16

ONE HELL OF A PARADISE

Time? Late afternoon by the sun, though Shangri-La
doesn’t seem to track time quite the same . . .

I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my eyes. I’d only gone through half of the pile of journals, but every last one of them had painted the same picture—and eradicated any confidence I’d ever had in my species’ ability to find a nonviolent solution to a problem.

Or maybe I could chalk that up to some residual effect of the armor. But if that many people could be so easily swayed to kill each other, I wouldn’t hold my breath for our collective common sense.

I picked up Col. Percy Fawcett’s red journal once more—the accounts of his search for El Dorado, the same one I’d already read three times. The pages were old and yellowed but heavy enough that I could still make out all the entries, including the ones near the very end—­technically and metaphorically speaking.

Well, Percy had found his lost city . . . not El Dorado but another opening to Shangri-La. He’d then spent the next decade trying to find a way out and convince the rest of his team not to kill each other. The bullet wounds and bashed-in skulls of the corpses dressed in 1925 explorer gear said just about how well that had gone.

One explorer gone missing wouldn’t have dashed my optimism; it’s sad, but it happens. You go venturing into some unmapped jungle or ancient ruin and there’s always a chance you won’t come back out. I live with that sobering thought every time I venture out. Dev, me, even someone as entrenched in the IAA as Benji. It could happen to any of us.

No, Percy hadn’t sent me spiraling downward. It was all the others.

Underneath Percy’s journal was another, older, dating back to 1795. That one was written in French, by a Jean-Francois de Galaup Lapérouse, whose two ships carrying 225 crew went missing shortly after leaving Botany Bay, Australia. Lots of explorers and ships went missing—hazard of the seas, even for an expert explorer and mapmaker. Lapérouse was last seen headed for the Solomon Islands in the Coral Sea just north of Australia. After hearing about a legend of a lost city, he’d decided to change course.

I wasn’t going to pretend to understand how an underwater gate to Shangri-La was built in the Polynesian Islands, let alone how they activated one underwater; Lapérouse was cagey about that in his journal. What I did know was that the only trace that was ever found was a pair of severed anchors on the bottom of the ocean and I was looking at two dilapidated ships in the harbor with the names Bousole and Astrolabe.

I imagined the bodies on the boats were just as riddled with sword, knife, and musket wounds as the ones strewn around the city.

There were dozens of journals, every last one of them outlining the same thing; how explorers had stumbled onto various doorways to ­Shangri-La cast over the world and gotten themselves trapped in the city.

My confidence in our ability to get ourselves out of this mess, where so many others had failed, was waning. “It’s like a graveyard for famous explorers in here,” I said as Carpe came back into the tent.

Carpe picked up a nearby journal. “This one looks newer.”

I took it back. “That’s because it is. Peng Jiamu.” Another famous explorer and archaeologist, this time from China, who disappeared in the desert back in 1980.

Carpe frowned. “That’s not too long ago. What happened to him?”

I took the journal back before Carpe could touch the pages. “I thought that was obvious. He found Shangri-La.” Carpe made a face, so I added, “He’d spent a year trying to get the door open before deciding to see just how far Shangri-La stretched. Considering no one ever heard from him again and he never came back to fill in the journal . . .”

“He might have found something—or left notes,” Carpe tried.

I gestured to the snowcapped mountains that surrounded the Shangri-­­La valley. “Be my guest to go and find out, Carpe.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a pessimist?”

“Frequently.” I pocketed Jiamu’s journal. I hoped to bring that one back, since there were likely people alive who still cared—if we ever got out.

My eyes drifted over to where Texas and Michigan were still propped up under the tent. Carpe saw where my eyes landed and said, “The last thing we want to do is wake them up.”

“They knew how to get out.” Or at least had been on the right track.

“Yes! And apparently I need to remind you that they were about to ditch us here with that armor that has its sights set on your questionable morals—”

“My questionable morals?!” I said, and took a step back. Captain, sensing the change in my mood, began switching his tail around my legs prior to stalking Carpe. Carpe, not being a complete idiot, took a step back and swallowed. I continued. “You were the one all gung ho to ditch them here. What happened to elves preserving life and all that?”

“I have my weak moments, all right? And as much as I detest the idea of leaving any living thing here, them, I’m finding, I wouldn’t feel so bad about.”

