by Addison Fox
“Is that all?”
“Snakes and the smell of blood. It’s like the worst nightmare you can possibly conjure, ramped up on acid.”
“You did acid?”
She shot him a wry smile and the tense knots slipped yet again. “Prim, proper me?”
“You went to college.”
“And spent all my time studying. Besides”—she leaned her head against his shoulder—“there are enough unwanted images in my head, I’ve no desire to add any new ones to them.”
His smile faltered at her words and he cursed himself for his insensitivity. Of course someone with her background would avoid anything that smacked of loss of control.
Or anything that suggested mind-altering properties.
“Ava, I’m sorry.”
She shifted and looked up at him, her eyes filled with trust. “I know.”
She believed in him.
He didn’t deserve it and he sure as hell hadn’t earned it. But there was no way he was letting go of her.
“Is Enyo always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Well . . . missing.”
The lines around Brody’s eyes crinkled as he considered her words. “What do you mean by ‘missing’?”
“I don’t know. Clearly I’ve never run up against her before, but she’s like this mythical thing behind the scenes. These bad dudes of hers come out of nowhere to wreak havoc, then go away. But she’s missing.”
Ava reached for the contraband coffeepot she’d smuggled into her office her first week at the museum. As she refilled her second cup, she marveled at the restorative smell of French roast. Brody was still on his first as he added three more packets of sugar to his half-empty cup.
“You really do have the most horrific eating habits; you know that.”
“I consider it the benefit of a supernatural metabolism.”
“You can sign me up for one of those,” Ava muttered as she took another sip of her black coffee.
“Your metabolism is gorgeous and fine.” He took a sip of his coffee, then added, “Seriously, though. You make an interesting point. Something has been off about this op from the start.”
“Talk it through with me, then.”
“Well, two months ago, on the dig in Egypt, this worker was killed early on—by a messy gunshot wound. So not Enyo’s style.”
“What is her style?”
“Impatient. Brash. She’s a killing machine and that is her core focus. She’s a bit weaker on strategy, but her jobs are fast and expedient.”
Ava took another sip of her coffee, glad she’d initiated this discussion. She was a woman of learning. Not having thought to learn everything she could about her opponent was a serious misstep. “So tell me about her.”
“First, there’s the issue of balance between her and us.”
“More balance?”
“Consider it my theme. For every battle we fight, the winner gains strength while the loser gets some taken away. She’s lost quite a few in a row now, so she has to be hurting pretty bad. We suspected she’d sit back and lick her wounds for a while.”
“Maybe it’s made her more urgent. More determined.” He cocked his head, that glorious mane of hair framing his face in luscious waves. “Good point.”
“What else can you tell me about her?”
“Well, all the Greek gods have something that passes as a moral code, whether it be a basic sense of honor, or even just a greater respect for the higher order of how things work.”
“Not Enyo?” she said, guessing.
“Nope. The only gods who rival her are Deimos and Phobos, her freaky nephews.”
“Dread and fear?”
“You really do know your mythology.”
“So why can’t the other gods keep her in check?”
“They do, sort of. I mean, the whole balance issue was designed by Themis and Zeus to keep all of us in line.”
“So how does she get around it?”
“She’s got one great big ace in the hole. Humanity.”
“But she’s a Greek god. What does that have to do with human beings?”
Brody poured himself another cup of coffee as he tried to figure out a way to explain what he meant.
In all the years of his life, he’d seen the repeating patterns. The never-ending cycle of aggression and greed. Every century brought new challenges, as they played out the pages of history, but at their core, the stories were all the same.
Humans across the world, in every age, fought for dominance over one another.
And like puppets on a string, in every case where human situations escalated in the worst of ways, there sat Enyo.
She’d whispered visions of power to Alexander the Great. Promised endless dominance to Napoleon.
Guaranteed absolute supremacy to Hitler.
He and his brothers had won each of those battles, and so many others over the years, but not without cost—not without horrific, soul-rending consequence to the humans caught in the cross fire.
Themis had called it balance. That had been her answer the one time he’d dared ask her—dared to suggest—whether their role as humanity’s protectors was a doomed endeavor.
But they’d made a promise and each and every one of them soldiered on, century after century. Brothers forged together in a vow to the goddess of justice. Never, in all that time, had he regretted his vow. Or wished things were different. Or wondered why he’d been called into Themis’s service.
Until now.
Even at his lowest moment, when he’d lost his first love, he hadn’t questioned his service to Themis.
But if he lost Ava?
There would be no saving him.
Chapter Eighteen
“You know, Bill, it is just so hard to see you like this. I have to believe Russell is rolling in his grave, knowing this is what you’ve come to.”
Dr. William Martin stared through the ancient prison bars in the depths of Enyo’s lair. His greasy hair lay plastered to his head, and his eyes—usually so bright with intelligent vigor—looked dead and lifeless.
