Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1)

by Nadine Nightingale

  I throw my phone into my bag. “Sorry.”

  He brushes a wild curl out of my face. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I’d rather not. Then, my gaze drifts to the Red Shed. Contrary to its name, the former bar is painted a dirty white. The owner, Mr. Hawkins, closed it down a few years ago. He made a deal with the local kids. They’re allowed to hang here, and in return, they make sure the place doesn’t fall apart. Spilling the Amara drama is better than going in there. “My boss, Amara,” I say. “She’s MIA.”

  Blaze furrows his brows. “Elaborate.”

  “Last week, she spoke to someone on the phone. Said something about a dagger and the British Museum. Thursday, I came to work and the store was closed. It’s not like her to disappear.” I hold my phone up. “She doesn’t even answer my texts.”

  Blaze quickly puts one and one together. “You don’t think she was at the museum when shit went down, do you?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know what to think.”

  Blaze squeezes my thigh, sending heat waves over my cold skin. “I’m sure she’s okay, princess.” He offers me his most charming smile. “She probably needed a time-out. From time to time, we all do.”

  Good point. Amara lives for her job. Maybe she decided it was time to do something for herself. Like heading to one of those fancy spas in Martinsburg. It’s highly unlikely she was at the British Museum during the attacks.

  Blaze reaches for the door handle. “Ready to have some fun, princess?”

  I gawk at the cars parked up front. I spot Oz’s and Scooby’s almost instantly. A couple of others are there, too. Luckily, there’s no sign of Marie’s BMW, the Heathers mobile (aka Adrianne’s pink Mercedes SUV), or the football team’s rides. “Let’s do this.”

  We haven’t crossed the threshold yet when I get the first what-the-heck-is-she-doing-here looks. I pay as little attention as possible, distracting myself with Beyoncé’s “Daddy Lessons” blasting through the massive speakers crammed into the corners of the old bar.

  “Nisha?” Izzy squeaks like a seasick squirrel. “That really you?” She’s drawing more eyes on us.

  I don’t have a twin, and I’m not a doppelgänger-theory believer. “Who else would it be?” I mutter, chipping my purple nail polish off.

  She ignores the edge in my voice, flashing me a big smile. “I’m so glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”

  That’s sort of offensive. I’ve never broken a promise. “I said I would. So, here I am.”

  “Nisha?” Shaggy screams over the heads of several classmates. “Girl, is that you?” The next person asking me that question will get a free face makeover with my fists.

  About two seconds later, the whole gang has us surrounded. Judging by their expressions, you’d think they won the lottery. Luckily—for them, not me—they don’t comment on my being here again.

  They pull Blaze into a bro hug, one by one. “Good to see you,” Oz greets him.

  Shaggy grins. “Yeah, man. We figured you might never make good on your promise to teach us some MMA tricks.”

  Blaze eyeballs the fuming joint between Shaggy’s fingers. “Not sure stoned fighting is such a great idea, mate.” He sounds like he shares Scooby’s zero-drug tolerance attitude.

  Shaggy won’t accept a no. He’s been waiting for this moment too long. “C’mon, Blaze. Don’t be a pussy.”

  Scooby nudges his brother. “What’s wrong with you, dude?”

  Shaggy’s eyes go wide. “What?”

  “You just called an MMA champion a pussy,” Scooby clarifies, and everyone laughs. Except Blaze. He narrows his eyes instead.

  There’s something close to fear in Shaggy’s eyes. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean pussy, pussy. Just”—he shrugs—“you know, pussy.”

  Blaze flexes his arms. “Totally get it, mate. You didn’t refer to me as a vagina, which would be rather odd, considering I lack having one. What you meant to say is I’m a coward, isn’t that right?”

  Shaggy’s hands shake. “No. I mean…Yes…But no.” A drop of cold sweat rolls down his forehead. “I’d never call you a coward, I was just…” His gaze drifts from Scooby to Oz, desperate for backup. He’s on his own. “Jesus Christ—”

  Blaze laughs his butt off. “Would you calm down? I was just messing with you.”

  Shaggy rubs his face, visibly relieved. “Brits really do have a dark sense of humor, huh?”

