“I’m well aware of that. It’s a hell hole.” I glanced at the dolls still lining the wall in their buggies, staring at me. A shiver shook my spine.

  Balthazar snorted, staring at me defiantly.

  I could practically see the wheels turning in his mind, assessing my motives.

  Finally, he broke eye contact. “Fine,” he said. He crossed the room, stood before Roman, and touched the metal restraints.

  The irons securing Roman to the ceiling melted, and he crumpled to the ground like a bag of sand.

  “Roman!” I cried out, rushing to his side. I scooped him in my arms and struggled to my feet. He was dead weight in my hands, all two hundred plus pounds. “Where can I put him? Anywhere but here,” I grunted, straining from his weight.

  Balthazar coolly assessed me. Without answering, he pivoted and stalked from the room.

  I staggered behind him, determined to not let Roman fall.

  Balthazar opened a door, and we entered a prison cell, much like the cell Roman was kept in at the Hypogeum beneath the Colosseum.

  Water dripped from the ceiling. The room was dark and dingy but didn’t have the smell of decay.

  “Drop him anywhere. He can drink from that leak in the ceiling, and I’ll make sure he gets enough sustenance to survive,” Balthazar said, sounding bored and disinterested.

  Given the weight, I crouched and lay Roman on the ground as gently as possible. Then, I let a few drops of water spill into my hands and sniffed it. It smelled somewhat fresh.

  Roman pulled his legs up toward his chest and curled into a ball.

  I touched his cheek, lowered my head, and whispered. “I’ll return as soon as I can, my love. You heal and grow strong again.” I kissed him softly, then rose and whirled to face Balthazar.

  “How do I know you won’t betray me?” I said, an edge to my voice.

  “You can’t, can you? You’ll simply have to take a chance. I promise you I won’t bother to care for him while you’re away, but I’ll have one of my servants do the job.” Balthazar yawned.

  I shook my head and glanced at Roman.

  He’d already fallen asleep, probably exhausted from his ordeal and injuries.

  “How will I find you again? I don’t even know where we are. We could be in France for all I know,” I said.

  Balthazar chuckled. “France,” he said, grinning. “Why would I take you to France? I only took my lover there.”

  My stomach twisted thinking of my mom and Balthazar cavorting around Paris or Marseille, the oldest French cities. “So, where are we then? Are you going to leave it to chance whether I can even find you again?”

  “Of course not. Leave it to me.” He swaggered toward me and waved his arm.

  Suddenly, my feet were glued to the ground like he’d done when I met him. I struggled to lift my feet, but nothing happened. They might as well have been encased in cement.

  Balthazar crouched and lifted my dress. He stroked my shin, my knee, and my thigh.

  Bile rose in the back of my throat from his touch. “What are you doing?” I tried to grab his hair, but he shoved my hand away.

  “I’m ensuring you won’t get lost or betray me.” He plucked my dagger from its sheath and held it before me. Then, he waddled behind me. He sliced my leg from the ankle, behind my knee, and up to my butt.

  I screamed from the pain.

  Balthazar wiped the blade of my dagger back and forth across my skin, coating it with blood from my wound. Then, he rose and showed it to me.

  “This dagger will always know your exact location. And, since it’s bonded with you, you’ll be able to find it. It will be like a beacon to you and a way to keep track of you. I’ll be able to watch you from your dagger, so you won’t be able to hide from me. If I don’t like what you’re up to, I’ll simply kill Alexander, and then I will kill you.”

  I glared at him, breathing in quick, angry snorts. “You’re a bastard.”

  “I am. To me, that’s not an insult. It’s a compliment.” He inclined his head and studied me, a slight smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “You’re different than Alina.”

  “How so?” I said, gritting my teeth.

  “You’re stronger than she was when I met her,” he said, waving the dagger in the air to dry the blood on the blade.

  I don’t know why, but that made me happy to hear. “Good. Then, I’ll finish the job she started.”

  Balthazar clenched his jaw, and the muscles in his cheeks twitched.

