Crescent Moon Read online

  After the excitement of the last hour, she was wrung dry. Exhausted. The fact she hadn’t slept the night before weighed down her body. She felt as heavy as a camel after drinking its fill from the river. Her eyelids dipped down twice before she sprang from the metal chair she’d been sitting on. The chair was inside a large, open room with tables with pullout boxes everywhere—desks, she noted tiredly. Desks. A strange but useful piece of furniture since endless amounts of parchment and writing instruments, as well as food and drinks, were hidden in the sliding boxes.

  When Juste pulled out a small, thin blanket from the bottom box and pointed toward a couch, she shook her head. “I’m not tired.”

  “You’re crashing. Adrenaline’s all used up. I can see you weavin’ on your feet. Go to sleep. Better rest now, because before too long this place is gonna be crawlin’ with all kinds of law enforcement wantin’ to know who you are, where you came from …”

  “Am I going to be a problem for you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not your fault. I did this. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “So I should worry about me?”

  When he didn’t answer, she leaned against his side and slipped her arm over his shoulder.

  She didn’t miss the many hard stares of the people assembling around them. Was it because Juste never had a woman hug him here, or because they had heard something about her?

  Even the women she’d saved, except for Denise, looked at her as though she was somehow to blame for what happened at the shop. Their narrowed gazes never left her. She wrinkled her nose at them. Couldn’t they remember who’d saved them?

  Khepri didn’t understand the instinct that had driven her to thrust them into the small dressing room or the ridiculous notion that the clear bag she’d grabbed from the counter would offer any protection at all against the brown-wrapped box the dark haired masked man had thrown.

  It had landed with a thud and the women had stared, until Dorothy, the shopkeeper, had shrieked, “Bomb!”

  Before a picture formed in her mind, she’d darted, arms spreading to shove the women in front of her, a hand swiping the bag and flinging it upward. Air had filled it, making it billow, and then it seemed to stretch and billow more, surrounding them a moment before a fiery burst rocked the floor beneath their feet. The door had splintered, sharp splinters flying toward them, but they hadn’t torn their protective shield. The women had stayed there, clinging to the back wall, her with arms and legs spread to protect them, until Juste had pushed the door off its hinges and peered inside with his handheld lamp.

  The barrier had deflated with one touch of her finger, so thin, so gossamer, she knew magic had hardened it against the blast but had dissipated instantly once the danger was gone. The ragged bits had clung to her shoulder, and she’d swiped them from her shoulders like a spider’s web.

  The oddest thing of all was she hadn’t felt as though the protection had come from outside of herself. Hadn’t felt “gifted.” She’d had a picture in her mind of what she wanted to happen, and it had.

  Was she responsible for the magic? Or had everything happened so fast, she hadn’t felt Amun’s loving hand intervening?

  “I got here as soon as I could.”

  Khepri glanced over her shoulder. Mr. Haddara had arrived, looking formidable and handsome in dark trousers covered by a knee-length white garment, and a red-and-white scarf covering his head. Her eyes widened, not understanding the change, but sensing the rising tension in the room.

  Juste reached out and offered his hand for Mr. Haddara to shake.

  Mr. Haddara gave him a crimped smile. “I have come to escort a member of my delegation back to the museum,” he said loud enough his words carried throughout the room.

  Juste held still for a moment, then his chest rose. “I see,” he said quietly. “She’s undocumented.”

  Mr. Haddara arched one dark eyebrow. “That problem shall be solved by nightfall. A courier comes from Washington, from the embassy.”

  Khepri shook her head. “Undocumented? A person must have … documents?”

  “In this day,” Mr. Haddara said, leaning toward her, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “one must have papers that attest to your identity.”

  “I am The God’s Wife. Will these papers attest to that truth?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Then they are worthless.”

