by Jill Myles
Miss Brighton, I think I love you. Love, Bobby.
Creepy. I put the card down and looked at the next one.
Miss Brighton, the sun rises and sets in your blue eyes. Would you be my girl?
Ew. Next card.
Miss Brighton-
I tossed it aside. Just what I needed-a stalker who knew where I lived and had the key to my apartment. How had he managed to get the key, anyway?
I didn’t touch the rest of the gifts and moved to my regular mail, which had been neatly and alphabetically stacked on a coffee table. Bills, bills, bills, and lots of junk mail. Nothing personal, nothing that reminded me that I was a normal woman with a nine-to-five job. It was depressing.
My voicemail was depressing as well. Thirteen messages, and once I’d hit the sixth one from Bobby, I started deleting after the first word. Ten messages in, I recognized a different voice and rewound to listen.
“Hey, Jackie.” The voice was Noah’s, sleepy and a little unfocused. “I, uh, got your number the other day when we met at the bar. You probably don’t remember that, right? I guess you’re not home. No doubt staying with Remy again.”
He chuckled, and my heart did a little flip. “She’s a bit of a busybody, but she means well, so don’t take any of her ways to heart. She’s just excited to have another of her kind in the city. It’s been a long time since she’s had anyone to talk to but me.”
The voice in the recording paused for so long that I thought the message was over. I moved to hit Delete when Noah began to speak again. “I just … I guess … ah, hell. I’m not good with apologies. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry-for everything that you’ve been through. I would have never done it intentionally. You know that.” A huge sigh.
“You just looked so lost and alone that night in the bar, and so innocent, that I couldn’t help but be drawn to you. I hope you won’t hold it against me forever. I know it’s hard right now to adjust, and I guess I just … I just wanted to say that I’m here for you, if you ever need me for anything.”
I stood there in stunned silence.
The machine beeped. “End of message,” the computerized voice warned. “To delete this message-”
I hit the Save button, sniffing hard. I would not cry. I would not cry.
Damn Noah for being so sweet and such an arrogant ass at the same time. I checked the rest of the messages, hoping for more from Noah, but the rest were just more of Bobby’s mooning.
What now? Suddenly my excursion back to my normal life didn’t seem so important. I stared at my shabby furniture, at the stalker roses, at the pictures on the wall from graduation and college roomies, and everything else. It all seemed utterly trivial, and I felt lost and alone. The life I’d led before was meaningless, and the life I had now was utterly frightening.
I wandered into my bedroom like one of the walking dead. Worn-out sneakers under the bed, frumpy work clothes in the closet; I’d even neatly made my bed.
Who was I? I didn’t know anymore.
Sitting on the bed, I contemplated my options. I couldn’t go back to the way things used to be-my boss thought I was a crazy plastic surgery junkie. I couldn’t stay with Remy; her lifestyle would never be mine. Noah was gone, perhaps forever, and I was stuck with a cigarette-smoking vampire hottie who was crashed out in the backseat of a car that wasn’t even mine.
I buried my head in my hands. When did my life get so fucked up?
Much as I wanted to run screaming from the situation, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t bury my head in the sand and continue on like nothing had ever happened. Noah needed me. I had to at least try.
I gathered a few things: some comfortable old T-shirts, my briefcase full of museum paperwork, a few research books, and a few other doodads I didn’t want to leave behind.
I had an odd feeling that I wouldn’t see my apartment, or any trace of my old life, again.
Leaving the building behind, I got into Noah’s Explorer with a half wave to Bobby, tore out of the parking garage, and coasted back onto the highway, my mind churning. A quick glance behind me confirmed that Zane was still asleep in the backseat-not that I’d expected otherwise.
There was still a good half hour until I had to pick up Remy, but I couldn’t get much done in that span of time, so I headed back to the pawnshop and idled the car, flipping through radio stations.
Remy showed up shortly, a couple of bags in tow, and slid into the passenger seat. She dumped the goods on the floorboard and grinned, looking excited. “Miss me? You look like someone died. Everything okay?”
