Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1)

by Nadine Nightingale

  Blaze looks from the black ride to me and back. “Where?”

  I leave the accident part out simply because I’m not sure this really is the car that had hit the woman. “A couple of weeks ago, some weird dude was in Amara’s office. He wanted something from her, and I…”

  “You?”

  “I don’t know.” I roll my shoulders. “Something about him was off.”

  “You sure that’s the same car?” he inquires.

  I stare at the black beast. “I might be wrong,” I admit. Differentiating a Mustang from a Camaro is hard on me. I’m not going to pretend I’m able to tell German cars apart. They do sort of all look alike to me.

  “I don’t like this,” he grumbles, scanning the deserted area.

  I let go of his hand, moving through the knee-deep snow to the front door. It’s pitch-black inside. Not a single light is on. The “Closed” sign is still in the shop window. Weird. Here’s another odd thing. Shop owners in Shepherdstown are responsible for pushing the snow off the pavement so people can walk. Amara’s front obviously hasn’t been cleared in a while. It would have been the first thing she’d done had she come back.

  Silencing the alarm bells ringing in the depths of my soul, I knock. The instant my knuckles connect with the glass, the door creaks open. It wasn’t even closed to begin with. This isn’t right. That creepy sensation is back, the one where I feel like the next victim of Saw.

  Blaze’s breath beats against the nape of my neck, but even his warmth can’t chase away the fear building up in the pit of my stomach. “What’s going on, princess?”

  I look over my shoulder. “The door was open.”

  That’s the last straw for Blaze. His whole demeanor changes drastically. The boy who kissed me moments ago transforms into a deadly weapon. His soft face is marble-like. “Stay behind me,” he orders, pushing in front of me.

  The terror intoxicating my veins won’t let me argue with him. “Be careful,” I whisper, not sure why I feel the urge to run as fast as humanly possible in the opposite direction.

  He nods and slowly opens the door. We take two steps. Then, both of us reel back. I cover my mouth and nose. “What the fuck?” Blaze mutters, referring to the disgusting smell wafting through the bookstore—a mixture of rotten eggs, spoiled meat, and vinegar.

  The odor is nauseating, and when I hear the buzzing of flies, I recognize it for what it is. “Death,” I blurt out.

  Blaze spins around. “What did you just say?”

  “It smells like death,” I repeat, my heart jackknifing against my neck.

  His eyes widen. “Maybe we should call the cops,” he suggests.

  SOS, Amara had texted. What if something happened to her? What if I wasted precious time making out with Blaze instead of coming here directly? Gee, I’d never forgive myself. No way I’m going to wait around till the cops show. “I need to find Amara,” I say, moving farther into the store.

  Blaze grabs me by the shoulders, hauling me back. “Wait.”

  I cast him a don’t-even-try-to-talk-me-out-of-this look. “Blaze, I—”

  “I’ll check the back.” Like an army general’s orders, his words leave no room for an argument. I have not the slightest doubt he’ll throw me over his shoulders and carry me outside should I dare to disobey.

  A little annoyed by the Brit’s bossiness, I cross my arms and pout. “Fine.” Treat me like a damsel in distress and be the hero. I can live with that as long as Amara is going to be okay.

  On high alert, Blaze disappears to the back of the store. I use the time to scan the front with my phone’s flashlight. Nothing looks out of the ordinary. The books are still on their respective shelves. The register is intact and—

  Wait, what is that?

  Amara’s favorite coffee mug. It’s half full, but the liquid inside no longer looks like coffee. A greenish film covers the top—mold. I pick it up and take a sniff. The milk is sour, the mug ice cold. It must have been sitting here for a while.

  “Fuck,” Blaze barks.

  A fraction of a second later, heavy footsteps echo through the darkness, and an alien voice yells, “On the ground! Get on the ground! Now!”

  What the—

  “Whoa. Easy, mate,” Blaze says calmly.

  “Shut up and don’t move,” the alien voice shouts.

  “I won’t,” Blaze assures. “But I’d appreciate if you pointed that gun somewhere other than my face.”

  Gun? Am I hallucinating again? I must be. Any moment, I will yank my eyes open, and the night terror will be over.