  “They will make this incident easier to navigate, my dear.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “This is a confusing world you live in.” She glanced at Juste. “I don’t understand what happened today. I mean, I understand explosives, but I don’t understand why. I did not sense the man who tried to harm us was anything but an angry human.”

  Juste fisted his hands on his hips. For the first time that day, he looked tired. “From the descriptions the other women gave, he was Middle Eastern. A while back, we had trouble, related to an incident where an officer was killed at the port.”

  His words were delivered with precision, but Khepri heard the underlying pain.

  “Men who matched the description of today’s assailant fled a ship. Homeland shut down the police investigation, but rumors having been surfacing of a terrorist cell here in New Orleans. Maybe this is what they came here for.”

  She shook her head.

  His glance moved from her to Mr. Haddara, who was nodding.

  “How long ago did this happen?” her first protector asked.

  Over a month ago.

  Khepri remembered Denise has said her husband had died “over a month ago.” No wonder Justin was so affected. His best friend had died.

  “That was just after the discovery of the tomb …” She caught both their sharpened glances. “I sat in those briefings. I know how long ago my own body was found.” She lifted her shoulder in the manner Justin did. “Perhaps it is coincidence?”

  From the harsh gleam in Justin’s eyes and Mr. Haddara’s own tightening expression, neither believed in coincidence.

  She drew a deep breath. “So there might already be a small army here, ready to do his bidding. That’s … disturbing.”

  “What now?” Justin asked the other man.

  “We leave.” He lifted a chin to point toward the other men in the room. “They will receive the call shortly. I am not without friends.”

  “You mean your buddy the sheik,” Justin muttered.

  Mr. Haddara’s smile was small, enigmatic.

  “Boucher!”

  Justin strode toward the far end of the room, where men stood huddled, three deep. All heads turned her way, and she wished she wore something besides the dirty shorts Denise had given her before she’d gone to the dress shop. She felt exposed, and all those pointed, suspicious glances made her feel somehow guilty—which angered her. She’d done nothing to warrant their enmity. She hadn’t invited the bomber to toss his package at her. However, she knew her being there was destined. Just as her first death had been.

  Justin returned. “We’re free to go,” he said, “She better leave with you, seeing as how you’re her guardian,” Justin said, giving Mr. Haddara a very hard glare.

  Mr. Haddara smiled. “Have no worries. I will take her to your apartment, detective. But we must keep up appearances, and make sure we aren’t followed.”

  Justin’s jaw tensed. “Maybe she should go to your hotel.”

  Khepri froze.

  “Is that what you wish, Khepri,” Mr. Haddara asked, his expression giving no hint whether he would disapprove if she said yes.

  He was a kind man. She knew he wanted her to choose him. To choose a more seemly circumstance, but she couldn’t bear the thought of falling asleep, and she knew she would because she was so exhausted; she’d feel safer if she fell into darkness wrapped inside Justin’s embrace.

  She turned to Justin. “Would I be inconveniencing you?”

  He swallowed. “Of course not. I just wondered if you needed rest.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “I do, but …” She’
d have to say it. Show him how much she needed him, and she had no clue if he felt the same way. “I’d feel safer with you,” she whispered.

  The corners of Mr. Haddara’s mouth tightened, but he gave a short nod. “I will take a circuitous route, but will deliver her to your doorstep.”

  “Thank you,” Khepri said.

  Mr. Haddara indicated toward the door. “I will precede you,” he said softly. “Our way is for the woman to follow to make sure the way is safe.”

  Khepri gave Justin a quick glance, just to assure herself he hadn’t changed his mind, and then gave a smile before following Mr. Haddara.

  She sat in the back of a black car with black windows, the ride so smooth she couldn’t feel the road pass beneath them. The silence had stretched since he’d delivered his instructions to the driver and then raised the glass separating their compartments.

  “Do you have family, Mr. Haddara.”

  His head swung from watching the street outside to find her. “I have a wife.”

  “No children.”

  “None yet.”

  “Just one wife?”

