Do Your Worst(34)

With a slightly unsteady hand, Clark gestured for her to precede him. “I guess you’d better lead the way.”

As dusk began to fall, the changing light created deeper shadows on the rock. One minute they faced solid granite, dark and unyielding, and the next—

Riley brought her hand up to shield her eyes against the setting sun. “That wasn’t on the map.”

The cave entrance must have been carved into the cliff surface by centuries of wave erosion. Clark halted his footsteps.

“I think it’s only accessible at low tide.” He’d never seen anything like it. Grabbing a fistful of Riley’s jacket, he held her back. “We can’t go in there.”

“Are you kidding?” Riley kept walking, towing him along. “We just discovered a mysterious cave at the bottom of the cliff that houses Arden Castle, and it’s practically dripping in the curse’s scent signature. As a curse breaker, I’m obligated to investigate. You, however”—she gave him a withering look—“do not need to come.”

Right. Not bloody likely. A gray haze clung to the opening. And though they weren’t terribly high, the atmosphere felt significantly thinner here. It was harder to take a deep breath. He wasn’t sending her in alone.

There could be bears or falling stalagmites in there. Stalagmites? Stalactites? Clark could never remember the difference. In any case, there might as well have been a neon sign declaring DANGER AHEAD.

“Helmets,” he said, removing his pack and starting to pull out safety gear. It was the least he could do, considering he might have inadvertently lured her to her demise. “You’re lucky I had an extra one in the camper.”

Riley knocked his hand away when he tried to do up the buckle under her chin, fastening it herself. “And you’re lucky you look like that, because you’re a massive dork.”

Clark frowned. What? It needed to be snug.

They walked for a while, the tunnel deep and dark enough that even with their headlamps pointed straight ahead all they saw was yawning black abyss. In her eagerness to explore, Riley banged her head twice on low-hanging chamber ceilings.

“Who’s the dork now?” He crowed, knocking on her helmet as he passed.

The temperature dropped steadily as they walked farther, the crash of waves growing fainter with each step.

Without the light from their headlamps, they might have overlooked the ravine.

Riley threw out an arm to halt Clark’s process, staring down at the abrupt drop-off of the ground at their feet. It looked like some kind of fissure had fractured the stone, leaving a cavity close to five meters deep and perhaps one, one and a half meters wide.

They both stared down where Clark aimed the torch on his helmet, illuminating murky water and jagged rock.

“What do you think?” Riley took a few steps back.

Clark was still peering over the edge. “The fall probably wouldn’t kill you, but—”

She must have stopped listening at that point, because the next thing he knew, she’d broken into a run.

“Riley.” Clark watched in frozen horror. “Don’t you dare—”

But she’d already landed with a gravel crunch on the other side.

Glaring at her, he pressed his hand to his racing heart, hoping his knees wouldn’t buckle.

“Sorry?” She offered him a weak grin.

“You are not.” The scowl didn’t leave his face, even as he leapt to follow her.

Clark landed less neatly than she had, rocking forward on his heels on impact, so he had to throw out his hands to steady himself.

“Are you having”—Riley held her thumb and index finger about an inch apart—“maybe this much fun?”

“No,” Clark said very firmly, but he didn’t think she bought it.

“The curse scent is sharper here,” she told him, gesturing at the small chamber ahead.

Clark still couldn’t pick up the trail she claimed to follow, but the rock wall a few meters forward seemed to vibrate, almost like when heat rose off pavement in the dog days of summer.

Riley pressed her palm to the wall and closed her eyes. “Not here, not quite.”

Walking slowly, she dragged her hand across the rough texture of the stone, over dips and bumps, grooves and edges.

It was the same type of thing she’d done in the tower at the castle, he realized, right before she’d found the dagger. He couldn’t comprehend the events unfolding. His brain was an unbroken horse, dragging him along. She wasn’t supposed to find anything. Her process shouldn’t be repeatable. It shouldn’t make sense. Clark shouldn’t have goose bumps.

Finally, Riley stopped, crouched, moved her hands down to the space where the wall bled into the floor. “Can I see your water bottle for a sec?”

He rushed to retrieve it from the pocket on his pack.

Uncapping the metal canister, Riley poured the liquid against the rock wall, washing away hundreds—if not thousands—of years’ worth of dirt and silt.

“What are you—” Clark began, but then stopped because they could both see.

Deep, dark marks scoured the rock face. Etchings. The characters small and precise and dense. Picture symbols, almost like hieroglyphs, some of them burned away by scorch marks.

“Riley,” Clark said, bending down beside her, “I think these are really old.”