The Curse of the King by Peter Lerangis Page B

Really. He’s harmless.”
    Brother Dimitrios stood over the unconscious priest. “Doesn’t look so harmless to me.”
    With a loud whoosh , flames began shooting up from the crashed rental car. It was maybe fifteen feet away from Torquin.
    â€œI’d better not regret being merciful.” Scowling, Brother Dimitrios grabbed the knocked-out priest and dragged him toward the minivan. “Let’s get out of here, now,” he called out.
    â€œWait, what about Torquin?” Aly asked.
    But Dimitrios was already starting the engine and extracting Mustafa from the window. As he shoved Mustafato the passenger side, he grabbed the rifle. “Get in! Now!”
    Cass eyed Torquin. “He’ll be okay, Jack. He can find his way back after he comes to. Come on, let’s go.”
    We climbed into the minivan. With a screech of tires, the van swerved around Dad’s rental car and peeled down the highway. I stared at Torquin’s inert body, a receding black lump near the smoking car.
    A moment later a deep boom shook the road, and the minivan’s rear wheels rose off the ground. As we thumped down, Cass, Aly, and I pressed our faces against the van’s rear window. My throat closed up.
    Torquin’s body was nowhere to be seen. A thick, fiery black cloud billowed from where he’d been lying.
    Losing Torquin was like a knife to the gut.
    â€œI can’t believe this . . .” Aly murmured.
    â€œI don’t,” Cass said, his face ashen. “I don’t. He’s alive. He escaped. He . . .”
    Cass’s voice trailed off. As the black cloud billowed, the acrid smoke reached us clear across the deserted plain. We must have been two miles away. Even the wildest wishful thinking wasn’t going to bring him back.
    â€œHe saved our lives so many times . . .” Aly murmured.
    In Egypt after an explosion, on the island during the Massa attack—time and time again he’d been there for us. I thought about the first time I’d met him. He’d caught metrying to escape the island and forced me back to Bhegad—even that may have saved my life.
    We all owed him, big-time.
    And we’d never be able to repay.
    I fought back tears. Aly and Cass were slumped against one side of the van, holding hands tightly. “He didn’t deserve that . . .” Cass said softly.
    â€œI guess he’s with P. Beg now,” Aly replied, forcing a wan smile.
    I nodded. “Bhegad’s probably happy. He’s got someone to scold.”
    Cass looked as if he’d aged three years. “It’s my fault. I said he’d be all right. I said we should leave him there . . .”
    â€œCass, don’t even think that,” Aly said. She put an arm around him, but he was stiff as a plank.
    â€œIt’s all our fault, Cass,” I said. “We knocked him out.”
    â€œHe asked us to,” Cass said. “We never should have said yes. It was the dumbest thing we ever did.”
    The trip was slow, the Kalamata streets jammed with traffic. It was just after noon by the time the minivan pulled up to the private-terminal gate of the airport. I felt numb. My brain kept asking if there was something I could have done.
    By now Mustafa was awake and groggy. A guard checked Dimitrios’s papers but he seemed distracted by messages coming in through his headset. “Better hurry, sir,” the guard said. “There’s been some trouble at the militarybase and flights are limited.”
    We sped across the tarmac, past about a half dozen private aircraft. “Look,” Aly whispered, pointing to a sleek jet that was being hosed down by a chain-link fence.
    Slippy.
    There was no mistaking the Karai stealth jet we’d flown in so many times. I wondered how long it would take the Omphalos—whoever that was—to realize the jet wasn’t coming back.
    I looked around for Dad. I had no idea