Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1)

by Nadine Nightingale

  “Relax,” Rob says, brushing some hair out of my face. “It’s not the chief. Or his son.” Rob’s still pissed Mole showed up at our doorstep, trying to apologize for what his friends and his father did.

  I squint. “Then who is it?”

  He’s reluctant. I can tell by the way he bites his lip and averts his gaze. “It’s Blaze,” he finally says.

  “Send him home.” I don’t want to see him ever again. I thought he got the message when I refused to take any of his hundred calls or answer his gazillion texts. I even asked Izzy to tell him to forget I exist.

  Rob cocks a brow. “I could do that,” he says.

  “But?” I can’t hide my annoyance.

  He exhales sharply. “But I think it’d be wrong.”

  Is he kidding me? Not long ago, my soon-to-be uncle threatened Blaze’s manhood with a paintball gun. Now he refuses to kick him out? “Since when are you team Blaze?”

  Rob scrubs his fingers through his blond waves. “Look, I know I wasn’t always a fan of the boy.”

  “What changed?” I mutter.

  He shifts closer. “He protected my favorite girls,” he says matter-of-factly. “And any guy who has the guts to stand up to half a football team deserves the benefit of the doubt.” He shrugs. “Besides, your aunt and cousin like him. Who am I to judge their judgment?”

  Here’s what Rob doesn’t get: the problem isn’t Blaze. Never has been. It’s me, my curse, and the reality that I put him at risk twice in one night. I really like Blaze. Who am I kidding? I more than just like him. Which is why, from now until the day I die, I am going to stay away from him.

  I pull the blanket over my head. “I’m tired.”

  “Nisha.” His hand lands on my shoulder. “Please, just—”

  “No,” I bark.

  He stays on for a while. Probably hoping I’ll change my mind. I won’t. When he realizes it, he finally walks out of my room, allowing me to continue my self-loathing party all alone. Fun times.

  Thursday evening, almost a week after the Shed incident, I dragged myself out of bed and in front of my Mac. It’s been ages since I checked my mails. Centuries since my last Facebook visit. Can’t blame me for avoiding the nasty comments on my timeline. They range from “Hope You Die” to “Lying Slut.” Gee, I’m so glad the docs told me to stay home. I don’t think I have the nerves to handle the brewing shit-storm in person. The hundreds of text messages warning me to stay away from school and Saturday’s Halloween Ball are bad enough.

  I’m about to enter the land of uncensored opinions, bullying, and harassment, aka Facebook, when Izzy bursts in my room. “Nisha.” Her eyes gleam with excitement. “You need to come down with me.”

  “What’s up?” I ask, slowly rising to my feet—my ribs still hurt a bit.

  She grins like the Cheshire Cat. I only ever see her smile like that when Oz is nearby. “C’mon,” she pleads, tugging at my sweater. “You’re going to love this.”

  Haven’t I heard that sentence before?

  Izzy hauls me down the stairs. A cracked skull comes to my mind. My cracked skull. “Slow down, Izz.” My body is still healing. A marathon isn’t helping.

  “Sorry,” she murmurs, taking one step at a time instead of two.

  We haven’t reached the hallway yet when Aunt V casts me a weird look. One I can’t read at all. “You might want to explain this,” she says, pointing at a basket on the floor—a meowing basket.

  I peek inside. Mowgli, the black vamp kitten, is staring back at me.

  “So”—Aunt V nudges me—“are you going to tell us why someone left a kitten on our doorstep with a note that has your name on it?”

  “Blaze,” is all I manage to get out. The guy I’ve ignored for almost a week. The one I asked Rob to kick out of the house. He left his favorite kitten on my doorstep. I feel like a total jerk.

  Izzy jumps up, clapping like a baby seal. “I knew it.”

  “You knew what?” Aunt V asks, even more confused than a few seconds ago.

  My cousin gathers her chi. “That he likes her. Really, really likes her.” I hate to admit it, but Izzy is right. He must like me more than I thought if he’s willing to give me the kitten he clearly loves so much.

  I kneel down and pat Mowgli. She purrs like a blow-drier.

  Aunt V joins me on the floor. “You want to keep her?”