  “I am asked the question a lot. And my answer is, yes, just one. She keeps me very busy.”

  When his gaze fell to the long expanse of her bare thigh, she wished she’d worn something longer, despite the heat outside, because she noted a flare of heat in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. “Has my temple changed very much?”

  “Yes. Very much. Since you were its caretaker, it expanded, adding many more buildings and impressive statuary. The women who followed you weren’t chosen for their powers, but for their political connections—most often, pharaoh’s wives. They spent their husband’s monies on building a monument rather than worshiping. The temple is now in ruins.”

  Khepri’s eyes burned. “The temple was so much more than a monument. It was home. Not just for me, but for everyone who lived up and down the river. It was a place of solace, and where one could commune with the gods.”

  “What need had pharaohs for communing with gods one can’t see when they believed they were gods in the flesh? What need had their people in believing?”

  “I suppose you are right,” she said, but the knowledge stung. “Perhaps they had no one to show them the magic.”

  “Perhaps.”

  She glanced sideways and found him smiling.

  “We are here,” he said, softly. “Please rest tonight. You will need to be fresh for tomorrow night’s gala.”

  “I cannot go. I have no dress.”

  His smile turned into a wider grin, and he reached into a compartment, bringing out a bag with handles. “A dress and all the accessories. A gift from the sheik.”

  And from him. As surely as she knew he was disappointed she’d chosen to be dropped off with Justin, she knew he had personally seen to her clothing for the following night. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the bag.

  When the car halted, the door opened instantly. Justin’s large frame filled the space. “Took y’all long enough.”

  Khepri laughed at the gruffness of his complaint and reached out to accept the hand he offered.

  He pulled her out and latched her against his side with a heavy arm. With a curt nod to Mr. Haddara, he moved her away and up his porch steps.

  “You seem to be in a hurry.”

  “Just want you off the street before you’re spotted.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you really think anyone followed us.”

  “No,” he said, pausing to open the door and then hold it for her. “We like women to precede us through damn door so we can watch their asses.”

  Laughter caught her by surprise, both for his crude words and his expression. Part angry, part befuddled, he looked as though he didn’t understand their powerful attraction and resented it.

  Something she could empathize with. Now wasn’t a good time to fall in love, but they were fated, weren’t they?

  As he closed the door, she stepped close, leaning into his body. Their arms encircled each other, and he leaned against the door, pulling her against him. Both heaved huge sighs as they simply stood, bodies fused together.

  “This shouldn’t feel so damn good,” he said, his breath warm against her ear.

  “How should it feel?”

  “I don’t know, but it should be this …”

  “Easy?”

  “Natural.” He hugged her harder.

  She didn’t mind the loss of breath, thinking she’d die happily inside his arms. “Must we go anywhere tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Will your partner be dropping by unexpectedly?”

  “No, we have both agreed keep out of each other’s way until tomorrow.”

  Her blood surged; her core tightened. “Then we are free?” She tilted back her head, pleased at the sleepy dip of his eyelids and the interest gleaming in his dark-blue eyes.

  “Free as birds,” he murmured.

  She sincerely hoped not. Her ba needed to remain secure inside her bodily shell. A yawn widened her jaw.

  Justin grunted. “Better get you out of these clothes and into bed.”

  The sexy rumble of his voice was gone. He sounded businesslike, and she shook her head. “I don’t need sleep.” But another yawn caught her by surprise. Her shoulders slumped.

  He kissed her forehead. “I’ll run a bath. You can nap in the water.”

  She brightened. “And when I awaken?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “A bath does sound nice.” A bath and a prayer, to thank her husband for his gifts, to tell him of Sobek’s message, and to warn him he might have to share her heart with another. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d mind.

  Episode Six

  Part VI – Hearts Draw Ever Closer

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After she’d soaked in a warm bath, Khepri couldn’t fight the weight of her fatigue. As she’d feared, the moment her eyes closed, her world tilted again.

