The Altunai Annals I

For Mary Ellen

12.21.12:

THE VESSEL

The Altunai Annals

Killian McRae

Copyright ©2010, 2013 by Killian McRae

All Rights Reserved. Except as specified by U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this publication may be  reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or media or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author.

Tulipe Noire Press

P.O. Box 815, Palo Alto, CA 94302

www.tulipenoirepress.com

Third eBook Edition, December 2013

Second eBook Edition, October 2011

This work represents a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

The twins broke loose of the reeds, squealing in delight, while their younger brother sloshed through the mud behind them. The children had been so patient in the trek across the desert, and in high summer, no less. Their older half-brother, however, sneered at them from the shade of the stout palm on the edge of the oasis.

Ethiopia hadn’t been part of her plan, but neither had Cleopatra’s death. It was only temporary, she reminded herself. She needed but clear away her wards while Alexandria was brought under control. She also wouldn’t deny there was a temptation to pass onward, to flee. Though the Vessel swore to the dying queen that she would protect the royal progeny, she wasn’t fool enough to suppose that even she could outrun Rome. Nor, it turned out, was there cause.

Octavian’s interest in the children took her pleasantly aback. He had offered not only amnesty, but amity. Cleopatra Selene, Alexander Helios, and Ptolemy were to become wards of his throne. If the Vessel agreed to the arrangement, she could stay on to serve as governess under Octavian’s sister’s watchful eye. Part of her loathed the idea of Cleopatra’s children under the jurisdiction of Marc Antony’s former wife, but she also understood the safety of the Emperor’s aegis.

The Vessel rested herself next to the eldest, securing the opening of her satchel to be certain the statuette stayed within. “Pharaoh is consumed, methinks. What troubles you, Caesarian?”

The stately woman beside him seemed unfazed by either the heat or the distance. He hated how resolute and immutable she was. Venom from his words did drip.

“My mother is slain, and her lover. The breath of the Senate in Rome is bated and their throats parched, longing to taste my blood, and you think this should have no effect on me?”

She had always appreciated the prince’s frankness, though it was clearly a trait he had inherited from his father, Julius. His mother had long ago learned to employ the elasticity of the vague.

“They are heavy burdens for a man so small in years, but I do not see how concerning yourself with Rome’s wishes will benefit.” Her gaze grew somber and her words sincere. “You have my word that you will never become subservient to Rome.”

He spat upon the ground, his lip curling in disgust. His half-siblings were too consumed in their own sport to take notice.

“Your word means little. You promised my mother that you would not allow Rome to shame her, but Octavian has had her life. Now you swear to me that I will never be subservient to them? How can I be, if I am dead?”

He stared off into the distance.

“My mother may have never caught on to the way you parse words to keep promises, but I have. How far behind are Octavian’s soldiers?”

She shied her eyes away, focusing on the splashing water. “I could see to it that your death is painless. It is within my power.”

“Is it within your power to remove the pain that has followed me the whole of my life?” he asked dryly. She shook her head. Caesarian pointed to the frolicking trio. “Then swear to me you will do your best when I am gone to keep it from theirs.”

“As long as Cleopatra’s blood flows through the hearts of men, this line shall not break.”

A smile flickered across his face. “No good ever came from involving my mother and men’s hearts. I do not expect any measure of time to change that.”

07.01.09

Prologue

The damned sand got everywhere: in her shoes, in her hair, in her mouth. Even in her ... Well, even in her you-know-what. Christine Smyth despised Egypt. She hated heat. She hated the desert. She hated hookahs and kebabs and overcrowded Cairo city buses. But she especially hated sand.

“Hey, Chrissie. Everything okay down there?”

Yet, above all that, she loved Sheppard.

Christine craned her head and peered up through the blinding portal of light. The late morning sun radiated unyielding rays and silhouetted Shep’s head, making him look like the medieval angelic illustrations she’d studied in college. Not that her husband of two years conformed to any definitions of angelic and holy with which she was familiar. Kind and compassionate, he did love her dearly, but Prof. Sheppard Smyth was not without his vices.

One particular vice, and the reason she currently sat, attempting to decipher two-thousand-year-old hieroglyphs in an excavated burial chamber under the summer sun on the outskirts of Alexandria, was his dogged sense of determination. Shep had set out to prove his theory, come Heaven or Hellfire. Never mind that his whole historic apostasy was based on one tiny fragment of papyrus discovered in an Ethiopian church vault. On the surface, the glyphs didn’t amount to much. They recorded the arrival of passing luminaries and guests to the court of one of the minor rulers in an area south of Egypt, right before the region was consumed by Rome. This specific entry, however, told of the arrival of three children—two boys and a girl—and their female guardian. The text claimed they had sought asylum after “their mother had been struck down by the Eagle,” and after their older brother had been “rendered a martyr to the two lands.”

The priest who made the discovery hadn’t thought much of it, but knew the document was old. Shep also suspected the priest was aware it could be valuable. The local antiquities smugglers knew of the good professor’s interest in Egyptian artifacts, and that he wasn’t opposed to breaking international law and paying top dollar to obtain pieces that struck his fancy. Shep had received an email with a picture on a Monday night. Tuesday morning, he was aboard an Ethiopian Airlines flight bound for Addis Ababa. “Fate,” he’d said. “A sign that I’m not crazy, and this proves it.”

Christine loved her husband too much to point out, even in hindsight, how a good researcher first gathered facts, then proved his theory, rather than the other way around. Shep couldn’t be turned, no matter how much others tried. Since early in his career, he insisted there was no way the Cleopatra he knew from history, an obsession of his since childhood, would resort to suicide. The Roman historians and countless fantasy novelists had been so successful in inventing the “facts” of her life, why should the facts of her death be any different? This small entry had too many similarities for him to chalk it up to coincidence: the children, the era, the reference made and role assigned to the Eagle. The forces of history had seemingly managed to pull off the greatest murder cover up of all time.

Such a discovery would assure his place amongst the greats of his field—if he could prove it. It would have been an open and shut case, if the Hollywood and heretical story of her death weren’t so infamous. Nonetheless, that made the discovery all the more monumental. His colleagues had laughed him out of the professional community, but Shep knew it was true, deep down in his gut. It was almost ... instinctive. Which was why Christine was currently staring at some of the last hieroglyphs ever etched by ancient Egyptian scribes. Shep believed it, and she believed in him. Besides, she reminded herself, it was this Shep’s supposed fool’s errand that had brought them together.

Christine examined her etchings, recording the carvings before her on the crinkled sketch paper. An hour and she could flee this steam pot crypt. All that remained was adding some color and figuring out what it all meant. The missing sections in the stonework made deciphering difficult. Shep was more versed in the ancient tongues; he wouldn’t have such a hard time once she was finished and he got a chance to look in detail. It would be as easy as reading the New York Times for him. There were a few characters in particular she was unfamiliar with, ones she hadn’t seen before.

“Shep? I think I left my pastels in the Jeep. Would you—” Her eyes focused past the sunlight to catch Shep’s smile.

“Of course, I’ll get them. It’s my job, right? To bring color to your life?”

“Yeah, and some water wouldn’t hurt,” she shouted back as his head disappeared.

Christine leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying a momentary reprieve coming from a hint of a breeze that had managed to swirl about in the chamber. Her sense of relief as it caressed her face was short lived; in her relaxed posture, she neglected to hold down the leaves of paper on her lap. They danced across the floor, taunting her ability to retrieve them.

“God dammit!” She leapt off her stool to catch them, determined not to crawl around on the gritty floor any longer than necessary.

Swatting down her hand, she seized them. The top page flexed in the breeze, and she cursed aloud at the crease down the middle, bisecting the confusing glyphs.

And there it was, plain as day.

Christine could hardly believe her eyes. She hadn’t been able to decipher the glyphs because they were written both forwards and backwards, one the mirror image of the other.

And as she looked at the message now so plainly understood, she knew in an instant what it really spelled out: Shep’s proof.

-Ψ-

A scream cut the desert wind. Christine’s voice prickled Shep’s ears. The pit was maybe two hundred meters away. Fear made time slow, made the distance seem longer, as he bolted in its direction, leaving a trail of pastel swatches on the desert floor. She cried out again, sending his heart and his legs pumping. It wasn’t until the third time her voice rang out that he realized Christine was actually saying something.

“Beside us! Shep, it’s beside us!”

“Hold on, Chrissie. I’m almost there! I’m c—”

The shaking vibrated his whole person; even his insides trembled. Scared at first that the shifting sands beneath his feet signaled a sink hole, it took Shep a fraction of a moment to realize the truth. Egypt wasn’t known widely for its earthquakes, and he cursed fate that it should strike now when Chrissy needed him.

With wide eyes, Shep watched as the entry to the chamber loosened around the edges. It took only seconds for the earth to fold the site back into its embrace. The quake wasn’t intense—later he would learn it registered at a mere 5.9—but it was enough to crumble the ancient walls, dried and weakened from exposure.

It took two days to recover Christine’s body.

12.15.12

Chapter 1

With a sigh, he threw the greenbacks and one more meaningless night down on the bar. His cash was gone. He wasn’t sure if he was still in possession of his keys. He could only vaguely recall where he’d parked the car when he’d gone for “just a drink or two” several hours ago.

Last call had come and gone, but despite his best efforts the memories remained. He should have known better; Christine’s face was burned too deeply into his soul for the alcohol to reach. The best Shep could hope for was to achieve numbness. He measured his success against his current situation. A guy sitting down the bar eyed him with repulsion, but the good professor didn’t give a damn. He hadn’t showered in five days, and even he noticed his own stench. Who the hell cared? On the flat screen, some Barbie-impersonating reporter gabbed on and on about the Mayan calendar and the end of ... yada, yada, yada.

Numbness achieved. Whooptie-fricking-doo. Not that it would last. It never did. His inherited trait was both a blessing and curse; Shep could get drunker than a Toyko businessmen, but he sobered up quicker than a priest on Sunday.

He rose, then faltered, as the flash of her eyes and sienna lips played across the inside of his eyelids. Christine’s eyes, so unique—hazel irises with a rim of amber around the edges. For the past year he had borne her memory like a shield against living, wore it as a cloak against happiness.

The bartender gave Shep, steadying himself on the shaky barstool, the once-over. “Need us to call you a cab, Doc?”

He hated being called Doc; it made him feel old. He was only thirty-seven, damn it. Maybe not young but hardly prepping his application for the AARP. That’s why he always had the students call him “Professor Smyth” or, even better, just Shep.

He returned the bartender’s glance and answered, only slightly slurred, “No, Nick, I’ll be fine.”

The cold December air brought a tinge of sobriety when he stepped from the pub. Enough to get him home safely, anyway. The keys had been in his inside jacket pocket, just as usual. The car, parked in front of Lillie’s Flower Shop, just as usual. Twenty minutes later, he once again had defied both death and the watch of Beantown’s finest, stumbling into his one-bedroom townhome on Boston’s South End, feeling empty and alone. Just as usual.

Shep surrendered to the couch, not even bothering to remove his coat. One shoe made it off, but then the other didn’t seem worth the time or effort. He needed sleep. He’d had enough for one day; he couldn’t let the crushing loneliness and stockade of memories the house held creep in on him before the alcohol’s effects faded. He closed his eyes and welcomed oblivion, praying that just this one night, he wouldn’t see her in his dreams.

He couldn’t have slept more than an hour when the phone’s ringing broke the haven of night. The answering machine no longer worked; it lay in pieces in a box on the counter, smashed from when he had first heard Christine’s voice posthumously answer a call. She’d never been able to sell him on the convenience of voicemail. Shep championed analog all the way. He hoped the caller would give up, but no such luck.

After the tenth ring, Shep rolled over and reluctantly rose. The route of navigation between his couch and his small home office had been cleared of obstacles some time ago. Pulling the old-fashioned desk rotary phone receiver off its base, he fought back an alcohol-induced belch.

“Hello?”

Silence. He waited.

“Hello?” he repeated, this time with a hint of annoyance.

“Is this … Professor Sheppard Smyth?”

The south-of-the-border voice itched at his memories, but he couldn’t exactly place it.

With his free hand, he rubbed his sleep-laden eyes. “Yes, this is he, though I’m not accustomed to taking phone calls at—” he focused on the grandfather clock in the corner “—three-thirty in the morning.”

“Lo siento, but it couldn’t wait,” the caller continued, and the faint image of an olive-skinned man with a healthy black beard formulated in Shep’s mind. “It’s been a while, Shep, but I hope you remember me. This is Hector Gonzalez.”

The name snapped into position as Shep’s mind pulled up the necessary files. Hector Gonzalez had obtained as much notoriety in the archaeology of Pre-Columbian cultures as Shep had in Ptolemaic Egypt. They had both risen to eminence in their fields after grad school. Whereas Shep counted himself fortunate to have the tenacity of tenure that academia granted, Hector had recently gone the “clay for pay” route and into the world of corporate-funded digs. AKA, Hector took his orders from the bastard rich in search of antique trophies. Or so Shep had heard.

After grad school, they hadn’t had much back and forth. A short email of condolences when Christine died had been their first, albeit one-sided, communiqué in four years. Shep had never replied. Why, then, was this man calling out of the blue and in the black of night?

“Hector? Of course.” Shep tried to infuse an impression of I’m-still-a-professional-and-sober into his tone. “I remember, just wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

He left, “in the middle of the night after years of not talking … don’t you have someone else to call for bail money?” at the back of his throat.

“I know it’s late, so I’ll get to the point. I need help, and I’m working on borrowed time. I found something that doesn’t make sense. It just can’t be real, this thing. I need it verified. That it’s fake, I mean. I was wondering if you’d be available.”

Shep worked through a yawn. “Now’s not a good time. I just finished teaching this term and was looking forward to—” being left alone to wallow in my own self-pity “—getting a little down time.”

Hector continued as though Shep had said nothing, “The site’s undisturbed, and it dates back almost a thousand years. We also found some Arab and Norse artifacts in the same layer, but thank God he’s not interested in those. At least, I don’t think so. There’s no evidence of modern activity at that depth. Just come and tell me this one piece isn’t real, and I can get on with my work.”

Shep sighed heavily. Even if there had been the odd artifact he acquired through less than legal channels, he wasn’t really interested in becoming an active accomplice in an international crime. He’d heard of more than one sad-ending tale of researchers getting mixed up in the hijinks of “old friends.” Shep’s ability to hold his head high among his colleagues proved enough of a challenge.

“Hector, I appreciate your confidence in me, but this really isn’t—”

“Ask me what we found,” Hector interjected.

Jagged fragments pieced together in Shep’s booze-hazed mind. Hector Gonzalez’s expertise lay in Mesoamerican cultures. Why would he need the help of an Egyptologist?

“Okay, fine. What?”

“A statuette of Isis.”

The professor slicked his hand down his oily face. “Those are a dime a dozen, Hector. The Egyptians mass produced them for use in every two-bit temple from the Sahara to the sea.”

“That may be true,” Hector agreed, “but how one came to be buried in Mexico a thousand years ago … The Egyptians didn’t have any temples that far from Alexandria.”

Sheppard took a gulp of air as his heart raced. “You’ve got something wrong, then, or someone’s screwing with you. That’s impossible.”

“And yet, I’m holding it in my hands at this very moment.”

Implausible images filled Shep’s mind; the dead eyes of an alabaster face stared up at him as the pad of his thumb ran over its cheek, clearing away the grime of centuries. Like a child recalling the taste of his mother’s favorite home-cooked meal, he relished the recollection of working in the field, of unearthing remnants of a fallen civilization. He hadn’t done any field work since Christine’s passing, and it was getting harder and harder to deny the lust he felt for it.

As though the Mexican on the other end of the phone could sense his resolve breaking, Hector heightened his pitch. “And there’s something else. I haven’t told this to anyone, Shep, so I’m trusting you to keep it confidential. I was even ready to chalk it up to coincidental imagery. There’s been more than one Olmec carving I’ve found that resembles something from Egypt, but this isn’t Olmec.”

“Hieroglyphs?” Shep asked instinctively.

Hector clicked his tongue. “Of course there are some of those around the base, but on the bottom, it’s been vandalized, crude scrapes spelling out Isis Nea. I’m not a Latin expert, but even I can understand that. It means—”

“New Isis,” Shep inserted, feeling his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. Could it really be? After eluding him for so long, was his muse tempting him to find her in, of all places, Mexico? “I’ll be on the first flight in the morning.”

-Ψ-

Socks, underwear, aftershave, Levi’s, toothbrush, passport abused beyond recognition. A haphazard pile took shape in the suitcase lying open on his bed. Would he need a coat? It was early winter in Boston, and old Jack Frost hadn’t waited to stretch his arms. It was easily hovering around twenty outside, but he was on his way to the rain forests.

Shep glanced down at his wrist. It was already five-thirty in the morning, and the taxi had been arranged for six. With no time to ponder, Shep tossed the leather jacket over the other random objects collected from the smash-and-grab through his drawers and closet. Almost as if from a scene in an old Marx Brothers’ film, he heaved his largest carry-on bag to the floor, sat on it, and slid his hands over the edges as he forced the contents into submission. A sizable suitcase at the back of his closet held what Christine had packed for her last trip abroad, but he still couldn’t bring himself to unpack it. This one would have to do. He hadn’t known metal could groan, but groan the zipper did.

Each stair offered up a thud as the wheels of his bag whacked against them. Setting it by the door, Shep wandered into the kitchen. A swig of cranberry juice straight from the jug turned his stomach and awakened his senses. As he closed the refrigerator door, he winced. Not from pain, but from shock. From the fridge, the most loving, tender pair of hazel eyes he had ever seen danced before him.

Christine’s photo was all over the townhouse, but that didn’t mean he looked at her anymore. Shame wouldn’t allow it. If he had managed to move a little quicker, or had not looked through her bag for the missing jade-colored pastel, he could have gotten to her in time. Since her death, what had he done to honor her memory? Found the evidence to show his theory right, the theory she died trying to prove? No, he hadn’t even tried to re-excavate the site where she died after the authorities pulled her body from the sands.

Maybe this was his chance. If what Hector claimed was true, Mexico could finally give him the closure he needed and her memory deserved. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a way to move on.

With a deep sigh, Shep’s gaze moved to the countertop where the remnants of the answering machine mocked him. Well, if he had any hope of moving on, best to get on with it. He’d bought a replacement machine months ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away the collection of small bits left from the other. Even if it didn’t work, Christine had touched it.

So what? She touched the coffee pot too, but that hadn’t kept him from buying a new Krupp’s when it had broken. Right, time to move on.

Shep had just finished setting the time on the new machine when his doorbell rang. He looked at his watch again. 6:03.

Switching the answering function on, he made his way to the door, grunted as he yanked his bag to his side, and locked up. And, of course, that was when the phone rang. Shep’s shoulders fell as he slowly let out a long breath and glanced over his shoulder at the cabby.

“I can wait if you want,” the driver offered in a thick Boston accent, “but meter’s running.”

Shep pressed his ear to the glass, trying to hear the caller’s message, if any. It came across garbled.

“Mr. Smyth ... Katherine ... calling from ... at the request of ... to invite you ...”

Damned telemarketers.

He shook his head as a slightly amused smile crossed his face. “My first answering machine in three years, and somehow they know exactly when to call.”

Chapter 2

The first direct flight from Boston to Mexico City departed at 8:23 a.m. From there, he would transfer to a smaller plane to Veracruz. The dig site lay ten kilometers southwest of San Lorenzo.

This wild goose chase likely amounted to career suicide, but he’d had a razor targeting that vein for quite some time. Shep knew that with striking clarity despite his in-flight hangover. What did it matter? Few held him as a serious academic anymore. Once, he had boasted a reputation of worth. After finishing his Ph.D. at Cambridge a decade earlier, he had risen to the top of his field and gotten there pretty damned fast. Harvard had snatched him away from a two-year stay with Imperial College. By the time he was thirty, Sheppard was a tenure-track professor at one of the world’s most prominent universities and claimed digs on three continents. Within a few years, he had met, fallen in love with, and wed one of his junior research associates, Christine Cezanne. By thirty-four, his name was popping up on the occasional History Channel or PBS special, right next to good old Zahi Hawass himself. And yet, he was always as a fill-in-the-blanks guy, always a secondary opinion. Never the big name on the marquee.

When the email from Ethiopia had arrived, the discovery of the papyrus fragment found in the pages of an eight-hundred-year-old bible came as a godsend. Every great archeologist needed a discovery that rocked man’s conceptions about the past to earn his own place in history. Howard Carter had King Tut’s tomb, and Sheppard Smyth would have Cleopatra’s murder. He probably knew more about the ill-fated queen than he did about many of his own relatives. And if there was one thing he knew about Cleo, it was how self-centered and self-aggrandizing she was. She had aligned with two titans of Rome to secure her power, and brazenly took up residence in the heart of Rome itself during Caesar’s time. She had her own brother killed just to keep the royal house’s power solidified. To Shep, she just didn’t seem the suicidal type, even if the practice in her time was viewed as an honorable death. She was murdered; it was the only plausible explanation. He only had to find out by whom and why to claim his place in history. Most of his colleagues thought he was crazy, the accusations of insanity from his unorthodox hypothesis tarnishing the bright star he had become.

Christine had stood firmly at his side.

Since her death, Shep had devoted all of his efforts to research … as long as it didn’t require going back to Egypt or remaining sober for too long. Devoted study to observing the effects of Jameson hadn’t resulted in any greater clarity, and the university was demanding traditional research and credible results. He’d refused, declaring that if he gave up the hunt for Cleo’s killer, Christine would have died in vain. He needed to do it, he argued, for both of them. Unspoken, however, was a sense that he owed Cleo, as well.

The plane touched down in Veracruz as the sun pitched a deep angle against the horizon. Hector couldn’t leave the dig site, he had said, but would send his assistant, Vick, to retrieve Shep from the airport. He waited by the baggage claim, a smoky smorgasbord of aging tourists, a wide spectrum of the local specimens, and the occasional clergyman. After forty-five minutes, he felt the eyes of the policia in the terminal fall upon him. Doubts festered in Vick’s absence, and he began to wonder if the phone call hadn’t been a lucid, alcohol-fueled dream. He schlepped over to the information desk to ask in his broken Spanish for hotel information, when he heard a woman’s voice across the way.

“Dr. Smyth?”

He turned, assuming that someone had recognized him from TV. It happened. Or, at least, it used to. Shep was reaching into his pocket for the ever-ready pen when he saw her.

Olive skin framed perfectly over a delicate twist of hip. With a knee-length white skirt, sleeveless top, and a wide-brimmed hat topping off the ensemble, the beauty looked ready to stroll the Polo Fields. No make-up, yet her cheek bones appeared to shimmer and her lips were an entrancing pale pink. Her straight hair fell in alternating honey brown and black over her shoulders, down half the length of her back.

The corner of her mouth rose when a speechless Shep finally succeeded in smiling.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Professor.” He noted the mismatch between her accent—distinctly upper crust British—and her features, which suggested Hispanic or Middle Eastern ancestry.

“I’m sorry, do I ...” He couldn’t quite place her, though somehow he felt the oddest sense of familiarity. “Do I know you?”

“I believe you’re expecting me. I’m Dr. Gonzalez’s assistant, Victoria Kent.”

“You’re Vick Kent?” Praise be to unisex names. He tried to blink away the surprise as she nodded. “Yes, I’m Doctor … um, Professor Smyth. Um, Shep.”

Shep offered his hand and shuddered as Victoria accepted it. Had it really been so long since he’d touched a woman that the sensation was so foreign and startling?

“A pleasure to finally meet you, Shep.”

She had a glimmer in her eye that seemed out of place, matched by an oddly bubbly smile. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was star-struck. Or maybe smitten? He’d had more than a few female students in his day wanting to earn some credit through “extracurricular” activities, but it’d been a while since he’d acknowledged that type of interest. All of a sudden, Shep found himself standing a little straighter.

Victoria wrapped her hand around his bulging roller bag’s handle. “I’m afraid it’s quite a drive yet. Not so much long as it is bumpy, though. The sooner I get you to camp, the sooner I can get you into bed.”

“Sorry, what?” He wondered if he was hearing things. Part of him hoped he wasn’t.

She passed him a crooked expression. “You’ll forgive my presumptuous nature, but you look like you’ve been run ragged. We might not have five-star accommodations at camp, but I’m willing to bet you could do with a hot shower and a comfortable bed. We can provide you that much at least.”

They both wheeled around when they heard the screaming. A scrubby man in dirty, brown clothes across the room held a sign in front of him covered in sloppily painted letters. The officers present obviously didn’t care for his presence as they tried to coax him out. With a threatening glare, the man stood his ground; yelling, screaming, and trying to make eye contact with whomever would meet his gaze. At this moment, it was Shep. Across the expanse of the room, the man mouthed something, his eyes pleading for Shep’s understanding. Shep felt the temptation to move closer, hear him out, but la policia had had enough. They belted the man in the stomach, forcing him to double over as another officer handcuffed him from behind.

“We should go.” Victoria’s voice brought him out of his gawking.

He couldn’t help that his closeted inner anthropologist’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you suppose that was all about? And what was he saying? Didn’t sound like any kind of Spanish I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s because he was speaking Yucatec.”

Damn. “I don’t suppose you speak Mayan?”

“‘Beware the end of the world,’” she returned without pause as she turned from the scene. “Some of the people in these parts of Mexico are still close to their traditions. This whole Mayan calendar thing has brought the worst ones out of the woodwork. They have this crazy superstition about the twelfth of December.”

Of course, now he remembered. It was this decade’s Y2K, a passing fad that gave cable TV something to hype on slow news days, between the newest fad diet and the latest gossip on the Kardashians.

Which meant it was total bunk.

Victoria continued, “I’m afraid there are some superstitious types who believe that mumbo jumbo around here. This way, Shep. We should try to get back to camp before the sun goes down and the rain starts.”

Victoria—Vick—led him to a rugged, mud-strewn 4x4 in the small parking lot outside the terminal. Without wincing at all from the strain, the gently-curved, probable runway model took his bag and tossed it effortlessly into the back of the Jeep. She grinned when she caught the dumbstruck look on Shep’s face.

“Oh, don’t let these little ladies fool you.” Victoria tapped a hand to the bicep of her opposite arm. “The work at digs bulk a girl up. I’m just lucky to have some genetics in my favor that keep me from going all Red Sonja.”

Shep laughed despite himself. “Red Sonja? You’re a little young to have seen anything with Brigitte Nielsen in it, aren’t you?”

Leaning over, Victoria pulled off her high-heeled shoes and tossed them into the back bed, next to his bag. She glanced at him wryly as she slipped her feet into a pair of stained white socks and dusty, worn boots.

“How old do you think I am?”

He shrugged. He always hated when women asked that question. Christine had thought it was an unfair position to put a man in. Guess too high, and the woman would be insulted. Guess too low, and she would think you were patronizing her.

He surveyed Victoria’s face. Her smooth, silken skin held no laugh lines. Her body certainly looked every bit a woman’s, and there was the fact that she was the assistant to a prominent archaeologist. She might be an advanced graduate student or a postdoc, which meant ...

“Twenty-six?”

She gave a quick nod. “Sounds about right.”

When Victoria pivoted the top half of her body and started pulling down the zipper of her skirt where it clung suggestively to her hip, shock made Shep’s eyes go wide and instinct reminded him he was a man. He couldn’t help but gawk. Luckily, she misinterpreted the animal reaction as nothing more than surprise.

“Sorry, Shep, didn’t mean to take you off guard. It’s just—”

The flaps of fabric fell left and right as she quickly shimmied the skirt down over her hips and past her ankles. Underneath, rolled up khakis had been secured with safety pins. Victoria opened the hinges and rolled the pants down, the material covering her legs to mid-calf. She followed suit by taking off her refined white top to reveal a somewhat dirt-touched sleeveless undershirt beneath. The discarded clothing fit into a small duffle bag and it too was laid on the floor of the Jeep’s storage area.

“I had a meeting that ran late in town before I came to the airport and field attire was hardly appropriate. I guess I forget that it’s not customary to undress oneself in plain view while in public.”

While her accent suggested Victoria came from a high pedigree, it was obvious she’d adapted to the practicality of her chosen profession.

“It’s no problem, I just didn’t want anyone thinking they were seeing anything they shouldn’t.” Shep cleared his throat, disappointed by an echo of ... something. Concern? Lust? It had been too long since he acknowledged anything other than self-pity or sorrow to know for certain.

As they drove away from the Veracruz Airport, the whipping of the wind past their ears made conversation impossible. Shep was anxious for an opportunity to examine Hector’s discovery. He wondered if there had been any developments since the phone call less than twenty-four hours ago. When at last they reached more rural roads where the trees became as thick as the humid air, he didn’t hesitate to ask.

“Tell me, Miss Kent, where did Hector discover you?”

“You make it sound like I’m some sort of artifact that he dug up.” She smiled, though she kept her eyes on the road. “Sadly, I’m not at liberty to say.”

Shep cocked his head to the side. “Sworn to secrecy?”

“Something like that. Our underwriter has us under strict guidelines. No sharing information without clearance, either about the dig or ourselves, until you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement. Sorry, Shep.” She pointed at the radio of the Jeep, and to a small blinking red light on the FM dial. “Our protocols are fiercely enforced by our beloved head of security.”

He knew the head of the snake hidden in the basket would reveal itself in time. “Underwriter?”

“Kronastia,” Victoria returned with a smirk.

“Shit.” Shep rubbed his weary eyes. “Is he ... um, Kronastia, is he ... here?”

Victoria pulled an errant strand of hair from her eyes. “That’s why you’re here, to hopefully help us avoid his close, personal attention. Believe you me, no one wants a Russian mobster showing up at their place of business. So far, he hasn’t gotten involved on the ground level.” Shep relaxed into his seat too soon. “If you don’t count all his hired henchmen on site, that is.”

Chapter 3

Shep had been to Mexico only once before: in college, spring break, junior year. He didn’t remember much beyond landing at the airport and taking a taxi to the beachside cantina. Still, he was certain he had been less at risk of personal harm and/or death on that trip of drunken debauchery than he was now approaching the mafia-funded dig.

The paved surface gave way to gravel, and gravel to mud. A viscous goo, which bordered the definitions of liquid and solid, challenged the Jeep’s mobility. The engine groaned as they made their way up a slight pitch. The outline of work tents and several other utilitarian and rugged vehicles parked near an encampment came into view. Even a quarter mile away, he could see the bustling workers running around as though they were practicing a fire drill. The work tents were much smaller than those his teams usually used in Egypt. But this was the jungle, he reminded himself. The crisscross of roots and vegetation made the smaller tents with their diminutive footprints necessary.

Victoria steered cautiously back down the slope and parked between two thick-trunked trees. As the roar of the engine died away, the red light on the radio dial continued to blink steadily. He wasn’t surprised, then, to hear the low buzz of gears turning, a sound he knew well from multiple visits to secured facilities in Egypt. It was the distinctive whir of a camera lens pivoting and zooming in. Only, where the camera was, he didn’t know.

“It’s like you expect the Federales to come charging in at any moment,” he said offhandedly.

Victoria turned and grinned. “It’s not the authorities we’re afraid of, it’s the drug cartels.”

Shep rolled his eyes. First the Russian mafia, now Los Zetas. If they could arrange for a visit by religious fundamentalist, the trifecta would be complete.

Just as he was pondering if he should fake a bleeding ulcer and ask to be immediately evacuated to the nearest hospital, a full-bellied chuckle drew his attention.

“Dios mio, if it isn’t the great Sheppard Smyth!”

Pulling his body from the seat of the car, using the roll bar for leverage, Shep turned and saw his former classmate’s distinctive beard-bearing visage. Shep grinned, despite his acquired antisocial tendencies and the fact that his fatigue from barely sleeping for thirty-six hours—several of them in a drunken state—was beginning to gain on him. With only a slight twinge of discomfort, he accepted the hug Hector gave.

“Good flight?” Hector asked as he pulled away and placed his hand on Shep’s shoulder.

“Good enough to Mexico City. Into Veracruz, though ... I have to admit, I get a little nervous when the pilot has to get out on the tarmac and start the propeller turning by hand.”

Hector gave him a warm-hearted smile. His manner of speaking still carried over from Cambridge days, sounding more like he had been raised in Stratford-on-Avon than Monterrey. “Still, good of you to come so quickly. And good timing, too. We just got a dispatch from our lab up north that Hurricane Helene has shifted and is heading our way. You wouldn’t have been able to get in if you had waited any longer. We’re trying to secure camp and get upland before she hits.”

Shep groaned at the thought of the sleep he so desperately needed and now was almost certain to be denied. Behind him, he heard a plop as Victoria pulled his bag from the back bed of the Jeep. She quickly picked it up, along with her own, and stood behind Hector, as though awaiting his leave to follow.

Hector continued, “Luckily, you got here before we’ve finished securing the main site for the storm.” He leaned in closely as Shep studied Victoria, and whispered teasingly, “Do you want to have a little peek at her?”

Redness filled his cheeks as he turned quickly from Victoria’s gaze, and tried to play innocent. “Who?”

“Isis, of course.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Um, yeah, sure.”

Shep took in the scene as Hector led him down a mild, well-trodden slope. Little was out of the ordinary. After all, while the landscape might vary, Shep was no stranger to digs. He had been the primary director of five to date, and had served on the crews of countless others all through school. Nothing here was out of place: the scrambling bodies going about to and fro, the makeshift tents, the scattering of the personal belongings of the crew. Even the occasional religious iconography seemed right at home.

The only thing that really came across as odd was Victoria. It wasn’t that people in his profession were stereotypically unattractive, nor that they were only male. On the contrary, Shep had thought Christine one of the most beautiful women in all of creation. But in this landscape, Victoria’s beauty set against khakis and jungle seemed somehow wrong. He could picture her at ease emerging from the back seat of a stretch limo in a floor-length mink coat and a fine silvery gown.

Much to his shame, he could also picture her out of one.

Victoria did not belong here, an archaeological version of “one of these things is not like the other.” Such alluring women were often reluctant to subject themselves to the rigors of a profession requiring constant exposure to the elements and living for days at a time without modern plumbing.

As she outpaced them, Shep took in the lines of her figure from behind. He would have thought that when she changed out of her original attire—more suited for Venice than Veracruz—it would have muted the attraction. No such luck. As he watched her long, slender legs work over the terrain with his luggage weighing her down to one side, he felt a stirring of something ... corporeal. It puzzled him, made him cognizant of the stupor in which he had lived much of the last few years. After a moment’s pause to admire how the bottom fold of her khakis rubbed the back of her calves as she walked, he dismissed it. Widower or no, he was still a man.

Victoria pulled ahead of Hector and turned off to the left, up an embankment and toward what looked like a collection of heavy duty tool sheds.

“Hurricane shelters,” Hector answered without being asked. “We’ve spent all day loading the technical gear and cots in to them. Shouldn’t have to wait it out too long. We’ll only be catching the outer rim of the storm. A couple of hours, tops, and at night, no less.”

Shep took advantage of the private moment with Hector. “What’s the story there?” He gestured in Victoria’s direction.

Hector gave a wry smile. “Entices the eye, no? But I assure you, she’s the most knowledgeable and capable assistant I ever had.”

They reached a sealed door that connected to a small building with a sharply slanted roof. Shep understood it was the covering of a stairway leading into the dig site. What he didn’t understand was why Hector needed to punch in a string of numbers, and have both a fingerprint and retinal scan, before the door opened.

“She wrote me an email about a month ago,” Hector continued. “Said she had been given an internship from Plaxis Corporation and my project was one of those offered in their schedule. Sent me her résumé. Very impressive. Well-schooled, and apprenticed with a legend.”

Shep raised an eyebrow. “A legend?” he chuckled softly. “Not many of those any more. Who?”

Hector opened the door further and ushered Shep inside. He entered without hesitation, then felt all the oxygen exit his lungs when he heard Hector say, somewhat smugly, “Anathea Hermapolous.”

As though someone had just punched him in the gut, Shep fell back a step. “Anathea Hermapolous?” he gasped. “Impossible. The Anathea Hermapolous?”

“I talked to her myself to verify it,” Hector reassured.

Shep felt a twitch in his eyelids. “You talked to Anathea? How? She’s a recluse. She hasn’t communicated with anyone outside her inner circle other than in letters for the last twenty years.”

Not to mention, she’s ancient, thought Shep, though his gentlemanly upbringing told him such should go unsaid. As the story went, Anathea Hermapolous had been all of ten years of age when she and her father had been invited to visit a friend, Howard Carter, in Egypt. Anathea was the only living person who had witnessed the discovery of King Tut’s tomb. The event had sprouted a fascination with Egypt in her, and by the time WWII rolled around twenty years later, she was already a prominent member of the archaeological community.

Like countless others, Shep had spent years trying to meet her. After the war, she had gone on to discover several more no-less thrilling, if not as prominent, sites in the Middle East. In 1953, she abruptly stopped her work. Few had had the privilege of speaking to her since, though she occasionally published or agreed to author a preface to a book or special issue journal. As a researcher, she campaigned to reclaim Cleopatra’s good name from an evil legacy bestowed on her by Roman historical propaganda. Shep wondered how Victoria had managed to worm her way into Anathea’s good graces and company, when so many through the years had failed.

Including Shep, who—in a fit of desperation after Christine’s death—had slept outside the gates of Anathea’s Cairo mansion for three days in a last-ditch attempt to see her. Yeah, didn’t work.

“I was only able to make contact with her through Plaxis,” Hector added. “Don’t be too jealous. It was a thirty-second conversation, and the line was full of static. Could barely make out a word.”

That statement brought Shep back to the moment. “Plaxis?”

Any trace of amusement fled from Hector’s face. “They’re funding our dig.”

“Really? Because your assistant mentioned in the car something about Dmitri Kronastia.”

“Same thing. Plaxis is the shell corporation that Kronastia conducts his somewhat legal business under.”

Shep couldn’t hide the ridicule from his voice. “So it’s true what I heard. You’ve become a tomb raider. Was working in academia so bad, Hector?”

The Mexican turned on him, pushing his finger into the air. “Easy for you to say. The civilization you study doesn’t share a geographical region with so many drug lords and bandits. My university couldn’t hire security. My research is only possible because I have a bigger gun behind me than the damned cartels. Everyone knows we’re Kronastia’s people, and they know to leave us alone. Kronastia and the puppets at Plaxis don’t actually give a damned if we find artifacts or not, and as long as I follow their protocol I’m at liberty to do most anything I want. Their only requirement is to notify them if we find anything … out of place.” Hector grumbled a laugh. “When I agreed to that, I didn’t think much of it. Now I have to wonder. Anyway, it is over here.”

Shep nodded and looked to the iridescent light of any number of bulbs strung haphazardly over the path before him. With a deep breath, he started his way down the stairs and into the pit.

“So if Victoria was offered an internship by Plaxis …” Shep wondered aloud.

Hector pulled a soiled handkerchief from his back pocket and dotted his head. “I don’t think she’s involved at that level. Plaxis does some legit business. She seemed unaware of Kronastia’s background when I told her. I did tell her, of course. Didn’t want her getting on board with this blindly, but she barely batted an eyelash. Ah, to be young and ignorant of how deep a pile is until you’ve stepped into it.”

The smell of freshly turned soil told Shep parts of the site were only recently excavated. As he descended the stairs, he found himself jealous of Hector’s work environment with its lack of shifting sands. No doubt the crisscrossing roots of the rainforest above made the ground around them self-supportive. At the bottom of the stairs, with Hector at his back, Shep turned up a make-shift passage, only to come face to face with the canniest Ché Guevara impersonator he had ever seen. The titan eyed him with instant disdain and scowled instead of spoke.

Hector came around Shep’s side, huffing. “José, por favor!”

He pushed the guard aside and strode up the passageway. José grumbled. Shep didn’t understand Spanish, but could pick out no entrada with ease. Shep wasn’t allowed to be here by whomever was enforcing Kronastia’s agenda, and Hector had to have known it.

Affronted, Hector snapped back. El Hulk-o burbled more highly-accented statements and took a cell phone from his pocket as he turned to ascend the stairs. Hector waved his hand dismissively as Shep continued to follow him down the passageway against his better judgment.

“If my being here is going to cause some kind of problem, Hector ...”

“Pfft! Kronastia’s goons can’t see reason,” he scoffed. “Their screening process can take weeks, but I need this object vetted now. I don’t want to call in a false report—or a true one—if I don’t have to. Besides, if this is authentic, we have a whole other thing going on here beside a Mesoamerican settlement.”

“Just because you happen to find one Egyptian statue doesn’t mean there’s not a logical explanation. Could be something as simple as a stolen treasure cubby hole. Nazis put stuff all over Central and South America.”

Not that that seemed likely, nor could Shep particularly think of what other logical explanation there would be. Still, he was a professional and an academic. He knew that one oddly placed artifact did not a paradigm shift make. It could, however, inspire a Time-Life series, cult following, and a new legion of conspiracy theorists.

They reached a chain-link fenced security gate. Hector fished a set of keys from his pocket and selected a small silver one to shove into the lock. He winced from the sound of the door accordion-folding as Hector pushed it and took two steps beyond the barrier. That was when Shep felt his breath catch in the back of his throat.

No, one artifact did not a paradigm shift make, but eleven certainly did.

Jaw-dropping didn’t seem apt a description, but full cranial detonation? That seemed about right. Each item sent his mind reeling, but his eyes immediately focused in on the object that had made him jump on a plane. The alabaster statuette couldn’t measure more than ten inches. She stood erect, head held high, shoulders back, arms stationed serenely at her side. With Hector’s permission, he picked it up, surprised it wasn’t heavier in his hands. The weight wasn’t really what made his pulse spike, however. The sculpted braids and a unique triple uraeus crown revealed her identity to him as clear as day.

“So, is it real? Is it Egyptian?” Hector’s desperation was palpable.

“Oh, it’s real, and yes, it’s Egyptian.” Shep turned the base to his eyes and examined the scrawling Latin text Hector had told him about on the phone. His finger traced the letters, feeling the smooth edge of the graffiti. It hadn’t been vandalized in modern times, that was for sure. “But you should know, this isn’t a statue of Isis.”

The Mexican blinked in confusion. “I don’t understand, someone clearly etched ‘New Isis’ on the bottom. Unless they were trying to pass it off as something it wasn’t?”

“Something like that. Look here.” Pointing his finger at a less defined, and therefore likely older inscription on the carved pedestal, Shep explained, “This is a titular, a series of titles that identifies the subject as royalty. This isn’t a statue of a goddess. It’s a statue of a queen who also called herself the New Isis, and whoever put that on the bottom wanted that fact known.”

“So you know which queen it is?”

Feeling the blood drain from his face, Shep’s breaths misted the cool, underground air. “Cleopatra VII.”

He knew her face better than any other woman’s, better than even Christine’s. His wife had sometimes been jealous of Shep’s “other woman,” but mused afterward that of all the mistresses her husband could choose, probably the least threatening to their marriage was one who had died two thousand years before.

“Everything is right: the style, the stone, the glyphs here at the bottom.” He bounced it around in his hands. “Seems a little on the light side, but that could just be from mineral depletion in this wet climate. Yeah, um, small ones like this were kept in temples on the far edges of the empire, so the Pharaoh could be worshipped along with the other gods. Nevertheless, few statues of Cleopatra survived, and I don’t remember hearing of one this small. This is a big discovery, Hector, however it ended up here.”

Shep ran his fingers over Cleo’s cheek, a chill racking him. What a coy mistress she was. He had searched the deserts, even down the Nile Valley, into Ethiopia for her footsteps, only to find her here? So typical of his Cleopatra, never letting you come to her on anything less than her terms, at the hour of her choosing. First Caesar, then Marc Antony, and now even in death Cleo had wrapped Sheppard Smyth around her graceful fingers and brought him all the way from Boston. He grinned. Somehow, he felt a little of the thrill the Romans must have felt at being caught in her snare, with one significant difference: unlike Caesar and Antony, he would escape with his life.

“What did you do for dating?”

“Optical, but we’re also running labs using other methods to confirm.”

Shep began eying the other objects on the work table as well. None of them made sense.

“Didn’t the Olmec civilization die out before the birth of Christ?”

Cleo died in 30 BCE. Shep’s grin faltered when he realized the discredit to the discovery even dating it would give.

Hector nodded. “Around 300 BCE, but this cache was found inserted into a soil layer from around 500 BCE. Definitely Olmec, and several secondary dig sites nearby confirm it. The best we can approximate given the disturbed area where this was buried, someone left it here around 1100 CE. There was a small Mayan settlement here around that time. But the placement at the center of the Olmec site so precisely, and the depth at which it was buried? It seems unlikely that it’s coincidence.”

