked. Then again . . . Wait a minute, those were active. How the hell had they been activated? I took a step back and swore as it continued to spread.

The ground shook. Rynn and Carpe both ran back in to find me backing away from the mural. Son of a bitch, I’d only touched it.

Rynn took one look at the activated magic inscriptions and then back at me. His face was white. “What the hell did you do?” he said.

I stood there shaking my head. “Me? Nothing. I swear to God, all I did was touch it . . .” I trailed off as my eyes fell to where both Rynn and Carpe were staring. At the spray bottle of chicken blood still in my hands. What the . . . ?

“We left you here for less than a minute, Alix—” Rynn started, not bothering to hide his anger.

“I swear, Rynn, I don’t know how this got here. I didn’t—” But before I could finish my defense, the floor began to shake.

“No. One. Move,” I mouthed to Carpe and Rynn, not willing to risk whispering. No one made a sound. Not even Captain, who gripped the floor as if his life might depend on it.

The room stopped shaking. Carefully, oh so very carefully, I edged my foot along the stone floor—the solid stone floor that should be stable.

Shit! With a crack that echoed through the red temple and likely through the entire city, the stone floor crumbled out from under us. We dropped, not down but along a wide stone chute leading down. Rynn was the only one who didn’t scream, Captain included, as all of us madly tried to find a handhold on the smooth sides.

After sliding down for longer than I cared, we hit the ground, sending up a cloud of dirt that probably hadn’t been disturbed in almost six hundred years.

I rubbed my tailbone. Oh, that was going to leave a mark. “Is everyone alive?” I called out.

“Yes” came Rynn’s strained reply.

“Define ‘alive’?” Carpe said.

Captain decided to join in and mewed as well.

Okay. Everyone alive and un-maimed. Score one for lucky streaks. I winced as my head revolted. I hoped the cave-in was restricted to the one room and Hermes got the tourists out. I did not need that on my conscience. I extracted myself from Carpe’s and Rynn’s limbs while I coughed and scrambled to find my flashlight. I swear I’d heard it clatter somewhere around here.

My fingers brushed against the handle, and I turned it on. We were in a cavern—or cavern-like space. Originally a natural structure but definitely altered and excavated by human hands.

The ceiling was only seven odd feet—high, considering how far down we were. And it looked like it expanded. “How far down do you think we fell?” I asked, stifling a cough as dust filled my lungs and throat.

“Five hundred feet or so, give or take,” Rynn said, sounding like he wasn’t doing so hot with the dirt and dust either, despite his supernatural constitution. Carpe? I just hoped he wouldn’t die from sneezing or coughing.

I checked the slide. Even if we could boost ourselves up, we’d never be able to climb the polished surface. I moved my flashlight over the rest of the cavern and found a circular opening with a graduated ramp headed down.

“Guys, where do you think this goes?” I said, highlighting the ramp for them.

“Considering how far down we are? I’d say it’s a tunnel out of the base of the mountain—for escape, or trade, or a combination of the two.”

Well, it was certainly wide and tall enough to fit carts—a caravan, by the looks of things—and it beat carrying goods up the stairs one by one.

Something reflected my flashlight off the ground near my feet, and I made out what looked like a pattern worked into the floor. From what I could see through the grime, it was the same kind of colored bits of bone inlay that had been fixed into the wall above, only instead of a dark and gloomy battle accentuated with swaths of red, these looked to be depictions of brightly colored animals . . . and they were traveling in various directions. I don’t know why, but my eyes fixated on a particular procession—pink elephants decorated with bright orange . . . tiny, but still intricately done.

A rarity if not completely unknown this side of the Himalayas, especially at the time these images would have been laid. But on the other side of the mountains, in India and Nepal, when Guge would have been a flourishing trade center . . .

I wondered . . .

The parade of various animals all disappeared into the darkness past where my flashlight could reach. I got up and followed the winding procession of elephants along the cavern floor.

“Remember what Hermes said about the labyrinth nature of this place,” Rynn called out as he examined the chute. “That part I don’t think he was lying about.”

“Don’t worry, if I get lost I’ll look for the pink elephants,” I said as I followed the pink parade until they ended fifteen feet away, at the base of a mural that stretched along the wall. It was painted in the outline of a gate not quite like the one I’d seen in Nepal; different styles and colors had been used. But the fact that it was here . . .

“Guys,” I called out. “I think I found something.” Maybe it was the drop in altitude or the fall itself, but a thrumming in my head had started. I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

Both Rynn and Carpe turned in my direction, looking none too relaxed.

I shone the light on the bone mural carved and set into the cavern wall. “Looks like the people of Guge really did escape through a gateway to Shangri-La,” I said.

