Margo sipped the foam atop her cappuccino. “They probably knew you were a nut for all things Egyptian.”
A laugh twisted with a groan. Nut—yes, that’s what most people called her. “Or they’ll find out they made a huge mistake and demand we immediately return everything.”
Margo blew raspberries. “You worry too much.”
“They pay me to worry. It’s in the fine print of my job description.” She wouldn’t admit how much sleep she’d lost to planning this exhibit, and the nightmares she suffered that it would prove a huge flop.
The exaggerated whispers of the two women at the adjacent table stopped when Sandy cast them a glance. As soon as she turned back to Margo, they started again.
With a roll of her eyes, Sandy sighed. Some people might not like cats, but to her, nothing was worse than a catty woman. All her life, she’d tried to ignore such small-minded females, but wherever she went, she seemed to attract them, along with the neighborhood cats. She’d take the furry variety any day, less likely to scratch her eyes out than the human kind.
“How’s the punk going?” Margo asked in an unnaturally loud voice.
Sandy blinked once. “What?”
Margo peered out the window, gaze roaming up and down the busy avenue. “Where’s the camera crew hiding this time? Oh, wait. I think I see them. Across the street, in the second story.” She winked at Sandy.
“Riiiight. Yep, you spotted them.” Thank goodness for Margo. Her act had the women scanning the street, too, believing the cats were part of an elaborate prank to be televised. Not surprising their behavior tamed in moments.
The brunette practically purred. “I love cats. Are those your darlings?”
The evil twinkle in the blonde’s eyes had changed to an eagerness to please. “I have two at home.”
Sandy was half tempted to toss the women some catnip treats. Instead, she gave her best imitation of a Cheshire cat smile and sipped her latte. “Guess I should get to work.”
Deflating in disappointment, Margo whined, “Already? You just got here.”
“I have to make certain everything’s perfect. I’m still worried whether visitors will believer Iker’s really part of the exhibit, not some tacked-on addition.”
Margo perked up. “The hunky warrior dude?”
“Oh yeah. They didn’t call him The Excellent One for nothing.” This was why she treasured Margo. Not only was her friend interested in everything Sandy loved, she had a ready laugh and welcoming manner that made Sandy first pity, then forget, the shallow-minded women.
“That is kind of weird they sent him along.”
“Tell me about it. He should be on the road with Hatshepsut’s exhibit.”
Smiling, Margo’s eyes flew wide. “Maybe they’ll ship that to you next?”
“I wish.” How cool would that be? One of the few female rulers in Egyptian history and another recent find that rocked the archaeological world. All the more strange that they’d separated Iker from that exhibit, now traveling across the globe.
Margo rubbed her hands greedily. “I think I’m almost as excited as you. I can’t wait to see the exhibit.”
“I can’t wait for everyone to see it.” Sandy checked the time on her cell. “But I really need to get to the museum.”
A mock frown quelled Margo’s smile. “Well, don’t spend all day and night there.”
“Too bad it’s against regulations, or I might be tempted to sleep in my office. Her cats had mastered the self-feeder long ago.” None of her seven seemed to begrudge Sandy her extended working hours.
Margo pointed at her. “No way. We are going out. Tomorrow night.”
Sandy raised her hands in surrender. “I’ll be ready by eight-thirty, I promise.”
“Good. Because we’re going to celebrate. This is the start of amazing things for you. I can feel it in my bones.”
“I never argue with your bones.” Sandy hated to admit she believed in jinxes, so wouldn’t argue any celebration might be premature. The best way to prevent failure, her Gram always said, was to prepare for every foreseeable possibility.
Although Sandy didn’t worry about the foreseeable glitches, the unforeseeable ones definitely worried her. And Gram was the one who’d chosen her given name: Sanura. Kitten, in Egyptian. But try going through school with a name like that. Not that Sandy was such a wonderful name, but at least Springsteen made it sound sexy.
