Near the entrance to the mummy room, several display cases featured mummies. The demigod halted in his tracks. Anubis set them down on top of the carved head of Ramses. Actually, it was more like a gentle toss. Phaeton sat up and rubbed the nape of his neck.
Exeter was grinning. There were good reasons Phaeton had actually grown to like the man. “We may be mistaken about everything. Empusas, vampires—all of it.”
“You’re going to tell me something I’d rather not care to hear at the moment.” Rising to his feet, Phaeton chanced a quick glance at the doctor. “Something really crushing—”
The monster’s snout nearly blasted them off the statue. A large wet nose sniffed over Phaeton.
The doctor lowered his voice. “He senses her blood in you.”
Phaeton edged away. “In all honesty, I haven’t touched your woman—exactly.”
Exeter turned to the beast. “Masa El Khair. Anupu, son of Set, protector of the dead, your woman, Qadesh, awaits you in a crypt not far from here.”
The jackal curled back a lip and tilted his snout upward. His howl shattered the glass in another round skylight above the foyer. The invisible force took hold of Phaeton and carried him behind the stone headdress, where he flattened himself against the neck of Ramses.
A million tinkling shards formed a roar, as a great waterfall of sharp glass slivers crashed to the stone floor, bouncing and breaking into yet smaller pieces. Finally there was quiet, of sorts. “Jesus, my ears are ringing.” Phaeton poked his head around a very large carved ear.
Gingerly, he and Exeter ventured out into the rotunda. “We seem to have lost Anubis.” With the moon nearly set, the upper foyer was dim. The grand, stoic faces of Ramses and Amenthotep cast long shadows across the chessboard pattern of marble squares.
An errant piece of glass, a late comer, hit the floor. From behind the colossal head, footsteps ground into brittle shards. A strange gentleman dressed in formal attire emerged from the shadows and approached them. “Bu nafret su em bu bon.”
Phaeton stepped forward. “Sorry?”
“A state of good has become a state of evil.”
He and Exeter pivoted toward the voice behind them.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“THE GREAT GOD OF THE UNDERWORLD TAKES ON HUMAN FORM.” Stickles picked his way through glittering debris. Phaeton read the curator easily enough, the elderly gentleman’s eyes gleamed with an uneasy amalgam of fear and regard. They all felt the same way. “He asks you to take him to her.”
Phaeton blinked. “You speak his language?”
“Smatterings.” With a great deal of reverence, Stickles approached the ever shifting god-form. “An ancient dialect of Egyptian Coptic. I never dreamed—”
“Hmm, yes, none of us did.” Exeter grabbed hold of the entranced curator’s arm. “Best keep a good length away, Mr. Stickles.”
Odd popping and stretching noises emanated from the humanlike figure as Anubis struggled to hold onto his new size and shape. A strong pulse beat under thickening flesh as a blanket of fur remerged. The proper, rather strikingly handsome British gentleman now sported an ebony head, emerging snout, and long pointed ears.
Jackals, Phaeton observed, looked rather dapper in a tuxedo. “Have a care.” He pointed to the lapels. “A bit of drool on the suit.” Anubis tilted his head to eyeball the damp stains.
Exeter leaned in close. “His request does fit neatly into our plans.”
Phaeton turned to Stickles. “Tell him we must leave this place to find his mate.”
“And the name of his goddess, again?”
“Qadesh.”
The mere mention of her name perked both ebony ears forward. The elder curator spoke in halted speech as Phaeton motioned to Anubis. “This way, your Grace.”
Exeter led the way as he and Stickles walked beside the struggling demigod. There was a brief delay as Anubis negotiated the staircase. They stopped to steady the wobbly creature. Such a powerful being, living proof of the eternal life force, and yet so vulnerable. Peculiar? Perhaps not. Phaeton shivered. There was an enchantment connected to these gods.
Once outside the main building, the jackal’s faltering steps rapidly gained in strength and coordination. Anubis stopped to sniff the night air and take in the museum’s architecture.
“He asks if we are in Alexandria.”
“Anubis references the ancient city of Aegyptus built under Græco-Roman rule.” Exeter appeared happy to indulge the demigod.
Phaeton tried to be patient. “No doubt the pediment and columns remind him of home.”