I closed my eyes. I couldn’t believe the circles Carpe was talking himself into.

“Look, maybe if we found the armor . . .” he continued. “It wants out; maybe if you get close enough to it—”

“No,” I said in a firmer voice than even I realized I could muster.

Carpe winced, taking another step back, and I found myself feeling guilty at the flustered look he gave me.

“Let’s not get crazy desperate just yet,” I said, and nodded at the World Quest duo. “Waking them in my mind is a better option than giving a sadistic magic suit of armor free reign over my thoughts.”

He relented and glanced away at the table, where I’d rearranged the books. “Well, maybe if we wake them and you’re really nice, they’ll tell us where they rigged the explosives.”

It took me a second to see where Carpe’s train of logic had gone. “Okay, there is absolutely no evidence they’ve rigged the place—”

He turned his furious green eyes back on me. “These are the World Quest designers! Of course they’ve rigged the place with explosives.”

I held my breath and counted to five. I was not going to win this battle—not now, not ever. “Just . . . look, why don’t you help Rynn. Or better yet, find a way to dampen that suit’s effects on my brain.” As soon as I said it, I winced. At the mention of dampening its power and potential hold over me, the suit stuck its claws in, tugging at my own natural mental barriers. Since arriving in Shangri-La, Rynn had been trying to help me block out the armor with a makeshift mental barrier, but there was only so much he could do with his skill set of manipulating my emotions. Already the armor was making inroads, cracking my resolve and seeping into my thoughts despite the fact that I knew what to look for. Not finding a way back in, it receded, and I opened my eyes back up to Carpe, who was examining my face with a pinched expression. “Preferably before it figures out a way in my head,” I said.

Carpe opened his mouth to speak, but a bang on the workbench distracted both of us. It was Rynn. He’d snuck up on us and deposited his supply bag on the table. Loudly. “Any more idea how this place works?” Rynn asked.

Thankful for the change in topic, I jumped in. “Beyond what they said?” I nodded at Texas and Michigan. “They were right about one thing: as far as anyone can tell, we’re trapped.” I filled him in on the gist of my findings from the journals, including how Shangri-La seemed to have a twisted taste for explorers and adventurers.

“Like a butterfly and moths to a flame,” he said once I’d finished.

“What about you?” I asked him.

Rynn shook his head. “Nothing beyond what you’ve uncovered,” he said. “I’m starting to think Shangri-La doesn’t want us to leave. I’m starting to wonder if it and the armor are in cahoots.”

Considering they’d been stuck together for more than seven hundred years, it wasn’t all that far-fetched. I winced as another wave hit me. “Well, we need to do something fast. It’s on to us, and it’s doing its damnedest to figure a way back into my head.”

Rynn shook his head but glanced in the direction of Michigan and Texas. “It’s too adept at evading me.”

“But?” I asked.

He inclined his chin at the duo. “But I agree that those two might know more than we do.”

That settled it. I started for the fountain off to the side of the square, grabbing a metal bucket on my way. I had no illusions that the Zebras were sitting on their haunches. For all I knew they were opening the gate—and that was just one location. For all I knew the IAA had the rest of them and an exponential number of mercenaries on our collective tails.

I filled the bucket under the fountain and checked the water temp. Despite the warm air, the water was cold. Good.

Captain howled and jumped out of the way as water splashed out of the bucket and onto him.

When I reached Texas and Michigan, I pulled my arm back. The bucket was heavier than I’d thought.

“Try to keep it civil?” Rynn called from the lean-to.

“Yeah, something like that.” I heaved the bucket over my shoulders and dumped the water over their heads.

Both of them sputtered awake with gasps from the cold as I stood there with my arms crossed. Texas was the one who made a grab for the bucket—which didn’t work, since his hands and legs were tied. He did fall over though. In my current mood I couldn’t say that it didn’t make me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside.

Rynn came up behind me. “I told you to keep it civilized,” he whispered.

“And considering they were going to ditch us here, that was civil,” I whispered back.

Texas was still trying to right himself despite the restraints. “Give it a rest, you’re tied up,” I told him.

Texas took in his predicament—Rynn, Carpe, me. He even gave Captain a measured glare before his eyes fell back on me.

“Why you—” Texas did his best to throw himself forward again, but it didn’t work well due to the restraints.

