The sheik turned to Juste. “Your supervisor is here, and staying close to the task force coordinator, Forrester. They were not happy to include my men.”
With a shrug, Juste grunted. “Maines won’t poke his head out of Dorman’s office. He wouldn’t want to be around if somethin’ actually happens.”
Glancing beyond the sheik’s round shoulder, Juste watched as Dr. Dorman approached, accompanied by a tall, physically imposing woman—an Amazon with olive skin and dark, flashing eyes. The curator appeared flustered in her presence, and Juste couldn’t help but smirk. She was beautiful, no doubt, but too much woman for the tall, gangly man who’d made the mistake of wearing dark trousers with a crisp, white long-sleeved tunic and headdress. He looked extremely uncomfortable in the getup.
The woman sauntered toward them, her gaze slipping from the sheik and nailing Haddara. Their equally narrowing gazes proclaimed the two knew each other.
Dr. Dorman bumped the woman’s shoulder as he stepped into the circle they’d all formed. “Madame Nailah Massri, you’ve met Mr. Haddara. This is Sheik Khaled Fathy, his niece, Princess Khepri Amun, and two of our local police officers, Justin Boucher and Michael Prejean.”
Madame Massri’s gaze didn’t follow with the introductions, instead honing immediately on Khepri. “Niece,” she said, her tone hostile.
“Yes, a student of archeology,” the sheik said, waving his hand and smiling warmly, apparently unaware of the waves of hostility the tall woman gave off.
Juste’s own hairs lifted on his arms and the back of his neck.
Dr. Dorman cleared his throat. “Madame Massri is here representing the Supreme Council for Antiquities, all the way from Cairo.” Then he gave an unsubtle waggle of his eyebrows. As if the group didn’t already understand she was the enemy.
Madame Massri offered a thin smile to the group. “It’s rather late to slap your hands, Mr. Haddara, for the cloak-and-dagger measures you undertook to move this collection and the two new finds out of our country. But tonight is a celebration of all things Egyptian. We wouldn’t want to cast a pall over the museum sponsors’ enjoyment of all this lush excess. We will speak later.”
Her gaze swept down Khepri’s costume. “Quaint. A lovely linen, no doubt produced from the sheik’s own fields.” Her hand swept her own costume, a much more elaborate and bejeweled outfit. The bra of the gown was encrusted with dark blue and green stones, pearls framing the edges. Her skirt was banded by more dark stones around the waist. Around her neck, she wore a large carved jade heart, suspended by a heavy gold chain. “It seems we are both dressed for the part.”
Not one to be impressed by women’s fashion, even Juste knew the woman’s outfit had cost a fortune. But for all her lush beauty and sparkling adornment, she looked coarse and slightly vulgar beside Khepri. He liked even less the dismissive lowering of her lashes and quick uptilt of her jaw as she glanced away.
“Doctor, you promised me refreshment.”
As soon as the haughty woman left, Khepri’s shoulders sagged. “How odious.” Her head turned toward Haddara. “She knows something.”
“My men will keep her in their sights. Perhaps she will tip her hand.”
Juste couldn’t help keeping his gaze on the woman as she paused with Dr. Dorman to greet another gathering of guests—Dr. Felton and his two graduate assistants, who had an entourage of their own surrounding them. This time, she smiled, her hand reached out and shook with those she was introduced to, but as he watched, her gaze slid back, locking with his. For just a moment, her eyes seemed to catch the light of the electric chandelier high above the entrance. They glowed. Her lips quirked and she glanced away.
Juste shook his head, not wanting to voice what he’d seen because he wasn’t sure.
“Did you see?” Khepri hissed, her hand touching Haddara’s sleeve.
“Yes, my dear. Mischief is afoot.”
Mikey appeared clueless, his brows lowering. “What?”
Juste leaned toward him. “The woman. Massri. I’m guessing she’s not human.”
“Thought she carried herself like a goddess,” Mikey murmured.
“You’re very intuitive,” Haddara said, nodding.
“I just thought she was an overdressed bitch,” Juste muttered.
Khepri chuckled. “And you would be right as well.”
“Let’s mingle,” Juste said.
When they moved, Haddara and the sheik remained with them. Mikey lifted his shoulders and grinned. So much for Juste finding a dark corner to ruffle Khepri’s clothes.
