The Pharaoh's Mistress

by Aderyn Wood

  I keep my mouth shut, but Michael pipes up with an answer. “Yes. She calls herself a slayer. She captured Emma and me in Greece. She claims her mission is to free the planet of the disease of vampires, but strangely, we found a vampire in her service.” Michael glances at me.

  “Is this Amynta a vampire herself?”

  Michael blinks, and a slight frown tugs at his eyebrows. “I didn’t think so. I suppose it is possible. What do you think, Emma?”

  I consider the notion. Amynta has superior strength and I strongly suspect that our tussle on the deck was no true demonstration of her skills. She withheld her power on purpose. She didn’t want to harm me. She didn’t even try to warn me. She simply responded defensively to every one of my strikes. Her movements were too quick for an ordinary human though. There is something about her, but I couldn’t detect the scent that would indicate a vampire. And when I let her fall into the river, after she took a sample of my blood, she accepted her fate willingly.

  “Emma?” Michael says again.

  “No. She has strength and speed, but she lacks the power of a vampire. And the smell.”

  “The smell?” Georgette says, and I sense the curiosity in her is strong. There is a glimmer of how much time she herself has spent in pursuit of vampire knowledge and lore. I am tempted to probe her thoughts further, but that cinnamon is a distraction. “Could you try to explain what a vampire smells like, Emma?”

  “Death. Decay.”

  I expect Georgette to be repulsed by such a notion, but she doesn’t even blink. She stares at me and asks her next question. “Can you readily detect another vampire?”

  “Yes…” my answer trails off as I think of Nathaniel and his peculiar scent – like aged death, ancient bones and ash, but mixed with a powerful energy. Suddenly his scent seems to fill the cabin. As though he stands before me. I focus on Georgette once more and narrow my eyes.

  “You believe Amynta pursues you now, non?” Georgette says to Michael.

  “We know she does,” Michael answers. “We came face to face with her just after dusk. But she did us no harm.”

  “What did she want?”

  “To urge us to go with her further east. She wants to draw out another vampire.”

  “No,” Georgette says. “You mean the Gypsy?”

  Michael nods. “Her name is Asha. There is precious little we know about her, but the way Amynta talks, she must be very powerful.”

  “We knew that before,” I say. My eyes have not left Georgette. The scent that lingers in her blood, I inhale it deeply. It is too familiar.

  “She revealed something about the pendant Asha wears at the throat,” Michael continues. “She wants to get her clutches on it—”

  “I knew it!” Georgette claps her hands together. “What do you think it is this pendant? A vial of blood according to the diary, but it must have some kind of power…”

  Georgette’s prattle fades to the background as I focus on that scent. All at once an image forms in my mind, of Nathaniel in an alleyway. There are cobblestones that shimmer in the light of a flickering streetlamp. Nathaniel is feeding, and the fog clears enough for me to see his victim and her blonde frizz of hair.

  I snarl and reach for Georgette.

  “Emma!” Michael shouts.

  I grab her throat and bring it close to breathe her scent more eagerly. Her large frame is easy enough for me to manhandle, and she flops forward like an oversized rag doll.

  “Emma!” Michael grips my shoulders, trying to pull me away, but I am too strong for him and my clutch on Georgette’s throat remains true. Her wide eyes watch me as her mouth falls open, but still she holds no fear. Her buttery blood fills my nostrils and my mouth waters with the scent of it, but in that stream I also sense my maker and with a growl I shove Georgette away, and stand back from her.

  She flops onto the chair and studies me with eyes more curious than before and I am struck once again by her lack of fear.

  “Emma!” Michael’s face is before me and so is his rage. It blocks the sunshine and goodness that normally streams from him. “What are you doing?”

  “She’s been bitten,” I say with a snarl. “When were you going to tell us?”

  Georgette stares for a moment before looking away. “Yes, I was bitten.”

  “What?” Michael turns. “Georgette, why didn’t you tell us before?”

  “And why didn’t you tell us it was him?” I ask through gritted teeth.

