Crescent Moon

by Delilah Devlin

  I am here, Khepri, little warrior, precious wife.

  Her breath stilled, and she closed her eyes, searching for him inside. “How will I know the nameless one?”

  He will not betray his true nature. Trust your instinct. When you see him, you will know.

  “Will you be with me?”

  Outside my realm, I am weakened. But I am near. Armor yourself, with magic and with resolve.

  She took a deep breath. “Husband, I have slept with a man,” she said softly. He hesitated so long, she cringed.

  And are you happy?

  Tears burned her closed eyes. “I am.”

  Our destinies were written long before you or even I existed. Know that I am near. That I love you.

  Another soft caress touched her cheek. A wisp of wind ruffled her hair. And then she was alone.

  Straightening, she reached out to touch Amun’s small figure seated on his throne.

  “I’m quite sure Dr. Dorman would be horrified to see you sitting so near his exhibit.”

  She turned her head to find Mr. Haddara in the doorway, a half-smile on his lips.

  “Do you feel nearer to your old home when you pray?”

  Khepri frowned, thinking about the surprising question. “I feel, refreshed. But no closer to home. It is lost to me. Dust.”

  “Does the loss sadden you?”

  Her glance fell away. “I worry about my friends I left behind. Whether my servant, Aliyah, or the temple singer won the affections of the ferryman. Whether the farmers and their families continued to go hungry due to Akil’s greed. But I’m not sad to be away from there.” She looked up, catching his stare. His expression was closed. “I like it here,” she said.

  “You like your detective.”

  She nodded. “I do. I know it is selfish.”

  One corner of his mouth curved. “Have you not earned a little happiness?”

  “If I say that, then am I not admitting I expect reward when my role is to serve without regard to self?”

  “You are a woman, with a woman’s heart. I think that even Amun would accept that you yearn for more.”

  Her cheeks grew warm at the intimate turn of the conversation, and she clambered to her feet, brushing off her backside and straightening her clothes for something to do because she felt so awkward. “Did you hear that someone from your country is coming about the mummies?”

  “We got word last night from the sheik just before he boarded a private jet to come here. He’s not concerned. The Supreme Council for Antiquities has no power, no jurisdiction or standing with your government. And the sheik has friends who will see that this never becomes a legal issue. So let them come.”

  His last words were pitched low, and she shivered, seeing a hint of steel in the kind man’s gaze. Her interest in Mr. Haddara piqued. “You and the sheik are friends.”

  “We are. Old friends. I am free to act on his behalf.”

  “How long have you been in his employ?”

  “For many years.” He smiled and tilted his head toward the entryway. “Do you wish to rejoin your detective? I am sure he is already concerned by your long absence.”

  She sniffed as she drew up beside him. “He shouldn’t worry.”

  “You were targeted by a bomber yesterday, of course he is going to be concerned.”

  They began to walk, heading down the long corridor that led back to the foyer. “And I protected myself and those with me. Does that not tell him he shouldn’t worry?”

  His dark eyes gleamed. “He is a man. You are under his protection. And he cares about you, my dear.”

  She glanced sideways. “Thank you for your concern, and for your belief.” She wrinkled her nose. “And thank you for the costume. I was not enamored of the idea of shopping again.”

  “I made the arrangements, but the sheik provided the funds.”

  “I haven’t tried it on. It might not fit.”

  “It will fit.”

  His smile invited her own, and she shook her head. “I believe you.”

  As they neared Dr. Dorman’s offices, unease rippled through her. There were too many people here. Men with grim expressions wearing black suits. Justin was nowhere in sight.

  Dr. Dorman’s bushy eyebrows were drawn into a tight, worried frown as he stood in front of his office door. He raised his hand to gesture to Mr. Haddara.

  They slipped through the crowd, Khepri excruciatingly aware of the men’s interest in her. Mr. Haddara lifted her hand and put it in the crook of his arm, the first time they’d touched, something she knew wasn’t condoned in his own culture, but she was grateful. Somehow, the gesture reassured her, made her feel protected. She needed every bit of confidence she could scrape together, because danger stirred around her.