They left the sparkling entrance and trailed through the exhibit halls, where proctors waited to describe the artifacts to guests. Candles burned on tall, footed candelabras.
One candle had sputtered out, and Juste watched as Khepri walked casually toward it and made a motion, as though she were plucking the wick, but when her fingers drew away, flame sputtered into life.
Murmurs surrounded them as several of the guests witnessed Khepri’s action.
Khepri glanced around, her eyes widening, startled by the attention. And then she gave Juste a small smile before letting it widen to the crowd gathering nearer. Her arms spread, beckoning them closer.
Juste watched, mesmerized as a glow seemed to settle on her skin, and her eyes reflected the candlelight, glowing with warmth, rather than menace.
“We are in the presence of great power,” she said, her voice carrying, although not pitched particularly loud. “Here, we stand beside a shrine that, while not huge and imposing, was very precious to those who sought connection with the gods.” Gliding forward, she stepped past the padded rope to stand beside the shrine where she’d prayed and a spirit bird had shot from her back.
Juste stiffened. He didn’t like her being that near, but trusted she knew what she was doing.
“I am The God’s Wife. Mortal wife to Amun, god of wind, protector of Thebes and all those who are poor and hungry.” She trailed a hand across the peaked roof of the shrine, a tender gesture. “At a tender age, I was taken from my parents’ wheat field and trained as an acolyte of the temple. Little did I know, but The God’s Wife who found me was moved by a vision of what I would become.”
Her smile turned inward and, although she paused, not a whisper could be heard.
“Under Nephthys’s tutelage, I learned to harness the little natural powers I possessed. And she taught me the rhythm of life inside the temple. As one devoted to prayer and to serving as an oracle, I supervised the cleaning of the temple to show respect to Amun and his house. I bathed numerous times a day, before prayer, so I would approach my husband in purity of body and spirit.” Her eyelids dipped before she gazed around the group from beneath her lashes. “Would you like to see how an oracle approaches conversation with a god?”
At nods and murmurs of assent, she cast her glance around the room. “I will need that bowl filled with water,” she said, pointing to one of the exhibit’s treasures sitting atop a felt-covered pedestal.
Perhaps because the crowd believed she was an actress performing within the bounds of her script, someone leapt forward and filled the bowl with water from the drinking fountain.
Khepri replaced the bowl atop the pedestal and quickly washed her hands. “Bathing is a soothing ritual,” she said quietly, as water trickled from her hands into the bowl. “Washing away grime helps to wash away turmoil. If I am consumed with day-to-day problems, I cannot reach the inner calm that allows my soul to drift.”
She shook her hands at her sides, but a gentleman stepped forward with a handkerchief. Her smile was brilliant as she thanked him for his kindness.
“I need something aromatic to burn,” she said, her gaze sweeping the growing crowd.
Another man reached into his jacket to produce a cigar, which he cut and lit and then handed to her. “Hope we don’t get into any trouble smokin’ in here,” the man said.
Smiling, Khepri shook her head and held up the burning cigar.
“You’ll have to give it
a puff to keep it lit for long.”
She nodded and put the butt in her mouth, her face screwing up into an adorable grimace as she puffed the cigar. After two pulls, she drew a deep breath and held the cigar aloft, watching smoke swirl upward.
“I have bathed. I have lit incense to draw the spirit realm closer. Now, I cast a spell, a plea to my husband, Amun, for him to bless me with vision.
“O Husband, I call to you.
All evil which lay upon my skin is gone,
Washed clean by Anuket’s great river,
And dried by your gentle winds.”
She repeated the verse twice and then handed the cigar back to the man. Easing up her skirt several inches, she knelt before the shrine. “Husband, I call to you. Heavy is my burden, but I carry it with pride and gratitude. Bless me with your presence, a sign that all is well between us, and that you are near.”
Watching her slender back, her head bent in prayer, Juste wondered how many times she’d implored her absent husband for a sign that he cared.
At her hesitation, the sound of feet shuffling, of clothing rustling as those to the rear tried to peer over the shoulders of those in the inner circle, filled the room.
Worry over souls shooting out of her back kept his gaze glued to her, rather than those near. But from the corner of his eye, he saw Haddara’s hand lift, and his palm turn upward. He made a slight circular motion, and suddenly candles flickered, dousing in the next instant. A breeze sifted through the room, cool then hot, and the candles blinked one by one, exploding softly into flame.