Unlike in Nepal, where there had been yaks, oxen, and horses dragging wagons and ware through the gate, this time there were elephants and tigers.

Was it functional, or did it just signify a different region? Before I could stop myself, I found my hand stretched out to the wall.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Something was clouding my thoughts; it wanted me to touch the mural. It was so intense I couldn’t think.

Rynn came up beside me, evaluating me, as if trying to solve a puzzle, before turning his attention on the mural.

“It looks like another doorway, like the one we found in Nepal. Only difference is, this one is still active.” He crinkled his nose. “I can smell the magic leaching off of the paints.”

Well, Neil and Frank had told us they’d meet us here—they’d said as much in the directions. They just hadn’t said anything about a slide of death and a large pit. And the mural above had been of Jebe and the armor; it hadn’t even hinted at Shangri-La. We should have been stumbling into a treasure room.

There was something about the gate that was mesmerizing. I leaned closer to brush away the centuries of dust caked over the small bone elephants. The cold chill descended over me again.

Captain, who’d been sniffing the nooks and crannies, had made his way to my feet. He sniffed at the mural. Jumping back, he arched his back and let out a long, drawn-out hiss.

“What’s his problem?” Carpe asked.

I frowned as Captain continued to back away. He hissed again until he reached the back of the cave, the farthest point from the mural possible. “I don’t know, could be the magic.”

“Or he remembers what happened upstairs,” Rynn warned.

“Don’t worry—I’m not turning this one on.” Well, not yet, anyways. There was time for that. And why wouldn’t I? How many people could say they’d been to Shangri-La?

“That’s what you’ve said twice now—back in Nepal and right before the floor collapsed upstairs.”

I didn’t answer. There were more bone animals; yaks, oxen, cows, pigs, even horses pulling carts.

“How does it open?” Carpe asked this time.

I tore my eyes off the mural. “If Nepal was any indication, there’s a substantial trick to it. One Texas and Michigan didn’t see fit to share.” Carpe frowned at me. I sighed and added, “No, I have no idea how to open it, not without causing a massive explosion of magic.”

But that’s not true. You know how to open it. All it takes is a little blood.

I frowned at Carpe. Where the hell had that thought come from? “Maybe the Guge left clues—or an instruction manual.”

I stepped away from the mural, a pang of loss coursing through me. Something was wrong . . . very wrong. For the life of me I couldn’t put my finger on it.

I shone my flashlight on the rest of the massive cavern, and Rynn and Carpe followed suit. “Look for pictures, diagrams—anything that might be a reference for the gate.” With any luck there’d be a set of instructions, or, at the very least, a hint as to how the door opened properly—as in, without the explosion parts.

“We’re supposed to be looking for Jebe’s treasure, not the gate to Shangri-La,” Rynn said.

“Keep your eye out for that too, but at the moment I plan on working with what we have. Well?”

Rynn and Carpe exchanged a look but began combing the walls. I checked another section of pictures, this time a ring of birds flying over what looked like the Himalayas. No clues as to how to open the gate.

“Maybe the instructions were destroyed?” Carpe said as he checked another section on the far wall. “I mean, it doesn’t look like anyone has been through here in a hundred years.”

“Closer to five hundred,” I told him. “Maybe more.” A hiding spot? Or a secret compartment or a map to another location where they kept the instructions? I’d seen stranger things. . . . There was a trail of red bone, up above. I traced it along the wall while Rynn and Carpe continued to bicker about the best way out.

“We’re not here to open a gate, elf, we’re here to find the armor,” Rynn said.

“Well right now the only thing in front of us is the gate.”

I winced as my vision clouded over, just like it had before the floor had given out. If I could just see straight, let alone think straight. . . . I frowned. Was it me, or was Carpe looking a little nonplussed too? And Rynn was watching me now in earnest, his eyes narrowed.

The supernaturals getting their panties in a bunch that the human in the room is doing a better job finding all the clues they should have picked up on already. . . .

I shook my head. Where the hell had that come from?

I wrote it off to stress mixed with lack of sleep and the fall. My ­vision cleared and I continued to follow the trail of red bone. It led to a small pictorial, set away from the gate with another series of images, all ­contained in their own circles of designs and borders. Stories, or more likely a history of things that went through the gate: what looked like people fleeing a war, carrying livestock and possessions, another ­showing ­people fleeing a famine, disease. The gate hadn’t been used once by the Guge to flee disaster; it had been used for centuries, maybe longer.

And there was Jebe wearing the Lightning Armor, following a group of monks through the gate.