  “Who?” Michael gives me a slack-jawed stare. “Who are you talking about?”

  “Nathaniel,” Georgette says quietly.

  “Nathaniel?” Michael says. “He’s the one that bit you?”

  “Yes.”

  Suddenly an image emblazons itself in my mind. A sword. Not a sword but a blade of some kind. I release Georgette and grab the big shoulder bag by her side and empty the contents. Scraps of paper, notebooks, handkerchiefs, a punnet of strawberries and two apples fall out onto a heavier object. Pushing the debris aside, I grab something in a red piece of silk. It has the feel of a blade. Georgette’s green eyes watch me as I unwrap the silk.

  I hold it up to Michael. The spearhead feels warm in my hand. “This is the Holy Lance.” I step close to Georgette once more and grab a handful of blonde frizz and pull her head back. “You better tell us everything you know. No more secrets.”

  This time, Michael doesn’t stop me.

  Chapter 9

  SSO, Dossier abstract on PE1 – Gypsy, Asha, Ashayet

  Security Level: Extreme

  Source: The Dux

  Asha is known to the SSO and has long been classified as our Public Enemy Number One. Her inevitable assassination remains this Order’s raison d'être.

  Asha is one and the same entity known as the ‘gypsy vampire’ documented in the diary of PE2, Nathaniel Chartley (Evid Doc #3067) and made public in the blog created by Emma Farleigh (Evid Doc #3059), who has herself become vampire as a result of targeting by Chartley in the aftermath of his diary entering the public domain.

  Michael stopped reading and turned to stare at Georgette. “How exactly did you come across this so-called dossier?”

  Georgette glanced at Emma, who now stood on the other side of the cabin drinking another vodka as she examined the lance. “Since you left Paris I’ve been doing my own investigating. I’ve suspected Schleck was involved in hunting vampires for some time.”

  “How?” Michael asked.

  Georgette bit her lip. “I’ve been intercepting her communications.”

  “You’ve been hacking her?” Emma asked.

  “Oui.” Georgette sighed. “She communes regularly with Amynta.”

  “Who else does she commune with?” Emma asked as she returned the lance to the fold of silk still on the bed.

  “Brother Gerold.”

  A flourish of tingling flew along Michael’s fingers. “Gerold?” he whispered.

  “Who else?” Emma’s chin was thrust forward, and Michael gave her a frown. It had taken all his negotiation skills to make her release Georgette’s throat and step away.

  Georgette returned Emma’s gaze for a moment before lowering her chin. “Schleck is also in regular contact with someone they call The Dux.”

  “Dux?” Emma said. “Like leader?”

  “I suppose.”

  Michael’s hands continued to tingle a warning. “Georgette, you should not pursue this kind of thing. It’s too dangerous.”

  Georgette rubbed her eyes. It was three am. She needed sleep. “Something is happening, Michael. Something important. Schleck was after this lance—”

  “The Holy Lance.”

  “The Lance of Constantine, Schleck called it. It used to belong to Amynta until it was stolen by Chartley a long time ago,” Georgette said.

  Emma frowned. “Why is it relevant to anything?”

  Michael looked at it. It was in very good condition considering its age, though it could do with a polish, the gold sheath had dulled somewhat. His fingers
buzzed again, and he shook them with a sigh. His gift was too alert, but there was so much new information, and he was tired; it was difficult to discern what was significant anymore. “You call it the Holy Lance, Emma. The weapon that killed Christ on the cross?”

  Emma shook her head. “If this is the Lance of Constantine it is supposed to have been lost to the ages, and was only ever considered to be one of the fakes used by kings to gain influence among the devout.”

  “I believe,” Georgette said, her voice deep with drama, “Amynta believes this to be the true blade that finally dispatched the Christ.”

  “That’s not what the bible teaches,” Michael said.

  “No,” Emma added, giving Georgette a glower. “He was already dead when Longinus plunged the blade through his side.”

  Georgette shrugged. “Amynta says there are other texts, other gospels that tell a different story.”

