The Secret Songs of D.C. Silverenn

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The gray, cave walls surrounding us grow blurry as blood and adrenaline rush in my veins. I feel light-headed, like I'm in a dream, or rather, a nightmare. This doesn't belong in real life.

The three mobsters stand like action figures poised to take a shot. As if this situation isn't bizarre enough, I recognize two of them — a burly man with buzzed, brown hair, and a woman with her brown hair pulled in a sleek bun. They were both present at the warehouse, outside the Unknown store, and the music gala. The third man is more lanky, sporting a small bun of his own to rival the woman's.

"What do you want?" I try. They probably expect that question, expect us to play this off as being lost in the cave. But they already heard us talk about the map, received our text message, and they'll call our bluff. The key right now is to subvert expectations.

"You know what we want," the burley man growls. "You already messaged us, asking for a trade."

"Which do you want to trade?" I ask. "The Silverenn Songs, or the treasure?"

"So you acknowledge there is one?" the woman says.

"Rumored one, but yes," I say. "That's why we're all here, isn't it? That's why you offered to trade." I glance around the floor. "Incidentally, where are our instruments? A trade usually involves an exchange from both parties."

"In this case," the woman says, "we'll exchange the treasure for your life."

I already guessed about as much. Still, a sinking feeling opens in my gut. We have fifteen minutes before Martin calls the police. How long will it be before this woman reneges and kills us?

"Shall we continue, then?" the woman asks. She motions to the openings on the opposite wall, as if inviting us to explore her house.

I sense Emi by my side. I'm not sure if she's been there this whole time or if she shifted her position. Her fingers press into my palm, a silent warning not to cooperate with them. But she doesn't need to worry because I wouldn't dream of sharing our treasure with them.

"Of course," I say. "Right this way." I start toward one of the tunnels, but the guy with the man-bun stalks across the room in several quick strides. He's more lanky in form, but his mere presence blocks my path.

"I believe your friend has the map," he says, a smirk on his face. "She knows the way."

"I wouldn't play games if I were you," the woman's voice rings out. "Remember who has the upper hand here."

Shoot. Already made a mistake. They know I was going to lead them the wrong way since Emi has the map.

I turn around, wiping any emotion from my face. The burly man stands beside Emi, and the map rests in his large hands. He's less than an inch from my friend, but to my surprise, she doesn't cower or even lean away from him. She stands perfectly still, not a twitch in her muscles. Her hands rest at her sides, gently curled. It takes a moment for me to notice the key cupped in her fingers, follow her line of sight to the burly man's right hand, or more importantly, the metal object in his right hand.

My mind flashes back to that self-defense class we attended in college. The instructor said that if we're ever attacked, have our keys read to stab in three major arteries. I don't remember which arteries those were, but maybe Emi does.

Inhaling, a breath, I look to my side. Man-bun is more than a foot away. But if I'm fast, maybe I can pacify him long enough for Emi to act...

Emi's hand shoots out, jabbing the key into the burly man's upper arm. The motion jars the gun from his grasp. Metal clatters on the ground. Emi ducks down, yelling, "Cerise, the light!"