Crescent Moon (18 page)

Unlike the last time she’d worn a similar garment, this time
Khepri wore undergarments beneath her thin
kalasiris
. The linen was a
pale gold and matched perfectly the lapis-and-gold necklace. She’d polished the
gold ankh pendant and fit the necklace through the top of the ankh. The heavy
metal amulet lay flat against her chest and warmed to her skin, providing her
with a feeling of comfort. Something she needed right about now.

Checking the cosmetics she’d carefully applied to her face,
she fluffed her hair and then let herself out of the bathroom.

In the living room, the three men who waited—Justin, Michael,
and Mr. Haddara—rose from where they’d been seated, all appearing relieved to
have her join them. She wondered how awkward the conversation had been while
she’d dressed.

Justin had changed as well, donning a black jacket and
slacks, a small silk accessory tied around his neck, a bowtie, she recognized,
happy the word came with barely a thought. She was adjusting to having words
for things she’d never seen before appear magically in her mind. “I hope I
didn’t keep you too long.”

“Not at all,” Mr. Haddara said, bowing slightly. “You look
lovely.”

Justin cleared his throat and glanced her way; his smile was
tight. “Yes, you look…great.”

She grinned at his discomfort. Did he resent that another
man had provided her clothing?

Mr. Haddara pointed toward the dining room table, where her
wrappings and amulets still stretched across the surface. “The ankh is
universal protection. Is there anything else that would give you comfort to
bring along?”

Comfort?
The vizier had seemed to think she would
need them when she did battle, but she was beginning to think they were props
for her self-confidence. She hadn’t held a single amulet in her hand when she’d
tossed fire at Ammit. And where would she hide another? The ankh served as
jewelry. She fingered the blade of the dagger she’d held in her hand for
millennia, traced the carvings on the hilt, crude symbols the vizier had no
doubt scratched, because again, the sketch spoke of the bearer doing battle
with the beast.

“I have something you might be able to hide it beneath your
dress,” Justin murmured, disappearing down the hallway for a moment before
returning with straps. “I’ll wrap this around your thigh. The Velcro makes it
adjustable.”

“Velcro” meant nothing, but as he knelt and tapped his
thigh, she gave him her sandaled foot and gasped as his hands glided up her leg
and wrapped the rigging around her thigh. She gripped his shoulders as he
worked, cheeks burning because the other two gentlemen hadn’t looked away as
Justin’s hands disappeared up her skirt.

When the straps were snug, he held out his hand.

She handed him the dagger, which he secured.

After placing her foot on the ground, he rose. “Walk. Let’s
see if it’s detectable.”

She took several steps, but the fabric billowed away from
her thigh, not snagging on the slender weapon. “This will do nicely,” she said.

“The incantation,” Mr. Haddara said, pointing to her
wrappings. “Some of this might be helpful tonight.”

“Of course,” she said, drawing close to the table.

“What does it say?” Justin asked. “You never did tell me.”

Khepri frowned. Looking at the symbols reminded her of the
sound of the vizier’s tapered rush, scratching across her resin-hardened
wrappings. But she guessed she wouldn’t be plagued with that memory for long.
Breathing deeply, she said, “It begins,
Khepri, ushabti to the nameless one,
beloved of Amun…
” Khepri gave him a small smile. “Sometimes of late, I
forget,” she said softly.

He must have understood her because his hand brushed her
arm. “The useful parts.”

She drew a deep breath. “It says that should the nameless
one awaken, he will be reborn with the same drives, the same needs. His nature
will reveal him to me.”

“Not exactly a description I can hand along to the security
team. But you’ll know him?”

“I will see him as he truly is; however, he might try to
hide. And remember, my appearance has not changed.” A hand circled her face.
“His will be similar. Although I have never seen him, his skin tone will be
like mine or Mr. Haddara’s—and not as dark, and his features not as pronounced,
as the bomber’s was.”

“Ancient Egyptians were more Mediterranean in appearance,”
Mr. Haddara said, his gaze moving between the American men, “their noses less
hawkish, their skin tone closer to modern Israelis, I would assume. The influx
of Persians into the region changed our features.”

“Thanks for the history lesson,” Justin muttered. “There’s
more?”

“Yes.” She traced the dingy brown symbols. “A warrior will
arise, one pure of heart and spirit, mated to the wind—that would be Amun, he
is god of the winds—and mistress of fire.” She shrugged and rested her
fingertips on the edge of the table. “I only played with fire. I lit candles or
fire pits with my fingers, but nothing like what happened back at the hotel.
How did he know? When I first read it, I thought the vizier was taking poetic
license.”