“And then there’s these.” Shep motioned to the objects on the table. “Any luck figuring them out?”

Hector pointed at a small golden object some two inches tall and an inch across, similar to a fleur-de-lis but with several gems mounted on its surface. “This appears to be Mamluk in origin. Some sort of pendant. And this one over here …” He pointed this time at a small green container, a little bowl with a fitted lid. “This is carved jade, and the markings on the bottom place it in the Tang Dynasty, circa 730 CE. The ring over there, we’ve determined that’s Visigoth. And the—”

“Wait a minute.” A fever came over Shep as he eyed the objects. “Visigoth, Mamluk, Chinese? If it was just Cleo, I’d get why I’m here. But with all these other things?” He exhaled and ran his fingers through his dark blond hair. “Why me?”

“Because of the scroll,” Hector answered plainly.

“What scroll?”

Hector grinned the way only a man sharing a secret can. He motioned to a hand-sized wooden box. “Inside that we found a papyrus scroll, Egyptian hieroglyphs, wrapped around some sort of amulet. The whole box was sealed with resin to stand up to the elements. Whomever put it there meant for it to survive. The amulet was squirreled away by Kronastia’s people the moment we found it, but I was able to sneak a peek. It was jade, cylindrical, linked to the rope by gold fittings. Nothing unique, but still old. The scroll, however, is still here.”

Shep salivated. “What does it say?”

“I was kind of hoping you would be able to tell me that.”

Shep looked back at the collection before him. His mind was struggling to grasp its significance. True, it could all turn out to be fraud, only he didn’t expect someone of Hector’s caliber to become involved in such a fiasco. His inner cynic screamed that this couldn’t be real. The explanation may be daunting, but it had to be there. The little boy inside him who’d dug up arrowheads in his Oklahoma backyard bristled with anticipation.

Hector broke into his train of thought. “You do understand what this means?”

“I think so.” He rubbed his eyes, becoming aware of the greasy film on his face and the grime only international travel seemed to induce. “Only, finding a collection like this in Europe or Asia? That alone would be monumental. But this? Here? In the New World?”

At this, Hector clicked his tongue and shook his head disapprovingly. “You Eurasian archaeologists and your arrogance about time! Civilizations in this so called ‘new world’ can be traced back nearly as far as any on the Tigris and Euphrates. Some of them were even more advanced than the ones in your ‘old world’. What it means, though, Shep is—”

“—somebody crossed the ocean almost four hundred years before Columbus,” Shep cut off Hector.

Hector’s face fell. “We already knew that.”

Shep may simply have been too tired to scramble for the name; the lack of sleep and jet lag were about to destroy him.

“Leif Ericson,” Hector supplied. “He made it to the east coast of modern-day Canada a thousand years ago.”

“Yeah, but …” Shep coughed. “I mean, seriously, Hector? It’s one thing to say someone made it here over the ocean. But are you suggesting someone tracked thousands of miles over the North American continent to bury this stuff here? Doesn’t that seem ... impossible?”

Hector pinched the bridge of his nose. Shep was on a roll of letting down his old friend.

“You’re missing the biggest mind screw of them all here. These are souvenirs.”

Shock manifested as an acute pain right between his eyebrows, like someone was driving in a nail. Not only did this mean that someone in pre-Columbian times had toured Europe, Asia, and Africa, it meant someone had gathered these items to bring back.

Which meant that the traveler had originated in the new world.

“Holy shit!”

But it wasn’t dawn of insight that caused these words to fly out of Shep’s mouth.

It was the realization that a gun was pointing squarely at his head.

Chapter 4

Shep would have liked to be able to say it was the first time a gun had been aimed at him. Sadly, this marked occasion number three. A little devilish voice in the back of his head snickered, “Third time’s the charm.”

Perhaps as the result of a childhood spent watching Miami Vice and MacGyver, Shep instinctively threw his hands out to the side, both as a show that he was unarmed and that he would oblige whatever command the wild-eyed José might give. He kept his eyes downcast, looking up only enough to be able to see if José had any plans beyond the standoff.

Hector had never watched MacGyver and hadn’t even heard of Miami Vice. Shep looked on with a mixture of dread and awe as Hector wheeled around and began spouting Spanish obscenities quick enough to disprove—or was that, confirm?—Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. José, however, matched his rebuffs tit for tat. After several tense moments and what likely involved degrading statements concerning mothers, José lowered the gun and Hector jerked his head, telling Shep to follow him above ground. He chanced one last look at the table of artifacts before complying. With a sigh, he eyed Cleo, hoping a chance of seeing the scroll Hector mentioned wasn’t too far off.

They couldn’t have been underground in the site for more than ten or fifteen minutes, but the atmosphere had gone through a quick change routine. Even for the rainforest, the humidity stifled. Hector looked up in the sky and grimaced.

“Helene is coming in a bit earlier than we expected.”

Shep resisted the urge to let all of his pent up anxiety manifest into grabbing Hector’s shirt and shaking him senseless.

“The weather? You’re going to stand there and make comments on the weather? What the hell just happened down there?”

“Security protocols,” Hector answered briefly. Shep’s demanding stare forced him to continue. “Policy is that no one is allowed to enter the main site without the okay from Plaxis. José went over my head to report what I did, taking you in like that.”

“You knew he’d do that, didn’t you?” Shep spit out with sudden realization. “That’s why you rushed me down here the second I arrived.”

A nonchalant shrug nearly drove Shep mad. “Whatever, it is done. The site is secure, your profile’s been sent to Plaxis for screening, no doubt with some urgency, and José will handle the lockdown during the hurricane. But now, best get to the shelters. You could probably do with a rest after that, anyhow.”

Yeah, Shep thought, a stiff drink wouldn’t hurt either.

“You’ll be in that one over there.” Hector pointed to the far ridge to the right, which was lined with green, boxy structures about the size of a garbage dumpster. “Two to each. You’ll be with Vick.”

Shep smirked. Make that two stiff drinks.

Five minutes later, the door of the shelter had been sealed behind him. Shep knew if either he or Victoria needed to get out, a few simple steps undid the locks. He looked at his cot to the right, then to Victoria’s—and at Victoria herself—on the left. She reminded him of a corpse laying in state, her fingers interlaced across her stomach, her eyes closed. The weariness of travel badgered Shep like an insistent grad student at office hours. He found himself thankful for the opportunity to let his mind rest, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist interrogating his roommate about Anathea had she been awake.

He placed his shoes on the floor beside the cot, toes pointing toward the door incase circumstances called for a quick escape. In the field, one always planned for contingencies. He was never surprised at how often a small set of simple survival skills like these had saved his tail. In Arabia, you never knew when an earthquake might strike or a popular uprising would take you by surprise. Thinking ahead was keeping your head. He saw Victoria had done the same.

A small wash basin allowed him to clean up enough to feel human again. Never one accused of overt modesty, the twist of unease surprised Shep as he took off his shirt and set it aside. Too tired to assuage decency at the moment, he looked over his naked shoulder to see if she had stirred. His breath caught when he found Victoria on her side. The lapel of her shirt, top two unbuttons blessedly unused, fell slightly, giving Shep an intriguing view. Just at that moment, she yawned, causing her chest to heave and pushing her cleavage hard against the fabric of her shirt. The view put Shep’s mind into a place it hadn’t been since before Christine died.

Nope, he didn’t like the direction his mind was tracking one bit. Rather, he liked it a little too much, and he knew it was both ill-advised and, frankly, a little creepy. After all, she was more than a dozen years his junior. Even an archaeology professor recalled enough from literature class to remember how Lolita ended.

-Ψ-

A ballpoint pen scratched over a sheet of paper, pulling Shep from his slumber. The howling wind created disharmonious chords against which a snare drum cadence of gust-driven rain pounded the outside of their shelter. Shep rolled over cautiously, making sure to keep the thin blanket covering as much of his bare chest as possible.

Victoria sat, notebook on lap, and scribbled with nearly superhuman speed. Every so often, she would pause, trace her fingers over the margin of a book that lay open on the cot next to her, and resume with renewed vigor.

“Hey there, Vick. Whatcha working on?”

She jolted at the sound of his voice. Victoria’s hand fluttered to the delicate curvature of her neck, leaving a nick of ink on the bottom of her chin when the pen notched between her fingers made contact. “You gave me a fright.”

Shep smiled his apologies. “Not intended, I assure you.”

She beamed back at him, her feline green eyes twinkling. “Of course not. I’m, um, translating something. Some of these characters, however ... I haven’t seen them used in Mayan writing before, so I’m trying to reference them against variant dialects.”

Her eyes narrowed in observation. Feeling a blush come over him as if he were a sixteen-year-old school girl, Shep sat up and grabbed his forsaken button-down from the foot of his cot.

“Too bad it’s not Egyptian,” Shep commented as he slid the tee over his torso. “I’d be able to help you on that.”

Victoria chuckled. “Not to try to show you up, Dr. Smyth, but if it was Egyptian, I wouldn’t need your help.”

“Cocky, aren’t we? And why are we back to Dr. Smyth again? I told you, you can call me Shep.”

Victoria smirked and leaned over her notepad toward him. “Some call it cocky, I call it confidence. And I’ve decided that Dr. Smyth is the appropriate nomenclature. It appears, after all, that you are my senior, both in terms of age and experience. It would be good of us both to keep that in mind.”

She looked away abashedly. Could she possibly be feeling this same, odd draw to him as well? Was that why she was trying to form this wall of formality between them?

“Well, I guess Hect– Dr. Gonzalez would approve of that decision,” Shep conceded.

She nodded. “Yes, and it’s the way I was taught as well by my mentor.”

“And here I thought I was going to have to engineer some trivial conversation to ask you about Anathea.”

She grinned and continued her penning. “Dr. Gonzalez told you, huh?”

“He knows I’m a disciple of her work. How did you manage to get in with her?”

Victoria sighed, folded her notebook, and set it aside. “She’s kind of related to me.”

That didn’t make sense. Anathea had been an only child, never married, and he couldn’t recall hearing about her having any children.

“Distantly,” Victoria added, answering almost directly on cue to his unspoken question. “You have to go back more than a few generations to make the connection, but still. However, that doesn’t mean she let me off easy. Her expectations were high, and I like to think I delivered. I dare say I know everything she knows, and then some.”

“Confident in that, are you?” Shep asked.

“No,” Victoria boasted through her smile, “cocky. I could tell you, for example, what’s on that scroll.”

“You’ve seen the scroll?” She nodded. “And you could read it?” She nodded again. “But, then, why would Hector say he needed me to translate it if you already did?”

Victoria feigned innocence. “Let’s just say, he doesn’t exactly know that I’ve seen it. Besides, he assumes that because I’m ‘so young’,” finger quotes and a smirk suggested she found the description demeaning, “I couldn’t possibly have a grasp on Ptolemaic-era script well enough to be able to decode it. He’s a bit of an ageist, you know?”

“And?” Shep waited impatiently for her to continue, and nearly screamed despite himself when she didn’t. “Damn it, Victoria, what does it say?”

“That knowledge seems such a petty thing to die for, doesn’t it?” Her eyes were mischievous. She continued, “It’s one thing for someone like me to have read it, but another to share classified information.”

“I appreciate your concern.” Not that he was about to accept that. “And, of course, I understand your reluctance. After all, I can imagine how embarrassing it would be for you if later, when I read it, your translation turned out to be wrong. Not to mention, that would support Hector’s opinions of your age vis-à-vis your ability.”

Her head shot up. “You think I’m lying.”

“Not for a moment, I believe you’ve seen it.” He smirked. “But like you said, you’re so young and the language, so very, very old.”

“It won’t work.”

“What?”

Victoria sighed, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and arching her back to stretch. “I’m not going to tell you what it says.”

Shep approximated disappointment. Sometimes appearing to give up was the best way to lure an adversary into the open. Victoria only took her notebook back up. He stood and stretched, deciding to visit the topic again later. He found his cell in the pocket of his carry-on bag and checked the time: 9:14 p.m. A glance out the small window of the shelter didn’t yield much; all he could see was the rain pounding against the book-sized glass.

“Is that one anything you can share with me?”

Victoria sighed. Obviously, she’d forsaken her desire to chat, and quite frankly seemed a little annoyed. Perhaps that was why when Victoria did give him a response, it was anything but conversational.

“Not really, but I’ll tell you this: Anathea thinks you’re right,” she declared. Shep only looked at her blankly. “About Cleopatra.”

He nearly spit his own tongue from his mouth. “Sh–she ... she said that?”

“Maybe you didn’t know that she’s quite a fan of your work. Thinks you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”

Pride and vanity surged through him. He couldn’t resist inquiring. He may never meet Anathea himself, but Victoria seemed to be close enough to give him some sort of friendship-by-association buzz.

“Does she ... has she ... said anything else about me?”

“Yeah, she passed me a note in homeroom that said you’re really cute and wants to know if you’ll go steady,” Victoria returned sarcastically. “We didn’t discuss you at length.”

Shep chuckled just to amuse her. “Sorry. Not trying to pry. I know she’s very private.”

“No problem, I understand.” She took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “She was also very upset when Christine died.”

He went instinctively numb at the mere mention of the name. “Me, too,” was all he could respond.

A tense silence hung between them for several moments. They both found different spots on the floor to study. It was annoying; he was rested enough that the need to sleep wasn’t pressing on him, yet the time of day and his current locale made working impractical. He figured, since there was nothing better to do, he’d take advantage of the company of the beautiful woman sitting across the way, even if she didn’t seem in the mood.

“Seems unfair that you know so much about me, yet I know so little about you,” he began.

“Do you always have such an acute interest in lowly interns? How Clintonian of you.” Victoria shifted around uncomfortably, tucking her hands under her legs. “Not too much I can tell you. I’m originally from this area, actually, but I’ve spent much of my life abroad. I always get a little homesick this time of year, and an internship on an Olmec dig seemed a good excuse to spend some time here.”

“Do you still have family around here?”

Victoria shook her head. “Sadly, no. Everyone’s dead or moved on to other places.”

He could see a speck of sympathy in her eyes, perhaps reflecting his own. She was just as lonely as he was in this world. Shep wasn’t quite ready to cry like old girlfriends and braid each other’s hair, however, so he diverted the subject. “And how did you become interested in the Olmec? You were trained in Egyptology, no?”

“True enough, but my interests have always varied. And, being native here, the Olmec are part of my heritage.”

“Yes, you must be one of the Veracruz Kents.” Shep laughed. “Not a very Latin-sounding name, Kent. How did your family end up down here?”

“Keep a secret?” She leaned over, a conspiratorial look meeting his. Shep mirrored her movements, bringing his face within inches of hers. She licked her lips, and, Lord help him, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were as soft as they looked. “Kent isn’t really my name.”

Shep couldn’t make out from her half-smirk and taunting eyes if she was pulling his leg.

Nor could he bring himself to shift away from her, though he knew that he was inappropriately close. He couldn’t explain it. Sure, finding her attractive made sense; she was young, intelligent, and beautiful as sin. Still, why this overpowering sense of ... familiarity? He was drawn to her somehow. It wasn’t anything emotional, of that he was certain. His heart had made a lifetime commitment. However, there were desires bordering on compulsion, and they hadn’t been met in quite some time. He needed to close the distance, needed to kiss her. Victoria bit her bottom lip, and as her eyes fluttered closed, Shep felt his pulse spiral out of control. He leaned forward tentatively.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” Shep whispered, his eyes closing as he awaited the gravitational force between them to bring him crashing into her.

“A wise woman wouldn’t.”

The moment passed. As though the rain from outside had found its way in, the heat between them washed away with her retreat.

“I’m sorry,” Shep found himself barking out before he could even fathom what he had to be sorry for.

She shook her head violently. “I didn’t mean to get so close. I didn’t ... That would have been very wrong, and I would have done it for all the wrong reasons.”

Shep found no words with which to respond. Wouldn’t he have been the one taking advantage of her? He parted his lips to speak, to assure her that she had nothing to apologize for, but was stopped short by Victoria jumping to her feet. Stuffing her book into a leather satchel, she threw it over her shoulder in such haste that she didn’t notice one loose leaf of paper flutter down to the floor.

“I have to go.”

It was such an impossible a statement—with a hurricane raging outside and at night—that, for a moment, he thought she was making a joke. He was hardly laughing as he watched her undo both pressure locks on the door and open it. The wind pelted droplets of water over his face, stinging with each hit.

“Victoria, if I said or did something ...”

She gave him the briefest, most intriguing of smiles. “It wasn’t you. It’s always been me.”

With a swish of her coat and hair falling behind her frame as she exited, she was gone.

Perplexed, Shep sealed the door and watched through the window as the havoc outside consumed her silhouette, taking his shame with it. Would it have been so wrong to kiss her? Had she not wanted to? He wasn’t a college kid anymore, but was he so repulsive to her young eyes? Sure, his blond hair was spiked with gray. Despite his kinship with Cuervo, he logged enough time on the treadmill to burn off his hangover each morning that he was trim if not fit. And yes, there were a few wrinkles around his eyes and a little wear on his elbows, but he felt young. Youngish. Well, anyhow, not old.

Bending over, he scooped up the paper. Pictorial lines drawn at odd angles comprised glyphs he didn’t recognize. Mayan, he assumed, although underneath each English translations and margin notes enlightened his understanding. As he looked at a notation in the center, his heart nearly stopped.

He barely slept the rest of the night, lapsing between slumber and consciousness with every roll of thunder or refreshed cadence of rainfall. In the emerging light of morning, he finally found rest as the storm let up and the rain lessened into a gentle tap-tap-tap on the window that hypnotized. He hoped the dawn would bring Victoria back from wherever she had weathered the storm and the awkwardness that now lay between them.

Much later, the rain and wind stopped. Shep rolled over and found the cot across from him undisturbed. Replaying the evening in his head, he still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He had to find her, to apologize … or maybe kiss her. He considered telling Hector about Victoria’s little admission about the scroll, but decided against it considering how seriously Plaxis took their security protocols. No doubt there was a reason she didn’t want Hector to know she had seen it, and he couldn’t see how outing her would get him the answers to his questions any quicker.

The unhinging of the locks from outside and the crashing open of the door broke his concentration. Hector’s quivering frame filled the space, his face whiter than should have been possible for a man of his complexion. He looked at Victoria’s cot with a heavy brow. “So she is gone.”

Shep rolled up on one elbow. “She took off about nine-thirty last night. Any idea where I can find her?”

“Not just Vick,” Hector gasped. He stumbled into the room as though in a trance. “Everything. The box. The scroll. Even the statuette, Shep. It’s all gone.”

Chapter 5

Victoria Kent was a lot of things, but stupid she was not, although descriptors such as self-serving, manipulative, coy, and arrogant she’d cop to. She had no qualms about the risks involved with her activities on the Yucatan, despite the fact that certain parties would be uber-pissed once they found out. The fact that she was indispensable to said parties provided her all the sense of security she needed.

A lack of stupidity was also the reason she’d stopped herself from kissing Sheppard Smyth, a man on whom she had no design. That he had felt some degree of attraction had been integral to her scheme, and she’d counted on her figure, face, and flirting to work their usual magic. Still, how naturally he played his part surprised even her. She hadn’t counted on Shep’s lust overriding his grief the way it had. Part of her wanted to dislike him for that, but Christine had passed several years ago. Maybe that was just the way the heart worked.

She cursed as she fought through the rain, away from the shelter where, no doubt, Shep sat, confused and intrigued. She hadn’t thought he’d wake up so quickly. The eye of the storm wouldn’t be over them for two more hours, which was when she had planned to rouse him. Shep recuperated from travel and drunkenness faster than most men. Thank goodness she’d had her notebook already out when he surprised her. That piece of paper she’d dropped, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist reading it, would intrigue him enough so that all events she needed to fall into place, would start falling into place. He’d also be driven by his unrequited attraction. Men were so predictable that way.

She barely stifled a yelp as her legs buckled and her knees punched into the mud. Victoria hated being wet, and she hated being dirty. Here she was, in the middle of the rainforest, soaked, soiled, and sullied. You would think after everything she’d been through, she’d be a little better at this by now. Thank goodness Hector Gonzalez’s fears of Kronastia’s interference made him malleable beyond belief. When she had suggested keeping the unearthed artifacts onsite, using the on-coming hurricane as an excuse to buy more time, instead of trucking them into the city to Plaxis’s lab, he’d been all too ready to agree. Which made her job even easier. Good goddess, maybe she just should have volunteered to take them back to her own shelter for safekeeping?

Luckily for her, the Plaxis hired goons had been wise enough to get out of the storm, or so it seemed. From the outside, the security shelter where Hector had insisted on storing the finds appeared to be unguarded. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she punched a series of numbers into the keypad on the security door and pressed her thumb to the scanner. With a beep and click of the lock, she was in.

Looking at José.

Of course, Mr. I’m-too-Sexy-for-Détente would be on watch, wouldn’t he? A hurricane couldn’t possibly be considered ample protection against thieves, robbers, and all-purpose swindlers. Considering the task currently at hand, she gave José credit for not being as dumb as she’d thought. Despite the fact that she was a person who appreciated intelligence, Victoria found herself wishing the security detail lacked more of it. At least the hired guns proved to be wild, trigger-happy testosterone factories, allowing her to play the part of the untagged doe that had wandered into their hunting territory. José, their alpha, had warned the others pretty quickly that Victoria was his bitch to claim. Unfortunately, after three weeks of feigned gentleness and demure temper on her part, José was getting hungry for action. The last thing she needed right now was anyone’s attention, least of all the head of security’s.

“Mi corazon!”

José leapt to his feet, turning away from the bank of monitors streaming visuals in from all over the camp, despite the heavy rain that made many of the screens look like modern hydro-art. From the corner of her eye, Victoria saw one screen where Shep now reclined wearily on his cot, the paper she’d dropped under his study. A smile crossed her face. At least that was coming together, but damn this Argentine, peeping-tom bastard for spying.

“Hola, Señor Montoya.” She hoped a wall of formality would give her enough time to distract him from his attempted conquest and find a way into the air-tight crate behind him. Continuing in Spanish, she said, “Did you draw the shortest straw, having to ride out the storm in the security shelter?”

“I volunteered for it, to keep an eye out for you.” His eyes pitched toward the bank of screens, indicating the one showing where she had been minutes before. “He shouldn’t be here to start with. Gonzalez is getting presumptive, thinks he’s actually running this show. I saw what Smyth tried to do to you. It took all I had not to grab my gun and come running.”

It took all she had not to roll her eyes and run off. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, Sr. Montoya. As you no doubt saw when I left a few minutes ago.”

She shivered in revulsion as he reached out and smoothed his callused hand over her long, multi-hued hair. “A real man takes care of a woman, Victoria, no matter how strong or weak she may be. He protects her honor, as much as his.” For a moment, it looked as though he might try to claim a kiss from her as well, but Victoria shifted away just as he leaned in.

“Plaxis security protocols forbid fraternization while on duty,” she staunchly reminded him.

He unleashed a devious smile. “I’m the chief of security. Who would it be reported to?” His hand reached out and stroked her cheek. “You are such a beautiful woman. I’m not surprised the American is attracted to you, but you need someone worthy, not some pansy-ass professor.”

An ingenious little grin spread over her face as she realized she’d get up the stream faster if she was paddling with the current instead of against it.

“Are you worthy, José?” she cooed as she batted her eyelashes just the smallest bit and reached into her pocket, drawing out the lip gloss canister. Slicking the translucent contents over her lips with a slow, sultry pull of the application wand, Jose’s eyes grew heavy-lidded. “Not too many ‘real men’ for me way out here. At least,” she leaned in closely and spoke into his lips, “none that have made me feel secure enough to trust yet, none that I could get close to.”

His tongue darted out and slicked his bottom lip. “Security is my specialty, señorita. You can get as close to me—” his hands reached out and grabbed her at the waist, pulling her slender frame hard against his, “—as you’d like.”

Carnal need heated him as he pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue jutting into her mouth without pause. Victoria mocked a moan and pulled at his shirt, leading him to think she wanted him to kiss her harder. Which she did, but not in the way he presumed. Lust did things to a man, and not just physically. It turned off certain switches in their heads, made their brains run at a slower, more primal pace. As blood was utilized for other purposes, the scaling back of Jose’s higher brain functions made it easier for Victoria to do her thing unobstructed, and the toxins in the lip gloss would take care of the rest.

José’s hands threaded her hair before landing on her shoulders and squeezing. She flinched. Alpha dogs tended to be sadistic, and she wasn’t surprised when he pressed into her and saluted her at the midsection, all the while kissing her ... frankly, quite well.

Okay, so the creep could kiss. She had a job to do.

Victoria arched her back and tipped her head to the side, letting him trail his mouth down her neck, where the chemical catalyst mixed into her perfume would speed Jose’s poisoning. She closed her eyes, letting out a hiss as he bit at her ear. She knew the moment the toxins kicked in, because his body froze solid in her arms.

“José?”

Just a dull, zombielike groan in response.

“Will you do something for me?” As if she had to ask.

“Anything,” he muttered.

She slithered out of his arms. His eyes tracked her with a forlorn look, as though she were taking away his favorite toy.

“I need the items in this box,” she said, tapping her fingers on the lid of the crate. “I know you know the code. Open it.”

The puppy bounced around, happy to please its master. The mind-slave’s emotions always broke near the surface, the every whim of the controller their reason for living from moment to moment. To have such an ability was addictive. Victoria couldn’t deny that she’d abused the tool more than once in the past, but she was fighting down the rush being the dominant gave her. She had to stay focused, had to stay vigilant.

“Good, José, very good.”

The box’s lid sprang open and José stepped obediently out of the way. The storage crate, lined with plush velvet, would no doubt help to soften any blows, but it disturbed her that the items hadn’t been individually curated. Which meant, she understood, that Hector intended to ship out the discoveries to the lab in Mexico City as soon as the hurricane cleared. He may have bought in to the few hours of delay she’d proposed, but it seemed he wasn’t going to chance pissing off Kronastia that much. Lucky for her, she’d gotten to them first.

Memories overtook Victoria as she ran her fingers over each object, echoing moments long since passed. Her eyes fell to the statuette. She couldn’t stifle the sharp intake of breath and flutter of her heart. Nostalgia’s quill nudged at her. Biting her bottom lip, Victoria swung the leather satchel she had been carrying on her back forward and began lowering the objects into it. She took up the wooden box last and hinged it open, an exhale of relief issuing from her when she saw the scroll was still contained inside. It should have upset her, given that papyrus as old as it was likely to come to quick damage once exposed to the elements, and even more so here in the rainforest. Of course, Hector was a Mesoamerican expert, so the knowledge of how to properly preserve a piece of pilfered papyrus wasn’t his particular predilection. Luckily the scroll also had inside it ...

Victoria shouted as she searched again. “Where the hell is the amulet?”

“Gone.” José’s deadpan only made her panic seem all the more overblown.

“Gone?” she repeated unbelievingly. “Gone where? Hector said he wasn’t going to—”

“Plaxis lab,” José murmured. “Mexico City, this morning. Boss’s orders.”

Profanities spoken in a dead tongue rang from her lips. She wanted to hit something, hard. Hard enough to knock it into next week. Victoria closed her eyes and centered herself, determined to stay on task. Whatever. Seven whole days lay ahead of her before she’d really need the amulet. For now, though, she was needed elsewhere and her time—and energy—was running out.

With a swing of her arm, Victoria threw the satchel over her shoulder and turned back to José, who stood looking intently at nothing in particular. She pressed her body against his with utmost delicacy. His desire was her most agile weapon at the moment, and the toxins made his will highly accessible.

“Do you want to make me happy, José?” she coyly queried, taking his earlobe between her lips and sucking as he answered.

“Yes, mi corazon. I’d do anything.”

“Anything?” She let her hand snake around his sides, running her fingers in circles over the lower part of his back. “Would you even betray Dmitri Kronastia for me?”

He grimaced. Even with most of his ability to think rationally contained, he was still a soldier. Hard wiring laid down by years of discipline were not so easily circumnavigated. The human need to war—particularly in the male of the species—was instinctive, and loyalty to the master-of-arms akin to the pack yielding to the alpha.

“I ... would.”

His resistance to commit quickly or completely disappointed her. Any mental trigger she could plant for later use would have to be subtle and only for her benefit. The loyal mutt wouldn’t betray Dmitri outright.

“I have to leave.” She saw the shadow of sadness on his face. However, his expression quickly turned to one of joy when she said, “We’ll see each other again soon. When we do, José, it may be in a time where I am in need of help. Will I be able to count on you then? Even if it means doing something your boss might punish you for later, would you help me?”

“Always.”

“Good, and for that, you deserve a reward.”

She closed her eyes and sank into him. When their lips touched, an infused dose of the toxins seeped into his mouth, taking his brain further down the rabbit hole. José blinked, trying to sharpen his gaze on the face and the situation in front of him. Confusion danced over his features, but in a moment or two, he cast aside his reticence and threw his arms around her, drawing her closer.

The contact was all she needed to see out the tail end of her impromptu escape plan. It was time for the getaway, before José caught on to what she was doing and before she lost the advantage of the storm to cover up her escape. She couldn’t afford to leave the Plaxis chief of security dead; Dmitri was going to be pissed enough after the call he was sure to get in the morning from Hector. At the same time, she didn’t want to risk having José try to keep her from going by force. If he could just pass out for a while, it would provide the cover she needed and give her time to get out of Dodge before anyone was the wiser.

José’s lips moved over Victoria’s. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?”

She only hummed into his mouth, but could hear his voice slur when he spoke.

“The storm is keeping everyone away. No one will find us here if we … It’s getting so cold in here. And … spinning?”

She broke their kiss and brought his hand to her face, pressing it against her warm flesh. He could barely move his fingers to stroke her cheek.

“Just breathe through it, José. You’ve done well.”

He fell back into a chair as numbness rendered his limbs useless. “What have you done to me?”

Victoria tracked him, never breaking the contact. “You’ll be fine. You’re just going to take a little nap, and you won’t remember any of this. Tell Dmitri I said hello, okay?”

Understanding and confusion warred in his features before José’s muscles relaxed completely. He passed out, slouching, but not before an amused grimace flashed across his face. To her surprise, the momentary twitch of his lips set her insides a quiver. No matter his station, José was a warrior, and she respected that. To see he respected her back filled her with pride. She turned to leave, pausing at the door and turning back, hoping his subconscious could still pick up on her commands.

“Dmitri will make a pet of Shep now. I know it. Whatever you do, José, protect him. Not only from Dmitri, but also from himself.”

12.16.12

Chapter 6

The site was frenzied but not dysfunctional. The jungle had served as a deterrent to the full force of both the rain and the winds. With the exception of a few shredded palm fronds, haphazard pieces of refuse, and puddles, they’d passed the hurricane well. Except for the damage evident on Hector’s face; that was monumental in its scope. Shep was right there with him. Ten hours ago, he’d felt like after years of wandering the desert, he’d finally reached water. Now the mirage of hope faded.

Hector immediately began accounting for every member of his team, trying to pinpoint if an accomplice had fled with Victoria. Much to his relief, everyone else was present and accounted for. Only the thief had managed to escape, using the storm as a cover. Shep couldn’t help but admire her cunning. The rain and wind had wiped away the evidence of which way she’d ran, and given her a significant head start at an escape.

“What about the camera feeds?” Shep asked.

“We just installed the cameras two days ago when we uncovered the artifacts,” Hector informed him. “And they only record inside the camp. After Victoria got outside the perimeter of the shelters, we’d be blind to her whereabouts. Dios mio, I don’t understand why someone with her academic pedigree and promise would throw away any chance at a legitimate career.”

While Shep wondered the same thing, he had some clue as to the answer. Had not he himself thrown away ‘academic pedigree and promise’ for something crazy? Shep knew the root of his professional apostasy: justice for Cleopatra. What drove Victoria? And why take everything? If she was truly an Egyptologist, why not just snatch the scroll and the statue?

The Cleopatra Statue … Remembering the feel of it in his hands, the smoothness of its surface, he sighed. He felt like a cherished family member had been kidnapped. More than that, he couldn’t help but be suspicious. How was it that an intern specializing in his same field of archaeology had elected to work at a Mesoamerican dig where, lo and behold, a rare statue of Cleopatra turned up? Had she known it was there all along? Did Anathea send her, perhaps?

The security chief seemed as out of sorts in the wake of the robbery as a suntanned Swede. José reported falling asleep in the security shelter, claiming he discovered the items gone when he awoke. Of course, the one shelter not monitored was the one from which the robbery occurred. After milling about in confusion, José ordered a sweep of the nearby jungle. As Shep suspected, nothing turned up. Hector lost his temper more than once, screaming in a mixture of English and Spanish about how such overbearing, professional thugs-for-hire could be outmaneuvered by an intern. Victoria hadn’t taken any of the team’s vehicles, Hector reported, which meant either she had escaped on foot or arranged a rendezvous somewhere nearby.

“Of course she didn’t take your vehicles. She’s smarter than that,” Shep said. “All of your vehicles are bugged.”

Hector pulled on his beard. “What?”

“You didn’t know?” Shep squashed the temptation to choose this moment for laying into Hector about working for mobsters. Instead, something else occurred to him. “Come to think of it, when she picked me up yesterday, she said she had been meeting with somebody. Maybe that had to do with all this.”

Hector’s eyes widened. “José! Uno momento, por favor.”

The be-muscled minion and Hector conversed in rapid-fire Spanish, during which Hector pointed briefly to Shep and said Victoria’s name. Understanding washed over José’s face, and he barked something that sounded slightly wary and somewhat threatening to Hector. Hector cowered, leaping up from the table and pacing, looking like he was trying to create a mental wall around him to block out José’s continuing argument. With a slumping of his shoulders, Hector finally conceded. The security chief left, only to return a few moments later holding a cell phone on steroids. Hector accepted the gadget with a sense of defeat that drew Shep’s pity.

“So, what’s up?” Shep asked, slightly bemused at the exchange despite himself.

“We’re going to see if we can get a detailed report on Victoria’s trip yesterday,” he answered. “Only, to get that kind of information, we need to call in. All the security data uploads to Plaxis’s servers in Mexico City and gets swept off our local hard drive after Jose’s reviewed it each night. Yesterday, his excitement over your arrival deterred him, and he rushed the review so the files could upload before the hurricane hit. He expected to see her car in town, so he didn’t think anything about the route Victoria took. I think he’s scared that this will somehow be pinned on him, so he’s demanding that I be the one to report it. This ... is going to hurt.”

“Huh?”

Hector chuckled lowly. “This project is coded gold by Plaxis. Top priority. Gold project security reports and permission requests go directly to Kronastia’s right-hand man. Which means, Kronastia will know about it within minutes after I call. This is going to bring hell down, and fast.”

As Shep turned that fact over in his mind, he had another realization. If what Hector said was true, it meant that the evening before, it had been Kronastia’s guy whom José had called about their trip down into the pit. Shep wasn’t sure what it meant that a Russian mob boss was now familiar with his name, and probably knew all his critical details from blood type to beer choice. He suspected nothing good.

Hector let out a hefty sigh as he looked down at what Shep now realized must be a satellite phone. In clear resignation, Hector coded in the number and raised the phone to his ear as though it were a fifty-pound dumbbell. Or a loaded gun. An association with Russian roulette seemed oddly appropriate. His eyes pinched shut. Though he had near-native fluency in English, whenever Hector got overly excited or nervous, he began to babble like a third grader trying to explain Tolstoy. Shep recalled how, back in college, cool, collected Hector could be reduced to monosyllabic chattering when the right coed was in company.

Finally, with a static-filled click, the other line picked up.

“Da?”

Shep heard the voice come through the phone, and Hector jolted. “Hector Gonzales calling from Project Bullfighter.”

Now the words on the other end were more muffled, but a few unintelligible mumbles flowed through, followed by a pause, and then another voice. This one, a baritone as opposed to a tenor, spoke low and chased the life from Hector’s face. Shep tried to decode from Hector’s expression the direction of the discussion from the one-sided conversation.

“Hector Gonzales, verification code alpha-omega-six-epsilon. Sir, there’s been a robbery.” There were a few words from the other side, causing Hector to suck in his bottom lip and wince. “All of them, sir. Except that amulet. That we were able to send ahead of the storm, as you requested. The other things we didn’t have time to properly prep for transport.”

There was a long pause as Hector took on a shade of white far too pale for a Latino.

“We’re pretty certain we know who it was, sir, yes. She went missing last night at the same time everything else did. We believe it was the intern from Plaxis. We think if we could get a trace on the vehicle she was driving yesterday ...” A questioning phrase echoed. “The intern, sir,” Hector repeated, raising the volume of his voice slightly and over-accentuating his words.

Shep could have sworn he heard a wry laugh come from the other end before Kronastia spoke again. There was little he could glean, however, from Hector’s next responses.

“Yes, sir ... No, I wasn’t aware of ... Yes, Smyth is still ... No? But then, how ... Of course, not, sir. I’m sure you’re right ... All of it? Yes, sir, will do. Th–thank you, Mr. Kronastia.”

Shep felt his heart take off on a marathon. Kronastia? Hector had been speaking directly with Kronastia? He hadn’t missed, “Smyth is still …” giving Shep undeniable proof that he was on radar and being targeted for trouble. Lowering the phone, Hector hit the end button and found a spot in the distance, giving his gaze the exclusive.

“Hector, what’s going on?”

As though he just realized there was another living being in his presence, Hector’s eyes focused. The man would soon register on the Richter Scale if he kept up this level of shaking.

“He’s coming.”

“Kronastia?”

Nodding, Hector licked his cracked lips. “But that’s not all. Apparently, Plaxis doesn’t have an internship program.”

Chapter 7

Dmitri Kronastia considered himself a patient man, but even he’d admit he could be a terrible judge of character. The few people who’d spent significant time with him preferred terms like driven, condescending, severe, and his personal favorite, vindictive. Was it so wrong to expect others to follow orders, and to punish them when they fell short? He didn’t think so, and yet others continually were surprised when his bill came due and he set out to collect, no matter the cost.

“Problems with Bullfighter, sir?” Anton Sluga, his red-headed valet, focused on Dmitri’s hand with unease.

Dmitri hissed when he saw the thin line of blood trickling down the inside of his wrist. After wiping away the mess, he took to picking out the glass slivers that had become embedded in his fingertips when he’d crushed his cell.

“How quickly could we get to the site?”

“Four hours, sir. Shall I have the jet readied for departure?”

“Yes, Anton, please see to that. Also, call our people and have them forward me crew profiles. And I’ll need another phone.”

“Again, sir?”

Dmitri groaned. “Yes, again.”

Like a circling buzzard, he’d kept himself in the regional vicinity of the site for the last few weeks. Honestly, he would have been at San Lorenzo during the entirety of the excavation. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going to be unearthed there, and what impact that might have on his actions, however. Despite his reputation, Dmitri was not an indiscriminate killer. He never terminated without cause, and even then only as a last resort. If something in the excavation indicated ... well, anything, he respected Gonzalez too much professionally to end his life rashly.

When news had reached Dmitri that the amulet had been found, he immediately ordered it to Mexico City. He had intended to be en route to the Plaxis labs there a day earlier. Wouldn’t you know it, a “surprise” hurricane popped up, blocking his flight path. Then came the call from José Montoya De La Plana, alerting him to Sheppard Smyth’s presence, and his suspicions about the storm’s timing were confirmed. Still, nothing in Smyth’s current publications made him think he’d pieced together anything since Christine’s death. Even if Smyth managed to connect dots from the smattering of evidence at the site, it was unlikely he’d stumble on to the truth. Unless that had been Anathea’s plan. Somehow, Dmitri doubted that. She kept her secrets as close as he himself did. One of the many things the two of them had in common was their need to stay aloof.

When the next phone call had arrived, however, he knew they were in serious trouble. Only one person would have the gumption—or the capability—to pull off such a heist.

“Anton?” Dmitri called his valet’s attention back from his fervent keying on a laptop across the room. “Pull whatever strings you have to get me the phone number for Anathea Hermapolous. Tell her it’s time she and I had a little chat.”

-Ψ-

The plane descended into the Veracruz airport just as Plaxis notified Anton that the requested records had been patched back to the dig site. The chirp of Anton’s cell drew Dmitri’s attention away from the window.

“Miss Hermapolous, sir.” Anton presented his intact device.

Dmitri acknowledged him with a nod and pulled the phone to his ear. He didn’t bother with small talk. What was the point with someone with whom he had so much history?

“I bet you think you’re pretty sly.”

He could hear her breathing, slow and steady. In his mind’s eye, he could see those wispy little lips of hers curling into a mischievous grin. It was likely she had been expecting the call. Hell, she had probably sat down somewhere and just stared at the phone, willing it to ring so that she could get over with it.

With a long sigh, he continued, “Twelve twenty-one is less than a week away, my dear. What can you possibly achieve in a few days that you haven’t been able to get away with in all this time?”

“Weren’t you the one who told me that I could achieve anything I set my mind to?”

He gave a wry chuckle. “I will admit, the intern angle was clever. Don’t suppose you’ll tell me whose arm in security you twisted to get the proper credentials?”

“You should know better, Dmitri. I never reveal my sources.”

He returned to the more pressing issue. “What exactly do you intend to do with it all, I wonder?”

“Whatever the hell I want,” she snapped. “Maybe I’ll expose the truth to the world.”

“No one of worth would believe you.”

She was silent for a moment, before answering in a voice lacking of all doubt, “I don’t need everyone to believe me, just the ones that matter. Don’t doubt my abilities. I took my lessons from you well.”

Curling his hand over the receiver to ensure that Anton heard nothing, Dmitri growled with a lusty lilt, “I still could teach you a lot, if only you’d give me a chance.”

“Please, don’t you know how old I am?” Her throaty, insincere dismissal rang in his ears. “I learned long ago never to trust anything you say in that tone.”

Two beeps, and the signal was lost. Dmitri handed the phone back to Anton and resumed his stare out the window. In his mind, he remembered once upon a time driving a beautiful young woman half insane in his bed, using that tone of voice as he willed her zenith with both his body and his words.

Chapter 8

Hector approached the newly-arrived Humvee like a man ascending the execution block, forcing Shep to wonder for a moment if, in fact, that was exactly the scene unfolding before him. He ransacked his brain, trying to recall the little he did know, or thought he had heard, about Dmitri Kronastia.

Oddly enough, Kronastia was somewhat known in the archaeological field. Even years ago while in college, cautionary tales warned of the newest player in the antiquities black market. Plaxis, a small time Moscow-based tool and die company, had been long used as a front for directing his “international projects”. They still produced tools and dies. The tools were any number of international criminal leaders. And the dies? Well, Shep really hoped they weren’t about to be recruited into that allegedly vast, “discontinued” product line.

Hector held all the fortitude of a shamed puppy. When alas the back door of the Humvee opened and a young, graceful man stepped out in an Armani suit despite the rugged locale, Shep wasn’t quite sure just what was going on.

Hector’s head bowed in submission as the suave gentleman approached.

“Dr. Gonzalez,” he said by way of greeting, his accent vaguely Russian, “wish I could say good to see you again, but not so much under these circumstances, nyet? Anton!”

On the other side of the vehicle, another door opened, then closed. A moment later, a thin stick figure of a man topped off with thin, bright red hair rounded the front of the vehicle, scurrying up in a regal display of utter obeisance.

“Mr. Kronastia, sir?”

Once, then twice, Shep blinked in shock. Surely, this was a joke. How could it be? Kronastia was already taking down hits when Shep was still fulfilling liberal arts requirements, yet he didn’t look like he could top off thirty. The mob boss was graced with shiny, black locks cover models would envy, and silver eyes that could freeze water. Generously built, the arms of his suit pulled taut when Kronastia folded his arms in front of him.

The mobster turned to the redhead. “Have Dr. Gonzalez take you to the security server and pull up the relevant files. I want to see this supposed intern for myself.”

“Of course, sir,” Anton answered without hesitation and with a slight bow of his head.

Kiss ass, Shep thought. He might have been seeing things, but for a moment he swore he saw a corner of Kronastia’s mouth raise. When Anton’s gaze and attention turned to Hector, however, his tone was less cordial.

“If you don’t mind, Dr. Gonzalez.” He veritably scowled.

Hector glanced back over his shoulder at Shep, who tried to return a sympathetic and reassuring smile. It faltered. His eyes followed the pair as they turned and trudged off, noticing as Anton’s jacket swayed with each sweep of his arms the presence of two holsters secured to his side. A shot of concern ran the length of him, but Shep’s stress turned inward when he felt the weight of a stare upon him and discovered Kronastia beaming at him.

