Crescent Moon (17 page)

She glanced sideways. “Thank you for your concern, and for your belief.” She wrinkled her nose. “And thank you for the costume. I was not enamored of the idea of shopping again.”

“I made the arrangements, but the sheik provided the funds.”

“I haven’t tried it on. It might not fit.”

“It will fit.”

His smile invited her own, and she shook her head. “I believe you.”

As they neared Dr. Dorman’s offices, unease rippled through her. There were too many people here. Men with grim expressions wearing black suits. Justin was nowhere in sight.

Dr. Dorman’s bushy eyebrows were drawn into a tight, worried frown as he stood in front of his office door. He raised his hand to gesture to Mr. Haddara.

They slipped through the crowd, Khepri excruciatingly aware of the men’s interest in her. Mr. Haddara lifted her hand and put it in the crook of his arm, the first time they’d touched, something she knew wasn’t condoned in his own culture, but she was grateful. Somehow, the gesture reassured her, made her feel protected. She needed every bit of confidence she could scrape together, because danger stirred around her.

“They are demanding we call off the gala,” Dr. Dorman said as they drew near. “That we shut down the museum while they search every nook and cranny of the exhibit and the building.”

Mr. Haddara stiffened beside her and reached into his pocket. He drew out a phone, tapped the screen with his thumb, and then held it to his ear. “Skip the hotel. I need you here.”

His mouth was crimped when he met Dr. Dorman’s harried look. “The sheik is on his way. With an entourage. Introduce me to whomever is in charge.”

Dr. Dorman curled his fingers for them to follow him into his office.

Behind his desk sat a man with a bullish face, the precision of his haircut, the perfect cut of his dark suit, pointing at his unbending need for order.

Mr. Haddara approached the desk. “Before we begin making calls, we should wait for the sheik’s arrival. He has traveled far to be here.”

“I don’t care who he has in his pocket,” the bullish man said, “we’re shutting this place down.”

“And you are …?”

“Agent John Forrester with the FBI,” he said, his words clipped. “I’m in charge of this investigation now.” He lifted his chin toward the far corner of the room.

Khepri followed the movement to find Michael and Justin standing there. Michael gave her a small wave and tight smile. Justin’s expression was as dark as thunderclouds.

“The local PD’s taking a step back,” Agent Forrester said. “I’m heading up a joint team, FBI and ATF, to investigate the charges of smuggling and any related activity, including yesterday’s bombing.” His gaze swung and landed right on her.

Khepri sucked in a sharp breath. The last thing she needed was another complication. She had no doubt he meant to hold her for questioning, but she had other things to attend to, like getting ready for a battle—and a party.

The office door opened again, and Khepri wondered how many people could fit inside Dr. Dorman’s less than spacious office.

A portly, older man walked calmly inside, dressed much like Mr. Haddara had been when he’d retrieved her from the police station the day before. His red-and-white headdress looked a little messy atop his large head as he and several dark, sharp-eyed men dressed in dark but better-fitting suits filled the room.

The door closed. The sheik—she knew it was him by his regal carriage—looked down his nose at Agent Forrester. “Expect a call.” He gave him another sharp glance, then turned toward Mr. Haddara, his glance slipping downward again, to her. His harsh expression softened, and his dark eyes gleamed above his hawkish nose. Lifting a hand, he touched his heart, circled it in the air, and touched his forehead as he executed a bow.

“You shouldn’t,” she whispered, glancing toward Agent Forrester, whose glance was riveted on her now.

“Princess,” he said softly, but not so softly that everyone in the room hadn’t heard it, “May I escort you back to your hotel?”

Seated at a large, round dining table inside the sheik’s
suite, Juste ignored the steak in front of him. His belly boiled with
frustration and a sense of impending doom. “A princess?” he muttered. “Y’all couldn’t
have gone with somethin’ simpler?”

The sheik gave him a small smile. “How else could we free
her from the investigators? Plus it explains the heightened security around
me.”

“How’d you manage that cover?”