“Is there anything helpful?” Justin asked, raising a brow.

She scanned the rest. “I don’t know. Something about
severing his connection to the one who serves him, but it doesn’t say how. And
then, a warning at the end about delivering him back to the
Duat
, his
body and soul intact, so that he may be judged, and hopefully sentenced to
reside in the fire lake—”

“Delivering him back?” Justin’s brows lowered. “And who the
hell is supposed to do that?”

Moisture welled in her eyes, and she was careful not to let
Justin see, her gaze swinging to Mr. Haddara, who could read the symbols as
well as she could. “This is my quest,” she said, her voice thickening. “My duty
to perform.”

Justin’s hand wrapped around her bare upper arm. “Like
hell.”

She blinked away the tears and raised her chin, locking with
his gaze. “I’ve always known I was meant to do battle, that I would likely not
survive. There are rules…”

“Fuck rules, and if there’s somethin’ I know about rules,
there’s always a loophole.”

With a gentle caress, she cupped her hand over his fingers.
“You will bruise me. Then I will have to find something else to wear.”

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Let me do my job. Tonight, he might
not even show. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble where there might not be any at
all.”

She smiled and nodded, although deep inside, she knew there
would be no reprieve, no tomorrow. Not for her. Lifting her hand, she flattened
her palm against the side of his face. “I am happy we had this time. I will
hope for more.”

A voice cleared behind them, and Khepri glanced over her
shoulder.

Michael pointed at his watch. “We really have to go, or
we’ll be more than fashionably late. Don’t want Maines sendin’ anyone to find
us.”

Mr. Haddara’s features were set, his smile tight, but he
gave a slight bow and waved an arm toward the door. “After you, my dear.”

“I thought the custom was that the woman follows,” she said,
laughing lightly.

“You are quickly adapting to this new world.”

“I have, haven’t I?” Feeling calm, the ankh warming her skin
and the presence of her protectors giving her a sense of belonging and
acceptance, she waited as Michael opened the door and bent his arm to escort
her down the steps to the waiting vehicle.

Outside, heat pressed against her, so heavy she had to
remind herself to breathe. Thankful for the thin, breathable linen she wore,
she glanced toward the darkening sky. The moon was full and looked so large she
had the whimsical thought that if she reached up, her fingers would skim its
surface. When they were seated in the back of the car, she kept her gaze on the
moon through the window. “Khonsu is the moon god,” she said, talking because
she needed to say something, but didn’t want it to be terribly important.
“Amun’s son by his goddess wife, Mut.”

“So Amun wasn’t faithful?” Justin said, his lips curving.

He was teasing her. She liked that he was trying to ease her
nerves. “Gods are not expected to be faithful. They are immortal—”

“For the most part,” Mr. Haddara said, grinning from the
seat across from her.

She nodded. “Yes, another god can kill them. Anyway, I feel
comfort that the moon is out. Khonsu protects travelers at night. And with my
connection to his father, I have hope he will give me special attention.”

“Have you met him, this moon god?” Justin asked.

He said it like he really believed she might have. Khepri
smiled her approval. “Just as I have no memory of his father, I also cannot say
whether I met his son in the
Duat
. But along with Mut and Amun, they
were a triumvirate of gods whose place on Earth was my home, the area around
Thebes.” Talking of such things relaxed her, took her mind off the coming
event.

“Much of the later temple building at Karnak was dedicated
to Khonsu,” Mr. Haddara said, giving a shrug. “It seems Thebians thought that
Amun withdrew for a time, leaving a void, so they turned their allegiance to
his son.”

“Do you mean after I was taken?”

“That I cannot say. Records from so long ago are spotty.”
Mr. Haddara rested his elbow against the window. “However, it was commented on
in reliefs inside the newer sections of the temple complex that the oracular
powers of the original
naos
dissipated. After a time, The God’s Wives
were ceremonial titles only. A noblewoman could play at being a goddess and
pretend to dispense wisdom.”

“The power of the
naos
seemed quite strong when I
prayed.”

“Perhaps the
naos
found the one in whom it could
entrust its power…?” he said, his voice sliding into a silky purr.

Something about Mr. Haddara seemed less…tame. The avuncular
man who had been kindness itself was being replaced by a sharp-eyed man whose
tone resonated with authority. Here was the protector he had promised he was.

