Anubis Nights (8 page)

“So we should play the god card to see if we can outfit ourselves for the journey?”

“Works for me. Besides, we’ll be the only people in the twenty-first century who can legitimately say they got to have dinner with King Tut.”

Kelly frowned and stretched out on the bed. “All right. I think it’s nap time.”

“You’re tired?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound quite so concerned, but based on her dirty look, I failed. I held up my hands. “Sorry. It’s cool. I’m going to check out the palace.”

“Don’t get into any trouble.”

“Like I ever get into trouble,” I said and left the room before she could throw something at me.

RAYNA NOBLE

Rayna spent the afternoon lining up a hotel room, settling on the Aberdeen because they allowed unaccompanied women. That would never have been an issue in the twenty-first century, but in the Roaring Twenties, it was unusual, and she’d been turned away at two hotels before one of the clerks told her to go to the Aberdeen. She bought some necessities and dropped them off in her room. She wasn’t sure how to go about finding Henry Winslow. She didn’t even know for sure he’d be in the city. For all she knew, he was in San Francisco or Paris, France. It wasn’t as if he’d take out an ad in the paper to give out his address. The guy had just died, so would he really advertise the fact that he was alive again? What if he decided to lay low? How did Jonathan find missing people? They’d never really discussed how he did his job.

That made her think about him. She missed him already.

She considered what Chronos and Sharon had told them. She would be alone here for however long it took for Jonathan to dispatch Winslow in 1323 BCE and again in 1877. She didn’t know if their relationship was strong enough to withstand a long separation if it took years for Jonathan to get here. She hoped it wouldn’t take that long. She also thought about the way Kelly looked at Jonathan. Maybe she was imagining things. Jonathan didn’t see Kelly that way, so she really had nothing to worry about. She just wished he would get here sooner rather than later.

After dropping off her purchases in her room, she went downstairs and looked for the hotel bar. Then she remembered Prohibition was in effect, so there wouldn’t be any hotel bars, at least not officially. She remembered reading that the government actively poisoned illegal alcohol, which killed a number of citizens during the twenties. She wanted a drink, which meant she’d need to find a speakeasy. She approached the concierge, a man in his mid-twenties with slicked-back dark hair. He saw her moving toward him and gave her a smile.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is there something I can do for you?”

She nodded, gave him a shy grin, and leaned close, putting her hand on his arm as she whispered in his ear, “Do you know where a lady can get a drink around here?”

He glanced down at her hand, saw a folded twenty dollar bill peeking out from under her fingers. She slid her hand up his arm then tucked the twenty into his breast pocket behind the handkerchief. His eyes went wide for a moment and she realized she could have used a smaller denomination.

He winked at her, looked around, then leaned close. “There’s a joint called Sully’s two blocks north on Lexington. You’ll see some stairs going down. Knock on the door and tell them Buffalo Bill sent you.” He handed her a card with an address printed on it.

“Thanks, Bill.”

He smiled. “Buffalo Bill is the password to get in. If you need anything else, you let me know.”

“I will. Thanks again.”

Lexington was a short block over. Then she walked two long blocks north, looking for the address. She saw a number of places that looked as if they could be speakeasies, though. For a moment she felt silly for bribing the concierge and irritated that he told her to walk a few blocks when there was probably a good place on every block.

Oh well. She had the feeling of being watched, but she knew it was just nerves. She didn’t know anyone here, and nobody knew her. She glanced behind her and saw people on the sidewalk but nobody who looked potentially threatening. The feeling faded and she continued down the street. She saw the steps Charlie had mentioned, went down, and knocked on the door.

A grate slid open at eye level, and a man looked out at her. The sound of smooth jazz spilled onto the street. “I don’t know you.”

“Buffalo Bill sent me.”

“Step back.”

For a split second, she thought the man wanted to get a better look at her, but the door swung outward. “Come on in.”