“I suppose, considering all the bullshit that’s going down. What did you get?”
“I’ll show you when we get home and drop off our third wheel.” She thumbed a gesture at the passed-out Zane. “Deal?”
“Whatever floats your boat. Can we grab something to eat? I’m starving.”
Remy laughed. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Several hours later, the setting sun blazed through the miniblinds. Zane was stashed in Remy’s basement on an old couch, we were stuffed with milkshakes, pizzas, and burgers, and she was surfing the internet on her laptop. The remnants of a pizza lay in a box at our feet, and every once in a while I’d reach down and have another slice.
“This sucks,” I complained, gesturing at the screen with my straw. “First, we couldn’t find anything at the library in five hours of searching, and now this. I can’t believe that if you google ‘halo’ on the internet, all you get are nine million websites about a stupid video game.”
Remy frowned and tried typing in a few more combinations of “Joachim” and “Halo.” We’d been at this for a few hours now, and I was getting sick of finding nothing but random porn sites. Those interested Remy in a purely vain fashion-she wanted to see if she was mentioned on any of them-but for me, it was just annoying.
“How the heck am I supposed to find a halo that’s been missing for the past, oh, three or four millennia?”
Remy shrugged, reaching for the last slice of pizza. “Maybe we need to find who had it last.”
I sat back on the couch, nursing my shake and thinking. “Well, obviously the queen’s boyfriend had it last. The question is, where was he when he died?” I rubbed my temples, trying to think. “Think that our buddy Nitocris was a queen before she was vampire queen?”
“We could always punch in her name with a few of the older kingdoms in history, and see what that pulls up,” Remy suggested, tapping away on the keyboard.
“Phoenician,” I guessed. “Zulu. Greek? Nah, they had city-states or something. Celtic? She doesn’t seem lightcomplected enough. Carthaginian?”
Remy snorted and flipped the laptop in my direction. “You’re trying way too hard. Check this out.”
Under the search words of “Nitocris” and “Queen,” I saw a few articles neatly listed on the search results.
“Bingo,” I crowed. “Queen of Egypt. I guess that fits.”
“No kidding.” Remy clicked on the first link and began scanning the page. “Good lord. Did you read this stuff?” Her mouth set into a grim line.
“Well, seeing as how you’re hogging the computer and we just pulled it up five seconds ago, no. Let me see.” I angled the computer screen toward me a bit and leaned over her shoulder to read.
“First Female Pharaoh of Egypt” the top banner proclaimed.
Remy jabbed her finger directly over the line I was reading. “Did you read this stuff about Herodotus?”
I shoved her finger off the screen. “I will, if you give me a chance. From Herodotus’s Historia,” I read aloud, “Nitocris was the beautiful and virtuous wife and sister of King Metesouphis II-”
Beside me, Remy coughed in shock. “Wife and sister? That can’t be right. Joachim was an angel, not an Egyptian. Maybe we don’t have the right woman. Beautiful and virtuous hardly describes the woman I had a run-in with last night.”
I shrugged and kept reading. “Wife of Mete-doofus, an Old Kingdom monarch who came to the thr
one at the end of the sixth dynasty and was savagely murdered by his subjects soon afterward.” I paused, thinking. “She didn’t say that he’d been murdered, though, just that she’d ruined her kingdom for him, and he was destroyed in the first temple of God. Maybe she killed her brother-husband-whatever for her angel boyfriend?”
“Keep reading,” Remy urged. “Maybe it mentions something about that.”
“Nitocris ordered the construction of a secret underground hall connected to the Nile by a hidden channel. When this chamber was complete, she threw a splendid banquet, inviting as guests all those whom she held personally responsible for the death of the king. While the unsuspecting guests were feasting, she commanded that the secret conduit be opened, and as the Nile waters flooded in, the traitors were drowned.’?” I paused, my throat suddenly dry. “‘In order to escape the vengeance of the Egyptian people, she then committed suicide by throwing herself into a great chamber filled with hot ashes and suffocating.”