  I put on my best puppy gaze. “Can I?”

  She thinks long and hard. I get a bit anxious she might say no. Then, she picks up Mowgli and smiles. “Of course you can keep her.” She uses her baby voice, and I get the feeling she isn’t really talking to me. “Unless”—a warning brow flies up—“you’re going to call her pussy. Then, you can’t.”

  “I’d never call my cat ‘pussy.’” Especially not the cat Blaze gave me. “Her name is Mowgli,” I explain.

  Izzy yanks the baby out of Aunt V’s hands. “Like the Jungle Book character?”

  My cousin and I sure think alike. “Yeah, but it’s a girl,” I say, just like Blaze did the first time I met vamp kitten.

  “Awesome,” my cousin cheers. “We need all the girl power we can get.”

  I have a feeling Rob will disagree. He’s already outnumbered.

  Aunt V strokes Mowgli’s head. “We need to get cat food. Can’t let her starve.”

  “And toys,” Izzy adds.

  “Maybe we should write a list,” Aunt V suggests.

  All three of them wander off into the kitchen. I stay back and stare at the note in the basket. I’m not sure I want to read it. It’s already hard enough to stay away from Blaze. I have a feeling this might make it more difficult. In the end, curiosity wins, and I unfold the white paper. The message reads: She missed you as much as I do. Dang, the dragons in my belly fly high, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

  “Nisha,” Izzy shouts. “Come here and look at her. She’s totally digging her new home.”

  I shove the note in my pocket and head to the kitchen before I end up doing something stupid, like call him.

  I’m facing an army. Hundreds of creature-like soldiers, scattered all over the desert. Their human torsos are strong and muscular. Their weird dog-like heads, with glowing garnet eyes and shark-like teeth, are terrifying. I’ve seen a face like that before. The day my parents were murdered. I’ll never forget that aura of pure evil.

  They growl at me, ready to attack, ready to kill. Common sense urges me to run, but I’m under some sort of spell, unable to move.

  “Bow down,” a soldier-creature orders, lifting some kind of sickle sword. The blade is rusty and appears to be ancient. Yet, I have no doubt it can chop off a head without much effort.

  Hold your place, an angry voice inside my head demands. I’m not very brave, but I’m absolutely certain I’ll never bow down before them. My spine turns to steel. “No,” I say calmly.

  Soldier-Creature steps closer. He wields his sword, pressing it against my neck. “Bow down, Princess.” Uncensored wrath flickers through his eyes. He wants to use his sword on me. His fingers are itching to end me.

  I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I laugh at him. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” Another thing I’m not sure of is where all this confidence suddenly comes from.

  Anger…no, hate rises through his fiery eyes. The grip around his sword tightens. A fraction of a second later, the blade cuts through my skin as if it were paper. “You call yourself a goddess, but you’re just a puny traitor. A disgrace to our Lord.”

  I laugh harder, sounding like a crazy person. “And you,” I say. “What are you? A little obedient soldier who’d do anything to stay in his grace? Do you honestly think he cares about you?” My gaze skirts over his comrades. They flash their shark-like teeth at me. “About any of you?” I really wish I knew what I was talking about, but it rings true in my soul, and I can’t keep them bottled up inside. The cork has been popped, and the words just keep pouring out. I shake my head. “All he ever cared about was himself.”

 
“That’s not true, love,” Seth whispers. “I always cared about you, Nebt-Het.”

  The soldiers bow low and step aside, creating a path for him. Seth moves as if he owns the world—something tells me he kind of does. His edgy but god-like face is shaved clean. He wears his dark hair in a taper cut—thick on top and gradually decreasing in length on the sides and back of his head. He really is one of the two most handsome guys I’ve ever seen.

  Raw fear floods my system. A fear far worse than any army in the world could create. I contemplate closing my eyes so I won’t have to look at his face anymore—a face I associate with so much happiness and equal pain. But deep down I know it would only stall the inevitable, which is why I decide to meet his gaze. I’m instantly hexed by those blazing garnet eyes. They are made of broken dreams.

  “Why are you doing this?” I hear myself ask.