Carpe grabbed him, while Rynn restrained me before the two of us could start a brawl.

Michigan blinked the cold water out of his face, coming to slower than Texas had. Still, it didn’t take him long to take in his surroundings and situation. “Frank, will you knock it off?” he said.

“With her? Seriously, you want me to back off with her? Name one time when she hasn’t been the harbinger of disaster?”

Michigan frowned. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“You talk to them then. And I’ll be more than happy to say I told you so.”

“Okay, first—you have serious anger management issues,” I said to Frank. “Second, I don’t want to leave anyone here, but unlike you, I don’t think beating the shit out of each other is the way to handle this. For one, we’ll win.” I pointed to Rynn. “He’s not human and could probably take all of us including the cat, so let’s attempt to talk this through.”

“Why don’t you untie us so we can find out?” Texas said, baring his teeth at me.

“Because I’m not an idiot!”

Texas made a show of looking around the tents and abandoned town of Shangri-La. “From where I’m standing . . .”

I clenched my fists and ignored the jibe, doing my best to keep my own temper and anger down. “We don’t have time to argue. We need your help.”

That earned me a snort. “In the famous words of one Byzantine Thief, you can blow—”

“Look,” Michigan rushed to interrupt Texas. “It’s not that I’m opposed to us working together—” Texas guffawed, and Michigan paused to shoot him a dirty look, silencing him. “But Frank has a point.” He held up his bound wrists. “You haven’t exactly inspired trust here.”

I closed my eyes and took two deep breaths, considering carefully what to say next. “Considering you were the ones who planned to lure us here then strand us—”

“What if we told you why we’re here?” Rynn interrupted.

“So you could finish burying World Quest—oomph?” Michigan silenced Frank with a jab. “I thought you said it was some noble attempt to save us from ourselves?” Frank turned his attention back on me. “Nice job, by the way.”

“Partly,” Rynn said. “But that was more coincidence. We were after the Electric Samurai—a powerful and dangerous suit of armor that’s been hidden here for centuries.” Rynn nodded at the portal a little ways away, standing inert and harmless looking. “Which if you don’t help us bury will likely fall into the hands of the very mercenaries the IAA hired to hunt you down.”

Another glare from Texas. “What do we care about a magic suit of armor?”

“If it gets out of here, it will be an unmitigated disaster,” I said.

“And if it falls into the wrong supernatural hands, you can kiss good-bye to any hope of returning to the same world you left,” Rynn added.

I thought Texas was going to deliver yet another spectacular piece of rhetoric, but Michigan beat him to it. “Wait—the armor? That’s what you’re here after? That’s what the IAA is after?”

I exchanged a glance with Rynn and Carpe. “I think the IAA originally just wanted you two and any and all human magic associated with Shangri-La. The armor got dragged into things afterward by a third party. It’s just really bad luck the two coincided.” Or fantastic planning by the elves and manipulation of the IAA—though I saw no reason to bring that up now. I frowned at Michigan. “And how the hell do you know about the armor?”

He shook his head in disbelief and turned to Frank. “The Mongolian artifact mentioned by the Guge monk—the one they entombed.” To me he said, “Shit, there’s tons of stuff sitting here from when the silk road was going . . . right cabinet,” he said, and nodded toward one of the desks. “There’s a hidden drawer underneath. Red folder.”

I examined the desk. Sure enough I found the latches, which sprung open the drawer. The file was tucked inside with a few other colored folders.

“I found it a year or two back,” Michigan said, “and decided it was best left where it was.”

Inside was an old parchment, written in the ancient Mongolian text I’d become so familiar with over the last week. I couldn’t read all of it, but enough of the first few lines:

Here lies the body and dying wishes of Jebe.

It continued, and what I could piece out were bits of warnings not to disturb his rest and final entombment.

Anger rushed over me as I read. Locked up here for centuries, Jebe deserved the tomb he rotted in.

I shivered and pushed back against the dark thoughts—most definitely not my own. I caught Rynn watching me and gave him a shake of my head.

“Is it true?” Michigan asked. “What he says about it possessing the wearer?”

I nodded. “I don’t know if it was designed that way, but it has a mind of its own now.”

“And it’s just as likely to kill the wearer as try to take them over,” Rynn added, while Carpe kept uncharacteristically quiet.