  “I’m going to destroy you,” I snarled. “I’m going to find your weakness. Every demon, or darkness, or whatever you call yourself, has a weakness. I will find yours and bring you down.” The strength of certainty flooded my veins like a power surge.

  His nostrils flared. “That’s where you’re wrong, my sweet.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  He smiled and shook his head. “One thing you will find out, Olivia, is this. As long as you live, you’ll lose everyone you care about. I’ll make certain of that.”

  “I will kill you, Balthazar,” I stated. “I will find your weakness and bring you down. I will destroy you if it takes my last dying breath.”

  Balthazar let out a wicked laugh. “Your mother said the exact same thing to me, and where is she now? She’s buried deep in the ground, rotting. If Alina couldn’t kill me, you can’t either.”

  “You’re wrong,” I snarled.

  “Stop talking!” Balthazar shouted as if frustrated. “You talk all tough, but you’re as weak as they come. Now find me the journal!” He swept his arm through the air in a grand gesture.

  Everything around me grew dark. I couldn’t see, smell, or feel a thing. Then, the wind whistled next to my ears, and I landed with a thud on my back right next to Emily’s burned-out home, the blood from my wounds dribbling into the Earth.

  Olivia

  I came to consciousness in Emily’s old yard as elephants stampeded on my brain.

  Good God, what happened to me? My head feels like it was hit by a Mack truck.

  I rubbed my temples and the back of my neck to relieve the pain.

  The long branches of the willow tree danced and swayed in the breeze as I massaged myself. The sun felt good on my arms, giving me comfort.

  And then it all came back to me: Roman was in a cockroach-infested prison, and I was here. I’d left him bleeding, his ankle shattered, and his spirit barely clinging to his body. If I didn’t find that stupid journal, he’d be dead, and I’d be ruined.

  I dropped my head into my hands.

  “What have I done?” I whispered.

  The sound of rapid footsteps made me look up in alarm.

  Marcellious rushed from inside the burnt-out remains of the house. “Olivia! Bloody hell. What happened to you? Where did you and Roman go?”

  Without thinking, I scrambled to my feet, rushed toward him, and threw my arms around him. “I’m so glad to see you!”

  Marcellious stiffened, holding his arms away from me, but I didn’t care.

  “Balthazar has Roman, and he’s dying! He hung us both from the ceiling in his den of nightmares and showed me all the daggers from all the time travelers he’s murdered. And then he showed me my mother’s life by putting a drop of blood on the blade of her knife, and I saw her doing all sorts of terrible things with him.”

  Marcellious gave me a few tentative pats on the back, then placed his hands on my shoulders and eased me away.

  “Slow down, slow down. You’re raving like a madwoman.” An uncharacteristically gentle smile creased his face. “Slow down and start at the beginning. Balthazar took you and Roman somewhere?”

  “Yes, I don’t know where, though. We ended up in this horrible place filled with cockroaches the size of my face. They clicked and hummed and crawled all over us.”

  Marcellious’ lips pulled back, and his hands dropped from my shoulders. “That does sound ghastly.”

  “It was awful.” I rubbed my arms, still feeling their wicked little legs crawling all over me. “And then Balthazar did what I said and showed me parts of my mother’s life. My mother had many lovers when she wasn’t with Balthazar. Apparently, they had what you might call an open relationship.”

  I wrinkled up my nose.

  “Whoa, whoa, your mother was Balthazar’s lover?” Marcellious arched backward as if I’d hit him with a log.

  I nodded. “They supposedly had some sort of special relationship throughout time. And when Balthazar was away, my mother took other lovers.”

  “That’s not uncommon, Olivia,” Marcellious said evenly. “I find it hard to think you’re that naive.”

  “Of course, I know it’s common,” I said, my arms shooting into the air. “But she was my mother. Don’t you get it?”

  “Mothers are only human,” he said, playing Devil’s advocate.

  “How can you say that? She didn’t love me and tried to kill me when I was born. That hurts,” I said. In the back of my mind, I marveled that I was telling all this to Marcellious, who barely tolerated me.

  And he was listening intently.

  What had happened to him while we’d been gone?