Although Wyatt always hated being down in the subway tunnels, staring at his dead brother’s best friend felt so far past creepy, it bordered on a nightmare.
Dr. William Martin lifted a finger, then dropped his hand as if the simple gesture took too much effort. “You killed Russell. I’ll maintain it to the end of my days.”
“Bill. Come on. My own brother?”
A large, emaciated rat scurried around Martin’s feet, weaving in and out. “You might not have pulled the trigger, but you killed him. I know it.” Those lifeless eyes lit up with a blaze of fire. “You’re a murderer.”
Rage flew through Wyatt’s body. Pristine little fucker. He’d show him. “Fine. Now cut the crap. I need answers.”
“I have nothing. I’ve told that bitch and I’m telling you.”
“Bullshit. You were with Russell in the tomb when he discovered the stones. You know what they can do.” Wyatt felt his anger building, that familiar rage that never failed to rear its head at the mere thought of his sainted brother.
“Do? They don’t do anything.”
“Yes, they do. You know they have power.”
William shook his head. “You’re as crazy as she is. Is this why you have me down here? Those damn stones. Bad luck is all they are. They were bad luck for Russell.” Bill looked around the old crumbling stone. “They obviously are for me, too.”
“They have power.”
“No, Wyatt. You think they have power. There’s a big difference.”
Wyatt looked at Dr. Martin, the man who’d been far closer to Russell than he had. He was the older brother. He should have been Russell’s mentor. Friend. Confidant.
Instead, this scholarly toady had that role. Bill had been his brother’s best friend, there for Russell’s crowning accomplishment.
Wyatt tried again, his voice sympathetic. “You really don’t think the stones have power?”
Despite the days on end of mental and physical torture, despite the missed meals, despite Enyo’s best depravity, the eyes that stared back at Wyatt through the prison bars were clear. “No. I don’t. But you do, don’t you? You always did. Is that why you killed him? Or has this all been a convenient little excuse to take care of a bigger problem, Wyatt? Does this all go back to how insecure he made you feel? Mommy’s little boy. Russell told me all about it.”
The words hit Wyatt square in the center of his chest, the implication clear. Even now, all these years later, he remembered Bill and his brother, the archeological team, digging their way to fame and glory.
And what had he had? Jack shit.
A cushy job at a variety of museums until they figured him out. Figured out he had no talent. And Mommy had to bail him out and get him the next job.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Martin whispered. “You’re the one who sold me out to that bitch?”
“I believe she was honest and upfront with you from the start. Tell us what you know. Come clean and you are a free man.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Oh, but I think you do.” Wyatt turned and headed for the door, the rage that swam in his veins barely contained as he put one foot in front of the other. Right. Left. Right. Left.
He almost had it under control by the time he reached the doorway. No one appreciated him, but damn it, by the time this was over, they would respect him.
All of them.
“I’ll let Enyo know she needs to pay you another visit. See if she can jog loose those memories of yours. The truth is in your memories, Bill. Perhaps you just need a bit more persuading to pull them out.”
“How can you find anything in there?”
Ava’s muffled voice flew back from the inside of her closet. He wanted to help her, but aside from the very real fact they wouldn’t both fit in there, he was enjoying the sight of her delectable ass far too much to move.
She backed out of the closet, a triumphant smile plastered on her face and both hands full of leather-bound journals.
“Found them.”
“I really don’t know how.”
She gave him a friendly swat on his shoulder as she settled on the floor next to him.
“He dated them, so we should find out pretty quickly if I have the last journal he wrote in.”
“Even if you do have it, do you think he’d have written his true thoughts, for anyone to see?” Brody hated to be the voice of reason, but there was a strong possibility there weren’t any answers, only leather-bound memories spread around them on the floor.
“Only one way to find out.” Ava brushed at the worn leather cover in her hands, then flipped through the one on top of the stack. “Wrong date.”
Brody reached for the next one, quickly coming to the same conclusion.
They were about halfway through the stack when Ava shook her head. “He journaled throughout his professional life. I don’t know why I didn’t think to look at these earlier. I didn’t even think to use passages in the exhibit.”
“This is private, Ava. You couldn’t have used it for the exhibit. Surely you wouldn’t think to put your personal life—and the personal aspects of your father’s work—on display.”
“No, I guess not.”
He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her nose. “I guess not.”
Her eyes darted back toward the book in her lap as excitement threaded her voice. “Okay. Wait. Listen to this. It’s dated about five days before his death.” Her husky voice rose up in the quiet of the room. “I’m heading home to see my darling Ava today. I know I can’t take the stones with me, but I can’t bear to be parted from them. The antiquities groups will have my head if they find out, but it’s a quick trip and she’s my little girl, after all. And I simply must show her, so I’ll take one. One will be enough for her to see—for her to understand—the great glory that rests in the stones.”
“So that’s how he showed it to you.”
