House of Scarabs

by Hazel Longuet

  House of Scarabs

  Hazel Longuet

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Hazel Longuet

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: hlonguet@hazellonguet.com.

  A Novel Experience book.

  First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Novel Experience

  Cover design by Hazel Longuet

  Edited by Briar Rose Editing

  www.briarroseediting.com

  www.hazellonguet.com

  Contents

  I. THE MEETING

  Black Cats Bookshop

  Guardians of the Ankh

  After the Meld

  Three Months Previously

  Aftermath

  Ben's Arrival

  The Test

  The First Meeting

  The Catch-Up

  An Outing

  Confusion

  The Boundary

  Theories and Thoughts

  Testing the Boundary

  Ellie's Fear

  Ben's Fear

  The Vision

  Reunion

  Guardians of the Ankh

  Identifying the Boundary

  The Destruction

  Guardians of the Ankh

  Shock

  The Funeral

  London Bound

  Bertram

  The British Museum

  The Guardians of the Ankh

  Arriving in Egypt

  Meeting Mourad

  Sam

  Old Friends

  II. GERHARD’S QUEST

  The Serapeum

  Breathless

  The Escape

  Mourad Arrives

  The Meld

  Guardians of the Ankh

  III. BEN’S QUEST

  Reflection

  Research

  Kom Ombo

  The Elopement

  The Meld

  The Guardians of the Ankh

  IV. ELLIE’S QUEST

  Luxor-bound

  The Ally

  Guardians of the Ankh

  Healing

  Betrayal

  Reunion

  Subterfuge

  Guardians of the Ankh

  Explosive Forces

  The Last Rites

  The Other Plane

  Destiny’s Path

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Genesis

  The Seer

  The High Priest

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to:

  Micky Yandall, who’s always believed in me and pushed me to be my best self.

  Ivy Longuet, who showed me the merit of undying kindness.

  I pray our shared DNA gives me just a sprinkle of the magic you both share.

  Part One

  THE MEETING

  Black Cats Bookshop

  The old-fashioned bell tinkled a welcome as Ellie pushed open the door. A Siberian-like blast of cold air followed her into the bookstore.

  Black Cat Books had a subtle, old-world charm. Rounded mullioned windows looked in on a room with exposed stone walls, covered with shining mahogany bookshelves that bulged with books. Deeply hewn alcoves housed an eclectic mix of antique Asian and African statues of cats. A huge inglenook fireplace with a crackling applewood fire dominated one wall. Deep, cushioned sofas upholstered in jewel-coloured velvet surrounded it. The store beckoned people in with its warm honey glow and then encouraged them to linger with its cosy seating and enchanting décor.

  Ellie glanced around for a moment, rubbing her hands together to get the circulation moving and stamping her feet. Ben rushed in behind her, saying, "I locked the bikes up as you asked, but I can't see the need. We're in the middle of a tiny village in England, not downtown Manhattan." He walked over to the fire, putting his hands towards the flames. "Brrr. Thank God for some warmth. I'm a human popsicle."

  Ellie turned with a stern expression and said, "Bil Arabi min fadlak. In Arabic, please." Cursing under his breath, Ben repeated the statement, only to be corrected by Ellie.

  As he moved around the store, Ben figured it must have once been a house. One room led to another, each of differing heights, some down steps and others up them. It was a warren of a place. A tiny corridor opened into a pint-sized room, just large enough for shelves and a deep mahogany and leather campaign chair. It was lit by a hundred twinkling lights embedded in the ceiling. The book collection here focused on the legends and myths of ancient Egypt. Ben settled in for a rummage.

  Ellie, sighing, took the twisting stone staircase to the first floor and found a charming tea room that appeared unchanged from the eighteen-hundreds. There was a vast selection of cakes under glass cloches: colourful cupcakes, lardy cake, fruit cakes, roulades, deep Victoria sponges oozing with cream and jam, huge scones, coffee and walnut cake. The choices were endless and tempting. As she'd used at least a thousand calories on the ride over, and a bookshop specialising in mythology and legends held no interest for her, she decided to enjoy the refreshments and wait for Ben.

  Uncertain whether to sit or go to the counter, she searched for someone to ask. A man bustled through a hidden door, disguised as part of the shelves of tea caddies that covered the back wall from floor to ceiling. Beaming at her, he put down the tray of flapjacks and came around to guide her to a table.

  "Hi there. Sorry I wasn't here to welcome you, but I had to take these out of the oven. Gerhard, the shop’s proprietor, had to pop out. Have a chair over here by the fire. It's a blisteringly cold day today, isn't it? Now what can I get you, poppet?"

  Taking the seat he offered, Ellie's eyes wandered across the display of cakes. "I'm drooling - I'd love them all but as that’s not possible, which do you recommend?"

