Summary:
Three years after the events that led her to Avalon, Cassie Drake is a wandering the globe and trying to come to terms with her life in the wake of her life-changing first adventure. While in Lisbon, she is contacted by her old friend Ian Foster who asks for her help with a new job, and Cassie welcomes the distraction, eager for some direction for her life. But as they begin on the trail of a strange Aztec relic, they quickly discover that all is not as it seems, and the two adventurers must work together to make it through this quest alive at the same time as they grapple with the nature of their relationship with each other, and the path they want their lives to take.
Teaser:
Cutter looked at Cassie, his brow furrowed and fingers steepled under his nose as he leaned back on his leather sofa. "You know you could always ask your dad for help," he said plainly.
Cassie shifted uncomfortably. "Uhm, I just... I don't think I want him to know quite yet. They might freak about the danger, you know?"
Charlie laughed outright. "The danger? Love, your old man knows danger like no one else! What do you think could possibly happen that would scare him?"
"Well..." Cassie frowned and looked to the side, her gaze becoming distant. "You see..."
The jeep rattled along the jungle road at speeds that were definitely not recommended for such terrain, bouncing and leaping over every pothole and boulder on the way. Ian maintained an iron grip on the steering wheel, his teeth clenched like a vise as he glanced up at the helicopter that was streaking through the sky above, on a crash course directly with the mountain ahead.
"Cassie!" he yelled into his earpiece. "Cassie, you have got to get off of that thing- NOW!"
On the helicopter, Cassie looked around and gulped, then spoke a reply, anxiety clear in her voice even as she ran through her available options with as level a head as you could expect under the circumstances. "Foster! There's no parachutes!"
"It's going- TO CRASH!"
"I know!" She shouted back, not angry with him so much as she was totally at her wit's end. "Well," she said with resignation. "It's been nice knowing you-"
"Cassie, don't even go there! Just get off that helicopter!"
Cassie shook her head and muttered to herself, "Easy for you to say." Glancing out the bay door as the wind rushed by, she saw the mountain was quickly approaching. She had to move now. Taking a deep breath, she looked out at the vast amount of fresh air and the very small chance she had at survival, then threw herself out the side of the chopper.
"OHHHHHHMYYYYGOOOOOODDDDD!"
"Uh, I mean, you just never know," Cassie concluded with a shrug.
A/N: I'm probably going to regret posting this right now, but as long as everyone knows not to expect updates real often right now, as my focus is still mainly on On the Shoulders of Giants, then I think we can all live and let live, right? This is kind of for when I need a creative break from my other story, and won't come off the back burner until that one is done.
The sun was high over the city of Lisbon, its gentle rays trailing down to the bustling crowds below like the early herald of summer, the promise of fair weather on the horizon. It's effects were intoxicating- liquid good cheer and optimism that infectiously spread to all in its path, whether tourist, resident, or otherwise, and the city life was at its peak. Like a shock to the system, the fair tides of late spring quickened and enlivened the step and the smile of all.
Also enlivened was the argument going on between a market vendor and a pretty young woman in a plum-colored shirt standing in front of his booth at the edge of the square. Gesticulating wildly, the portly man haggled with the girl over the price of a particular bronze coin in his collection of nick-knacks and collectibles, and so animated was the exchange that it had drawn something of a crowd around the two, onlookers who were enjoying the proceedings of the hotly-contested sale. The girl jabbed a finger decisively into her palm, rattling off something in Portuguese that made the vendor cross his arms and frown in irritation. His rebuttal came swiftly, and another round of wagering was undertaken.
Amidst the antics of the two figures at the center of the action, no one seemed to notice the slight figure of another young woman with a scarf concealing most of her face and head slip up next to the booth, quietly picking through a couple of random trinkets and figurines before deftly snagging the bronze coin in question and turning on her heel to leave.
Looking back at the table where her intended prize should have been, the young woman arguing saw the empty spot and gasped, while the vendor cursed and swore, immediately garnering the attention of those in the immediate area who were not yet spectating the event. Making a visual sweep of the passing crowd, the girl in the plum shirt spotted the retreating scarf-wearing girl amidst the clamor and locked on to her. Shoving the vendor so hard he nearly toppled, she barreled past him and into the crowd in pursuit of the thief. Almost immediately, Scarf was alerted to the chase and bolted like lightning through the throngs, weaving in and out and pushing through pedestrians, a blur of green shirt and blue jeans and the fringe of her headscarf flapping behind her. Plum Shirt seemed equally matched, ducking, dodging, and jumping through obstacles, staying not more than four paces behind Scarf. Shouts and screams followed them from passers-by, variously alarmed or intrigued by the sudden and random chase.