Justin’s thigh pressed against hers, drawing her attention
sideways. His expression was questioning, as though he sensed a change in the
atmosphere occurring inside the spacious vehicle. She wondered whether Justin
knew there was more to Mr. Haddara than his lean appearance and softly spoken
words conveyed.

At least Mr. Haddara was preparing for war. He understood
the consequences of failure. And something told her he believed every bit as
strongly as she did that they weren’t going into this battle alone. They might
have police and extra security, but the added human force was perhaps only
intended as a distraction or to prove the humans’ worthiness of winning this
battle.

Gifts of continued prosperity and relative peace had to be
earned. A lack of spirituality could be tolerated, it seemed, but laziness or
an unwillingness to fight for family and community was proof of a void of
conscience.

Now and then, sacrifices had to be made. She and many of
those who stood with her would be that sacrifice.

Her mind was still, comforted by the thought that everything
leading up to this moment had been predestined. But how sad was the fact no one
would chronicle their story? That beyond some transitory mention in the coming
days on flimsy paper or on the loud, flat screens that hung on people’s living
room walls, nothing would be written in stone, preserved for the millennia to
come. No one would know that Khepri, The God’s Wife, had reawakened to do
battle with an ancient foe. No one would remember the names of those at her
side.

Khepri closed her eyes and drew her faith around her like a
cloak. Perhaps her wish was selfish, but she prayed that one life would be
spared.

Justin Henry Boucher
, she said inside her mind.
Let
him know happiness. Let him forgive himself and build a family.

Please, husband, let him forget me.

The museum was lit up like a partier on Bourbon Street.
Colorful lights placed in the lawn beside the sidewalk led the way to the
entrance where well-built young men, likely students from Tulane and dressed
only in off-white, kilt-like skirts, waited at the entrance to check tickets
and hold open doors.

Using an earpiece to pick up on any law enforcement chatter,
Juste took up the rear of their entourage, his gaze going to the shadows
surrounding the building and parking lot, scanning the people lined up, seeking
entrance to what promised to be a helluva good party.

Dressed in his tux, he fought the urge to pull at his
collar. He was already sweating, and the cool breeze that teased each time the
doors were opened wasn’t enough. But the sultry air wasn’t what had him hot.
Seeing Khepri dressed in a slim, one-shouldered dress that hung straight down,
her breasts and hips giving the elegant gown definition, had him wishing they’d
snuck off the moment the limo’s door opened. He wanted to feel those curves
beneath his hands, wanted to mold her soft flesh as he kissed her delicious mouth.
Tonight, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he knew what the
thin fabric hid.

The night was going to be long. Their group edged forward.
What he wouldn’t let himself think was that this might be the last night they’d
spend together. She might believe in destiny and a predetermined fate, but he
couldn’t allow that possibility to enter his mind. Tonight, he had to be edgy
and alert. Hopefully, any dangers presented would be handled with quiet
efficiency by the team Haddara had assembled and with help from the beefed-up
law enforcement crawling over the property.

Through the doors at last, he stepped forward and slid his
hand against the small of Khepri’s back.

Her cheeks grew rosy, and she gave him a shy smile.

How could she do that? The things they’d done together, and
yet, she looked so fresh, so pure. He’d have thought by now they would have
rubbed the “new” off, but here she was, showing her quiet joy at a simple
touch. His chest rose, filling with warmth.

“I am so pleased you chose to wear the costume,” came the
sheik’s voice from behind them.

Remembering that Khepri was posing as the ruler’s niece,
Juste removed his hand from her back and turned to give the sheik a polite
smile while Khepri reached out her hands.

The sheik enfolded hers. “Niece, you are lovely this night,”
he said, leaning closer to give her a wink. “Worthy of your true title.”

“Thank you, Uncle. For your generosity, and for your
belief.”

The sheik nodded to Haddara. “Everyone is in place?”

“Since well before the gala started. They completed a last
sweep as the caterers were setting up. The task force followed them with
another check. They were very thorough.”

The sheik turned to Juste. “Your supervisor is here, and
staying close to the task force coordinator, Forrester. They were not happy to
include my men.”

With a shrug, Juste grunted. “Maines won’t poke his head out
of Dorman’s office. He wouldn’t want to be around if somethin’ actually
happens.”

Glancing beyond the sheik’s round shoulder, Juste watched as
Dr. Dorman approached, accompanied by a tall, physically imposing woman—an
Amazon with olive skin and dark, flashing eyes. The curator appeared flustered
in her presence, and Juste couldn’t help but smirk. She was beautiful, no
doubt, but too much woman for the tall, gangly man who’d made the mistake of
wearing dark trousers with a crisp, white long-sleeved tunic and headdress. He
looked extremely uncomfortable in the getup.

