Jude; The Fallen (The Fallen Series, Book 2) (23 page)

“Think there’s anything useful inside?” Jude curled his hands on the edge of the sarcophagus, ready to push it open.

"Don't!" Coriander cried. "Don't open it! You'll-"

"What?" he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Please don't tell me you were going to use the word 'desecrate' in reference to me." The big angel smirked. "Please."

Her face scrunched up, disgruntled. "Fine. But can't you bless it first or something?"

"I'm not the Pope, Coriander. Water is the extent of my purview." Jude glanced down at the hieroglyphics carved into the lid. "And I don't think this chick is Catholic." Ignoring the squeak of protest from Coriander, Jude pushed against the lid, and it groaned with the friction of stone on stone as it moved.

“Jude,” she warned. “This is not a good idea.”

He grunted and put his back into it, shoving harder. “What do you mean? I thought this would be right up your alley.” Sweat beaded on his forehead and he grinned at her. “Isn’t this what you do?”

Her hands planted on her hips and she frowned. “No!” she shouted. “I mean, yes, but not like this! You don’t know what could happen when you touch-“

A louder creak of moving stone made her head snap up and her face go white. Jude paid no attention to the fluttering of her hands as she tried to stop him, and pushed the lid off the top by a few inches, enough for a smattering of dust to waft up from the interior.

“Jude,” she said again, her voice more insistent.

“Hang on, I’ve almost got it off.”

“
Jude.
”

“What?” he snapped, straightening.

“Oh, you idiot!” she cried, grabbing at him and running for the opening, which was swiftly closing behind the appearance of a hidden door.

Coriander pulled her fingers back just in time before it shut with a loud thud, trapping them inside. She whirled around on him with a murderous glare. “You feather-brained moron! Look what you’ve done!”

He swallowed sheepishly. “Sorry.”

She closed her eyes for a second and drew in a calming breath.

“I really am sorry.”

“I know. It’s fine,” she said, tapping her finger on her cheek. “Give me a second. I need to think.”

The horror of the situation finally dawned on him, and a tiny flutter of panic settled in his throat. Coriander, on the other hand, had relaxed, all traces of her earlier ire gone, her features set in concentration.

“Oh, God,” he groaned as his eyes darted around the room. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“Unclench, sunshine.”

“We're trapped in a tomb, Coriander! How can you be this calm?” Jude bellowed.

She gave him a bright smile and knelt down, digging though her bag. “Happens to me all the time. No big deal, we'll just...work around it. I'm sure you've been in worse scrapes before.” She waved her hand, blowing him off. “Fiery demons and the whole twelve circles of hell are a lot more complicated than the tomb of a lesser known Egyptian princess, I'm sure.”

“Nine,” he frowned. “It's nine, and I would rather be taking tea in any of them than sitting here on my ass while you try to MacGyver us out of this with a roll of duct tape and some incense!” Jude rubbed a defeated hand over his face and rolled his eyes skyward. “Why do you do this to me?”

Coriander's bright smile widened. “Because, big guy, some days you're the pigeon, and some days you're the statue. And with a butt like that,” she said, smirking at his rear, “expect some shit. Besides, I told you not to touch it.”

Hours passed as Jude watched Coriander trace the perimeter of the chamber over and over again, scrutinizing the carvings on the walls. She murmured under her breath every so often, stopping to check and recheck panels of stone he knew she probably had memorized by now. He checked his watch again for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, his patience having ramped from manageable to hell and gone in the space of the last hour. His irritation finally got the better of him, and he stood up and brushed himself off.

“There's got to be a way out.”

“There isn't.”

“There has to be,” he scoffed. “I mean, when they were building this thing, if you got trapped inside-”

“Then it’s 'Welcome to the Rest of Your Afterlife'. It's a tomb, Jude, not a Motel 6. You check in. You don't check out.”

Jude leaned against the rough stone wall and crossed his arms, scrutinizing the other side of the tomb as she returned her attention to the duffel. “So, if there's no way out, how do you propose we get out of here, Indiana? You got a spare skeleton key in your purse? Or were you just planning on me pulling a Superman and busting through that wall over there?”

The stiffening of Coriander's spine caught his eye as she paused from rifling through her bag. She stood up with a slow ease and turned to face him, the glow of the lantern light casting shadows across her lovely face. Her lovely, pissed-off face.

She came to stand in front of him and held up a hand in his face, all five fingers splayed wide for him to see.