Remy’s eyes were wide. “Crazy suicidal bitch. That’s definitely got to be our girl.”
“Yeah. I mean, maybe Herodotus glamorized this a bit, but it makes sense. She faked her own death to get out of Egypt. What kind of woman tosses herself into a room filled with hot ashes so she can suffocate?”
“The kind that doesn’t need to breathe because she’s already dead,” Remy agreed. “Which makes it easy to leave the country without being suspected. But the queen didn’t mention a water chamber along the banks of the Nile, just a church.”
I popped my knuckles as I thought. “But if Joachim was an angel, maybe he was sickened by what she did and left her. The ancient world wasn’t exactly great for travel, though, so maybe he didn’t get far. We need to go to Egypt and start with that secret water chamber, or her tomb. Maybe we can find a reference to a Temple of God in Egypt.”
Remy made a disgusted noise. “Egypt? Do we have to? It’s so hot this time of year, and I hate camels. I promised myself I’d never ride on the back of another one for as long as I lived, and I’ve held that vow for the past four hundred years.”
I saved the webpage link and snapped the laptop shut. “Just look at it this way-you can buy yourself some cute tourist clothing. Maybe something safari, or with a leopard print.”
She perked up at that. “I suppose I could.”
“There’s a few Egyptian artifacts at the museum I work at that I want to take a closer look at before we go. Book the tickets for two on the quickest red-eye flight to Cairo, and we’ll head for the airport when I get back, okay?”
“Don’t forget me,” came a voice from across the hallway, and I looked over to see Zane watching me with sleepy eyes. “If you’re going on safari, I’m tagging along. Queen’s orders, remember?”
I sighed. “Fine. Three tickets. I’m off to the museum, Remy.”
“Me, too,” Zane said. “Wouldn’t want to miss an exciting tour of pottery fragments, would I?”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. If you’re coming with me, hurry it up. I’m not going to wait for you.” Maybe he’d want to take another nap and skip the museum.
No such luck. “Anything you say, Princess.” Zane grinned at me and followed as I headed for the door.
I pulled up to the museum and groaned as I parked Noah’s Explorer. Right next to it, Julianna Cliver’s Miata gleamed in the moonlight. The rest of the parking lot was empty, as it should be at 9:00 p.m. on a weekday night. I sighed and told my passenger, “Looks like we’re going to have company. We’ll have to go with plan B.”
Zane unbuckled his seat belt and opened his car door. “Plan B?”
I reached over and grabbed his door, pulling it shut. “Yes. As in, you stay here and guard the car, and I’ll go inside and do some research. Understand?”
“No can do, Princess. If you go in, I must follow.”
“Can’t you let me go inside for ten minutes? I promise it won’t take any longer than that.”
“Nope.” Zane grinned, showing perfect white teeth and a hint of fang. “Who’s the driver of the sissy car that’s making you run scared?”
I sighed. “The world’s biggest pain in the ass, who also happens to be my boss. I’m begging here.”
His eyes gleamed. “A job is a job, and besides,” he opened his door with a bang, smacking it against the scarlet Miata with delight, “I haven’t fed yet tonight.”
“No,” I choked, fumbling with my seat belt and door. I dashed across the parking lot to where he was stalking purposefully toward the museum. He ignored me, so I grabbed at his arm. “You can’t go in there and eat my boss,” I hissed, furious. “I’ll get fired.”
He shrugged his shoulders, hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat. “I’m not going to eat her, Princess. I’m just going to have a little taste.” He gave me a wicked grin, and I could have sworn I saw a gleam of red in his eyes.
My heart pounded. This was very, very bad. I ran ahead of him to the glass doors of the museum, determined to buzz myself in before he could get there. The employee badges had only a fifteen-second grace period. If I could get inside before Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hungry, I’d be in luck.
Of course, as soon as I started running, Zane started running right after me, laughing like a madman hunting his prey. No sooner had I swiped my badge and cracked the heavy glass door to slide inside than he had his hands on the door handle. I stood on the other side and tried to hold it shut, but it was like arm-wrestling with King Kong. I didn’t stand a chance.