The woman sauntered toward them, her gaze slipping from the
sheik and nailing Haddara. Their equally narrowing gazes proclaimed the two
knew each other.

Dr. Dorman bumped the woman’s shoulder as he stepped into
the circle they’d all formed. “Madame Nailah Massri, you’ve met Mr. Haddara.
This is Sheik Khaled Fathy, his niece, Princess Khepri Amun, and two of our
local police officers, Justin Boucher and Michael Prejean.”

Madame Massri’s gaze didn’t follow with the introductions,
instead honing immediately on Khepri. “Niece,” she said, her tone hostile.

“Yes, a student of archeology,” the sheik said, waving his
hand and smiling warmly, apparently unaware of the waves of hostility the tall
woman gave off.

Juste’s own hairs lifted on his arms and the back of his
neck.

Dr. Dorman cleared his throat. “Madame Massri is here
representing the Supreme Council for Antiquities, all the way from Cairo.” Then
he gave an unsubtle waggle of his eyebrows. As if the group didn’t already
understand she was the enemy.

Madame Massri offered a thin smile to the group. “It’s
rather late to slap your hands, Mr. Haddara, for the cloak-and-dagger measures
you undertook to move this collection and the two new finds out of our country.
But tonight is a celebration of all things Egyptian. We wouldn’t want to cast a
pall over the museum sponsors’ enjoyment of all this lush excess. We will speak
later.”

Her gaze swept down Khepri’s costume. “Quaint. A lovely
linen, no doubt produced from the sheik’s own fields.” Her hand swept her own
costume, a much more elaborate and bejeweled outfit. The bra of the gown was
encrusted with dark blue and green stones, pearls framing the edges. Her skirt
was banded by more dark stones around the waist. Around her neck, she wore a
large carved jade heart, suspended by a heavy gold chain. “It seems we are both
dressed for the part.”

Not one to be impressed by women’s fashion, even Juste knew
the woman’s outfit had cost a fortune. But for all her lush beauty and
sparkling adornment, she looked coarse and slightly vulgar beside Khepri. He
liked even less the dismissive lowering of her lashes and quick uptilt of her
jaw as she glanced away.

“Doctor, you promised me refreshment.”

As soon as the haughty woman left, Khepri’s shoulders
sagged. “How odious.” Her head turned toward Haddara. “She knows something.”

“My men will keep her in their sights. Perhaps she will tip
her hand.”

Juste couldn’t help keeping his gaze on the woman as she
paused with Dr. Dorman to greet another gathering of guests—Dr. Felton and his
two graduate assistants, who had an entourage of their own surrounding them.
This time, she smiled, her hand reached out and shook with those she was
introduced to, but as he watched, her gaze slid back, locking with his. For
just a moment, her eyes seemed to catch the light of the electric chandelier
high above the entrance. They glowed. Her lips quirked and she glanced away.

Juste shook his head, not wanting to voice what he’d seen
because he wasn’t sure.

“Did you see?” Khepri hissed, her hand touching Haddara’s
sleeve.

“Yes, my dear. Mischief is afoot.”

Mikey appeared clueless, his brows lowering. “What?”

Juste leaned toward him. “The woman. Massri. I’m guessing
she’s not human.”

“Thought she carried herself like a goddess,” Mikey
murmured.

“You’re very intuitive,” Haddara said, nodding.

“I just thought she was an overdressed bitch,” Juste muttered.

Khepri chuckled. “And you would be right as well.”

“Let’s mingle,” Juste said.

When they moved, Haddara and the sheik remained with them.
Mikey lifted his shoulders and grinned. So much for Juste finding a dark corner
to ruffle Khepri’s clothes.

They left the sparkling entrance and trailed through the
exhibit halls, where proctors waited to describe the artifacts to guests.
Candles burned on tall, footed candelabras.

One candle had sputtered out, and Juste watched as Khepri
walked casually toward it and made a motion, as though she were plucking the
wick, but when her fingers drew away, flame sputtered into life.

Murmurs surrounded them as several of the guests witnessed
Khepri’s action.

Khepri glanced around, her eyes widening, startled by the
attention. And then she gave Juste a small smile before letting it widen to the
crowd gathering nearer. Her arms spread, beckoning them closer.

Juste watched, mesmerized as a glow seemed to settle on her
skin, and her eyes reflected the candlelight, glowing with warmth, rather than
menace.

