His lips parted, but before he could share his name, I was woken up by a loud BANG. My eyes were incredibly heavy, my body half numb. Part of me, I’m sure, wanted to go back to that dream. But the weird noises coming from downstairs kept me awake.
Half asleep, I staggered out of my room and down the stairs. The lights were off, the house wrapped in an eerie blackness. I should have switched the dang light on, but my brain was clouded from the dream.
“Mom?” I crossed the hallway. “Dad?”
I got no answer.
The closer I got to Dad’s office, the louder my alarm bells rang. Something was incredibly wrong about this scenario. Mom was a light sleeper. She should have heard me calling out her name. She always did.
Close to the office, an icy breeze wafted over my neck. I spun and found a pair of black eyes gazing back at me. A creature with a jackal head and a human torso stood before me, pointing its long golden staff in the direction of Dad’s office. I recognized the creature almost immediately. His name was Anubis. Mom and Dad had told me stories about the old Egyptian god who resembled a jackal. But why did I see him? Was I still dreaming? I must be. Why else would I be face to face with a god in the middle of the night?
Choking back the fear, I tried to wake up. Only, I never did.
Instead, I heard my mom’s voice. “Do whatever you want with me, but you’ll never find it. Never.”
Inhuman laughter rang through the night. “You’re wrong,” a dark, alien voice replied. “You know as well as I do; it’s just a matter of time till he and his army will rise.”
“She will never let that happen,” my mom spat back.
Heavy boots marched over the hardwood floor. “She doesn’t even know who she is.” A dull clicking roared through the house. “But I hope we can change that. Tonight.”
Anubis approached me. His charcoal eyes pierced through mine. “It’s time,” the creature whispered, without ever moving its mouth.
Something inside me cracked. I kicked the office door open, and my heart stopped beating. “Dad,” I screamed as I saw him lying on the floor, chest covered with blood.
“Nisha.” My mom sounded terrified. “What are you doing here?”
I pulled my gaze off Dad’s lifeless body and found my mom. She knelt on the floor. Crimson ran down her chin, spilling from the cut on her lip. In her hazel eyes, I spotted something all too familiar—fear of death.
“Run,” she screamed hysterically. “Run, Nisha! Run.”
I couldn’t even move, let alone run.
A pair of black combat boots strolled my way. I blinked over and over, hoping the nightmare would fade. The boots came closer.
“Run,” my mom pleaded with me.
I looked up instead. The boots belonged to a man. Only he wasn’t an ordinary man. He had the body of a man, but the head of some animal. A creepy mixture between a dog and a giraffe. The creature had a long, narrow snout with a slight downward curve and pointed, triangular ears. And its eyes…I’ll never forget those glowing garnet eyes. They reflected hell-fire.
“Please.” My mom turned to the creature. “Don’t make her watch.”
Something in the monster’s hand caught my attention. It was small and black, and he pointed it right at my mom’s temple. Before I knew what was happening, I heard another loud BANG.
Blood splattered. My mom fell sideways into the table. The sound of shattering glass filled the air. The scent of rusty blood stung my nostrils. A scream burned through my lungs. Brutal heat corrupted my veins. Buzzing energy flooded my system. And when I inhaled, it felt as if I was breathing in pure fire. My whole being wanted to punish the creature, to take its pathetic life right then, right there. But my gaze drifted back to my mom, and the pain silenced the murderous thoughts.
I ran toward her oddly positioned body. If he was going to shoot me too, then so be it. He didn’t, though. Like a coward, he retreated to the window, his shadow merging with the night.
Click…tap…click…tap…
The noise pushes all memories of last Devil’s Night away. The times between lightning and thunder grow shorter. My fear only stronger.
Trying to get a grip on my heartbeat, I move down the stairs. I need to check if someone’s in the house.
The hallway is quiet. There’s no Anubis. No monster with garnet eyes either. I guess that’s a good thing. Nevertheless, I proceed with caution. You never know what’s lurking in the shadows.
By the time I get to Dad’s old office, my heart drops in my pants. The door is wide open, inviting me in. Thunder and lightning roll through the sky at the exact same time as a cold and violent wind bursts through the hallway.