  “I know all about a mother’s rejection, so don’t think you’re special.” Marcellious’s expression grew ugly, letting me know the real Marcellious was still there.

  I continued talking, wanting to take advantage of his generous mood. “So, now I’ve got to find my mother’s journal. Balthazar wants it. And he’ll only release Roman if I can produce this mysterious book, and no one seems to know where it is. Roman might die, Marcellious, and it’s all my fault. And Balthazar kept my dagger!”

  A few pesky tears escaped my eyes.

  “Don’t fret,” Marcellious said, patting my back. “Roman is the strongest man I know. He was a gladiator. He’s survived worse. He’ll live.”

  His effusive comfort baffled me.

  Emily appeared in the distance, stopped, and stared at me. Then, she broke out in a run. She threw her arms around me when she reached me and hugged me tightly.

  “Oh, Olivia! You’re back! We were both worried sick. You’ve been gone for three days!”

  “Three days? I can’t believe we were gone so long.” I eased away from her.

  Her blond hair glistened like she’d washed it, and her blue eyes shone. She clasped both of my hands and said, “Where’s Roman? What happened to him?”

  “Oh, gosh, Emily! He’s badly injured, and Balthazar is holding him captive. I had to leave him as collateral until I find Alina’s journal.” I turned toward Marcellious. “We have to go back and find Grey Feather. He must know more than he lets on. I’m desperate, Marcellious. If Roman dies, I may as well kill myself.”

  His eyebrows rose on his forehead. “Let’s not go that far. Like I said, he’s a strong warrior.”

  “We can’t go anywhere,” Emily said, looking me up and down. “You’re badly injured.”

  I glanced down, noticing a gaping cut on my arm and gashes on the back of my leg, from ankle to ass. “Balthazar threw me against the wall, and I must have cut myself on the stones.”

  “So, that’s it, then. Let’s stay here. Let me care for you, and then we’ll go,” Emily said.

  I shook my head. “I can’t stay, Em. Don’t you see? If I don’t find my mother’s writing, Roman will die.”

  My voice quavered.

  “When she makes her mind up, there’s no stopping her,” Marcellious said.

  “Well, at least let me patch you up,” Emily said. “I’ve found some healing herbs. Let me put a poultice on your wounds, and we can get on our way.”

  “I’ll go get the horses. I’ll meet you out here as soon as you’re done tending to Olivia,” Marcellious said, giving Emily a warm smile.

  As Emily hustled me toward the house, I asked, “Why is Marcellious so nice to me?”

  “While you were gone, we got to know one another. We only had each other, so we talked a lot. He is just a lonely man looking for comfort in a woman.”

  She dragged me into the far reaches of the house, where one lone table and two chairs sat. Both pieces of furniture looked relatively intact.

  I studied Emily but said nothing.

  After Emily cleansed my wounds and applied soothing herbs, we both headed outside.

  Marcellious stood near the horses, holding three sets of reins. The fourth one grazed nearby.

  “Ready?” he said, looking at Emily.

  “I think so.” She turned to study me. “You don’t look so good, Olivia.”

  I felt terrible—weak, exhausted, bruised, and battered—but I was determined to find Chief Grey Feather. “I’m fine.”

  “Let me help you up,” Marcellious said, handing the horses to Emily.

  I stood next to my horse, clutching his mane. Marcellious put his arms around my waist and lifted me into the air.

  I swung my leg over my steed, and Emily handed me the reins. I wanted to collapse onto my horse, sink onto its back, and fall deeply asleep. Why did I feel so awful? I’d been injured before. All my strength seemed to have fled my body.

  “Do you know the way?” I asked Marcellious as he helped Emily up.

  “Of course,” he said with a sneer. “How do you think I got the name, Hunting Wolf? I’m an expert tracker.”

  Excuse me, I wanted to snap back, but I just didn’t have the strength.

  Marcellious leaped onto the back of his horse, and we were away.

  We traveled for days to return to tribal land. I kept to myself mostly, conversing little, thinking about Roman.

  I hope he’s okay. I hope he lives long enough for me to find the journal.