I continued to read. Plenty mention of the danger of wearing the armor, but nothing about where it was buried. “It gets worse with each wearer—and it’s sneaky about it. Given enough incentive and runway it can even reach out across the portal to find new candidates, though it’s picky. Jebe didn’t figure it out until it was too late.”

Son of a bitch.

The only way to trick the armor, and it needs to be done now, before I can no longer hide my thoughts, is to entomb myself. Otherwise it will drive me to its next victim, of that I am certain. I do not relish my fate, but if it means this evil will cease to walk the earth, my slow death is a small price.

My mouth dropped. This was the missing piece, how Jebe had managed to imprison the suit. “Shit.” I turned to Rynn and Carpe. “He didn’t defeat the armor, not really—he tricked it. In the end he knew it would find another victim after he died, so he got the Guge to bury him alive.” I glanced up at Michigan and Texas. “Death, destruction, swaths of bloodshed, that’s all the armor lives for.”

The armor tried to argue with me in the back of my thoughts, but it quickly gave up. Some truths just aren’t worth trying to lie about.

“So whoever wants it is out of their fucking minds is what you’re saying?” Texas said, then frowned as he caught the look Carpe, Rynn, and I exchanged.

“Someone’s decided they want to stick Alix in the suit,” Rynn said.

“And it seems to have warmed up to the idea. You want to know how we got the gate open? That’s how. It practically led us here.”

Texas snorted. “Wow. Sucks to be you, Hiboux. Good luck with that.”

I took a step toward him, fists clenched. “You know what, Texas? You can go to hell.”

It was Carpe who stepped between us this time. “Neither of you are helping—at all. What we need to do is get the suit and get out before the mercenaries show up.”

“What we need to do is find a deeper and more obscure pit to bury it in, Carpe.” I was not happy about how he kept letting that detail slip. “We can draw straws as to who gets to leave first.”

“Then the others wait until the Zebras come through the portal.” Rynn nodded. “That could work.”

It was Texas and Michigan’s turn to exchange a look. “There might be a minor problem with that,” Michigan said.

“What?” When neither of them coughed up an answer fast enough, I added, “What are you two assholes not telling me?”

“The city has some strange rules about how many people enter and leave,” Michigan continued. “We still haven’t figured them all out yet.”

I closed my eyes. “The short version,” I said.

Michigan made a face. “Our numbers are hypothetical. Our gamble was to go through the same time you came in.” He made a face. At least he felt bad about trying to strand us. “In theory at least three of us should be able to leave now that you’re here and no one’s killed anyone.”

“But we’re still not sure, not even if half the IAA and a private army waltzes through. As far as we can tell, the entire system broke all to hell about four hundred years ago, give or take,” Frank added.

Carpe let out a breath. “Balance,” he said. “I was wondering how they’d gotten around that.”

We all turned to stare at him, including Frank and Neil. Carpe shifted on his feet under the scrutiny. “Ah—this place is mostly magic. It has ground,” he said, and stamped his foot to make his point. “An ecosystem, even weather patterns, but it’s completely contained. Not quite in a pocket universe—those eventually collapse—but in a separated stasis with all the entropy removed.”

“A world without chaos,” Rynn said.

Carpe made a face at Rynn but nodded. “Simplified, but, essentially, yes.” He glanced up at the World Quest duo. “In order to keep this place in existence, the balance of entropy has to be carefully maintained. One person in, one person out.”

Which would have worked just fine a thousand years ago when this place was the world’s first major trading hub. “What happened?” I asked.

Michigan nodded toward the hills just outside the city proper. “There’s a Guge graveyard just past the field on the hillside—a massive one. A disease hit the city. A bad one. Smallpox, syphilis, maybe even the plague. By the end they weren’t even burying people, just leaving them in pits and throwing them in the harbor.”

“The Guge,” I said, and Michigan and Texas both nodded.

Well, I’d been partially right. The Guge had fled to Shangri-La, and then died en masse from a plague.

“That many people dying in a place like this—I don’t even know how that would balance out,” Carpe said.

“Trapping people here for the past four hundred years, that’s how,” Texas said.

I doubted very much it had been designed to work that way. No one plans for an entire city to up and die overnight, but where magic leads, disaster follows.

Well, that explained why no one had managed to find a way out and, in all likelihood, added to the problem with overzealous homicide. I glanced at Rynn. “Shangri-La has a warped sense of humor.”