“Dr. Sheppard Antonius Smyth.” Each syllable, crisp and precise, sounded like a formal summons. “I cannot tell you what an honor it is finally to meet you.”

“It is?” Immediately sensing his faux pas, he coughed to clear his throat and tried to conjure an air of formality that he often reserved for meeting university donors. “It is,” he amended.

“Indeed,” Kronastia reassured him as he slowly paced over, holding out his hand.

Shep took it lightly when within reach, and flinched as the abnormally chilled flesh made contact with his palm. Great genetics, but shitty circulation, he assumed, thanking the gods that even when it came to Russian mob bosses, there was some justice in the world.

Kronastia grinned. “I follow your work. I find your theory regarding Cleopatra most preposterous, of course, but I give you credit for thinking outside the box. Your wife’s article on Isis cults in latter day Rome, however, was most intriguing. Speaking of which,” he paused, his head turning and his eyes searching from side to side, “is she here as well?”

For the second time in as many days, Shep felt the stab of sorrow. He shook his head meekly and replied in a shrunken voice, “Christine passed away a few years ago.”

To his credit, Kronastia looked believably ashamed and saddened. “My sympathies and apologies.”

By default, Shep shrugged, a hefty sigh issuing from his lips.

“Well,” Kronastia resumed, pulling his hand back and placing it casually in his pocket, “now that you’re involved, I suppose it’s either recruit you to the project or kill you.”

The monotone comment had Shep searching Kronastia’s expression. No cracked smile, no break in his sincerity. Shep gave a sardonic chuckle and studied the native vegetation at his feet. “I’ve always considered myself a team player.”

“Glad to hear it.” Kronastia jerked his head to the side. “Walk with me, and tell me what you know. Please, don’t leave anything out. I do so revere your work, and hopefully there’s no reason for me to see it end.”

Following closely behind, Shep noted that they were walking back in the direction of the hurricane shelters.

“Anytime you’re ready to start, Dr. Smyth.”

Shep cleared his throat. “Two nights ago, Hector called and told me about the statue.”

“The one he thought was Isis.”

He nodded. “Yup.”

“I suppose that would have intrigued you. Go on.”

“Well, yeah, but still, I haven’t talked much to Hector since we were grad students together. However, his reputation has always been good. I hopped on the first flight. His assistant—the fake intern, it looks like— picked me up from the airport when I arrived yesterday.”

“And did Hector show you the other objects as well?”

Shep didn’t want to be caught in a lie, so he didn’t hold back. “Yes, but only briefly and I didn’t have a chance with the scroll before Victoria took it. She seemed to know what it said, though ...”

Shep bit his tongue, remembering Vick’s request not to share that smidgen of information.

“Oh, I’m quite sure this Victoria Kent is more than aware of what the scroll said,” Kronastia muttered with a slight chuckle to boot. “She didn’t tell you anything about it, did she?”

By this time, they had reached one of the outlying buildings, one somewhat larger than that in which Shep had stayed in through the storm. He noted that this shelter was also equipped with a fingerprint scanner and had a relatively large antenna protruding from atop. At a pressing of Kronastia’s finger to the sensor, the locks clicked and the door swung open.

“Um, no, she joked—I think—that she’d have to kill me if she did.” Shep paused, and added tentatively, “I think I may have seen one of the translations she was working on, though.”

Kronastia stopped, his expression full of amusement. “Really?”

“She dropped a piece of paper when she rushed out of our shelter.” He knew it sounded crazy, and no doubt jumping to this conclusion only served to foster and fester his own widely discredited theory. “I think that the scroll has something to do with Cleopatra.”

At that, Kronastia let out a coughing chuckle. “Isn’t that interesting? You must show me this paper soon. Anton, the video?”

The valet’s ears perked up as they entered, and both he and Hector turned. Shep breathed easier, seeing his friend still this side of the grave.

“Yes, sir, we’ve just isolated some of the footage from her arrival to camp yesterday. The perimeter cameras were useless last night while the hurricane passed over. We can’t see anything about how she made her exit. I’m still sorting through the rest of it.”

The bank of screens, buttons, gadgets, and gizmos overwhelmed Shep. He would have sworn he’d walked out of the jungle and in to a CIA outpost. On a book-sized screen, a video of he and Victoria pulling up in the Jeep looped. He marveled again at her grace as she jumped from behind the wheel, landing lithely on the ground, and the ease with which she hoisted his bag from the back. Kronastia’s eyes narrowed. Delicately, his hand rose when the image stilled, locking Victoria in frame. His fingers traced over the outline of her face, stroking the screen with far too much care.

Kronastia swallowed hard. “What about the vehicle trace?”

Anton leaned over and punched the keyboard. In a moment, one of the monitors brought up a map of the Veracruz area. Shep immediately spotted the airport, and the red line that ran adjacent to it on the overlay indicated the path the vehicle had taken. Tracing the route with his eyes, he saw the line meander through the downtown streets.

“Just a moment, sir.” Anton keyed a scrawl of commands. A flashing dot appeared on the map on the east side of the city. “She made a few mundane stops: a gas station, a market. Hmm, a sporting goods store. But, here,” he pointed at the dot, “a hotel on the outskirts of the airport, and the data feed says she was there for about two hours. Our security team probably just thought she was sitting and waiting for Dr. Smyth’s plane to arrive.”

“She was late picking me up,” Shep volunteered. “I had to wait for her. I was about to give up on her, actually, and get a room for the night.”

Kronastia took it all in calmly, his chin resting on his fisted hand. “If I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was meeting a lover. But only for two hours? That doesn’t sound like her.”

Shep couldn’t help himself. “Speak from experience?”

His stomach dropped when he recalled that his life at the moment depended on the very good humor of a very humorless man.

“I’ll see if I can grab an image from the camera in the Jeep,” Anton said.

And, there she was. Her hair flew about, the wind batting at it like a flag as she drove. There was no sound to the grainy video, but she was obviously singing along to the radio. She disappeared after parking. Anton fast forwarded as Shep kept his eyes trained on the time signature in the bottom right corner of the feed. One hour and forty-three minutes later, she showed up again in frame, wearing a beaming smile that made Shep wonder if, despite Kronastia’s claim, less than two hours provided her enough satisfaction after all. Her wild and carefree expression, and the fact that he suspected she’d just been sexed up proper, took his mind to irrational places. The background shifted as she moved the Jeep to a parking lot closer to the terminal. As anyone would, Shep felt a quiver in his stomach when he saw himself come on camera at the tail end of the car, and disgusted with the look on his own face as he watched her remove her outer layer of clothing.

Anton froze the image when she again sat behind the driver’s wheel. The tension grew thick as the three other men beheld the Russian’s momentary regret-filled gaze. Immediately, however, the moment passed, and his teeth gnashed.

His eyes remain focused on Victoria’s image. “I need to speak with Dr. Gonzalez and Dr. Smyth privately.”

Without a batted eyelash, Anton nodded his compliance and took his leave.

“Close the door behind you,” Kronastia further ordered, “and be certain that we are not disturbed.”

Hector gulped so loudly it sounded cartoonish. Shep wondered if they both suspected their heads were on the chopping block. When Kronastia reached into his pocket, neither of them were really surprised. They passed a quick glance to each other, saying in unspoken words that, for whatever it was worth, at least they were with a friend in the end.

When instead of a revolver, Kronastia pulled out a photograph and held it to the screen, both Shep and Hector were at a loss for words. Death by Polaroid? Just didn’t seem possible. They looked at the photo, of course, and were surprised to see Victoria in it, wearing military fatigues. No sexy skirt here, nor the standard-issue dig worker’s khakis and tees. Her caramel hair was pulled back tight, and strapped to her side was a fully-loaded ammo belt. She held a gun that would make a grown man cry.

“They called her Yonina Berkmalov when this was taken,” Kronastia stated rather stoically. “But don’t get hung up on that. She changes her identity like some women change shoes, and she’s got a collection that would have put Imelda Marcos to shame. You might be most familiar with one particular moniker, however. Have you ever heard of the Jaguar?”

Hector nearly spit up a lung. “Yes, but Jaguar’s a man.”

Kronastia tucked the photo back inside his jacket pocket. “She likes people to believe that. So few ever assume that the infamous black market antiques dealer could be a woman. Other’s presumptions allow her to use her wiles to an even greater extent. She culls emotions, making her enemy blind to the way they play right into her hands. About the time she’s got you believing you have a chance at scoring with her, she makes a quick escape with whatever prize she was after.”

Shep shifted uncomfortably in place, recalling the near kiss the night before. Kronastia turned, a corner of his mouth raised.

“Something you’d care to share, Dr. Smyth?”

Shep thought back. It had been so unexpected, so unprompted. Was she trying to distract him? Manipulate him? Newly arrived to the excavation, the only thing Shep could offer was his expertise. Victoria had studied under Anathea Hermapolous, however, so what could she possibly learn from him that she couldn’t get from the grandmaster guru?

Despite his instincts telling him to sing like a canary about anything he was asked, Shep decided to keep this one to himself. He lowered his eyes and shook his head. If she was Jaguar, he understood why she had kept the scroll’s details secret. No doubt such an item on the black market would net her a tiny fortune. Even credible museums might pay a hefty fee for such a document. And Shep didn’t deny that, if he could somehow track down the item and retrieve it from her first, he would be looking at more than just material wealth from nabbing it. His reputation would be saved. If he survived today, that was, and if his presumption about its contents proved correct.

“She’s expert in her field,” Kronastia continued. “She knows how to work the system, any system, and how to get in and get out with little suspicion and unhindered by obstacles. I have to admit, though, this intern scheme of hers is quite impressive. Didn’t you wonder, Dr. Gonzalez, why Plaxis would make an exemption to its no women policy for someone as lowly as an intern?”

Shep’s head snapped in Hector’s direction as he quickly scanned through his few memories since arriving. In a stark what-do-you-know moment, he realized that besides Victoria, he had in fact seen no other women about.

Hector shrugged. “She came bearing all the necessary credentials, your security personnel were satisfied of her validity, and having been instructed by Anathea Hermapolous, I couldn’t—”

Kronastia cut him off, “I get it, Doctor. As I said, she’s very adept at what she does, though had you followed my edict this might never have happened. She’s been a thorn in my side for quite some time, but I never thought she’d be so bold as to try to get access to this site until you’d found something. That’s why I didn’t order the most extreme security measures until I learned of your discovery. I assumed too much.”

Hector leapt up from the corner, face flushing and smile beaming. “Mr. Kronastia, surely she couldn’t have gotten too far, and the items are so unique she won’t have an easy time finding a buyer. Perhaps if we contacted the authorities, reported the items stolen—”

Kronastia clicked his tongue. “I simply cannot do that. You may not believe this for a man of my particular ... profession, but I do not believe in lying. You see, Victoria didn’t really steal anything.” He paused and leaned in, both of the archaeologists doing the same, as though the walls themselves might overhear something. “All of the objects you found actually belong to her.”

Chapter 9

“Will you be checking any bags today, Miss Kent?”

Her hand smoothed over the surface of the tote weighing heavy at her side. She was still surprised she got it through security. Putting the “Made in China” stickers and price tags on the bottom of each artifact fooled security; they appeared to be mere trinkets picked up on holiday. No doubt, the plunging neckline of her dress also helped to distract the agent enough for her to pull off the con. Maybe she should listen to Alex’s ideas more often.

“No, I sent my bags ahead yesterday with a friend.” Victoria smiled, remembering her brief rendezvous the previous day.

Not that anything had happened during their meet up at the hotel. Victoria cared for Alex deeply, perhaps more so than anyone else alive, but lovers they were not. Victoria Kent did not take on lovers, though she occasionally gave herself leave to flirt or tempt. She’d never engage a member of The Order, however. Too many possible complications, and with Alex, far too many consequences.

“I’ve just this one, but I’ll keep it with me,” Victoria added, rubbing the sack like it was Aladdin’s lamp.

The gate agent’s eyes tracked down to the piece as she nodded. Her attention turned to the screen as her fingers began a cha-cha across the keyboard.

“Yes, Miss Kent, I think we can accommodate your request for an upgrade. We have one seat available in our first class section. Oh, I’m sorry. The additional fare will be well over five thous—”

“Not a problem,” Victoria said by way of cutting her off. Already, her hand was reaching for her wallet and the magical plastic card inside. Credit cards had seemed such a novelty to her at first, but in recent years she had grown to love them. How convenient to have nearly all of your expenses quickly put aside with the sway of a rectangular piece of hardened polymers and authorize a single bank transfer monthly. It was utter efficiency, and she had always been a fan of efficiency.

The agent took the card with the same tissue box smile. She ran it through the reader and presented it back to Victoria, along with the charge slip and new boarding pass. Victoria signed accordingly.

“Is there a business lounge I can access? I need to make a few calls and I would appreciate some privacy.”

A map of the terminal was laid flat on the counter as the agent circled the first class lounge and motioned to the left with her hand. Victoria thanked her, pulled her tote close to her side, and fished the cell Alex had given her out of her pocket. As she walked, she keyed in the ubiquitous text message she and her accomplice had agreed upon:

Honey, Mother’s coming. When will you be home?

Approximately thirty seconds later, the cell vibrated.

Detained for now, dear.

“Now.” For some reason, he was alone at this exact moment.

Victoria looked up from the phone and was happy to see that she had arrived to the lounge reception counter. She presented her newly printed, first class boarding pass and her passport, and a few minutes later found herself in a private room equipped with a computer, a printer, TV, and an arm chair that could be reclined as a bed. Without hesitation, she locked the door behind her and placed the bag gently on the floor. She punched the numbers into her cell with lightning speed and waited impatiently for the other line to pick up. The receiving click was quickly followed by the answering party’s concerned voice.

“Are you outbound yet?”

Victoria put her ear briefly to the door to be certain no one was on the other side. “Shortly. Alex was able to get me a ticket on a direct London flight, but I’m going to Cairo alone after I address The Order.”

“I would prefer you let The Order assist you. Traveling alone so close to the end of the baktun isn’t—”

She abruptly cut him off. “Bite your tongue, Priest. I’ve been preparing for this for far longer than you or anyone in The Order, and I know well what is required and what is best.”

“Of course. It wasn’t my intention ...” His voice, a mixture of apology and humility, trailed off. “If you should require anything ...”

“Then I know whom to contact. I assure you, I’ll be fine. Just keep a close eye on things on your end, and let me know if anything with the boys happens. If I can keep clear of certain mobsters, and if you get your hands on the amulet, everything should be fine.” She found her mind drifting as Kronastia’s face flooded her memories. In a voice far smaller than her experience, she asked, “How is he, by the way?”

She could almost hear Priest’s teeth clamp in frustration. If there was one thing he did not understand, it was her complex history with, and lingering attachment to, Kronastia. It made no sense to him.

“He is well enough,” Priest answered stoically, though a little sigh of frustration passed in his pausing. “A little peeved that you were able to make off with the goods, though. Milady, I hope I’m not being too improper, but how long has it been since the two of you—”

“Long enough that I have clarity about why it can’t work, Priest, and don’t inquire further. The nature of my relationship with Dmitri—or anyone else, for that matter—is none of your concern.”

She looked at the clock on the wall; it would be time to board soon.

“I need to go,” she announced. “Alex will be meeting me in London. Good luck.”

“Same.”

She closed the cell with a click and stared at it until the display went into sleep mode. Despite the telephone bravado, she couldn’t explain her nerves or the butterflies in her stomach. It had never been her intention when she started this life to end up as a smuggler. But, as it turned out, it was good work for those with the tenacity and talent. She possessed both in spades, as well as certain other skills which only added to her superiority at her accidental trade.

However, this was different. This time wasn’t for practice, thrills, or revenge. It wasn’t just about her or a client with deep pockets and lower morals. It wasn’t even for the sake of evidence, as she led the members of The Order to believe. This time, it was critical for her own ability to go on.

Of all the concerns she had ever had, survival had never been one of them. In a first for her, Victoria contemplated the possibility of meeting her own death. As yet, she hadn’t decided whether or not it would be a welcome fate. It all depended on what happened next week.

Breaking from her reverie, Victoria ran her fingers through her hair before placing the cell on the table next to the monitor. The device wasn’t secure. Alex had picked it up from some random vendor in Veracruz. It was too risky to keep it. Swiftly, her palm alighted toward the target, destroying the object beyond any reasonable measure of repair or reclamation. Using stationary provided by the airline lounge, Victoria crumpled up several sheets of paper and covered over the fragments of electronic strudel she had thrown in the waste bin. A glance at the clock told her she should get going, but she had a moment still, and she’d waited long enough.

Placing the tote on the table, she unbuttoned the flap and pulled out the statuette, removing the protective layer of bubble wrap. Even after all this time, its condition was impeccable. It stood proudly erect, a visage of a queen once worshipped or loathed—and really, how much of a difference was there—by all who had encountered her.

“You’d find this funny, wouldn’t you, Cleo?” she asked aloud, as though she expected the alabaster, carved face to respond. “I used to think you were selfish and insolent for putting your love of Anthony before Egypt’s interests. I understand now how hard those decisions were for you. ‘Finish, good lady; the bright day is done, and we are for the dark’.”

With a kiss on its brow, she restored the treasure and was off.

A quick, determined pace through the terminal brought her to her gate. Her tote stayed strapped to her side as she took her seat. A stewardess offered hospitality and champagne, but Victoria refused both as she took out her notebook from the side pocket of her bag. The A4 folio fell open on her tray table, and she pulled from it a parchment made not of paper, but of papyrus. Gingerly, she opened it and splayed it flat, the glistening red and blue pigments reflecting the LED-reading lights overhead.

With a sigh, she leaned back. Hopefully she could get some sleep soon. Her batteries were running low, and the encounter with José didn’t help much. Maybe she should just put away the scroll, close her eyes, and ...

“That’s some fancy calligraphy.”

The voice caught her off guard. She looked to her side to see a finely attired business man—no doubt his suit was designer—looking at the parchment. She gave a polite nod to acknowledge his comment before leaning back again.

“Sort of looks like something out of an Indiana Jones movie.”

The final coach class passengers filed past.

“It’s Egyptian,” Victoria added without turning toward him. “Ptolemaic era hieroglyphs, though it wasn’t written until years later.”

“Can you read it?”

Victoria smirked smugly. Turning her head, she could almost have sworn she saw him quiver when she answered, “Of course. I wrote it, after all.”

The Brit nearly gagged on the champagne he had been sipping. “You wrote it?”

He eyed her warily, as though sizing her up for evidence of mental disease. Victoria leaned in over the divide between them, looking him squarely in the eye.

“Yup.” He looked anxiously back, but when her lips curled into a smile, then a laugh, he relaxed. “I copied it from the original written about two thousand years ago. This copy is … substantially newer.”

She took in this inquisitive being with a wayward glance. Thirty, thirty-five perhaps? Old enough to have done well enough for himself, but his roughened knuckles suggested that he’d performed some manual labor in his short life. Or, perhaps, he just had a hobby of working with his hands. His skin was fair, and his accent placed him in upper class South England. Still, he had an air of informality about him; he had been educated in the States, maybe Canada. Ah, UCLA—the class ring gave him away.

A class ring, but no wedding band.

Her eyes twinkled and the corners of her mouth rose. He loosened his blue-striped tie, perhaps unconsciously.

“Hieroglyphs?” he asked as his mouth went dry. “Doesn’t look like the kind you see in museums and the such. Seems ...”

She completed his sentence. “Simpler?” He nodded. “Well, most of the hieroglyphs you see in museums were in the possession of the affluent or royalty. Image is all the thing when you’re trying to preserve your reputation for posterity or make a bold statement to your contemporaries. This kind, however, is a sort of shorthand. These types of glyphs are more about content than character, if you’ll forgive the pun.”

What was he after? If only she could read his mind. Should she? It would require extreme concentration and energy, both of which she was coming up short on after the previous night. Luckily, she was fluent in body language. When he smiled back at her, she knew she was reeling him in. A highly placed business man had a lot to offer her at the moment; a secure, comfortable place to stay where she had no previous ties, if nothing else. A place to hide out between the few hours of landing at Heathrow and meeting Alex.

His finger reached over and traced along the edge of the scroll, brushing over the hilt of her hand. She faked a tremor.

“What does that say?”

His voice was low, husky. She had succeeded in the first step of any seduction: letting him think he was in control.

The papyrus cracked in the echoes of its age as she delicately traced her fingers over the characters. The plane pulled away from the gate and taxied. “It starts, ‘I killed her’.”

“Please note, the nearest exit may be behind you ...”

Victoria competed with the sound of the flight crew’s safety instructions.

He leaned in even further, though his attention was wholly focused now on the parchment. “It’s a murder confession?”

Victoria nodded.

“In the event of a water landing ...”

She moved her finger to the next set of glyphs. “But, it continues, ‘It was not my intent, and in that I can claim innocence of wrong. May Isis judge me fairly when I stand before her once more’.”

“... use caution as items may shift during takeoff ...”

“‘Could that I give my life to replace hers, it would be done. But I wish only to say, I loved her, and my regrets will flow as long as the Nile. I vow as my penance, her blood under my crest shall shelter find.’ That’s it, that’s all it says, except ...”

“... sit back and enjoy your ...”

A crooked grin spread across his face. “There’s more?”

Her finger pointed at a specific glyph at the top, its pictorial representation far more elaborate than those surrounding it, highlighted with golden-hued accents.

“She, they, her … Meaningless insertions I’m making for your benefit. No pronouns in this particular dialect. This is the name of the victim, and this,” she moved to a different glyph, this one traced over in red, “is the name of the murderer.”

He sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest as the plane reached the end of its taxi and the engines begin to rev.

“How about that?” he mused. “An ancient, signed murder confession. Wonder how long a sentence he got?”

Victoria scoffed. “He?”

He seemed very certain of himself as they both were pressed back in their seats, the pull of the speeding jetliner forcing them to submit.

“‘I loved her’?” he repeated back. “Clear case of a guy offing the woman he loves because he can’t have her. Kings may fall and nations may rise, but some things remain the same.”

So like the rich to indulge in their arrogance, Victoria thought to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the land miniaturizing underneath them, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She actually managed a clean get away.

She said only “I suppose” as she maneuvered their conversation to other topics.

She learned his name was Terrance, and he had been in Mexico working on behalf of a British oil firm. He was thirty-six, lived alone in a West Side Flat, and drove a Bentley. With each piece of information he revealed, she feigned interest and even awe.

They sat in silence as the movie started, though Victoria assured the “accidental” touch of their hands several times during the epically long picture. When dinner was served, she made sure that the fork was pulled alluringly from her mouth with each tiny, symbolic bite. The feel of the food on her tongue nearly broke her concentration. She couldn’t recall the last time she had been forced to consume so much for appearance’s sake, and shuddered when she considered how much “food” was seated around her, and how she hadn’t fed properly in a few days.

Finally, an hour or so before their scheduled arrival, Terrance turned his interest to her. Victoria presented herself as a graduate student in ancient civilizations at Cambridge. It wasn’t wholly a lie; she had been once. A difference of verb tense hardly qualified as lying. Terrance asked what had brought an Egyptologist to Mexico.

“Why, the pyramids, silly,” she giggled back, her fingers traipsing over his wrist and her eyelashes batting just enough. “I was engaging in some interdisciplinary studies.”

He smiled coyly at her, returning the feather-light movement by tracing the contours of her wrist. “You came from Egypt to see pyramids? Isn’t that like being from Paris and going to China to eat brioche?”

“Common misconception,” she answered. “Actually, the pyramids of Central America rival those in Egypt in size and age. Some would even argue, depending how you measure, that the Aztecs built the largest pyramids, out scaling Giza easily.”

“Is that so?”

She practically beamed as she allowed him to believe she was flattered by his interest.

“Indeed. And the pyramids in Caral, Peru predate the oldest in Egypt by nearly a century,” she added.

However, he had clearly had enough of the topic. “Where are you bound in London?”

“Well, we land early in the a.m., and I have a meeting later in the evening, so I was planning on just hanging out at the airport for a few hours.”

“Perhaps I can buy you breakfast or an early lunch?”

Snagged.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.”

The voice over the announcement system frustrated her. Once she had a rhythm established, she hated interruptions. Trying not to let her aggravation outwardly show, she let out a tempered sigh and fell back against her seat.

The voice over continued, “Just to keep you in the loop, folks, I wanted to let you know that we are experiencing a slight malfunction of one of our onboard navigation systems.” A muffled gasp arose from the passengers, but Victoria only rolled her eyes at the expected news. “Not to worry, we’ve got eyes on the ground watching out for us, and our secondary systems are coming online as we speak. Just as a precaution, you may see off either side of the aircraft two smaller planes. No reason for concern; they’re just walking us home.”

Victoria leaned over Terrance, rolled back the window shade, and focused her gaze on the hazy horizon. Letting out a curse that regrettably was in English, she felt the eyes of those around land squarely on her. She ignored them and undid her seatbelt, leaping up just as the ping from above reflected the switching on of the Fasten Seatbelts sign.

The first class flight attendant stepped forward. “Miss, I’ll need you to remain in your ... Where are you going?”

Victoria was at the pilot’s door in a moment. The flight attendant found it useless to pull her back; despite her feminine frame, Victoria proved too strong to budge.

Burying her fingers into the stewardess’s chest, she pushed her firmly against the wall of the galley. “Listen, sweetie, this can go down in one of two ways. Either you can tell the captain to open up these doors nicely and go back to your job, or I can break the door down and start mass panic.”

The flight attendant’s voice broke with fear, though she at least tried to appear confident in her warning. “Under international law, you are now disobeying the direct order of cabin crew and—”

“Can it!” Victoria shouted. “Do you know something, Frida Flighty? Navigation equipment screws up no matter what flight I’m on. Call it a gift. This is the first flight, however, where that results in fighter jets being scrambled, and don’t think I don’t know why.”

Terrance was the last person she expected to see come to the stewardess’s aid.

“Now, now,” he almost cooed, his hands held out in the international sign for ‘calm down.’ “I think you’re taking things a little too harshly. You’re scaring everyone. Why don’t you just come and we can talk this out.”

His tone and demeanor had transformed, and the coy and flirtatious man she’d been manipulating a few minutes before took on an air of severity and authority.

Something was off. Something was terribly, phenomenally off with this picture.

“What’s it to you?” Victoria’s voice was soft, but her tone was oh so snippy.

Terrance cracked a smile and pulled back his jacket. The holstered Taser reflected the cabin lights, and complimented perfectly the lion and unicorn staring at her from his left suspender.

“As I was saying, Miss Kent, why not just come sit down? And it’s more than merely a suggestion.”

“Would you like to cuff me then?” Victoria presented her wrists out. Terrance said nothing, but his smirk was all the affirmation she needed. Rather than the old fashioned metallic manacles, the MI-6 agent threaded two plastic strips around her wrists. “You know who I am?”

“Victoria Kent, archaeology student,” he played along. “I’d love to know your real name, Jaguar. Perhaps your prints when we get you processed will finally solve that.”

Victoria said nothing, only allowed herself to be more-than-suggestively led to her seat. This time, Terrance shoved her in first so she was against the window as he claimed the aisle. With a grin, he picked up the sack that had slipped from Victoria’s lap when she’d jumped up and began fishing items out. The wooden box and statuette he eyed with only amusement before returning them, but the knife with the jewel-encrusted handle, he turned over in his hand again and again.

“You knew it was me the whole time,” Victoria stated. Terrance didn’t try to deny it. “Who tipped you off?”

“Come now, Miss Kent. You know I can’t divulge that information.”

“An anonymous call?” she asked. Again, no answer.

Fine, if he wasn’t going to cooperate ...

It was a risky move. With so little energy to go on, she prayed the effort wouldn’t send her into a coma. Victoria relaxed her consciousness and let her own mind expand outward, bumping first into the air that surrounded them, before honing in on Terrance. Even feeling the heavy stares on her and thoughts of others shooting like missiles in her direction, she forced herself to concentrate, pulling to the surface all his hidden truths.

She threw off the effects of the hypnotic state as soon as he’d given up the goods. “So, a tip from the Plaxis Corporation.”

Terrance’s eyes went wide, then narrowed.

“More to it than that, isn’t there?” Victoria continued. “A little quid pro quo, it seems. Are you guys so easily bought off these days? Kronastia gives a tip on Jaguar leaving out of Mexico City on a morning flight to London, and in exchange MI-6 gives him a free pass through immigration when he flies in following us?”

“What the hell?”

Truth like water flowed from his mind, and Victoria drank it down. Terrance was dumbfounded, on the other hand. The look of utter confusion and alarm in his eyes was one she’d come to recognize over the eons.

“Terrance, or should I say Christopher,” the name he kept thinking as an automatic correction whenever she said his cover’s caller, “let me give you some props. Yeah, I’m a little surprised I didn’t see this coming. Congratulations. It’s not often someone sneaks up on me the way you did. Probably my own vanity’s more to blame than your cunning, but whatever. Point is, you did it. Hate to tell you, ain’t going to work.”

“Save it for the hearing,” he muttered. How she knew so much, he couldn’t give a flying leap at the moment. What he did know was that he had just been insulted, and that game wasn’t going to provoke him.

Victoria continued as though he had said nothing, “Of course, being on a plane, it will be harder to get away. Dmitri would think of that, wouldn’t he? Oh, I’m sure he could have had some of his goons waiting for me at Heathrow, but this way makes it difficult for me not to cause a scene, and he does know how I hate causing scenes.”

The agent leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Face it, puddy tat, you’re caught. Just sit and stew until we get to London, okay? Nice knife by the way. Concealed weapon without permit on an international flight? That should tack a few more years on to your sentence.”

With a chuckle, he dropped the knife back into the sack and put the bag over her hands, concealing her bound condition from the other passengers.

“Christopher, I understand you’re just doing your job. I’m really sorry about this,” she apologized, though her tone hardly seemed remorseful. “You do seem like a really nice guy.”

He inwardly recoiled when he felt Victoria’s fingertips bend around his wrist, but couldn’t shake her. “The seduction game isn’t going to work. Too bad, because you …What the ...”

He looked to where her hand rested on his with confusion. The way the pallor of his skin grew paler by the second was impossible. Was it shock? Was she squeezing so hard that she was actually forcing the blood from his hand? But she was barely touching him. Then the feeling of ice began to flow up his arms, slowly snaking its way toward his chest. He tried pulling back without success. She had him pinned. He looked up with pleading eyes.

“Dmitri assumes that because I no longer need to kill to feed, that I’m unwilling to. Sadly, that’s just not true. Do you know how much energy teleportation requires? And here I am, already cruising on fumes, because I tried to do the noble thing and leave all his thugs alive,” she said. “I am truly sorry about this, Chris, but it’s just part of my job. You’ll understand someday.”

The ice climbed up his jugular, finally hitting the base of his brain. As he felt the first seizures overcome him, he was vaguely aware of a great flash of light. His body was practically stone now, every ounce of heat stolen. With his last living thought, he wondered how she had done it.

The stewardess screamed, not because of the dead man in Seat 4C, but because a woman had just disappeared before her eyes.

12.17.12

Chapter 10

“All of the objects you found belong to her,” Kronastia repeated when both men begged his pardon.

In an odd sort of way, Shep was relieved to see Hector snap to attention. The laughter that rang out from his friend’s mouth brought with it some color back to his face. “¿Cómo es eso posible? First, Jaguar has been active since the late 70’s. Victoria wouldn’t even have been born then. Second, the site appeared to have been undisturbed for a thousand years, and I refuse to believe someone as inexperienced as Vick could have faked that.”

Kronastia’s face flickered into a half grin. “Victoria, as you call her, is not as young as she looks, and by no one’s definition is she inexperienced.”

Shep picked up on a bit of disdain, and perhaps regret, in the way Kronastia described her. As though he had the very experiences that evidenced just how un-inexperienced she really was.

Still, he didn’t get it. “Okay, some women look really good for their age, and perhaps Jaguar uses plastic surgery to stay incognito. But those legs. I’ve never seen legs like that on anyone over the age of thirty.”

Kronastia laughed like he was the exclusive party to an inside joke. “Until now.”

Shep’s smile evaporated. Kronastia wasn’t joking, though it was possible he was affluent enough to be a free-range crazy person. Shep decided to play along and see just how far off his Russian rocker the mobster was. And, perhaps, to stall his probable and impending death.

“So just how old is she?”

“That, dear doctor, is classified. Let’s just say, she’s been around. And those objects she stashed here? That’s just the beginning. She’s got things buried from Tunisia to Timbuktu, though I daresay none so precious as these. I can tell that by the fact that she buried them here, where she grew up.”

Hector’s features went stoic. “Wait a minute. You actually believe that Victoria, what, buried those things here herself?” He swallowed his nerves in one hard gulp. “In ... 1100 CE?”

Kronastia mused and nodded vaguely. “Give or take a lifetime or two, but yes.” He clearly sensed the learned men’s skepticism. “I have no proof to offer you specifically about the Olmec site. I know you are both men of science, and scientist always want undeniable proof, or at least overwhelming evidence. I trust you are both familiar with the statistical concept of an outlier?”

They nodded. Anyone who analyzed data in a professional environment was. Outliers were data points, ones not necessarily untrue, but too far from the normalized cluster to be considered valid. In short, anomalies.

Kronastia continued, “Well, Victoria Kent is the most outlieriest of outliers. You might have to look outside your current conceptions to see her, but I assure you, gentlemen, she’s worth the journey.”

Giving a nervous chuckle, Shep crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, let me review. First, you’re saying that Victoria Kent is actually the international black market trader, Jaguar. All right, if you say so. I’m sure odder things have happened. But now, on top of that, you want us to believe she’s a thousand years old and buried a stash of objects she collected from ancient Europe, Asia, and Africa before the advent of transoceanic travel in a Mayan settlement because she felt it was safest that they be stored at home? In the Mayan Empire? A thousand years ago? When she was alive?”

Shep approached every question with a deeper tone of accusation.

The Russian simply shook his head and laughed wryly. “No, Professor, the Mayan Empire wasn’t her home.” Shep felt a momentary sense of relief and a certain air of I-told-you-so before Kronastia slashed it away. “She’s an Olmec.”

Hector’s scoffing laugh degraded into a coughing fit. Doubt in his patron’s sanity seemed to embolden him. “Mr. Kronastia, where to begin? She’s way too tall, she’s too pale ... Most telling, she’s alive.”

Kronastia was not deterred. “There are reasons for those discrepancies. As I said, outlier.”

He grinned as he slid his hand into the recesses of his jacket. Shep and Hector both tensed and bit their tongues, fearing that the Russian was finding what might later be labeled—if they were lucky enough to have their bodies discovered—Exhibit A.

Kronastia read the fear on their faces. Jollity alit his features as he withdrew not a pistol, but an alligator-skin wallet from his inside pocket. “Relax, gentlemen, it isn’t lethal any more. Not even in my hands.”

He pulled another photo, this one black and white, from one of the wallet’s flaps and handed it to Shep. Hector came to sit by him and examine it.

“Marilyn Monroe?” Shep asked.

It was a simple picture of the famous bombshell seated at some club, dressed to the nines, a martini in one hand and a smile on her lips. However, he looked more closely, and saw another familiar face, partially obscured by a cascade of light brown hair, seated to her right.

Victoria.

Shep scoffed. “Photo manipulation. Half the fifth graders in America could do that.”

Kronastia nodded, but seemed no less confident. He presented another photo, and Shep’s body went numb. Victoria’s smiling gaze wasn’t obscured this time, though her hair tied up in ponytails gave her a more youthful demeanor. The brunette around whom Victoria’s arm was draped threw him for a loop, however. In the background, a banner painted in brilliant colors welcomed visitors to the Delta Sigma Nu. If Shep closed his eyes, he could still recall the memory of his wife’s sorority pendant, tethered to a gold chain, bouncing on her chest the first time they’d made love.

“Victoria knew Christine?” he muttered in disbelief. “How? You didn’t even know I was coming until ... There’s no way you could have ...”

His pulse echoed in his ears. Passing out was one option his brain was considering to stop him from going into an all-out nervous breakdown. Sweat glistened across his brow. Kronastia had tried to continue telling him the story, but frankly, Shep heard little. Words clumped together like autumn leaves falling to the ground. Ancient, warrior, traveler ... All arbitrary terms, like someone had set the dictionary on random.

He had tried to find some modicum of sanity in the reality. Repeatedly, Shep reminded himself that Kronastia was a rich, criminal mob boss. Surely if he wanted a photo manipulation of Winston Churchill frenching Rush Limbaugh, it would just take a phone call, ten minutes, and wiring funds into the proper account. But Christine wasn’t Churchill or Limbaugh or anyone famous—she was just Christine. So why would he have a picture of her with ... Well, what evidence was suggesting was a ...

Truth be told, he didn’t know exactly what Victoria may be.

His motions blurred as Kronastia’s valet received instructions to accompany Shep back to his shelter to prepare his bag. He’d never gotten around to unpacking, but he took advantage of the opportunity to pull out the bottle of whiskey he’d purchased the day before from duty free. His liquescent friend embraced him as they all loaded into the Humvee and set out to the airport.

-Ψ-

The stinging sensation turned out to be caused by light beaming across the cabin from a half-shaded window. Shep’s mouth tasted like a hangover, and his muscles ached from the unorthodox sleeping position. Altogether, the feeling was way too familiar.

“Feeling better, Professor?”

The tempting legs of a woman came into focus as his eyes adjusted. It was the stewardess—if that’s what you called them on a private jet—leaning over slightly and literally presenting relief to Shep on a golden platter. He shifted and pivoted, pulling himself up as his hands massaged his pounding temple before moving down to rub the sleep from his eyes. He graciously took the ibuprofen and glass of water offered.

“What happened?”

“You drank yourself into a stupor, then passed out,” Kronastia informed him stoically. “Probably a good thing, too. You missed Dr. Gonzalez’s near emotional collapse when my crews dismantled the site.”

Shep heard Hector’s voice grumble in response, but his vision was still coming online. “There was no reason to shut down the project over this. We were still finding pottery shards and other artifacts, some of them even Olmec.”

Kronastia snapped toward the back of the plane. “The only Olmec artifact I’m concerned about is on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic.”

Shep looked across the galley to see Kronastia’s eyes trained on him, a slightly amused smirk on his face. Shep downed the pills before turning to his insistent host.

“Anything a little harder than water on this bird?”

Kronastia chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t partake of alcohol myself. It makes me a rude host, I suppose. Then again, I don’t often have guests. I apologize, but we should be landing in a few hours. I’ve been led to believe there’s plenty of alcohol in London.”

That took Shep aback. He wasn’t sure exactly when they had left the Veracruz airport. The sun was definitely shining brightly now, and it seemed to him as if they should have been in Jolly Ole England some time ago.

As though reading the very question in his mind, Kronastia added, “We had to make a quick stop over after you passed out. Dr. Gonzalez needed to retrieve something for me in Mexico City.”

Shep’s eyes searched out Hector and saw him sitting at the back of the cabin, silent, his gaze fixed unwaveringly out the window. No doubt he was trying to rationalize ... No, trying to decide whether or not to rationalize Kronastia’s wild yarn. While Shep’s comfort to confusion was usually 60-proof, Hector’s involved utter silence and introspection.

And, it seemed, induced the sniffles. As Shep’s eyes focused, he saw that Hector had prepared himself a cocoon. He sat, swathed in a cotton blanket.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Kronastia gave a passing glance to Hector, then shrugged. “I’ve read that stress induces cold-like symptoms in some. Air travel doesn’t seem to agree with him either. He threw up both times we took off.”

“What did we stop for?” Shep picked his brain for what would have been deemed worthy of a delay. The patchy memories he had before the alcohol had made everything blissfully irrelevant failed to inform. Kronastia had been hell bent on getting to London, that much he could recall, as he seemed to know inexplicably where Victoria was bound.

“The amulet.”

“That figures into this whole wild goose chase just how?”

Almost as if he had timed it exactly to coincide with a question Shep was actually quite eager to have answered, an electronic chirp permeated the air. Kronastia held out one finger to Shep and opened his cell. “Excuse me, Dr. Smyth.”

What followed was a rapid-fire conversation in elegant Arabic, though Kronastia’s dialect seemed old and refined to Shep’s ear, which was accustomed to the crude vernacular of manual laborers in the Egyptian sands. Shep had spent enough time in the Middle East to have a basic working knowledge of the tongue, but Kronastia spoke with the grace and fluidity of an upper class native. So much fluidity, in fact, that Shep found it difficult to follow. He was getting some sort of news, and whatever news it was wasn’t pleasant judging by the pissed off look on his face.

“Problem?”

Hector stretched his arms and legs out as he, too, took notice of the odd tension and air of frustration radiating from Kronastia’s direction.

The Russian nodded. “They found out which plane she was on,” he answered as he closed down his phone. “Was, that is. We’ve confirmed from security cameras that she did indeed board in Mexico City, but unfortunately, they failed to apprehend her. Seems she was no longer on the plane when it landed.”

That didn’t make any sense. Not that much had for about the last forty-eight hours or so. He hadn’t expected for anything involving the cast of characters he had encountered since arriving in Mexico to be humdrum, but he had expected it to be possible.

“You know what I think?” Hector suddenly piped up from the back of the cabin. “I think you’re a sick bastard who’s trying to mindfuck a couple of helpless innocents before you tire of the game and kill us both.”

So much for the Queen’s English, but if Kronastia took offense to the accusation, he never showed it. He kept his gaze fixed on Shep, whom he seemed to have decided was the more approachable of the two.

Working through a post-binge hangover wasn’t the professor’s specialty, but he was trying. “So, okay. She got on the plane in Mexico City. The plane landed in London, and she’s not on it. So, logic tells us that one of two things explains the disconnect. One, one of our assumed facts is wrong: either she never got on in Mexico or she did indeed get off in London. Maybe she slipped past security or had some way of changing her appearance on the plane. Or, two, she got off the plane somewhere in between the two and …” He searched for a scenario that would allow the second hypotheses to prove true, because, damn it, he needed something to make sense. “… parachuted into the Atlantic Ocean, apparently.”

The Russian’s smile fell, as though he had been so proud of his child making excellent progress, only to have him reach the same, ultimately wrong conclusion. “I wouldn’t put it past her, but jumping out of a commercial airliner at forty thousand feet is hardly Tlalli’s style.”

“Not to mention that no human could survive the jump,” Hector grumbled, drawing momentary glances from both the men, neither of which Hector chose to engage.

Shep turned a curious eye on his demanding host. “Tlalli?”

“Tlalli is Victoria’s real name, though I doubt anyone else knows that. She and I, however, have history. Complex, not always friendly, but not always unfriendly.” He looked off in the distance for a moment before refocusing. “Anyhow ... As the case may be, I know precisely how she got off the plane, I just don’t know where she went.”

His brow furrowed in thought, and Shep almost rolled his eyes. Almost. Really, in the middle of the Atlantic, where was there to go but down?

12.18.12

Chapter 11

“Holy hell!”

The currents nearly dragged her under before she got her bearings. No matter how she’d steel herself in preparation, teleporting into water always shocked the system. Victoria rolled as a demanding, frigid wave washed over her, before determinedly kicking hard and breaking the surface. The view set her at ease: she was in London, all right, having managed to land in the Thames. Before daybreak, the minimal water traffic and the deluge falling from the sky above created a cloak, allowing her to make her way to the banks unnoticed.

As she pulled herself out of the river in an inconspicuous place, she turned her eyes skyward. Once the plane landed, her face was likely to be plastered all over every broadcast medium the BBC had. It was an inconvenience of the modern world; escaping attention was so difficult. It was for that very reason that she didn’t use her abilities in public too often. Her particular lifestyle required that she stay as incognito as possible. She never would have pulled so risky a procedure unless she was sure there wasn’t any other way.

Glancing over her shoulder as water dripped from her saturated clothing, Victoria spotted Big Ben. 4:35 a.m. Two hours, three tops, to get safely out of London before the place was crawling with bobbies. She hadn’t been meant to meet her rendezvous until nightfall, but she realized now she had no choice except to call and make speedier arrangements.

He picked up on precisely the tip of the third ring.

“Aren’t in-flight calls sinfully expensive?”

“Wouldn’t know,” Victoria grumbled. “Sort of had to make a personal emergency landing. I’m in Westminster.”

In her mind’s eye, she saw his shoulders slouch as he sighed. “Do I want to know?”

“You probably won’t have a choice. I left behind a body. I’m guessing it will be all over the news before lunch. Look, I’m cold, hungry, and I’m wearing the Thames. Can you just come get me?”