  They all looked at it and a flourish of tingles resonated along Michael’s hands and up his arms. He would have to meditate once he was rested.

  “I overheard a few conversations,” Georgette said.

  “You overheard?” Emma scowled. “How is it you came so close you could eavesdrop on Schleck’s conversation?”

  “I’ve been getting closer. I had to if I was to learn more. After Chartley attacked me, I heard Schleck ask him about the lance, specifically.”

  Emma rushed forward, but Michael stood between them. “Emma—”

  “How did you escape Nathaniel?” Emma hissed at Georgette.

  “Emma. Please,” Michael said.

  “Don’t you think it suspicious? He’s an Old One for crying out loud,” Emma snarled. “I don’t believe her stories.”

  “We can trust her,” Michael replied forcing his voice to calm. “Perhaps you should leave. Just for a while?”

  Emma’s eyes narrowed, and Michael checked his voice once more, making it as soothing as possible. “Georgette is tired. She needs sleep.”

  “I’m all right,” Georgette said with heavy eyes.

  Michael ignored her and continued speaking to Emma. “Find Yossef, tell him to arrange a cabin for our guest.”

  “I don’t want to leave you alone with her.”

  “I want to be alone with her for a little while. I am perfectly safe, Emma. Please.” Michael extended a hand toward the exit.

  Emma glared back and forth between the two of them before abruptly turning and leaving the cabin. Michael exhaled a sharp breath.

  “The monster in her grows dominant, Michael,” Georgette said, her weary eyes giving him a sorry stare.

  Michael sighed again and sat heavily before Georgette’s laptop. He pointed to the storage device still plugged into the computer. “Tell me more about how you came across this.”

  Georgette’s head flung up in a dramatic way her curls flopping, as though she was trying to keep her fatigue at bay through sheer physical force. “Schleck is part of something bigger than just the police. Some kind of organisation called ‘SSO’, though what that stands for I’ve yet to discover. As I’ve already said, I know Amynta is involved, and so is Gerold, and it seems they seek to destroy the gypsy woman, Asha.”

  “And someone called The Dux is also involved,” Michael said. “As Emma said, Dux translates to ‘leader’, perhaps there is another member of this SSO we’ve yet to meet.”

  Georgette’s eyelids lowered. “It seems so.”

  “You need sleep, my friend.”

  Georgette sat up straight and opened her mouth, to protest presumably, but they were interrupted by Yossef who entered the cabin with soft steps. “Excuse the interruption, sir,” he said. “Mistress Emma tells me you require another cabin for your guest.” He turned to face Georgette. “If you will follow me, madam, I will show you to your sleeping quarters.”

  “No, I am not ready—”

  “Georgette,” Michael spoke. “Go get some sleep. I will read more of this information you found and meet you later. After we’ve both rested.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course.”

  Michael sat in the dining cabin, alone, and considered all he’d learned. Georgette had survived an attack by Nathaniel himself. She’d also escaped Schleck. Emma had told him his ‘French chum’, unlike every other human she’d encountered, held no fear of her. A good thing too. Emma’s behaviour grew more erratic. It seemed the closer they drew to their mysterious destination, the more Emma’s hunger grew, and the less she appeared in control of herself.

  The boat still cruised silently along. Georgette had left him with her laptop and the information she’d stolen from Schleck’s computer in Paris. He’d returned to his cabin to retrieve his tablet before heading back up to the dining cabin.

  Emma was a shadow, standing at the bow. She stood straight and alert, as though on guard, no doubt scanning for any sign of Amynta’s cruiser. Michael considered once again the way in which Amynta had stolen a sample of Emma’s blood and wondered why. He came to the same conclusion he had come to a dozen times before. The slayer was probably using the blood as way to track them.

  Emma was fingering the silver thread she insisted on wearing about her neck. She didn’t reveal things through her demeanour the same way humans did. Her facial expressions and body language remained ostensibly neutral to the uneducated eye. But he was growing more accustomed to her. He could read the slouch of one shoulder. The persistent slow tapping of one foot. Emma was troubled. She fought the monster within, and with every new night the struggle grew stronger.