Little by little, the door slid open and Zane’s confident smile grew larger as he outmaneuvered me. I let the door slide backward, nearly smacking him in the face.
“Fine, you win,” I grumbled. “But if you eat my boss, I’m returning you to your owner.”
Zane winked. “Bad doggy, eh? Gonna get out a newspaper and swat me?”
I thwacked him in the arm with my purse. “Behave. This is a museum. None of your hijinks in here.”
He saluted me like a mischievous Boy Scout and moved to step in behind me as I strode through the museum with purpose. “Absolutely no hijinks.” He paused in front of a painting-a popular Jackson Pollock-and made a noise of disgust. “Do people truly consider this art? It looks like garbage.” He stared at the painting, tilting his head to the side and then the other.
I stopped in my tracks and glanced over, amused by his assessment. “Jackson Pollock was renowned for his performance art. You either get it or you don’t.” I didn’t get it either, but I wasn’t about to let him know that. “We need to head to the east wing of the museum.” The east wing housed all the BC artifacts, and luckily was the farthest from Julianna’s office near the gift shop.
He shrugged. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.” His devilish little grin implied that I was anything but.
“You’d better remember it,” I sassed, and turned my back, hoping he’d take the hint and follow. Zane seemed to have a shorter attention span than most supernaturals, and I was hoping he wouldn’t wander off at the sight of a shiny object.
To my relief, he pulled into step beside me, whistling to himself, his eyes roaming the dark, empty hallways.
“So, have we met before? Because you sure seem familiar to me.” There was something about him that seemed like it was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t remember. “I don’t suppose you hang out in dark alleys near nightclubs, looking for dorky girls to molest?”
“Huh?” He gave me a vague look.
“Never mind,” I said, waving off my comments with a flick of my fingers. “I was just wondering if you were my vampire master. Forget I asked.” I felt a bit dumb for bringing it up.
The cleaning crew wasn’t due to come in until midnight, so if we could just avoid Julianna, I’d be happy. With luck we’d be out of here before she realized I’d made a pit stop.
“You’re not asking,” Zane said as we walked, looking over at me with a secretive smile, an unlit cigarette hanging from his full lips.
I reached over and plucked
it out of his mouth before he could light it. “No smoking in the museum. Now, what is it I should be asking about, Dr. Seuss?”
He grinned and paused in the midst of a series of Roman emperors’ busts on loan from the Smithsonian. I held my breath, thinking for a horrible moment that he was going to reach over and topple one of the priceless objects, and I’d have to explain to the National Museum and my boss what had happened. To my great relief, Zane just pointed at one of the security cameras in the corner of the hall, red light flashing to indicate that it was working. “You’re not asking why no one’s coming out to check up on us.”
My eyes narrowed as my brain absorbed that. He did have a point. I was in the museum after having called in sick for the past few days (which was odd, but not completely strange), accompanied by a dark, mysterious man covered in black leather head to toe (very strange). The security guard should have at least stopped by to say hi or do a bit of random clubbing with a nightstick. So why hadn’t he?
There were a few possibilities, none of them pleasant. One: George the security guard could be dead. A long shot, but since I’d just spent the last two days with fallen angels, vampires, and succubi, I was willing to work murder into the realm of plausibility. Two: George knew we were here and was dialing 911 for backup. Or three: he and Julianna were having mad sex in the control room and were too busy to notice the odd couple in the security cameras. But since George was ninety if he was a day and Julianna had a permanent icicle up her ass, I doubted that very much.
So I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I give up. Why don’t you just tell me?”
“You’re no fun.” Zane had another cigarette between his lips and lit it before I could protest. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He stalked ahead of me and turned down a hall.
I trotted after him, making sure that his long, sweeping coat didn’t knock over anything vital. “Where are you going? That’s the wrong way. We’re looking for the Egyptian wing, not the Mayan exhibit.”