The doctor’s eyes crinkled. “He likely has no frame of reference for England. Please explain that we mean to reunite him with his wife and return them both to their homeland.”
Anubis appeared to listen carefully to Stickles’ words and answered with a long exhale and snort. The jackal head contorted into something more humanlike. A swarthy, masculine face with a wet, black nose.
“Looks a bit like you, Phaeton.” Exeter tilted his head. “Except for the nose.”
“That chin cleft is the very picture of you, doctor.” Phaeton dashed ahead. He made his way toward Exeter’s waiting carriage. “Where’s your driver?”
The doctor opened the door and grunted. “Likely off behind a bush relieving himself.”
Anubis, almost fully human, stood beside the horse team nuzzling equine noses. Phaeton looked about for shrubbery to call after the driver.
A clatter of hoofs and the creak of carriage springs signaled visitors. At this late hour? Phaeton backed away from the coach. Two carriages dashed through the gates and up the drive. The lead barouche pulled up behind, while the other quite effectively cut them off.
Director Chilcott and Zander Farrell debarked, one from each vehicle.
“Bollocks.” Phaeton muttered.
“Phaeton—” Zander eyed the odd creature snuffling over the horses.
“What’s going on here?” Chilcott finished the sentence.
Stickles stepped into the fray. “Mr. Black, he wishes to know which chariot is his.”
“He? Who is he?”
“Might you introduce Detective Farrell and Director Chilcott to Anubis?”
Both men turned toward the odd gentleman standing beside the team.
Phaeton leaned closer to Stickles. “Tell him they are emissaries sent here to escort him safely to his wife.”
An abrupt shift in atmosphere put them all into a hazy, bleary-eyed trance. When they came to their senses, moments later, they discovered Anubis climbing into Zander’s carriage.
“Dear God, Sophie is in there.”
Phaeton sprinted off with Zander. “What the hell is Sophie doing up and about with you at this hour?”
“Can’t sleep. Never can when she’s this far along.”
Zander leaped into the carriage prepared to do battle.
“Please God.” Phaeton rolled his eyes and stuck his head inside the cabin. Their mischievous demigod had changed into a most handsome and proper Englishman. Oddly enough, not far off in looks from Zander Farrell.
Anubis sat close beside Sophie, whose wide eyes appeared calm enough. Actually, he thought she was handling the terrifying scenario quite well. Phaeton nodded to her. “Easy does it, Sophie.” She appeared to sense this most irregular event was something quite extraordinary.
Phaeton sucked in a deep breath. “Sophie. Zander. Listen carefully to me.” Phaeton proceeded to explain, in the fewest words possible, what they were dealing with. He backed out of the door long enough to motion to the curator. “Mr. Stickles, we are in need of you.”
Zander sat opposite Anubis with fists clenched. “If he touches her—”
Phaeton shook his head in warning. “Ah, our translator arrives.” He climbed in and made room for the curator. “Mr. Stickles, please inform Anubis that Mrs. Farrell is no temple priestess, and therefore she is not to be ravaged. In fact, she is the much cherished and esteemed spouse of this—” Phaeton caught a glimpse of Z
ander’s clenched jaw.
Stickles raised both brows. “Pharaoh?”
Zander frowned. Phaeton turned up a grin. “Perfect.”
Anubis appeared to listen to Stickles, even though his eyes never left Sophie. The demigod answered in a husky, guttural speech.
Stickles swallowed and shot a desperate look his way.
Phaeton sighed. “Share the less prurient remarks, Mr. Stickles.”
“He calls her a fertile goddess, ripe with child. She will soon be in need of more ... seed.”
The moment Anubis leaned closer and sniffed Sophie, he was confronted by Zander, who leaned forward in a most aggressive posture. “My woman.”
A force threw Zander back onto the opposite bench. Anubis snarled.
Phaeton nudged Stickles. “Please remind Anubis about the goddess, who impatiently awaits his services. Tell him how much he is missed by Qadesh and how she longs for his affection. Or seed. Whichever works.”
Chilcott stood in the open door of the carriage. Having pieced together a reasonably coherent picture of their bizarre circumstances, Scotland Yard’s director shook his head. “Obsessed with sex, aren’t they?” He sputtered. “Zeus, always taking on strange forms. Sneaking into a man’s bedroom. Now this one—Egyptian, I take it.”