“Hungry? You do plan on eating before I get there, don’t you?” he asked sarcastically. “I would hate to cut short our holiday together. And ultimately, I would like to remain alive.”

“Tut tut, now, Alex. If you don’t count the dead agent landing at Heathrow, I haven’t sucked anyone to death for at least ... Oh, God, I think disco was still in style.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better ... how?” Alex teased.

“The fact that disco’s no longer in style should, if nothing else. Can we just agree that bell bottoms should bring a death sentence for anybody not a standing member of the navy and get on with it? Are you coming to get me or not?”

“Promise me you’ll eat first.” Alex waited patiently, his silence enduring as she mulled the notion. “Victoria?”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll just find a bite and meet you in front of Parliament in, what, twenty minutes?”

“Make it thirty. I have something to take care of first.”

The girlish giggle in the background tipped off Victoria. “Visiting Monique again, are you? You know, Alex, I’m starting to think you’re actually in love with that girl. How is she?”

She could hear the grin in Alex’s voice. “Delicious. Okay, I’ll be there, but where are you going to find something to eat in Westminster at this hour?”

Just at that moment, a cliché Londoner passed, clutching his trench coat tightly and scrambling with his black umbrella deployed. Victoria sized him up and decided he’d do.

“Street vendor. Thirty, Alex. Don’t be late.”

“Never am.”

She hung up the phone and picked her bag up off the floor of the phone booth. Making quick, light steps, she started off in the passerby’s direction, determined to whet her whistle.

Chapter 12

“Mon coeur, who was on the phone?”

Alex set the cell on the side table and turned back to Monique, raising his hand to her face, gently tracing a finger down her jawline and over her red, swollen lips.

“A very old friend,” he answered simply, smirking at the joke that the French woman in his bed would never understand.

Monique, instead of giving into his touch, crossed her arms over her naked chest, sat up, and stuck out her bottom lip in a classic pout. “It was a woman, I think. I could ’ear ’er voice. An old lover, non? She wants you.”

“No,” he agreed.

Monique looked dismayed. “No?”

“Yes, it was a woman. No, not an old lover. And I only want you. Now, I don’t have much time as it turns out, so if you want to—”

“Why? Where do you have to go?”

He could see the course of their late night turned lazy morning had definitely changed, and his unexpected phone call had spoiled the mood. With a huff, he rolled to his side of the bed, suspecting that he would be taking no pleasure from the few minutes he had left with his stopover lover.

Not that he wouldn’t like her full time. Monique was impetuous, rich and young, and didn’t hold against him the fact that they came from different worlds. An orphan since the age of ten, Alex had never known a place he considered home. He had no objection, therefore, when Victoria asked that he move to England. He still felt guilty, however, asking Monique to fly in from Paris whenever he had a day or two where The Order didn’t have him traveling. He was still chuffed to bits that she even agreed to speak to him, given the fact that he couldn’t tell her anything about the society for which he worked or having an international art thief as a boss and mentor. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised. Alex’s life was an archive of the exceptional.

Sometimes, he still had trouble believing it was all real. He remembered very little about his parents. His sister had been old enough to be declared an independent minor, but didn’t think she was capable of taking care of her younger sibling. At fourteen, while living with a family friend, Alex received an acceptance letter addressed from one of the most prestigious boarding schools in Switzerland, the hefty tuition paid for by an anonymous benefactor. This, despite having never applied to said boarding school. It wasn’t until news arrived of his sister’s death a few years before that his mysterious patron’s envoy stepped out of the shadows.

Explaining that the private “ecumenical” organization had provided for his schooling, Priest introduced Alex to The Order. At first, meeting only casually with other members, he found their belief system bizarre. Goddess worship sounded like a cult to him, and he couldn’t picture himself biting the head off of a chicken or being used for ritualistic sex. Well, maybe that second one on occasion, but not with any of the members he met. Just when he was about to create a respectful distance between himself and the group, Priest arranged for him to meet one last person. He walked into the West End coffee shop to find himself instantly entranced by the sand-hued woman with pecan-caramel hair and bright jade eyes. He had loved Victoria from the start. Not romantically, but in a familial way, like the older sister he had barely known.

“Tell me, Monique, what are you doing on Christmas?” He sighed, changing the topic as he snapped back to the reality of this moment.

Cleary perplexed by the shift in agenda, Monique slanted her head. “Going back to Paris.”

Alex reached down to the space between them and took her hand into his, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers. “Don’t. Stay here. I have to go out of town tonight, but I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

She nodded meekly and shrugged. “You travel too much now.”

Leaning over and covering her mouth with his, he cut her off. As he pulled back, he licked his lips, still tasting the echo of the champagne they had drunk earlier.

“Life is so short, and we never know what tomorrow holds. For me, I’d like to think it holds you.”

Twenty-six minutes later, Alex found himself alone in the emptiness of his car, repeating the words he had spoken. Looking in the rearview mirror, he ran his fingers through his ashen, spiked locks. Alex hadn’t imagined arriving for his meeting with Victoria with sex hair. Still, better to show up in a barrel with straps and on time than properly groomed but late.

He told himself that it likely didn’t matter. Victoria had told him how much she admired his non-conformist attitude. Showing up in a three-piece suit probably would have disappointed her more than the blue jeans and Rolling Stones, hot lips tee he now sported.

“After all,” she had joked then, “I certainly didn’t get to where I did by following the path expected of me.”

Even at this early hour, cars weaved through the Westminster streets. He hoped the slowly uptick in the flow of traffic hadn’t impeded Victoria’s ability to find sustenance. He further hoped that she hadn’t been joking about no longer committing unnecessary manslaughter the way Priest had said she once had.

Alex spotted Victoria looking somewhat bored, arms crossed and leaning against a street lamp just a block away from Parliament. He noted the bag hanging at her side, the way the fabric was pulled taut by its weight. He had been too scared to ask on the phone if her heist had been successful and if she had deceived customs, or if instead he would have to find a way to acquire a Heathrow security guard uniform to sneak it out.

The brakes squeaked as he slowed, then stopped alongside the curb. Victoria slipped into the passenger seat expressionlessly, setting the bag between her legs and slumping back into the seat with an air of distant resignation.

She swished aside her knotted, clumped hair. “I hate flying.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not in the slightest.” Her body shifted as she stretched, yawned, and straightened into a confident, commanding repose. “Do we have a time set for the ceremony?”

Relieved he didn’t have to dance around the fact that she’d apparently killed someone, his voice took on a more chipper tone. “Per your request, milady.”

Victoria clicked her tongue. “Milady? Have we regressed to Arthurian times, Alex?”

Alex shrugged. “Sorry, I just never know what to call you. To your face, I mean. Goddess seems a little high strung.”

“You had no problems a few days ago in Mexico.”

“No one else was around. It wasn’t the same.”

“So, we take you away from The Order’s proximity, and you finally see me as a friend, not an overlord. There’s hope for you yet. Victoria or Vick, Alex. No need for fancy titles.”

“Yes, m– Victoria. Do you, um, want to stop and get some dry clothes somewhere?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Victoria smirk devilishly. “Your place maybe? Your Parisian paramour isn’t making much use of hers, is she?”

“How did you—”

“You reek of her perfume,” Victoria said, cutting him off, using the quickest excuse she could think of. “Though I’ll give her this: she has extremely refined tastes. That fragrance is only sold at one particular shop in Paris where it is hand blended by a Lebanese shopkeeper named Zeyneb. I’m guessing the champagne is from the vintner’s shop down the block from there. That particular label would be quite difficult to get out of the country; she must have charmed it through customs. Oh, she’s sneaky, Alex. I like her.”

“Okay, the perfume I get, but what about the champagne?”

“I can smell it on your breath.” Victoria pulled her tote from the floor and set it on her lap.

He had been told by Priest that his mentor’s senses were heightened, but even this was beyond what he could have imagined. “Damn. I’ll tell her to tone it down when you meet her. Or should I say when you finally meet her? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your promise.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so set on that. You don’t need my approval. If you want to marry the girl, marry the girl.”

“I don’t need your approval, but I would like your blessing.” He reached over the center console and nudged her. “Face it, you’re the closest thing to family I’ve got these days.”

Victoria shook her head as she waved to the right, instructing him to turn. “Family. What a wonderful thought.” She closed her eyes and drew a slow breath, before her lips spread in joy. “She’s beautiful.”

“You’ve never seen her.”

“Did too.” Victoria tapped two fingers to her forehead. “Your mind is filled with images of her. Some of which I could have done without, mind you.”

Alex guffawed. “You can see inside my head?” That hadn’t really been covered in serving-the-goddess orientation.

She almost laughed. “Priest didn’t tell you. How typical.”

Alex grimaced, wondering now if she could pick up on his unspoken four-lettered comments. “Priest says all will be revealed when the time is right, that I’m too young to understand everything you can do.”

“You’re two whole years older than I was when the Guardian bonded me and I learned the truth about humanity. Priest gets a little uppity sometimes. Did you think I was limited to manipulating the elements?”

Alex fervently shook his head. “No, of course not.”

“Mind reading is one of my specialties,” she added. “One which certain parties were all too eager to use by,” she chuckled, “proxy.”

He turned left and gunned the gas as they finally broke out of the city. “You mean the Altunai?”

“One Altunai in particular. They can’t hear human thoughts unaided. To use an analogy, their minds run on a more advanced operating system than human ones. It’s part of the reason they needed someone like me. I’m the transformer. Through me not only can they hear, they can control as well. Yup, both upload and download.”

“But, doesn’t the person know you’re, like, in their head?”

Her smirk twisted as she leaned over the center console and whispered in his ear, “Why do you think you’re driving the direction you are now?”

Chapter 13

“The limo is waiting at the curb, Mr. Kronastia.”

Dmitri acknowledged Anton’s statement with a nod as he led the party’s determined stride to customs.

“This is never going to work,” Hector grumbled as he pulled up the rear.

Shep wondered if perhaps he was looking for a way to escape into the crowd by dragging behind and dashing off at the first opportunity. More than that, he looked ... Well, as Shep’s old world grandmother had been fond of saying, he was wind-whipped, world-weary, and right-worn.

Kronastia gave one doubting chuckle. “Dear Dr. Gonzalez, have you so little faith in me?”

“If this were Russia or China, I wouldn’t doubt that you could get the passport agent to bow down and declare you a god. But in England? Not sure how you’re planning to pull this off.”

Shep struggled to keep up. “I thought you didn’t go through general customs when you arrive on a private plane. How is it someone like you doesn’t get arrested every time you travel?”

“I have arrangements with a number of officials that allows me to stay off record. I generally come in to this country by sea. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to hop on a cargo ship right now.”

“I’ll meet you on the other side, sir,” Anton broke in before heading off in another direction.

Shep eyed him as he joined a queue for EU nationals.

“Anton is Welsh by birth,” Kronastia informed them. “I don’t hold it against him. Neither should you.”

Reaching into his pocket, Shep ran his fingers over the worn cover of his own U.S. Passport. In so many parts of the world, the document was like a golden ticket, and he doubted he would come to have any trouble when he was at the inspection counter. Kronastia was certain to have at least a handful of passports in the briefcase he took with him from his plane. However, he worried about Hector. Not only was he without documents when they left Mexico, but even then Mexican nationals needed a visa to enter Britain. Indeed, Shep was just as curious as his colleague about how this would play out.

“No, not that one.”

Shep felt himself jerk back as Kronastia grabbed the shoulder of his coat and yanked him to the line at the far end of the terminal. Ten minutes later, two world-renowned archaeologists felt like children watching their father approach the booth to buy them all a ticket to go on the merry-go-round.

The agent was a young woman, perhaps late twenties, who appeared to be of Indian descent. She held her hand out expectantly as Kronastia gently deposited his passport du jour into her waiting grasp. Shep noticed how his fingertips brushed the woman’s wrists as she took the booklet, and even swore he saw her shudder as her eyes raised to meet his. From their distance and hindered by Kronastia’s decision to keep his voice low, neither Shep nor Hector could make out their words. But Shep was a college professor; he recognized blatant flirting when he saw it. He smirked with a good sense of humor. If Kronastia thought this little scheme was going to outwit a British ...

“Gentlemen, are we ready?”

Kronastia motioned them with a quick jerk of his head. Shep turned to Hector to find the latter’s jaw making a dive for the floor. The agent gave them a tempting smile as the two walked through the passport check with passports unchecked.

“How did you ... What did you ...”

The Russian smirked, but his steps remained constant, dragging them forward. “I have a certain way of charming young ladies, gentlemen. No need to worry. Ah, there’s Anton.”

The valet waved to them from near the terminal exit door, outside of which sat a waiting limo. They all piled in with their sparse carry-ons and relaxed into the plush leather seats. Shep looked around wildly to see if he could find a wet bar, and was soon rewarded with the discovery of a single serve gin. He downed the poison without asking permission, without even looking around to see where they were headed. As the warmth of the alcohol began to spread through him, he became observant of way too many media trucks staged on the edges of Heathrow.

Hector must have noticed the same, for a moment later he asked, “What’s going on here? What’s all the excitement? The queen fall down a flight of stairs?”

Anton leaned over to his master and whispered something in his ear. Kronastia nodded. “Yes, Anton, please do.”

The valet leaned forward to a TV embedded in the front console of the passenger compartment. With a flick of his wrist, the screen filled with the image of a middle-aged woman and an older, balding man sitting at a desk, with the graphic declaring “Breaking” hovering between their heads.

“I understand now that an image of the suspect is to be released. Authorities aren’t sure how she’s concealing herself inside the body of the plane, but the airliner has been taxied off to a secure area of the airport. Dogs used in search-and-rescue are said to be en route in order to give the plane a more thorough search.” The anchor pushed against her earphone. “Yes, here it is. This image was taken off a security camera feed as she boarded the flight in Mexico City yesterday.”

Shep and Hector gasped as the familiar face of Victoria Kent flashed across the screen.

“I guess you weren’t lying after all,” Hector mumbled.

Kronastia only gave him a wry, told-you-so look in response. “Ah, see there?” He tapped his finger on the bag hanging from her side in the photo still, its image grainy and green-hued. “Those must be the artifacts you dug up, Dr. Gonzalez. Trust me, gentlemen, she won’t let that bag leave her side unless it’s into very trusted hands.”

Shep let his curiosity grab his tongue. “She’ll find a buyer that quickly, you think? Even with all this heat on her?”

“Silly Dr. Smyth, she’s not going to sell those. They’re emotional prizes for her, completely personal. I never took Tlalli for a sentimental person, but she’s never taken me for a sincere one. I guess we’re equal. She’s still convinced that she’s on her mission.”

Shep looked at him from the corner of his eye with great unease. “A mission to do what?”

Kronastia leaned in. “Why, what else, Dr. Smyth? Save the world.”

Hector, who had been sitting rather quietly, even lethargically, jolted when the mobster’s phone chirped.

“Took you long enough.” Dmitri sounded almost playful. The other party conversed for a few minutes, and if Shep wasn’t mistaken there was some screeching involved. “What can I say, I called in some favors. You didn’t expect me to let Jaguar get away, did you, Anathea?”

Shocked, Shep slapped at Dmitri’s knee and mouthed “Hermapolous?”

Dmitri nodded, but put his fingers in a hushing motion over his lips. “Of course. I really didn’t expect anything less, but you can’t blame me for trying. And I wanted to see how far you’d go. You know me, always trying to get the best performance out of you. I’ll have you know, though, arranging fighter jets on such short notice was no small feat, and not exactly cheap. I almost decided against it, but what can I say, my temptations always get the better of me where you’re concerned.”

An insincere smile spread across his face as Dmitri clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Well, if the opportunity should arise, I’ll look forward to doing just that.”

With that, Shep heard a resounding grunt of frustration and a click.

“It probably shouldn’t surprise me that you know Anathea Hermapolous as well, I guess?” Shep searched the cabin for another bottle, but came up short.

“As well?” Dmitri repeated. He exchanged a knowing glance with Anton. “No, probably not, Dr. Smyth. Ana and I go back some ways, in fact.”

Shep leaned forward, beckoning Anton nearer. The valet, a little wary of the attention, leaned across the way, wearing a confused expression.

“Is he always so damn cryptic?” Shep asked.

Anton exhaled. “More so, usually.”

Chapter 14

Before he knew it, the better part of two hours had passed. Which was fine, Alex thought. He wasn’t in any rush, and it wasn’t his place to tell Victoria that she should be either. She had to have known, however, that their car parked in the driveway didn’t go unnoticed. More than once, he’d witnessed the ecru lace curtains on the second story of the Elizabethan country estate swing back into position when he’d glanced up.

Finally, Victoria broke the silence. “I can’t remember the last time I watched the sunset.”

“It’s England in the winter. No one remembers the last time they watched the sunset.”

The brightness in her features proved fleeting as her flickering smile flat-lined. “They change, you know. You wouldn’t think they do; it’s still the same sun it’s always been. But, like so many things in life, what we see on the horizon depends on the landscape through which we view it. Alex, I’m scared.”

“Scared?” The very idea was preposterous. “What could possibly scare you?”

“Failing. Succeeding. Maybe both.” Victoria swept her hand to indicate the house in front of which they were parked. “I just hate going in there knowing that, if I fail, they all die. And if I succeed, then what? Do I just go on watching as people I care for grow old and die?”

Her face went red. “I’m not sure which I’m more afraid of, dying next week, or living forever. I guess that’s absurdly selfish of me, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it’s selfish to feel overwhelmed that you have to save the world. And I have no doubt that you’ll do it. If even one-quarter of the stories I’ve heard about you are true, we don’t have anything to fear.”

Victoria narrowed her gaze. “What stories?”

“Ones people in The Order have told me. Like that Old Scottish guy with one eye. He said you rescued him from a street gang and sent them all packing.”

“True, but there were only five of them.” Her gaze grew distant as she fled into her memories. “All pretty young, too. Oldest one couldn’t have been more than twenty. I probably shouldn’t have been so rough on them, but I guess I just saw red. Seamus was so tiny.”

“Seamus says you probably saved his life. Oh, and the Romanian woman, Maria? She told me once that you paid to have all the houses in her village rebuilt after the war.”

“Actually, it was her mother’s village. A lot of good that did. Hitler’s Reich came right back in a generation later and knocked it all down again.”

“But anyone with such a kickass combination of valor and compassion can do anything.” For some reason, the understanding that the war Maria had talked about wasn’t even the second world war, but the first, sent Alex’s mind reeling. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

“Hmm?”

“How old are you?”

“That’s a very rude question to ask a lady, you know.” Victoria pursed her lips and blew. “I’ve already told you, I was twenty-five when the Altunai made me immortal, but that’s not what you’re asking, is it?” He shook his head. “A little over five thousand, then.”

He whistled his surprise. “Wow. I guess you would have to be pretty old to be an Egyptian goddess.” With a wink, he nudged her arm. “Isn’t that right, Sekhmet?”

“You do know I hate that name, don’t you? Not that I’m fond of Victoria, necessarily.”

“You have, like, five hundred of them. Give me one you actually like and maybe I’ll use it.”

The olive-skinned beauty took to musing. “Tlalli.”

He took a pack of smokes from his pocket and tapped one out into his hand. “Tlalli? Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.”

“Depends on whose tongue is doing the rolling,” Victoria said as the flame from the lighter licked the end of Alex’s cigarette. She reached forward and stole it, making the flame leap in a fairy rhythm over the tips of her fingers. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

“Said the woman playing with fire. Besides, second hand smoke too is dangerous. Maybe you should consider undoing your seatbelt and going inside.”

She shifted uncomfortably, balling her hand into a fist and extinguishing the flame. At first, thinking he’d finally overstepped the bounds of their friendship, he was surprised when instead of bite back, Victoria did as he suggested and unhinged her seatbelt. Her hand rested on the handle for a moment as she stared at the floor. “There’s only one danger to my life, one being on Earth that can kill me: the bastard Altunai who made me into what I am. Guess who I have to face down to save the world?” When their gazes met, Alex felt a chill go down his spine. He’d never seen her eyes so wild, so bright, so full of vengeance. “I need power, Alex. I need the stone. You don’t understand, it’s not just a prize. The stone is more like a mystic fuel cell. On 12.21.12, the baktun ends and the fuel cell activates. Whoever has control of the stone will have a shit ton of power. Dmitri will use it to open the gate and let the Altunai return. But if I have the stone, I can keep Dmitri from succeeding. If need be, I can even end him.”

In a moment, the seat was empty, and Victoria was already half up the garden walk. Alex sprang from the car, the cigarette pursed in his lips, and dashed in pursuit. “Now you decide we’re going in? I just lit this.”

“Un-light it, then.” She slung the bag of artifacts over her shoulder, narrowly missing Alex’s head.

“Do you know how much cigarettes cost in this bloody country?”

“Would you like me to reimburse you? Fine, I’ll have Lazarus dig out a few shillings.”

“God damn it, Victoria, stop!” Pulling her by the shoulder, he turned her to face him. “You’re crying. What happened? Something’s got you all rattled all of a sudden.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked away, but he’d already caught sight of the teardrops on her cheeks.

Holding her out at arm’s length, he narrowed his gaze. “Like hell you don’t. Nobody gets under your skin like that except one person. The look on your face just now when you were talking about the Altunai Guardian, it’s the same one you get whenever you talk about Kronastia. Victoria, is the Guardian, the one who created you, Dmitri?”

Unable to meet his gaze, she nodded. Alex drew back, feeling like he was truly seeing Victoria clearly for the first time.

“You told me once that you made the mistake of falling in love with the Guardian. All this time, you were talking about Kronastia. Do you still love him?”

Victoria stared dead ahead, unmoving. “Our relationship is … complicated.”

“But he’s Altunai. He’s one of the bad guys.”

“A fact I cannot deny.”

Alex felt his mouth go dry, the shaky pillars of his newfound faith crumbling. “But, you love him,” he repeated, as though presenting her with two facts, and insisting that only one could actually be true.

A fleeting smile passed across Victoria’s face before dissolving into darkness. She stumbled for the right word. “I know my obligation, Alex, and it is to humanity, not the whims of my own heart.”

It was as though someone had just told him that Hitler and Churchill had a habit of having tea every second Sunday. “I don’t understand how you could possibly love him, of all people.”

She turned and leaned back against the door. “I’m not human, Alex, but I’m not Altunai either. I’m stuck in between, have been for thousands of years. The Guardian … Dmitri is the only one who has the smallest measure of understanding of what that’s like. So, yes, we’ve occasionally put aside our differences long enough to take comfort in each other. I’ve always made certain it is in remote locations where the ability to use his powers that my proximity grants him harms no one. We’re both trapped, waiting for the day the thirteenth baktun ends and the gates open. Him, so he can finally forget me and go home; me, so I can finally forget him and have one.”

Victoria made to open the door again. “Alex, the ritual must begin at the prescribed time or The Order will be upset.”

“They’ll wait. Don’t think I don’t understand that all these ceremonies are bupkis. I’ve seen how much you roll your eyes during them.” He turned back to the subject at hand. “Does he love you?”

“Please, let it go. It’s ancient history. Literally.”

“Why won’t you just answer the question? If you’re still involved with him, I think I above all people in The Order have the right to know that.”

Suddenly, the door opened from within, interrupting their conversation. A shaft of soft luminescence bent out across their bodies and up the path behind them. A woman of average height, dressed in black, bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“Milady, welcome home.”

“Katherine, thank goodness.” Victoria somehow managed to wipe away all traces of emotion from both her face and her voice. “Please take Alex and get him something to eat. I understand he’s famished, and I need to prepare for the ceremony.”

Alex leaned in, grinding his teeth. “We aren’t done. We’re going to get back to this.”

He wanted to rip into her, make her explain why she’d shared so much with him that he knew damn well she hadn’t with the others, but for some reason had chosen to keep this critical tidbit to herself. Dmitri and Victoria were lovers? It threw off the colors of the picture he’d been painting in his mind for the last couple of years. Now that they were inside, however, he understood the need to keep up images. The Order revolved around helping Victoria and trusting in her leadership. At such a critical time, he couldn’t cast off their whole social structure just to get to the bottom of her broom closet.

“Come along, Alex.” Katherine pulled on the sleeve of his jacket. He relaxed, allowing himself to be led away. “We’ve just finished lunch, and there’s still a few more slices of quiche left in the kitchen.”

Chapter 15

The elderly servant, Lazarus, met Victoria at the base of the stairs, just beyond the entryway.

He acknowledged her with a dip of his head. “Your Grace.”

Taking the sack of artifacts off her shoulder, she handed the bag to him. “Please curate these and lay them out on my altar in the temple.”

Lazarus reached into the bag, pulling out a goopy fist full of fiber and a confused expression.

“Sadly, the scroll did not survive the Thames,” she informed him. “Has Priest reported in?”

With a flick of his hand, Lazarus shook off the wet pulp. “Not yet. We expect his call soon.”

She internally grumbled. Always one to demand punctuality in others while never living up to the promise himself. Victoria turned toward the stairs and started making her way up, the servant following her like an overly eager dog, despite his advanced age.

“Has my bath been drawn?”

“Thrice, Your Grace, since we first spotted your arrival. I just refreshed it ten minutes ago.”

“And my kalasiris?” The traditional Ancient Egyptian garb appealed to The Order’s members, so she entertained them by wearing it at ceremonies, even though the thing rode up something awful when she sat.

“On your bed.”

“My rose oil?”

“Next to the bath.”

Reaching the double doors to her room, she closed Lazarus out without further comment. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let anyone see that her emotions were finally getting the best of her. She practically dove into the tub, staying under the water for a time that would have killed any full-blooded human. As soon as her body relaxed, the look of betrayal on Alex’s face played on the back of her eyelids.

She didn’t want this, didn’t want to be burdened by her humanity right now. Victoria focused, seeking to come into harmony with the forces around her. She sent her senses adrift, focusing on the feeling of weightlessness, shutting down perception of sight, sound, taste … She let go of the pain. She’d never meant to let Alex know about her and Dmitri. It was a secret she would have preferred to take to the grave. Assuming she ever made it to there, that was.

Victoria released her spirit and made her body become one with water, letting the fire within extinguish. She couldn’t put off her responsibilities for too long; she knew she owed a report to the members of the society who’d come for the ceremony. And Alex was right, she owed him the truth too. She would give it to him. Then, she’d just have to hope he stayed. If not for her sake, then for the sake of his sister.

-Ψ-

Twenty minutes later, sprawled out over her bed and staring at the ceiling, the thin gauze of her dressings sticking to her rose-oil lathered skin, she heard a knock on the door. Two maidens of The Order—virgins by tradition, though what difference that made she hadn’t the slightest—demonstrated their obeisance. Giving a hand to each as she knew they had been taught to expect, the girls led her, step by measured step, down the stairs, through the house, and into the basement, a painstakingly precise replica of an ancient temple in honor of Sekhmet.

Robed figures filled the room, each of them lowering to one knee as she was guided between them. Near the rear, she spotted a disdainful Alex, his hood off before one of his fellow brethren pulled it reproachfully over his head for him. For a moment, she was relieved he had stayed. Then, she realized what kept him there wasn’t any sort of loyalty or friendship at the moment, it was his desire to learn more about what she’d said.

Candlelight bathed the room. On the altar, a fire burned low and slow in a brass plate, the offerings of lavender and sage having been thrown on only moments before and sending herbal-scented ashen fingers through the air. As she reached the front of her congregation, the maidens leaned over and kissed her hands before departing the room. They were not allowed to watch the rituals. Their innocence was to be intact, she had claimed to the following. In truth, she didn’t want them to see their parents participating in such a farce.

A chime was struck, and the same hooded woman who had met her at the door earlier stepped forward, her arms outstretched to either side, her voice full and reverent.

“Mighty Sekhmet! Eye of Ra, Lady of the Flame, Protector of Pharaoh. Divine Hecate, Keeper of the Paths, Guardian of the Gates, Seeker of the Just. We bow before thee.”

“We bow before thee!” the crowd repeated as, along with the priestess, they all sank in unison to their knees.

Victoria looked down, forcing herself not to scoff at the pomp and circumstance. The ancient customs weren’t unique to, or original of, her little sect of followers and those she’d collected through the years. Little did they understand, however, that Victoria took very little from these ritual reenactments, which she’d found silly and useless even when they had originated eons ago. It was only for the sake of her following’s cohesiveness that she allowed the charade to continue.

Plus, after the success of The Da Vinci Code, they all thought there was actually something to this crap. Luckily, she’d been able to convince them that the ritualistic sex Dan Brown’s characters engaged in played no part in her cult’s tradition. Victoria swore that if she ever came face to face with that man, she was going to give him a piece of her mind and the side of her hand.

Victoria turned to the altar to examine each of the retrieved treasures. Lazarus had done an excellent job in the short time he’d had of giving each a basic cleaning. After the ceremony, he’d remove, preserve, and store properly each of them; he was an exceptionally skilled antiquities curator. As those around her observed in silence, she picked up each object in turn, remembering the proxy it represented, and spoke under her breath a prayer in memoriam for them in her native tongue.

Finally, Victoria turned to the dozen or so society members. “I recognize the High Priestess Katherine as the speaker of The Order. Let the Voice of The Order speak.”

“Your Grace,” Katherine said, “it seems your effort to reclaim your mementoes was successful.”

“Thanks to Alex’s genius idea of fake maker’s stickers and price tags.” She wasn’t above hoping public flattery could cool his ire. Stealing a glance in his direction, she witnessed the corners of his mouth twitch almost imperceptibly. “The amulet remained out of reach, however, and I’m running out of time.”

“Then we’ll retrieve it.”

In recent years, Victoria had culled from the members of The Order a legion of expert antiquities thieves. Anyone who desired a chance was trained in the art, and the bounty, sold off to pay the maintenance of both the houses and the people. Clearly they thought this was as simple as pinching one more prize.

“Not as easily done as said. The Guardian has it.”

Katherine blanched. “If he uses it to open the gate and the Altunai return, we’re all doomed.”

“You forget two things. First, there are two items required to open the gate for the Altunai. The amulet is one, but I am still in firm control of the other. Second, if they are able to return, I may be able to defeat them.”

“Defeat them?” Katherine repeated. “How?”

Victoria examined her nails with passing interest. “The old fashioned way, by killing them.”

Dressed in a dark red robe, Lazarus shuffled forward. “I think we would all feel better if you were in possession of the amulet. Maybe one of us could try to get it. He knows your face, obviously, but he doesn’t know ours.”

Victoria wasn’t so sure about that. She and Dmitri had come to a truce on some things a number of years ago. Diplomacy kept the two of them from engaging in all-out war. The gentlemen’s agreement brokered called for double-blind relationships. She didn’t share with The Order the identity of his public persona, and he didn’t make any attempt to hunt down the members of her society. Both chose to abide by that agreement when and if it suited them. After all, she had told Alex who the Guardian was, and Priest was intimately aware of it. Likewise, the events of a few years ago proved that Dmitri kept an eye on some of her flock, though she wasn’t sure if he was aware of them as a whole, or only when they found out too much. If the latter, there was a good chance he hadn’t had reason to identify Alex yet. After all, he hadn’t recognized Priest when he met him.

At least there was that to take comfort in.

“No dice, Laz. The Guardian is aware of how much I want it,” she responded. “He’ll have his guards on high alert. You’d need to have abilities on par with mine to be able to get in and out alive. I didn’t want to resort to it, but I might just have to walk into his trap and show up to Memphis.”

Alex broke through the high-ranking tier in front of her altar. “Or you can send me,” he said.

No matter how high in regard she held him, Victoria didn’t understand what made Alex think he was immune to death. “He’d slaughter you like cattle.”

“No, he won’t,” Alex insisted, a knowing grin unfurling the corners of his mouth. “Especially not if I’m something more than human.”

Victoria felt herself shrink back. Any need to compensate Alex for the betrayal he perceived fled her. She stomped down from the altar and poked her finger in his direction. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

“Don’t I?” His daring tone made Lazarus and Katherine step back. “What choice do you have?”

“I’d go myself before I’d subject you to that!” Victoria insisted.

Alex crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, go then. And when he uses the fact that you’re still in love with him to seduce and defeat you, call us. We’ll make sure to bust out the rarest bottles from the wine cellar before the Altunai suck us dry like cherry soda.”

The congregation winced when the flat of Victoria’s hand found the side of Alex’s face. For his part, the young man only closed his eyes and absorbed the blow. With an exhalation, he turned to her with steely eyes.

“Must have gotten pretty close to the mark there.”

“You can’t achieve what you’re hoping to,” Victoria warned. She pointed to the objects on the altar. “Do you know how many of them I sent forth, only for each of them to pay the price for my cowardice?”

“There’s a big difference between me and your parade of fallen proxies.” Though tall for a person of her time, Victoria couldn’t match Alex in height. He pushed his chest to hers, glaring. She could feel the vibration of his voice on her forehead as he continued, “I’m not going after the Guardian to help you. I’m going after the stone to help myself. I want him defeated. No matter how pissed I am at you right now, I know that you’re the only person who can do that. We don’t have time to argue, there is no other way. Accept it.”

Rolling her hands together, a shaking Katherine stepped forward. “Your Grace, what is he talking about? What is it he wants you to do?”

Victoria bit her bottom lip, tasting blood. It had been years since someone had managed to piss her off this bad. If there was one thing she hated more than her duties as the Vessel, it was when someone proved her wrong. As much as her insides shook with rage, the rational part of her couldn’t deny that Alex presented an excellent option for their current predicament.

She inwardly cursed herself for sharing so much with the young man. Her trust in his intelligence, and the proof he presented of it, had turned around and bitten her on the ass.

“He’s asking that I make him a proxy.” Victoria turned to Katherine, taking in the crone’s look of confusion. “Proxies share my powers. Most of them, anyway.” She turned to Alex. “But you have to understand, even though you’d have my abilities to control the elements, be able to hear thoughts, and even speak into humans’ minds, you would still be mortal. He could still kill you, Alex. And if it suits him, he won’t hesitate.”

“A proxy?” Katherine repeated. “Like The Twelve? I thought you had sworn you’d never take another.”

Lazarus, perhaps sensing the woman’s bitterness, stepped forward and put his arm around her. “The Goddess shares her gifts with those whom she will, my dear. Don’t think though that what she’s offering Alex is a blessing.”

Victoria turned tender eyes on the old man. With her mind, she reached out and thanked him. The others in the room whispered amongst themselves, but Lazarus was already in the process of ending the ceremony without its usual ritualistic culmination. He seemed to understand inherently this turn of events was not the background against which to celebrate. In a shuffling procession, he guided the others from the temple chamber, leaving Alex and Victoria alone.

She resumed her place on the altar, wanting the ability to look him square in the face. “If you’re certain you want to do this, so be it, but you should know that bonding isn’t simply an upgrade, it’s an overhaul. It’s going to change both your mind and body. Nightmares, headaches, uncontrollable emotions … It effects everyone differently, but effects everyone somehow. And trust me, you’ll regret having the ability to know what people are thinking.”

“All prices I’m willing to pay to take down Dmitri,” her acolyte insisted. “Just get on with it.”

She pulled him to her, leaning her forehead against his, pleased that while rigid, he didn’t pull back. “Alex, this could kill you. The bonding has killed others before. Please, don’t force more blood on my hands.”

He proved undeterred. “You could have a lot more blood on your hands if I don’t. Besides, even if the bonding does kill me, you can still intercept him at Memphis.”

Her heart fluttered when his hands braced her cheeks.

“I can’t stand aside and do nothing, knowing this is an option. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to Monique. I love her, Vick. Let me do this, for her.”

The goddess gnashed her teeth, but her muscles relaxed. “If you’re willing to sacrifice yourself for her, if you love her that much, can’t you understand what it’s like for me? I’m sorry I kept the truth from you. Please, Alex, forgive me. Like you said, you’re the closest thing to family I have.”

He didn’t speak, but she felt his nod against her forehead.

“Okay, let’s do this, then,” Victoria continued. “But first, there’s a few formalities. Have a seat, Alex. I have to give you a crash course in history the way it actually happened.”

-Ψ-

Though Anton Sluga did not know precisely the heart beats per minute of the average cottontail rabbit, he imagined it must be in the ball park of half that of what his pulse currently clocked.

“What are you doing with the amulet, Anton?”

Dmitri’s face was full of confusion and concern. It was an odd look for him, as he was rarely taken off guard, and he wore the expression with all the comfort of a squirrel in lederhosen.

Anton threw the pair of Dmitri’s Armani pants on the nearby chair. Whenever his boss did something in private—in this case, taking a shower—Anton was required to survey the room for “tasks.” Sometimes this meant straightening the bed, and sometimes it meant confiscating the cooling body and throwing it in the Moskva River. Tonight, it meant gathering up Dmitri’s peeled-off clothes and putting them in the sack destined for the laundry service. Although, worrying about the pant pleats on the dawn of the Apocalypse seemed silly.

When the amulet had slipped out of the pocket and thudded to the floor, he could hardly believe his dumb luck. There it was, resting in an indentation in the plush carpet, as though it could be a coin or a paperclip—the key to opening the gate, the very thing that would help determine humanity’s fate. Just sitting on the floor of Dmitri’s London flat.

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Anton choked out. And indeed it was. Not even as long as a cigarette, the cerulean cylinder of stone reflected the ambient light, making it appear to glow.

“Yes, and it’s mine,” Dmitri returned with a hard edge to his voice. “Set it on the bureau and take your leave.”

Anton’s eyes narrowed with longing. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly let it go so easily. “Sir, this is far too important a thing to have in your pocket. Maybe I could put it in the safe downstairs?”

“Anton, I said to put ... it ... down.”

Dmitri’s ire had risen to full staff in the passing of a moment, his eyes darkening. Immediately, Anton knew that short of hand-to-hand combat, in which case Anton’s hand and the arm to which it was attached would probably end up separate from his torso in short order, he wasn’t getting anywhere with the amulet. With caution befitting the handling of a grenade, he gently deposited it atop Dmitri’s bureau and stood at the ready.

“Something you want, Anton?”

“Just curious, sir, if you’re done with the Mexican?”

There was pure stoicism in his response. “Not yet. Almost. By morning for sure. Just hope his life force is enough for me to do my part.”

“You could always feed some more, if you’re in doubt,” Anton suggested.

“Volunteering?”

“No, sir. I thought, maybe Smyth.”

“No! Smyth is to remain unharmed.”

Anton cocked his head. “Sir?”

“I’m going to tell him.”

Again, Anton was confused. “Tell him what?”

Dmitri threw his robe over the bed as he turned to his bureau, fishing out enough clothes to keep him necessarily proper.

“Everything.”

As though a dagger had just gone through him, Anton fell back. Tell Smyth everything? What had the insignificant man done to deserve that? The “Russian mob boss” had only taken Anton into his trust less than two months ago, finally sharing with him all that Anton secretly already knew. Was he really going to be given the shaft again? Just like with Victoria and her darling Alex, Dmitri had found his token human confidante.

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

Dmitri’s head cocked to the side as he looked up from the work of doing his buttons on his shirt. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were jealous. But that wouldn’t make sense, would it? You already know everything I’m going to tell him, so what would you have to be jealous over?”

The valet shifted from side to side. “Nothing, sir. It’s just ... how can you trust him? He’s an outsider. He’s a no one.” Anton thought a moment. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but suddenly an exit seemed to open for him. “If that’s your decision, sir, I wonder at what my years of service have really meant to you. And if, indeed, there’s a chance the world is about to end, I’d rather spend my last few hours following my own passions and not in your employment.”

“Are you quitting, Anton?”

He couldn’t believe he was saying it, and now when the end was so close. “I’m in love with someone, sir. And if there’s a chance I might die soon, I’d rather have her know it than not.”

Dmitri looked actually sympathetic. “A secret love you’ve kept from me? Well, you are coy. So certain she’ll accept you?”

“I’m making a hopeful wager, sir.”

Dmitri nodded, rubbing his chin in contemplation. “I can understand taking risks in the name of love.”

“Then you accept my resignation?”

With measured steps, Dmitri crossed the room, holding out his hand. “Don’t be so quick to assume that this is the end. I might still have some cards hidden up my sleeve. But one shouldn’t hesitate to love, and love madly. We never know how much time fate will allow us to be with the one we treasure. Good luck, Anton. I hope she feels the same way.”

As Anton turned to leave the room, he sighed. “Me, too, sir. Me, too.”

Chapter 16

“What the hell are we doing here? How did we ... did we ... ”

Hector broke into a cacophony of coughs and gags as Shep pulled the blanket up and tucked him in.

“Just like when we were in grad school. You can’t tolerate the slightest bit of cold.”

Hector gave a weak smile, but still couldn’t seem to stop shivering. How his friend had gone so quickly from a picture of health to the pale, lethargic mess in front of him, Shep hadn’t a clue. When they had arrived to the converted warehouse in the Docklands after an hour’s drive from Heathrow, Shep was filled with more questions than answers. As usual, the effects of the alcohol he’d pilfered from the limo only numbed his mind briefly. Sobriety and Hector’s condition left him bewildered.

Dmitri set them up in a room with two queen beds. After a few hours of sleep, Shep awoke to the sound of a conversation coming from Dmitri’s room across the hall. He recognized his host’s voice, but the words exchanged with his valet in a foreign tongue gave no hint of the nature of their tête-à-tête. It had ended with Anton scrambling around the residence before leaving completely.

That was when Shep had looked over at Hector and saw him paler than a ghost, shaking through a cold sweat. He had spent a good part of the night sitting by his bedside, talking, trying to bring comfort and distraction to his ailing friend.

As morning approached, Hector finally lapsed again into sleep. Shep wasn’t quite sure what time it was when a light rap on the door awoke him. Dmitri entered with Shep’s permission and looked sympathetically down on the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Hector’s chest.

“Why don’t you come out for tea? Let him sleep.”

A cup of tea, though not Shep’s usual drink of choice, sounded refreshing at the moment. With a yawn and stretch, he followed Dmitri to a kitchen basked in the orange-yellow glow of early morning sunlight. Dmitri silently fetched a tea pot, a cup, the sugar bowl and a spoon, and set them all down on the table.

“Not much else here,” he commented as he opened the refrigerator and looked in. “I do have some oatmeal in the pantry that should be good, but no fresh milk I’m afraid. I could call down to my guards and see if they could bring something up from their stores if you’d prefer.”

“This is fine.” Shep’s words were as short as his attention span. Lack of sleep … no, lack of alcohol, and a healthy supply of international travel were taking their toll on his good manners. “Did you already eat?”

Dmitri poured hot water from the tea kettle over a bowl of oats and set it before Shep. “Yes, while you slept.”

The spoon hung in the air as Shep eyed up the mobster. “Don’t you sleep at all?”

“Only recreationally. I don’t like to waste my time. Especially these days. But I’m glad you were able to get a little rest.”

Kronastia looked sincere too. Shep sucked down a mouthful of oatmeal and set the spoon on the edge of the bowl. “You’re nothing like I expected you to be.”

The smile that crossed over Dmitri’s face was one of pure amusement. “Now, Doctor, what did you expect? A burly, sweaty Russian, balding, with a vodka gut and thick, sausage fingers? Someone who would shoot you as well as look at you? A hostile, hardened criminal?”

Almost shamefully, Shep confirmed that that was exactly what he had expected.

“Then, yes, I can see why you’re surprised,” Dmitri said with a chuckle. His smile only enhanced his youthful appearance, reminding Shep of the mismatch between his looks and his history. “Truth is, Dr. Smyth, I’m not even Russian.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “Basing myself there suits my current needs, gives me access to many resources and people that make seeing out my primary responsibility easier. Victoria does the same thing, in her own special way.”

“Primary purpose?” Shep’s hands tried to clear the sleep from his eyes. “And that would be ...”

“Surely you’ve studied Egyptian mythology during your archaeological career?”

Shep nodded.

Dmitri leaned in over the table conspiratorially. “What if I told you some of the myths are true?”

If Dmitri was expecting to get a rise out of him with the baiting inquiry, it wasn’t working. “It wouldn’t surprise me that there’s some level of fact behind it. Most myths are reflective of a truth that simply cannot be rationalized by the contemporary men in the period they are created.”

“You are, indeed, very wise, Doctor. But what if I told you that Victoria Kent’s role in Egypt’s mythology is only rivaled by her role in its history? What if I told you that for much of the classical periods, Victoria was the power behind the throne, as it were?”

“Ah, now I remember!” Shep exclaimed, taking the last bite of oatmeal before folding his arms over his chest and leaning back. “Your story about how she’s some sort of real life Xena, Warrior Princess. Not still trying to pull that one over, are you?”

Dmitri scoffed. “Hardly. What she is ... Or rather, who she is, is something much more devastating and real. You see, Victoria is Sekhmet.”