  “I won’t say it again. Get on your fucking knees, boy.”

  “Relax,” Blaze hisses. “I’m on my knees, all right.”

  What if this isn’t a hallucination? What if it is real? Something sinks its teeth in my heart, ripping bits and pieces away. I think it’s pure dread with a pinch of horror and panic. It only gets worse when a pair of charcoal eyes stare back at me.

  Anubis is standing by the Customers’ Favorites bookshelf, pointing his long golden staff at me. “You have to go,” he growls without ever moving his mouth.

  “Where is she?” the voice shouts in the back. “Tell me where the girl is.”

  “What girl?” Blaze asks casually.

  Anger rises through the guy’s already dark vocalization. “Don’t play dumb, boy.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Blaze shoots back. “I came here alone because my friend asked me to check on her boss.” He’s quick to give excuses.

  Anubis approaches me. “Go,” he demands.

  I’m still not sure this is really happening. I’ve had hallucinations like this before—the ones feeling so real I would have bet my life on it they are. But let’s, for a second, assume it is. Real, I mean. Then there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Blaze behind with a guy who’s pointing a gun at him. I’ve seen my fair share of action movies to know how a situation like this ends. No way I’ll let this happen to Blaze.

  Turning away from the ancient Egyptian god with the golden staff, I slowly head to the back, tiptoeing over the unsound hardwood floor. Amara’s office door is ajar. I take a peek.

  Jesus!

  Blaze is kneeling next to Amara’s battered body. She’s tied to a chair. A pool of dried blood covers the floor beneath her. There’s no question—she’s dead. Has been for a while, judging by the state of decomposition. Then, there’s the guy with the gun, lingering over Blaze. I only see his back, but that’s enough to tell he’s not human. Not completely. His torso is, but his head is that of a weird animal—a soldier-creature, just like in my dream.

  A scream crawls up my throat. I cover my mouth to keep it locked inside.

  “Listen.” Soldier-Creature grabs Blaze by the collar. “I’m tired of your games. Tell me where the girl is, or”—he presses the gun against Blaze’s temple—“I’m going to end you.”

  A cocky grin spreads across Blaze’s face. “Told you,” he says, as if he doesn’t have a dang gun pointed at his head. “I came alone.”

  I need to do something. Yeah, but what? Calling the cops might be a good start. Only, Blaze will be dead before they get here.

  White noise floats through the office. The soldier-creature’s radio goes off. A male voice with an English accent comes through. “Jamal?”

  Soldier-Creature steps back from Blaze. He pulls the radio out of his black vest. “Yes, sir,” he replies.

  “Do you have her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You better hurry, son. We both know what happens to the unfaithful, don’t we?”

  Soldier-Creature’s hands shake. “Yes, sir.”

  Blaze grins. “You look pissed, mate. Trouble in paradise?” What is wrong with this guy? Does he have a death wish? Why else would he mock a dude with a gun, who, judging by Amara’s corpse, has no problem using it?

  Soldier-Creature returns to Blaze. “Shut up and tell me where she is.”

  He shrugs. “No clue. I’m her boyfriend, not her babysi
tter.”

  If this wasn’t a life-and-death situation, I’d ask him when the boyfriend thing happened. But our relationship status won’t matter anymore if the creature kills him.

  “Very well,” the guy grumbles. “Have it your way.”

  As if he hasn’t pissed him off enough, Blaze sings “My Way” by Frank Sinatra. I swear, should he make it out of this in one piece, I’ll strangle him myself.

  “Close your eyes,” Soldier-Creature orders, the barrel of the gun pressed against Blaze’s forehead.

  “No,” Blaze says matter-of-factly.

  “Do it.” The creature sounds crazed. “Do it, now!”

  Blaze shakes his head. “If you want to kill me, you’ll have to look me in the eye, mate.”

  And here I thought I was the insane one of the two of us.

  Soldier-Creature sighs heavily. “As you wish.”

  Out of thin air, Anubis appears next to Blaze. That’s when I know he’s going to die. Our first kiss is going to be our last. The light he brought into the lives of so many will be beset by the pain his loss will cause, and it’ll be my fault.