Scarf overturned a stand of oranges, sending the little orbs scattering behind her, but Plum Shirt deftly jumped the spill and rolled, never seeming to lose forward momentum. Scarf ran into the road, cutting closely in front of a bus which laid on its horn and came to a brake-squealing stop. As she emerged safely on the other side, Plum Shirt kept close behind her, dropping and rolling under the bus that was now stopped in her way. The maneuver cost her a stride or two on Scarf, and as she stood and fixed onto her quarry again, Plum Shirt poured on more effort to try to close the gap between them. Approaching a storefront, Scarf wall-jumped up to grab the under-girder of a balcony and threw herself up to the railing in one fluid motion, her hands rattling the thin steel. Clearing the railing, Scarf's feet landed on the balcony with a clang, then she jumped and grabbed a windowsill and continued working her way toward the roof, with Plum Shirt close behind her.
A flock of pigeons took wing in a confused squabble as the two women sprinted by, two sets of footsteps beating the concrete in a rapid, driving rhythm. The girls soared weightlessly across the rooftops, clearing gaps between buildings and vaulting air conditioning units with tireless agility. Reaching the edge of a building with no other roofs close enough to jump to, Scarf ripped a flag from its pole and slung it over a power line, then ziplined down toward the ground. Plum Shirt was close behind her, with her own improvised trolley made of a gun that she had produced from somewhere on her person, and both girls dropped off at the lowest point, raising two puffs of dust where they hit the street again. Immediately, both of them were off and running again, cutting between two buildings and into some of the more dingy side-streets of Lisbon.
Taking another corner at high speed into a dank alley, Scarf was dodging around a dumpster that was overflowing with garbage when a cry came. "STOP! DON"T MOVE!" As Scarf turned to face her pursuer, Plum Shirt raised a pocket-sized pistol and held it trained on the girl. Shock was obvious even on Scarf's obscured face in the widening of her hazel eyes, and Plum Shirt spoke slowly, deliberately, as she stared at her opponent. "I don't want to do this," Plum Shirt said as she brushed a lock of rich brown hair from her face. "Just give me the coin, and we can both go our ways in one piece."
Some indistinct shouts drifted down to the girls, seemingly from the rooftops they had just left. This seemed to bother Plum Shirt significantly; almost immediately losing her poise, she near-begged, "Please, just give it to me!"
Scarf risked a look away from the gun to glance over her shoulder at the approaching voices, then locked eyes with Plum Shirt again. "Fine," she said. "It's a fake anyway." With a flick of her thumb, she sent the bronze coin spinning through the air toward the other girl. "Not heavy enough to be genuine." Plum Shirt caught the coin out of the air and immediately stuffed it in her pocket, and Scarf added bitingly, "Enjoy your tourist bait."
It looked like Plum Shirt was about to turn and leave, but with a glance upward she turned nervously toward Scarf and asked, "Who are you?"
Scarf Girl scoffed. "Why should I tell you?"
Plum Shirt raised the pistol again. "I want to know if you're working with them."
Hesitating only a moment before taking the end of her scarf in hand, the other girl pulled on it, the fabric slithering around her face as it unwound and eventually pulled away, revealing a mop of dirty blonde hair and a smug smirk. "Cassie. Cassie Drake."
Plum Shirt's own chocolate brown eyes flashed as she looked at her. "What did you want with this?"
"I could ask you the same thing. And who's 'them'?"
Another shout came from above, very loud and close this time, and Plum Shirt looked anxiously toward the rooftops. "Leave now," she said. "Both of us must leave, if you know what's good for you."
Cassie furrowed her brows, showing hesitation, and Plum Shirt looked at her imploringly. "Please," the girl said, "you must go now!" Then she turned and ran away, tucking her gun back in its concealed holster as she went. Cassie turned curiously and looked up.
A moment later, a young man of medium stature appeared on the edge of the roof and looked down into the alley where she stood. The man's hair was buzz-cut, his face covered with strange tattoos to the point that very little natural skin was visible, and his angular jawline was hard-set and grim. Dressed in what looked like military fatigues and with piercing, ice-blue eyes he looked down, meeting Cassie's gaze, and an involuntary shiver ran up her spine as she looked up at him. Then the man lifted his chin in an challenging glower and turned slowly away, disappearing over the edge of the roof again.
"That guy gave me the creeps!" Cassie breathed as she stared at the place he had stood. She checked for any sign of the girl in the plum shirt but saw nothing, and with one last look at the roof, she turned and ran the opposite way down the alley.
The next morning, something startled Cassie awake. At first she thought it was the spray coming off the ocean or the chill of the morning air that had raised goosebumps on her skin despite the ratty wool blanket she had covered herself with, but she quickly realized that it was something more than that. Something- or someone- was moving behind, and very close to, her.
She opened her eyes to the same vacant beach she had fallen asleep looking at, the current rhythmically washing in and out on the sand. Exercising well-practiced self control, she remained still, knowing that any sudden movement could spook the person and make them do something rash- like stab her. Or worse. Instead she tightened her left hand around the messenger bag she had under her, the one that held nearly all of her current belongings, while with her right she subtly pressed her palm down against the sand, ready to propel her through her next motion. She felt the presence beginning to withdraw and knew she had to act. Like a coiled spring, she flipped herself over away from the person and her hand shot out to grab hold of them as they leaped with surprise. Her hand latched on to the person's ankle, causing them to trip and fall flat on the beach, and Cassie scrambled to her feet to face the thief down.
Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw that it was just a little girl, perhaps eight years old, and looking quite scared. Grit clung like shadows to the hollows in the little girl's face, round and youthful but beginning to show the signs of malnourishment, and her clothes were filthy. Cassie had half a mind to let the poor child off scott-free as she struggled against her grip, kicking and cursing in Portuguese, until she saw what she was trying to steal from her.
"Ah,ah,ah," Cassie chided as she reached for the ouroboros ring that hung from the leather cord in the girl's hand. "That's a little too precious to me." She tried to take it from her, but the girl clung to it steadfastly with more muttered profanities. "C'mon, give," Cassie prodded, not unkindly.
Finally the girl gave up and relinquished the item, glaring at Cassie even through the shame-faced expression she wore. She tried to scurry away, but Cassie kept a firm grip on her ankle. "Hey," Cassie said, "what do you need? You stealing this to get some breakfast?"
"Go to hell!" the girl spat in accented English as she continued to kick on her belly against Cassie's grip.
"I'll get you breakfast," Cass replied softly. "Just quit fighting so hard and let me help you out."
The girl uttered something a little like a snarl, but slowly, reluctantly, turned over on her back so she could see Cassie better. "You're going to turn me in," the girl accused with narrowed eyes.
Cassie scoffed and let go of her leg. "Why would I?" Gesturing to herself, she added, "As you can see, I'm not exactly a white picket-fence type myself."
The girl's accusatory glare slowly changed to one of incomprehension. "What... does that mean?"
With a sigh, Cassie stood and brushed the sand off of her, then stretched to work out the tension she felt in her body from sleeping on the hard sand and tied the necklace back around her throat. "C'mon," she said again, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go find something to eat."
Two hours later the two girls were back on the beach in the same general area they had met that morning. Cassie had brought the two of them down to the docks and left the girl in a safe place nearby, then found someone who was working on repainting their fishing boat and volunteered to help in exchange for some fresh fish. She had spent the next little while standing on a work barge with a scraper in hand, painstakingly removing the old, crusty coating from the outside of the hull. She could tell some of the crew members helping with the project had it in their heads to take full advantage of her situation and get her to do as much as they could, but fortunately the skipper was a kinder soul and gave her her wages after a little over an hour's work. Now Cassie and the girl, whose name she had discovered to be Carolina, were sitting cross-legged around a small fire they had built, with two small fish roasting on a griddle made of a scrap of sheet metal Cassie had found along the way. Carolina had eventually softened her demeanor when she realized Cassie was sincere in her offer to help, and the two now chatted as they waited for their morning meal.
"So," Carolina began waveringly, still seeming uncertain of her command of the English language. "How... did you get here?"
Cassie picked idly at some flecks of blue paint that had gotten caught in the hem of her shorts, which she had cuffed to land about midway up her thigh, tossing the chips aside as she enjoyed the feeling of the pleasant sea air on her bare legs, and she wriggled her toes into the sand as she thought. "You mean- how did I come into existence, or how did I get here to Lisbon?" she asked wryly
Carolina blushed, and Cass allowed herself a chuckle at the small girl's expense. "No, here- to Lisbon," she stammered. "I need no details... on the other."
Cassie laughed outright at this. "Don't worry, I'm not in the mood for giving them, either!" She chuckled again as she checked the fish. It broke apart in big, snowy flakes. "I guess... I just wanted to travel," Cass shrugged as she used her pocket knife to scoop the meat off onto flat rocks they had found to use as plates. "Didn't really have anything else going on, so- here I am."
"Oh." Carolina stared into the tiny flames, accepting her portion with a mumbled thanks. She was clearly not used to showing much gratitude. "Do you have anything with you?"
"Not much. Just what's in that bag there," she motioned to her messenger bag as she spoke through a mouthful of fish. "And-" suddenly remembering her manners, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand before continuing, "a little bit in a backpack I concealed elsewhere in the city." She chewed and swallowed. "Left the rest at my parents' place in New Orleans."
"New Orleans- Louisiana?"
"That's right," Cassie said. There was a brief pause, then she asked, "You?"
The girl shook her head. "No, nothing." It showed, too, in how she was dressed, how she greedily ate the fish provided her.
Leaning back, Cassie regarded the girl thoughtfully. "Listen," she said, standing and depositing her empty rock plate on the shore. "I'm gonna give you my phone number. You need anything, just give me a call." Cassie pulled out her journal, scribbled down her number, then tore the page out and handed it to her. "I know you probably don't have a phone, but you can always ask to borrow someone's, or go to the library, or something." She met Carolina's eyes as the young girl took the page, a look of something like awe on the child's round face. "I mean it," Cass reaffirmed. "I won't always be here, but I know some people. I'll do everything I can to help. Okay?"
Carolina stood, beaming up into Cassie's face. "Really? O-okay. Thank you!" She looked at the ground, suddenly bashful. "I don't have anything to give you," she mumbled.
A smile turned up the corners of Cassie's mouth. "No need," she said, ruffling the child's brown hair. "We're two of a kind."