“We are in the presence of great power,” she said, her voice
carrying, although not pitched particularly loud. “Here, we stand beside a
shrine that, while not huge and imposing, was very precious to those who sought
connection with the gods.” Gliding forward, she stepped past the padded rope to
stand beside the shrine where she’d prayed and a spirit bird had shot from her
back.

Juste stiffened. He didn’t like her being that near, but
trusted she knew what she was doing.

“I am The God’s Wife. Mortal wife to Amun, god of wind,
protector of Thebes and all those who are poor and hungry.” She trailed a hand
across the peaked roof of the shrine, a tender gesture. “At a tender age, I was
taken from my parents’ wheat field and trained as an acolyte of the temple.
Little did I know, but The God’s Wife who found me was moved by a vision of
what I would become.”

Her smile turned inward and, although she paused, not a
whisper could be heard.

“Under Nephthys’s tutelage, I learned to harness the little
natural powers I possessed. And she taught me the rhythm of life inside the
temple. As one devoted to prayer and to serving as an oracle, I supervised the
cleaning of the temple to show respect to Amun and his house. I bathed numerous
times a day, before prayer, so I would approach my husband in purity of body
and spirit.” Her eyelids dipped before she gazed around the group from beneath
her lashes. “Would you like to see how an oracle approaches conversation with a
god?”

At nods and murmurs of assent, she cast her glance around
the room. “I will need that bowl filled with water,” she said, pointing to one
of the exhibit’s treasures sitting atop a felt-covered pedestal.

Perhaps because the crowd believed she was an actress
performing within the bounds of her script, someone leapt forward and filled
the bowl with water from the drinking fountain.

Khepri replaced the bowl atop the pedestal and quickly
washed her hands. “Bathing is a soothing ritual,” she said quietly, as water
trickled from her hands into the bowl. “Washing away grime helps to wash away
turmoil. If I am consumed with day-to-day problems, I cannot reach the inner
calm that allows my soul to drift.”

She shook her hands at her sides, but a gentleman stepped
forward with a handkerchief. Her smile was brilliant as she thanked him for his
kindness.

“I need something aromatic to burn,” she said, her gaze
sweeping the growing crowd.

Another man reached into his jacket to produce a cigar,
which he cut and lit and then handed to her. “Hope we don’t get into any
trouble smokin’ in here,” the man said.

Smiling, Khepri shook her head and held up the burning
cigar.

“You’ll have to give it a puff to keep it lit for long.”

She nodded and put the butt in her mouth, her face screwing
up into an adorable grimace as she puffed the cigar. After two pulls, she drew
a deep breath and held the cigar aloft, watching smoke swirl upward.

“I have bathed. I have lit incense to draw the spirit realm
closer. Now, I cast a spell, a plea to my husband, Amun, for him to bless me
with vision.

“O Husband, I call to you.

All evil which lay upon my skin is gone,

Washed clean by Anuket’s great river,

And dried by your gentle winds.”

She repeated the verse twice and then handed the cigar back
to the man. Easing up her skirt several inches, she knelt before the shrine.
“Husband, I call to you. Heavy is my burden, but I carry it with pride and
gratitude. Bless me with your presence, a sign that all is well between us, and
that you are near.”

Watching her slender back, her head bent in prayer, Juste
wondered how many times she’d implored her absent husband for a sign that he
cared.

At her hesitation, the sound of feet shuffling, of clothing
rustling as those to the rear tried to peer over the shoulders of those in the
inner circle, filled the room.

Worry over souls shooting out of her back kept his gaze
glued to her, rather than those near. But from the corner of his eye, he saw
Haddara’s hand lift, and his palm turn upward. He made a slight circular
motion, and suddenly candles flickered, dousing in the next instant. A breeze
sifted through the room, cool then hot, and the candles blinked one by one,
exploding softly into flame.

Gasps of delight sounded. But Juste couldn’t look away from
Khepri’s upturned face. Joy filled her eyes, her lips parted, her hands lifted,
touching the air, a single finger twirling in tighter and tighter circles until
a small funnel appeared. It whipped at her dress and her hair but didn’t grow
to affect anyone around her.

Juste cast a quick sideways glance at Haddara, who stood
now, a hand cupping an elbow while his fingers plucked the beard at his chin, a
look of pride and quiet joy gleaming in his eyes and soft smile.

It all made sense now. Her instant acceptance. His instant
dislike. The way Haddara had all the answers, knew how she’d respond to every
situation. He’d been playing them both.

“You,” Juste whispered, anger vibrating through his body.