  Blaze draws to his full, impressive height. “The English have a fantastic sense of humor.”

  Shaggy nods. “S-Sure.”

  Oz and Scooby grin. “Dude, he’s still messing with you.”

  Shaggy’s gaze drifts to Blaze. “I am,” he assures him.

  Izzy has had enough. She steps between the boys. “How about we forget MMA for a while and hit the dance floor?” She bats her lashes at Oz. “Sound good?”

  Oz drinks in my cousin’s appearance. She wears a nice black dress that is hugging her curves in all the right places and is rocking killer heels. “MM-what?”

  “Good answer,” Izzy replies, circling his wrist and dragging him into the crowd.

  “Your cousin sure knows how to work her magic,” Shaggy murmurs, half impressed, half disturbed.

  Scooby shakes his head. “C’mon, pussy-boy.” He grabs him by the shoulders and directs him toward the bar. “Let’s get a drink before you dig yourself an even deeper grave.”

  Blaze and I stay back. We watch the partying crowd. They seem so carefree and relaxed. I can’t recall a time when I was one of them—a brat who doesn’t care about anything other than parties, making out, and popularity.

  Blaze nudges me. “Would you like to dance, princess?”

  I cock a brow. “Dance? Me? Here?”

  He laughs. “Yes. Yes. And yes.”

  “I don’t—”

  Too late. He’s hauling me to the dance floor.

  The raunchy music changes to a slow ballad. Great timing, huh? Blaze presses his palm against my lower back, pulling me close. I’m not much of a dancer, but with him it’s easy. We’re completely in sync.

  His gorgeous eyes stay on mine. The heat in his gaze burns me inside out. “Nisha?”

  “Hmm?”

  One side of his mouth curves up. “May I be honest?”

  “Sure.”

  He spins me around, leading me to the rhythm of the song. “Don’t hate me, but I only told the boys I’d come if you did because I thought you’d never agree to it.” He sighs. “Not that I don’t enjoy being here with you, but I don’t particularly feel like training with them.” He looks me deep in the eyes. “You pissed?”

  I appreciate his honesty more than he’ll ever know. “No. I’m glad you told me.”

  He presses me against his ripped chest. “And I’m really glad you did come after all.” He winks. “Even if I have to kick Shaggy’s butt for it.”

  Folks are still giving me the evil eye. Most of them don’t want me here. But some—I catch a glimpse of Oz and Izzy kissing—do. And right now, that’s all that matters. “Me too,” I admit, nestling my head between his neck and shoulder.

  We dance through several songs—slow, fast, sexy. It’s pretty awesome. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like a normal teenager, spending a fun night with her friends.

  “Dude,” Shaggy cuts in. “You ready to rumble?”

  Blaze searches my face. Not sure what’s he’s looking for, but I have a feeling he doesn’t want to leave me. I don’t want him to go either. Then, I spot the gleam in Shaggy’s eyes. He really wants to get his butt kicked. Who am I to stop him? “Go,” I say. “I’ll find Izzy and get a drink.”

  “Sure?” Blaze asks.

  A genuine smile crosses my lips. “Yes.”

  “C’mon, dude.” Shaggy is tugging at his jacket like a five-year-old who wants his mother to rush into Toys“R”Us. “You’ll love our gym.”

  Blaze is about to follow him to the back room when I yank him back. “Don’t hurt him.”

 
; He winks and follows my stoned friend.

  Alcohol and me? We don’t mix very well. The scent of beer makes me sick. The taste of the hard stuff is disgusting at best. It’s why I’ve been holding on to this tequila shot for the past half-hour without sipping on it.

  All the while, Izzy keeps on babbling. “I’m so proud of you. You have no idea how much we all missed you. It just wasn’t the same without you.”

  Gee, anyone listening in would think I just returned from the dead.

  Izzy clings her glass against mine. “To Blaze, for getting you to come.”

  I’m all set to remind her it was her and the rest of the gang who bribed me into coming, but Scooby interferes. “Hey.” He waves us over. “You want to come and see this.”

  We put our glasses down and move to the back room. A large crowd has gathered around the small makeshift ring in the center. I’d say more people are here than up front. “What’s going on?” I ask Scooby.

