Texas Gothic

39



“your ghost,” accused Ben, “has led us to a trap. Maybe the same trap that killed him.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said. But he was right about one thing. I couldn’t see an exit. The side of the cave where the skeletal figure rested seemed to have collapsed. Maybe that was why he’d died here. Or maybe he’d been killed by someone and never found.

“His head is resting on something,” I said, crawling closer to look.

“Amy, are you listening?”

“It’s a bundle of black cloth!” With apologies to Dr. Douglas, I eased a finger under the stiff and rotted material, gently bracing the skull with my other hand so I didn’t dislodge it. “There’s something shiny. I can just see it.”

“Amaryllis!” Ben’s voice seemed far away. “Come back to earth. We are in trouble here.”

He grabbed my arm just as I pulled free a heavy metal object that rasped across the stone. The sound echoed through the cavern and down the passage we’d crawled out of.

In my hand was a solid gold cross, barely tarnished, and inlaid with gems. They didn’t gleam in the ghost light, and I couldn’t see their color. But this was a precious item.

Ben stared at it, too. “Oh my God. It is the Mad Monk.”

A faint breeze stirred the dirt on the floor. “I don’t think so, Ben. This was hidden. And it’s not very … monkish.”

“Did you read the story?” he demanded. “The one in the book? About how the Mad Monk—or whoever he was—ran off with the expedition’s treasure and was killed by his collaborators?”

The wind was getting stronger, and colder. “If you knew that story,” I snapped, “why did you follow the light?”

“Because we didn’t have a lot of options.” He chewed on his next words, and spit them out reluctantly. “And I trust you. But I don’t trust this ghost.”

I could see his breath, as the temperature kept dropping. “Ben, now is not the time to be a jackass.”

The glow that suffused the cavern seemed to pull in on itself, to gather near the wall closest to the skeleton. It brightened in the center, until I had to shade my eyes against the blue-white light.

Ben’s hand tightened on my arm hard enough that I gasped in pain. Surprise made me drag my eyes from the gathering specter, and I saw that the fog of Ben’s breath had gone still and his other hand clutched his side.

I knew that feeling. But if he struggled against the grip of the ghost, tried to force his lungs to work, and he had a cracked or broken rib …

“Leave him alone.” I didn’t bother with Spanish, but took hold of the knot of connection between the specter and me and pushed my demand through it.

Inocente …

The word bloomed in my mind. Ben swayed on his feet, and I caught him around the waist, staggering under his weight.

“If you’re innocent,” I said to the ghost, “let him go.”

With the suddenness of a snapping bone, the specter released Ben. He gasped in a breath and clutched my shoulders as his strength returned.

“Now,” he panted, “do you believe he’s a traitor?”

Ben learned lessons the hard way. He held me against him, as if protecting me from the specter that had appeared, a colorless figure of light and shadow, across the tiny cavern.

The figure raised its hand, but instead of pointing at me, it pointed to a chest next to the skeleton, half hidden by the fall of earth that had trapped him.

Inocente …

The voice seemed to be only in my head. Ben looked at me for guidance. I collected my courage and edged to where the ghost pointed. Ben followed me, still watching the figure warily.

We dug it out together, a banded wooden chest the size of a toaster. Finally, exchanging looks and deep breaths of cold air, under the dark stare of the specter, we opened it.

“Empty,” said Ben. He looked from the box to the motionless soldier, sorting through legend and evidence and trying to reconcile what was in front of him. “So he didn’t steal the expedition’s treasure?”

I studied the ghost, who seemed to study me back. I’d never seen his clothes before, but as I took them in now, the pieces began to come together.

“Look at him, Ben. He’s got a monk’s robe over his uniform. Maybe he was in disguise. He could have been a decoy.”

He paused, fitting the idea into a theory. “Let their attackers see a priest with a shiny cross running off with a treasure chest?” He seemed to unbend, admit he could be wrong about the ghost. He nodded at the jewels and gold still in my hands. “I guess if I were a robber, I’d go after that.”

Inocente.

The ghost faded out, leaving us in utter darkness.

I held my breath for a moment, waiting to see if he would come back, but the connection between us felt slack and unraveled, like a string with no tension on the other end.

In the silence, another sound reached me. I knew Ben heard it, too, because his shoulder, pressed against mine in the close quarters, tensed.

An engine noise, and a scraping, and the murmur of voices.

“Do you think it’s the cavalry?” I barely dared to whisper. Ben murmured back, so close to my ear his voice didn’t even stir the air, “I think we should be very, very still.”