Seven Wonders Journals by Peter Lerangis Page B

belongs to him,” I said. “It’s not removable, like a fingernail.”
    â€œDon’t give her any ideas!” Osman screamed.
    â€œI am old,” Artemisia said, “but, like you, I must be fed. And I will be fed.”
    Osman was rising off the ground, his mouth forming an oval of shock. The queen was closing her eyes now, smiling.
    â€œWAIT!” I ran between them and felt a jolt, as if I’d stuck my entire torso into an electric socket.
    Artemisia’s eyes blinked open, and the shock drained. “Are you offering, also?” she asked. “That is generous.”
    â€œNo!” I squealed. “I mean, yes!”
    â€œYes?” Artemisia said, turning her face toward me.
    â€œWhy settle for two . . . young souls?” I improvised. “You know, immature, unformed. We have . . . more souls available. Fine, aged souls.”
    Osman looked at me in shock. I knew it sickened him that I was saying these words. Offering other people. Volunteering other lives.
    I tried to send him a mental message. I am bluffing. To get out of here.
    â€œOh . . . oh, yeah!” Osman said. “A—a bunch of them! Grown men! Big and juicy souls!”
    â€œIs this true? How can I believe you? I see no others.” Artemisia cocked her head and the blue smoke withdrew from her hand. “What power have you to offer the souls of others?” she asked. I thought of offering Gencer to Artemisia, leaving with the jewel, rejoicing with Father.
    Osman looked at me, then back at her. “Because . . . um, I have . . . the mark! That’s it. I’m the Chief Assistant Officer of Bartevyan Antiquities, Inc.! I’m actually older than I look. And I can get my employees down here, all soulful and all. They’re going to want a price, though.”
    â€œWhat price?” Artemisia asked.
    â€œThat blue soccer ball–looking thingy, “Osman said.
    Artemisia’s eyes burned white hot, and the blue smoke around her began circling her body, a living wreath of smoke. Waves of heat blasted my face as she approached. “Do you think I care about that godforsaken ball? I can’t wear it. It is a key to nothingness. This is hardly a fair trade. But if it’s what you want, I think we might have a deal.”
    Osman and I stood, mouths open, rooted to the spot. Was it really going to be that easy? I guess hundreds of years underground doesn’t make you a good negotiator.
    â€œGo now before I change my mind!” Artemisia shrieked, ripping our eardrums to shreds.
    Osman grabbed the orb. We started toward the severed end of the rope that led to the surface. I reached for it.
    Then it moved.
    Was Artemisia playing tricks on us?
    I heard a thump, and another. Heavy footsteps approached as the end of the rope slid back into the darkness. Then Father appeared, lit only by the dim blue light of Artemisia’s smoky armor.
    â€œYou’re alive!” Father gasped. “And . . .” His voice dried up as he saw Artemisia.
    â€œThank you, boy,” she said. “This man’s soul will tide me over until you bring me the rest.”
    I realized what we had just done. Osman shook his head. “No,” he said. “You can’t do this.”
    â€œOsman . . . ?” Father said, his eyes widening.
    Artemisia reached a clawlike hand toward him. With surprising gentleness, she laid it against his chest. Father looked uncertain. Then he knew exactly what was happening. As the life flowed from him, his eyes met mine. Go! he mouthed.
    But I froze in horror as a flash of light burst from his chest. He shuddered, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his knees buckled.
    Before our eyes he crumpled to the ground, lifeless and inert.
    Osman screamed. My mouth hung open as my brain searched for a way to react. Bitter bile rose in my throat. I felt like I was going to be sick.
    Father’s body was drained of all color, a rag doll left on the floor,