Treasure of the World by Tara Sullivan (best romantic books to read txt) 📗

the lower tunnels, so it kind of makes sense, but I shudder to think what it must be like to routinely go that long in the heart of the rock.

Out of habit, I glance up at Victor’s house on the ridge. There are no lights on, which strikes me as odd. I realize I haven’t seen Victor at all in the crazy days since our fathers’ funeral and make a mental note to go visit him soon. But I don’t have time to think about that now. I need to get moving. Victor’s isn’t the only house within easy walking distance of the mine. César’s house, I know, is only about fifteen minutes away. If he were to catch me here, that would be super-awkward. And if someone else were to catch me here . . . I have no idea what they’d say—or do—to me if they found me lurking when they think I’m to blame for what happened five days ago. I hurry my steps.

I take a deep breath and reach up, grasping the edges of my helmet. My fingers fumble the knob and the lighter. My hands feel like they belong to someone else. Then the lit helmet is on my head and I’ve crossed into the mine.

For the moment, I’m alone in the entry tunnel.

Breathing hard, I clomp forward. Papi’s boots are far too big on me and the suit sags uncomfortably. I try to move as quickly and quietly as possible. By the time the moonlight from the outside world has shrunk to the size of a silver coin, I’m feeling a creeping panic. I had forgotten how much of a nightmare it is to be in the mines. And with every echoing step farther in, I’m super aware that the nightmare could easily get worse. Though I still haven’t met anyone else, I have no guarantee that the mines are empty, or that I haven’t been seen.

I turn the corner and find myself face-to-face with the devil that has haunted my dreams. He sits there in all his demonic glory, naked and aggressive, draped with strings of colored paper. Dark patches mark where he’s been splashed with alcohol. On the walls around him are char-drawings: places where the miners have held their lamps right up to the rocks, burning prayers for safety or little drawings of the devil onto them to hopefully buy another day of life by pleasing him.

Forcing myself away, I shuffle quickly to the vertical shaft opposite the devil. César said the miners have cleared the rubble from the affected tunnels and searched the whole area around the cave-in, so I don’t bother looking in or around zone two. Instead, I’m going to check the places the others haven’t. When I begged César to tell me every detail of the cave-in, he had told me that Papi and Daniel had been working in zone seven that day, so that’s where I’m heading first.

When I tip my head into the yawning hole in front of me, the weak light from my lamp bounces off the rough sides of the narrow shaft, but doesn’t come anywhere close to showing me the bottom. A quick peek down the black hole shows me that the first foothold is much lower than I’d like. Taking a breath to steady myself, I sit on the edge and turn, straining my arms to hold my weight as I grope around with my feet for the little ledge. As I do, my eyes catch the devil’s, right across from me. I consider making an offering to the Tío but decide not to. He’s taken enough from me already. His light-bulb eyes and the broken glass in his mouth catch the light from my helmet, and for just a second, my flame flickers.

He knows I’m sneaking around his hell without permission, I think. My feet scrape against the ledge I was looking for. I turn away from the devil and let go.

The trip down the shaft is truly frightening. The handholds and footholds are shallow and smooth from years of miners using them. My fingers are sweaty and Papi’s boots slide around on my feet. Half the time I have to support my weight by bracing my arms against opposite walls as my feet scramble for purchase on the worn outcroppings. Step by awful step I lower myself, fighting the pull of gravity and the will of the devil that wants me smashed in a red smear at the bottom. César rarely had me work these zones, and though I’m grateful he kept me to the more stable areas, at the same time I wish I had practiced this at least once or twice. Maybe with someone at the bottom to catch me if I slipped.

After what I know is only minutes, but feels like much longer, I see the floor of the zone five tunnel less than a meter below my feet. I let myself drop the rest of the way, and land in a crouch.

To my left, the floor plunges lower and winds out of sight. At the bottom of the slope, I see the eerie reflected glow of acetylene lamps leaking around the corner of a wall and hear the pinging of spikes on stone. To my right, there is only darkness. I freeze. It’s the middle of the night. There shouldn’t be anyone down here. Who are they? What are they doing? For a brief second my curiosity tempts me to sneak closer. Then I remind myself that, down here, alone, with no César to protect me from them, those men are more dangerous to me than the dark. Should I give up on this whole crazy idea? No. I know if I leave, I’ll never find the courage to come down here again, especially now that I know there are men working overnight.

Tiptoeing to prevent my boots from clomping and giving me away, I turn right.

The zone five floor slants steeply beneath my feet, and my lamp gives