What the heck is happening? The office had been locked. How is the door open? And where did that wind come from? All the windows are closed.
I’m torn between running and facing whatever it is I’ll find inside the office. I go with the latter. For a split second, I think I see my parents’ blood on the hardwood floor. But then I blink, and it’s gone.
My phone sheds light on Dad’s precious bookshelves. Only the books are no longer on the shelves. They’re scattered all over the floor. I take another small step and am once more hit by a cold breeze. The window is wide open, and lashing rain soaks the floor.
How did this—
I don’t get to finish the thought, because I hear a voice. His voice. Seth’s voice. “Soon, love.”
Terrified, I scan the room. There’s no one. No Seth. No Anubis. No garnet-eyed monster. Just me, myself, and the darkness.
I’m all set to get the heck out of here and hide in my room when a heavy object slithers across Dad’s desk, landing right by my feet. In a trance-like state, I kneel down. The desert rose.
Raw fear claws my heart. I don’t dare touch it. I don’t dare move.
Music blares through the speakers of my phone. It’s that Bon Jovi song again. The one about a “Bed of Roses.” How is this possible? I don’t have the song on my playlist. Frantically, I push several buttons, trying to get it to stop. It just keeps on playing.
I drop the phone and jump up.
The music stops.
The flat screen on the wall sparks to life. CNN is on. I watch in utter horror as the volume is turned up by…a ghost? Shell-shocked, I gape at the headline in the red bar: London, Terror Attack On British Museum. At least 28 killed. “We are still waiting on further information,” the anchorwoman says. “But our sources say the situation is under control.”
What the heck is happening here?
The girls’ bathroom is my best friend. It’s where I’ve spent every break. It’s where I’m at now. Locked inside one of the stalls, determined to hide from the world, waiting for the bell to ring. What happened last night shook me to the core. I searched for rational explanations. The storm messed with the electricity? Reasonable. I imagined the click/tap sounds? Possible. Aunt V unlocked Dad’s office and the wind yanked the door open? Questionable, but still a could-be. Everything afterward? Pretty much unexplainable. Who opened the window? How the heck did the desert rose fly to my feet all by itself? Why on earth did “Bed of Roses” play when I don’t even own this song? Who switched on the TV? And where the heck is Amara? She spoke to someone on the phone about the British Museum. Could she have been there during the attack? Impossible. She wouldn’t have gone to London without telling anyone. I’m still worried. I sent her at least fifty texts, called her a dozen times, and still haven’t heard from her. One should think all of the above is enough drama for one night, right? Wrong. Once I got a grip on my fear, I returned to the bathroom to wash the remaining shampoo out of my hair. By the time I dressed, I noticed my Horus necklace was gone. Poof—vanished into thin air. I lay awake all night, trying to find answers to any of the above questions. There were none. I can’t even blame my hallucinations for it. When Rob came home, around midnight, he barged into my room and demanded to know what had happened in Dad’s office—books on the floor and all. I shared bits and pieces with him. Me
ntioned the storm and the failing electricity. Told him about the noises and how Dad’s office door was wide open. He didn’t say it, but I could tell by the way he looked at me—like I’m unrepairable, broken for good—that he didn’t quite believe me. So, yeah. I don’t feel like company today.
I’m aware I can’t hide forever. I need to face my insanity. That’s why the first thing I did this morning was ask Aunt V to set up a meeting with my former shrink. She simply nodded and promised to get right on it.
The break is almost over, and the commotion outside the stalls dies down. I decide to take a glimpse at my reflection and wash my hands before I head to my next class. The second I kick the stall door open and spot Marie leaning against the sink, fixing her makeup, I regret my choice.
Her red lips curve up. “Look who’s here,” she says, watching me through the mirror. “Our very own Angel of Death.” She spins to face me. “Tell me, have you killed someone yet?”
My gaze skirts over the faucets, the windows, the writings on the walls—anything to avoid the spiteful glances she’s casting me. “I don’t want any trouble,” I assure her, hoping she’ll leave me alone.