  “They are demanding we call off the gala,” Dr. Dorman said as they drew near. “That we shut down the museum while they search every nook and cranny of the exhibit and the building.”

  Mr. Haddara stiffened beside her and reached into his pocket. He drew out a phone, tapped the screen with his thumb, and then held it to his ear. “Skip the hotel. I need you here.”

  His mouth was crimped when he met Dr. Dorman’s harried look. “The sheik is on his way. With an entourage. Introduce me to whomever is in charge.”

  Dr. Dorman curled his fingers for them to follow him into his office.

  Behind his desk sat a man with a bullish face, the precision of his haircut, the perfect cut of his dark suit, pointing at his unbending need for order.

  Mr. Haddara approached the desk. “Before we begin making calls, we should wait for the sheik’s arrival. He has traveled far to be here.”

  “I don’t care who he has in his pocket,” the bullish man said, “we’re shutting this place down.”

  “And you are …?”

  “Agent John Forrester with the FBI,” he said, his words clipped. “I’m in charge of this investigation now.” He lifted his chin toward the far corner of the room.

  Khepri followed the movement to find Michael and Justin standing there. Michael gave her a small wave and tight smile. Justin’s expression was as dark as thunderclouds.

  “The local PD’s taking a step back,” Agent Forrester said. “I’m heading up a joint team, FBI and ATF, to investigate the charges of smuggling and any related activity, including yesterday’s bombing.” His gaze swung and landed right on her.

  Khepri sucked in a sharp breath. The last thing she needed was another complication. She had no doubt he meant to hold her for questioning, but she had other things to attend to, like getting ready for a battle—and a party.

  The office door opened again, and Khepri wondered how many people could fit inside Dr. Dorman’s less than spacious office.

  A portly, older man walked calmly inside, dressed much like Mr. Haddara had been when he’d retrieved her from the police station the day before. His red-and-white headdress looked a little messy atop his large head as he and several dark, sharp-eyed men dressed in dark but better-fitting suits filled the room.

  The door closed. The sheik—she knew it was him by his regal carriage—looked down his nose at Agent Forrester. “Expect a call.” He gave him another sharp glance, then turned toward Mr. Haddara, his glance slipping downward again, to her. His harsh expression softened, and his dark eyes gleamed above his hawkish nose. Lifting a hand, he touched his heart, circled it in the air, and touched his forehead as he executed a bow.

  “You shouldn’t,” she whispered, glancing toward Agent Forrester, whose glance was riveted on her now.

  “Princess,” he said softly, but not so softly that everyone in the room hadn’t heard it, “May I escort you back to your hotel?”

  Episode Seven

  Part VII – Last Prayer

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Seated at a large, round dining table inside the sheik’s suite, Juste ignored the steak in front of him. His belly boiled with frustration and a sense of impending doom. “A princess?” he muttered. “Y’all couldn’t hav
e gone with somethin’ simpler?”

  The sheik gave him a small smile. “How else could we free her from the investigators? Plus it explains the heightened security around me.”

  “How’d you manage that cover?”

  “Be reassured, detective. I am related to the Saudi royal family. She is a cousin in my care while she attends university in Cairo. She is studying archeology.” The older man shook his head. “They will find no flaws in her documents.”

  Juste glanced at Khepri, the first time he’d allowed himself to do so since the sheik had spirited her away in his limo. Driving their sedan, he and Michael were forced to take up the rear of the procession. He supposed he should have been happy the sheik had insisted on him accompanying the group back to his hotel. Otherwise, Juste might have wound up spending hours upon hours being grilled by the FBI.

  After the call from the State Department, Agent Forrester, looking furious and frustrated, gave the sheik a curt nod and wished him a nice visit to New Orleans.

  Still, his men would be tightening up security for the gala that night. Which was fine with Juste. Looked like they’d need all the extra backup they could get—what with bombers and ancient kings crawling all over New Orleans.

