Crescent Moon

by Delilah Devlin

  Khepri lifted her shoulders. “Well, I was surprised, because I don’t feel I possess exceptional intelligence and others are more magically gifted.”

  The vizier’s eyes narrowed. “She conferred with me. Did you know?”

  “Nephthys?” At his nod, Khepri’s eyebrows rose. “She never said. I wondered how the choice was made.”

  “She said she believed you had a core of exceptional strength.”

  “To me, she said I was stubborn.”

  With a wave, he dismissed her comment, then continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “That once you determine a path, no one could sway you.”

  Khepri wrinkled her nose. “Stubborn,” she repeated.

  His face angled toward hers, his gaze locking on hers. “She said magic trailed you, but you had yet to stay still long enough for it to catch you.”

  Surprised, she pulled in a long breath. “That’s … whimsy. Not the truth at all.”

  He gave a crisp nod as though only his argument should be considered. “And yet, you function as the oracle.”

  “Only inside Amun’s sanctuary.” Khepri frowned. “The naos is a conduit.”

  “Nonsense. You are chosen. Your belief that you confer with the gods, only through an altar, is what constrains you.”

  She shook her head, annoyance overcoming any passing pleasure she’d had in his company. Impatient now, she settled a steady stare on his face. “Why did you want me to accompany you on this journey? Why come all the way to Thebes to retrieve me?”

  “Because you are chosen.” His hand waved in her direction. “Nephthys saw it. I feel it.”

  “Chosen for what?”

  He paused, his lips twisting in a snarl.

  She wondered if he’d never argued with a woman. If any woman had ever dared raise her voice to him. “Chosen for what?” she asked, her tone more insistent.

  “Drink your wine.”

  So much for her yearnings. She stared at the beaker. He thought she was a true mystic. Her abilities were his only interest. Not her body, certainly not her mind. He was destined for disappointment. She was destined to never know the act of serving a living god in any intimate way.

  Disappointment had her raising her beaker and taking a sip. The wine was cool and sweet. Too sweet for her taste. She wrinkled her nose, but took another sip, anything but continue the awkward conversation.

  “We should talk now,” he said softly, the intensity of his gaze increasing.

  She no longer felt warmed by his presence. A distinct chill crackled in the air. With both hands, she cupped the beaker to warm the liquid.

  “How much do you know about the Land of the Dead, the Duat?”

  His voice sounded a little hollow, like he was speaking through a tunnel. She shook her head. “Only what the papyri describe of the land beyond this world. Of sailing on the Nun river, and the many regions … the weighing of the heart. Most of it is pretty fiction.” She bit her lip. Had she really said that out loud? She rarely admitted her doubts of the things she’d been taught, even to herself. Otherwise, she would question her own destiny.

  Yet he did no more than stare, and then slowly smiled. “So you know the story. That Osiris will watch as Anubis weighs a dead man’s heart. In the underworld, a farmer may be found worthy and sent to live with Horus in the Fields of Peace, living like a king. While a king found unworthy may be dragged away by the Devourer of Hearts to dwell in oblivion.”

  “To dwell in the Pit of Fire,” she murmured, confused because he hadn’t chastised her for calling the story pretty fiction. Something about his behavior was different after her outburst. His body was more relaxed. Curiosity had her changing the subject. “Why can we never speak his name? How has he earned such disrespect?”

  He snorted and took a sip from his own beaker. “You have never met him and do not know his nature.”

  “He kept to Luxor. We’ve only heard rumors.” She shivered, glad again fate had removed him from her path because the rumors hadn’t been pleasant ones.

  “He murdered his siblings.”

  With a sharp move, she dipped her chin. “Hideous, but not an uncommon practice. He must have felt the need to consolidate his power and remove threats to his reign.” Khepri made the statement without emotion, even though she couldn’t imagine ever doing the same to her small siblings.

  As a child, she’d been taken from the fields, never to see them again. Even to this day, she felt an ache at their loss.