“Thank you,” Rayna said as she walked past the man into a smoky club. A jazz band played at the back, tables lined the floor, and the bar stood off to the left. She noticed that all the patrons were white, but the musicians were black. The place was packed. Men clad in nice suits chatted with women in flapper dresses. Some of the women wore long gloves and smoked cigarettes while they laughed at whatever mildly witty remarks the men buying them drinks happened to make.

Rayna moved through the crowd toward the bar. There weren’t any open stools, but she managed to squeeze between two couples. When she finally got the bartender’s attention, she said, “Whiskey.”

“One panther sweat coming up,” the bartender said.

She placed a bill on the counter as he filled her glass. He slid it to her, snatched up the bill, and placed her change before her. She slid a tip his way, took her drink, and moved into the crowd, looking for a place to sit. A few older men entered the club, but she ignored them.

A middle-aged man with a knife scar on his cheek placed himself in front of her as she tried to move toward the back.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Hey, doll,” he said. “You lost?”

“I’m looking for someone.”

“You found someone.” He grabbed her and tried to pull her close, but she’d dealt with so many men like him, she reacted without even thinking about it.

She grabbed his crotch, dug her fingernails into the soft flesh beneath the material. “Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape,” she said.

He winced in pain and released her.

“Touch me again, and I’ll tear them off and feed them to you,” she said.

She let go of him and moved past in search of a seat. The man watched her go. He gently rubbed his crotch. “Crazy dame,” he said, and returned to his table.

Rayna couldn’t find a seat, so she leaned against the wall, sipped her whiskey, and listened to the band play. She looked around at the people dancing, talking, drinking, smoking, and having a good time. Each time she saw a smiling couple, she thought of Jonathan and how much she missed him already. In the middle of a crowded bar, she felt more lonely than ever. She faced an impossible task. She didn’t know anyone. She didn’t know the city. She wasn’t cut out for this. After all, back home, if she wanted to find someone, she’d have simply hired a private investigator like Jonathan.

“Well, duh,” she said.

She finished her drink, moved back through the crowd, set her empty glass on the bar, and headed for the exit. She felt like laughing at herself, but at least she had a plan.

Her admirer moved to follow her, but an old man stepped into his way.

“Move it, old timer.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Uncle Albert,” the old man said.

“I ain’t your uncle.”

The old man grinned. “And I’m not Paul McCartney,” he said and shambled off.

By the time Rayna’s damn dirty ape reached the door and burst onto the sidewalk, she was gone.

BRAND EASTON

The guards made their rounds in the morning, and as soon as the guard peeked into the room, Brand gave him a wave.

“How’s it hanging?” Brand asked from where he sat on the cot.

Joseph was passed out on the floor, his breathing irregular and bubbly through the tightly rolled bloody dollar bill. The guard looked from Brand to Joseph then back up to Brand.

“Who in the name of Sam Hill are you?”

“You don’t need to know my name, but you do need to get Joseph here to a doctor, and you need to let me out of here because I was just visiting.”

“How did you get in here?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“Okay, I jumped through a time vortex from the twenty-first century and landed in this cell with a dumb-ass psycho killer who mistakenly thought he was higher up on the food chain than me.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

“That’s all right,” Brand said. “I can convince you with ten greenbacks. They all have pictures of Alexander Hamilton on them. You do take United States notes, right?”

The guard watched as Brand reached into his pack and pulled out ten slightly crumpled twenty-dollar notes with a profile of Hamilton and a red scalloped seal.

“I don’t know.”

“Let me put it another way. If you take the two hundred dollars, I disappear, and you don’t have to explain how I managed to get into a locked prison cell without anyone noticing me.”

“What about Joseph?”

“He cut himself shaving.”

“I’ll come up with something better. Maybe he tried to kill himself.”

“And there you have it. Do we have an agreement?”

The guard nodded.

Brand rose from the cot, walked over, and held up the cash.

“Pass it through,” the guard said.

“Open the door. Then I’ll hand it to you.”

“Don’t try anything funny.”

Brand laughed. “I just want to go buy a nice breakfast somewhere.”

The guard hesitated.