“Sekhmet?” Shep looked at him incredulously. “The lion-headed goddess?”

“The lion part is more symbolic, but yes.”

“The Lady of the Flame? The Eye of Ra? The Drinker of Blood?”

“Yes, yes, and no,” Dmitri confirmed. “She doesn’t drink blood so much as spill it. She’s the most impressive warrior I’ve ever seen, on this planet or any other.”

“Or ‘any other’?” Shep repeated. Dmitri Kronastia was looking crazier by the second. “And you’ve seen how many, precisely?”

“Three. Four if you include my own.”

Taking a sip of his tea, Shep decided that it was probably a good idea to humor the Russian mob boss in his lunacy. “You don’t say?”

Dmitri picked up on the patronizing. He crossed his arms over his chest, echoing Shep’s stance. “Do you know that you’re the first person I’ve actually ever volunteered the truth to, outside of a trusted servant here and there? I know it will sound crazy. How Victoria has a whole contingency behind her who hang on her every word is beyond me. Guess it takes all types.” He shrugged, then narrowed his eyes. “What if I could offer you proof?”

“Proof of what? You haven’t really said anything yet, other than instigate you’re an alien.”

“We’re all aliens, only some of us were actually born here.” Dmitri leaned forward and reached his hands across the table, his palms open, inviting Shep to place his hands into his. Glancing warily at the expectant gaze now focused on him, Shep moved closer, but kept his hands on the edge of the table.

“Go on, Shep. Nothing to be scared of,” Dmitri tried to assure him. “There’s a good chance this won’t work anyway. I usually can’t mindspeak to humans, and few do I deign to touch to even make the attempt. However, something tells me this will work with you.”

The lilt of his voice spoke more to a mystery still concealed, but now was not the time to inquire. “Mindspeak? What’s that?”

Dmitri’s patience grew thin. “Just give me your damn hands, Shep. If you get scared, just pull back. Luckily you’re one of the few men alive who can probably follow the conversation.”

First one finger, then another, and finally Shep’s two hands slid over Dmitri’s as his grasp tightened to a firm hold.

Nothing. While Dmitri closed his eyes in concentration, Shep rolled his in disbelief.

“Am I missing something, because I’m not—”

“Shhhh.” The Guardian inhaled a steady draw, pulling both the oxygen and Shep’s mind in.

-Ψ-

He was walking in long, purposeful strides up a dimly lit corridor. The walls, floor and ceiling above him appeared as a jigsaw of perfectly fitted stone edifices, a work of pure masonry expertise, beyond artful in their arrangement.

The end of the corridor opened into a chamber where, on a chaise carved of wood and laced with reeds and linen, sat a woman who resembled Victoria. Despite a similar physiognomy, from the caramel-pecan tendrils of hair arranged atop her head in Hellenistic style, to the green-blue twinkle of her feline eyes, the striking female owned a different demeanor than the one of which Shep was familiar. Cockiness and confidence removed, the whole of her being was consumed by grief. The biblical phrase, “a gnashing of teeth,” came to mind.

A booming voice echoed in his ears, and Shep realized both that it was Dmitri’s, though without its Russian drawl, and that it sounded very nearby. Too nearby. In fact, it sounded like Shep himself were speaking with Dmitri’s voice in perfectly accentuated Egyptian.

“Tlalli, we must speak.”

Victoria took note of the presence of another, uncurling herself from the folded position in which she had been sitting. Her clothes were a fine, sheer linen, thin enough in their weave that Shep could make out the peaks of her breast through the material.

“Mur-sha’ht,” she spoke through her sobs and tears, a title that meant master, “I am your servant.”

Shep continued to feel as though he were speaking through Dmitri. Indeed, he realized that he must also be seeing through his eyes. “You’ve brought this on yourself, you know. I warned you never to attempt to bond another. You yourself are but an Altunai proxy. The bond you offered the queen was weak, unstable. If Isis were to learn of this transgression … We are not men, and we must stay separate of these petty political affairs. It is not your place to interfere, only to observe. We must rise above and leave them to their own struggles.”

Victoria murmured, “They call me goddess, build temples to honor Sekhmet, and plead for my intervention. Why should I withhold, when it is within my power to give aid?”

As she continued, her voice took on an air of reproach. “I only attempted to bond her because I wanted to save her from the pain. Octavian would have dragged her in chains through the streets of Rome. I had to know she would survive.”

Shep watched his hands—or rather, Dmitri’s hands—reach out and yank Victoria to her feet. He felt the crush of her body against his, and his lips brushed over hers. “Don’t force me to be your enemy. I care for you too much. Let it end with Cleopatra. Do not set up another to be mine enemy.”

-Ψ-

Next thing Shep knew, he was on the floor, his head spinning and his mouth dry. A pulse, he thought his own now, drummed in his ears. As his eyes focused, Kronastia came into focus, hovering over him.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded and accepted an outstretched hand. Dmitri braced Shep under the arm and lowered him back to sit at the table.

“Mindspeak, huh?” Shep asked through heavy breaths. “More like ... mindfuck.”

Dmitri slumped into the other chair. Even he seemed out of joint. “Apologies. It’s been a long time since I shared my memories with another; I’ve forgotten how overwhelming the experience can be the first time. But surely you can see the truth now?”

“Sure,” Shep gasped, waving his hand dismissively. “Victoria, Sekhmet. What does that make you?”

“Not human.”

Shep looked at him confusedly. It would have been a preposterous suggestion ten minutes before, when he knew there was no such thing as gods and goddesses. Now, he recognized it as undeniable truth.

“You are an alien.”

“More important than that, Shep, I am Altunai.”

Chapter 17

For the next half hour, Shep sat in stunned silence as Dmitri Kronastia peeled open his brain, scooped the whole thing out into a blender, and hit liquefy.

Plato hadn’t been making things up. Only, the name was actually Altunatus and it hadn’t been a lost ancient civilization, but another world that existed tangentially to Earth. The Altunai seeded planets with human life—the formula for creation of a lower genetic version of themselves, mastered after eons of experimentation. The Altunai established two operational bases: one in the Nile River Valley, and the other in the jungles of the Yucatan Peninsula. At each location, mentors fostered knowledge, teaching the masses the skills they would need to develop art, government, farming, trade, and, yes, war. When the two civilizations were far enough along to fend for themselves, the period of isolation was initiated. Thirteen baktuns long, or five thousand, one hundred twenty-five circles of Earth around its sun.

“But, how did you, the Altunai ... How did you get here?”

Dmitri seemed relieved by the question. He smiled as he sought to address Shep’s curiosity. “We have instruments that can detect life signatures on distant planets. The animals, the plants … those were all here before. Well, most of them, anyway. We’re not really sure how the platypus migrated from our world, but that’s another story. We can travel through manipulations of energy, not unlike some of your science fiction stories. But, of course, there’s a catch.”

“Black out period for your frequent beamer miles?” Shep joked.

“Something like that. Once we identify a planet that has the necessary elements to maintain life, we have to dock it. It’s like building a bridge; once you throw the initial tie line across, you have to build another side back against the opposite shore’s foundation. In short, one Altunai must stay behind, a sort of homing beacon. I was assigned to be Earth’s dock.”

That explained Dmitri’s role. “And Victoria?”

“Well, she’s what we call a Vessel,” he answered. “She has two purposes. First, the Vessel acts as a sort of data recorder. Victoria was born human in the Olmec Empire. When she told you she was originally from the Veracruz area, that wasn’t a lie.”

“How did you know that she told me that?”

“Security camera, Shep,” Dmitri reminded him. “They probably shouldn’t have been in the hurricane shelters where people were sleeping, but one of my security team seems to have had an unhealthy obsession with Victoria.”

“Yeah, but she also told me she was twenty-something years old, so I wouldn’t credit her with being completely honest.” Sure, women tended to low-ball their actual age, but the difference of a few thousand years was nothing to sneeze at.

“I doubt she actually lied to you,” Dmitri countered. “She has a tendency to let others create their own truths, and then just plays along accordingly.”

Thinking back, Shep realized that she hadn’t actually said what age she was, only concurred with his guess. He grimaced and felt silly at the oversight.

Dmitri read Shep’s thoughts as clear as day. “Don’t worry, she’s gotten the better of far wiser men than you.”

He sighed. “So, data recorder. Go on.”

“She’s meant to be some sort of a dipstick. She lets us measure humanity’s progress from the point the isolation began until it ended. To ensure her survival, she must bond with an Altunai. That is, through a bodily fluid exchange, we infect the vessel with just enough of our advanced DNA to allow them to live as long as we do and be impervious to illness and injuries. The bonding also imbues them with many of our abilities: control over the elements, telepathy—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Shep demanded, holding his hand out in the accompanying gesture. “You mean to tell me you can read minds?”

“For a man who just accused me of mindfucking him, you sound oddly surprised.” A frustrated gnashing of teeth preceded Dmitri’s answer. “For the moment, my abilities are severely hampered. You see, the Altunai’s powers depend on the energy of our home planet. But Earth’s energy is different than that on Altunatus. It’s like traveling between countries having different standards of electric current. The Vessel also is, for lack of a better term, my converter plug.”

“So, if you have Victoria nearby ...” Shep’s voice trailed off.

“Yes, you put it all together very quickly. I can see why she credited you so much; you really seem attuned to the truth when it’s presented to you. Most humans would just dismiss this as a bunch of rubbish and write me off as some eccentric or loony.”

It was a curious thing, Shep thought. In any other situation, he was certain he’d be included among “most humans”. Despite years of disciplined training and practice in not attributing relation to causation, something about this explanation just seemed logical to him. The certainty of it was almost primal.

“Okay, answer me this, though,” Shep uttered. “You say Victoria is Sekhmet, and that she was born in the Olmec Empire. How does an Olmec in the ancient world go from the Yucatan to Egypt and back again?”

“Getting back to the Americas was one of her finer moments. She convinced some Vikings to set out to the new world and traveled over land from where they landed in modern day Canada. The ‘to Egypt’ part was easy enough: she teleported. With me, no less. Our gateway to Altunatus is in Egypt, and Isis and Ra—you should understand, of course, Shep, that most of the gods of the Egyptian pantheon are, in fact, Altunai—they wanted to inspect her before departing.”

“And she met their expectations, I take it?”

Again, a curious look overcame Dmitri. He seemed slightly peeved at the inquiry. “Yes, Ra’s particularly.”

Understanding filled Shep. He cocked his head and smiled knowingly. “That’s jealousy written all over your face.”

In an almost blinding show of speed, Dmitri rose from the table and began pacing nervously the length of the room. He ran his fingers through his ebony locks, pulling in frustration.

Shep gave a low whistle. “Wow, you must really love the girl to still be so upset over it after all this time.”

Dmitri stopped short and eyed Shep warily. “You have no idea.”

“Is that why we’re chasing her?”

He shook his head again. “Unfortunately not. You see, the end of the isolation period is coming. The Altunai will be returning, and Victoria must be there to open the gate.”

Shep’s eyebrows slanted. “I thought you said you were the beacon. Why does she need to be there?”

“I’m just the hinges of the door, but Victoria’s its key. This,” he took the amulet from his pocket and dangled it out in front of him, “isn’t some random stone. It’s a piece of Altunatus, a chip from the planet’s core. It boosts both her Earth-based strength, and my connection with Altunatus, creates a bridge that the folks back home can latch unto and create an energy stream with the same signature. After that, to use a comparison you might understand, the Vessel’s memory is downloaded by the queen. If humanity is judged defective, they will funnel enough energy through Victoria to destroy humanity, and her in the process. If they believe humanity has established itself to their liking, the Vessel is destroyed. Altunai do not like loose ends, and a being capable of pulling power from both planets is considered a flappy, limp end.”

“Either way, Victoria dies?” Shep asked. Dmitri confirmed it with a nod of his head. “Then why are you so set on finding her?”

“As much as I hated it, Ra’s mistake could be to my advantage. You see, the bonding that happens between human and Altunai? There are two ways for it to take place. One is by a sharing of blood. Victoria uses this method to bond her proxies, to give them just enough power to serve on her behalf as elite members of the group of ninnies that follow her, The Order. However, there’s another way, a ... more intimate way.”

“You mean sex?”

“You put it so plainly.”

Shep shrugged. “It is what it is.”

Dmitri cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it was what it was. Victoria denied it, but the evidence of her powers is clear: Ra seduced her, bonded her, even though I had already done as much. The classic one night stand, only with a god. We had never attempted to double bond a Vessel before. Victoria’s abilities turned out to be far more advanced than any of the other Vessels. Hell, she’s even stronger on Earth in some ways than I would be back on Altunatus. I think once she releases the power of the amulet, her strength could be a game changer. With proper guidance and a strong ally, I think she can survive.”

“Does she know all this?”

“Mostly.” Dmitri sat back down across from him at the table. “She’s always known about bonding, about the Altunai, about being a conduit. What she didn’t know for the longest time was my role. I am sworn to ensure the safety of the Vessel, you see, until the isolation is over. When I told her about what would happen on the day of their return, and how I would return back to Altunatus, she accused me of using her. She refused to believe my feelings for her were true. Her unbridled rage allowed me to see the full scope of her abilities, however. It is the reason I have so much faith in her now, and the reason helping her keep those abilities in check is so critical for humanity’s survival.”

“Blew a gasket, did she?” Shep smiled. He had been at the receiving end of a woman scorned once or twice in his life too, and knew well the danger.

“Actually, she caused Vesuvius to erupt. I trust you’ve heard of that incident.”

The sip of tea Shep had been taking spewed across the table. Coughing and sputtering, he grabbed a towel from the kitchen counter and began to sop up the mess.

“What’s more,” Dmitri continued, “I am convinced that if she ever really lost control, she could do to the world what she did to thousands of Romans in Pompeii.”

“Okay, so it sounds like she can handle herself, if it comes down to it. When exactly does this isolation end?”

“In three days.”

“No way.”

“Yes, indeed,” Dmitri confirmed.

It was one of the oldest legends of the archaeological world. Hell, the date was so well known it had even attracted a cult following. With a pang of foreboding, Shep recalled the lone loony in the Veracruz airport, the one Victoria had been quick to dismiss and explain away. Damn, she knew then, didn’t she? She knew the crazy was probably the only one in the terminal with some vague idea of the truth.

And it explained how she could so quickly translate the modern Mayan dialect.

“The date the Mayans said the world would end?”

“Yes, Shep, though that bit of information was transferred to them by one particular Olmec. As far as humanity is concerned, twelve twenty-one could be the end of the world.”

12.19.12

Chapter 18

Victoria tried to remove remorse from her tone. She wanted to get this out, and get on with it. “The Altunai abilities are immense, but the source of their power is the energy of their own planet. Here, they require a conduit to do anything more than feed. They need a being who has both their DNA, and the simpler genetic strings found in humans.”

He put the meaning together very quickly. “And that’s you. It’s why you try to stay away from Dmitri, isn’t it? If you were near, he’d be even more dangerous.”

“Amongst other, more self-serving reasons,” she confirmed. “I was engineered as a tool, bonded so I could serve their needs. It gives me many of their strengths, but I also share their greatest weakness. Like the laws of thermodynamics say, energy can be neither created nor destroyed, it can only be transformed. The energy needed to allow powers like this doesn’t grow in a field or graze in a meadow. My sustenance comes from a more refined source.”

He nodded. “Human life force.”

Her brow furrowed, but she soldiered on. “Over the years, I’ve learned how to take without killing, if I don’t have to. Dmitri feeds off human energy, but he doesn’t require touch like I do. Unfortunately, once he initiates the process, he’s also powerless to stop it. But let’s get back to the here and now, and how this relates to you. Did Priest ever discuss bonding?”

Alex rubbed his chin before answering. “He mentioned once that he hoped it happened to him one day.”

Victoria ground her teeth. A fool always desired foolish things. Part of her felt guilty for using Priest’s obvious infatuation with her to coax his loyalty, but another part of her felt his idiocy invited the deceit. “Bonding is where the Altunai, me for the purposes of this conversation,” she continued undeterred, “infects the host, you. Think of it as passing along a virus. But because the Altunai DNA within me is incomplete, its effect on you won’t be as strong. You won’t stop aging, for example, and it won’t make you immortal. Given time, you’ll become incredibly strong, insanely fast, and be able to communicate through telepathy. As to controlling the elements … I don’t know. Some of the proxies could, others couldn’t. And there’s a cost for so much evolution.”

Alex cocked his head in suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling you’re leading up to something horrible?”

“Because you’re wise,” she said plainly. “There’s a transition period when the virus first takes hold of the body. It’s short-lived, a day at most, usually just a few hours. While you’re under the fever, your body will crave. Crave everything: water, food, pleasure, pain. Your senses will go mad. With keen determination, you can overcome it, but there’s one thing I can guarantee.”

He swallowed. Hard. Her tone was too ominous and her eyes too dark to expect anything less than tragedy. “Go on.”

Victoria’s eyes studied the floor. “You’ll crave a life force, and for the virus to manifest in your body you’ll need to take one. It took me centuries to learn how to just tap off the surface of a life. We don’t have that kind of time. Alex, you’re going to have to feed, and in our current circumstances, that means killing one of the members of The Order.”

He shuddered, the reality of what he had agreed to crashing down on him. He looked into Victoria’s compassionate gaze, to the woman who for the last three years had been a mentor, a friend, a confidant, even a mother in some ways, and he knew his answer.

“If we screw up and everything goes south, everyone dies. I’ll deal with the guilt later, let’s just get this over with. ”

Both relief and disappointment colored her tone. “All it takes is drinking a little bit of my blood.”

Many were the years Victoria had spent trying to rid herself of the compassion she felt for those to whom she allotted her blood and imparted her “gifts”. Guilt was not so easily assuaged, it turned out. Proxies rarely survived long after the bonding, if they survived at all. The last held the record at seven years. Now, if Alex survived even seventy years, she would see only the torment her presence had wrought.

Alex’s eyes flinched, and she felt the echo of the suffering he would endure. She’d not even yet willed the wound on her forearm closed before her blood whisked through his veins, forcing his DNA to adapt to the viral infection it met. Nothing to do now but ride it out. She held him, trying with her mind to suppress his body’s instincts to jerk, to fight, to vie. Ten minutes in, Alex’s determination had kept him in control, but she could feel his resolve starting to break. She opened her eyes and took in his face, immediately wishing she hadn’t. Gnashing teeth and clenched muscles contoured his whimper as his genetic framework twisted its composition.

She leaned over, whispering her comfort. “It’s going to get worse. Just focus on Monique. Remember this pain will save the ones you love.”

Alex’s eyes shot open, focusing with vehemence and determination on Victoria. She could see in his mind, see the images of Monique calling out his name in the throes of passion. His body was beginning to flex the muscle of its new gifts already as he cast out his consciousness and the mask of his true desires. In that moment, Alex looked at Victoria ... and saw Monique.

She was on her back before she realized what had happened, Alex’s mouth covering her own as he pushed longingly against her. She didn’t love Alex Cezanne, not in that way, but too long had she suppressed her own need for intimacy. She wouldn’t deny the temptation to claim him, to mark him. It was simply in her nature, her Altunai nature, to dominate the lower species.

Nonetheless, the human side called to her, told her if she allowed this to happen, Alex would never forgive her when he came through the fever. He loved Monique, and he’d despise her. Maybe even refuse to take on the mantle of his mission. More than that, though, Victoria would never forgive herself.

With her hands over both of his ears, she locked her gaze with his. “Fight it, Alex. Trust your own eyes. Look at me. Who am I?”

His hooded eyes softened. “Ma chère,” he purred in French. “Ma Monique, mon coeur.”

He moved to kiss her again, his hand traveling up her side, enveloping her through the thin gauze of the kalasiris. Despite her determination, Victoria moaned, feeling her own resolve weakening. Let him worship you, her inner goddess cried. Take what he offers.

She gasped, “We mustn’t.”

His hips shifted as Alex pushed against her. The illusion in which he was trapped infiltrated her mind through their shared touch. Victoria’s visions shifted. She opened her eyes to see not Alex, but the Guardian.

She stroked a finger over Dmitri’s cheek. “I want to believe it’s really you.”

Victoria moved her hands downward in exploration. Alex lifted his hips, aiding her efforts. Hooking her fingers in the belt loops she found, she tugged, wanting to rend his body. Just as she opened her mouth to give him leave, another’s voice filled their ears.

“Oh, please, don’t allow me to interrupt.”

Both recoiled as the delusional fog lifted, leaving their minds sharpened with an aching clarity. Victoria saw Alex, Alex saw Victoria, and Priest saw them both on the edge of a ritual consummation.

“Anton!” Victoria shouted, sitting up and catching her breath. She would feel no shame; she was not accountable to anybody, least of all Priest. Rubbing her temples with her hands, trying to maintain her air of authority, she barked at him, “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Dmitri?”

“I quit from his service, and just in the nick of time. Looks like your whole ‘I’m not interested in a relationship’ phase has passed.”

His eyes shot to Alex as the acolyte worked his jeans back over his hips.

“It’s the fever of the bonding. It got the better of us both.” Realizing, however, the closeness of the ill-advised action, Victoria added under her breath, “But thank Ra you arrived when you did.”

Looking up, she saw devastation on Anton’s face.

“Bonding?” he said with disbelief. “You bonded ... Alex?”

Anton’s lips curled in disgust as Victoria heard Alex moan. The desire brought by the delusion subsiding, pain wracked him anew. Grasping his head, Alex sat down at the base of the altar, silent tears beginning to streak down his cheeks.

Priest motioned to Alex with a wary glare. “What purpose could you possibly have for someone like him? He’s not a warrior. He’s not a scholar.”

“He’s my friend, my student. And, unless you’re about to tell me you were able to grab the amulet while under Dmitri’s employ, he’s my best hope.”

Anton’s eyes flashed to the floor. “Last night, I held it in my hands, but he caught me before I could make off with it.”

In a flash, Victoria crossed the room. Her hands gripped his jacket, tugging his lapels. “He has it with him? Where are you coming from? Where is he now?” Victoria looked into Anton’s thoughts, trying to find any clues as to Dmitri’s last known surroundings that could help Alex when the fever had passed. Instead, she saw something different, something that made her own face pale. “Smyth and Gonzalez are with him. Why? I planted suggestions in Shep’s head to make his way back to Anathea’s house in Cairo. I need him in Cairo.”

Anton shrugged. “I think Dmitri found those suggestions and removed them. It’s hard to say. Usually his motivations are so clear, so predictable. Since he encountered Shep, however, Dmitri’s been acting very ... uncharacteristically.”

Victoria’s eyebrow slanted.

“As I was leaving, he told me he intends to tell Smyth the truth.”

“Wh–why?” She shook her head in disbelief. “No, it can’t be. That goes against every one of his motives for the last five thousand years. Why would he do that, so close to the end?”

“I don’t know. When he shared his plan with me, I used it as an excuse to leave, pretending I was too insulted by his betrayal of his core mission to keep working for him.”

Confusion consumed her even more. “He accepted that? Something about that doesn’t seem right.”

“I’ve learned not to question serendipity.”

Behind them, a throaty wail rent the air as Alex folded himself into a ball. “Oh, God! Make it stop.”

“How much longer will he,” Anton’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, “suffer?”

“Not as romantic an occasion as you thought, Priest?” Victoria couldn’t help but snicker at his naiveté getting schooled. “A few more hours, then the really hard part comes.”

“Harder than this?” he asked.

She nodded, her eyes closing in shame. “Harder for us both.”

12.20.12

Chapter 19

There was something about the virility of Altunai DNA; it knew the very characteristics of a person to enhance. Bonding had an impressive track record when it came to transmutation.

As she siphoned away some of Alex’s pain, Victoria recalled that she hadn’t been particularly beautiful as a human. The only credit of which she could boast was an exceptional memory. Who would have thought so simple a trait would have been so desirable to the gods? Of course, at the time, she had no knowledge of why her memory and intelligence dwarfed the others of her people. Nor would she learn for many a year.

Nor could she forget the horror of the night Dmitri had taken her as a lover, subjecting her to the bond. She had begged to die more than once. He did what he could to comfort her, but she still winced now recalling the torment her body had undergone. She was already tall for an Olmec before he’d selected her. Yet, she grew four inches in the process, suffering through the unnatural stretch of her bones rebuilding themselves. Her skin, once the color of freshly turned ground, blanched. Her coarse hair grew silken and changed color, streaks of ashen blonde working through her chestnut locks. Strength, body, mind; all sharpened. She’d never met a mortal man who could equal her cunning or her speed.

And her eyes. Of course there were those damned, feline-eyes. The jaguar was due its own respect; they were a magnificent creature and Victoria was proud to be compared to them by her former kinsmen. But the wrathful jaguar-god the Olmec believed her to be? Nope, that was all the result of the odd blending of genetics that was Victoria. The cat association had stuck, and when she arrived in Egypt, the people attributed to her the name of the Lion Goddess, Sekhmet.

Alex hadn’t been short by any means, but to her eyes, he’d gained an inch when the growth stopped. The Altunai ran a little on the tall and slender side. Recalling her summons before their High Council once upon a time, her mind filled with the image of their prince who had taken such keen interest in her, looking at her with a mix of revulsion and pride.

“Who was that?”

Alex rolled over to look at her. The image of Ra had managed to seep into his consciousness.

Reassuringly, Victoria squeezed his hand as they lay on her bed. She’d carried him there herself to allow his suffering to subside in private.

“No one, Alex. Just a face from my past.”

It had been some time since she’d had to be wary of her thoughts, knowing someone might be watching. The momentary image of the ancient in Victoria’s head was sure to stir Alex’s curiosity.

“His eyes were exactly like yours. Not human.”

“Yes, he was ... is one of them.”

Alex’s voice was wonder-filled and confused. “Am I?”

His tone distressed her. “Would that be bad?”

“I don’t want to be the enemy.”

She rolled over and caressed his cheek. “You’re not, nor will you ever be. And they’re not inherently evil, Alex. Just like us, they chose to be what they are. We’re just trying to protect what’s right. Our right to thrive is not for them to determine.”

He seemed to accept this. Or else, he didn’t think it was worthwhile to argue. She could sense his weariness, and leaned over to rub his shoulder.

“Sleep a little. It was hard, but it’s over now, and you’ll have to leave for London soon.”

She kissed the back of his head before rolling off the mattress and throwing a nearby quilt over him. His body was too exhausted from the process to resist the pull of slumber, and by the time Victoria reached the door, she could hear the gentle purr of his sleep.

As expected, Priest was waiting impatiently for her right outside the door.

Victoria shot him a menacing glare as she turned to lead them up the hall. “You’re a bit of a pervert, you know that? Is this a habit of yours, lingering outside people’s doors and listening in on them?”

Anton shrugged as he followed her. “More of a profession, really. Whenever Dmitri was enjoying one of his conquests, he specifically asked me to—”

The smack of her open palm reverberated through the hall. With eyes suddenly bloodshot from the force of the impact, a bewildered Anton straightened, nursing the heated flesh of his cheek.

“Your Grace?” he attempted to grovel.

“What is it with you?” she demanded in a hissing, whispered shriek. Her eyes shot daggers at him, and woefully Anton noticed how those eyes had darkened. “Dmitri would never lay with a human. Never. What are you getting at, trying to make me jealous?”

“It was a lie,” Anton let out, his voice uncharacteristically shallow and low. “I’ve never seen him with another. At least, not more than needed to maintain his persona. I don’t think he’d have it in him to ...” His voice trailed off as her eyes and expression softened. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”

Victoria took a moment to collect herself, her eyes brightening back to their emerald tone. She turned on her heel and made way for the stairs.

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, but I’m a little off kilter. None of the other proxies have been able to create delusions in me.”

Anton was having a hard time keeping up, finding himself almost jogging behind her. “Is there something unique about Alex?”

“Nothing I can put my finger on,” she answered as they rounded the corner of the barrister and made way for the library. “No doubt genetics play in his favor. I only hope it makes him better able to outsmart Dmitri.”

“He’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

“No thanks to you,” Victoria snapped back as they entered the library. She immediately took her place behind the large, oak desk overlaid with blueprints. “The boy was basically clueless, Anton. I know you’ve been undercover and all, but you couldn’t shoot him a quick email or something? You know, something simple like a link to the Wikipedia page on Sekhmet or an FAQ on ‘How to serve your goddess’?”

“You’re not a goddess,” Anton remarked, a rebuking grin on his face.

“Keep that up, and you won’t be a priest, either.” Her focus turned to the details of the building on the table top. “This is the plan of the building you said Dmitri is in.”

“How did you get this so fast?” Anton asked, staring at the blueprints in disbelief.

“One of The Order works for the Metropolitan Buildings Office. Dmitri had some retrofit done a few years ago, so the plans were submitted for permit.”

“Russian mobsters apply for permits?”

Victoria groaned. “He always said you get away with more by playing with the rules than against them. Anyway, the flat you say he occupies is here,” her finger snapped down on the page, “6B. Oddly, there are no records of sales on the other flats, and their plans were never submitted for permits. I think he has the whole building empty. Or, he’s renting them out under the table for a little extra cash.”

“Because he’s so in need of it.”

“Never hurts.” Victoria shrugged.

Anton pointed to the left side of the building. “He must have paid a few extra quid for false records then, because this isn’t what’s actually there. He’s made all the flats on this side of the building into one unit, and he’s using it as a warehouse. He’s also converted the two flats on the first floor into barracks and living quarters for his security detail. Easily big enough for twenty-five. What’s the plan?”

“Given the time constraints, I’m wondering if a ruse is the best option.”

“Meaning?” Anton asked.

Her tone lacked confidence. “My proxy will see to it.”

Priest laughed, the full-bellied sound filling the room. “You don’t think Dmitri won’t see him for what he is in three seconds flat?”

She pounded her fist on the desk and Anton jolted. “If you have a better idea, Anton, I’m all ears. There’s no time for strategizing. The baktun ends in less than fifty hours.”

A methodic rubbing of his chin, and Anton posed his query. “Just out of curiosity, you’ve known where the amulet was hidden for well over a thousand years. Why didn’t you just collect it before now? Maybe, I don’t know, put it in a safety deposit box in Zurich or plunge it into a polar ice cap or something?”

Victoria huffed. “You’d think it’d be that easy, but the amulet isn’t passive. It’s designed to send out a sort of homing signal toward the end of the baktun. I thought I’d have more time to recover it, so I hid it where I knew the lay of the land the best, where I would have the advantage when the time came to retrieve it. Dmitri is a full-blooded Altunai. He must have started hearing it sooner than I anticipated. It still hasn’t spoken to me.”

Eyebrow arched, Anton asked her to explain.

Victoria found herself at a loss for words. “It whispers. Speaks? Instructs? There are two parts to opening the gate, me and him. We both need to share in the boost of energy the amulet contains to make it happen. It doesn’t sit back and wait for those two things to find each other out haphazardly.”

An eerie cackle met his ears, and Anton realized it was Victoria’s laughter. “When I found out about the excavation, I was glad I decided to ask you to embed with Plaxis. If you hadn’t been able to get me credentials, I was going to have to stage a mass murder.”

“Yeah, instead you killed only the poor sap on the plane.” He shrugged. “And Hector.”

That snapped her resolve. “Dmitri killed Hector, Anton, not me.”

“Potatoes, potahtoes,” he murmured. “Look, I’m not blaming you. All I know is that I’ve been in your service since I was fourteen years old. I’ve never seen you fly by the seat of your pants like you have on this. You told us we were going to prevent the end of the world then, and you sounded absolutely sure of that. Now, it seems like you’re wavering.”

The moment of doubt was so quick that, if Anton hadn’t been searching for it, he would have missed it. It was briefly lived, however, and immediately Victoria’s expression hardened into one of determination.

“I don’t lack commitment, Anton. I’ll deal with the Altunai, no matter what their High Council,” she spat the words with vehemence, “thinks. I will protect us from destruction, no matter the cost. I haven’t gone to such extreme lengths, and suffered so much, for nothing.”

Chapter 20

Victoria shook Alex gently, trying to rouse him from his slumber.

“Time is fleeting, Alex.”

His body rolled over in what could best be categorized as a slump. His tongue tapped the dry roof of his mouth a few times, though his eyes remained closed.

“Thirsty,” he mumbled.

Victoria had had a cup of water waiting on the bedside table. He took it to his lips and drank down the tall glassful, following with a relieved grunt and rapid breaths.

“How am I getting there?” he asked as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

She smoothed his hair out of his face as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Any car you like that’s here, or we have a motorbike if you think that would be ... Oh!” Victoria’s hand flew to her mouth as she stared unbelievingly at a now bewildered Alex.

“What?”

No explanation could she find for why Alex’s eyes now reflected the unique blue-green aspect of her own. No other proxy had ever adapted the feature. Something about Alex’s bond was so much tighter than any other she had ever attempted. Her DNA had taken such a strong hold. “It’s … it’s nothing. Other than thirsty, how do you feel?”

His eyes narrowed. “I can hear myself echoing in your thoughts. It makes it hard to concentrate.”

“That’s because you lack energy. We’ll get to that in a minute.” Victoria locked gazes with him. “Can you hear me now?”

However, her lips had not moved. Perplexed with the sensation, Alex’s head cocked to the side like a curiosity-stricken puppy. “I can, but—”

Victoria admonished him with a wag of her finger. As she continued, her lips again remained still. The words, though perceivable, were more like a second line of thought than an outsider’s tongue. “Think at me. Don’t speak.”

Alex stared at the floor. “Um, okay. How?”

“It’s like the difference between whispering and yelling. You just have to project.”

“I don’t have a diaphragm to squeeze in my head, Vick.”

“Your brain is the strongest muscle you have,” she chastised aloud. “You’ve been thinking your whole life. Now just push those thoughts toward me.”

Alex took a deep breath, formed his thoughts and tried to ... put them somewhere else.

Her emerald-jade eyes blazed with frustration. “Try harder.”

“Excuse me, grandma, but I haven’t had five thousand years of practice at this like you!”

“You won’t have five days more to live if you don’t force yourself to do this now.”

“Why the hell is it so important anyway? We have cell phones in this modern era of ours. Text messages are the ESP of the twenty-first century.”

“Cell phones don’t communicate images the way I do,” she explained. “And there’s no need to throw my age in my face.”

Alex proved incredulous. “You’ve never sent a picture with your phone?”

“Look, Alex, this thing works no matter how many bars we have. It’s more than pictures; we can pass emotions, sensations. As far as I recall, there is no app that allows you to let me smell what you’re smelling.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and suddenly became concerned with the creases in the bedspread, smoothing them out with her hand. “Of course, if you don’t think you’re talented enough, or you think this is above your capabilities, then—”

“Are you saying I’m not good enough?”

“You are only human,” she thought condescendingly, before speaking aloud. “I guess I was just expecting too much of you.”

“I’m plenty capable of ... doing it!”

When her hand slapped over his mouth, he felt the words tumble forward unspoken. As Alex realized what he had just achieved, his grin rivaled hers. He felt now the sensation, what speaking through thought felt like. In the form of a true master, she had tricked him into teaching himself.

“Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear. Well done.”

“That is so freaking cool. What else can I do?”

She had worried that Alex’s anger would be amplified by the suffering he endured, but much to her delight, he seemed to have decided the matter had been put to rest.

“Every proxy is different, but you picked up telepathy pretty quickly. It took the last proxy almost a week. You’ll notice you’re stronger, and your senses will be heightened. The ambient buzz in your head will normalize. You’ll be able to screen out the influx of whispers you probably hear right now.”

“So many voices, but I can’t separate any one of them distinctly, except yours. It’s louder.”

“That’s simply because I’m closer.” Victoria frowned. “Getting the whispers” was a term the Guardian had taught her. It was a sign of energetic dehydration, and he cautioned her not to let it go too long. Alex would need to draw life force soon, or that hum was going to become an overwhelming affront to his senility and encourage him toward the savagery of a discriminate kill.

Alex’s eyes brightened. “Can I teleport like you?”

“Oh, God no!” As concern overtook him, she quickly moved to reassure him. “I can do it easily enough, but it takes tremendous amounts of energy. You’re talking an entire shift in the space-time continuum, and that doesn’t come cheap. If I did it without proper preparation, I could all but kill myself. And, of course, I can only pull it off by taking a life.”

Alex’s face went white. “Taking a life.” His hands slicked back over his head. “I have to take a life.”

She walked forward, taking his hand in to hers and pressing it against his cheek. “Yes, you do. I’m so sorry, Alex. I wish there was a way around it, but the life force will seal the bond. If you don’t take it, the want of it will fester. Desire to feed will hijack your thoughts, and you’ll strike whomever is closest when it becomes undeniable, be that an enemy, or an innocent child.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if I killed a kid.” Rubbing his eyes, he fell back to the chair. “Who, then?”

Victoria crossed to the door, peaking into the hallway. Priest awaited her, but this time, not because he was spying. While Alex had slept, she asked him to address the members still present in the house and learn if anyone would volunteer. To her relief and her horror, the old man who answered the call stood with Anton.

“Lazurus?” She slipped out of the room, closing the doors behind her. “No, Laz. Not you.”

The old man leaned forward as he pressed the goddess’s hand to his lips and deposited a kiss on her knuckles. “Milady, I am old. The oldest here, in fact, other than yourself.” His coy wink made her giggle. “I am eighty-one, and I’ve lived a magnificent life. My own children have children. My grandson is a student at Edinburgh this year. If young Alex can help you to make sure my Scott is alive long enough to earn that degree, it is a far more valuable thing than that they should know their eccentric grandfather managed to live a few years longer. I am happy to serve.”

Tenderly, Victoria rolled up on her toes and kissed the wrinkled cheek of the old man. “I hope there is such a thing as the Heaven the Christians speak of, because I want nothing more than to know you are in it.”

A moment later, Victoria led Lazarus by the hand into the bedroom. Alex startled, but when his eyes fell on the old man, his gnashing teeth and downward gaze reflected perfectly Victoria’s emotions.

“Somehow I knew it would be you, Laz,” he said.

Lazarus lowered his weary body to the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I think it’s my name, Master Alex. It leaves nothing to the imagination.”

Trying to remain aloof, Victoria beckoned Alex forward. The conflict brimming in his psyche as well as in his expression almost turned her stomach. Victoria relaxed her mind and let tendrils of suggestion work their way into Alex’s thoughts, tempting him with the sensation of being sated.

“Alex, put your hands on his arm. Feel the buzz of his life force. Do you taste his soul on your lips?”

Alex paused, looking for the right words. The sensation was so alien to him, the sting in his throat—though the hunger he felt was more mental than physical—tempting yet foreign. “I taste... heat?”

“That’s it,” Victoria confirmed, “the taste of a soul is more temporal than tactile. Reach out for him. You must have physical contact. I promise, this is the only time you must do this. Allow that heat to become your own. Draw his warmth into you.”

“He’ll die,” Alex muttered.

Lazarus shuddered, the strength of his resolve waning in this shadow of his demise.

Victoria bent over, whispering in Alex’s ear. “If you do not take his life, you cannot serve as proxy. If you do not serve as proxy, Monique will die. Do you want Monique to die, Alex?”

She hated herself in that moment, and hated knowing just how to manipulate him to commit murder. Victoria took both his hands in hers, guiding them towards the sacrifice.

With a quivering lip, Alex answered. “No, of course not. I love her.”

She lowered his hands to Lazarus’s face.

Alex jolted. “He’s burning up.”

“That’s his life force, which he offers freely. He understands the benefit of his death. That all men had such a privilege.” Gingerly, she again positioned Alex’s fingers onto Lazarus’s temples. “Be done with it.”

They closed the old man’s lifeless eyes a few minutes later. If this had been any other proxy at any other time, she wouldn’t have dreamt of pressing him onward. As the case was, Victoria didn’t feel as though she had a choice.

“There’s only forty-seven hours until the Altunai are likely to arrive if we fail. Please, Alex, I know this is asking a lot, but I need you to focus. I need you to stay strong. You need to go.”

“I’m ready. Just tell me where I’m going, and what to do when I get there.”

Chapter 21

No more legends of ancient deities. No more tales of alien civilizations. No more history-on-its-head, now-the-universe-makes-sense, everything’s-been-a-mass-cover-up-by-clandestine-societies revelations.

No more chasing ghosts. Shep had had enough. What he needed to get a grip on now were cold, hard facts. The first fact he needed to deal with was the cold, hard one lying in the bed in front of him. He’d come back to his bedroom after the conversation of the century to find his friend dead. But how?

He turned over Dmitri’s outrageous claim to have been the cause. “I don’t understand,” Shep repeated again, shaking his head.

“I drained his life from him,” Dmitri stated once more. “His chi, his aura ... however you want to understand. It’s ... it’s what I feed on.”

Yeah, he had heard it the first time. And the second. He heard every unintelligible word Dmitri uttered, but that didn’t mean it made any sense.

“You’re a ... vampire or something?”

Though he was angry, though he was bitter, and frankly, though he was scared, Shep still understood that whatever Kronastia actually was—man, Altunai, or tuna fish—he was lethal, well-connected and well-funded. Shep still had enough sense of self-preservation not to leap to his feet and lay into him like he wanted. Christine’s death had nearly sliced his soul in two, but there was no target of vengeance he could pummel for that one. Except himself, and for that, alcohol had been his weapon of choice. With Hector, Dmitri seemed as good a hitting block as any.

However, his need to make sense of this was taking his mind to fantastical places. Really, aliens were one thing, but soul-sucking, pyramid-building vampires?

“I don’t care for the term, but Victoria’s used it from time to time.”

Shep shuddered. He just had to ask, didn’t he? “Do you drink blood too?”

“Only ceremonially, and not to take life away, but to transform it.”

Shep heard movement behind him, but didn’t have the will to look. A moment later, he caught Dmitri’s form sinking down to his knees next to the bed and next to Shep. The Russian ... or, whatever, gave a long, languid sigh and bowed his head, speaking softly in a foreign tongue Shep didn’t recognize. The tone almost sounded like a prayer.

“I regret his death,” Dmitri proclaimed sincerely. “Few humans have impressed me so. His loss is a detriment to your race.”

Shep’s eyes turned first to meet the honest gaze and take in the confession, then, hesitantly, he made his wishes known.

“I want to leave now.”

Dmitri’s head cocked to the side. “I’m sorry, Shep, that just can’t happen.”

“I swear, I’ll never tell anyone.”

The remorse drifting away, Dmitri leaned in close and spoke only inches from Shep’s anxiety-laden expression. “You’ve already told everyone part of it, Shep. That’s the problem.”

Confused eyes searched madly for understanding, but found none. He had already been convicted of his crime before he’d realized he was a prisoner. And that scared him. Scared him bad, because Shep suspected, whatever Dmitri’s plan was, it didn’t likely involve letting him live.

The door of the bedroom was open, however, and Shep could haul ass like a rabbit.

In one swift movement, he leapt to his feet. He was already heading down the hall when he heard his pursuer growl—growl? Yes, growl—behind him. He didn’t look back, just kept running toward the exit of the flat, determined to make it to the two flights of stairs that led down to the street and, hopefully, to freedom.

“You cannot leave!” Dmitri barked behind him. The mobster was gaining, but Shep’s hands had already undone the deadbolt and were poised on the doorknob.

He grinned, turned the piece of shaped iron in his hand, and ...

... was met with the barrel of a Colt .45 and the familiar, cocky sneer of its owner.

“So we meet again, señor,” José hissed. “¿Cómo estás?”

For a moment, Shep considered plowing forward, trying his luck against the brawn of the for-profit soldier. Behind him, unfortunately, and all the way up the hall and down the stairs at roughly ten-foot intervals, were copycat paramilitary just like his old buddy José, each one with a gun trained squarely at Shep.

Instinctively, Shep’s hands flew up into the air, offering his surrender. José walked him back into the flat as Dmitri caught up to the ruckus. Dmitri and José exchanged a few words in Spanish, and with something that sounded like an attaboy and a pat on the shoulder, José holstered his weapon and returned to his post outside the door. Dmitri pulled Shep back by the shoulder, closed the door, and locked it.

Shep’s chest heaved, his body too abused by alcohol, heartache and lack of sleep for the efforts he had just undertaken. “For someone ... only pretending to be ... Russian mafia ... you sure do ... wear the jacket well,” he gasped in quick huffs.

He felt Dmitri’s arm around his shoulder as he was dragged back into the kitchen. With a light shove, he was forced into the seat where all of the unsolicited knowledge had been presented to him before. Dmitri made his way to the cupboard, pulled out a cup, filled it with water, and placed it before Shep.

Shep just eyed it warily as his head spun.

“Jesus Christ, it’s not poisoned, and you’re redder than a beet.”