  As the days went by, I grew weaker and weaker. At times, I could barely stay upright on my horse. Instead, I slumped over its neck and held on tight.

  Emily and Marcellious remained on either side of me. They tried to get me to converse, but I wanted to crawl into a shell and hide.

  Marcellious had to help me from my horse every evening, where I’d collapse by the fire, shaking, feverish and miserable.

  Emily spoon-fed me broths she made from the game Marcellious killed. But I couldn’t keep it down. By the time two weeks were up, I was barely coherent. I overheard Marcellious and Emily talking in hushed voices around the fire one night as I lay there, sweating and delirious.

  “We’ve got to stop somewhere and let her heal,” Emily said.

  “I think you’re right,” Marcellious said. “She doesn’t look so good. I’m afraid she will die if we don’t get her fixed up right.”

  “Oh, what are we going to do?” Emily lamented. “She’s determined to continue this quest, but I think it’s to her detriment.”

  “I don’t know,” Marcellious said, “but we’d better think of something, fast.”

  That night, I dreamed Roman lay dying, covered in cockroaches. They feasted on his eyes and nose and burrowed inside his ear canals. I fought with them, stomping on them and slicing them with my knife, but they kept coming and coming and coming.

  “Olivia! Olivia!” Emily hissed in my ear. “Wake up! You’re having a nightmare!”

  I awoke with a start.

  Marcellious stood watch in the moonlight several yards away.

  Embers still glowed in the fire.

  I was drenched with sweat as if my fever had finally ceased. “Oh, god, Emily, it was awful. Roman died. And these horrible insects were eating his flesh.”

  I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed.

  Emily shushed me and fed me more broth until I could finally sleep.

  In the morning, Marcellious said, “You’re riding with me today, Olivia. You’re too weak to go it alone.”

  I didn’t care. I sat behind him, slumped against his back, in and out of more delirious dreams.

  Late in the afternoon, I looked up, recognizing the familiar plains landscape where the Native Americans had their encampment.

  “We’re almost there!” I peered into the distance.

  There were no signs of teepees along the riverbank. No smoke drifting from the tops of dwellings, no herd of horses, nothing.

  “It’s gone,” I said. “They’ve disappeared!”

  Marcellious murmured something about how the tribe wandered and “Don’t worry, I can find them,” but I didn’t listen. Instead, I fell from the back of Marcellious’ horse and landed on the hard ground. There I drifted into welcome unconsciousness, ready to be done with everything.

  Roman

  With a hoarse, horrified scream, I awakened in this windowless, lightless prison hellhole, confident that cockroaches were eating my face. I could feel their tiny legs crawling all over my cheeks, feel the pinch of their jaws as they pulled at my flesh, sucking it into their mouths. I clawed at my skin, uncertain if I was still immersed in a bad dream or awake in this nightmare.

  Only when I touched the rasp of my stubble-covered jaw, free of insects, did I realize I was caught in another delusion. I still burned with a fever, which had taken a toll on my sanity.

  This place was well and truly hell, far worse than anything I experienced in the bowels of the Colosseum.

  Day and night came and went in a blur. With no light in this cell, save for that which came through the door occasionally, I could never be sure what time it was.

  My stomach cramped around the meager, random offerings of food tossed into this chamber by unseen hands. When I heard the jingle of keys and the click of the lock, I’d scramble across the grimy floor on my hands and knees. I didn’t have the strength to rise. The sharp shooting pains stabbing my ankle continued, unabated, without mercy.

  The rats emerged at the same time as the door cracked open. I had to fight with the vermin to get a meal. Sometimes the rats were too fast, and they’d scurry underground with my food before I reached the door. Then, I’d curl where I lay and drift in and out of consciousness as I waited for my next meal.

  Water dripped from the ceiling incessantly. At times it seemed to pound at my eardrums in a thunderous boom. At other times it sounded far away. When I had the strength, I’d crawl toward the sound, position myself beneath it, and open my mouth. The water, which tasted of rust and mold, filled my mouth painstakingly slowly. Often, I’d cough it all out before I had a chance to swallow, and then I’d have to start all over again.

 

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