  He runs his hand down my cheek, catching a drop of blood squeezing out of my neck. “For us to be united. For us to reclaim the throne and our birthright. It’s all I ever wanted. All I ever fought for.”

  I step back. “Go to hell.”

  He smiles. “I already have, love.” Then, he faces his soldiers and nods once.

  War drums play.

  Darkness nestles down on all of us, swallowing the desert, killing the sun.

  Seconds later, I hear screams. Tortured, pained, horrified screams. They’re all around me, echoing through the desert like a desperate prayer for rain.

  Blood splatters.

  Heads roll.

  And the screams just keep coming.

  I fall to my knees, bowing my head, touching Seth’s feet. “Please, stop. I will do whatever you want. Just end this madness once and for all.”

  He bends down and lifts my chin. There’s no mischief or wickedness in his expression. “I can’t, love. Not unless you free me from my prison.”

  I’m not sure what stuns me more, his words, or all the murder and mayhem happening around us. What I do know is Seth can never be freed from his prison. Don’t ask me how or why, but I am one hundred percent certain his freedom would bring upon the end of all things. “Seth, I’m begging you…stop this.”

  Another head is chopped off. It rolls toward me. By the time I look into the poor bastard’s gold-blue eyes, my heart has stopped beating. “Blaze,” I choke out, unable to draw in air. His eyes are glazing. His lips are already blue. A piece of his spine is still attached to his head.

  Seth’s gaze drifts to Blaze’s head. Something close to pity flickers across his otherwise emotionless face. “This isn’t on me,” he says, forceful enough to rattle the sandy ground. “He made his bed a long time ago. Now he’s going to lie in his cold grave.”

  “I hate you,” I scream, tears streaming down my face. “I hate you so much…”

  He runs his hand over my hair and kisses my forehead. “You can never hate me, love. You and I, forever, remember?”

  “I don’t,” I bark, crazed with pain. “I don’t remember anything.”

  “You will,” he assures me. He hands me a desert rose. “Soon you will, Nebt-Het.”

  Something lands on my belly. I yank my eyes open, horrified by what I just saw—the blood, the gore…Blaze’s severed head. Gee, these night terrors are getting worse and worse. Not surprising, considering what day it is—Devil’s Night. The first anniversary of my parents’ death. Man, I’m glad I never agreed to organize that stupid Halloween Ball, or else I’d be forced to socialize on a day I’d rather forget exists.

  Trying to push the gruesome images away, I sit up. Mowgli is on my belly, hissing at the wafting curtain. The kitten’s tail is bushy. Her neck hair stands higher than a skyscraper. “Hey.” I run my palm over Mowgli’s soft coat. “What’s gotten into you?”

  The kitten’s gaze stays glued to the curtains. It hisses some more. Odd. The window is closed, yet the fabric is moving. Alarmed and maybe a little paranoid—can’t blame me after the strange things that happened in the past few weeks—I switch my night lamp on.

  Light floods the dark room. The curtains stop moving. I dangle my feet out of the bed, scanning my surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Takes two whole seconds until I spot the desert rose on my desk and Anubis right next to it.

  “Soon.” Seth’s voice echoes off the walls. “Soon, Nebt-Het.”

  I don’t scream, don’t freak. I simply pull the blanket over my head, convincing myself it’s all just a part of the dream.

  My cousin looks exactly like the Egyptian queen I saw in my vison at the Shed. She wears an ebony long-bob wig, parted in the center. Her eyes are surrounded by thick black eyeliner, giving them a cat-like appearance. And the ankle-length golden dress fits her like a second skin. “What do you think?” she says, turning away from the bathroom mirror.

  I secure her wide-collar necklace, made of rows of beads shaped like flowers. It stretches all the way from her collarbone to her breasts. The sapphires incorporated in the gold make her pale gray eyes pop. “I think you’d give Cleopatra a run for her money.” I’m not exaggerating. She looks stunning. It’s hard to believe women had such great taste thousands of years ago. But there’s no doubt they did. The dress and jewelry Izzy is wearing belonged to my mom. A seamstress and a goldsmith in Cairo recreated them according to an ancient drawing my dad had found of Cleopatra during his expedition.

