I glance behind us. “You call all thatnotputting me in danger?”
“Things could always be worse,” Cec mutters, looking just as glum as when Bes told him we were going to Gino’s place.
When the car lurches forward unexpectedly, Cec reaches over and searches for my hand. I help him along by grasping his first, tightening my grip on his fingers. They’re warm and dry and exactly what I need right now. And, luckily, my hands have mostly healed over from their brush with the temple.
Anders slowly inches off the metal down into the dark, the sound of gravel popping beneath the tires. From what I can make out of the cavern, I’d guess it’s around three times Bes’s height of just over six feet. Though I can’t see further than a couple car lengths, so I have no idea if it persists the same way.
Once we’re on even ground, the car comes to a stop again. We sit idly in the near-darkness. The engine chips away at my nerves while the metal gears that lowered the floor down quietly hoist it back up, taking the last bit of sunlight with it.
“That’s quite a grip you’ve got.” Cec squeezes my hand back. “A fool might think you’re afraid.”
I whisper into the near-darkness. “Fools always speak the most truth.”
The last thing I see as the impending gloom envelopes us whole is Bes glancing back at me, his gaze flashing when it settles on our hands entwined.
Only when the final thundering clunk sounds, and we’re bereft of all light, does Anders flip on the headlights and gradually start down the tunnel.
I breathe out, working to calm my hastened pulse. “Thank the Lord for electricity.”
Bes huffs. “Edison or Tesla might be a more reliable source.”
Ah joy, Bes’s attitude is back.As Anders inches down the underground passageway, however, I find I’m grinning.
I can’t claim to be well-versed in the language of love, but I could swear he sounded jealous. And while Bes proves to be difficult for me to read at times, some part of him cares for me. Or, at least might be bothered by seeing Cec and I holding hands, even if it will never mean what he thinks it does. Bes promised to protect me, but I think it’s become more than that.
It has for me, at least.
Cec’s hand in mine weighs heavy now. I hope he hasn’t read into it the way Bes clearly did.
I squeeze Cec’s hand once and pry mine from it with little resistance.
“Thanks, old chap,” I say, low enough Bes won’t hear.
Cec dips his head and matches my volume. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Bes winces out of the corner of my eye.I guess he did hear us.Or it’s his injuries bothering him.
The far-reaching beam of the headlights illuminates the tunnel. Surface rough with carved rock, it’s taller and wider than I initially thought.You could fit a tank through here, is all I can think.
I’m more than grateful for the breathing room, though.
I’ve been put through a lot of shit in my short life: heading off to unknown places at a moment’s notice, eating questionable foods, never sleeping in the same place for a single night and often not in a bed. Worse predicaments than the one I currently find myself in have threatened to consume me.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for the twists and turns this expedition has taken, though. If a week ago, someone told me I’d be running from fascists with a stolen amulet that supposedly has magic powers, driving through a secret tunnel underneath a crumbling castle in the Dolomites, I’d have laughed in their faces.
Luckily, our journey to the center of the earth is short-lived.
A warm, flickering light at the end of the tunnel guides us into a rounded room the size of a baseball field. The walls dance with fire from the blazing iron torches, alighting the dozens more automobiles sitting unused, like a mechanical graveyard. Most of the metal beasts we pass happen to be the two-door model of Fiat compared to our four-door, and in different colors.
Warm flames flicker across the ancient stone walls. They remind me of our time at the club, before things went south, and how strange I thought it was then that they weren’t using any electricity. And it remains strange still. Although it’s possible so small a town doesn’t have the infrastructure for electricity yet,there must be a reason why it’s not being used where readily available, like near the port.
Anders heads for an open spot, where we come to a screeching halt between a faded yellow two-seater Fiat and another green one with dark red rust circling its wheel wells.
“Why would you have so many of the same exact car?” I ask, rolling my window up with the crank. “Won’t people grow suspicious?”
Bes throws the door open and steps out. “You give the average person far too much credit.”
I raise a brow.He’s not wrong.