Jebe hadn’t hidden the armor in Tsaparang—he’d hidden it in ­Shangri-La. That’s why no one could find it, why it had seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet. The blood rushed to my head again and the fog descended, making me see an angry red when I closed my eyes.

“Even if we find the instructions, just what do you plan on doing exactly?” Rynn said to Carpe. “Blow us and all of Tsaparang up?”

“I don’t know about you, but before we explore those tunnels and wake up some troll or other monster who decides elves might be tasty, I at least want the thin trace of hope that there might be another way out, which, unless you have a way up that chute, is the gate.”

I shook off the fog. “Guys, hate to break this to you, but your argument is about to become a moot point.” I shone the flashlight on the mural of Jebe so both could see.

Carpe crept forward to get a better look.

Rynn was still skeptical. “It still doesn’t address the problem of how to open it without blowing ourselves up and leveling Tsaparang.”

Begrudgingly, I had to admit he was right.

“Unless you only activated half of it,” Carpe said.

“What?” I said, turning to Carpe.

“You’re thinking of this as a two-dimensional doorway, but it doesn’t have to be. What if there are multiple points that need to be turned on—and not necessarily in the same place or line of sight?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way before. It could work . . .

“Alix?” Rynn implored. “You’re not seriously considering this?”

If the armor was that way . . . “You heard the elf—look for any other images in the cave that match the gate.”

Rynn clenched his jaw but didn’t argue any further. The three of us set about searching the cave once more. Now . . . was that another set of pictures on the ceiling?

I shone the light up. Sure enough, dancing on the ceiling were more pink and orange elephants.

“Over here! I found another one,” Carpe called out.

“I’ve got one too, on the ceiling,” I said, before joining him. Bone inlay just like that on the wall peeked through centuries’ worth of grime. I got down on all fours and started to brush it away until I uncovered a pink elephant, then an orange tiger, then a blue-and-yellow lotus flower.Carpe joined me, and we kept going until I uncovered what I was looking for—the first hint of a circular gate. I cleared more of the dirt and stood up to get a better look. The circle on the floor was as large as the one on the wall and ceiling.

Like a mirrored image of triplets. “All three need to be activated,” I said. “That’s what I missed before. Remember how the one in Nepal created a siphon?”

“Before or after it exploded?” Rynn asked me, arching an eyebrow.

I ignored his tone. “I’ll bet there was a corresponding one in Nepal and we just missed it. Probably buried under years’ worth of dirt.” Or maybe it collapsed right after Texas and Michigan used it. I grabbed my water bottle of blood, but Rynn grabbed my arm and spun me around before I could reach the mural.

“Alix, think about what you are about to do. This is complete ­madness—and it’s not like you.”

More red anger—this time at the incubus, who was getting in the way. “I have a literal gun to my head to bring that armor back—and for that matter, so do you. Now move.”

But he didn’t. “If you can’t be bothered to care for us or yourself, at least think about the people outside. What happens to them if you’re wrong?”

The thrumming dimmed. Staring at Rynn, I realized he had a point. All I really had was a theory. I shook my head. If the headache would just go away . . . “Maybe you’re right—” I started.

The elephants and tigers blurred together as my burgeoning headache reared its abysmal and punishing head full force.

I closed my eyes, but that didn’t do a damn thing. I clutched both sides of my head and sat down. The ground—the nice, soft, and stable ground—was what I needed. . . .

Rynn’s frown deepened and his grip tightened. “There’s something wrong with you,” he said.

I opened my eyes, and they were veiled with a red film. “Just a migraine I think. I had something like it back at the Nepal temple, just not nearly this bad.” I was going to add that I just needed a moment, but another wave of pain and bright lights hit me. I stopped and just held my hand to my forehead, wishing for it to go away.

“Did she hit her head on the way down?” Carpe asked. “I hear that’s quite bad for humans.”

“No,” Rynn said, studying me now more intently, his hands—cool where they were normally warm—gripping my chin and turning it side to side. “This is something else entirely. I’m not so sure the elves are only planning a retrieval anymore.”

What was he talking about? I stopped thinking as Rynn’s eyes turned blue.

Blue. There was something I was supposed to remember about that . . . something really important.

The sea of red anger descended. Shangri-La was right there in front of me; all I needed to do was open the door. The headache would go away then, I was sure of it. . . .

Rynn’s bright blue eyes flared as they held mine.

I screamed and slumped back to the floor, clutching my head as the pain hit me full force. I curled up in a ball, willing the insistent thrumming to go away. Slowly but surely it receded.

In the background I vaguely heard Rynn screaming at Carpe.

“You good for nothing—you knew this was what they were planning.”

“I swear, I didn’t know! I wouldn’t agree to something like this.”