  “Just watch,” he says.

  Shaggy and Blaze are inside the ring. Shaggy’s shirt is soaked. He’s sweating like a pig. Blaze, on the other hand, doesn’t even have a drop on his forehead. “You can’t go into a fight being scared,” Blaze explains. “You’re bound to lose if you do.”

  Shaggy wipes his forehead. “Easy for you to say, dude.”

  “C’mon.” Blaze brings his hands up, shielding his face. “Hit me with everything you’ve got.”

  Oz and Scooby cheer for Shaggy. “You can do it, man.”

  “This isn’t going to end well,” Izzy murmurs next to me.

  I agree. Even if Shaggy wasn’t high, he’d be no match for Blaze—an MMA champion.

  Shaggy takes a couple of deep breaths. A fraction of a second later, his fist shoots up, aiming straight for Blaze’s face. Blaze blocks Shaggy’s attack, turns slightly to the left, and uses his right elbow to deliver a precise punch to the back of Shaggy’s head. He stumbles a bit, but doesn’t go down.

  Blaze frowns. “You’re still scared, mate.”

  “Who wouldn’t be scared of you, dude?” Shaggy shoots back, ego hurt.

  Blaze scans the crowd. When he spots me, he lingers. “Her.”

  I look around, trying to locate her. There’s just me and Izzy.

  Shaggy laughs. “Are you kidding?”

  “Nope,” Blaze replies, arms crossed.

  Shaggy’s jaw drops. “You think Nisha wouldn’t be scared of fighting you?”

  “We’ll see,” he says, walking right up to me and hauling me onto the mat.

  “Are you insane?” I look from the mat to him. “I’m not going to fight you.” Gee, I’ve never fought anyone in my entire life. I sure as heck won’t start with an MMA champion.

  “Relax.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m just trying to teach him a lesson,” he whispers. “Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

  What if I hurt you? echoes through the back of my mind.

  Absurd. Blaze is a trained fighter. No way I’d be able to harm him in any way. I mean, Shaggy trains daily and couldn’t get a single hit in.

  Blaze positions himself a few feet away from me. “Ready?”

  “Not sure that’s such a great idea.” Izzy sounds worried.

  Oz seems to think differently. “She’ll be fine,” he assures her.

  “All right.” I sigh. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Lift your hands like this.” He presents a perfect boxer position.

  “Like this,” I ask, imitating his posture.

  He flashes me a smile. “Perfect. Now, I’m not going to hit you, but I’ll come at you as if I would. Understood?”

  I’m a little distracted by the crowd forming around us. Even the chicks are here now. They ogle me as if, for once, they’re scared for me, rather than of me.

  Blaze snaps his fingers. “Hey, keep your head in the game, okay?”

  “Sure,” I hiss, slightly annoyed.

  “So,” he goes on. “When I come at you, I want you to try to block me.”

  Block him? He seems to forget I don’t speak MMA. How should I know what blocking someone means?

  He lunges forward like a flash of lightning. His fist is aiming straight for my nose. It happens so fast, all I can do is lift my arms, protecting myself from the impending impact.

  Blaze never even grazes me. He stops inches before my arms. “Not bad for a girl,” he teases.

  I let my guard down. “Not bad for a girl?” I shake my head, irritated by his stupid remark. “Again,” I order. No idea since when I’m so competitive, but something in Blaze’s eyes ignites a firestorm inside me.

  “Sure?” Blaze asks.

  “Sure.”

  “All right, princess.” He resumes the boxer position. “Hands up.”

  I draw a deep breath, blind out everything around me, and concentrate on Blaze only. He lunges forward just like before. His left shoulder is twitching. I know what he’s aiming for. I move slightly to the right. Blaze hits nothing but air.

  I turn to face him. His eyes catch fire, and he comes at me again. This time with his right fist. I step to the left, grinning as he misses me once more. It goes on for a while. Blaze trying to get a hit in, me knowing exactly where he’s aiming, avoiding each punch gracefully.

  There’s a drop of sweat curving down his cheek. “Impressive,” he compliments me. Then, he faces Shaggy. “See, she doesn’t even flinch.”