  “He murdered his own offspring,” the vizier said, his voice deepening with anger.

  Shock took away her breath. “I heard his sons died of a fever.”

  For a second, he closed his eyes. “He set fire to the baskets where they lay.”

  “That’s horrible,” she said, her stomach churning.

  His gaze went to a small corner. His expression was grim. “I smelled the burning rushes, heard their screams. It was too late to save them or their mothers. But the act is not the thing that truly damns him. He wanted to release Ammit on the world. He offered his sons as sacrifice.”

  Muscles tightened along her spine and her breath left in a whoosh. Madness! “Who would want that? Did he think he could control the demon?”

  “He was Pharaoh, the living god,” he said, swinging out his arm. “Something inside him was dark, some other creature influencing his actions. At times, I could see the struggle inside him. The fear. In one of those moments when he awoke from the horror, he begged me for help.” His gaze fell away and his jaw tightened.

  Khepri swallowed, knowing deep inside there was more to the story. More she didn’t really want to know, but was unable to stop herself from asking. “We heard nothing. Not of the deaths around him. No rumors of illness. How did he die?”

  The vizier’s mouth firmed. His dark eyes narrowed before he shot a look her way. “He was strangled,” he said, his voice tight. His gaze slid away again, but not before she’d noted a flaring triumph sparkling in his eyes.

  She set down the beaker, thinking perhaps the wine was stronger than she was accustomed to. Hers was usually watered down because she didn’t like any muzziness in her mind. Muzziness and her own discomfort could be the only explanation for her growing unease.

  While she stared at the vizier, her focus blurred. With his body outlined by sunlight gleaming around the edge of the mat, bright colors seemed to seep outward from his skin. Bright red and orange, like the sun’s corona around his head, but with an edge of dark shadow wisping through the red and orange, flaring outward, then receding.

  She shook her head and felt the deck shift beneath her body. Her heartbeat grew loud enough she heard it in her ears. The beat muffled the sounds of the oars slicing the water and the creaks of the wooden deck. “I’m not … . you’ve made a mistake … coming for me.”

  His dark eyes seemed to glow as he leaned closer. “Are you unwell?”

  She reached up, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “I feel woozy,” she whispered. Her head swung toward him, her gaze sharpened. “Was there something in my wine?”

  His mouth eased into a smile. A smile that was pinched at the sides of his mouth and didn’t reach his eyes. “I added a tincture to help with your fear.”

  “Well, it isn’t helping,” she said, her words slurring. “And why would you expect me to feel fear?”

  “I thought you were a true oracle, that you would know what it is I want of you.”

  Khepri slipped sideways, barely catching her fall with a hand. “What do you want from me? You had no need to drug me. I am The God’s wife. If you act as Pharaoh, I am yours to command.”

  “I had no inkling you were as innocent as you are. As untried. More perfect than Nephthys led me to believe.”

  “You needed me stupid?” Her heart pounded. “Unsophisticated? Why?”

  “Because your stubborn loyalty, your unwavering desire to serve, are qualities that will follow you, even into the next life.”

  “You speak in riddles �
�” Too woozy to focus on the alarm causing her breaths to shorten, she struggled to keep awake. “I want to go home,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t need an adventure.”

  “You have no home. You were born in a wheat field. Raised inside hallowed walls. Impervious to desecration. Pure of heart and body. Anubis will find no fault in you when you meet.”

  “But I will only meet him when I die.” Shock tightened her stomach and her eyes widened. Again, she swayed. “Am I going to die? Have you poisoned me?”

  “Not poison, but a potion. You’ll sleep, and then you’ll awaken. When next you see me, do not be alarmed.”

  Far too late for that. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. Her breaths rasped in her ears. She pushed up from the cushions, but the deck beneath her feet seemed to dip and roll. Her knees buckled.

  Strong arms surrounded her. A warm, hard chest buffeted her cheek.

  Her last thought before she closed her eyes was what a fool she’d been to ever desire this man’s touch.

