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“I changed my mind,” he said roughly. “I realized the world is more fun with you in it.”

“Fine. We’ll jump together.”

“I’ll jump first and hold the hook. You catch the end of the rope.” He traced her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll never let you fall.”

Her lips parted, catching a breath. What if she didn’t catch it? Raw fear fluttered her stomach and climbed to her throat like the ugly wings of a bat. But she didn’t let the fear show in her eyes. “Let’s do it,” she said.

Clasping their hands, then releasing them, Vladimir and Lucienne sprang back toward the army of the warriors. They’d need enough of a runway to make the jump. Her whip and his sanjiegun sliced the air, ready to punish anyone who didn’t give them the room they needed. Vladimir had transformed into the god of war, about to abandon all mercy.

The warriors held their ground, swords and spears raised. But Vladimir and Lucienne didn’t come back to fight. When they reached the spot that promised plenty of running distance, they turned.

“Wait! We need to talk,” one of the monks called.

Vladimir halted.

Lucienne arched an eyebrow. “Now they demand to talk? And you’re listening?”

“I’m good at talking. I’ll talk our way out of this—” Vladimir gestured at the chasm ahead, “—instead of risking that.”

The assembly of monks advanced toward Lucienne and Vladimir from three sides, raising their spears to form an impenetrable wall.

“Stop!” Vladimir shouted in Tibetan, and Lucienne snapped her whip in the air. “You want to talk, then talk. One more step, we’re out of here.”

The monk leader raised a hand. The warriors stopped.

As Lucienne appraised the leader, who looked more like a scholar than a warrior, Vladimir whispered to her, “Don’t be fooled by his appearance. He’s a Khampa, the fiercest warrior race.”

“Who are you?” the Khampa asked, eyes travelling between Lucienne and Vladimir.

“Lama, the boy sounds familiar,” said an older monk at the Khampa’s side.

Vladimir snorted. But when he spoke again, his voice went a few notches deeper. “Ha ha, very humorous. Surely we must have been well acquainted in a past life, so let’s get along in this life, as well.”

“Why are you chasing us?” Lucienne held her steady gaze on the leader.

“Why did you run?” The Lama looked amused.

“Anyone with a head on his neck would run if an army chased him,” Vladimir said. “Do you find the logic amusing, Lama? Or do you regard the sight of a vast horde of the Dalai Lama’s army going after two kids more entertaining? I thought you followed the Buddha’s teaching. What happened to ‘no violence’?”

The amusement left the Lama’s eyes. He shifted to English. “Use peaceful means where they are appropriate—but where they are not appropriate—do not hesitate to resort to more forceful means.”

“He quoted Thupten Gyatso, the twelfth Dalai Lama,” Lucienne told Vladimir.

The leader studied Lucienne.

“Is the translation accurate?” Vladimir asked.

“Which one of you opened the crypt?” the leader asked.

Vladimir narrowed his eyes on the Lama. “Why does that matter?”

The Lama’s eyes shone. “Prophecy says someday The One will come for the holy scroll and lead us into the new age. When that happens, the Buddha’s light will radiate in the dark.”

“That’s nice,” Vladimir said. “Let us pass. Time is essential to spread the Buddha’s teachings and shed the light.”

The warrior army didn’t move.

The Lama smiled, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Another prophet said, ‘When The One uses the holy scroll for his personal gains, he’ll sweep away the old world and its traditions like maelstrom sweeping the remaining autumn leaves. His power will increase, but the world will sink into the third dark age.’”