  "Everything's possible at Black Cat," he replied, his eyes twinkling. "I'll prepare a taster plate with a sample of each of them and then you can decide which to have. I recommend the house tea as the perfect accompaniment. It took a while, but I've at last created the perfect blend to cut through the sweetness of the cakes."

  Smiling up at him, Ellie handed the menu back and agreed. "Thanks. That sounds great. You have a huge range for a small village bookshop," she commented.

  "It must look that way, but Gerhard's a genius at getting people into the shop. Psychic afternoons, book clubs, themed history lectures, druids meeting – you name it, he does it. The store's used for most activities around here, from birthdays to council meetings. Black Cat's the hub of the village now, and we are famous for my cakes," he answered, straightening his tie. "Yep, it's always busy."

  After two hours of obsessive digging around, Ben had a huge stack of books piled up next to the chair he'd adopted as his own. The store, so small and innocuous from outside, stretched up over three floors and into the attic. It had the best collection of ancient Egyptian mythology he'd seen outside the National Library.

  Reality reasserted itself, bringing him down from his history-induced high as he realised he hadn't seen Ellie since entering the store. "Jeez, she'll be mighty pissed," he muttered to himself. Then again, she could have found him if she wanted to leave – unless she already had. He wouldn't put it past her. He hurried to the cash register by the door with the books he could carry.

  He found the desk empty. As he peered around, he spotted a sign on the wall that stated, “No one home? Please ring to pay,” with an arrow pointing at a ship's bell. Dubio
usly, he rang the bell. A small, amiable-looking man trotted down the stairs, dressed in mustard Harris tweed plus-fours and waistcoat.

  "Sorry, sir. I was in the café. Let me take those from you," he said, reaching for the teetering pile.

  Ben handed him the books, "I appear to have lost my friend. Have you seen a red-haired woman anywhere in the store?"

  "Ellie? She's upstairs, in the café. Quite a baker, that girl. She's made a grand Gateau St. Honoré."

  "She's been baking? In a bookstore?" Ben spluttered.

  "Well, she got bored and asked if she could help in my kitchen. We've had a fine old time. She's such a sweetie."

  "Sweetie? Ellie?" Ben could think of many things he'd call her, but “sweetie” wouldn't be one. "Can you point me towards the café, please?"

  After retrieving the rest of his books and paying, he mounted the stairs and made his way to the café. There, he found Ellie with an apron around her waist, serving behind the counter and chattering to a gaggle of old ladies. He stayed in the shadow of the doorway and watched her. This was an Ellie he had only caught glimpses of over the last few months: happy, friendly, and unguarded. Not the stiff-lipped Trojan he'd seen day in and day out as he'd struggled to pick up the complexities of Arabic. She was younger and carefree.

  He coughed, and she glanced over, laughing at something one octogenarian said. Seeing him, the laughter died, and her eyes re-shielded.

  "Excuse me a moment," she said to the ladies and moved over to Ben. "Sa'atein ya ragel – two hours, Ben?" she muttered, "’Pop to a bookshop,’ you said. Pop - not relocate."

  "Salam, Salam ya seti – peace, peace," he said, raising his hands in submission. "I'm sorry. I get absorbed and time just vanishes. I'm a book nerd, so shoot me. I honestly didn't mean to take so long. I'm sorry – ana asfa."

  "Inta ragel – ana asif, mish ana asfa. You're a man, so use the masculine ‘ana asif’, not ‘ana asfa’. So, are you ready to go? We've got a long ride home, and it's uphill." She untied the strings and folded the apron. At the door, she said a warm farewell to the shop assistant, thanking him for his baking tips and giving him a quick hug.

  "It's a shame you didn't get to meet Gerhard, the shop's proprietor. He'd have loved to meet you both. Anyway, I'm gushing. I hope you come back again soon, even if only to be my sous chef," he said with a twinkle.

  Ben held open the door for Ellie, who backed out, still saying her goodbyes. She whirled around to head out and collided with an elderly man carrying a stack of papers in plastic protectors. The papers flew everywhere, and both Ellie and Ben hurried to help the old man gather them.

  They reached for the same papyrus, and as their hands touched, a transparent, blue sphere of energy exploded from it. The sphere grew, throwing out sinuous, ghostly tendrils that twisted out and around the three. It brightened into a blinding white light, shimmering and stretching until it surrounded them like a tight skin, a blindfold to the outside world.

  The sphere rotated, faster and faster, dizzying its passengers until they were isolated from everything but each other. Only then did it slow as the tendrils projected a gallery of images: sand and temples, lakes and palms, bee-eaters and egrets, donkeys and shadufs. The pictures accelerated, blurring into indecipherable shapes. They twirled and flashed, exploding into exquisite turquoise prisms, which refracted shimmering beams throughout the sphere.