  Stop sulking in self-pity and do something, an angry voice roars through me.

  Anubis reaches out for Blaze. Any second he’ll claim his soul.

  The voice inside me is right. I can’t let this happen. I won’t just stand around and watch him die.

  “Say your final prayers,” Soldier-Creature mocks him, finger on the trigger.

  My dad was right. Heroes aren’t born. They’re forged in the heat of decisions. When I kick the door open, I make mine.

  Soldier-Creature spins around. He screams something. I’m too petrified to hear a dang thing. All I know is—

  This is it.

  The end.

  My end.

  The muzzle of the gun stares back at me. A small black hole, ready to fire a speeding bullet straight into my heart. An image of my mom pops up—the look in her eyes when the garnet-eyed creature pulled the trigger. She knew she was taking her last breath. That her life was over, her moments in this world numbered. She wasn’t petrified though. The only emotion laced into her soft hazel eyes—regret.

  Will I have regrets when the bullet rips through my skin, tearing up my insides? All the things I’ll never experience flash across my eyes—graduation, college, getting wasted, sex—the number of firsts that’ll never happen is endless. Then, my gaze drifts to Blaze, and the price I’m paying for his life seems void.

  “I said put your hands up,” Soldier-Creature yells. His shrill voice banishes every other thought.

  Anubis watches from the corner of the room like a silent witness.

  Slowly, I lift my arms, meeting his hellish eyes. They’re glowing like a deadly fire. The longer I look at him, the more his face blurs. I blink over and over. Until, eventually, his dog-like head takes on a human form. He’s in his early twenties and has white-blond hair. His eyes—his real eyes—are a cold soot. He wears white pants and a long white tunic along with a black vest. A small black flag with a white banner and Arabic writing is embroidered on it.

  “On the floor,” he orders, waving his gun around.

  I once read about human survival instinct—fight or flight. Some shrinks claim it’s stitched into our DNA. They believe in a moment of attack or threat, we’d do just about anything to come out unharmed. In my case, that means I should get on the floor and do as Soldier-Creature said. But I’ve watched countless people die despite following their assailant’s orders—the store clerk, my elementary teacher—obeying didn’t keep them breathing, it extinguished their life-flame. In my long and gruesome career as Shepherdstown’s Angel of Death, I’ve learned one thing: a killer—human or not—doesn’t need an excuse. He murders regardless of your actions.

  “Are you fucking deaf?” Soldier-Creature’s finger is anchored to the trigger, cold sweat curves down his temple. “Get on the goddamn floor before I blow your brain out.”

  Something in his eyes tells me he won’t shoot me. “And who are you to give me orders?” Did I really just say that? When did I jump on the cocky wagon?

  Soldier-Creature takes two long strides, getting right in my face. “I’m not scared of you, Princess. So”—he points the muzzle at Blaze—“why don’t you do as I say before pretty-boy’s brain-tissue decorates the walls?”

  The vicious energy returns, speeding through my veins, enflaming my guts. “Why don’t you put that thing down before you get hurt?”

  His bony fingers wrap around my throat. “You think you’re so special, but we both know you’re just a puny traitor, don’t we?”

  His words ring like an alarm clock, reminding me of the night terror and all the things Seth’s soldier had said to me.

  “Now, get on your knees,” he tries again, choking me.

  “Nisha,” Blaze hisses through gritted teeth. I might be certain Soldier-Creature won’t kill me, but Blaze might just do it for him. The tension in his jawline looks sort of painful.

  Still, I won’t budge. “You asked for me, didn’t you?” I croak, barely able to breathe. “Well”—I wave my hands—“here I am. So, why don’t you let him go?”

  Dead-cold laughter bursts out of him. “I’m sure pretty-boy doesn’t want to miss the party, Princess.” He looks over his shoulder at Blaze. “Right?”

  “Fuck you,” Blaze spits back.

  Soldier-Creature’s radio goes off again. “Jamal, do you copy?”

  Grinning, he lets go of me and steps away. “Copy, sir.”

  “Do you have her?”