Carpe frowned at me. “I don’t think it’s sentient, Alix. More like a computer program. If a situation comes up that a designer doesn’t specify, it still tries to do the work, even if the answer is a little . . . off.”

“Right now I could care less whether this city is riding on the back of a giant pink elephant floating through space. Can we leave or not, elf?” Rynn asked.

Carpe pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

“In other words, we won’t know until we try.” I sighed. Fantastic. I did so not want to be stuck in this place with a hundred odd mercenaries for the next ten years.

I turned to Texas and Michigan. “All right, where did they stick Jebe?” I felt elation from the armor, mixed in with ridiculous promises.

“Don’t hold your breath,” I thought back at it. “If being stuck in a tomb for seven hundred years pissed you off, then you really won’t like me finding you.”

The set of Texas’s jaw told me how not happy he was with the direction I was going. “Chasing after a cursed suit, especially if the mercenaries are about to storm this magic mousetrap, is a lousy idea. I say we draw your straws and some of us leave now.”

“Not without the armor secured and buried,” Rynn said.

Texas narrowed his eyes at Rynn. “Sounds to me like it’s Hiboux they want.”

“Seriously?” I said. “What? Tie me up with a bow and leave me here for when they show up?”

Michigan cast his eyes down, but Texas met my stare. I held it. Then sighed. “Look, was I being a bit of a shit with the game? Yes, but let’s face it, you left that wide open.”

Carpe groaned behind me.

“But not even you two really think I deserve being handed over to the mercenaries and stuck in a homicidal magic set of armor as punishment. You might not like me, but if you really thought I deserved that, you would have banned me from World Quest years ago.”

Michigan and Texas exchanged a glance, and for a moment I thought I’d gotten through to them.

Texas turned on me, eyes narrowed, teeth bared. “Oh come on, you seriously believe we’re going to buy that save the world bullshit? You’re a worse thief than I thought.”

I sighed. Or, maybe not . . .

Rynn came to my defense. “She’s telling you the truth!”

“Have you met her?”

Goddamn it. Sometimes there was no winning, no matter how hard I tried. I noticed Captain, who’d been entertaining himself looking for mice amongst the rubble, start a slow creep toward the gate. I frowned. There was an iridescent sheen to it. “Guys?” I called out, taking a generous step back.

Rynn and Texas kept arguing. “You’re not even giving her a chance,” Rynn continued.

“People who answer every fucking question with the choice phrases ‘blow me’ and ‘I’ve got a bridge to sell you’ don’t deserve second chances!”

There was a distinctive ripple in it now, like when hot air meets cold. Shit. “Ah—guys,” I said, louder this time, taking another step back from the gate. Captain, in a rare show of wisdom, followed my lead, clinging to the back of my legs. “I think the arguing will have to wait.”

Both Texas and Rynn stopped and turned their attention on the portal. It had graduated from shimmer to reflective mirror, like a pool of water in the rain.

Texas took one look at the portal and held out his bound hands. “Untie us—now.”

Carpe obliged, while I grabbed Captain and ran for the tents, skidding to a halt behind the crates. I didn’t have my carrier anymore, so the best I could do was one of the canvas bags that had accumulated under the benches. I opened it up for him. He looked at the portal, the bag, then me, and let out a drawn-out mew.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s the best I can do.”

He snorted but climbed in. I fastened it to my back and set about building a barricade out of the crates I could lift.

Seeing what I was trying to do, everyone else—including Neil and Frank—scrambled back into the tent and started to help. We had the crates stacked three high when the portal snapped, a sound that echoed through the valley, followed by the scent of ozone.

The first two Zebras exited the gate into the square, guns raised. We dropped to the ground just as a round of bullets arced over the camp, striking canvas, old crates, and the grass indiscriminately—though I noted Shangri-La itself was mostly spared.

“These crates will hold up against bullets, right?” Carpe asked Rynn, his voice hopeful. In answer, one of the top crates exploded into splinters as another Zebra began firing. Lying on the ground, we peeked through the cracks to get an idea of what the hell was going on in the courtyard.

A dozen or so more Zebras had streamed through and set up a semicircular perimeter around the gate. The gate shimmered as four more bodies passed through, three of whom I recognized: Williams, the head of the Zebras; Agent Dennings; and . . . shit. Dev.