  Khepri appeared to be taking the changes in stride, regardless of the surrounding male tension. With her head held high, she’d breezed out of the museum as composed as any true princess. Right now, she smiled softly beneath the sheik’s attention.

  “My dear,” the sheik said.

  His tone was so reverent, Juste shifted in his seat. The man’s respect made Juste feel slightly ashamed—he’d been all over Khepri’s body, done things to her he knew the sheik would likely be appalled about. Juste didn’t like thinking about her being what she really was. He’d much rather she be a waitress or a teacher, anything other than someone who deserved to be held in awe.

  “I am your servant,” the sheik said, bowing his head.

  “I don’t want servants, Sheik Fathy,” she said, leaning over the table. “I need allies.”

  “You have my backing. Whatever you need.”

  She frowned. “I wish I knew what I needed. But thank you for helping me escape that man. I’m not sure, but I feel as though tonight’s event is important, that it will lure those I seek into the open.”

  The sheik nodded. “I too read the spell inscribed on your wrappings. This battle will call for more than guns, more than anything I can provide you.”

  “That backing you offered will protect me from any humans who might have allied themselves with the nameless one. It is needed.”

  Juste snorted, his fist wrinkling the edge of the tablecloth. “I’ll be there too.”

  “I know you will,” she said, her gaze lingering.

  Her warm smile drew the sheik’s curious glance. That glance went from her to Juste and stayed there, narrowing, until he drew a deep breath and gave Juste a nod. “I will have my men report to you. You are her champion.”

  Me, a champion? Hell. Juste began to deny it, but Khepri’s blinding smile stopped him.

  “Champion is a word I understand and believe is well suited for your role.”

  A cough sounded beside him, and he sent a glare toward Mikey, who hid a smile.

  Juste sat up and glanced around the room at the small force assembled there. Standing around the perimeter of the room were nearly a dozen Middle Eastern men, all armed. “I don’t know about this reporting,” Juste muttered. “Do they even speak English?”

  “Fluently,” Haddara said, smiling slyly.

  “How’d you get so many here?”

  “They have been in the city for over a month.”

  Inside, Juste went inside, his stomach cramping. Had they been the men aboard the boat who’d scurried away, blending into the night while his partner had lain bleeding on the dock? His chest grew tight; blood pounded at his temples.

  “They did not kill Bobby Guidry,” Haddara said quietly. “The man you sought and who shot him was a crew member aboard the ship. Not one of ours.”

  Juste wanted to throw up, to bend over and empty his gut, but his head felt ready to explode. “Were you there?”

  “I remained with the shipment of artifacts, which arrived only days ago, but the sheik’s men needed to be here, and ready. As soon as we discovered the cave with the mummies, word leaked out about the find.” He dipped his head for a moment, then looked up. “We don’t know how, precisely, but then again, evil finds a way.”

  “You know who Bobby was?” he said, his voice hoarse.

  “I know many things, Juste Boucher. Anyone who comes into Khepri’s vicinity will come under my scrutiny.”

  Juste scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing aside the emotional turmoil, and then stared at Khepri, whose golden eyes gleamed with concern.

  He shook his head. He had one goal. One mission. To keep her safe. He’d have her back or die trying. “I’m okay. But we should get you back to change for the evening.”

  “Would she not be safer by remaining here?” the sheik exclaimed, disappointment deepening the wrinkles on his forehead.

  Khepri patted the old man’s hand. “I will be back in just a little while. We will have plenty of time to talk.”

  At the snap of his chubby fingers, his team trailed out of the room.

  Haddara pulled out Khepri’s chair and motioned for Mikey and Juste to follow. “We will leave via the stairwell. We’ve taken care of clearing it. There are no cameras. No one will know she has left the building.” He held Juste’s stare. “I hope you do not mind that I already have men watching your apartment.”