Yeah, right, Shep thought, but then considered that maybe poison was the best way to go at this point. He pulled the glass to his panting mouth and took a sip. Dmitri said nothing further as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, and waited for Shep to calm down. Finally, ten minutes later, a collected Dr. Smyth looked at him.

“Jesus,” Shep mused, “did you know him too? You’re old enough, right?”

“I don’t answer the Jesus question. If you’re interested in Buddha or Napoleon, my answer’s the same. My job is to keep everything secret. As much as possible, anyway.” He motioned vaguely toward the front door. “I apologize for all that, but it’s necessary.”

“A lot of effort to keep me in.”

Dmitri laughed, a slow chuckle at first that broadened into a full-on fit. “You think that’s all to keep you in?”

What else would it be for? It wasn’t as though Scotland Yard or MI-6 was going to make an offensive with that kind of firepower being garnered in a civilian area.

Dmitri calmed himself enough to speak sincerely, though the amused smile was still plastered on his face. “If you’re really determined to leave, then fine, leave. Where would you go?”

He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Home, I guess.”

“Right.” Dmitri filled himself a glass of water and downed a gulp. “Do me a favor. Close your eyes, and let your mind fixate on where you see yourself after you leave my care.”

The professor humored him, and was surprised that his mind’s eye filled not with images of his own Brownstone on Boston’s south side, but with the carved arabesque façade overlaying the windows of a house in Cairo where he once camped.

“Yeah, I thought as much,” Dmitri said, making Shep wonder if he’d somehow shared the vision or if his bemused expression gave it away. “She planted that in your head, probably while you were asleep in Mexico. Go if you want, Shep, but I suspect we’ll be heading in the same direction. I’ll tell José to let you pass. He was merely acting on orders not to let anyone in or out without my permission. You’ll forgive my being overprotective. The manners of an old man, I’m afraid.”

He let fly the fact that this “old man” appeared to be at least a decade younger than himself.

Dmitri fished the amulet from his pocket and held it up. “She wants this—badly—and she’s going to be pissed as hell that she has to come to me to get it. Those men, Shep, are there to protect us, to slow her down a bit when she does show up.” Dmitri leaned forward, looking suddenly drained as he stashed the object out of sight. “And she seems to have a thing for you, too. I’m sorry to use you as bait, but it’s the best chance I have to get her to talk to me, before it’s too late. And that’s all I want: for her to talk to me. Though maybe if I’m lucky, I can also get her to listen.”

Agony contorted Kronastia’s features, and all at once, Shep recognized the man sitting before him. It was the same man whom he had seen in his own bathroom mirror for the past three years, existing but not living, having loved but now without the hope he’d ever feel love again. A man who’d have given anything, everything, to have his heart returned to him for even just a moment.

With a groan, Dmitri shifted and stood, taking the emptied glass to the sink. He tapped Shep on the shoulder with a firm hand as he fished his cell from his pocket. “Excuse me, Professor. I need to make a quick phone call.”

Chapter 22

Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap ...

“Victoria!”

Anton could hardly believe his own gall at calling her by her given name, or her nom du jour, as the case may be. Luckily, she didn’t take offense. What she did seem a little peeved about, however, was Anton’s pushing her hand off the center console and forcefully into her lap.

Her eyes flared as her irises darkened to black, and essence of her anger turned to heat, filling the car, all clear signs of Victoria’s rage.

The way Anton saw it, he had two choices: he could cower, offer his humble apologies, and in all other measure grovel—

“You’re obsessed with Alex.”

—or he could call her out in the open.

“Just admit it, and have some sympathy for the fittings of the car. My Subaru may not be much, but it’s all I’ve got.”

He had read her perfectly and the point-on remark served to make her retract her fiery veil of rage. With a sigh and huff, she sank back into her chair like a petulant child.

“It’s not just that. I’m also really blown away by Dmitri’s gall.” Then, almost mumbling, she turned to look out the window as the South England countryside whipped past them. “If something happens to him, then I’ve broken my promise.”

“Your promise?” Anton laughed as he bypassed a slow moving, late model Renault. “Your promise to do what?”

“I swore to Cleo’s children that I would always protect their mother’s bloodline.”

Anton nearly veered them into oncoming traffic. A swerve and a honk from the offended passersby prompted him to right the car. He winced and grabbed his arm when Victoria pelted him in the bicep.

“What the hell, Anton?”

The priest’s mind took off firing, putting together all the clues. Suddenly, the relevance she’d held for the otherwise unimpressive acolyte made sense. Alex was Cleopatra’s blood. As such, he was also the sworn protected ward of Sekhmet, and in Victoria’s eyes, inheritor of all rights reserved by her solely for Pharaoh.

“Alex will be priest when I’m gone.” Anton uttered it as a conclusion; there was no need to question what he instantly understood.

“Would have been,” Victoria confirmed.

She looked up in the rearview again, and for a second that alone distracted Anton. She had been doing that a lot, hadn’t she?

“If we survive, I’m dissolving The Order.”

Anton nearly choked on his own tongue. “What? You can’t ... I mean ... Then I wouldn’t ... Ah, hell!”

With a few more select curses, the car made its way to the side of the road and moseyed to a stop. He put the car in park and rounded on Victoria, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“What the hell do you mean, dissolve The Order?”

“I’m not a goddess, and I’m tired of playing the part,” she admitted, her tone a mixture of shame and retaliation. “I’m tired of the ceremony and the bowing and the silly adoration. I’m not freaking divine, Anton. I want out. I just want to spend the rest of my days living. No cover-ups, no conspiracies, no secret societies.” Her chest rose as though she were sucking in all the air from the cabin, before letting it out in a long stream like a train whistle. Finally, she perched her head on her raised fingers, her eyes closed. “I don’t want to be bigger than life anymore. Isn’t it enough that I’m simply alive?”

Anton rolled his eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to cage his anger. “And do what? Have a dog and cute little flat in Leicester? Get a job, pay taxes, and complain about the weather?” he croaked. “Jesus H. Christ, Victoria, you can control the weather. Think you’re just going to find a nice guy and settle down, do you?”

“That thought has crossed my mind.”

Anton snapped, “You have no right to make that kind of decision without consulting us.”

She gasped, almost as shocked as if he had slapped her in the face. “Who are you to tell me that I can’t make up my own mind?”

Tension built as an unspoken secret danced a jig on his tongue. Victoria had always told him he had one of the rare minds that she had trouble accessing. She was ignorant of the depth of his devotion. If anything, all she could fish from Anton’s mental stream were snippets, and usually only when he was woefully spent or divinely relaxed. But now, in the heat of the moment, that long-buried secret was threatening to pour forth.

“You can’t do it to us,” he pled. “Our whole purpose is you. All our efforts are for your benefit. Our actions, our loyalty—we serve at your leisure. Yeah, maybe you aren’t divine, but who’s to say who and what are worthy of worship but the worshipper? You’ve guided humanity for so long, kept so many of us safe. If there’s no Order, then I don’t know ... What I mean to say is—”

Her eyes begged for him to finish, but Anton was cut off mid-sentence by the ringing of his cell. A frustrated groan ground out as he dug through his pockets to find the cursed mobile. “Hello?”

Victoria saw all the color drain from his face in a rush, leaving Priest a cotton façade in the seat next to her.

“I ... I wasn’t expecting your call. After yesterday, I thought perhaps ...”

Victoria understood immediately who was on the other end of the line. The servile lilt was back in Anton’s voice, as it was on the day she had first had him contact Dmitri to offer himself to his service.

Victoria’s face went nearly as white as Anton’s. Without hesitation, she snatched the phone from his hand and pressed it to her ear.

“Alex?” she demanded.

Dmitri snickered. “Is that this one’s name? You like patterns, it seems. Is there just something more intriguing about a man named Alexander destined to perish at a young age?”

“Damn it, Dmitri. Is he dead?”

Clearly realizing there was to be no small talk, he answered, “No. Or should I say, not yet? But we’re preparing for his arrival. He’s been canvassing the building most of the afternoon. I’m guessing he’s waiting for nightfall.”

Worried eyes turned toward the horizon and surveyed the sun’s zenith. It rode low in the sky, sinking into the abyss of twilight and taking her hope with it.

“You’re so predictable, darling,” Dmitri continued in his condescending snarl. “Between the fallibility of The Order and the half-half-breeds of yours. Every time you want something from me, you throw these insignificant and doomed proxies my way. Are you that reluctant to face me, or do you detest humans so much?”

Her hand was shaking; fear mixed with despair and anger, screwing up her face into a tempest the likes of which she was willing to bet Anton had never witnessed. Priest’s knuckles went white as he clutched the steering wheel.

“How long do I have?”

“Hmm?”

The timbre of his voice had remained dark, tempting, despite the passage of time. He was catting with her, and what she hated most was how it reminded her of when things between them had been different.

“Looking at my monitor here, I’m guessing thirty seconds, tops, before you’re intercepted. Given that, I’m going to give you until sunset before I start pulling out his toes. You might need to stop for a bite to eat on your way over, huh?”

“I’m sure I can find plenty to eat when I get there, you arrogant …”

Her words turned to an ancient tongue, but one no less pregnant with insulting possibility. Victoria let loose a string of slurs that would have made a Hashashin weep with appreciation before she opened the door and sent the device into a crash course with the ground. Jumping out, she circled behind the car with fevered strides. Anton wilted as she nearly tore the driver’s side door off and dragged him out by the lapels.

“Idiot!” She tossed him to the ground, but he didn’t fight her wrath. Anton merely cowered in the heap in which he landed. “You’ve been carrying around the phone you used when you were with Dmitri!”

“I didn’t have time to replace it!” Anton pled, scrambling to his feet. “I didn’t want to risk being out of contact if—”

“Shut it and get in! Now!”

Barely had he registered her request when the grind of a whirring engine building to a crescendo caught his ears. Looking in the distance, they caught the remote speck of black tearing up the road. Anton froze, trailing the object with his eyes until he realized it was an all-too-familiar Humvee, one just like the kind Kronastia furnished for his security detail.

“Holy—”

“Anton!”

Victoria’s shout broke through his shock. In two blinks, he had thrown his body over the hood and shimmied into the passenger seat, barely lifting his feet off the ground before it blurred underneath them. Victoria must have mistaken the station wagon for an Italian sports car. Her foot mashed the pedal as though it had insulted her mother’s honor.

“Five thousand, one-hundred and twenty-five years!” she screamed. “That’s how long I’ve been planning, and it’s all about to be ruined because you couldn’t toss your Motorola in the Thames.”

“It was bugged?”

“Hell, yeah, it was bugged. Did you learn nothing about the man you’ve been spying on?”

Anton shook his head in denial. “He said ... he said he trusted me. He didn’t even have access to the thing. It was only in my name. I picked it up from the carrier.”

Victoria’s eyes turned skyward, fretting the dying light which would take with it the life of her proxy if she didn’t get her ass to the Docklands in London and quick. Unlike Anton, Alex had been smart enough to leave his cell behind. If she could just push the gas hard enough, and if Alex managed to endure long enough ...

“You’re not the first one to be fooled into trusting him, but still, you’re probably the most gullible.”

Their car had been built for practicality, not for military ops. She cursed that she hadn’t taken a higher end model from the house, choosing instead the Subaru registered in Anton’s father’s name.

“Hold on,” she cautioned.

“Why? What are you—Oh, no, Victoria! Ahhh!”

Anton’s girlish scream rent the air as Victoria plunged the brakes and spun the front wheel, sending the car pivoting. The scent of burned rubber infiltrated the cabin, but Victoria didn’t hesitate. Within seconds, she had slammed fury back into the gas pedal, propelling them toward London and, unfortunately, in the direct path of the Humvee now just a half-mile away, locked on a collision course.

And it was clear to Anton, whoever was driving the other vehicle was intending to take them out head on if necessary.

“Milady?”

No response, just a steady increase in speed.

“Victoria?”

The other party wasn’t slowing either, and he could almost make out now the silhouettes of two brawny occupants through the tinted glass.

“Sekhmet!”

His eyes followed his words, turning toward her.

Anton gasped.

Her caramel hair fanned out like a halo, framing her blackened, wild eyes. Her skin had paled, and over the surface, an odd gold-orange-red hue of luminescence spread, as though flames had alighted her surface and licked at her limbs.

“What the hell?”

It was like he didn’t exist in the same space or time with her. The distance was closing faster, faster. Anton knew he was going to die, either from propelling through the windshield when the Subaru’s hood met the Humvee’s grill, or incinerated from the heat pouring off Victoria’s body.

“Take the wheel.”

Anton obeyed with all haste. Her hands free, she clapped them together in front of her chest. The light-heat that had crawled over her surface centralized and collected on her fingertips. With a forward thrust and a roar like a jet plane, her hands propelled forward, blasting out the windshield and forming over the hood into a ravenous fireball that flew out and hit the Humvee dead on.

Victoria snatched back the wheel and steered a wide left just as the Humvee exploded, barely missing the range of the blast. As it charred and crackled behind them, she pulled the car to the side.

“That ... wasn’t ... smart,” she wheezed, doing a spot on impression of an asthmatic.

“Smart?” Priest repeated. “It was brilliant! You saved us. I never knew that you could ... What’s wrong with you?”

Her head lulled to the side, her eyes rolled back in her head. She struggled to focus on him, on speaking.

“Summoning fire takes ... a lot of ... energy. I’m d–drained.”

“Drained? Here? Now?”

“I just need ... a few minutes. Need to ... refocus my strength. Have to get to London. Have to ... save Alex.”

He felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. “It’s because of me. The phone was bugged and Dmitri’s henchmen found us because of me. It’s all my fault.”

“Yes, it is.” No one ever said she was a compassionate goddess. Her head fell upon the steering wheel, her shoulders slumped, but she brought her breathing under control. “But that’s not as important as the fact that Alex is about to fall into a trap.” She moved the car back into gear and trained her eyes forward. “We don’t have any time to—”

“Use me.”

The car shuddered and lurched as she slammed the brakes back down. “What?”

Anton offered out his arm, peeling back the sleeve of his sweater and turning his wrist over in supplication. “Take my energy so you can port yourself there. Get there in time to save your proxy.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Priest. What you’re suggesting will—”

“Kill me? Yeah, I know. So do it.”

“You ... You want to die?”

Anton shook his head. “Not particularly, but for you, I’m willing.”

“Why?”

“Because once upon a time, you gave me my life back. I’ve loved you since then, even knowing I can never have you. Even knowing that while you respected me, you didn’t particularly like me. I would have died years ago if you hadn’t been there. Let me return the favor.”

His words left her speechless. Not that she hadn’t known Anton had felt something, but she had always chalked it up to a sense of greed mingled with lust for power, a power that only she had the potential to provide him. She knew that his secret wish always was to be bonded. She had just never understood why.

Damn, because he loved her. What an idiot. If only she felt the same. Then, perhaps, she would have been strong enough to deny his offer. Maybe she would have let another live instead of adding one more death to her lengthy rap sheet. If she was stronger—if she was divine and owning of the compassion and wisdom a divine being should possess—she would say no.

But she wasn’t any of those things. Powerless to do anything more than human, Anton became the simplest solution.

She dashed back to the car, drew her side bag from the backseat, and slung it over her shoulder before falling down again next to Priest. With an air of reverent gratitude, Victoria raised her hand to Anton’s cheek and caressed it tenderly. His eyes closed as he cocked his head, leaning into her touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered as she closed the distance and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

His eyes remained closed. “Kiss me again?”

She pulled on his bottom lip with her teeth and ran her tongue over the sensitive skin, but not because he wanted her. It was a diversionary tactic. His heart may be willing, but his body was shaking from the weight of his decision. It worked, and she could sense his utter concentration shift into processing the sensations her physical actions were causing, loving her with the entirety of his being.

Victoria brought her arms forward and closed her hands around the pulse points on his wrists.

“I accept the offering,” she whispered against his lips as she withdrew. He smiled and looked at her one last time. “I will not forget.”

With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, pulled Anton’s hands forward, and killed him. The rush, the total consumption of a soul, fueled her. Without pause, she harnessed the strength and used it. However, when Victoria opened her eyes, she wondered if it had been all for nothing.

The walls of the alley framed perfectly her view of Dmitri’s building across the way. It appeared outwardly unguarded, though any seasoned veteran like Victoria knew otherwise. There would be an army waiting on the other side of that door. It wasn’t getting in that concerned her, however. It was being inside, and so near to Dmitri, that had her worried.

Chapter 23

The Guardian read the signs the moment the first dagger pierced Caesar’s abdomen. The eagle would spread its wings, and Egypt was but one of many lands in which it would roost. The Vessel, however, would not yield, so convinced was she that she’d save the queen. It was only a matter of time before the will of empire would crush her, and like the sorry, love-struck sap that he was, he would come running the moment she cried out, just so that she could reject him anew.

Tlalli’s faith in her abilities had once blinded her to the reality that her Cleopatra was already a lost cause. He hoped the faith he held in his own wasn’t binding the Vessel to share the same fate.

-Ψ-

“Why do I get the feeling you’re waiting for something?”

Dmitri looked up from his cell with only a passing interest before training his eyes back to the screen. Shep’s question wasn’t his first. However, it was the first that had gotten any reaction from the sudden stoic. After randomly rattling off inquiries—Where is Altunatus? What powers do the Altunai have? —it was this simple interrogative statement that broke Dmitri’s near-militant stare at his device.

“Not something, Shep, someone.”

“Anybody I know?”

Dmitri’s mouth broke into a grin as he shook his head and laughed lowly in disbelief. “Good news,” he said after a few minutes’ pause. “We’ll be leaving for Egypt soon. Won’t it be good to be back?”

The room was spinning, Shep thought, but Dmitri didn’t seem to notice. He sat perfectly still, his eyes firmly glued to the tiny screen.

“Back?”

“My researchers are some of the best money can buy, Shep, and according to them, you haven’t been to Egypt in three years. For an Egyptologist at such a prestigious university, that seems odd.”

By the grace of God, Dmitri rose and reached into a nearby pantry, pulling out a bottle of rum, one of the smaller ones sized for gifting. He put it on the table, and within fifteen seconds, Shep tasted the sympathetically numbing liquid on his tongue.

“I haven’t been back since ...” He nearly choked on his words as he held the glass an inch from his lips. “... since Christine died.”

In a flash, the echoes of her final words reverberated in his mind, bouncing off his memory in a way that nearly reached his ears. His body relived the movement of the quake, the distortion of his equilibrium as the ground shook beneath him, the sway of his body as he tried to find his footing, the sibilance of the sand as it filled in the excavated chamber.

Christine’s voice called out across the years, “Shep, it’s beside us! It’s beside us!”

He felt a warmth on the back of his hands, equally physical, and somehow emotional in nature. He hadn’t even realized that he had closed his eyes until they opened again, taking in Dmitri’s sympathetic gaze.

“Planning on sharing another memory with me, comrade?”

He smiled warmly. “Actually, you just shared one with me. My condolences, Shep. That was horrible to have to witness.”

Pulling his hands back, he placed them in his lap. The iPhone lay flat on the table, and Shep could see the grainy black and white image. At once he understood what Dmitri had been watching; every few seconds the image shifted to the perspective of another camera, streamed from his security system.

“Did you ever figure out what she meant?”

Shep arched an eyebrow.

“What Christine said right before she died,” Dmitri clarified. “Did you figure it out?”

“Oh, no. Not really.” Nursing his rum, he felt the poison vying for control of his stomach. “So, Egypt? Well, I know you’ll tell me I’m free to not go, then tell me why it’s in my best interest to go anyway, so I guess it is what it is. Will Anton be coming?”

“No, Anton is dead.”

Heavy footsteps with a certain unmistakable cadence cut off Shep’s response. José’s frame filled the kitchen door. He saluted Dmitri before making some proclamation, and Dmitri returned a quick native-sounding string of Español back, sealed with a “gracias” and José’s “de nada” chaser. The security chief waited dutifully as Dmitri rose to his feet, sliding his phone into his pants pocket.

“Our guest has arrived,” Dmitri informed him. “Come on. We don’t want to be rude and leave him waiting too long.”

“Victoria?”

Dmitri scoffed. “Better.”

He followed without resisting, too weary from lack of sleep and administrations of booze to argue or ask anything else. The art of inquiry was highly overrated. It was like trying to eat just one potato chip; you never were satisfied.

“Your neighbors must be very understanding. Or extremely terrified.”

As they passed the processional of hired soldiers in the hallway outside the flat, each stood to attention and saluted. Dmitri seemed to take no notice.

“No neighbors,” he informed him as they began down the stairs. “My flat’s on the third floor. There’s a guest flat across the hall that’s rarely used. The other four flats are primarily for storage.”

At the second floor landing, he pitched right and opened the door marked 2B.

“Storage of wh– Holy Mary, mother of God.”

From object to object to object, each one was more rare and more awe-inspiring than the last: a full-sized Ramses statue, a sculpture that was likely a Michelangelo, an antique harpsichord, an Easter Island head … even an old west stage coach that had somehow been placed in the seemingly closed-in space without difficulty. How had it—

Oh, that’s how. Looking across the expansive space, Shep noticed that the flat wasn’t actually flat at all. There was a staircase at the far end of the room leading down to a receiving area, and where windows should have been on the outside wall, there was instead twin delivery bays, each with a roll-top security door. It had looked like a warehouse from the outside; part of the building still served that purpose.

“José, there’s a corpse in my flat,” Dmitri said matter-of-factly as they crossed the room to the metal-mesh staircase. “Take care of it.”

“But, señor,” Mr. Channeling-Ché said, “the prisoner ...”

Shep wondered if they were talking about him, or about the hooded figure who sat in a folding chair before them with his hands tied around his back.

“Will be no danger to me, and I need you back ASAP,” Dmitri returned. He looked around the far reaches of the room, as though suspicious someone was about to leap out. “You know it’s just a matter of time before the cavalry shows up.”

For lack of a better term, José seemed to blush. Was he embarrassed? “If I had known she was Jaguar before she drugged me—”

“I’ve told you, José, I forgive you. You didn’t stand a chance against her. We’ll just consider ourselves lucky that you survived your encounter. Yes, you made out pretty well, didn’t you?”

With gnashing teeth, the commando turned and made his way back upstairs, his feet pounding on the metal steps sounded like fat raindrops falling on a tin roof. Shep felt his knees buckle as he fell backward into a folding chair across from the prisoner. For a second, he worried that his world would go dark if he too was hooded and bound. The relief set in, however, when he noticed Dmitri’s position next to the captive.

“You’ll forgive an old man his fancies, Doctor,” Dmitri teased, causing Shep to smirk ruefully as he took in the youthful features of a male appearing to be no more than twenty-five, “but I do so enjoy seeing the look on a human’s face when his worldview is irrevocably altered.”

A clap of thunder shook the building. Shep jerked from the sound, then leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, curling his back and rolling his shoulders for comfort. “What, Jimmy Hoffa under that hood? Looks a little too petite to be Amelia Earhart.”

With nary a word more, Dmitri ripped the cloth off from the prisoner’s head. A set of emerald eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the light the fabric had denied. When his gaze caught the sight of the person sitting across from him, the young man’s face went stark white.

“Shep?”

“Alex?”

How a family reunion had come to pass under these circumstances, neither one knew. In harmony and disbelief, they stared, each at the other.

“What the hell are you doing here?” they uttered in perfect synchronization.

Chapter 24

In the shadows, a lion lay in wait. Well, a jaguar perhaps. She was so befitting of her feline association at the moment, slowly pacing back and forth in the alley across the street from Dmitri’s building, stalking the length and width of it as though sizing up prey.

She had expected a scuffle, or even a shoot-out, but instead heard nothing. Either Alex’s death had been quick—but wouldn’t she have felt it if he’d died?—or Dmitri had decided to hold the proxy until the audience had been seated. One thing was for certain: if Dmitri had known Alex was coming, there wasn’t a chance that he could succeed at his mission.

She wasn’t sure what emotion was appropriate for the occasion. Anger? If she was upset with anyone, it was herself. She should have known far better than to send such an inexperienced proxy and … well, naïve human unto Dmitri’s turf. Disappointment? Again, self-loathing to the point of guilt. Hope? Not at this particular moment.

Frustration? Yeah, that one was spot on. Unfortunately, that was the worst possible thing to feel. To be frustrated was to be overwhelmed with one’s lack of options. Lack of control and Victoria were a toxic combination. Terrible, terrible things happened when she felt flustered. The power she intentionally pulled from humans allowed her sustenance, provided her energy to function. However, there was a higher form of energy with which she sometimes made contact. The planet was alive; it pulsed with power. It wasn’t one she could beckon and wield like she could with what she ripped from men. The only times she had ever channeled it had been when her emotions had raged out of control, when her consciousness was overridden by instincts primal in nature. In those times, it wasn’t unusual for the earth to begin to tremble, or for a nearby volcano to suddenly erupt.

Or, as she heard the clap of thunder overhead and sensed the pressure building in the air, arcing toward rain, the weather to get all crazy.

Victoria tip-toed closer, thankful for the night. She took advantage of the black cloak and of the dim streetlamps in this industrial part of town. With feather light and fierce footfalls, she darted across the lane and pressed her back into the exterior brick of Dmitri’s building. Further up the alley, she noticed the dock-bay doors: two-story steel blankets that secured a docking area. Behind them, she heard voices.

An instant buzz in her brain preceded a stream of images flooding her mind’s eye. Alex. She was close enough to Alex to access his thoughts. Only problem with that was, if he was close enough, Dmitri may be as well. Though Victoria’s mind was secure from the Altunai unless she intentionally let him in, she couldn’t say the same for all the humans in the vicinity. Hector Gonzalez would be dead by now, but it was more than likely that Sheppard Smyth was still alive and being kept close by if Dmitri had found the command she planted in his subconscious and muted it. Damn, if there was one person that Victoria didn’t want Dmitri’s head getting the green light for, it was Smyth. Plus, if Shep saw Alex, and Alex shared anything about how Christine had entered his life ...

Damn, damn.

Looking through Alex’s eyes in her mind, she saw only black; he had been blindfolded. From the smell, taste, and sounds he was sensing, she concluded that this was a Plaxis warehouse. Dmitri had many facilities where he put anything and everything he thought might suggest evidence of the Altunais’ existence. At least, until he could sell it on the black market. He had no problem with the objects existing but staying private, and bent Altunai law when the price tag an object might fetch was high enough. Why he needed to keep growing his wealth and power so close to the end of the isolation, she had no idea. Maybe it was just an exercise of his vanity. Or, maybe he figured out that Isis was about to be looking over his project management skills. There was a certain justification to be made for spreading out contraband to collectors with just as much interest in keeping the holdings private.

“Alex!” she called to him mentally. The way his head began to dart about fruitlessly told her she had heard him. “Don’t talk. And for Ra’s sake, stop jerking around.”

Obediently, he stilled. “Where are you?”

“Outside the building. Have you seen the amulet?”

“No.”

“Dmitri?”

“Not yet, but I think he’s coming. The alpha goon who seems to be running this show just left.”

“Are you hurt?”

Damn, what was she doing? Alex had just told her that Dmitri was likely on his way. No time for chit-chat. So what if he was hurt? She could drag him bloodied and bruised from the building after she broke in and kicked ass.

“No,” he finally replied, in a tone heavy with qualification. “But I feel ... tingly.”

“Either you’ve been drugged, or the amulet is coming closer to you.”

“But why does it make me tingly?”

Yeah, hard to explain that one. “It wants to be released by an Altunai. You have enough of my genetic code now that it recognizes you as someone that might claim it. It’s tempting you. Look, Alex, I’m going to get you out, but I have to wait for the right moment. Be ready to run.”

“I’m sorry, I screwed up.”

Victoria bit her lip, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. “It’s my fault, Alex. This is my battle, not yours.” She sighed, mentally as well as physically. “You tried your best. Now just hold tight.”

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than Alex’s head swung to the side again. A procession was making its way down toward poor Alex bound to the chair, likely a guard at each side. The sounds of footfalls on a set of metal stairs told her there were three, male by the heavy sound of their steps.

As the voices filled Alex’s ears, Victoria listened in and cautiously took a few more steps back. She could keep Dmitri out of her head, but she was powerless to block the flow of consciousness through her from all the humans in the room as soon as he realized that channel was open. It wouldn’t take but a few seconds to scan through Shep Smyth’s mind and see everything, if he knew what to look for.

Oh, damn, Victoria thought, what if Smyth was one of the men who just entered the room? Oh, this was not good.

Her skin itched with determination to free Alex. And possibly, if he was there, Smyth. And to get the amulet. Holy hell, though, how much of this could she really pull off with a room full of trained paramilitary and the one man who had ever been able to crawl under her skin inside? She had to get her priorities straight and now.

Problem was, she needed to do it all.

Problem also was, she simply couldn’t.

The surge of frustration-born power flowed through her as lightning flashed across the sky. Damn, she had to get that in check now. Causing a hurricane to form over London was not going to help. Worse, if her subconscious energy grab went too far, she was going to start rending the earth beneath her into pieces. Or blow England off the face of the planet. She really wasn’t in the mood to be the cause of another island sinking into the sea, particularly one where she had a rather nice summer home.

Making sure her bag was secure against her, she proceeded forward. With measured steps, she inched toward the set of double doors and stretched out her mind, trying to stay just close enough to hear and see through Alex’s senses.

What she saw made all hell break loose: Shep Smyth and Alex Cezanne, eyes wide, adrenaline pumping, shouting in unison, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Worse still, was an upward glance Alex took of Dmitri, and the view of Dmitri’s face broiling, his teeth gnashing, his fists clenching.

Oh, no! she thought. Alex’s eyes. He thinks I’ve bonded Alex by the bed.

She felt a growl building in her throat, a very primal, animalistic roar as the heavens opened up, reflecting her intensity, bringing forth a rain born of rage. Using the compass of her powers, she pushed with her mind against the closed doors. Damn, if this sort of action wasn’t going to leave her starved of energy like a son of a bitch. But at the moment, that was her last concern. She kept her focus on getting Alex as far away from Dmitri as possible.

As the aluminum began to bend under her mental strong hand, she felt the familiar rush of multiple minds passing through hers. Dmitri had caught on to the network, and every mortal mind in the vicinity spilled out like a can of creamed corn. Including Shep’s, and maybe Alex’s if the proxy wasn’t being careful.

“Open up!” she bellowed at the door, as though saying it out loud would be its breaking point. And, lucky her, it was.

As the metal shield split in two, rolling inward, she dived through an opening barely wide enough to allow her passage. Outside, flashes of lightning swarmed the sky, creating a strobe backdrop for her entrance.

Of course, Dmitri wasn’t surprised to see her. “Finally.”

Three black-clad commandos rushed her, guns poised for attack. Perfect, she thought, bring it on. She knew the type of warrior stock Dmitri tended to employ were all about the slap downs, and she had no problem with hand-to-hand combat. No sooner had they thrown punches than Victoria responded, trading blow for blow. They were so weak compared to her, mere children in her eyes and in combat. Their life forces, on the other hand, were delicious, and after having sucked two dry, she placed her hands on the skull of the third and pulled all his strength from him, ripping his life from him instantly.

“Didn’t I tell you, Shep?” she heard Dmitri say in the background with a demented sense of pride. “So very impressive.”

However, Shep’s mind was too focused on Alex to respond. Even over the hum of all the thoughts passing through her from others, she could hear distinctly his confusion, the repeated whys and hows of his wife’s one sibling being held prisoner by Dmitri Kronastia. The whys of Alex being bound as though he were a threat to anybody. He couldn’t understand. Sweet little Alex?

Though, on a second look, there was nothing little about him. The guy had grown both up and out since last he had saw him. He must have put on a good thirty pounds of muscle, and his eyes ... holiest of cows, they were the same inhuman hue as Victoria Kent’s.

Dmitri turned his face to Alex, then Shep, giving each a quick nod. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”

-Ψ-

As Kronastia made his way toward Victoria, she threw another two men dead to the floor. Shep’s mind was in full meltdown mode; he couldn’t make teads or hails of this. Alex, taking advantage of the moment of Dmitri’s distraction, jerked his body, forcing the chair to gain the distance between them.

“Shep, we don’t have time for the hows or the whys,” Alex said determinedly, as though he were reading Shep’s mind. “We need to get out of here. Now, if not sooner.”

“How?”

“Untie me,” Alex interjected.

“I don’t understand.”

Another body flew through the air, landing dead in the space beside them. The head was nearly twisted off the neck, a display of physical domination he had never before witnessed.

“Shep, we are both going to end up like this guy if you don’t untie me.”

Uncomprehending but prepared to take his brother-in-law’s word, Shep shook himself from his confusion and went to work on unbinding Alex. His wrists were in cuffs—there would be no getting those off—but he was able with some effort to undo the ropes that tied his arms and ankles to the chair, allowing Alex to rise to his feet.

“I know you’re confused right now, but I need you to tell me this. Have you seen a green amulet?”

“What? Yes, Dmitri has it.”

It was at this moment that both Shep and Alex noticed the eerie silence fall around them. Looking across the way, their eyes landed just in time on Victoria, the last henchmen’s body slumping to the ground lifeless. Her wild eyes were fixed on Dmitri as they began a balanced circling.

“Been a while, Guardian.” Her frame held its poise, as though she might have to throw him down at any moment. “Interesting company you keep these days.”

His face came into view as he arced their path. “I could say the same of you. But I’m not really surprised.”

“I don’t know why you would be. Enough small talk. You wanted me here, and here I am. Mind telling me why?”

Her body froze when Dmitri pulled the amulet from his pocket and held it aloft, dangling it in front of her. Her eyes glazed over. Victoria looked like a starving man being offered bread.

The corner of Dmitri’s mouth rose. “It wants you. It wants to be claimed.”

She lunged forward, trying to seize it. “Give it to me, then.”

Pulling the amulet high overhead, Victoria stumbled forward into Dmitri’s embrace. He caught her under the arm and pulled her close. The gravity between them was nearly tangible, and both Alex and Shep were at a loss as Dmitri pressed his lips to Victoria’s, and Victoria threw her arms around Dmitri.

She pulled herself to him and sought his kiss with a hunger anyone who’d ever loved would recognize. Dmitri responded, circling his arms behind her and closing whatever distance remained. As they pulled back from their kiss, they began to exchange words in a tongue that Shep couldn’t understand. Dmitri’s words were soft, almost pleading. His hand smoothed over Victoria’s hair, pushing a lock behind her ear. Victoria, just moments ago the dealer of death, melted into him, her replies weighed heavy with conflict.

Dmitri leaned over to kiss her again, but this time Victoria turned away. He exhaled, disappointed by the move, and tried to bring her lips back to his. She distanced herself, breaking free of his hold. Apparently, Dmitri didn’t like that. Both his face and his words grew heated. When he tried to pivot her around, however, his face met her flying fist.

In a flash of light, Dmitri disappeared and reformed directly behind Alex. The proxy was too surprised by the occurrence and had no time to defend himself before Dmitri had him in a headlock.

“Damn, it feels good to be able to port like that.” Dmitri treated Alex like a ragdoll, securing him in a bear hug with one arm while holding the amulet out with the other. “Stop being so difficult. We’re almost out of time. I know the amulet is screaming at you. You won’t be able to deny it—or me—much longer.”

Dmitri spoke directly into Alex’s ear. “You hear it, too, don’t you? Of course, you can. She bonded you, after all. Tell me, did you like sleeping with my wife? And here I thought she was crushing on the dear professor.”

“Your what?” Alex ground out, trying in vain to free himself.

Dmitri firmed his hold. “Doesn’t like to tell people that part, does she?”

Somehow, Alex managed to speak, even though his cheeks were turning blue. “I never touched her that way, I swear.”

“It’s true!” Victoria shouted out.

Eyes wide, body trembling, Victoria shocked them. The three men stood like statues, gawking.

Finally, Dmitri’s grip loosened, letting Alex breathe. “What?”

Taking slow steps, she nodded. “It’s true. I bonded him by the bed. He’s just such a lovely thing, I couldn’t help it. Want proof?” Her mind pulled up the memory of the few moments during Alex’s transition fever when he mistook her for Monique and pushed the images to Dmitri’s mind.

Now it was Dmitri who trembled, his face turned ashen. “But I thought … Shep?”

“Oh, I’ve had my eye on Shep for quite some time. Why do you think I was so pissed when he fell for Christine? She was supposed to do my dirty work, find out how I could get an in with him. Instead, she seduced him. But Shep and I, well …” The recollection of their near kiss wasn’t nearly as long or intense, but for Dmitri, she knew even the instigation that they’d been intimate would set him on edge.

Dmitri swallowed his tears. “And me?”

Victoria’s coy eye studied him from tip to toe. “And you what?”

“You really don’t love me anymore?”

“Why should I?” she mocked. “I’m not a person to you, I’m your assignment. I’m your duty. You seduced me when I was ignorant, imbued me with immortality, made me love you … All knowing it was temporary. I’m nothing more to you than your way to while away the centuries until Isis’s plaything can return home to victory, fame, and her bed.”

Alex and Shep, struck dumb, watched as Dmitri wandered forward and collapsed before her. “Never. I never would have left you behind. I never would have returned without you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “The baktun is ending, and either way your queen judges humanity, I will die.”

“You don’t love me.” Dmitri’s body slumped. “I did all I have done because I thought you loved me.”

Victoria, for the first time since her shift in demeanor, bit her lip. “Is that really why you did it, Guardian? Because you thought I loved you?”

With a heavy sigh, Dmitri raised his gaze. Her eyes softened, then pleaded with him, beseeching him to speak.

“No,” he finally declared. “It wasn’t. I did it all because I loved you.”

Victoria bent over and put her hands on his shoulders. “If you love me, grant us your leave.”

“I cannot!” he bellowed. “Tlalli, you don’t understand. If we work together, we can stop this.”

Dmitri lunged, but not before Victoria called out, “José, help me!”

Then, the shot. It all happened too fast.

José stood, gun smoking, aim fixed on Dmitri. Victoria jumped up and landed a roundhouse kick into Dmitri’s chest. Alex grabbed Shep and pulled him along. They met in the midst of the confusion as a growl ripped through the air. Dmitri leapt for Jose, tearing the gun from his hands, but not before the Argentinean had shaken off Victoria’s influence and aimed for Shep. Victoria wrapped her arms about the two men.

A flash. Then, everything was wet.

-Ψ-

Shep instinctively kicked for his dear life, pushing his body beyond anything it had ever endured. He wasn’t certain what had happened to get him where he was: swimming in cold, churning waters, the taste of metal in his mouth. As his arms flailed, he broke the surface with a gasp. His eyes itched, but he tried to focus, to make sense of what was going on.

“Shep!”

Alex was nearby, but where? He thrashed about, turning left and right, trying desperately to bob out of the water with enough leverage to gain sight through the dark. Finally, he spotted a roundness in the waves about ten feet away, a set of luminescent eyes sparkling against the ambient light drifting out from the nearby shoreline.

He propelled himself forward, trying frantically to remember whether or not Alex had ever learned to swim. He hadn’t been very close to Christine’s younger brother, but that was simply because of the nearly fifteen year gap between the siblings.

As Shep reached Alex, he was relieved to see that he was keeping afloat perfectly. Yet, he was losing buoyancy in his struggle to keep the unconscious form of Victoria Kent above the surface. What had happened to his handcuffs?

“Victoria managed to burn them off. Don’t know when, but she can do things like that,” Alex answered.

How was he answering his thoughts?

“Help me,” Alex begged. “I can’t keep her up.”

Shep snaked his arm under Victoria while Alex took her other side. Now that they were turned toward shore and making good progress, Shep tried to gauge where they were. Had they somehow fallen out of the warehouse windows? Yes, that must have been it. He remembered a flash. There had probably been an explosion, and the force of the blast had blown them into the Thames.

Only, Kronastia’s flat had been in South London, and nowhere near Big Ben. The view was fuzzy, but he was pretty certain there was a tower rising from the profile of buildings before them. And when had the air gotten so warm? Ah, the blast. Any second now, his skin would dull from the chill of the London December night. Any second.

“Holy cow!” Shep’s voice trailed off as his eyesight sharpened. Without doubt, he knew that prestigious edifice anywhere. “That’s the Lotus Tower! But that’s in Cairo!”

Alex coughed, returning in a snappish tone, “Yeah, I figured she’d pull us here. Why fly when you can fly, you know?”

“In Cairo!” Shep repeated. His tone was nervous, questioning, but he continued to paddle toward the bank. “How the hell did we get to Cairo? Why did Dmitri Kronastia have you tied up in his warehouse? And why the hell are you two-timing Monique with Victoria Kent?”

“I’m not two-timing Monique!” Alex retorted, taking in a mouthful of water as he said it, coughing and sputtering. Shep tried to relieve his burden by gathering Victoria closer. “We can handle details later. Right now, we need a place we can hide. I don’t think Kronastia can port without Victoria near, but he sure as hell can hop on a plane.”

Victoria’s head rolled to the side as she momentarily came to. Her voice came out as an abrasive whisper in Shep’s ear. “Anathea ... Hermapolous’s house.”

They had reached a dock and just in the nick of time. Shep didn’t think he could keep them both above water much longer.

“What?” he called to the dripping woman as he hoisted her up to safety.

“You ... you know ...” She coughed, water spouting from her mouth. “You know where ... Anathea’s house ...”

Shep reached out his hand to Alex and helped him crawl up to safety. “I know where it is, but she won’t let us in. Trust me, she doesn’t see anyone.”

He knew from experience.

Victoria’s eyes cracked open. “She will,” she assured him in her meek tone.

Instinctively trying to comfort a damsel in distress, Shep pulled her into his lap. “I’m not convinced what you are or are not, but I’m pretty sure that the whole studying-under-Anathea thing was a bunch of malarkey. And you look ... injured. What we need to do is get you to a hospital.” And me to a shrink.

Her chest shook as she brought up more of the Nile. “No, Shep.” With a trembling hand, she struggled to stroke his cheek. “You don’t understand, I am Anathea.”

-Ψ-

Horns blared as they darted from lane to alley to byway. Shep could feel the weight of the stares as they laced through the crowds. It was, no doubt, a curious sight to the locals: a middle-aged white man holding a passed-out, twenty-something, native beauty, dripping water, in his arms as his eyes surveyed the paths ahead. Trailing behind him was an equally desperate-looking younger man, hair slicked and eyes inhumanly green. Something had happened to the woman, or was about to, and both these men were determined to get her out from the public eye yesterday if not before.

“How do you know where her house is?” Alex asked Shep.

He didn’t pause to answer, only dashed to the right as he orientated to their location, and spoke over his shoulder. “Before I left Egypt for the last time, I tracked down her address through some old real estate records. I stood outside her house for two days, staring through the gate before Anathea finally got annoyed.”

“So you saw her then,” Alex concluded.

“No, she never actually came out. Her maid—at least, I think it was her maid—asked me several times to leave. The police finally showed up in the end.”

He still couldn’t believe he had made so desperate an attempt. Christine had been buried in Cairo. Oddly enough, that request had been spelled out in her will. It perplexed him; Christine had never seemed particularly fond of the country. He wanted her to be buried ... he didn’t know. Her hometown in New England, maybe, or in the same graveyard as his own mother and father in Oklahoma? Even Boston would have been better. Not in Egypt, not so very far from him. As much as the thought grieved him, he was angry at her for it. How could she deny him so simple a comfort as having her resting place nearby to him?

But then, Shep thought, if her grave were far from him, he would never have to visit it. In that way, he could better face her death. It would be a reality removed. If he kept himself from Egypt, that was. So, making up his mind in his traditionally stubborn way, he swore he would never return to Cairo again until it was time for his bones to rest in a grave next to Christine. It seemed a crazy decision for an Egyptologist, like a surgeon vowing never to scrub in again. One thing he had to do before he left Cairo, however, was see Anathea Hermapolous. There was no one he knew who would be more capable of proving his theory about Cleopatra’s murder. If he could only see that through, then Christine had not died in vain. He had been determined to come face to face with Anathea at least once.

Lo and behold, he had and not even known. Victoria Kent. Shep was beyond the surprise anymore. At this point, someone could tell him that Stalin and Roosevelt took turns cross-dressing and calling themselves Golda Meir and he’d believe it with no less or greater sense of awe than what he currently felt. His emotions and his world view had been so shaken the last few days, his body and his mind had simply gone numb as a defense.

“Jesus Christ, Alex, was she actually after me? Was she too guilty to face me right after Christine died? She said she sent Christine …” His voice turned up an alley of confusion.

“That was all a lie, Shep.”

“Dmitri says she doesn’t tell lies.”