“Indeed.” Phaeton tapped on the cabin roof. “Marvelous topic, Director Chilcott, but might we take up the subject, postmortem? I’ve got a damsel to rescue and two gods to reunite.”
Luck appeared to be with them. Anubis discontinued ogling Sophie’s prodigiously fertile belly and sat upright. Zander managed to stop glaring at Anubis long enough to instruct his driver. “We return to the cemetery, Mr. Quint. With all possible speed.”
Phaeton rocked with the motion of the carriage as it took a sharp turn. He checked his watch. A few minutes past three. At least there would be little traffic at this wee hour of the morning; they should make excellent time. He let down a window and gulped in the damp, night air. A rapid staccato of hooves and wheels meant Exeter and Chilcott followed close behind.
He experienced an abrupt shift in atmosphere and a blur of motion. The jackal-faced god sat beside him. Zander, just as suddenly, had been placed beside Sophie. The Yard man wasted no time sweeping his lovely wife, protectively, into his arms.
The strong pulse of his heart beat ever faster. Three chariots raced through London’s northern suburbs in the dead of night. Anubis poked his head out the window and yipped like a dog.
A trail of phosphorescence looped through the small dark cavern. Qadesh circled the room like a roman candle let loose inside a barrel. The slightly deranged goddess had grown steadily more unstable since sundown. America sighed. Where, oh where was Phaeton?
She could just make out Julian Ping, her one and only contact to the physical world, steadfast beside the small opening in the crypt. Even beyond packages of clothing and sustenance, he had proved himself excellent company, passing the time with bits of conversation and comic accounts of the goings on.
Moonset approached, and the atmosphere in the narrow passageway, including the police guard, shifted to a more somber, resolute mood. Lamps flickered in the passageway. The snap and hiss of burning flames came from farther outside the crypt as torches were lit on cemetery grounds. The silence did not have a calming effect; in fact the hush over the scene set her on edge. An echo of instructions from Mr. Ping filtered back to her. “Make another sweep, shoo off any curious onlookers.”
Qadesh had remained quiet for most of the day. By late evening she had begun floating about, circling in and out of the crypt. America had followed her trail until she became dizzy. As yet, the demigoddess had not made any further public appearances, not since Phaeton and Dr. Exeter had gone in search of her husband.
America whispered into the hole in the wall. “I believe she may be working herself into a state, Mr. Ping.”
The now familiar face of Julian Ping dropped into view. “No doubt the goddess is restless.” Ping’s strange silver eyes peered past her. “Mind if I try to catch a glimpse?”
America nodded and backed away from the opening.
“Can’t see much, nothing but black—” The young man let loose a yelp.
America sprang into view. “Sorry, Mr. Ping. She can give a person quite a scare.”
Ping smiled. “Stand back, Miss Jones.”
A huge forked tongue with two giant eyeballs at each end pushed through the shaft and waggled at the goddess, who promptly answered in kind.
The brief entanglement, punctuated by loud slurping and sucking noises, left a trail of effervescent slime down the shaft. America squinted. “I believe she got you on the cheek, sir. You might—”
He dabbed a pocket square on the side of his face and turned his head. “Better?”
America managed a closed smile. “Much.” What a very odd character, yet, there was something about this young man that appealed, sans the rude tongue.
Ping exhaled a sigh. “I’m afraid we’ve only a few minutes left until moonset.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded. “I do hope Qadesh allows for a grace period. Mr. Black makes a point of never being on time.”
He grinned. “He has a reputation for it.”
“Not when a damsel is in distress, Julian.” After a bit of jostling, Phaeton dropped into view. The most handsome, most wonderful face in all the world. “Especially my damsel.” He winked at her.
Her heart pounded heat from her chest to her cheeks. “Hello, Phaeton.”
“Hello, my dove. You look healthy. Warm and well fed. No molestations, I hope, from our”—Phaeton peered behind her—“disgruntled goddess?”