Planned? What had been planned? Something pulled my attention back to the mural. Not a voice exactly, but a feeling of desperation and frustration—something I could relate to. It wanted me to open it . . . calling to me, and man, was it ever hungry . . .

Or was that me? Hungry to find the lost city, where everyone else had failed. . . .

My eyes focused back on the pattern on the floor . . . and a sharpened piece of rock nearby.

That would make the headache go away. It would have to . . .

I reached for the stone piece and dragged it across my hand, not gently, like you would for a small cut, but all the way across and deep. That way, I’d be certain to get enough blood.

I watched as it pooled in my hand, then I reached out toward the bone.

I hesitated. There was something behind the thrumming. A warning . . . The headache came back full force. That’s your problem, Alix, you think things through too much of the time. Just put your hand on the mural. . . .

Something slammed into me before my hand touched the image, knocking me to the ground. My head hit the ground, and something primal screamed at me to get back up.

It took me another second to realize it was Rynn. He rolled me over until I was staring into his blue eyes. I should be angry about that.

He shook my shoulders again, worry written over his face. “Alix, snap out of it.”

Anger replaced my own bewilderment far too quickly for me to question where it came from.

“I had it,” I started.

“No, you didn’t. It had you.”

The blue pushed away to red clouds, and the thrumming pull toward the doorway vanished.

I looked up at Rynn, then glanced down at the deep gash in my hand. “What the hell happened to me?”

“It’s the armor,” Rynn said. “That’s what happened upstairs and in Nepal—it’s what I felt. All this time it’s been calling to you.”

Son of a bitch. We knew the suit called to people, we’d just never considered the possibility . . .

“It has to be because we’re so close to the portal,” I said. “It’s getting desperate.” And if it could exert that much control from wherever the hell it was locked up in Shangri-La, what would it be able to do when people were standing there?

Rynn and Carpe exchanged a glance. “What? What are you two not telling me?”

“It’s not just getting desperate. If it was, why not trick one of the countless monks or tourists to open the gate?” Carpe said.

I went cold. Oh no, not that—anything but that.

“I think the armor has chosen you as its next host,” Rynn said. He shot Carpe a lethal look as he added, “And I think the elves knew it would.”

Carpe held up his hands and backed away from Rynn. “Not me. I would not do that to Alix—to anyone!”

That didn’t matter. None of it mattered. We had a much bigger problem. I did my best to keep my head clear, but I could already feel the darkness—wrongness—ebbing at my thoughts.

Is this what Jebe had felt? Or had he felt something worse?

“We need to get out of here now,” I said, and pushed myself back up to sitting. Now that I recognized the dark thoughts coming from the armor, I at least stood a chance of holding it back. It had been so insidious, passing itself off as my own thoughts. If Rynn hadn’t caught it . . . I grabbed my backpack and coaxed Captain inside.

“Why?” Carpe asked.

I gave him an even look. “Because regardless of whether or not that suit picked me, you two want to bet that now that it doesn’t have me activating the portal, it can’t go elsewhere to bring in reinforcements?”

Rynn swore, and Carpe got his laptop out.

Something metallic bounced down the chute. A canister pinged against the stone floor before rolling to a stop in the center of the cavern. It let out a soft puff before white opaque gas streamed out both ends. Three more canisters followed in rapid succession.

Man oh man, I hate being right at times like this.

“Down the ramp,” I said. I hoped the Guge hadn’t used anything that required dynamite to block off the exit . . .

“There isn’t time,” Carpe said. “Besides, I think they already found it. They figured out a way to flank us—I can hear the chatter on their comms.”

“Rynn?” I said, the panic creeping into my voice. Between the mercenaries and the armor . . .

Rynn glanced around the cave, then made up his mind. “Get on your knees, hands behind your head,” he said, and then did it himself.

“What—you can’t be serious!”

“If there’s anything on those computers or electronics in your bag you don’t want the mercenaries or the IAA to have, elf, I strongly suggest you make it disappear.”

Carpe swore. Kneeling down, he pulled out his laptop and a collection of tablets and phones. His fingers clicked faster across the keys than I would have thought possible.

I knelt down beside Rynn, cat carrier on my back and hands behind my head.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Carpe hit the last key on his laptop before the first of the Zebras rappeled into the cave, the dangerous end of the gun first.

I swallowed. “Hi there,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to be the rescue crew the Chinese sent. If you are, color me impressed.”

None of the Zebras answered. Three of them detached and without a word bound both Carpe and Rynn.

Me, on the other hand . . . “What, no ties?” I asked, raising my hands.

In answer, a cloth full of chloroform was shoved in my mouth.

One of these days, I’d learn to keep it shut. This, however, was not that day.