Alex shrugged. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. What I want to know is why. We’ve got to get her conscious again.”

They continued on without much talk. Shep had asked at one point about getting a cab, but as neither one of them had any money or identification, and as they were carrying an unconscious woman that could raise suspicion, it wasn’t an option.

Finally, they reached the gates. Anathea’s home was one of a few old English-styled buildings in Cairo, set behind heavy bars that rose ten feet high, but bore distinct indigenous accents. The windows, for example, all had been latticed over with wooden panels bearing geometric motifs. The house itself was nothing too impressive. In London, it would have been yet another Victorian two-story. Here, however, in a city so crowded that some made homes in old cemeteries, the spacious lot was a luxury. There was a security keypad embedded in the stone column to the right of the entrance.

He looked down at the woman in his arm and trembled. The color had drained from her face, and if he didn’t know better, he would say she was deathly sick, maybe even dying.

“She is,” Alex said.

Shep looked at him curiously. “Is what?”

“Sick,” he returned matter-of-factly. Shep’s mouth dropped as Alex continued, “Yes, I can hear your thoughts. Most of them, anyway. You’re thinking really loudly right now.”

“Shouldn’t we take her to a hospital?”

“Nothing the doctors could do for her. I know what she needs, but it will take me a little time to find it.” Alex punched a series of numbers into the keypad, and by some miracle, the locks disengaged as the door swung open. “Take her inside and get her out of the wet clothes. You too, of course. I’m not sure what you’re going to find to wear, but she wanted us to just stay here and lie low until morning.”

“And you know this because ...”

Alex smirked and tapped two fingers to his forehead indicatively. “Lots to catch up on. Go inside. I’ll be back soon.”

Inside, Shep found himself in a room full of sheet-covered furniture. On the wall above the fireplace was a portrait of Victoria, a la the Italian Renaissance. Passing through the sitting room, he found the stairs, at the top of which was a bedroom straight out of Howard’s End.

The wet clothes fell with a slosh onto the floor of the master suite bathroom, placing the bag she’d had strapped to her side on top of it. Shep tried his best not to ogle Victoria in her undergarments, and forced himself to put her in her bed and throw a heavy blanket over her instead. Delicately, he worked his hands under the blanket and removed the last remnants of wet clothes, preserving her modesty a little. Shep returned to the bathroom and pulled off his own clothes, but couldn’t bring himself to take off his boxers. Instead, he grabbed a thick cotton towel from the linen closet of the bath and tied it around his waist.

Victoria’s chest slowly rose and fell, and Shep breathed a sigh of relief that she seemed to be at ease for the moment. Cautiously, he decided to slip under the blanket on the queen bed as well. He needed warmth. He was determined to stay awake until Alex returned, but his body had different ideas. It had endured too much. It needed to recoup.

As the blanket began to reflect his own heat back at him, the comfort enveloped him, and his eyes drifted closed.

Chapter 25

In the week since he’d met her, Shep had already discovered that Victoria Kent had a history that included being an ancient world tourist, an Egyptian goddess, an Israeli special forces officer, an international black market antiques dealer, a college friend of his wife’s, and half-alien. That she was also Anathea Hermapolous, a prominent luminary in the area of Near Eastern archaeology? It was no more a shock than finding out your straight-laced friend led a secret life as a Rocky Horror Picture Show fan.

Alex had been gone for hours. The scant amount of sleep Shep had gotten came to an abrupt end when Victoria’s shaking had woken him. The seizure only lasted a few moments. As soon as he covered her with another blanket and stroked her hair in comfort, she stilled. He felt a twinge of anxiety as he looked at her and pressed the palm of his hand against her cheek. Victoria’s lacked her normally bright complexion, her breathing had become far too shallow. No matter what he did, she didn’t wake. It was like she was in a coma.

In silence, he got up and found his clothes, now dried out, and dressed.

He meandered down the stairs and into her foyer, ripping dusty sheets as he went. Every surface was covered in relics; not just archeological treasures great and small, but photographs. Ever so many photographs. Among them, one face that he recognized: Christine, probably about seventeen years old, posing with her parents, a child who looked barely more than a toddler, and there between them all, Victoria.

Shep picked up the picture and eyed it more closely.

“What you got there?”

Alex’s voice nearly made him drop the heavy-metal gilded frame. “What? Um ... Just a picture.”

Alex wasn’t alone. Under his arm, a brassy blonde with black roots stood silent and expectant. When Shep’s stare settled on the C-cups before him, Alex mouthed, “For Vick.”

What would Victoria need with an Egyptian prostitute? he wondered. For the moment, his attention stayed fixed on the picture, however. Shep extended a finger and pointed to the toddler in the photo as he held it up for Alex to see.

“This you?”

Alex dragged the whore under his arm and leaned in closer, studying the photo. “I guess so. I don’t remember it being taken, but looks like I was really young. Jesus, is that ...”

“Sure looks like her,” Shep agreed. Even if the circumstances were beyond belief, Shep held on to his smile at having found a little memento of his wife. He replaced the photo on the table where it had stood. Turning now to Alex, he could no longer withhold his inquiries, even with present company. “What the hell is going on? How are you involved with all this? How was Christine? And what happened to your eyes?”

To both of their surprises, it was the call girl who spoke, though her English was as fractured as the tile floor on which they stood. “We make the sex now. I have no time for chit chatty.”

Alex blushed as Shep eyed him curiously. “Actually, my friend, Vick, is waiting for you upstairs. That pair of double doors right at the top, just go on in. If she’s asleep, don’t feel badly about trying to wake her. She really needs your company.”

The call girl’s head whipped to the left, looking at the stairs. “You did not say woman. Costs more. I only gay for pay.”

Beginning to push her upstairs, Alex gave her a warm smile. “Of course. However much you like. When she wakes up, tell her that Alex sent you to quench her thirst.”

Hesitantly, she began to climb each step nervously, as though she suspected all she might get from this deal was screwed. Taking a quick survey of all the treasures mounted on the walls must have assured her of Alex’s ability to deliver, however, and with a quickened step she took the last few stairs spritely and disappeared into Victoria’s room. When she was gone, Alex turned back to Shep.

“I am a member of The Order,” he said matter-of-factly when they were alone. “We serve the goddess.”

“And by the goddess you mean Victoria.”

Alex nodded. “She’s Sekhmet, though some call her Hecate. But, yes, Victoria.”

“So, you worship Victoria,” Shep attempted to confirm.

Alex gave a wry laugh. “No, Shep. I’m Catholic, as you know. I don’t worship her. I serve her.”

“In what capacity?”

Alex’s hand ran nervously through his hair as he sat on the arm of the nearby sofa. “She had me on retrieval and recovery until a few days ago. You see, Victoria’s been on a mission for years. The time of isolation—that’s the period in which the Altunai ... Well, the Altunai are this group of ... And humans … Wow, I just don’t know where to start.”

“Kronastia already gave me a Cliff Notes version on the history of Altunai-Human relations. What I don’t get is why you’re wrapped up in this. What in the hell were you thinking, trying to take on a Russian mobster?”

“He’s not a Russian mobster.” Alex’s back straightened. He spoke with such confidence, Shep realized suddenly his wife’s little brother was no longer a child, but a man. “I am her proxy. I’m like her minion, I guess, but totally voluntarily. She gave me a little of her abilities, and I’m using them to serve the cause.”

A low chuckle was too hard to suppress. “Why in the hell would you care about Victoria Kent’s cause? What does it mean to you?”

“It means I can help save humanity and the woman I love. And more than that, it means I can avenge the death of my sister,” Alex answered. “You know? Your wife.”

“What are you talking about?” Shep shook his head vigorously in denial. “No, Alex. I get it. Believe me, I do. When Christine died, I wanted to blame someone, too. Truth is, sometimes shit just happens. Sometimes, accidents just happen.”

“You don’t understand. Christine was murdered.”

“Murdered?” The thought was preposterous. “C’mon!”

“Well, fancy that,” Alex sighed sarcastically. “The very man who ruined his career trying to prove a two-thousand year old murder can’t see the one that happened right in front of his eyes three years ago.”

“Alex, believe me, in some ways I’d actually be relieved to find out Christine was murdered.” At least then there’d be a reason behind it, no matter how heinous. “But why, and by whom?”

Alex looked incredulous. “You can’t figure it out?”

“Alex, that’s enough.”

Both their heads snapped when they heard Victoria’s voice at the top of the stairs. A double take wasn’t sufficient; Shep had to take in the view three times to be convinced he wasn’t dreaming. More than refreshed, Victoria was renewed. With both her eyes bright, she looked every bit the energetic coed he’d mistaken her for almost a week before.

“Shep doesn’t need to be burdened with our internal politics,” she continued.

“Yasmin do you okay?”

Shep was many things, but slow wasn’t one of them. It didn’t take long for him to figure out that if Dmitri as an Altunai had to feed off human life force, Victoria did the same.

Her reply only served to confirm that hypothesis. “Indeed. Why a woman, though? You know how I feel about that.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, his hands flew up. “I’ll do many things for you, Vick, but trying to pick up a guy in a country where Sharia law is making a comeback isn’t one. By the way, what the hell was all that crap in London about being in love with Shep and me?”

She shooed the question aside with the wave of her hand as she made her way to the bottom of the stairs, her hands clutching the strap of the small side bag she’d been carrying since London. “Soon. I’ll explain soon. Right now we have more important matters to which to attend. The girl, how much did you promise her?”

“Three hundred.”

“Three hundred dollars!” Victoria let out an exasperated sigh before pinching the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

“Not dollars,” Alex corrected. “Euro.”

“Jesus Christ! I know I have plenty of money, but that doesn’t mean we should go tossing it about as though it’s air. She’s sleeping it off. Slip her two hundred in her clothes with a note to let herself out.”

Alex pulled out the emptiness that was his pockets and motioned to them indicatively.

Victoria pointed to the door on the far side of the room. “In the pantry, in a box labeled ‘tea biscuits’.”

Alex did as directed while Victoria turned her attention to her guest. “Good to see you again, Shep.”

“And weird to see you, Victoria,” he returned as she made her way down the stairs. In the intervening time, she had redressed into fresh clothes. Thank God, because he wanted his mind on her words and not his eyes on her cleavage. “Or do I call you Sekhmet?”

Her smile faltered. “So you’ve learned my dirty, little secret. Look, I’m sorry I got you involved in all this. I couldn’t have anticipated Dmitri’s interest in you. If he’s hurt you—”

“Treated me rather nicely, actually,” Shep interrupted. “Except for the taking me prisoner and killing my friend part, he was a perfect host.”

Victoria’s hand flew to her throat as her eyes trained to the floor. “I’m sorry about Hector. He was a good man. Unfortunately, Dmitri’s never developed my ability to skim life rather than chug it.” She was silent for a moment, before she took on an air of determination. “What else did he tell you?”

“Enough for me to know that humanity is screwed.”

Wide-eyed, she appeared to be shocked at his statement. “Why would you say that?”

“Oh, really? Well, let’s just see ...” Shep reached out and took Victoria’s hand, bringing her palm to rest on his face. He remembered how Dmitri had been able to witness his memories through touch, and suspected she could do the same. He needed Victoria to see what just a few days of being mixed up in her world had forced him to endure: Hector’s dead eyes; the news about the body from the airplane; a room full of slaughtered soldiers; Alex tied to a chair and held captive; Shep downing drink after drink, trying to make it all make sense.

“Is this the way you intend to save humanity from evil deities?” Shep barked at her. Victoria shuddered and leapt back as she withdrew her hand. “You and Dmitri are supposedly the superior beings, yet it seems all you do is kill and destroy. You’re telling me you’re the one that’s on our side? That you’re going to save us from them? How about you start by saving us from you?”

“Sheppard!”

It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Alex rebuked him as he entered the room with a wad of euros in his hand. His brother-in-law had made his allegiances known, and they rested with Victoria.

The proxy turned to her now, offering words of dismissal and comfort. “Vick, he doesn’t understand what you’ve done for humanity, for everyone. What you’re trying to do.”

“No, Alex, on the contrary.” Alex shrank back, disbelieving her consent to Shep’s assessment. “He’s right not to trust me. All I’ve done since I’ve met him is manipulate and deceive. He, who should have expected the most from me after what my existence has cost him.”

“Vick?”

A high-pitched huff came from her mouth. “But what does it matter? We don’t have the amulet. I thought I had it when we ported from London, but I can’t find it in my pockets. Everything I’ve done will have been in vain without it.” Her body fell in on itself as she shrank in to one of the chairs. “Shep’s right, Alex. We are so seriously screwed.”

Shep fished through his pockets until he felt the smooth surface of the stone tied onto the golden chain. He couldn’t explain why he’d taken it from her clothing as she lay unconscious. Somehow, it made him feel at ease, rubbing the stone between his fingers. As he turned and held it out, he suddenly felt like a hypnotist from the way Alex and Victoria’s eyes tracked the object. With a grunt, he threw it toward Victoria who caught it without blinking.

“There’s your damned amulet. Do whatever the hell you want with it. I hope it was worth killing so many innocent people for.”

“What is it—”

“Shh!” Victoria’s hand slapped over Alex’s mouth. “I can’t hear it when you talk.”

Alex added, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “I can hear every word, just don’t know what the hell it means.”

Shep said nothing. Nothing, because he was too busy listening. He didn’t understand how or why, but all of the sudden, overlapping and fervent whispers tugged at his ears.

Victoria drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, straightening her frame. When she opened her eyes again, Shep took a step back. Gone were the jade discs that were simultaneously intriguing and frightening, replaced with pools of black that seemed to suck all warmth from his body. She began reciting in the foreign tongue that he recognized as the same she and Dmitri had used in London.

“Dohm merka’at faknai inbratu. Ankh Tawy in gerikorbatum. It’s time. It’s telling us, it’s time.”

“Us?” Alex asked.

“We have to make our way to Ankh Tawy,” Victoria clarified as she slipped on some shoes she’d removed from a cedar chest at the edge of the room. “Shep’s coming too.”

“Me?”

Alex was just as flabbergasted. “Shep?”

“Yes, Shep.” Striding forward, she slipped the amulet into her pocket and grinned at the good doctor. “My poor, poor, Sheppard Smyth. I’ve wanted to tell you since Veracruz. I still want to tell you now, but if you know, and if the others see it in your head, it puts you in too much danger. I know this is asking a lot, but please, trust me. Come with me now, and everything will make sense soon.”

“Fuck you” was his witty reply. “I’ve had enough of this hocus pocus, apocalypse cultist, speaking in tongues hoo-haa. I’m going home, and, Alex, if you had any sense you’d come too. I’m going back to Boston.”

“Christine died in your place, Shep.”

Well, that stopped him cold. “What?”

“Christine died in your place,” she repeated. “Now, mind you, I never would have allowed Dmitri to kill you, but he didn’t know that. Neither did Christine. She gave her life in protection of you.”

“But Alex just said ...” Oh, here came the darn headache again. “Alex said she was murdered.”

“Yes, because if she hadn’t died, you would have,” she conferred. “Please, Shep, come with me, don’t fight it. If you trust me now, I’ll ...” Her brow furrowed. “I’ll prove that your theory about Cleopatra was right.”

“Proof?”

“Undeniable proof.”

Shep shifted, lurching to the right, studying the sincerity of her face. “Is it here? Is it the scroll?”

“Sadly, the scroll didn’t survive the Thames. But yes, the proof is in this very room.”

It seemed too convenient, and he was more than a little incredulous. “I want it in advance. Then I’ll agree to go with you.”

Victoria bit her lip in frustration. After a pause, she turned back to Shep and palmed his face. “Agreed. I just hope your grasp of Latin is as good as your Egyptian. So, you want to know what really happened to Cleopatra?”

He nodded vigorously. Victoria’s clutch tightened, and a shooting ache raced into his head. Shep’s brain overloaded. The images were vividly clear, the smells so pungent that he felt lightheaded from the fog of incense. He was seeing through Victoria’s eyes; he knew this from the experience with Dmitri. Still, there was a sort of removal of self, almost like he was in her head as she spoke, interacting with her thoughts, rather than just reliving the echo of her memories.

The last thing his own eyes saw and his own ears heard was Victoria’s mouth forming her darkest confession yet.

“Truth is, Shep, I killed her.”

08.12.30 BCE

Chapter 26

Victoria sat, studying the goblet of wine in her hand, as a scowl greeted her across the way. At once, Shep understood just how talented the great Roman sculptors had been; the man at whom Victoria thought unspoken jibs and insults looked like his statue animated and painted with the colors of life. His eyes studied Victoria’s every feature.

“Do you think I’ve had it poisoned?” he asked with a snicker.

Victoria leaned forward and smirked. In one fell swoop, she raised the goblet to her lips and downed the entirety of its contents.

“Oh, I know you have, Octavian,” she returned, smacking her palette. “Cyanide, I would wager. Enough to kill a man, should I have been a man. Sadly for you, I’m immune from its effects.”

She let the goblet fall, the metal clang on the floor alerting the guards standing outside. They rushed the room, their spears at the ready. With a wave of his hand, Octavian calmed them.

“She will not harm me,” he assured. With reluctance, his protectors lowered their spears, but hung close behind. “You would find no fault in my efforts,” he added to Victoria.

“Indeed, Caesar, I would be insulted if you had attempted anything less.”

Reluctantly, he sank into his chair. “You’ve not told me your name.”

“I have many, sire. Your father-by-law called me as does the queen: Sekhmet.”

Octavian chuckled, sitting back in his chair and raising his own goblet to his mouth. “Yes, he spoke of you. Consort of the queen, he said.”

“Rumors grow like reeds in Rome; so thick in width, thin in branch, and poorly rooted in earth.”

Octavian’s eyebrow arched. “Not true, then? It would be quite the scandal, if it was. So, they call you Sekhmet, just as they call the queen, the New Isis. Is it not heretical in this land to take on the name of a goddess?”

“No more so than to take on the title of Caesar.”

She saw his fingers twitch impulsively toward a dagger tied at his waist, though his tone remained as aloof and amused as it had been. “But I am Caesar, a son of divinity.”

“As I am the goddess, such that we can speak as equals.” Victoria rose to her feet, holding herself in sanctity before him. “I have been in the nature of my divinity for many a year. Perhaps Caesar does not know of my deeds. I have protected the house of Pharaoh since before the great Sphinx rose from the desert. I have guarded my house against Hatti and Scythians, Persians and Philistines. I am the Eye of Ra. One who declares the house of Ptolemy an enemy contends with me as well. But take leisure in this: I desire not to be thine enemy. I would ask only that the terms of defeat be amiable to my interests.”

“You dare assume you are in a position to demand terms. I have slain others for lesser insolence.”

Victoria glared. “Set your men upon me, if you deem it wise. I warn you that they would find my blade twice as deadly and thrice as swift, Caesar. Nonetheless, I need not a weapon, I can kill you with one touch.” Her fingers fanned the air.

“Sire?” One of the guards at least took her seriously. His grip tightened on his weapon.

“Patience, Decimus. What could a mere woman do with just the stroke of her hand against Caesar?”

“Funny, Antony once asked that regarding Cleopatra.”

Shep felt a flutter of anticipation, a rise of ire within him, within Victoria. She did not so much leap as soar to the soldier, her hands clutching him about the wrist. In an instant, she had his life. As his body surrendered to the stone floor, a rush consumed her. Shep shared it intimately. If he had ever shot cocaine, he had a feeling this is just the way it would have felt.

Octavian’s hand was on his short sword when she turned back to him. All his gusto evaporated. His glossy eyes were wide and terror-stricken.

Victoria extended a finger, pointing squarely at the Roman. “Think me not the fool. My eyes see both without and within. Tell me, what are your intentions for the queen?”

A few moments passed in silence, in which the goddess’s eyes never wavered from Octavian’s.

“Ah, you intend to present her in chains to Rome, do you?” she snickered at last. The look of surprise on Octavian’s face, the incredulous confusion when she spoke aloud his thoughts, was almost amusing. “Surely, Caesar will know that a woman of her prestige, loved not only by Marc Antony, but also treasured by your father, and bearer of children of both stocks, would turn a tender heart if rendered like a dog unto the Senate. Yes, I see your conflict as well. It is also not in your interest to kill her. Strike down a woman of such regal repose who has already acquiesced her power to you, and you’ll be seen as a ruthless barbarian. Worse than Scythian, really. And that is what you fear, is it not? You are among that lot of men who seeks legacy. You seek to act in a manner begetting praise for your intelligence and metered compassion, not as a wolf from whose jaw the entrails of his enemy still glisten as he sings their lesser praises.”

“How do you come to know this?” Octavian gasped. “Even my generals know not ...”

Victoria extended one, lovely, ring-bearing finger and tapped it to Octavian’s temple. He flinched, but remained otherwise motionless. “You really are quite an interesting mortal, Octavian. In another life, I might have wished to have been your ally.”

She turned and meandered through the room, taking note of its fineries. This had once been Cleopatra’s private chamber, and she detested Octavian’s presence.

“My God—”

“Goddess.” Victoria was quick to correct. When she reached the mantle of the fire, she turned, resting one arm on the hearth’s head. “Allow me to be frank, Octavian. Great as I am, I know that I cannot take on the might of Rome. Your father and comrade are dead. No doubt you seek retribution. You may kill her, but as your own thoughts reveal, either of your choices hold in it a fault. I wish to suggest to you a third path.”

His grin confirmed his interests.

“Take her to Rome, but not in chains. Let her walk among the people dethroned. Let her be humiliated in the eyes of the citizenry as no more than a tramp who only maintained power by bedding the Roman seat. I will take her children away from Egypt, and return them to Rome and to the house of your sister, as is your desire. Then, after some time, you will render Cleopatra back unto me. I will take her into seclusion, and she will be no more a threat to you than the blowing of the wind.”

“I fail to see, Goddess,” he ground the title like a curse word between his teeth, “how this lies in your interest. Your country falls, your ruler disgraced. Your civilization dies.”

“All this is already done.” She shrugged. “I only seek to keep her and her issue on this side of the afterlife. I care not for her gallant aspirations.”

“And why not simply strike me down and be off with her?” His eyes moved to the body of the soldier on the ground nearby. “It seems you could deliver me to my grave at your leisure.”

“I have my own reasons, and ask nothing more of it. Your death at this moment would benefit me little.”

Standing, Octavian crossed his arms over his chest and rolled on the balls of his feet. He mused the idea. “You will grant me two concessions.”

She gave a slight bow of her head. The movement seemed mocking, given her general contempt evidenced in her other graces. “Yes, Caesar?”

“You will be the appointed guardian of the children of Marc Antony and Cleopatra. You shall care for them under the watch of my sister, Antony’s true widow, in Rome. Caesarian, however, you will render unto me in one week’s time.”

“For what purpose, Caesar?”

He nearly spat at her. “For assurance, Sekhmet. Surely you do not think the queen will yield at this moment if she believes any of her children will come to harm from it.”

“You will have his head?”

“Is it not my due?” Octavian sneered, knowing she could not deny the need of the ruse. “Nothing comes for nothing, Sekhmet. You can have the life of your Cleopatra, if I can have the life of her Caesar. Now, if you wish to see through this accord, go unto your queen and seek her surrender. I will await word.”

-Ψ-

Shep felt his brain slam into the back of his head, and swore a pickaxe had it in for his eyeballs. The scene in their conjoined minds shifted. Now he saw himself in an opulent burial chamber—he had been in enough of them to recognize the set up—looking at the floor. As Victoria’s eyes raised, they were greeted by the misunderstanding stare of three women. Two were dressed similarly to each other, braided wigs upon their heads and the finest white, linen kalisiris around their bodies. Between them sat the third, a woman who looked as though she had just surfaced from death’s door. And yet, she was ... magnanimous. Cleopatra was one of those rare women whose features did not stun the eye; none of her contemporaries noted her as a beauty. However, she was also a woman in whose company one could not help but be turned to that opinion from the manner of her carriage. Even at thirty-nine, she still boasted of a confident manner and noble air. As she met eyes with Victoria, she flew from her chair and fell into the slender arms of the goddess.

“You came back,” she cried into Victoria’s chest.

Smoothing down her hair, Victoria drew the queen to her bosom. “Now, my fig, I told you I would return. Just because I was upset did not mean I had renounced you.”

“I don’t understand,” Cleopatra wept. “How did you ... Does Octavian know you’re here?”

They walked toward the dais where, oddly enough for a mausoleum, a throne sat. Nearby, a wooden-framed bed covered in gold leaf held baskets overflowing with gold, gems, and silver, and complimented larger baskets filled similarly about the floor. Cleo had thought well her plan. Octavian may have kept her prisoner, but Cleopatra had brought all her treasury into confinement with her. It wouldn’t take but a few vats of oil and a torch to melt it all into a pool of nothingness.

Victoria nodded. “I have spoken with him.”

The queen’s face fell. “And?”

Victoria measured her words carefully, explaining the compromise, but made no mention of Caesarian’s fate. When she was done, the queen looked aghast.

“I cannot.” Her eyes were empty, her face, ashen.

“Cannot what?” Victoria asked. She held Cleopatra at arm’s length, studying her.

“Everything I have done has been for Egypt. How can I now allow it to be sliced at the throat and left to bleed unto death?”

Victoria clenched her teeth. “You attacked Rome, and on the seas, no less. You should have known well you were no match for them.”

Tears threatened the corner of Cleopatra’s eyes. “I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice. I have taught you that much.”

Cleopatra’s face went red, then almost as quickly, white. “Indeed, we had a choice. Either we could fight and gamble on the small margin we might be victorious, or we could cede and watch as Roman wolves raved our family and our land. Antony … he thought, hoped if he could show himself a worthy adversary in battle, Octavian might compromise.”

“Fie upon Antony. If only you had listened to me when that drunkard landed on your shore.”

“Without him, Egypt would not have endured nearly as long as it did. I would not have endured!”

“To hell with Egypt!” Victoria retorted. “Everything I have done has been for your preservation, not for Egypt’s.”

“Why?”

Victoria shifted uncomfortably. “For the same reason you attacked Rome.”

Cleopatra only looked at her questioningly.

“I, too, face an awesome enemy, and you are the key to my victory,” she tried to clarify, without explaining at length.

Cleopatra turned away, crestfallen. “If there is one who could stand against Sekhmet, what hope has Cleopatra? Who?”

“One who is not of this world.”

“You speak of the gods.” Cleopatra swung her head toward the stream of retreating sunlight that fell from the open rafters above. “But for you, I have lost faith in the gods. For days, I have prayed to Isis. I have asked that, like Osiris, she recalls me once I have passed by Taut. So far, her only response is silence.”

A tear raced down Victoria’s face as she braced Cleopatra’s shoulders and locked her gaze to the queen’s. “Isis has taken her leave of this world. But I have not.”

“You cannot recall the dead.”

“You need not die.” Victoria pulled back her hand, taking her wrist to her mouth. When again she brought it away, a trickle of blood pooled on the olive skin, running over the heel of her hand. “I cannot rescue you from the land of the dead, but I can help keep you from it. Drink of me, my child, and I will give you my strength.”

“Sekhmet?”

Insistently, Victoria pushed her sanguineous offering to Cleopatra’s lips. “A deity is crafted in the fire of a blood offering. Take my blood into your body. Octavian will be unable to harm you. Walk with gods and transcend the boundaries of man.”

Unfortunately, Cleopatra stared in wide-eyed disbelief at Victoria’s wrist. “Antony is dead, and I am not fool enough to believe Octavian will let me live, no matter what promises he has made you. If you swear to me that my children will be cared for—”

“I do,” Victoria vowed. “I must.”

Cleopatra smiled. “Then what is this life to me? The best thing I can do for my children is to die, to let Egypt fall with me. Should I live, there will always be lions who see me as the hyena, waiting for them to turn their heads that I might swoop in, catch their prey, and feed it to my pups. Let it be so; I am lost.”

“You will not endure,” Victoria tried to argue. “He will torture you, humiliate you, and shame you in your children’s eyes. I have seen his mind. His ultimate victory will come when your own blood curses your name. I love you as though you were my own child, my sister. I cannot allow you to yield so willingly. I beg you,” she again pushed her wrist to the queen’s mouth, “drink.”

-Ψ-

As the queen bent her head down, closing her lips over the goddess’s offering, Shep’s mind slipped from Victoria’s grasp. The vision left him breathless, confused.

“I don’t understand,” he panted. “You didn’t ...”

“Kill her?”

Shep looked to Victoria, his heart torn as the tears ran down her face.

“I did, Shep. I tried to bond her, not knowing how beyond repair she already was. In my arrogance, I thought my diluted Altuani blood and my own determination could save her. Cleo was so broken before we even started, so ready to welcome death. Her two servants both offered their lives, and she took both, trying to draw enough strength. She couldn’t hold it within her. She died in my arms with Antony’s name on her lips.”

“But to say murder, Victoria. You didn’t mean for her to die.”

“Didn’t I?” Victoria sneered. “Who’s to say that she wasn’t right, that Octavian wouldn’t have honored our agreement? She might have lived to a ripe, old age.”

Shep shook his head. “But the suicide note … The infamous snake bites …”

Was he truly going to question that which now was made plain to him? To reject the answers to the very inquiries which had so long been the focus of his life’s work?

“I was the one who sent the suicide note to Octavian,” Victoria continued. “Making him believe she had stolen away his opportunity to parade her through Rome was the final tribute I could offer to Cleo’s legacy. The marks on her breast were not the result of a snake’s bite, but mine.”

His lip curled in disgust. “You bit Cleopatra? Why?”

“I needed her blood. In case I proved unequal to the task of protecting her bloodline, I needed to be certain a sample was preserved.”

It brought no understanding. “What’s so unique about Cleopatra’s blood that you had to keep a sample of it for two thousand years?”

“It doesn’t matter. My quest to maintain her lineage was a success.”

“And the Cleopatra statue Hector found in Mexico ...” Shep’s voice trailed off.

“I keep a tribute for each of my proxies. When I wanted to go home, I couldn’t bear to leave them behind. But that statue in particular, it’s different. Tell me, Shep, you’ve examined many an artifact in your day. Did you notice anything unusual about that one?”

Images of its alabaster surface crept across the inside of his eyelids. It couldn’t have been the simple fact of its remarkable place of discovery or its incredible state of preservation. Those were elements of juxtaposition. He pictured himself holding the object in his hand.

“It was lighter than I expected it to be,” he finally said.

Victoria’s eyes brightened. “Precisely. Because it is not a solid statue. It has a chamber hidden within.”

Now even Alex perked up. “What’s inside?”

Shep proved confused. “I thought you could read minds now. Can’t you just see in her head what it is?” He turned curious eyes to Victoria.

“Our telepathy doesn’t work that way,” she said to both of them. “Amongst ourselves, we only share that which we deliberately choose to. Our ability to intrude is exclusive to our interactions to humans.”

Shep exhaled. “Still, isn’t it obvious what’s inside the statue?” he asked his clueless brother-in-law. “Cleopatra’s blood. The snake bites—that was you collecting her blood. The real question is why?”

“As a backup plan.” Victoria’s hand disappeared inside her bag, pulling from it a moment later the very statuette that had sent Shep off on this adventure. “Dmitri and I have been playing our cat and mouse games for centuries. If he ever decided to take my life, I sought to preserve a proxy’s blood in case it could be used against him. The further in time humanity endured, the more natural evolution carried them away from our origins as Altunai creations. In theory, any proxy I created over time would be weaker, not stronger. The gate requires two elements: an Altunai through which the power flows, and a Vessel whose blood is the dock—”

Shep interrupted. “He already told me all this, but I still don’t get what it has to do with Cleopatra’s bloodline. He’s the Altunai, you’re the Vessel.”

“And together they can open the gate,” Alex supplemented. “But any gate that can open, can also close.”

Victoria snapped, then pointed at Alex. “Precisely. As long as Dmitri is a part of the equation, we’re at the mercy of the Altunai. Once he’s opened the gate, I can close it, assuming the part of the Altunai.”

“And your Vessel?” Shep asked.

She turned eyes on Alex. “My proxies.” Victoria placed the statuette back in her bag and threw the strap over her head. “We must go. We need to get to Ankh Tawy and prepare before sundown.”

“Memphis?” Of course he knew the name for the ancient capital of the empire. “Why there?”

“That’s where the gate will open, at the temple of Osiris.”

“The bull god?” Shep asked. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s the Guardian’s temple,” Victoria answered, but it appeared to bring him no clarity. “Surely you’ve figured this out by now.”

“I think I’ve figured out enough on my own, so how about you spot me this one? The bull god, Apis, is more commonly known as Osiris. What does a god whose power is death have to do with a race of immortal beings?”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “If I am Sekhmet, who do you suppose Dmitri might be? Who was credited with staving off death, who could preserve the eternal life of a Vessel?”

He nearly fell over in shock. “Holy hell. The God of the Afterlife?”

Victoria nodded. “The one and only. Dmitri is Osiris.”

12.21.12

Chapter 28

Osiris paced the length of the temple, detesting the fact that he had been saddled with the bull iconography. Ra was known as the Sun, and Isis was an Eagle. A bull seemed so... common. He reminded himself that humanity was still in its agrarian phase, drawing knowledge from the interaction with nature. A bull wasn’t as bad as, say, a hippo. Seti was still pissed at being saddled with that iconography. Besides, he had bigger worries at the moment.

As the commander of the Western settlement, Osiris had been tasked with finding the Vessel, the key to any crop’s success. Odd, he thought, that Ra would choose him for the task. The prince still blamed Osiris for the failure of the last cultivation. It was only Osiris’s ability to manipulate Isis through flattery and appealing to her sensual nature that he’d even won a position on the away team.

Though he was confident his selection would be deemed acceptable, he was nervous. Firstly, he’d chosen a woman. He’d tried finding a male to fill the part, as was their standard practice, but no man could rival Tlalli’s suitability. The Olmec did not allow their women to learn hunting and writing. Tlalli had mastered both by mere observation. Her memory and ability to grasp higher level knowledge was nearly off the charts compared to her people. From the moment he saw her, there could be none other in his mind. The fact that he was completely enraptured with her hadn’t influenced his decision at all. Or so he told himself. So certain was he with his choice that Osiris bonded her without awaiting approval from either Ra, his superior, or the queen.

To his surprise, Isis took an immediate liking to Tlalli. Unfortunately, so had the queen’s brother. After Tlalli’s presentation, Osiris had taken her back to his temple to rest. Sometime during the night, he awoke to find her missing, Ra’s scent still fresh in her chamber. His blood boiled at the thought of Isis’s sycophant brother laying a hand on his woman. Osiris dispatched messengers, who returned word that the queen and her brother had simply wished to dine with the Vessel before the time for the isolation to ensue arrived. They would return Tlalli into Osiris’s care the next day as they took their leave for Altunatus.

Then next morning, as he waited by the gate for the royal siblings, a sick feeling grew in the pit of his stomach. When at last Isis and Ra arrived to his temple, they sought a word with Osiris before Tlalli was invited to join in his presence, melding her power with his in order to close the gate.

“My Queen?” Osiris queried, seeing the words dancing on her tongue but remaining unspoken.

She shifted about. The nervous mannerisms seemed foreign to her usually collected way. “I want to let you know, I’ve reached a decision, General Osiris.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

Rolling up on her toes, the queen laced her fingers behind the Guardian’s neck and drew her lips to his. Osiris knew to play the part of the clandestine lover, though his heart wanted Tlalli’s kiss, not Isis’s.

“This will be the last time you are Guardian.”

“My Queen?” He felt his chest clench. Might he at last be released from her service? Perhaps if so, he could find a way to rid Tlalli of her fate to die upon the Altunai’s return.

She separated from him and walked toward the gate, which to the naked eye appeared as a patch of disrupted air between two columns at the entrance of his temple.

“With my brother’s blessing, I have decided that you shall be my King.” The exuberance with which she passed the declaration crackled through the air, and struck Osiris as though lightning. “All you need to do is but come away from this isolation in triumph. Secure our crop, and you shall rule at my side.”

A thousand thoughts torpedoed through his head. Osiris cautioned himself not to act rashly. While a year and a half would pass on Altunatus during the isolation, he had more than five thousand years by measure of Earth’s time to figure out a solution that would see him both victorious in his mission, and allow him to find a way to avoid a betrothal to the queen. But he must be cautious. To deny Isis’s order would mean not only his disgrace, but likely his own death back home. And of course, both assured Tlalli’s demise as well.

He schooled his features and hatched a smile across his face. “I will seek to make you proud, my Queen.”

Satisfied, the queen blew him a kiss on the breeze, sending him a mental reminder of their most recent liaison, and took her leave, leaving only Osiris and Ra.

“I’ve asked the human guards to deliver Tlalli to you so that you may seal the gate and dock it to her blood. She should be along in a moment.” The prince’s arrogance and disgust permeated his words.

“You should not have taken her without my permission,” Osiris spat back. “The Vessel is my responsibility. What possible need could you have for her?”

“Need?” The very word seemed to confuse Ra. “I had no need, but since when do I hesitate to take that which I desire? Oh, I do hope you will not find her too traumatized. I understand you have yet to teach her, but such ignorance about the abilities of her body!”

Osiris demanded his fists to unclench, but the self-satisfied smirk on Ra’s face told him he’d picked up on how difficult the Guardian was finding it to keep his temper under wraps. No matter that the queen favored the Guardian, after the debacle of the last colony, an attack on the prince would have the whole government demanding his head.

Ra continued, “Of course, I’m talking of her abilities as a Vessel. So much I had to demonstrate for her. But after our night together, I think you’ll find she’s more than able to handle anything else you can impart.”

Ra flashed his jade eyes, a trait unique to the royal bloodline, daring Osiris to take the bait.

“What have you done?”

Ra leaned in closely, whispering into Osiris’s ear. “So she asked to bond to you by the bed? I’ve never understood why you gave them a choice, but now I see how exciting an experience it is when they want to be taken. Enjoy the silence, Osiris.”

-Ψ-

His chest throbbed where the bullet had been pulled out the evening before. The pain from the wound, however, was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. Tlalli did not love him, she’d said. He supposed he didn’t deserve it. He was part of the system that would soon come back to destroy her world. If all he could give her in humanity’s final days were the lives of the ones she did care for, at least that was in his power. When he’d seen José raise the gun toward the melee, even knowing how fine a marksman the Argentine was, he couldn’t take the chance it would hit either Shep or Alex. He dove and intercepted it just in the nick of time.

It hadn’t been until she’d ported away with her two lovers that he felt the absence of the amulet’s energy. He wasn’t sure how it had happened; his eyes had been on her the whole time. Which meant one of the other two must have made off with it. Was she planning on opening the gate herself? Would she try to keep the gate from opening at all? She’d kill herself in the process. He wasn’t sure what her plan was, but for his part, Tlalli wasn’t going to do anything to take on the Altunai High Council without him.

His plane touched down on Egyptian soil at 4:48 a.m. on December 21st. Other than the pilot, he’d brought no one else with him. He had enough human blood on his hands without leading the soldiers he employed and respected to their doom. The moment the gate opened, Dmitri would again be able to wield the power of his home planet, and he had very definite plans for that power … which included leaving Ra dead, and Tlalli safe.

Even if Tlalli did not love him, even if she did love another, he would still be her Guardian. As Dmitri felt the warmth of sunlight fall over him, a little voice told him this would be the last sunrise he would ever see.

He was going to die today.

He was going to die, so that she might live.

Chapter 29

Seated at the back of the hookah lounge, Victoria turned the amulet in one hand, and held the pipe connected to the bubbling pot in the other. The whispers had been getting steadily louder through the day, though the message remained the same. This particular hookah lounge had been known to offer an old world blend that was strictly off menu. Her hope that the intoxicated smoke might push some of the chatter from her brain proved false. Just as with alcohol, her body remained unaffected. Still, the taste wasn’t bad.

Alex had kept silent the last two hours. As sleepless as he was, the wear on his body was taking its toll. His chin rested on his balled up fist while his elbow pitched on the table. As his eyelids grew heavy—a few times he had nodded off only to snap up with a start—his willingness to hold down any conversation had diminished.

“Ankh Tawy,” Shep said out of the blue.

“Huh?”

“Ankh Tawy,” Shep repeated, pointing at the amulet. “When you were rambling off whatever you were hearing from that thing, you mentioned Ankh Tawy.”

“And this is important why?”

Shep leaned forward with a smile. “Ankh Tawy was one of the names given to Memphis. It means, ‘the place which binds two lands.’ In the Egyptology community, we always explained that as the meeting of Upper and Lower Egypt. I guess that’s not what it refers to after all.”

Victoria had to admit to herself that she was really starting to like Sheppard Smyth. Most humans’ heads would have exploded long ago from the influx of earth-shattering revelations the likes of which the last week had given him. Not Shep. He took every little insight and development with an open mind and a tempered spirit. She had always respected him professionally, even if from afar. Still, she had spent many years hating him when he, in her opinion, had stolen Christine away. Old habits died hard.

“Can I ask you a question?” Shep said.

Her eyes narrowed as a glint of smile danced over his face. “I don’t answer the Jesus question.”

“The Jesus question?” he echoed.

“Yeah, you know … Was he real? Did you meet him? Was he really divine? I don’t talk about it.”

“Well, between you and Dmitri that makes two of you. No, I don’t care about ‘the Jesus question’. What I want to ask is, what was Christine’s role in all this?”

Taking a deep breath, Victoria debated internally, but concluded that there was no point in holding back. He knew almost everything else anyhow.

“A few years ago, I read a small mention in Archaeology of the discovery you made in Ethiopia. Of course I knew your theory was spot-on, and I knew the evidence you found was genuine. It was about me, after all. I also knew that if you got the community at large to accept it, Dmitri would see you as a threat to exposing our existence. He’s lashed out before, you see. Tutankhamen’s tomb contained a piece that referred to the Altunai. Nothing definitive, but something that may have been helpful to anyone who knew what to look for. You recall what became of Howard Carter and the rest of his party, right?”

Every key member of Carter’s legendary party—who’d been present when Tut’s tomb had been opened—was dead within a few years in highly suspicious ways. Except for Anathea Hermapolous, but that part of the story had obviously proved to be a clever fabrication. The superstitious delighted in blaming it on the curse placed on burial sites by the ancient priests.

As he nodded, she continued, “I couldn’t risk exposing myself either. Christine and Alex’s family have been members of The Order for centuries, and I have known their ancestors even before The Order was formally founded.”

“Why is this news to me?” Alex asked through a yawn.

“Christine didn’t know, or I’m sure she would have told you. Your parents hadn’t brought you in on the family’s secret membership in a clandestine society before they died either. If you go back far enough in anyone’s family tree, you’re bound to discover some secrets in its branches. So you’re descended from a famous bloodline; it isn’t that unique.”

“No, not at all.” Shep’s sarcastic tone made her smile. “Personally, I like to think my ancestors ruled the world, you know? Instead, when I looked into it a while ago, all I found out is that one of my uncles was a bank robber.”

Victoria choked the smoke from the pipe. If he only knew ... “Yes, well, I asked Christine to become a member of your research team. She was supposed to dissuade you from pursuing proof. Three months into the assignment, however, she called me to tell me that she’d fallen in love. She wanted to leave The Order and start a life with you. I warned her that she was putting herself at risk, but I left it up to her. I tried everything to get her back, if for no other reason than her own protection. In the end, we compromised.”

Stirred into interest, Alex leaned forward. Shep, too, scooted closer.

“What kind of compromise?” the professor asked.

“To try to protect her, to give both her and you a fighting chance if Dmitri ever made you targets, I bonded her.”

Alex coughed. “My sister was a proxy?”

Victoria nodded. “By definition, though all her work for me happened before the bond. I was trying to protect her the only way I could.” Her gaze softened and fell upon Shep. “Shep, I’m ashamed to admit it, but I doubted her when she told me she loved you. I looked into her thoughts, hoping to find some rationalization for her actions, some covert reason she was making an excuse to leave my service.”

His breath grew shallow. “And?”

Slowly, Victoria’s head swayed back and forth. “I found nothing, because with you, she was beyond thought. She wholly, completely, and utterly loved you.”

“And you swear you were only trying to protect her?” Shep asked. “You said she died in my place, what did you mean by that?”

She put down the pipe and flexed her fingers back, cracking each knuckle in turn. “The tomb you were excavating, it wasn’t just any tomb.”

Shep knew that much. For one, it wasn’t near other tombs. In fact, when he’d first excavated the site, he’d supposed it was a temple. Furthermore, the site definitely had been originally completed after Octavian’s conquest. A titular on what would have been the outmost wall of the structure bore the seal of Augustus, a name the first emperor of Rome adopted only after he’d taken over Egypt.