I cringed as Williams pushed Dev forward. It wasn’t a hard or cruel shove—just efficient. What about “get out of Nepal” had Dev not understood?

The fourth figure though . . . He—or she—was dressed in a dark blue robe that reminded me of something Carpe’s World Quest avatar wore.

The figure pulled down the hood to survey Shangri-La, and I got a better look at what had to be an elf underneath. Like Carpe, he was thin and somewhat frail, made more so by the massive blue cloak. He was also pale—pale and sickly. He didn’t conjure up the iridescence of vitality and youth. More like the pale rot that sets on living things at the end of their life, like dried wheat in a field.

Was it my imagination, or was there the faint scent of dried flowers and decaying leaves? I shivered at the imagery. The cloaked figure turned toward us, and I could have sworn weepy pink eyes fixated right on me through the box slats. Captain growled inside the canvas bag, having squeezed his head out to watch the proceedings.

“Still think the elves aren’t involved?” Rynn hissed at Carpe.

“Just because that one is involved doesn’t mean all of us are.” But even through his words I could hear the uncertainty.

Rynn tried to get a better look and was rewarded with another round of gunfire striking our blockade.

“Who?” I asked.

“Nicodemous,” Rynn said. “An elf. One I unfortunately have the acquaintance of. I doubt he’s changed for the better.”

I glared at Carpe, who said, “He’s much higher up than me—and no, he’s not the Grand Poobah elf—there’s no such thing!”

Carpe was leaving something out. “Is he dangerous?” I asked. “And don’t you dare lie,” I added before he could get one word out.

He closed and opened his mouth again. “Not that anyone has any proof of,” he said.

Fantastic. An elf with questionable morals and the good sense not to get caught.

Rynn had managed to maneuver himself under the table beside me, where he madly fetched equipment from his own bag as more Zebras spilled through the gate and took up various positions.

“Everything I’ve ever said I’ve hated about the elves? That one personifies it,” Rynn said with more venom than I think I’d ever heard from him before.

“There has to be what? A dozen of them?” Michigan said.

“More,” Rynn replied, “and that’s just the Zebras.”

Texas swore, but I could see the wheels churning in Michigan’s head. “That’ll work.”

Texas frowned at him. “What will?”

“If I’m right, it means we need to get out of here sooner rather than later, preferably before they send any more through.”

I frowned. “I thought more coming in is a good thing? More people in, more people out.”

Michigan shook his head. “Maybe—or Shangri-La is so unstable that it decides none of us should leave. Or it just says to hell with it and collapses on itself.” As if in answer, thunder sounded overhead. We all looked to see dark clouds accumulating over the snowcapped mountain range.

“That normal?”

Michigan shook his head, still staring at the storm clouds. “I’ve never seen a thunderstorm here.”

Shit. “How long do you think it’ll take for them to figure out how leaving here works?”

“More importantly, how long until they start to turn on one another,” Rynn said. “I’m guessing altruism isn’t a hiring factor for that bunch.”

Yeah. I glanced at Williams again. Somehow I hoped it wouldn’t quite come to that; he might be practical, but he wasn’t evil. He was doing a job.

I ducked again as more bullets turned the tent canvas above me into Swiss cheese.

These hadn’t come from the same direction . . .

I crawled on my stomach to where the tent canvas met stone and peeked underneath. Behind us, making their way through the ruins of Shangri-La’s abandoned buildings, was another group of Zebras.

Rynn squeezed in beside me. “They’re flanking us. They must have managed to open another gate.”

I was really starting to hate the competence of these guys. And we were out of options.

I caught Michigan trying to grab something off a table. I grabbed his arm and yanked it back down none too gently before the next round of bullets could shred his fingers. “Neil, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m not leaving my notes for them.” And with that, he grabbed the nearest sets of journals and began shoving them into a canvas backpack that had been tucked under the desk.

I dropped back to the stone tiles and came face-to-face with a growling pink tiger as another round of bullets hit the crates, shattering yet another one. “Open to ideas here, people,” I said.

Neil wetted his lips. “There are more portals, including the one that leads to the cave in Nepal, deeper in the city, by the temple and market districts.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the overgrown city vegetation that obscured the stairs leading down. “Through there. They can’t have found all of them. One should be clear.”

“Anyone got a better idea?” I asked.