“Joseph does need to see a doctor sometime today,” Brand said. “Or you could pull the tube out and let him die. Your call.”

The guard sighed. “All right.” He pulled his ring of keys, fumbled through them, and inserted one into the lock. He swung the door open, and Brand stepped out of the cell.

“Thanks,” Brand said and handed him the two hundred dollars. “You have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Brand strode down the corridor past rows and rows of cells, ignoring the prisoners inside. He hesitated at a juncture but figured if he went left, he’d eventually find an exit. The clomping of his boots echoed as he moved along the hallway. A few minutes later, he found the exit. There were offices and a guard at a station, but Brand simply tipped his hat to the guard as he passed, acting as if he belonged there, and stepped out onto the street into 1877 New York City.

The smell outside was almost as foul as the smell inside. Brand shrugged. He’d smelled worse in his day. He tugged his jacket tighter against the cold wind and went in search of breakfast. While he was surprised he hadn’t seen Esther yet, he figured she’d appear soon. Regardless, he knew he’d spend the rest of the day getting ready to begin the hunt for Winslow. That meant buying a gun, getting a room, and buying a ticket to San Francisco before doing the legwork to find Winslow’s future mother. Brand shook his head. Whoever let Winslow read Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex should have been shot.

KELLY CHAN

From the moment we appeared in Egypt, I felt nauseated, but I knew better than to let Jonathan see that. I needed him to believe I was as strong and stalwart as ever, so I soldiered through, but by the time the wizard Aye showed us the bedroom, I was struggling to keep anything in my stomach. I didn’t know if it was the time travel or the shots, but either way, I felt terrible.

As soon as Jonathan left the room, I rushed into the latrine and vomited.

I dropped to my knees and tried to control my breathing.

My head spun but I didn’t want to pass out in the bathroom. I struggled to my feet, felt my stomach flip again, and had to let go with another round of vomiting into the latrine. I tipped my head back, closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When I opened my eyes, the room spun on me, and I put a hand out to brace myself against one of the privacy walls. I doubled over, breathing like a pregnant woman doing Lamaze thousands of years before it was developed. I wasn’t pregnant but I was sick.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been sick. Probably when I was twelve, going through Sekutar training before they’d magically engineered our pain away. I’d failed in holding a stance for fifteen hours, so the instructor took away my food ration for a week. I got water but nothing else. After six days of intense physical training without any food and very little sleep, my body gave out on me and I collapsed. They were forced to feed me then, but that just meant they found more creative ways to punish me.

Not that I cared about that these days. After all, the torture and the training and the suffering made me into the woman I am today, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.

The damage I’d suffered at the claws and teeth of a destroyer back in April seemed to be hanging on. The healers had done their best, but their best just wasn’t good enough, and now I wondered if my best would be good enough.

When the world finally settled down, I staggered back to the bedroom, collapsed on the bed, and passed out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JONATHAN SHADE

Kelly put on a good show, but I knew she was wiped out. I wanted to help somehow, but she prided herself on being strong, capable, and self-sufficient. One thing I’ve learned in my years of dealing with things that go bump in the night and the violence that seems to rain on my parade all the damn time is that we all need friends. We need to belong to a group. It’s just how humans are wired. My group was mostly Kelly, Brand, Esther, and Rayna at the moment, with a bunch of friends on the outer circle who sometimes helped or needed help. Loners are aberrations and they tend to not live long once life starts punching them in the face.

I knew Kelly needed some privacy so she could either rest or pull herself together, and I was happy to give it to her, but I suspected this was a deeper problem, and I hoped she’d let me help. For the time being, I wandered around the complex, which consisted of a number of buildings within the enclosing wall. We were staying in one of the suites in the royal residence. There were other private rooms in that residence, each with its own courtyard and pool and portico. I didn’t enter Tut’s private residence. However, I did walk past a harem. I wasn’t sure if Tut partook, but there were some mighty attractive women in those rooms, and I suspected some of the higher-ups might help themselves occasionally. Seeing those women sure made me miss Rayna. I hoped she was all right.