The intense stares of the two women followed her outside. Might as well give them a bonus performance. She scooped up two of the cats and waved their paws in the direction of the building across the street, then set them down and strolled off, cats in her wake.
Was this how the goddess Bastet had felt every day? Good about herself, comfortable in her own skin, secure in her powers? If only Sandy had one iota of the goddess’ strength. Oh, not power, exactly, though who wouldn’t love that? No, Sandy would simply like to be able to enter any room outside the museum walls and not experience the paralyzing fear that she belonged only with ancient artifacts. Better yet, to feel empowered enough to laugh off the snickers of her peers. So what if cats loved her? So what if she was a girl geek who loved all things Egyptian?
Too bad geekdom never paid off for her as it had for some nerds. Maybe this exhibit would garner her some praise. Propel her to rock star status in the museum world.
Yeah, and maybe Iker would battle Ra for her heart.
She kicked a stone and stumbled. Gods and warriors only existed in her dreams. In real life, she’d settle for a guy who made her latte just the way she liked it, who didn’t mock her clumsiness, who didn’t mind her seven cats. Who appreciated her for herself.
She might have a better chance of bringing Iker back to life than finding such a guy.
Chapter Three
For probably the thousandth time since they’d set up the display, Sandy entered the exhibit room, pen in hand, ready to jot any last-minute notes. Her practical side examined the layout, while her inner geek stood in awe. Occupying the same space as items from the third century B.C. always had that effect on her.
As usual, the warrior mummy drew her to the glass.
“Oh no. No, please.” She hurried around to the rear, fumbled open the lock and flew inside. She stopped herself short, otherwise she might have asked if he were sick. An impossibility, yet he appeared… duller. Sunken in, like someone had deflated him. Yes, crazy as it sounded, less lifelike. “This can’t be happening. Not now. Please.”
Howie snickered from the doorway. “Did you and your warrior have a fight?”
She sent the intern a disapproving glance, not only for the inappropriate comment but for sneaking up on her again. Lanyards with bells—they’d be part of the requirement for future interns, since she couldn’t require them to wear shoes with heels.
Howie might be a creep, but she needed his opinion. “Tell me The Excellent One doesn’t look quite so excellent now.”
Her intern turned his gaze to the warrior and paled. Before today, she thought that another impossibility, given Howie’s pasty complexion. When he glanced at the table, then back at her with something like alarm, her nerves ratcheted into full alert. This day had already brought too many surprises.
“You notice it, too, don’t you?” Or maybe reality had finally set in and she was seeing Iker as a mummy from 1482 B.C. She’d so badly wanted this exhibit to be a sensation, perhaps her fantasies had taken over for awhile, enhancing the warrior in her eyes.
A huff like someone had punched him, and Howie scanned the enclosure, then past the glass to the exhibit room.
Sandy almost felt sorry for the guy. “Then you do see the difference.”
“What difference?” Howie snapped.
She froze. Whoa, what the hell was wrong with him? The space in which she stood suddenly seemed too small, and the intern blocked the only exit. Too much like being trapped. “Never mind. Excuse me.” She stared him straight in the eye as she stalked up to him.
A faint smi
le wobbled on his thin lips. “Sure.” He took his time moving aside, forcing her to slow her pace.
She bumped him as she closed the door behind them and locked it, then rounded the corner. On the pretense of checking the room layout from a different angle, she walked to the center of the room, though it wasn’t enough distance from him to lend her comfort.
Howie fidgeted beside the glass in his unnerving willowy way. “I still say this room’s kind of, um, small.”
Definitely too small for multiple personalities. The thought sent alarm skittered through her. Why, oh why, had no others applied for the internship? “I suppose so, compared to more famous museums. But it’s the most secure area we have. I can’t take any chances with these priceless items.”
His lids drooped. “But all museum pieces are priceless, correct?”
She repressed a sigh. Lo, the accountant resurfaces. She preferred that side of him, but he could curb that snide tone anytime. “Some more than others. These artifacts, in particular, are incredibly rare, and some are delicate.”
He snorted, and limply pointed a long finger. “Not that slab of granite.”
