Underneath Read online

  “What’s up?” I asked, my hands resting on my satchel. It wasn’t going to hold me up if I went down due to weak knees, but damn it, I sure would try.

  Darren cleared his throat, shifting his stance, his eyes seemingly on everything but me: my portrait of Adara, my box of knick-knacks yet unpacked, and my high-heeled boots, discarded on the floor next to my desk. I was suddenly self-conscious of my green socks with the little dancing leprechauns.

  “I was wondering if maybe we could do dinner.” His gray eyes held something similar to nervousness behind his glasses, though I could have been imagining it.

  “Like, a date?”

  He nodded, his hair falling in his face. Those long, smooth fingers brushed strands away, and I swayed a little more. Maybe swooned a bit.

  “A real date?” I asked.

  He nodded, a little slower this time. His weight moved from left foot to right. I could taste his worry on the air. It sped my own heartbeat.

  I was tempted to drag it out. See if I could turn the nervousness up a notch. Instead, I smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Letting out a deep breath, Darren patted his heart and teased, “You had me there. Only for a minute.”

  “I’d like to have you for longer than that, if it’s okay,” I said playfully, my cheeks flaming. Holy Cerridwen, I was blushing.

  I felt a little better when he blushed, too.

  *

  Something I’d noticed about Darren: he was invariably early. Adara met him at the door in her Spongebob pajama pants because I was still working on my make-up. I shuddered to think what she was capable of saying. The girl had a mouth that never closed.

  Rather than finding Darren curled in the fetal position on my living room floor, Adara standing over him with a butcher knife, I found him chatting amicably with my daughter at the kitchen table. A glass of chocolate milk was cupped in Adara’s hands. Darren’s, too. Undeniably cute, yet just a bit strange.

  “Hey, Darren!” I greeted my date, going for nonchalant. My voice cracked, so I failed miserably. “Are you going to Joan’s tonight?” I asked Adara, grabbing my little black purse—used only when dressing up—from the table. My satchel was so much more emotionally available.

  “Yep. Her mom’s going to pick me up in an hour.” Adara motioned with her eyes to Darren and nodded, moving one hand under the table to give me a thumbs-up.

  My date definitely noticed. What looked like an amused smile crossed his face, and he repeated the gesture.

  Dear Gods, they were already buds.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow after school.” I kissed Adara on the head, and then turned to Darren. He sipped his chocolate milk. “Are you ready?”

  “Sure.” Standing, he picked up his cup. A thin line of liquid graced his upper lip, and I was hot to lick it off. He beat me to the punch, licking his lips as he took the glass to the sink and proceeded to rinse it out.

  Based on that alone, I was tempted to ask him to marry me.

  *

  I had really thought it would be easier.

  Maybe it was the time lapse between Eli and Darren. I’d married my husband fresh out of high school when we were young, with love and stars in our eyes and nothing in the bank. He was a good father and a good partner. We built an incredible life together.

  Eli was a firefighter. It only takes one fire to destroy everything.

  At the restaurant, I found myself touching the locket often, trying to draw strength from my husband’s memory as Darren and I tried to make conversation. How was it that two people could chat so easily in one setting but clam up at another? I suspected it was entirely my fault. Eli’s death had destroyed me socially.

  I studied Darren across the table, equal parts lusting for some action after four barren years and clammy with the thought of being with someone who wasn’t my husband. My first and only, at that.

  Darren raised an eyebrow. “Penny for what’s behind that look?”

  I snapped out of it, realizing my elbow was resting on the table and my chin was in my hand. Had I been staring at him like a love-struck teenager? Disgusting. I let my hand drop to my lap and shrugged. “I guess you ought to know. I’m a widow.”

  He nodded once. “Missy told me. I’m so sorry.”

  I met his eyes, a little more determined and empowered knowing he had spoken with Missy about me. “It’s been four years since he died. And as long since, um…” I coughed, then took a sip of my water. “You know. Since I’ve been with someone.”

  “Oh.” I watched the comprehension and the very slow dawn of the Look on his face, the face of a man who wondered if he was going to get lucky.