  Chapter Four

  Khepri was surprised when next she blinked open her eyes. She hadn’t expected to still be living after he’d smothered her. Although, if truth be told, she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t slowly dying.

  Shadows were deepening in the cavern, further obscuring her blurred vision. Wind whistled through the cave, but sounded less … natural. If her ears weren’t covered, she might have heard voices carried in the wailing wind. Or perhaps she was the one wailing, inside, where she was cold and barely breathing.

  This time, she wasn’t lying flat, but rested against something hard and propped at an angle. She could see more of the cavern that would be her tomb.

  “You were chosen for this battle, Khepri,” came the vizier’s calm voice.

  How had he known she was awake? Had she made a noise?

  “Nephthys didn’t lie to you. Only you aren’t protecting your precious temple. You will protect the world from a monster.”

  He’d wrapped her in linens, dressed her for death, but without benefit of actually being dead. “You … are the monster,” she whispered, her voice so soft, so rasping, she didn’t recognize it. No longer panicked, she glanced around, tired to the point of resignation with her fate. But she was still curious about this place. Her tomb. The place was indeed a cave—white walls scoured smooth by blowing sands. An opening above provided light. A rough ladder leaned against the opening.

  Her glance swept the interior floor, and she saw another wrapped bundle in the shape of a body. No doubt Pharaoh. “Did you bother … to ensure he was dead … before you prepared him?”

  “He was quite dead,” the vizier said, his face smiling into hers. “I made sure of it.”

  “You murdered him?” she whispered breathily.

  “I didn’t act alone. Many within the palace saw the darkness inside him.”

  “Only … dark soul I see … is yours.”

  “I serve Set.” His jaw lifted. “I serve a righteous Pharaoh. What greater purpose can one serve than to ensure evil never rises again?”

  She closed her eyes, tears pricking again, but she was through crying. Nothing would move him, and she didn’t want to enter the next realm with proof of her fear staining her face. “Why am I here?”

  “You shall be an ushabti. Called into service should he ever rise again. At the moment of his ascendance, you will strike him down.”

  “I am nothing special … not magical.” Her throat tightened. “If he is evil … I will fail.”

  A look of pity flickered across his stern features. He trailed a finger down her cheek. “Did you trust in Nephthys? Did you believe her righteous and blessed?”

  To rid the sudden welling of tears, she breathed a shallow breath through her nose. “Yes.” Nephthys had been a second mother, beautiful and wise. And gentle. How could she have sanctioned this horror?

  “The first time she brought you to the sanctuary, brought you before Amun to share in the ritual, she was struck by a vision. She’d known from the first moment she spied you with the butterflies that you were special, and destined for greatness. She was a little jealous, I think, of your potential, but she was Amun’s Wife and never questioned where he might lead her.”

  “What did she see?” she whispered, darkness pressing closer.

  One corner of his mouth curled upward. “I mustn’t say. Your destiny awaits.”

  “I don’t believe you. I will die here … but there’s still so much . . . I want to do. I’m … not … ready.”

  His head lowered, he pressed his forehead against hers. “I know I seem cruel,” he said softly. “I do what I must. I don’t wish to harm you. I regret you are afraid. But trust in your teachings. If you cannot trust me, trust in Nephthys. I have danced too close to evil to complete this journey with you. Do you hear what I am saying?”

  Again, tears leaked from her eyes. There was no saving her. In moments, her life would end. Better to confer with the gods, prepare her soul, than rail against something she was powerless to stop.

  And if he was right about a battle she must fight, then she wouldn’t spend her last breath whimpering. She would listen. “I am ready … to hear.”

  As he let out a deep breath, his shoulders lowered. “You are so beautiful. So brave.”

  He sees me now? Panic no longer ruled her thoughts; she concentrated, determined to remember. If she faced Anubis or Osiris, or if she one day awoke, she would need to remember.

  “I have tucked amulets into your wrappings, gifts to introduce you to Set. Bribes to help you enter Horus’s realm while you wait. More to pay your passage on Re’s boat to make the final journey home.”