“Be reassured, detective. I am related to the Saudi royal
family. She is a cousin in my care while she attends university in Cairo. She
is studying archeology.” The older man shook his head. “They will find no flaws
in her documents.”

Juste glanced at Khepri, the first time he’d allowed himself
to do so since the sheik had spirited her away in his limo. Driving their
sedan, he and Michael were forced to take up the rear of the procession. He
supposed he should have been happy the sheik had insisted on him accompanying
the group back to his hotel. Otherwise, Juste might have wound up spending
hours upon hours being grilled by the FBI.

After the call from the State Department, Agent Forrester,
looking furious and frustrated, gave the sheik a curt nod and wished him a nice
visit to New Orleans.

Still, his men would be tightening up security for the gala
that night. Which was fine with Juste. Looked like they’d need all the extra
backup they could get—what with bombers and ancient kings crawling all over New
Orleans.

Khepri appeared to be taking the changes in stride,
regardless of the surrounding male tension. With her head held high, she’d
breezed out of the museum as composed as any true princess. Right now, she
smiled softly beneath the sheik’s attention.

“My dear,” the sheik said.

His tone was so reverent, Juste shifted in his seat. The
man’s respect made Juste feel slightly ashamed—he’d been all over Khepri’s
body, done things to her he knew the sheik would likely be appalled about.
Juste didn’t like thinking about her being what she really was. He’d much
rather she be a waitress or a teacher, anything other than someone who deserved
to be held in awe.

“I am your servant,” the sheik said, bowing his head.

“I don’t want servants, Sheik Fathy,” she said, leaning over
the table. “I need allies.”

“You have my backing. Whatever you need.”

She frowned. “I wish I knew what I needed. But thank you for
helping me escape that man. I’m not sure, but I feel as though tonight’s event
is important, that it will lure those I seek into the open.”

The sheik nodded. “I too read the spell inscribed on your
wrappings. This battle will call for more than guns, more than anything I can
provide you.”

“That backing you offered will protect me from any humans
who might have allied themselves with the nameless one. It is needed.”

Juste snorted, his fist wrinkling the edge of the
tablecloth. “I’ll be there too.”

“I know you will,” she said, her gaze lingering.

Her warm smile drew the sheik’s curious glance. That glance
went from her to Juste and stayed there, narrowing, until he drew a deep breath
and gave Juste a nod. “I will have my men report to you. You are her champion.”

Me, a champion?
Hell. Juste began to deny it, but
Khepri’s blinding smile stopped him.

“Champion is a word I understand and believe is well suited
for your role.”

A cough sounded beside him, and he sent a glare toward Mikey,
who hid a smile.

Juste sat up and glanced around the room at the small force
assembled there. Standing around the perimeter of the room were nearly a dozen
Middle Eastern men, all armed. “I don’t know about this reporting,” Juste
muttered. “Do they even speak English?”

“Fluently,” Haddara said, smiling slyly.

“How’d you get so many here?”

“They have been in the city for over a month.”

Inside, Juste went inside, his stomach cramping. Had they
been the men aboard the boat who’d scurried away, blending into the night while
his partner had lain bleeding on the dock? His chest grew tight; blood pounded
at his temples.

“They did not kill Bobby Guidry,” Haddara said quietly. “The
man you sought and who shot him was a crew member aboard the ship. Not one of
ours.”

Juste wanted to throw up, to bend over and empty his gut,
but his head felt ready to explode. “Were you there?”

“I remained with the shipment of artifacts, which arrived
only days ago, but the sheik’s men needed to be here, and ready. As soon as we
discovered the cave with the mummies, word leaked out about the find.” He
dipped his head for a moment, then looked up. “We don’t know how, precisely,
but then again, evil finds a way.”

“You know who Bobby was?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“I know many things, Juste Boucher. Anyone who comes into
Khepri’s vicinity will come under my scrutiny.”

Juste scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing aside the
emotional turmoil, and then stared at Khepri, whose golden eyes gleamed with
concern.