  Ben, Ellie, and the old man stared around in awe as the light display intensified. As it reached its zenith, the light beams merged, forming three wraith-like objects: a scarab beetle, a crocodile, and a cat.

  Other shoots flowed from the sphere's floor, fusing together to create three finely formed, transparent chairs. New tendrils unfurled and gently guided each of them to a chair whilst others extended and worshipfully encircled the objects, moving them towards the stunned group, offering one to each of them. They each accepted their object, moving without conscious volition, as if guided by instinct.

  As the last of the three accepted the offering, the objects emitted a flute-like note that resonated around the sphere, growing in volume. They shimmered and contracted, becoming smaller and smaller, until they resembled small, glimmering chess pieces. Each person gasped in pain as the pieces sank into their palms and dissolved into their body. The energy from them seared through their veins, surging towards their hearts and engulfing their minds. In that instant, it was as if they knew everything but had forgotten their former wisdom.

  Then it was gone – the sphere, the chairs, the images. They were again three people standing outside a bookshop.

  Guardians of the Ankh

  Egypt

  The phone pealed loudly, waking its owner from a heavy slumber. Without introduction, a deep, gravelly voice rasped, "So, it has come to be just as the Deities prophesied. The trio has melded; their quest has begun. We cannot allow it to conclude in the formation of the House of Scarabs, or the consequences would be dire. The council has decided that you will lead the Amenti team. Eurydice, be certain that failure to negate this meld will result in your removal. Do not fight the inevitable! Sadly, there are now no options other than a humane cull. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes, Tjati. Crystal-clear. May I ask who will serve with me?" Eurydice replied.

  "The team is at your door. Make haste and start your preparations. Salam."

  The line went dead.

  After the Meld

  England

  They stumbled and glanced around, blinking as they looked to each other for reassurance. One minute, they were wrapped up in a giant energy ball, and the next moment, they were back in the doorway of the bookshop. It'd felt as if they were transported far away, and yet, here they were.

  Ben collapsed onto the step. "Jesus Christ! What the hell was that? Did... um, did anybody see what I saw?" Ellie stared at Ben and the old man and, in a state of shock, nodded.

  "I did. I... God! We need to discuss it in private - ja," the elderly man said. He jerked his head towards Stefan, who stared curiously at them through the glass door. Ben rubbed down his trousers as he stood and nodded his agreement. He stepped to one side to allow the man to lead the way.

  “How remiss of me. Sorry, the shock has silenced my manners. I’m Gerhard Webber, the owner of this little shop.” He laid a gentle hand on Ellie's shoulder and said, "Come, my dear – you're shivering. Let's have a cup of tea. You British use it as a cure-all, ja?"

  As they entered the store, Gerhard turned to his assistant. "Tea for my young guests, if you please, Stefan. We will be in my study. Let's close the shop early. We shall play... now how do you say in English? Ah, yes... we will play truant on this chilly afternoon." With that, he turned towards a shelf and reached for a book entitled The Secret Room. The bookcase swung open to reveal a stone staircase spiraling up with a ruby velvet handrail. The lights, as if by magic, illuminated in time with their footsteps.

  Gerhard opened the studded, arched door at the top, and they stepped into a circular room of windows, each interspersed with carved gothic bookcases. In the middle stood a cluster of comfy sofas and chairs, into which they sunk. Silence lingered, a great weight hanging over their heads as the shock hit. Gerhard glanced across at Ellie and noticed her pallor. He decided to take matters into his own hands.

  "My dear, Stefan will be here in a moment. May I suggest we delay any discussions until he has gone?" Looking at Ellie, he said, "Please don't be offended, Fraulein, but you're a trifle pale. It might be wise for you to lie down for a few minutes and catch your breath, ja."

  Ellie stared at Gerhard, her large green eyes catching the afternoon rays. Belatedly, she nodded and stretched out across the deep feather cushions.

  Ben sat with his head in his hands, going over what he had seen repeatedly, trying to make sense of the impossibility of the situation. No matter how he examined it, nothing made sense. Giving up, he studied their host. At well over six feet tall and lean, Gerhard had the appearance of an elderly country gentleman. He was dressed in cinnamon cord
trousers and a tweed jacket, with a spotted handkerchief pointing jauntily out of the pocket. Gerhard peered over the top of his frameless glasses, green eyes studying Ellie with deep speculation. As he looked away, he noticed Ben watching him and smiled, sleeking back his silver hair.

  "Gerhard, I'm Ben Ellis, and this is Ellie Bendall. I'm studying Arabic at Ellie's language school. I stumbled onto an interesting blog about your store, so we decided-"

  A loud knock silenced him. Pushing the door open with his back, Stefan entered the room and laid out an exquisite bone china tea service. He'd provided a classic English high tea, complete with cucumber sandwiches, petit fours, and a choice of three teas.