Ava looked up from the journal, her eyes glazed with the distant memories coming to life before her on the page. “What do you mean, that’s how he showed it?”
“When you told me the other day about the first time you saw the stone. I couldn’t imagine how he managed to get it here—get around the red tape.” A broad smile crested his cheeks as a well of bad-boy admiration sprang up in his chest. “That sly dog smuggled it home.”
“Fat lot of good it did either of us. That smuggled stone caused problems for my grandmother for years. The authorities frown on removing antiquities before they’ve been properly analyzed and awarded to the highest bidding museum.”
“All she had to do was send it back.”
Now it was Ava’s turn to smile. “Yeah, well, when she started to argue that it was on his person and that she—or by default, I, when I was of age—should inherit his belongings, she made quite a stink.”
Brody mock-shuddered. “She’s a scary woman.” “Don’t I know it.”
Ava buried her head back in the book, a smile on her face as she flipped through the last few pages. “Hey. Wait.”
“What?”
“This one. The one he wrote on the day he died. Oh my God, Brody. Read this.” She handed him the book and he began to read the last passage.
I never should have brought the stone home. Never should have even looked for it. I regret the discovery and would take every bit of it back if I could.
I nearly hurt my daughter today. I shoved her at the stone. The one I smuggled home. The one that speaks to me.
One minute I was there, in my office with her, and the next I was gone—lost in the lore of the ancients, a willing participant in a ritual blood sacrifice.
I know Ava felt it, too. Felt the power in the stones. The quivering in her body and the sheer terror when I finally let go of her let me know she sees the same things I do.
Maybe even more.
I must destroy the stones. If the rumored prophecy is true, they wield a horrible power.
Why did I ever think to look for them? What folly let me think I could rise above five thousand years of madness and the power of the gods?
What have I done to my child, exposing my beloved Ava to this horror? I must save her.
The stones have power over Ava and I cannot—I will not—give her to them.
Brody lay with Ava’s head pillowed against his shoulder, his hands making soothing circles along the curve of her back.
“He was going to give it up for me.” Ava still couldn’t believe the words in her father’s journal. The incredible love and devotion that lived on the page, written in his own hand.
She was more important to him than the stones. More than his job. More than anything.
She had mattered.
“The power you’ve felt is real. He felt it, too, Ava. Your status as a Chosen One is obviously carried through your bloodline. Your father was chosen, too.”
“But we’re not Egyptian and we didn’t descend from that part of the world. Trust me, Grandmother has traced our ancestry with maniacal precision.”
“But it found you. Maybe this was your father’s life’s work because the stones called to him.”
The idea took root, forming in her mind as she thought about it. “As though he was meant to find them?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Yes, I do.”
Ava reveled in the warmth of Brody’s arms; she felt her spirit soar in the security she found there.
“You know, if this is true, we should be able to use the stones to our advantage.”
“Use them? Ava, the power they wield is dangerous. I want to keep you as far away from them as possible.”
She scrambled up to sit next to him, pushing the hair out of her face. “Yes, but if I truly am the Key, what if I can use them for good?”
“No way. Absolutely not. Haven’t you heard the old adage?”
She pasted on a sickeningly swe
et smile and batted her eyelashes. “Day late, dollar short?”
His blue eyes grew dark. “No. Absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
Spoilsport. Besides, he was one to talk. “You’ve got a hell of a lot of power and you’re not corrupted.”
“I have a great big system of checks and balances on my head, too.”
“Themis?”
“Exactly.”
“I still think we can use them.”
“Use them to do what?”
“Draw Enyo out.”
Ava couldn’t get the idea out of her head. If they could use the stones to draw Enyo out, they could also find a way to get rid of her. If the Summoning Stones truly had power over all things in the universe, then it would stand to reason it would work on a Greek goddess.
No matter how big a bitch she was.
And if it didn’t work? Well then, the stones would lose their appeal to Enyo, too.
Brody stepped back into the bedroom. “Just talked to Kane. We’re porting to Paris in a few hours. It’ll be morning there and we can retrieve the third stone.”
“The sex stone, you mean?”
He shrugged as he moved in close. “I’ve got a one-in-three shot at being right. I’m taking those odds. It is Paris, after all.”
“We’ll be sure to test it when you get back. I can’t imagine what visions that stone will give me.”
He pulled her close, his mouth finding hers with unerring precision. “As long as you promise to act them out with me.”
She leaned into the kiss, captivated by the mischievous smile that tilted the ends of his lips. “Now, I have another question for you. Are you ready to pay attention?”
“I’m paying attention.”
“Then you can tell me if you’re ready to use that erection”—she glanced down at the bulge in the front of his jeans—“or if you’re going to take it all the way to Paris with you.”
And then he made his decision crystal clear as one of his hands curled in the material of her shirt, while the other one gripped the back of her head, crushing her mouth to his.