“That ‘slab of granite’ is a three thousand, five hundred-year-old door to the afterlife, common enough on tombs of ancient kings and high officials, but it’s extremely rare to find one in perfect condition.” Why the Egyptian Supreme Council of Antiquities included such a valuable piece in the shipment, she still didn’t know, but she wouldn’t complain.
Howie tucked a strand of long, stringy hair behind his ear and frowned.
Not for the first time, she wished he’d get a haircut. She should think of ways to make his time here as worthwhile to him as possible, especially since the position was an unpaid internship. Maybe if she put the artifacts in historical context, he’d equate them in terms he understood—the dollars and cents kind. “The door was discovered near Karnak temple in Luxor at the tomb of a vizier named User. He served under Queen Hatshepsut, one of the few female pharaohs. It's especially rare because most of the remnants of her reign were destroyed after her death.”
Howie’s eyes glazed over, and he shifted his feet like a bored teenager.
Lost interest so soon? How could he not find this stuff fascinating? “See these hieroglyphics around its outer edge?”
His face remained blank as a note pad, but his eyes sharpened. He nodded.
“Those are the Pyramid Texts, the powerful spells meant to usher souls of the dead through the door to the afterlife. And back again, if they so wished. Through this very door.” That notion always intrigued Sandy, and frightened her. “A bit disconcerting that ancient Egyptians made allowances for the dead to return, isn’t it?” The chuckle she forced vanished.
Howie stared at the false door as if expecting a dreaded visitor. “Not the dead themselves. Their Ba.”
So, the intern knew more about ancient Egypt than he let on. “Yes, the birdlike embodiment of their soul, twin to their Ka.” Strange. Why pretend he had no interest? The fact wasn’t one most people took the time to learn.
“So what did you learn when you researched User?” Howie probed with more interest than seemed normal.
“I found he’d not only been vizier, but also prince and mayor of the city. The fact that he had his own tomb on the west bank of the Nile in Luxor, where royal kings and queens were also buried, spoke of his high status.”
Howie swept his gaze in the general direction of the artifacts.
Way to ratchet up the enthusiasm, kid. “Astute visitors might note that the false door faces west, as it would have at the tomb. In Egypt, they’d have put offering tables nearby filled with food and drink to sustain the spirit of the dead on his journey. Here, we’ll only have refreshments during the opening night reception.”
Finally, a wan smile from Howie. “Meaning you’ve made it easy for the vizier’s Ba to return. Hopefully, no souls will re-enter for the food and drink we offer.”
Her gaze skipped immediately to the false door, and a shiver passed over her. “Right.” Why hadn’t she thought of that? Don’t be silly. No one’s coming back now. Especially here. If a soul wanted to return, it would have done so in Egypt. Logic didn’t help her shake the uneasiness setting in.
She shifted nearer to the artifacts from the temple to Bastet. “The Egyptian authorities provided more information for these items, so I didn’t need to research much to create the informational plaques. The temple was built during the reign of Ptolemy III. Authorities believed his wife, Queen Berenike II, had the temple built in the Kom el-Dekkah neighborhood of Alexandria.”
Howie squinted and blinked, his lips tight, nostrils flared.
Sandy prepared to say ‘bless you’ after he sneezed, but then realized he was stifling a yawn. Unaffected by his indifference, reverence settled over her and her imagination kicked into high gear. “Can you imagine the temple in its heyday? The queen, dressed in all her finery, worshipping at the temple, surrounded by these very statues?” All the statues depicted Bastet as a sleek cat of royal bearing, with an earring in one ear, wearing a stunning gold necklace.
No response. Howie merely stared at the false tomb door with a sickly expression.
“If you’re not well and need to take some time off, please do.” She’d become a bit nauseous, too. Iker was her personal responsibility. What would the Antiquities Council say about the warrior mummy’s deteriorated condition? Her failure to keep him safe might result in a reprimand, but worse than that, his battered appearance made her heartsick. She should have protected him.