  He was tempted to go to her. To offer words of reassurance. To talk to her of Amynta’s clue that the pendant worn by Asha was some kind of cure. But nothing was certain, and he had no wish to give false hope. He must convince himself before he could convince others. She would read his mind and see straight through his falseness otherwise.

  He tore his gaze from her, pressed his lips tight and took the remaining steps up to the topmost deck. It was cooler up here. In the dining cabin, one of the windows was open and a northerly breeze blew iciness through the space. Michael closed it, poured himself a whisky and settled in to study.

  He opened Georgette’s laptop, sipping his whisky as he waited for it to load the information Georgette had encrypted. A page came to life with the case name, Asha, written in bold at the very top. Michael clicked and began reading from where he’d left off.

  Asha is believed by SSO to be the undead embodiment of Ashayet, a once sacred and holy priestess of the ancient Egyptian goddess Hathor. In her capacities as priestess, it is postulated Ashayet’s main duties were the performance of rites and rituals involving that aspect of Hathor’s cult in which the newly dead were ushered into the Underworld.

  Her relationship to the pharaoh Mentuhotep II has received some attention by mainstream academia who erroneously consider her a minor wife to the pharaoh. Research by our own organisation has revealed Asha was more likely concubine, or perhaps not even of that status, and nothing more than a mistress. Document #4011 reveals Asha may have originated from an ancient nomadic peoples in the northern mountainous reaches of old Mesopotamia – a people who practiced dark ritual magic.

  Little is known regarding Ashayet’s original tribe, but their use of what is commonly referred to as Blood Magic has been corroborated by three different sources (ref. Doc#2031). It is probable such ‘magic’ has everything to do with the vial Asha still wears at her throat.

  The empty whisky glass dropped from Michael’s hand making a loud thunk on the floor and thankfully not breaking. His hands buzzed violently. He stood and paced the cabin, shaking his arms out before standing by a window and opening it to breathe the cool fresh air and steady his mind.

  The Nile churned in dark whirls as the boat glided over its waters. Michael looked to the horizon. It remained dark and he said a quiet thanks that the sun had not yet risen. He needed to learn more before he slept himself and met with Georgette later that morning. Michael stilled his thoughts and soon the buzzing reduced t
o tingling, and then to nothing, his hands cooling as they returned to normal.

  He retrieved the glass and poured himself some water, guzzling it quickly before returning to his seat and Georgette’s laptop.

  So Asha was old, millennia old. He didn’t doubt what he’d read was true. His gift had detected it and his gift never lied.

  He began an Internet search for Ashayet, learning more information, confirming what Georgette had revealed – that Ashayet was purported to be a minor wife of Pharaoh Mentuhotep II who died over 4000 years ago. She was supposed to have been twenty-two when she died, and she was indeed a priestess of Hathor. But there was no mention of her coming from the small mountain clan. And no mention of her role as death keeper, a notable overseer of the Underworld.

  Michael closed the laptop. He’d come across some small reference to Egypt once or twice before. In Nathaniel’s diary certainly, but where else? He retrieved his tablet and began scanning the numerous notes. His highlights of the Foliss, were many, but soon his eyes found one line, sitting by itself among the various paragraphs. ‘Seth’s power shall return to resurrect the Dark One’s chosen.’

  Michael narrowed his eyes. Seth was also an Egyptian god, wasn’t he?

  He returned his attention to the tablet and scanned the remaining notes and the images from Gavius’ text, and once again his eyes fell on the name Seth. ‘Seth’s hand will bring forth the chosen. An almighty reckoning will empower the Dark Ones to give of their blood and rise again to walk the earth, with their maker, boundless, for eternal night shall reign, and Seth, the Lord of Chaos, shall lead the worthy.’

  Michael stood and returned to the bar to pour himself another dram of whisky, which he swallowed in one gulp. Then he pulled out a chair by a window and sat. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. If he could just calm his mind enough, his gift would show him the way forward.