“Whatever we’re going to do, we should do it now,” Rynn said before lobbing a smoke grenade at the mercenaries to renewed rounds of shouts followed by gunfire.

There were so many of them now.

I narrowed my eyes at crates being pulled through by the Zebras under Nicodemous’s direction. With IAA logos stamped on the sides. Research equipment, lots of it.

More thunder rolled overhead, and for the first time since the gate opened I heard the armor—it was laughing.

They were going to try and find the suit. Rynn, seeing where my eyes had wandered, said, “The suit doesn’t do them any good if they’re trapped here.”

No, it didn’t, but was I willing to gamble everything on that?

I couldn’t, not when there was a sliver of a chance they’d uncover it.

Somehow, some way, Michigan figured out where my mind had wandered. Maybe we weren’t that different. “It’s in the main temple, just down the steps. It’s the largest building here. You can’t miss it. The tomb should be somewhere in the basement.”

I nodded. That would have to do.

The armor, no longer bothering to hide its intent, laughed once again. I’d see how hard it laughed once I buried it. To Michigan I said, “Get the portal open; we’ll follow as soon as we can.” Or try . . .

“Down the staircase, near the harbor. There’s a temple, one painted blue and yellow that has a portal around back. I think it opens somewhere in the Andes Mountains. It’s remote—they shouldn’t have found it yet.”

It’d have to do. I nodded.

“Down the steps, past the main temple, behind the blue-and-yellow temple. We’ll try to keep it open as long as we can,” Michigan repeated to me.

Rynn nodded and lobbed two of our remaining smoke grenades at the mercenaries. It resulted in another round of gunfire but achieved the main goal—cover.

Michigan lost no time darting into the brush. Texas gave me one last look and shake of his head. “Goddamn it, I can’t believe it—after four years we might actually get out of this hell-bound magic mousetrap.” He followed after Michigan, leaving Rynn, Carpe, and me.

Carpe was staring at me, his eyes uncharacteristically wide. “Carpe, the best thing you can do now is help them get that portal open and try to keep it open.”

Carpe didn’t need any more prodding. He shot right through the foliage after them.

As I watched him disappear, I got the gut feeling he’d been on the verge of saying something else. I wondered about it only for a moment as I hunkered down under another volley of bullets.

“Ready to bury the Electric Samurai for good?” Rynn said, and hefted a roll of dynamite from his bag.

I watched as the mercenaries spread out, heading for the buildings.

The sooner we had the armor buried under a pile of rubble, the better. I got ready to make a break for it just as the slim, frail figure of Nicodemous stepped into the sunlight, which just made him look more sickly, his robes swallowing his thin frame. Once again I got the impression he was looking straight at me with those cruel red eyes. I felt Rynn tense beside me.

Nicodemous whistled, and the mercenaries stopped.

There was a tug at my shoulder. “Alix,” Rynn said. I gave Shangri-La a last look. All that treasure . . .

I felt the cold influence of the armor, its desperation flooding my veins. But for once it wasn’t trying to wrench control over me. Less concerned with my intentions now and more concerned with getting me to it, though where the change in heart came from . . .

I shook the thought out of my head as another round of coordinated bullets came our way. If it was going to cooperate now out of some last-ditch effort to escape, so be it. The enemy of my enemy . . .

“This way,” I said to Rynn, and bolted for the steps that led to the temple entrance, bullets chasing our feet until we spilled through the heavy wooden doors.

As soon as we were inside, Rynn grabbed one of the massive carved doors and put his back into closing it. I followed his lead, and the two of us managed to fit the wooden slabs into the metal slots. No sooner did we have it fixed in place than the jostling from the other side started as the mercenaries tried to push their way through.

“That should hold them for an hour or so,” Rynn said, backing away and checking the windows. They were high but not insurmountable.

A breeze—cooler than occurred outside—brushed against the back of my neck, followed by another round of thunder.

“Time to take a walk down a deep, dark tomb,” I said to cover my own nerves more than anything else. I grabbed one of the lamps, lit it, and headed for the stairs leading down, Rynn close on my heels and Captain surveying from the bag.

Please, universe, for once don’t let this one turn into an unmitigated disaster.

As I brushed a patch of cobwebs away from the narrow path in front of me, I figured that with my going rate of luck, that was a slim chance.