  Shaggy crosses his arms. He’s pretty unimpressed. “C’mon, dude. She knows you’re not going to hurt her. Not exactly rocket science.”

  “He’s right.” A girl on the cheer squad laughs. “She’d never be able to take you down if you hit her with all you’ve got.”

  Blaze’s gaze drifts from the girl to me. “She’s right, you know?”

  “Do I?” I hear myself say.

  Blaze rests a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t take it personal, princess. There aren’t many people who can take me down.” His words ring in my ears like a long-lost memory. I swear I’ve heard them before.

  The crowd laughs. The laughter mixed with that weird feeling of familiarity and déjà vu blur my vision. Flashes of light flicker across my eyes, merging with the sounds around me. The Shed slowly fades. I’m no longer standing on a mat. I’m somewhere completely else.

  Golden walls, decorated with gemstones and hieroglyphs, rise to the high ceiling. A crowd is gathered around me. Boys dressed in white loincloths with sickle swords tied around their waists. Girls wearing fancy sheath dresses, black eyeliner, and wide-collar necklaces.

  “I think she’s had enough,” Oz’s voice thunders through the massive hall. He’s lounging on a golden throne at the far end. Unlike those of the other boys, his loincloth is golden.

  Seth—the man of my dreams—steps out of the shadows of a golden pillar. He moves toward Oz and rests a hand on his shoulder. “Let her continue, brother. She can do this.”

  Uncertainty paints Oz’s face. He looks over his shoulder to Izzy. “What do you say?”

  She straightens her golden dress and sighs. “I say, let her decide.”

  Oz drums his golden staff on the ground. “So be it. The choice is hers.”

  Seth moves a little closer to me. “Get up,” he orders. “I know you can do this, love.”

  Only now do I notice I’m lying on the floor, my back pressed against the cold sandstone. Something warm drips down my cheek. My left eye aches. I run a finger over it and spot crimson.

  Blaze—not the real one, but my hallucination of him—lingers over me, extending his hand. “Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head, allowing him to pull me up.

  “Do you wish to end this fight?” Oz asks, sounding less like himself and more like a king addressing his tributary.

  “No,” I reply. “I want to continue.”

  Whispers roar through the crowd. “She’s insane,” a girl mutters to her friend. “No one has ever defeated the Medjay.”

  Her friend sighs. “I fear for her.”

  I ignore them b
oth, bowing to Oz. “Please, let me end this.”

  Oz looks to Seth. He nods, and Oz makes a go-on gesture with his hand. “By all means, do what you want.”

  Blaze crosses his arms. “There aren’t many people who can take me down, princess. Are you certain about this?” he asks, a wicked smile tugging at his lips.

  Pride—something I’ve never felt before—poisons my veins. I feel the need to win, the urge to prove myself. “I am.”

  He returns to his position, lifting his arms to protect his face.

  I should do the same. But I don’t. I let my guard down, flashing him a devilish grin. “Go on, then, mighty Medjay. Show me if the rumors about you are true.”

  I don’t have to tell him twice. Quicker than a cheetah, he comes at me. I don’t even try to block him. Instead, I run toward him, climb on his right leg, and swing my left leg around his head. Using all of my weight against him, we both fall. My leg, still wrapped around his neck, cuts his air supply. He taps out.

  I let go of him, then resume my position.

  “Again,” he barks, pulling himself up.

  An innocent smile plays over my lips. “Are you certain, mighty Medjay? There aren’t many people who can take me down.” Lords above, it feels good to throw his own words back at him.

  He flexes his arm muscles and rolls his head. “I am.” Without warning, he lunges forward. His left fist comes up. I step to the right. His right fist comes up. I step to the left. We dance like this for a long time. Each step he makes, I anticipate. Each punch, I foresee.

  Covered in sweat, he stumbles backward. “Impressive, Princess.”

  I hate it when people call me that. And he’s about to get a lesson in just how badly the title affects me. I do two flick-flacks. By the time I’m mid-air for the third, I have his head between my legs. I throw him behind me, landing right on top of him.

  He’s stiff beneath me. His breath ragged. I’m not done yet. Pressing my arm against his neck, I cut his air supply. He taps my back, several times. “N-N…”