  Juste nodded, understanding it wasn’t a matter of lack of trust on Haddara’s part, but a matter of who had the better support. And the sheik’s deep pockets apparently bought a lot of firepower. “Thank you.”

  They headed out of the suite, straight for the stairwell. Four flights down, they entered the garage.

  As soon as they walked into the bare concrete structure, Juste’s hackles rose. Something didn’t smell right. Literally. He scanned the structure. “Khepri?” he said, pulling up next to her.

  “I smell it.”

  Pond water mixed with rotten eggs was the only description that came to mind, and he thought about the crocodile. “This your friend, So-bic?”

  “No, it’s her…”

  Before he had a chance to ask who she meant, he spotted the cars—the limo and his own sedan—careening around the corner. A horrible thudding sounded above the squeal of tires. The weight of whatever it was behind them could be felt in the soles of his shoes.

  One by one, bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling popped.

  Juste drew his weapon and shoved her behind him, but he felt her slip sideways, around him, her hand gliding across his back. “Shit.”

  The cars stopped and the doors popped open. Something slammed against the sedan, strongly enough the back tires shifted sideways.

  “Get in,” Haddara shouted, holding open a limo door, but Juste couldn’t.

  Khepri ran to the sedan, passed it, and raised her arms. She held something in her palm that gleamed around the edges. “Show yourself!” she shouted and threw what she held. A bright ball of fire spiraled into the air, exploding against something ten feet off the ground.

  For just a second, the outline of a body showed—a creature on four legs with a long snout, a burly upper torso, a heavy mane atop its shoulders, and a thicker, hairless lower torso.

  Juste stared, trying to figure out what he was seeing, when its snout lowered and again lifted the back end of the sedan.

  Khepri hurled another fireball, and then another.

  Juste took aim at the creature, targeted the chest, and pulled the trigger. The creature screamed and writhed, a high-pitched sound so loud it nearly shattered his eardrums.

  The next fireball caught the creature as it leveled a stare at Khepri, who stood with another ball balanced on her palm. The creature swung away and ran toward the exit of the garage, moving out of
range of the waning light that dissipated as the flame died slowly on her palm.

  Juste grabbed her around the waist and tossed her inside the sedan, following her in and hunching over her figure on the floorboard of the car. “Go, go, go!”

  They left through another exit, Haddara in the front seat beside the driver, Mikey at the far side, both staring at the streets, looking for anything that appeared out of place.

  Juste picked up Khepri’s hand and held it up to the overhead lamp. “Not a single blister. That’s some trick.”

  Khepri’s fingers curled into a fist. “She gave up too easily.”

  Haddara glanced back, his brows lowered. “Perhaps she was only testing us. Testing you.”

  “Testing my limits. I need a new weapon. Slinging fire won’t impress her again.”

  “Who is she?” Juste asked. At Khepri’s shiver, Juste’s stomach dropped. A crocodile hadn’t fazed her, but this creature did.

  “She is the Devourer of Souls. Ammit. Pharaoh summoned her and loosed her on the city.”

  “To do his bidding,” Haddara added, his voice faint. “I don’t think she has followed us.”

  “Pharaoh is blinded with power,” Khepri said with a shake of her head. “He cannot control her. She used him as surely as he hoped to use her. Her goal has been achieved. She escaped the Duat.”

  Juste pulled her up from the floorboard and tucked her against his side on the seat. He glanced through the window at the city blurring past. “So-bic and your husband, they’ve come across—why would she need your pharaoh to summon her?”

  “She was cursed for an eternity. Never to see the sun. She, who was once the goddess of the desert of Amenta—the Nile’s west bank, or at least its otherworldly west bank. Once trapped in darkness in the Duat, her appetites were uncontrollable. The gods served her the hearts of those who deserved no rest in death, hoping to appease her—an endless bounty of suffering, and still, she was unsatisfied.”

  “That’s what death’s like? Monsters like that?”

  Khepri angled her head to gaze at him. “Did you think it was only angels with fluffy wings?”