  “I’m off my game tonight, Darren,” I told him, reaching for my wine glass. “So let’s jump-start this before I run away screaming.”

  His laughter released some of my tension. I couldn’t even remember the sound of Eli’s voice, much less his laughter.

  Cue the beginning of great conversation. Sometimes it just took a little honesty.

  *

  The kissing and heavy petting began in the car. It was sad that I’d almost lost entirely how it felt to have a man’s touch pool my body with sensation. His lips were soft and demanding, one hand alternately in my hair, pulling gently to make me moan, or on my breast. Red lights, stop signs, any chance for tactile gratification, all the way to my house.

  For the first time in many years, when I made it to bed, Eli was the farthest thing from my mind.

  Chapter 8

  After the best sleep of my single life, I arrived at the Ancient bright and early the next day, hoping to meet Darren at the door for some pre-work smooching. He’d left sometime during the night, his goodbye kiss barely remembered through my haze of satisfaction.

  When his car hadn’t pulled into the lot by eight, I had to give up the wait or else I’d have been late for a meeting with my team. I wasn’t too worried about Darren. We had been up pretty late…

  The morning passed swiftly. There were only a few days until the opening of the Garneria exhibit. Caught in a rush of last-minute necessities, I didn’t find out until lunchtime that Darren hadn’t shown up for work.

  Helen, who was in charge of the Incan exhibit, was nursing a mug of coffee at the scratched Formica table in the break room. I popped my Hot Pocket in the microwave and took a seat across from her, cracking open my soda.

  “Have you seen Darren today?” she asked me, her dark eyes glancing up from underneath her heavy, brown bangs. She looked about forty, but was probably much younger. Evidence of her smoking habit could be found in her yellow fingernails and the leathery texture of her skin.

  For a moment, I thought she was asking me because she knew I’d slept with him. I mentally slapped myself for my idiocy. “No. Why?”

  “His car’s parked out in the security lot but he ain’t here. I need him to sign some papers,” she grumbled, face in her mug. I was tempted to pour the woman another one and force her to drink it. Maybe add some Irish whiskey.

  After inhaling my food, I headed for the back door. The security lot was tucked in an alcove near the museum’s exterior; just ten, sign-posted spots for the 24/7 security guards. Employees often used the lot when they worked late at night. Sure enough, Darren’s little black Beetle with the dented rear bumper crouched in one of the spots. My boots crunched through the snow as I walked over for a closer look. The car was coated in a soft, white blanket.

  The snow had started sometime after midnight.

  I tried his phone three times, but it kept rolling to voicemail.

  I navigated the museum to the security office, marked only by a single gray door and a tinted observation window. Before I could knock, the door opened. The night guard was a big, burly black man I’d only seen in passing, and he was walking out, jingling his car keys and clutching an envelope in his other hand.

  “Hey, George, how are you?”

  “Mrs. King.” He nodded, his shiny head reflecting the overhead lights. He was a good looking man with
dark stubble, darker eyes, and smooth, unlined skin. Completely ageless.

  I had to look up to meet his eyes. “Did you see anyone come in last night?”

  “No, ma’am, I sure didn’t. Why?”

  I took his hand, pulling him to the side as an employee in white, paint-splattered coveralls pushed past us with a cart. “Darren MacBride. His car is in the security lot, but he’s nowhere to be found.”

  George beamed. “Well, Mrs. King, Darren’s had some issues what with that little ole car of his. He mighta come in while I was on my break and left just as quick, findin’ that ole car dead. Coulda called a cab, I reckon.”

  “You’ve got a point,” I mused. “He’s not answering his phone, though. Do you think the cameras might have caught what happened?”

  “ ‘Course! You might ask Javi to pull the tapes for you. I’m off duty. Just came in for my paycheck.” He saluted me with the envelope and gave me an apologetic smile.

  “Thanks, George.” I patted his arm. “You be careful going home.”

  Everyone I asked gave me the same story: Unreliable car. Not uncommon. Worked late often. Despite the consistency, I still felt like something was wrong. Why would his phone be off?