  With no time to cry out, no time to worry whether she’d ever see Justin again, Khepri felt as though she was being pulled by her feet, tumbling through an undulating tunnel, until she stopped so suddenly her head jerked back. Once her mind stopped whirling, she glanced around to find out where she’d landed this time.

  Torchlight shimmered against gilded walls. The dais beneath her was encrusted with a jeweled mosaic of a radiant sun resting in the bottom of a shallow barge as it floated across the sky. Her stomach lurched and her heart thudded dully against her chest. She knew this place.

  A hand reached down to pat her hair, and she noted quickly that she was seated on the floor, her legs folded and to the side. She wore no clothing beyond a slave’s crudely woven white kilt, her breasts bared. Her hand was curled around the back of a man’s calf, and she knew that if she looked upward, whose face she’d see.

  But she wasn’t ready to confront him. Not with the commotion surrounding them. Her companion sat on a throne-like chair, part of a row of such chairs, all gleaming with more gold and tiny, intricate inlaid mosaics, jewels sparkling. Before them stretched a long hall filled with frightening half-human creatures lined up to watch a procession of humans as they were dragged in chains up the carpeted steps to where Anubis stood beside the Scale of Truth, the plates of his scale glinting gold where not covered in fresh blood.

  Khepri’s stomach lurched again. Her fingers tightened on her master’s calf. She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to watch.

  The first of the humans, an elderly man, ambled forward, his left leg dragging beneath the weight of his chain. His deeply lined skin stretched across the starkly jutting bones of his face. Fear shone in his dark eyes, but he remained silent, following obediently as his captor, a burly, bull-headed creature, dropped his chain and knelt before Anubis. “Sire, I bring another for judgment.”

  Anubis stepped forward, giving a low growling yip. He was tall and muscular, his chest gleaming with sweat. A jackal’s alert eyes stared down at the old man. “What have you t
o say in defense of your life?”

  The man shook his head. “I am not pure. I have sinned, but I have tried to live a good life. I have never killed, never stolen.” His voice wavered with age and terror, but he lifted his face rather than hide it. “I regret deeply that I have not lived an exemplary life, done no great deeds of kindness. But I worked to feed my family. I beg for mercy.”

  Khepri moaned. Mercy was never given; it was earned. She pressed her face against the muscled calf, but couldn’t look away from the half-beast who held the man’s fate in his clawed hands.

  Anubis’s tall ears pricked toward the sound she made a moment before his snout swung her way, his eyes seeming to glint with laughter at her squeamishness. When he swung back, he flattened his clawed hand against the elderly man’s chest.

  The man cried out; his knees wobbled.

  Light gleamed around the edges of Anubis’s clawed fist and the whole of it sank inside the man’s chest. A moment later, the god drew out a beating heart, still pumping blood. He placed it on the scale, watching as the plate slowly sank beneath its weight, and then he dropped a feather onto the clean plate.

  The scale hummed, making a musical sound as it rose on one side, then the other, until at last one plate sank low.

  Her breath expelled slowly as she wilted with relief.

  A chair away, Thoth rose, his beak-like nose twitching. He waved his arm in a dramatic fashion, for he loved fanfare. “The Feather of Truth speaks of your sincerity. Your heart is pure. Treat him kindly,” he said to the creature who had brought him into the hall. To the man, he gave a smile. “Isis shall bathe you and provide you clean clothing. Then you shall be led to the Fields of Peace where you shall reside until you are called again someday.”

  The man glanced toward the tray, but it had disappeared. He touched his chest, but the wound had closed. A smile of gratitude and relief lit up his face as his captor struck his irons and freed him, then led him away from the hall.

  A woman was brought next. Young, with lustrous dark hair and sloe eyes. She didn’t wait for Anubis to ask for her plea. She threw back her head, pasted on a serene smile, and said, “Sire, I am pure. I’ve never killed, never stolen.”