I should have known hope and Marie don’t go well together. “No trouble, huh? That’s funny, considering you’re still throwing yourself at Mole even though Silvio and Coach warned you to stay the fuck away from him.”
I don’t throw myself at anyone. Last time I checked, Mole was the one approaching me. Not the other way around. But I’d be insane to mention any of it. “I-I’m sorry,” I stammer.
“Oh, yeah?” Marie throws her lipstick in her bag and marches toward me. “Are you sorry about Blaze, too?” The edges of her mouth turn down in disgust. “That poor guy came here from another country, trying to start over, and you’ve got nothing better to do than pull him into your drama? Seriously, what’s wrong with you, Nisha? Do you get off on screwing up the lives of innocent guys?”
Man, I’m really not in the mood for this. “I just want to wash my hands.” What I don’t want is a lecture from the head Heather.
She narrows her eyes at me. “You trying to wash off all the blood? All the ruined lives? Sorry”—she crosses her arms—“but that’s a little late, don’t you think?” A wicked smile creeps into her hateful expression. “I bet your parents would agree with me.”
Have you ever been sucker-punched by an Expendable? No? Me neither. I’m pretty sure it hurts as much as Marie’s words. My stomach cramps. My hands shake. I want to crawl back in the stall and never come out again.
“You”—she closes the gap between us—“are pathetic, Nisha. Why don’t you do the world a favor and end it?” She shrugs nonchalantly. “I’d even get you my dad’s gun if you need help.” Marie seems determined to take the definition of “mean girl” to a whole new level.
Tears prick at my eyes. Not because she told me to kill myself, but because part of me knows she has a point. The world, I have no doubt, would be better off without Nisha Blake—the Angel of Death. I should have let the river claim me. Should have never listened to hallucination-Seth.
“Ugh.” She pats my shoulder with her fingertips as if I suffer from Ebola. “Don’t cry, Nisha. It’s nothing personal.”
Something inside me cracks. I’m all set to tell her to leave me the heck alone when I spot charcoal eyes behind her. The eyes of a predator. The eyes of Anubis. I blink several times, but he’s still standing behind Marie. The god points his golden stuff at the ceiling, but keeps his gaze fixed on Marie.
“What the hell are you looking at?” she barks, spinning on her heels. She can’t see the creature, but I do. As clear as I see her.
Someone will die. She will die.
The crazy beat of my heart thunders through my ears. My lungs are squeezed together tight. I can barely draw a breath. Reluctant, I look up to where Anubis’s staff is pointing. There’s a long, vicious crack in the ceiling. Plaster dust crumbles down, landing on Marie’s red sweater.
She can’t die. I won’t let her.
The next thing I know, I push her. Hard. She falls backward, hip knocking into the porcelain sink. A cry of pain echoes off the bathroom tiles. Then, Marie stares at me, jaw dropped, eyes full of fear. “What the—”
A large piece of ceiling comes down right at the spot where she stood two seconds ago. It’s big enough to crack a skull in two. Eerie silence settles over the room as we both glare at the piece of cement that almost killed her.
“You freak,” she screams, making a run for the door.
So much for: Thanks for saving my life.
“Stay the hell away from me and Mole,” she warns. A second later, the door slams shut behind her.
I stay back, searching the bathroom for Anubis. He’s gone. Other than the piece of cement on the floor, there’s no evidence he’s ever been there.
“I don’t get it,” Shaggy says, throwing my signed copy of It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover over my desk. “Why would you rather reread this damn book than party with us?”
“Who says I’m rereading it?” I shoot back, putting the precious book back to where it belongs—on my favorites shelf.
He gives me the bitch-please look. “The pages are completely worn out, girl.”
“So?”
He rolls his eyes. “You are no fun, Nisha Blake.”
“And you,” I bark, hands on my hips, “are getting on my nerves.” They all—Oz, Izzy, Shaggy, and Scooby—showed up here a little while ago, refusing to leave until I agree to accompany them to the Red Shed tonight.