  She beams at me. “Cleopatra, huh?” Izzy eyeballs herself. “I think I like that comparison.” Who wouldn’t? She was—scratch that—she is the epitome of everlasting beauty.

  “Izzy,” Rob shouts from downstairs. “Your date is about to leave without you.”

  We both laugh, knowing Oz would never ever do such a thing. “C’mon,” I say, hauling her out of the bathroom. “Let’s get you down there before Rob shows off his paintball gun.”

  We round the corner just in time to bear witness to Rob’s unholy attempt of The Godfather imitation. “Revenge,” he quotes, voice husky and low, “is a dish best served cold, my son.” I have no clue what this is about, and I’d rather stay in the dark.

  Oz forgets about Rob’s existence as he lays eyes on Izzy. “Whoa.” He’s gawking at her with a dropped jaw. You’d think he’s seeing her for the first time in his life and is falling for her all over again. “You”—he jumps to his feet—“are gorgeous.”

  Izzy blushes. “Well, thank you. But”—she tilts her chin at him—“you don’t look so bad yourself.” Oz wears nothing but a loincloth, showing off his glorious six-pack. He really does have the appearance of a king.

  Aunt V walks up with her phone. “You are not leaving this house without a picture, understood?” She’s less grumpy than the previous days. I assume the fact that both she and Rob have the day off has something to do with her sudden cheerfulness.

  Izzy and Oz pose for several shots. One kinda blows my mind. Rob positions Oz on Dad’s favorite armchair and asks Izzy to stand behind him, hand on his shoulder. At first she’s reluctant, muttering something about equality and feminism. In the end, she goes through with it, and I swear by the grave of my parents, I’ve seen them like this before—dressed in ancient Egyptian clothes, ruling over a whole nation rather than our living room.

  “Perfect,” Aunt V announces once she’s scrolled through all the pics.

  “All right,” Izzy says, pulling Oz to his feet. “Let’s go, then. Shaggy and Scooby are waiting on us.”

  Oz locks his gaze on me. “Sure you don’t want to come?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve spent all week trying to convince her,” Izzy grumbles. “Trust me when I say, you’re biting on granite.”

  Oz steps closer. “You know you don’t have to hide, right?” He cups my face. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Nisha. They started it. We”—he points at my family—“know the truth.”

  Yeah, it never is my fault. Only, it always is. I’m not going to mention that. Heck, I’d never get them to leave if I started this sort of conversation. Then I’d be at fault for them missing the
ball too, and I already have enough guilt on my conscience. “I’m still not feeling well,” I say, choosing the quickest and most reliable way out of an argument that has yet to start.

  “Fucking assholes,” he hisses under his breath. He’s referring to the football team and everyone else attacking me that night. From what I heard, my friends’ hatred for them runs so deep, they started a gang war at Jefferson High. On one side, we have the football team and everyone loyal to them. On the other, my friends, and just about anyone who loves Oz and Izzy and hates the bullies so much they’d rather take a stand for the Angel Of Death than the Heathers and the jocks.

  “Hey.” I squeeze his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have gone to that stupid ball anyway. You know I hate social gatherings almost as much as inhaling Shaggy’s weed cloud.”

  That doesn’t really console him. “I think Blaze—” Izzy elbows him. “Sorry,” he murmurs, as if bringing up Blaze physically hurt me. I should have never told my cousin how much I miss him.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I can hear his name without breaking down.

  “Let’s go,” Izzy grumbles, pulling Oz out.

  Aunt V and Rob ogle me suspiciously. “You okay?” he asks.

  I give them the best and fakest smile I have. “Yup.” I face the door. “I’m going up to read.”

  I didn’t lie when I said I was going to go upstairs to read. It’s just not a book or my Kindle that my nose is stuck in. Instead, I’m scrolling through the sixty thousand hits I got when I keyed “Nebt-Het” into the Google search bar. I’ve been meaning to check out this name since I got up, but was tied up in Izzy’s ball preparations, so research had to wait a little longer. Now I’m all set to find out who that woman is and why the guy from my night terrors, aka Seth, calls me by her name.