“Um, maybe.” Howie lifted the padded velvet rope from the floor and latched it onto the stantion. “Guess we should put these in place.”
“Yes. I suppose we’re done here.” Not much she could do about The Excellent One’s diminished appearance. “Seriously, please go rest. We’ve put in a long day.” And if she left now, she’d have plenty of time to grab something to eat and get ready for tonight. Margo shouldn’t have to wait for her again. She ushered Howie into the hall, and then locked the door.
The intern glared, a hateful look aimed at something, or someone, else. She followed his gaze to the far end of the corridor, where the security guard strolled with a stiff gait. “Oh, that’s just our security guard. Night, Fred,” she called.
The guard came to an abrupt halt and turned.
Wait, that’s not Fred. Backlighting obscured his features, but his stance suggested a younger, virile man. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, long legs. Not just built, but buff as a freaking gladiator.
She opened her mouth to ask if everything was all right with Fred, but thought better of it. If this man was a substitute, he probably wouldn’t know. Most likely, in her frenzied rush to ready the exhibit, she’d overlooked the administrative email about the substitute guard, so wouldn’t harass him. Instead, she waved.
“Have a good night,” she told Howie and hurried to her office. Once inside, she locked the door. Yes, she’d skimmed through too many messages of late, but sometimes it paid not to be such a trusting soul. This seemed like one of those times.
Her relief didn’t last long. She stared at the box on her desk, which posed a dilemma. The package had arrived last week, and she’d opened it, then resealed it. As curator, she couldn’t accept gifts of any kind. Not to mention the sender remained anonymous. Other than the accompanying note thanking her for her interest in Bast’s temple and in Hatshepsut’s warrior Iker, the package had no clues.
Such a shame—it was a gorgeous onyx statue of Bastet, complete with gold earring and in excellent condition. It might spell real trouble if anyone questioned her about its origins, especially since she could provide no accurate answer. The figurine had the same weathered appearance as the statues on display, but was in better condition. She’d researched online and found no alerts on missing items similar to it. A discreet inquiry to her supervisor got her nowhere. Leaving the figure here gave her an uncomfortable feeling that grew stronger every day.
There was
one way to keep the statue secure until she could learn more about it. She could take it home. As she replaced the carved stone cat in its box, one of its onyx claws scraped her finger, the same one the mummy’s display case had pricked.
Red drops trickled down in perfect orbs. The sight of blood was enough to make her woozy, so she sucked her finger until she found an elastic bandage in her purse, and covered it quickly. Better, but not enough to stop her stomach from flip-flopping. Maybe she just needed dinner. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
After fumbling the package into a tote bag, she turned for the door. Her intent to walk became an epic fail. Her upper half floated forward, but her shoes somehow twisted together and remained rooted to the same spot, and she sailed down to the carpet in an arc that ended in a thud.
Her office became a Tilt-A-Whirl. The floor beneath her lifted in swells, rocking to and fro. As if she wasn’t already queasy enough. Too bad her limbs wouldn’t work. She desperately wanted to push up, lift her head, anything, but someone had filled her body with concrete.
At the click of the door, she thought: “Help.”
Brown leather boots came into view. Someone crouched beside her. “Goddess.”
Oh very funny. Sure, splayed helpless on the floor, certainly she resembled a divine being. Yet he’d spoken it with reverence, and a measure of reluctance.
Gentle hands gripped her shoulders, rolled her onto his lap. The Security Guard Who Was Not Fred cradled her.
“It has begun,” he said.
What, her descent into madness? The final back flip off the diving board of sanity? Her eyes refused to focus, so she couldn’t see his face, obstructed again by backlighting. Despite the glow shimmering around the outline of his head, something about him seemed so familiar, so comforting.
Then the dark edges of the room crawled into a pinpoint. Before everything went black, Sandy’s rational side struggled to rise above the haze enshrouding her mind to tell her it was illogical, no way could it be him, but she whispered, “Iker.”
Goddess, Spellbound Page 3