“C’mon,” Oz says, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t be so grumpy. We just miss you. It’s been ages since you hung with us.” They might miss me. The reason behind their dang persistence is Blaze. He promised the boys to show them a few tricks. His only request: I must be present. I hate to be the party stopper, but the Shed is the last place I want to go.
“She’s been grumpier than grumpy all day,” Izzy murmurs, studying my bookshelf a little too closely. Hidden behind the classics is her Christmas gift—a signed copy of Bully by Penelope Douglas. She loves that book, which is why I bought Amara’s only signed copy. That was before my boss went MIA.
“Talk about grumpy,” Scooby says, brow arched. “What happened between you and Marie in the girls’ room? Rumor has it you slammed her against a sink.”
Oh, yes. There’s that, too. Right after I saved her life, Marie told everyone at school I attacked her in the bathroom. Since I’m the Angel of Death no one questioned her version of the story. Lucky me, huh?
“Yeah, what happened in there?” Oz inquires. “I overheard the football team talking to Mr. Thornton about it.” He fans himself. “They were pretty pissed.”
Mr. Thornton? Why would they approach him over the matter?
“Are you just going to ignore us?” Izzy mutters.
I have a hard time keeping my boiling emotions in check. “Nothing happened,” I finally say.
Scooby leans back in my desk chair, kicking his legs up on the desk. “That’s not what I heard.”
“Yup. My sources said it was a full-blown cat fight,” Shaggy adds, eyes gleaming with excitement. “You know, hair-pulling, scratching, and all that fine shit.”
“Don’t forget the pool of mud.” I snort, tired of it all.
He shifts to the edge of my bed. “Seriously?”
Oz smacks him on the back of his head. “Shut up, Shag.”
“What?” he says innocently. “A guy can dream, right?”
There’s no talking the boys into leaving, so I address the only sane person in this room—my cousin. “Can you please just get them out of here?” I point to a stack of homework that needs to be done. “I have work to do.”
Izzy shakes her head. “Oh no, don’t believe for a second I’m going to challenge these three.” She points at the boys. They’re all grinning. “You know what they want and how you can get rid of them. All up to you, little cousin.”
Thanks for not having my back, Izz.
Shaggy jumps to his feet. “She’s right. All you have to do is say the two magic words, and we’re gone.”
“F-you?”
Scooby laughs. “No, not those magic words.”
“He’s talking about ‘I’m in,’” Oz clarifies.
I look from my homework to my friends, coming to the conclusion that I really don’t have much of a choice here. “Fine,” I bark, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m in.”
Even Izzy grins. “Wasn’t that hard, was it?”
I tilt my chin at the door. “Just get out of here, please?”
“But I need a new book girlfriend,” Shaggy teases, reaching for an Abbi Glines book.
Scooby hauls him toward the door. “She said yes, dude. Stop messing with her.”
Oz and Izzy follow closely behind. “See you later?” Oz asks one last time. And when I nod, they finally leave.
Awesome. I just agreed to turn the page to another dramatic chapter in the fiasco I call life.
Are you alive? I hit send.
Nothing.
My fingers fly over the keyboard. Amara, I’m seriously worried. Call me!
The phone never rings.
I give her a buzz.
Voicemail.
Blaze pulls into the parking lot of the Red Shed. “Are you going to tell me when it happened?”
“What?” I ask, keeping my gaze on the screen.
He pulls the key out of the ignition and faces me. “Your transformation into a smartphone zombie.”
I look up. “A what?”
A lazy grin spreads across his face. “A smartphone zombie. You know, one of those oblivious creatures constantly glaring at their damn phones. I vaguely remember the Germans referring to them as smombies.”
“I’m not—”
He pulls his brows up. I shut up. We haven’t exchanged two sentences since he picked me up. I was too busy trying to get ahold of Amara. Dang, I totally am a smombie. Can’t help it though. I watched the news earlier. Saw the havoc the terrorists wreaked. Listened to eyewitness reports of the vicious attack and found out the death toll had risen to fifty-eight. I still don’t know where Amara is. What if she did go to London? She hasn’t called or texted. Even Aunt V is worried. Still, it’s incredibly rude to ignore Blaze like this.
Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1) Page 19