  I rushed through the afternoon. An unnerving tour of the completed exhibit was just a little too much for me, particularly the tomb room. The bodies—skin like leather and paper, the color of dust, and a smell of musty death—literally seeped viscous, tormented energy. I quickly gave my approval and escaped, bowing out of a tenth offer to see the observatory.

  I wasn’t ready. Not yet.

  At five, I walked in the door at home. Adara was sprawled across the living room floor in a tank top and jeans, scratching at a sketch pad. She glanced up, her hair a psychotic halo. “Hey, Momma, how was work?”

  “Good,” I answered noncommittally and took the stairs to my room.

  My daughter wasn’t so easily fooled. I listened to her bare feet stomp up the steps as I stripped off my blouse and reached for a T-shirt in my dimly lit bedroom.

  “What happened?”

  I grimaced, stepping out of my khakis. “Darren didn’t come to work.”

  “So? Maybe he stayed home sick.”

  “His car is in the lot. Nobody has seen him. That seems like a problem to me.” I pulled on a pair of comfy gray sweats and then crossed the room to fix my mussed bedcovers.

  As I lifted the comforter, Darren’s watch flipped out and skidded across the floor.

  Adara was on it like a bloodhound. “I’ll go run the cards.”

  I rolled my eyes, tucking the corners of the blanket under the mattress. “I’m going to call him. Might get real results that way.”

  She pressed her lips together. “For an Empath, you have little respect for divination. I’m going to convert you one day.”

  I rolled my eyes and decided to blame her insolence on her father.

  *

  Of course, Darren didn’t answer. I couldn’t honestly say I expected he would, not after trying so many times earlier with no result.

  I flipped listlessly through TV channels for a while and eventually drifted to sleep. I was jolted from my nap sometime later when Adara yelled for me from upstairs. The panic in her voice had me tripping over my own feet to reach her.

  She was sitting cross-legged on her bedroom floor, Darren’s watch and three Tarot cards lined up before her.

  “Gods, Adara, don’t scare me like that,” I said breathlessly.

  “Sorry. Look, Mom.” She gestured at the spread, tapping her finger on the center card. “The Knight of Cups—that’s Darren. He’s a new love, romance coming in to your life.” She moved her hand to the card on the right. “Nine of Swords. Darkness. Negativity. Nowhere to hide.” Finally, she slid the third card out. I stepped closer, gazing down at a card I knew well.

  Death.

  I knew where he was.

  Chapter 9

  The only lights visible at the Ancient were the expensive exterior lights that lit the building from one corner to another. My tires screeched as I jerked into the security lot, slamming on my brakes behind Darren’s car.

  The sound must have alerted George, who opened the back door with astonishing quickness. He squinted through the glare of my headlights. “Mrs. King? I thought that was your car pullin’ in like the devil himself was after you.”

  “Yes.” I was breathless.

  He stepped back to allow me inside. The door clicked shut, the automatic lock bolting into place.

  “Mrs. King? What are you doin’ here so late? And in your PJs?”

  “George. I think Darren is in Garneria.” I tugged on his hand. “We have to find him. He could be hurt.”

  “It’s just a big hole, Mrs. King. Why you think Mr. MacBride is there?”

  “I just know, George. Please,” I said, heart beating in my throat. “Go down there with me. If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, and I’ll take the heat for it, I promise.”

  Still skeptical but with a good-natured shrug, he let me lead him to Garneria.

  *

  The vaulted door loomed in the half-lights of the exhibit like a monster.

  I knew the code. I’d known the code since day one, but I’d never used it. I hadn’t wanted to use it.

  My fingers trembled. I pushed each of the ten digits as quickly and firmly as I could, bile rising in my throat. The energy, so strong on the safe side of the door, was waiting for me in full force on the other side.

  I let George push it open, his long arm reaching inside to turn on the lights. A single line of fluorescent tubes illuminated a room much smaller than I’d expected, maybe no bigger than my bedroom: plain white walls, a concrete floor, and an innocuous-looking well in the ground.

  The portal to Garneria.

  It was larger than it looked in Missy’s photo. Gesturing for George to precede me, I braced myself for the onslaught.