He shook his head. He had one goal. One mission. To keep her
safe. He’d have her back or die trying. “I’m okay. But we should get you back
to change for the evening.”

“Would she not be safer by remaining here?” the sheik
exclaimed, disappointment deepening the wrinkles on his forehead.

Khepri patted the old man’s hand. “I will be back in just a
little while. We will have plenty of time to talk.”

At the snap of his chubby fingers, his team trailed out of
the room.

Haddara pulled out Khepri’s chair and motioned for Mikey and
Juste to follow. “We will leave via the stairwell. We’ve taken care of clearing
it. There are no cameras. No one will know she has left the building.” He held
Juste’s stare. “I hope you do not mind that I already have men watching your
apartment.”

Juste nodded, understanding it wasn’t a matter of lack of
trust on Haddara’s part, but a matter of who had the better support. And the
sheik’s deep pockets apparently bought a lot of firepower. “Thank you.”

They headed out of the suite, straight for the stairwell.
Four flights down, they entered the garage.

As soon as they walked into the bare concrete structure,
Juste’s hackles rose. Something didn’t smell right. Literally. He scanned the
structure. “Khepri?” he said, pulling up next to her.

“I smell it.”

Pond water mixed with rotten eggs was the only description
that came to mind, and he thought about the crocodile. “This your friend,
So-bic?”

“No, it’s her…”

Before he had a chance to ask who she meant, he spotted the
cars—the limo and his own sedan—careening around the corner. A horrible
thudding sounded above the squeal of tires. The weight of whatever it was
behind them could be felt in the soles of his shoes.

One by one, bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling popped.

Juste drew his weapon and shoved her behind him, but he felt
her slip sideways, around him, her hand gliding across his back. “Shit.”

The cars stopped and the doors popped open. Something
slammed against the sedan, strongly enough the back tires shifted sideways.

“Get in,” Haddara shouted, holding open a limo door, but
Juste couldn’t.

Khepri ran to the sedan, passed it, and raised her arms. She
held something in her palm that gleamed around the edges. “Show yourself!” she
shouted and threw what she held. A bright ball of fire spiraled into the air,
exploding against something ten feet off the ground.

For just a second, the outline of a body showed—a creature
on four legs with a long snout, a burly upper torso, a heavy mane atop its
shoulders, and a thicker, hairless lower torso.

Juste stared, trying to figure out what he was seeing, when
its snout lowered and again lifted the back end of the sedan.

Khepri hurled another fireball, and then another.

Juste took aim at the creature, targeted the chest, and
pulled the trigger. The creature screamed and writhed, a high-pitched sound so
loud it nearly shattered his eardrums.

The next fireball caught the creature as it leveled a stare
at Khepri, who stood with another ball balanced on her palm. The creature swung
away and ran toward the exit of the garage, moving out of range of the waning
light that dissipated as the flame died slowly on her palm.

Juste grabbed her around the waist and tossed her inside the
sedan, following her in and hunching over her figure on the floorboard of the
car. “Go, go, go!”

They left through another exit, Haddara in the front seat
beside the driver, Mikey at the far side, both staring at the streets, looking
for anything that appeared out of place.

Juste picked up Khepri’s hand and held it up to the overhead
lamp. “Not a single blister. That’s some trick.”

Khepri’s fingers curled into a fist. “She gave up too
easily.”

Haddara glanced back, his brows lowered. “Perhaps she was
only testing us. Testing you.”

“Testing my limits. I need a new weapon. Slinging fire won’t
impress her again.”

“Who is she?” Juste asked. At Khepri’s shiver, Juste’s
stomach dropped. A crocodile hadn’t fazed her, but this creature did.

“She is the Devourer of Souls. Ammit. Pharaoh summoned her
and loosed her on the city.”

“To do his bidding,” Haddara added, his voice faint. “I
don’t think she has followed us.”

“Pharaoh is blinded with power,” Khepri said with a shake of
her head. “He cannot control her. She used him as surely as he hoped to use
her. Her goal has been achieved. She escaped the
Duat
.”