Was it his glib manner or the lateness of the hour that sparked a rumble of discontent? All at once, she couldn’t help herself. The strain and stress of the day let loose a fury of pent up anger. “Where the hell have you been, Phaeton? You could have returned to find a drained and lifeless damsel by now.” Clenched fists landed on her hips. “And where is this husband of—”
A huge force from behind tore her away from the small square opening. Flung through the air like a child’s doll, she hit the opposite wall of the crypt and collapsed onto the floor. Stars spun as her vision dimmed, then returned.
“America, are you all right?”
The very best she could do was a mumbled moan. “Give me a moment, Phaeton.”
“Qadesh.” Phaeton spoke in a low tone. “I have your husband with me. But you must be polite to Miss Jones or—”
So much for patience. Blocks of stone flew through the air and crashed down around her. America smacked away a piece of flying mortar and took cover behind the coffin. Time passed in the blink of an eye as a frightening tumult of marble stone and mortar smashed into every crevice and corner.
As swiftly as her fury began, the maelstrom ceased. America gripped the coffin lid and raised herself up for a peek. The atmosphere in the crypt was a fog of soft and silvery marble dust.
Qadesh had fashioned an entryway in the crypt wall narrower at the top than the base. The goddess stood just inside the opening, resplendent in gossamer robes and jeweled necklaces. Everything was visible, brown nipples centered on melon-sized globes. Her dark feminine triangle beneath a softly rounded belly. Haloed by light, Qadesh stepped toward the doorway.
America should have ducked at the sight. Instead she trembled, unable to tear her eyes from the monstrous figure that approached the goddess. Sleek, indigo fur covered a creature who appeared more beast than man.
Following after Phaeton, several of Scotland Yard’s finest inched up behind the ... figure. America chewed a bottom lip. This entity was her husband. The figure walked upright on long muscular legs. Part human, part dog or wolf? The male figure, for it was every inch a male, approached Qadesh with an erection that caused nearly everyone surrounding the reunion to gasp in unison.
“Dog’s bollocks.” Chilcott blinked. “Built like a stallion.”
Phaeton tugged up a side of his mouth. “Mmm, yes, m
ore horse than hound, I believe.” The crypt steamed with curious onlookers.
Phaeton turned to Anubis, who stood transfixed by the sight of his mate. “Before you enjoy a few eternal moments alone with your wife, might I extract Miss Jones?”
Qadesh backed away from her husband. Slanted, kohl-lined eyes narrowed into slits. She spoke in low tones, ancient words bitten out in barely controlled anger.
Phaeton swiveled. “Mr. Stickles, over here.”
“I’m afraid she is quite perturbed with her, ah, mate.” The man called Stickles gulped. “I am here for many moons, abandoned in this awful city. Alone. Starving. Injured. You come to me after eons and the first thing you want from me is—”
The goddess turned on Stickles. “He thinks to mount me.” She took another long look at the massive staff that shot up from between folds in her husband’s loin cloth.
Anubis answered in a husky, gentle rumble. “I have crossed the rivers of eternity to find you.”
Phaeton edged away from the testy couple. “America.” His arm went around her waist, and he pulled her to him. Purposely, he dropped back into a dark corner of the crypt, where they watched, mesmerized.
Qadesh faltered, taking a quick backward step to catch herself.
“See, there, how she favors one leg. I have never seen her walk.” Phaeton whispered in her ear. “She most often appears in a sitting position, or floating overhead.”
America nodded her head. “Something is wrong, Phaeton.”
Qadesh lay back on the top of the stone coffin and moved her legs apart. Slowly, she raised one side of a gossamer robe to reveal a shapely, caramel-colored leg. Every man jack in the crowd gulped.
Then she raised the other length of the robe and revealed a spindly, tortured leg, part human, part animal. The grotesque appendage could barely be functional.
Even with his mouth open, Stickles appeared moved. “She asks—entreats him to heal her.”
Larger in stature than the tallest man in the room, Anubis pressed close to his wife. Angled dark eyes studied the injured leg. Low snorts rumbled like distant thunder from the dog-headed deity. Mumbled words, though unintelligible, were soft, calming. Large, clawed hands moved gently up and down the malformed leg. Gradually, before their eyes, a shape took form; the leg reconfigured itself. Elongating, taking on flesh. The demigod rubbed and smoothed her skin as a sculptor might polish the marble statue of a beautiful goddess. Two beautiful legs opened wide.
The Seduction of Phaeton Black Page 27