  The effect was instantaneous. Black covered me like a blanket, cutting off my ability to breathe, see, or speak. I heard nothing but screaming: anguished, terrorized, fearful screaming. I fumbled blindly for the talisman in my pocket as I fell to the floor, writhing under the touch of a million, torturous needles on my skin.

  My fingers closed around the stone, blessed by my daughter before I’d left the house, and her clean light filled me. It pushed back the darkness and pain, cutting the sound of Garneria down to a more bearable dull roar. I waited a moment more, focusing on deep breaths in and out, before opening my eyes.

  George was on his knees beside me, concerned. “Mrs. King? Jesus, Mrs. King, you okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

  I shook my head, pushing myself to a sitting position. My muscles were sore, as if I’d been lifting weights while running a marathon. My skin burned. “I’m fine, George. Open the portal.”

  As he pulled off the top, I stood and made my way on unsteady feet to the ladder.

  The climb down took entirely too long. I focused on George’s large form, a shadow beneath me as he climbed down. Hand over hand, foot over foot, we descended the ladder into Garneria, both of us silent.

  I wasn’t prepared for the ground when it appeared. George hopped off the last few rungs, nimbly for such a large man, and helped me down. My knees shook as I glanced up at the hole of light above us.

  Steeling myself and clutching my talisman, I turned to see Garneria.

  It was magnificent. Gods, it was beautiful. As far as I could see, the cavern stretched. Buildings thrust out of the ground, perfectly formed in a variety of shapes and heights, accented by dark holes for windows and doors. Roads were measured and aligned like the spokes of a wheel, clearly visible from the small hill on which we stood. From the ceiling of the cave, jutting stalactites hung suspended above the city.

  In the midst of it all was the central temple, rising almost to the ceiling. It was a triangular step temple, like those of the Incans or Mayans, made of the same yellow stone of the cave. In the artificial lights set up by the museum, it glinted… ribbons
of quartz?

  “Jesus Christ,” George murmured in awe, dropping to his knees. He made the sign of the cross.

  I said nothing. I noted the numerous dark openings leading from the cavern, where the city stretched even farther than we could traverse. But we wouldn’t need to go there.

  Because Darren was at the top of the temple.

  I breathed his name as I saw a shadow at the apex, unmoving. Then, I was running.

  George may have been big, but he was quick. He matched me stride for stride as we ran down the wide main thoroughfare leading to the temple. Darkened homes flashed by in my peripheral vision. Several times, I thought I saw people standing in doorways, but I brushed it off as hallucinations caused by adrenaline, too worried about Darren to care about shadows where shadows shouldn’t have been.

  The steps were shallow. As we took them two at a time, I noted their rusty color in contrast to the pale, yellow stone. It was dried blood. I could feel the souls connected to it, millions of them, sacrificed atop the temple. The energy reached for me.

  I shut out the emotions as best I could and put on another burst of speed to reach Darren.

  When we crested the top, I stumbled, falling hard on my knees and elbows. The reverberation shook me to the core, almost as much as the sight that met me.

  Darren was splayed naked across a rectangular slab of stone, his face ashen from blood loss. Thick, red liquid oozed from a deep slash in his side, following a crevice in the table until it reached the floor where it slowly made its way to the stairs. His eyes were closed; his body still.

  That wasn’t the only thing to bring me to my knees. Surrounding him were… things. People. A hundred or more of them spread across the top of the temple.

  Their bodies were gaunt and tall—towering giants. They had hollows for cheeks beneath angular bones, bright red eyes without the whites, and sickly yellow skin. They were pretending to be human, but they weren’t. They felt wrong. Alien.

  “So nice of you to join us,” one hissed in perfect English, stepping forward to place a hand over the blood flowing from Darren. Teeth flashed in the being’s mouth, each tooth a sharp point. He probed Darren’s wound with a claw-like finger, and Darren cried out without opening his eyes.

  “Stop!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet.

  “Why?” The creature withdrew from Darren’s side with a sucking sound that made me sick to my stomach. “Because you love him?”