Juste pulled her up from the floorboard and tucked her
against his side on the seat. He glanced through the window at the city
blurring past. “So-bic and your husband, they’ve come across—why would she need
your pharaoh to summon her?”

“She was cursed for an eternity. Never to see the sun. She,
who was once the goddess of the desert of Amenta—the Nile’s west bank, or at
least its otherworldly west bank. Once trapped in darkness in the
Duat
,
her appetites were uncontrollable. The gods served her the hearts of those who
deserved no rest in death, hoping to appease her—an endless bounty of
suffering, and still, she was unsatisfied.”

“That’s what death’s like? Monsters like that?”

Khepri angled her head to gaze at him. “Did you think it was
only angels with fluffy wings?”

“Hell is…changeable,” Haddara said. “Someone whose heart
isn’t righteous shall find monsters, but those of their own traditions.”

Juste ran a hand over his face. “I’m not Egyptian, but I saw
something that had a crocodile head and a mane.”

Khepri gave another crisp nod. “There are regions of the
underworld, just as there are regions in this dimension.” A slim hand waved in
front of her body to assist her explanation.

“So that thing, your Ammit, escaped from a bad place that
only people in the Middle East would encounter in death?”

“Simply put,” she said, “but nearly the truth.”

“Good enough. How do we send the bitch back?”

“She must die.”

Yeah, right. How could that work?
“She’s a god.”

“Even gods can be killed.”

“Do we need some special weapon, like Superman’s
kryptonite?”

Haddara’s gaze went to Khepri.

Juste stiffened and tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Oh
hell, no.”

Khepri snuggled deeper against his side. “I will review the
talismans. Perhaps, Mr. Haddara, you would stay to help me decide what will
serve me best?”

Haddara smiled, steepled his fingers, and bent his head.
“Detective, will you be attending in costume?”

Nope.
Like that would ever happen.

“I can make arrangements to have something suitable
delivered.”

“No thanks. I have a tux.” Juste checked outside the window
again.

Mikey’s head jerked his way. “Seriously? I only planned on
wearing a dark suit.”

“It’s not necessary to dress formally, but I imagine you
want to be seen as a suitable escort for the princess…?”

“Yeah, she’ll stay on my arm.” Although he preferred her to
be plastered to his side.

Her body stiffened. “And I have nothing to say about the
arrangements?”

Surprise jerked back his head. “You don’t want to go with
me?”

“I don’t need to hang on your arm.” She edged away and
turned to meet his gaze. “In fact, I prefer to keep my hands and arms free to
fight.”

“Where are you gonna hide weapons?” he asked, arching a
brow.

She frowned.

“If you’re on my arm, you only have to slide your hand
inside my pockets…”

He hadn’t meant to growl that last bit, but the flare of
desire in her eyes was gratifying. They might have to wait to be alone until
later that night, but she was still interested. All this talk of gods and
princesses and shadowy realms hadn’t caused her to rethink what the hell she
was doing with him.

“I will fill your pockets with what I cannot carry or wear.”

Haddara chuckled and pulled a long jewelry box from a deep
pocket in his jacket. “This is from the sheik’s collection. Something very old
and reputed to be made of lapis pieces from a tomb in the Valley of the Kings.
A certain ankh would look lovely hanging from this chain.”

Khepri took the slender box and opened it. Inside lay a
necklace fashioned from small blue beads strung together with gold wire. “The
ankh will look lovely with this. Thank you. However, if it is precious, does he
not worry it might come to harm?”

“The sheik is more concerned that the necklace serve one
worthy of wearing it.”

Khepri settled back in the seat with both hands closed
around the box. Silence fell around the inhabitants of the car.

Juste felt as though the air inside was as dense as a
blanket, weighing against his chest. He didn’t like feeling as though they were
preparing to do battle, because for once, he cared about the outcome. They
couldn’t lose, because if they did, Khepri would die.