  His gaze darts to me, pride filling his eyes. “Yes, sir. Subject apprehended.”

  “Very good, son. Mission Red Desert is underway. Bring her over immediately.”

  What the heck is Mission Red Desert?

  In my peripheral, I watch Blaze crawling closer to Soldier-Creature. My heart pounds against my chest. He’s going to get himself killed.

  “Copy that, sir.”

  Soldier-Creature shoves his radio back into his vest when Blaze lunges forward, wrapping his arms around the guy’s legs. It happens so fast, the guy doesn’t know what hit him. Blaze wrestles him to the floor. The gun is the first thing to hit the ground.

  “Run,” Blaze yells at me as the bastard lands on his belly, face kissing the floor.

  I didn’t run when they killed my parents. I won’t run now.

  Soldier-Creature reaches for his weapon, but Blaze is quicker. With one swift move, he spins him around and throws punch after punch.

  Left.

  Soldier-Creature’s lip cracks.

  Right.

  The tiny vessels around his eyes burst.

  Left.

  Bones crack.

  Right.

  Blood splatters.

  Despite his severe injuries, his fingertips are still reaching for the gun. Blaze grabs him by the collar of his shirt, delivering a last, precise hit to the jerk’s temple with his elbow.

  His lights go out.

  Doesn’t stop Blaze’s fists from assaulting him further. He keeps on punching the unconscious dude. I spot the ugly rage in Blaze’s lapis eyes. The thirst for blood is written all over his face.

  I gawk at Anubis. He’s still here. That means someone is going to die.

  Blaze is going to kill him.

  My gaze drifts to Amara’s tortured corpse. Part of me welcomes the thought. Soldier-Creature is a monster. Who knows how many people he killed. Something tells me Amara wasn’t his first victim. The thing is, I’ve seen enough death to last for several eternities. I don’t feel like watching another murder.

  “Blaze stop,” I shout, catching his arm before his fist damages the dude’s face further. “You’re killing him,” I say softly, but with enough urgency to prove my point.

  He looks up. A hint of madness flickering through his heavenly eyes. “What is wrong with you?” he barks, fingers still clenched around the dude’s shirt. “He could have shot you, for fuck’s sake.”

  Seriously? I
slam my hands on my hips. “Are you really mad at me because I couldn’t let him kill you?” Whatever happened to the good old “thanks for saving my butt”?

  “No,” he shoots back. “I’m fucking mad because you almost got yourself killed, Nisha. What were you thinking barging in here like Rambo?” He gets on his feet and in my face. “Do you have any idea what the thought of losing you did to me? Or what it felt like to be on my knees like a coward while you had a gun pointed at your heart?”

  “I’m fine,” I assure him, hoping to cool him down.

  Blaze narrows his eyes. “You could be dead.”

  “I’m not.”

  Blaze shakes his head. After a few pissed inhales and exhales, he’s calmer. “Any idea who that prick is and what he wants from you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him before?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anything you want to tell me? Like why the hell he called you a traitor?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Blaze’s face slips into a frown. I’m sure he’s got more questions, but there’s something much more important on my mind.

  I brush past him, heading straight for Amara. Flies circle her. There’s no point checking her pulse. Her skin—a discolored green—is putrefying. It looks as if she’s been gone for a long time. I can’t help but wonder if she was still alive when I showed up for work and found the store locked? Had she been rotting here all along? Or could I have saved her had I been more persistent in finding her?

  I examine her body closer. Her left ear is chopped off. So is her left index finger. Doesn’t take long to spot more signs of cruel torture. Pieces of her skin are cut out. Some wounds are so deep, they lay bare the muscles beneath. Her flowery satin blouse is soaked with blood. I almost puke when I lift it. There’s a gaping hole in the upper right portion of her abdomen—her liver is missing.

  I’m not sure what exactly killed her—the blood loss, the torture, or the two swollen puncture wounds on her neck. I swear, it looks like a snakebite.

  “Look at this,” Blaze says, a golden pendant dangling from his hand. “Found it around the dude’s neck.” It’s shaped like the creature-face of the man—some kind of dog with a long and narrow snout. “Read the inscription on the back,” Blaze says.