“One,” she said, folding her thumb into her palm, “We've had the discussion regarding you comparing me to fictional archaeologists and glorified treasure hunters, so cut it out. Two,” she folded down her index finger, “It's not a purse, it's a satchel. It carries more important things than tampons and lip gloss. Things that will most likely end up saving your feathery ass. Three,” the middle finger came down, “If you want to play Superman, be my guest, but these walls are over thirty feet thick in places, and while I do not doubt your ability to smash through them like a horny musk ox on a rampage, they will hit back. And you, big guy, are without a healer.” The ring finger came down and she fixed him with a penetrating stare. “Four. If you can remember how it feels to have faith, have a little in me now. I got this. It's what I do.”

“And five?”

She folded her pinky down, making the tight fist. The quick jab to the midsection was only hard enough to make him smile.

“That was five, jackass,” she smirked, “Now quit second-guessing me and stay out of my way. I'm about to amaze you.”

He just shook his head.
Been there, done that, bought the fucking T-shirt.
“Why do I feel like every day with you is a Spielberg film?”

“I don't know,” she answered, pulling a small brush from her satchel and taking the flashlight to the wall. She brushed dust and dirt away from the carvings, and her lips moved as she read. Shadows crossed her line of sight and she huffed, “Can you please move your heft? Your abs of steel are blocking my light. Yes,” she hissed as he moved and the darkness receded. She peered closer at the wall. “This is it. The answer is here.” She tucked the brush away and started to feel the hieroglyphics gingerly with her fingers. “And quit with the drama queen theatrics, you big baby. I mean, no sharks, no Nazis, no pirate ships, no aliens, no...no, no
sharks
.”

“Let me put this in terms you can understand, Coriander.”

She turned around, and the annoyed glare in her eyes made him smile.

“What?”

His grin broadened and he held up a fist. The glare became a full on frown as he raised his index finger. “One. Buried treasure. Two,” the middle finger came up, “booby-trapped tombs.” Ring finger. “Three. Mummies and skeletons and shit. Four,” he raised his pinky, “daring escapes from things trying to kill us. And five,” he pulled his thumb back, revealing an open palm, “Whenever I get close to you, I hear a fucking John Williams score.”

Another fat red curl popped free from her ponytail as she scowled, “Laugh it up, chuckles. I'm trying to actually
do
something to get us out of here, so you just stand there and be man-candy while the big girl figures this one out.” She turned back to the writing on the wall.

“So get on with it,” he shot back, reaching out with his open palm to smack her hard on the backside. “Big girl.”

“Jude!” she yelled as she pitched forward, off balance. Her hand shot out to catch herself and pressed against the wall to break her stumble.

Coriander's fingers found the small outline of the scarab, and they pushed as her weight came forward. A loud groan erupted a few feet to the right and dust billowed into the chamber as the hidden door opened, allowing precious sunlight to spill down into the space.

She shrieked in excitement and ran over to the opening. “That's it! The golden steps! This is the way out, come on!” She grabbed up the satchel and lantern and pushed him to the door.

Jude dug in his heels and threw up his hands. “Wait! You don't know-”

“What color are those steps?” She pointed to the sunlight streaming on the stairs that led up and out.

“Dusty?”

“Gold, you idiot! Come on!” she shouted. Coriander stretched out her hand and reached back for him, the sunlight illuminating her frame in blinding splendor. Confidence shone like stars in her eyes. “Come on, Jude. Faith, remember?”

Faith. Was it really that simple? He was about to find out. Jude grabbed her hand and ran up the steps behind her into the light.

“I told you I would find it. I find everything,” she announced with a sly grin as they emerged.

“Indiana...let it go.”

The first thing Jude noticed was that the golden light he thought was sunshine was actually the illumination from a number of fiery torches staked around the perimeter of the hidden chamber. The second was that Coriander was stock still, her vision and her gun trained on a middle-aged man in a rumpled, sandy beige suit with the distinct and nauseating aroma of brimstone wafting around him. The asshole was smiling.

This was their demon. And no Ashtiru.
Fuck.

Full dark blanketed the night sky as Alex pulled the sedan into a tiny lot near a cluster of boarded-up buildings, and threw it into park. He got out of the car, unconcerned about leaving it behind. It wouldn’t matter anyway, he thought wryly. He was leaving everything behind. A rental car seemed insignificant in comparison.

He started to open the back door and grab his bag, but his hand fell before it reached the handle. Did it contain anything that would make a difference now? The scent of sand overwhelmed him on a sharp breeze. He lifted his head and sniffed into the air. The answer was no.

Alex turned and walked down the smattering of broken pavement serving as road, toward the desert.

His shoes hit soft Egyptian sand for the first time in centuries.

A bone-deep ache, swift and blinding, brought him to his knees. Alex pitched forward as a muffled cry escaped through clenched teeth, his hands shooting out to brace himself from falling over completely. As soon as his fingers threaded through sand, he groaned, the sound a mixture of pain and remembrance.