  Again, he was speaking of the Duat, of the Land of the Dead. “Yes,” she said, letting him know she heard. “Bribes.”

  “I have wrapped your fingers around a blade, inscribed with a prayer to Neith, goddess of war. Keep the blade close, for it will enable you to use whatever weapons are at hand. Around the top of your head, I have placed a thin golden band impressed with the symbol of Dhehuty, the head of an ibis. Wherever you awaken, you will know that world. Don’t fight the images that fill your mind or they will jumble.” The vizier held up a scarab amulet between his fingers and turned it to show her the inscriptions carved into the back.

  “I can’t see …”

  “Amun. A final gift from your husband. When I place this on your tongue, you will speak the language of your new home.”

  “Not yet,” she said, not ready to give up the one freedom she had left. But he stuck his fingers into her mouth and set the hard stone in the center of her tongue.

  She felt nothing. Not a shiver or a spark. It was a stone. Just a stone. And he was insane.

  She’d die. To sleep. If she was brought to Osiris by the gatekeeper, they’d mock her for being foolish enough to let this man with the maniacal gleam in his eyes lead her aboard Re’s boat.

  All because she’d wanted an adventure. Because she’d been lonely. When she had been chosen … The God’s Wife … exalted above others.

  With pressure from her tongue, she tried to push the stone from her mouth, but he wound strips beneath her chin and over the top of her head, clamping her jaws closed. She gurgled, growing panicked again, but the sounds were faint and weak.

  She grew dizzy and breathed through her nose, afraid now that she’d vomit and drown. Wrapped for death, she stared up through the opening at the clear blue sky. She remembered her earlier vision and wished she could set her ba free to fly from the gloom.

  But linen, the softest from her kalasiris no doubt, fell across her eyes and tightened. The cloth wrapped around her nose, and what air she’d been able to breath before was further filtered.

  A brush scraped the linen, and heat seeped through, burning her forehead. Then she knew. Hot resin would seal her head, her face.

  But she was alive.

  I live, husband. Help me. Help me.

  She made a sound, a muffled sob. Something pressed against her covered n
ose and mouth. A hand? Once again, her air was stopped.

  Thank you, husband. Thank you …

  Khepri, The God’s Wife, passed into the Duat.

  Part II – Juste in Time

  Chapter Five

  Justin Henry Boucher didn’t trust his new partner. He didn’t like his easy jokes or his shifty green eyes. Didn’t like the fact he was so damn young, and obviously well-connected to have spent so little time paying his dues as a beat cop before advancing to detective.

  Michael Prejean probably wasn’t a complete douche bag, but Juste just plain didn’t like him. Maybe his dislike stemmed from the fact that he’d had no choice but accept Prejean as his new partner. He’d had a partner. A damn good one who’d been his best friend and as close to a brother as he’d ever had.

  Juste had a new partner he didn’t really know because he’d burned his last bridge in his old unit when he’d sailed across the lieutenant’s desk and grabbed for his throat. The fact he’d come away with only a reprimand, a dock in his pay, and a “lateral” transfer out of homicide to the third district’s robbery unit could have seemed light penalty for assaulting the man. Still, everyone knew Juste had good cause to want the bastard dead.

  His old partner and best friend since they’d fostered together, Bobby Guidry, had died because the LT hadn’t bothered his ass to answer his phone during a dinner party with the mayor. An op that never should have been sanctioned in the first place couldn’t be stopped even after they’d spotted men of Middle Eastern descent pouring from the ship they’d staked out because a crew member was suspected of murdering a man in a bar fight.

  But the LT had wanted a bust. Even if he’d known they faced a gang, armed to the teeth, he might not have pulled the plug because he was a damn glory hound and would have chafed at sharing attention with Homeland Security or the FBI.

  Regardless, the unit Juste and Bobby scrambled to make the arrest included too few men, not enough firepower, and a boss too busy brown-nosing to stay in the loop. And now, a good cop had been laid to rest. A man who was a father and a husband.