“I know it was made for someone who died around the same time as Cleopatra. I suspected it might have belonged to Caesarian, Cleopatra’s oldest child and son of Julius Caesar. It definitely belonged to a member of the royal family, but not anyone who died with any great manner of wealth or prestige. I was hoping to find evidence, but … Well, as you know, I abandoned the site before I could find any proof.”

Shep’s eyes went wide when he remembered that the person seated across from him had been intimately acquainted with Ptolemaic Alexandria. “Do you know whose tomb it was?” he asked.

Every outer demonstration of confidence fled Victoria’s face. Her cheeks stained red through her olive skin as she turned her gaze to the distance. “I do.”

“And?”

“And that’s the reason Dmitri came to kill you, Shep. You got too close to finding proof.”

At first, his face clouded with confusion. Then, as though a gust of wind cleared it, she saw his eyes go wide and his jaw drop. “That was Cleopatra’s tomb.”

“Bingo.” Victoria took up the pipe and inhaled the fragrant smoke, delighted with the way it burned her throat even if it didn’t relax her mind. “Octavian allowed us to build a small memorial to hold her and Marc Antony. The tomb was later sacked and most of it destroyed when Christianity took root in the city and the zealots went on a rampage against what they saw as heathen gods, and they knew that the last queen of Egypt thought of herself as Isis incarnate. You see, although I took ownership of my status as a goddess, I never ‘corrected’ what the Egyptians adopted as part of their religion, no matter what Dmitri thinks. I don’t know what became of their bodies. After Cleo died, I was too busy protecting the living Ptolemys to worry about the dead ones. I was able to convince Dmitri that you knew nothing that would give away anything.”

Alex, of course, brought up the last possible question she’d want to answer at the moment. “Are there still any Ptolemy?”

Instinctively, her eyes fell on Shep. “A few.”

Luckily, Shep didn’t notice. Instead, his mind raced in a different direction. “Were you thinking of killing me in Mexico?”

“When I almost kissed you?” she asked. He nodded. “No, Shep. I was just trying to sate your curiosity. One of The Order, Katherine, tried to contact you to canoodle you into ‘giving a guest lecture’ in England, but she said she only got your answering machine. You must have just left for the airport on your way to Mexico. I’ve been planning to keep you close leading up to the gate opening since Christine died. When Hector told me you were coming, I decided to plant the command in your brain to make your way back to the place you knew as Anathea’s house. But I also thought you’d be a lot more likely to chase me across the world if it might get you laid.”

His tea became a splash zone on the table top. Shep spluttered, trying to clear his lungs. “I’m not ...” Cough. “I didn’t … wasn’t going to …” Hack, hack.

She guffawed as she whacked his back. “Don’t kid yourself, you wanted to lay me flat the second you saw me in the terminal.”

Alex’s snore rose up from the table, giving them an excuse to steer away from the subject and making both of them smile. He’d managed to drift off again. Victoria tried to shift his hands to support his head, giving him a pillow of arms.

“Poor baby. I don’t know how he’s stayed awake this long. The Altunai blood he has now means he won’t need too much sleep, but even still …”

“So you don’t sleep either?” Shep asked. When her expression showed surprise, Shep continued, “It came up with Dmitri. I asked if he ever slept, and he said only for recreation.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “If you count nodding off after sex as recreation, then yes, I think that’s the only time he sleeps. As for me, I need an hour or two each day.”

Shep pulled the last drops of tea from his tulip-shaped glass. “Yeah, I usually get by on three or four myself. Now I guess I know one of the reasons Christine and I worked so well; she only slept a few hours a day, too. We used to joke it was like we were made for each other.”

The curious way Victoria looked at him put him off kilter.

“What?”

“Do you realize in all the time we’ve spent together, that’s the first time you said her name with a smile?” Her eyes cast up to the window, and to a column of dust-swirled light that beamed in its angle against the ceiling. “Almost time now. We should go.”

Shep rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the ache. “This gate thing, what’s going to happen? Without Dmitri, will the gate open?”

“No, and that’s the reason for my little display in London,” she answered. “I’m hoping he’s pissed off at me for rejecting him and so mad with rage that he’ll stay away out of spite. If it does open, I’ll reverse its polarity and seal it closed again. Or at least, I will if my theory proves true.”

“And you’ll use Cleopatra’s blood as the Vessel?”

She looked at him askew.

“Yes, in so many words.”

The cryptic answer was left hanging as Victoria turned to Alex and gave him a shove. His head fell off the table as his overly jade eyes snapped open. “Wakey, wakey, Mr. Cezanne. The world’s about to end, don’t you know?”

“Already?” He yawned and stretched. “Okay, let me just pay the—”

She stopped his words with two of her fingers over his mouth. “I’ll take care of it.”

Her life had been a patchwork of high-stakes drama and non-sequitur calm. She had never supposed the latter would see out the tail end of this day. As she drew a few Egyptian bills from her pocket, she reflected that the afternoon had passed in perhaps the best possible manner. It was hopelessly and utterly human.

Chapter 30

As night fell, Dmitri’s footsteps carried him to where his temple had once stood. More than one pharaoh had remade the site to beget his own legacy long after the Altunai had left. Preserving it through the centuries had been no simple task, but a necessary one. Luckily, no matter in to whose hands Egypt fell, money always spoke the native tongue.

As he sighted the ruins outside Memphis, Dmitri heard the amulet’s call. He halted, his mind opening up, searching the surroundings for other’s thoughts. He found only the distinct voices of Shep and Alexander Cezzane. As always, Tlalli kept herself hidden from him, but he concentrated on the chatter of the two men, and using his ability as proximity to Tlalli allowed, he ported. Dmitri reformed behind the remnants of an ancient pillar. In his mind’s eye, he could see it as it looked in the past … gleaming white and brilliant in the sunlight, holding the overhang of the roof that rose above it. In the present, he looked some twenty feet away and saw Shep, Alex, and Victoria seated on the ground, looking like they were waiting for the bus.

“How long are we waiting here?” Alex asked, kicking around bits of sand with his feet.

“Until we’re certain they are not coming,” Tlalli answered. He could hear more than a bit of annoyance in her voice, and wondered how long they had been sitting before the gate already.

“Is this the only time the gate is able to open?” Shep asked. “I mean, yeah, this is the night they were planning to return, but if it doesn’t open, then what? Do they just give up?”

So she had decided to be a martyr, and hadn’t told her lovers of her plan. He couldn’t allow it, not when he knew it was within his power to stop. Stepping out from his hiding place, Dmitri made his presence known. “Tlalli, don’t do this.”

All three of them scrambled to their feet, Shep and Alex taking a step back, and Tlalli boldly stepping forward.

“It’s my decision to make!” she insisted. “If I can stop this, I must.”

He dithered, putting his hands up in the international sign of “no harm intended”. Dmitri turned to the men with wide eyes and pounding hearts, who all but cowered in his presence. It was then that the truth hit him. If he were in their positions, and the woman he loved had suddenly came face-to-face with her biggest threat, he wouldn’t hesitate to put his own body between Tlalli and the source of danger. And he most certainly would not be standing in league with the man threatening to claim her heart.

Feeling as though he were suddenly buoyant, Dmitri broke into a laugh. “You lied!” he sung out. He took a few more steps in her direction, but she threw her hands up, demanding distance. Unable to contain himself, he rolled up on his toes and clapped. “You don’t love them, and you’ve never slept with them. You were just trying to piss me off, hoping I’d more than happily stay away and let you die, weren’t you?”

“Silence, you alien fool!” she shouted. In one hand, she clutched the amulet, petting the stone which had already started to glow. Tears pricked the corner of her eyes, confirming what he already suspected. “Leave! Go!”

Dmitri turned his attention to Shep and Alex, who he noticed for the first time held a statuette of Cleopatra in his hands. “Perhaps you gentlemen can assist me. It seems my wife is under the misguided notion that her death will somehow save humanity.”

All terror fled Alex, replaced with concern. “Vick, what is he talking about?”

“Nothing!” she insisted. “Remember, he’s one of them. He’s trying to trick you.”

Dmitri ignored her. “The High Council is not a fan of loose ends. We designed the system with a failsafe. If the gate does not open before the sun rises on the appointed day, the Vessel dies.”

Shep and Alex both rounded on her. “What?”

“It’s my sacrifice to make!” Victoria insisted. “If we open the gate, the Altunai will kill everyone. Better one should die than billions.”

“Wait,” Shep said. He turned his gaze to Dmitri, and the Guardian felt an ounce of victory at having won over the professor. “Why are they going to kill us?”

“Don’t you understand?” Victoria shouted out. “How does Dmitri feed? How do I feed? What do you think the Altunai have planned for this so-called colony of humanity?”

Dmitri watched as understanding turned the faces of the two men green. Alex even doubled over, as though the news had walloped him in the stomach.

Shep collapsed against the nearest pillar. “You mean … we’re cattle?”

“Yes!” Tlalli confirmed. “They use the Vessel, i.e. me, as a record. They’ll look at all of my memories to see what conditions humanity has gone through that might taint it. Any deemed not fit for consumption will be annihilated. Everyone else will be consumed over time. But if the gate doesn’t open, only I will die.”

“If the gate doesn’t open tonight, they’ll simply build a new gate,” Dmitri corrected. “Unless there’s been any developments while I’ve been away, they can have it ready in a month of Altunai time. At most, you’d buy humanity a few hundred years. Please, love. Isis favors me. If I talk with her, maybe I can convince her that this crop has failed.”

Tlalli glared at him like he’d just won the village idiot’s equivalent of the Miss Universe pageant. “Isis thinks you love her. The moment she looks in my memories and sees our history, any sway you have over her is gone. A woman scorned and such, Guardian.”

Dmitri’s hands slicked back his hair. “I can’t stand aside and watch you die. Please, Tlalli, we’ll find another way.”

“If we destroy the amulet, they will have no beacon to direct them here. That is the other way. I shouldn’t have put this off so long. I should have learned from your experience in Gethsemane that delaying the end doesn’t help anything. I’m sorry, but this is the way it must be.”

Shep jumped forward. “Wait, Gethsemane?”

Victoria glared in his direction. “No talking about the Jesus question.” Then, turning back to Dmitri, she blew him a kiss. “Goodbye.”

Dmitri dived, screaming, but she ported away, rematerializing out of his reach. Clutching the stone in her left hand, she raised it to the heavens, invoking the cosmos to her command. A thunderbolt rolled across the sky. Dmitri lunged, but she was too quick. Tlalli had called lightning and it answered her plea, arcing across the atmosphere to lick the catch of the amulet where its catch looped. In an instant, the electricity charged the beacon and bonded itself to his love’s body.

“No!” Dmitri reached her, but it was too late. She had taken the power of the amulet within, and it could not be taken back.

Alex and Shep were soon at her side.

“What the hell was that?” the acolyte asked.

With her eyes clenched shut, Tlalli shuddered. Dmitri knew that within, she was fighting for control. As Guardian, he had been through this ritual. Even he as a full-blooded Altunai had to muster all his self-discipline in order to master the power released into his body by the amulet.

Alex pushed three fingers into Dmitri’s shoulder. “What’s going on? What’s happening to her?”

“She consumed all of the amulet’s power.” Even he couldn’t believe she’d done it with without dying. “I don’t understand. Even with the power of two Altunai bonds, she’s still in essence a human. She won’t be able to take that much power for too long. It almost rips even me to pieces.”

He reached out to her with his mind, hoping she would both hear him, and choose to listen. “Why did you do that? The energy will kill you.”

He felt his pulse spike when she answered him back in his mind. “If I’m dead, we cannot use our bond to open the gate. At least this way humanity will be safe a little longer. Tell the Council the gate failed because of my insurrection. When they do find their way here, tell them I was to blame. By the time they arrive, everyone who knows the truth will have died, and Isis can’t use any human’s memory to discover how you loved me. Lie to Isis, tell her you love her. Survive.”

He placed his hands on her arms, willing her to look at him, but the pain was too much for her to focus. “Why are you so convinced I’m in danger? It is the Vessel who is executed, and I swear I won’t let that happen. I’ll find a way to save you.”

“You don’t understand,” she answered. “Ra set you up to fail. The night he stole me away from you, he told me that was my mission. I was supposed to tempt you, seduce you, and create a stockade of memories that would piss off Isis, so that you’d finally lose your influence over her. After the failure of the last colony under your watch, he wants an excuse that will convince his sister to get rid of you, once and for all.”

“Impossible.” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but the plot sounded too much like Ra for him to deny. “How could Ra have known I would fall for you, though? How would he know I’d fall so completely that I’d abandon my mission? You’re only a Vessel. Your influence isn’t strong enough to turn an Altunai heart by your will alone.”

“I’m not just the Vessel. I’m not merely human. He’s been planning this for a long time. I am born of an Altunai father and a human mother. Osiris, Ra is my father.”

Stones flew back and the nearby pillar shattered as Dmitri’s fist, driven by anger, drove forward. He wished he could feel the pain such a destruction should cause, but his fingers registered hardly more than an annoying sting. Suddenly, it all made sense: her beyond-normal abilities as a Vessel, her natural talent for turning people in her direction, her persistent ability to keep her mind shielded from his …

“Your mother?”

“One of his harem,” she informed him. “An Olmec he stole away to Altunatus, so that she could bear his child without the entrapment of immortality bonding would give her on Earth. And that’s why I can’t open the gate. Not only because they’ll harvest humanity, but because Ra lies in wait to destroy you. I’m sorry, I love you too much to let that happen.”

And then he was out. He felt his mind being evicted from hers, like the Great Wall of China had come down between them. He tried to force his way back in, but it was like trying to punch a hole through a steel wall with a toothpick. She was impenetrable. Her eyes were blackened over, an indication that she had tapped into Earth’s energy field. How the hell was he supposed to pierce through that?

As sweat started to glisten on Victoria’s brow, Alex grew restless. “What the hell do we do?”

“Listen, proxy, this is no time for hysterics.” He rose to his feet, knocking the dust off his pants with the backs of his hands. Turning to Alex, he strong-armed his shoulders and pushed him down to face Victoria. “You’re connected with her. Her blood is in your veins. I need you to get a hold on her mind. Right now, the amulet is hijacking her will, and she’s tapped into Earth’s energy. It’s not only going to kill her, but there’s a chance she’ll take us all out in the process. She could destroy this planet if her instincts kick in and she tries to defend her body from harm. You need to find her and help keep her mind separate from the energy long enough for me to piss her off.”

“Right. Wait, what?”

Dmitri smirked. “If she wants to kick my ass, she’s going to need to be rid of the power to do it. Am I guessing correctly that the statue in your hand is carrying Cleopatra’s blood?”

Alex looked with confusion to the figure he was white-knuckling, but Shep grabbed it from him and handed it over to Dmitri.

“Shep, what are you doing?” Alex called out.

Shep paid him no heed. “It does.”

Dmitri palmed the statue with one hand and waved over its surface with the opposite one. As though made of ice, the head of the stone edifice melted under his influence.

“Alex, if what I’m about to do doesn’t work at bringing her back, threaten to pour this into the ground, but only do it as a last resort.” Then, he turned to Shep. “I’m really sorry it comes down to this, Professor.”

“Sorry about wh—”

Shep stumbled back as Dmitri’s fist made contact with his lip. The pain bit through him, and the taste of blood on his tongue was instantaneous. Reaching to his injury, he pulled his hand away to find traces of the sanguineous liquid on his fingertips.

“What the hell?” Shep rose to his feet, eying Dmitri with venom.

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than another blow landed on his chin.

Oh, it was on.

Shep leapt forward, his hand reaching for Dmitri’s throat. Dmitri’s hands steepled as he pushed up through Shep’s hold, forcing his arms to circle out. Shep, quick to rise to the occasion, cocked back his fist and drove it forward. Dmitri lunged out of the way with little trouble, and the energy of the unconnected blow took Shep to the ground.

“Scream, yell. Fricking make a sound, God damn it!”

She had to hear him, had to feel that Shep was in danger. Love could distract a person from their own self-interest. If Victoria cared for this human in some way, she wasn’t about to sit back and let the God of the Afterlife take him. Alex would have been the more sensible target, but he needed that boy to draw her away from the energy that was surely starting to burn her soul. Dmitri had to get her attention, get her to pull away.

Dmitri’s taunt only fueled Shep’s fire more. He rolled over on his back, determined to make another pass. He was too late; Dmitri straddled him as he gave him a stiff uppercut.

“Screw you!” Shep barked. “I don’t want any part of this.”

Dmitri landed another hit, then another. “What the hell do I have to do to get you to react, human? Rip your arm off? Call out for her, you son of a bitch.”

Through a mouth full of blood, voice gurgling, Shep answered, “Why the hell would I call for Victoria?”

“Because you love her.” Which he knew wasn’t true, but also knew would get the professor more riled up and out of control.

Shep’s features became molten. “I love Christine, always, forever, and alone.”

A glint came to Dmitri’s eye as his head cocked to the side, taking in Shep’s defiance. Of course, that was the solution. If he could not get the professor to shout out to Victoria in desperation, perhaps he could coax him into screaming at her for another reason. “Do you know how your wife died?”

Through gritted teeth, Shep answered, “Yeah, you killed her.”

Dmitri hissed, leaning over and placing his hands on Shep’s forehead. “True, Shep. But that’s not the whole story.”

Shep blinked a few times as the vision born of his own eyes darkened and shifted, replaced by the illustrations filling his mind’s eye.

-Ψ-

Before him, Victoria stood shaking, her eyes terror-stricken and pleading. Her attire was modern, or at least, not too out-of-date. To his amazement, she spoke English in this memory.

“Please. She’s not even one of mine anymore. She left The Order. Spare this one.”

Dmitri shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. I’ve already shirked enough of my duties where you’re concerned, Tlalli. I’m determined to save you, and you’re determined to not let me. Your proxy is on the verge of discovering the truth. That tomb they’ve excavated, it holds too many secrets.”

“But, she already knows half of it!”

“True,” Dmitri conceded with a slow nod, “but she doesn’t have proof. I don’t want to, sweet, I really don’t. I tried to ignore it. It’s bad enough that Smyth is already going around shouting the truth he stumbled over. If the world knows Cleopatra was murdered, the next question becomes who killed her. I can’t have this traced back to us. Now, if you don’t want him to die, I must at least destroy her.”

Victoria slumped. “Grant me this favor, Osiris. Let me be with her when she dies. Just let me comfort her.”

He pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “Okay, love. I’ll give you that. But it must be done now.”

Victoria nodded, her face wet with tears. Their embrace tightened as a flash of light enveloped them. When the brightness faded, they were no longer alone. Across a small space in a chamber—a burial chamber— sat a brown-haired, fair-skinned young woman, staring at a sketch of the glyphs she had copied from the wall before her. The paper had folded over, and the alignment of the pictorials on the page spelled out a message that had been encoded and forgotten for nearly two millennia.

Dmitri slid back into the shadows, letting Victoria approach her alone.

“Christine.”

Shep’s heart seized. He understood suddenly what he was witnessing: his wife’s dying moments.

Christine looked up with a gasp, surprised to find she was not alone. When she saw who stood before her, she sneered at the forsaken goddess. “What do you want?”

“You can’t let Shep see that.” Victoria motioned to the paper in her hands.

“Why the hell not? I’m not betraying any secrets of The Order. It’s on this wall, plain as day. Well, coded a bit, but nonetheless. Says right here: ‘The line of the Pharaoh was stomped by Sekhmet’s Paw while Osiris covered her prints across the desert.’ You killed Cleo? You killed your own proxy, and then worked with Osiris to make it look like a suicide? All this time, you lied to us, lied to me. You told me becoming your proxy would help protect me, protect Shep, but you killed her.”

“Please, Christine, you don’t know the whole story. It’s not what it seems.”

“No more of your rationalization,” Christine returned, folding her arms. “Shep’s looked like a fool because of what he’s claimed, and this will prove he’s been right the whole time. I don’t care if this exposes you, The Order, or even the Altunai. I’ve watched the man I love suffer for too long. But you wouldn’t understand. The only person you’ve ever loved is yourself.”

Victoria’s eyes blackened. “I have loved beyond time and space, and I have lost and will lose far more because of it than you could ever imagine.” Through clenched teeth, she begged, “Please, Christine.”

“Go to hell, Victoria.”

Dmitri’s eyes began to dart around wildly as the earth beneath them began to shake. Sand from the desert floor above flowed into the pit, filling the spaces around their feet.

“Shep will know everything!” Christine hissed. “Your existence, your name, your true legacy. And most of all, how you killed her. Shep!”

Christine stumbled, barely able to stand. The earthquake made it difficult to move, and she fell to her knees. A voice of desperation was calling her name in the distance, and with a bitter tear Shep realized it was his own.

Victoria turned back, looking over her shoulder at Dmitri in the shadows. “Kill her,” she spoke into his mind.

“But Smyth ...” Dmitri tried to argue.

Victoria’s head whipped left to right violently. “He’s chasing paper tigers. Take my proxy, if you must, but leave him be.”

Stepping out of the shadows, he nodded, squaring up the trembling woman who had just noticed him.

“Oh, my God,” she mouthed, her lip quivering. Turning toward the entry, which was open to the sky at the top of the chamber, she screamed out, “It’s Osiris! Shep, it’s Osiris!”

She had barely gotten the last word out before the God of the Afterlife leapt forward, grabbed her, and spun her around.

“I tire of doing your dirty work,” he hissed to Victoria.

With a jerk, he placed a hand on Christine and ripped her life force from her. Sand was flowing from every direction. The carved wall beside them broke in two, chunks mixing in the rain of earth. Dmitri scowled at Victoria, ashamed of the emotionless expression. There was a flash. Everything went black.

-Ψ-

Dmitri’s face came into view as the vision faded.

Shep’s mind said fight, but his body said cave. And his heart ... his lonely, bitter, angry heart said cry. Osiris. She hadn’t been yelling “beside us,” she had been yelling “Osiris”. With her last words, Christine had told Shep the name of her murderer.

Dmitri cracked a satisfied grin when the tears fled from Shep’s eyes. It was just a matter of time before-

Never had a blow felt so good as when Shep’s fist connected with Dmitri’s jaw. A deafening war cry broke from Shep’s throat as his rage manifested in lashings and pelts. With a thrust of his hip, Dmitri was thrown aside as Shep made for Victoria with all the revenge of a lover wronged, of a husband denied, of a man stripped of his reason to live.

But, damn, Dmitri could move fast. In a split second, he had shifted and placed Shep in a head lock. The professor acted beyond rationality, reduced to a feral state. As he lashed about, he took Dmitri off his balance, throwing him into a stone pillar behind them.

“What’s the matter, Shep? Not man enough to avenge your own wife?” Dmitri taunted.

Shep became a wounded bull in pursuit.

Alex looked over Victoria’s shoulder at the ruckus, utterly confused as the men tossed about on the floor.

“Vick, you really need to pull out of this. They’re going to kill each other.”

“Must ... protect ... Shep.”

At first, Alex thought he had imagined it. From the corner of his eye, he saw no movement of her lips.

“What?”

Again the same statement, and this time he understood it was in his head. Victoria’s mind was connecting with his.

“Yeah, protect Shep,” Alex agreed. “But you’ll need to wake up to do that.”

“No!” she gasped aloud. “Can’t ... release … energy.”

Alex leapt up and ran to the scuffle. “Dmitri, she’s talking.”

The Guardian ported from under Shep’s fist and reformed next to Victoria. Pulling her into his arms, he leaned down to her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this. I won’t let you die.”

Both Alex and Shep dove for the safety of a pile of stones that had fallen when Dmitri broke the pillar, Alex with his palm pressed against the statue’s open neck, keeping the blood contained. The explosion that emanated from where Dmitri and Victoria’s body connected was made of light and heat, but both felt the blast push into them. When the corona of the blast had passed, they peered over the ledge and gasped. Basking in an orange glow, Victoria stood wrapped in glory. She stumbled back, pushing herself off Dmitri’s chest and examining her own luminescence with confusion. Shep forgot his rage for a moment and turned to Dmitri, a question on his lips, only to see that, just as Victoria was burning in reds and yellows, Dmitri was afire, cool flame of blues and greens crawling over his skin.

“No!” she cried out, whipping her head from side to side. “How could you?’

Shep inched toward Alex. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

Alex motioned vaguely between the two. “I think he ...” A surge of—physical light was the only way to describe it—formed in the space between the two so-called deities. “… drew the power out of her and opened the gate.”

One moment, there was nothing, and the next, two beings—one female and one male, apparently human though both Shep and Alex knew better—were standing amongst them.

Shep grunted as Alex forced his head down, avoiding the celestial beings’ gazes.

“What the hell, Alex?”

“Sorry, Shep,” he apologized, pointing at the two perfect specimens of beauty before them, “but when the royalty that holds your life in its hands appears before you, you should kneel.”

Chapter 31

Despite Alex’s attempts to keep him from it, Shep managed to look up. Tall, slender, ivory-skinned, and with hair so fair it was more translucent than blonde, the sibling Altunai approximated every clichéd image of angels, other than wings, Shep had seen in cathedrals from Madrid to Moscow. Though the venom with which they spat their words made it difficult to comprehend, the tongue sounded oddly Semitic to his ears.

Shep pulled on Alex’s sleeve. “Hide!”

“But …” Alex pointed vaguely to the brewing riot.

No sooner had they cleared the space and taken shelter behind a surviving pillar than the commotion started. Dmitri leapt forward and took Ra to the ground, pinning his shoulders under his legs and circling his hands around his adversary’s throat. Isis and Victoria turned circles and insults on each other. Ra retaliated with ease. Barely moving a muscle, the same flickering of bluish light crawled over his surface, gathered over the prince’s chest, and blasted Dmitri on to his back.

As Ra rose to his feet, he summoned his power on the outstretched palm of his hand, as though cocking back the trigger of a loaded pistol and taking aim. Dmitri rolled up unto the palms of his hands, though his body remained ground level. He turned and froze, looking death in the face. Knowing his advantage, Ra sneered and pulled back his hand, about to drive the energy forward, when Victoria threw herself over Dmitri, blocking him.

“So sure you want to do that, Ra?” she said, out of all things, in Ancient Egyptian. “You’re on my playground now, and I decide who gets to be in the game in these parts.”

Isis’s glare, equal parts of surprise, confusion, and bitter rage, narrowed. “Osiris, how can you allow your Vessel to speak to the prince this way? Have you taught her no manners?”

“Such arrogance!” Ra retorted, his lip curling in disgust as he looked at Victoria. “But what else can we expect from food.”

Victoria refused to yield. “We can start with this.”

She pulled back a hand and manifested fire. The ball of flame hit Ra square on the chest, throwing the prince backward. A second volley sped toward the queen, but Isis ducked out of the way.

“You arrogant Vessel!” Isis readied lightning on her fingers, pulling sparks down from the sky, before directing the volts at Victoria. She found her target, but Tlalli took the blow in silence. “You dare consider yourself our equal?”

“No, Your Highness, I know I’m not your equal. I’m better than that. I am Sekhmet, defender of this land, and wife to Osiris.”

Isis’s lightning lashed across the divide. “Whore human! Osiris loves only me!”

Struggling to her feet, Victoria leapt out of the path of danger. Perhaps the queen thought too little of her; the Vessel’s speed bested Isis’s efforts to track her down.

“Oh, come now, auntie!” Victoria landed a punch to the queen’s face before porting behind her, sweeping a kick to the back of her calves and bringing her down to her knees. “Didn’t Ra ever tell you I was his child? No? I’m guessing, then, that he also never told you that he asked me to seduce Osiris. You can look into my memories for proof, if you want. I mean, you’re going to anyway, right? Right before you off me and bring in the rest of your generals to start dividing the human race in to snack size portions?”

“Tlalli, stop!” This time, it was Dmitri who placed himself in the way.

The queen couldn’t see Dmitri’s face, but Shep could from where he sat. He saw the Lord of the Afterlife wink at the Vessel, and caught the momentary glance Dmitri pushed in his direction.

He pushed Victoria back and faced the queen, helping her to her feet, giving Victoria a momentary reprieve.

“You don’t need to look in her memories. My Queen, my loyalty and my heart have always been with you.”

It was then that Shep heard Victoria’s voice inside his head. “Be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Shep asked

“What?”

Shep hadn’t realized he’d asked the question aloud until Alex spoke. He pointed indicatively at Victoria, trying to somehow signal that she’d been “speaking” to him, but Alex didn’t follow. Which Shep suddenly realized, she didn’t mean for him to. When the Altunai had first spoke, it was in a tongue he didn’t recognize. Victoria had changed that, however. Why in the heat of everything going on would she make sure everything spoken was in a dead language that Shep spoke with near fluency?

“When I call for you, bring me Cleopatra’s blood. You, not Alex, understand?”

Passing glances between her brother and Dmitri, Isis seemed confused. After a moment of consideration, she pointed one of her elegant fingers toward a swirling, shimmering expanse of air that was the gate they had arrived from.

“Brother, return.” Isis lifted a hand to stroke down Dmitri’s cheek. “Your presence here is no longer required.”

“But, sister,” Ra stumbled. “Surely you don’t believe her. I may have taken of her body, but she is not my progeny—”

“She has our eyes!” Isis said, cutting him off. “And no Vessel has ever been able to harvest elements. I’m not surprised to learn of another of your bastard children, Ra, but the Vessel? And did you really think my beloved Osiris would betray me? Just because he tarried his time by using the Vessel for recreation doesn’t mean she owns his heart. I almost feel sorry that she’s deluded herself into thinking it. Killing her now will be more than a duty, it will be a kindness.”

Dmitri’s eyes turned cold as he turned back to Victoria. “Did you really think you meant anything to me? You’re beneath me. I am a god, and you are a common whore.”

Shep looked on in confusion as, with a quivering lip, Victoria rose to her feet. “But you told me … you told me you loved me.”

“You weren’t even that good of a lay, as you humans would say.” Dmitri laughed back. “Did you think that just because an Altunai was your father that you’d be anything more than a tool to me?”

Victoria turned, pulling herself along for several steps before falling to her knees. Shep felt Alex shift, trying to go to her, but he pulled him back, shaking his head.

Dmitri placed two hands on Isis’s shoulders, turning her about so her back was to Victoria. “My Queen, let me kiss you. It’s been far too long, and I want to show you how I feel.”

As Dmitri pressed his lips to Isis’s, Victoria’s wide eyes shot up, looking at Shep as he peeked around the edge of the pillar. “Now!”

Without time to explain, Shep grabbed the statuette from his brother-in-law’s hold, placed his hand over the shaft of the filled cylinder within, and bolted. Despite the fact the he could not remember ever having moved so fast in all his life, the scene around him seemed to unfold in slow motion. The professor rounded the pillar and caught sight of Isis going limp. A moment later, Dmitri pulled back, and he saw the queen fall to the ground, her wide, dead eyes fixing on the stars. Dmitri ported, as just behind Shep Alex chased. From the corner of his eye, a halo of light burst out when his brother-in-law was encircled by the God of the Afterlife, before the pair evaporated in to nothingness.

Shep wanted to stop, wanted to call out for Alex, but he’d already reached Victoria. She stretched out, and he fell forward, trying to maneuver the icon into her grasp as her arms erupted in to flame, licks of gold and orange light crawling over her. Victoria’s right hand wrapped around the statuette as Shep felt his body surrendering to the ground. He knew he’d be aching and maybe even injured, given the speed at which he’d be running. He smiled as she pulled the statuette in close, knowing he had succeeded at giving her what she needed to close the dock.

However, when he saw her whip the statue to the side and a sanguineous fan arc into the distance, he felt his stomach dropping away and his smile retreat. He faced the ground, preparing for it to assault him, when he felt Victoria squeeze his elbow and jerk him up into her arms.

“No, Shep, you’re my key.”

The world picked up tempo and then some. In a blink, Victoria turned to the gate and threw out an arm. Pressing herself to Shep, he felt a consummating rush of energy between them. Shep called out, he didn’t know if from pain or pleasure, and watched as Ra, who had been rushing toward them, stopped in his tracks and looked back over his shoulder in horror. When the gate melded with the air about it and flattened out of existence, becoming no more than a memory, she tightened her arms around him even more, closed her eyes, and ported.

The last thing Shep saw from the Altunai was an arrow of lightning emanating from Ra’s hands.

Chapter 32

Darth Vader was somewhere in the room. And possibly R2D2.

Someone was breathing through a straw. But unlike the polyphonic droid, Shep realized that the cadence of beeps were rhythmic, steady, normalized. It was a pulse. As he tried to sit up and heard the rhythm pick up tempo, he realized it was his pulse. He fell back against the bed and decided just to start with opening his eyes.

Light scorched his irises as his eyelids fluttered open. There was a residual burn in his gut and the taste of metal on his tongue. Worms were crawling up his nose and across his cheeks. Oxygen tubes, he realized, as he reached to his face. The heart monitor continued to measure the moments in dub-lub time.

His body was simultaneously numb and supersensitive. As his pupils adjusted, the blurry images sharpened. A hospital room, just as he suspected: floral print walls, plastic-curtained barriers hanging from tracks, a white loose stitch quilt over his body. Sterile. All in all, typical.

He tried to sit up, even though his head pounded harder with the effort. When he got to the halfway point, he froze as the pain shot through him. With a hiss, he surrendered back to the bed. A pulsing sensation just under his right pectoral made him aware of a sore ache. He drew a hand to the tender spot and found a bandage. Where is the call button? he thought as he glanced around his immediate vicinity. There, on a utility table next to his bed, he saw it. His hand stretched out, but the voice that rose up behind him made him stop.

“He’s awake!” Alex called out. A moment later, his brother-in-law had circled around the bed and dived atop him, hugging him. “Holy shit, Shep, I thought you were a goner for sure. When Victoria and you showed up back at the house, you look like you had just French kissed an electric eel.

The words made no sense. When they’d showed up? From where? “Huh?”

Alex withdrew, examining Shep at arm’s length. “Ra threw lightning at you. It touched you just a little bit, but lightning is lightning, you know. Victoria was a mess, she was convinced he’d killed you. Luckily, Dmitri convinced her the best thing was to get you to a hospital.”

“What about the gate? What about the Altunai?”

“You and Victoria were able to close the gate. She and Dmitri ported us out of there to protect us. Ra is trapped on our side, but we don’t know where he went to. Without the gate open and without a nearby Vessel to convert energy, he’s powerless. For now, anyway.”

“For now?” Shep repeated.

Alex nodded. “Dmitri says as soon as Ra feels like he’s found a human he can manipulate and trust, he’ll create his own proxy. For the moment, though, we’re safe.”

He supposed it was as good a turn of events as any of them could hope. “And Victoria, is she …”

“She’s in the waiting room. I told her you woke up, so she’s coming up.”

“Told her? How? You haven’t left the … Oh, yeah. The psychic thing, huh?”

Alex nodded. “She was right about one thing, it beats texting.”

“And after looking at the bills I’m bound to have from last week, saves us a lot of money.”

Dressed in a white gown, her hair arranged in an elegant bun atop her head, Victoria looked just as attractive as she had when he first saw her in the Veracruz airport a week ago. Only now that he knew the truth, he could see things about her that that day he was blind to. Like the wisdom she carried in her eyes, the way she always paused before answering a question, as though considering all her options before committing to speak.

“Thanks for letting me know, Alex. Dmitri’s jet is fueled up and waiting for you. When I get back to England, I’m meeting that girl finally. Do you understand?”

Alex leaned in, kissing Victoria on the cheek. “Yes, Mom,” he whined. “But seriously, now that you and Dmitri are back together, can you two play up the kissy face thing when you meet her? Monique says otherwise, but I think she’s convinced that you and I have something going on.”

A blushing smile spread over Victoria’s face. “Giving the way he’s treating me, you’ll be lucky if he stops with my face. Now go. You should get home just in time to spend Christmas Eve with her.”

Shep’s brother-in-law gave him one last handshake before grabbing a backpack off the chair by the door and dashing into the hall.

Victoria inspected Shep with a more critical survey. “How are you feeling?”

“Fried,” he grumbled.

Laughter wasn’t the reaction he expected. “Well, you were hit with lightning by a powerful ancient god only yesterday. Good thing we sealed the gate and ported out of there when we did, or you might be recovering in the morgue right now instead of intensive care.”

“Yeah, speaking of that. Last night, how did I—”

“You’re descended from Cleopatra,” Victoria said, cutting him off.

Shep’s jaw fell. “Excuse me?”

“You’re descended from Cleopatra,” Victoria repeated. “More importantly, you’re descended from the line of her daughter, Cleopatra Selene, who I took as proxy, and the Altunai bond has carried down through the centuries. In your case, that bond was reinforced when you consummated your marriage with my proxy, Christine.”

A queer thought entered his mind, remembering how they had once almost kissed. “Are we … related?”

“Not in the traditional sense, no,” she answered. “And even if we were, it would have been very distantly, so don’t think that kiss would have been, you know, incestuous.”

Synapses he never even knew he had fired faster than a jack rabbit on meth, trying to piece together the fragments. As he found focus and realized all that had happened the night before, another memory surfaced, one that did not make him happy about the fact that Victoria had come away from everything that happened unscathed.

The heart monitor measured out beats in allegro time as his ire rose. “Murderer.”

“No, Shep, I didn’t kill Christine. Dmitri did. And there’s a good reason I stood by and let him.”

“Speak of the devil ...”

The sound of Dmitri Kronastia’s voice made his blood boil. As the gangster impostor strode into the room, Victoria rose from the bed and fell into his arms. Like they were on autopilot, their lips met. With a sense of unfulfilled vengeance, Shep growled. Victoria and Dmitri exchanged a look full of dialogue. Their eyes darted around as, no doubt, they spoke within the confines of their own minds. After a moment, Victoria shook her head.

“He just woke up, I hadn’t told him yet.”

“Allow me?” Dmitri asked. “Could let me get back in good standing with him, don’t you think?”

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll wait outside. Shep, we’ll see each other again soon. I’m sure Anathea will be happy to see you now, if you’d still care to visit her. You’re on her select list of all-access researchers.”

With a wink to him and another kiss to Dmitri, she turned toward the exit.

“Victoria, wait!” Shep called. At the door, she paused and turned. “So, that’s it? You just admit you two conspired to kill my wife, and you walk away guilt-free? You’re not going to be sorry at all about Hector or Anton’s death? You’re just going to be happy-happy no matter how many lives it took?”

“I understand how you’d see things that way. I’ve lived a very long time, and there are many wrongs I can never make right. But I had to do everything I could to be certain Osiris survived. Otherwise, many of our debts could never be repaid.” Victoria exchanged a sympathetic smile with Dmitri. “I guess you’d be better at explaining that part. I’ll be outside.”

“Of course, love. I’ll be along directly.”

As they were left alone, Shep wanted to leap up, grab the IV pole next to his bed, and impale Dmitri while the getting was good. If it hadn’t been a dream, then the memory of what had happened to his Christine—and who had done it to her—was as real as it was raw.

“Come on, Shep, I’d port out before you could stumble to your feet.”

Realization dawned in him. “You’re reading my mind?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Without any trouble?”

Dmitri nodded. “As long as I’m within a few hundred feet of Victoria, I’m fully capable of using all my powers. It’s always been that way, which is why she’s avoided me. She didn’t trust me to use my abilities to benefit humanity. I think it’s safe to say that after what happened last night, she’s giving me the benefit of doubt. For now, anyway. Can we get to why I’m here now?”

“You’re here to kill me. No loose ends, isn’t that what you said?”

The ridiculous conclusion brought an amused smile to Dmitri’s face. “After all the time you spent in my company—safely, most of it, I might add—how could you think I was here to kill you?”

“Well, there’s the fact that you actually did kill my wife. You’re nothing more than—”

“The God of the Afterlife,” Dmitri interrupted.

“What?”

“Or the God of the Resurrection, if that’s the way you prefer to think about it. I’m here because I want to show you something. Here.”

Dmitri reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, leather-bound book, placing it in Shep’s weary grasp. The letters on the front cover, inked in gold, were a bit of a surprise.

“The Bible?” Dmitri nodded. “I thought you said you wouldn’t answer the Jesus question.”

Dmitri continued, “And I stand by that, but I’ve always been a fan of the religions of man. So vast in their interpretations, always seeking the answers to one universal question: how did we get here? One of my favorite passages from the Bible is Genesis 2:21. I wonder, will you read it aloud?”

Perplexed, Shep didn’t know what to do but comply. “And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof. Yeah, he created woman. I remember it from catechism. What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know if anyone ever told you all the effect bonding has. Back on Altunatus, the act requires a mental connection as … well, a physical action. You might call it mating. And when you mate to another, physical echoes of your bond manifest in certain parts of your body.” Dmitri’s hand came to rest on Shep’s midriff, running over the bandaged area. “Ribs, it turns out, are where the DNA of our bonds is the most concentrated. I know you, Shep. You’re a scientist at heart, you’ll want to know why. You’ll want to know how. I can’t explain it to you. You’re not ready. But in way of an apology for all that you’ve suffered, I hope you will accept the humble offering made to you by the God of the Resurrection.”

The last words were drowned out by the pounding of Shep’s heart. Dmitri stepped away and drew back the curtain that bisected the room and hid the identity of the patient in the neighboring bed.

She was sleeping, but she looked just as beautiful as he remembered her. Just as perfect. Just as alive.

“Oh my God.”

“I prefer Dmitri,” Dmitri returned with a wink. “Christine won’t remember her death. We thought it was best if she were to forget. The question is, can you let it go and just accept her as she is?”

Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Was he kidding? He’d give up anything to have her here. Even more ribs, if that’s what was asked of him.

In that moment, seeing Christine’s chest slowly rise and fall with each breath, Shep found himself saying something he never thought he’d say to Dmitri Kronastia. “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Shep.” Dmitri’s arm outstretched, and he presented a hand.

“And Hector?” Shep asked hopefully.

“Next on my list.”

-Ψ-

Shep stared at Christine for hours after Dmitri and Victoria left him alone. An hour after sunset, her eyes fluttered open. He wanted to leap off his bed, take her in his arms, and kiss her until dawn. At the same time, he didn’t want to scare her. Just because she wouldn’t have a memory of her death didn’t mean he could lie to her about the last three years.

“Hey, handsome.” Christine winced as her hands went to her temples. “Wow, I’ve such a headache. Feels like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck.” She hitched up on one elbow with a grunt and took in their surroundings. “Are we in a hospital? Shep, we’re in a hospital. And we’re both in hospital gowns. What happened?”

“You died.”

Her head whipped his direction. “What?”

“You’ve been dead for more than three years, but Osiris brought you back.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. A mouth he planned on keeping busy well into the night. “You know about Osiris?”

“And Victoria. And The Order. Christine, I know it all.”

She bit her lip as a wave of anxiety washed over her. “Do you know why I was sent to you?” He nodded. “Are you angry?”

“No, I don’t care. I don’t care what screwed up historical cover up brought you into my life. I don’t give a damn that you’re bonded to Victoria, either. The only thing that matters is your bond to me.”

She smiled at him. “Shep, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you. I couldn’t. I still don’t know why you were so important to her. But once I fell in love with you, I didn’t want you anywhere near The Order. I wanted you safe. I didn’t want Victoria Kent anywhere near you.”

“We are safe now,” Shep assured her. “Well, I am. You, however, are in a lot of trouble.”

Christine blanched. “What? Why?”

Gathering all his strength, Shep willed himself to sit up. He placed his sore feet on the cool tile floor and stood. “Because I haven’t made love to you in three years, and because we have a semi-private room all to ourselves, and all the time in the world.”

About the Author

Killian McRae would tell you that she is a rather boring lass, an authoress whose characters’ lives are so much more exciting than her own. She would be right. Sadly, this sarcastic lexophile leads a rather mundane existence in the San Francisco Bay Area. She once dreamed of being the female Indiana Jones, and to that end she earned a degree in Middle Eastern History from the University of Michigan. However, when she learned that real archaeologist spend more time lovingly removing dust with toothbrushes from shards of pottery than outrunning intriguing villains with exotic accents, she decided to become a writer instead. She writes across many genres, including science fiction, fantasy, romance, and historical fiction.

www.killianmcrae.com

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Other titles:

A Love by Any Measure

Have Gown, Will Wed

The Pure Souls Series
Pure & Sinful

Once You Go Demon

Coming in 2014:

The Devil You Know (Pure Souls)

Chapters

07.01.09

Prologue

12.15.12

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

12.16.12

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

12.17.12

Chapter 10

12.18.12

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

12.19.12

Chapter 18

12.20.12

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

08.12.30 BCE

Chapter 26

12.21.12

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

About the Author