Gasps of delight sounded. But Juste couldn’t look away from Khepri’s upturned face. Joy filled her eyes, her lips parted, her hands lifted, touching the air, a single finger twirling in tighter and tighter circles until a small funnel appeared. It whipped at her dress and her hair but didn’t grow to affect anyone around her.
Juste cast a quick sideways glance at Haddara, who stood now, a hand cupping an elbow while his fingers plucked the beard at his chin, a look of pride and quiet joy gleaming in his eyes and soft smile.
It all made sense now. Her instant acceptance. His instant dislike. The way Haddara had all the answers, knew how she’d respond to every situation. He’d been playing them both.
“You,” Juste whispered, anger vibrating through his body.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Haddara—no, Khepri’s husband—held his gaze a moment longer and then turned to gaze at her slim form as she stood and flipped up her hand to release the tiny funnel toward the ceiling, where it rocked the chandelier, causing a tinkling sound, then dissipated.
The crowd moved toward her, jostling Juste and Haddara in their excitement, but the two men stood face-to-face.
“Why haven’t you told her?” Juste asked, his voice raised now to be heard over the exclamations of the crowd.
“She must fly on her own. I am not allowed to interfere. I can guide and mentor, but I cannot act.” H gave a shrug. “What will be will be.”
“Sounds like a really tired cliché. She thinks you’re some all-powerful being. She thinks you’ll have her back.”
“And I do, in my own way.”
Juste shook his head in disgust. “That thing in the parking garage—I assume it doesn’t follow the same rules?”
“Ammit dares defy our laws. She thinks that she can walk among you, rule you.”
“Are there more of you here to help us?”
“There is only me. And I am here, and yet not. So my power is diminished. Not nearly as strong as Ammit’s, or even dear Khepri’s.” He waved a hand. “This was a parlor trick, something to please Khepri.”
“You gave her false assurance that she could depend on you in a fight.” Irritation tightened his muscles.
Haddara’s dark gaze locked with Juste’s. “Above all, she understands this is her battle.”
“She washed her hands in an offering bowl?” Dr. Dorman’s voice rose toward the end of his question.
Haddara glanced sideways at Dorman’s approach and leveled him with a glare. “She had my blessing.”
Dr. Dorman’s lips thinned. “Of course. It’s your call. I’ll have it emptied and cleaned.”
“Leave it. See how they follow her example?” He pointed toward the pedestal.
Sure enough, looking sheepish, one after another, patrons dipped their hands in the bowl to wash them.
Juste shook his head. Did they think they’d whirl minitornados from their fingertips?
“They are filled with reverence for the magic they feel in this room. She gave them that, however transitory.” Haddara nodded as he watched those at the bowl. “They will remember this feeling, savor it. Perhaps some will be moved to explore their spirituality.”
He spoke to Juste, but Dr. Dorman stood by, his lips curled. “She’s drawn attention from the relics. They should be the stars.”
“The relics serve as reminders of our shared pasts, but offer only faint echoes of what we were.”
Dorman gave him a skeptical look. After all, he knew Haddara only as security for the exhibit. He drew a deep breath through his nose. “Well, I must circulate. You appear to have everything in hand here.” He pulled at the cuffs of his white tunic and walked away.
“I think he’s annoyed,” Juste murmured.
“He is filled with his own self-importance. What’s significant, though, is that he seems to have forgotten he was smitten.”
“Yeah, for someone who nearly drooled all over that Massri woman, I’m surprised he left her side.” Juste blinked, and then looked more closely at Haddara’s carefully neutral expression. “It’s her. Ammit.”
“Yes, and I am sure that at some level, Khepri is also aware that she is near.”
“What about the pharaoh?” Juste’s gaze narrowed.
“Him, I haven’t felt.”
“Would you recognize him?”
“I should, unless…”
Juste ground his teeth. “Unless?”
“He has used magic to change his appearance.”
“Why would he? Who is he hiding from?” He started to run a hand through his hair, but slowly lowered it. “He has to know you won’t interfere and that Khepri won’t recognize him.”
“He may be hiding in plain sight, perhaps using another’s appearance to assume his place. Being unknown can offer many benefits. He may roam at will drawing no undue attention, studying his surroundings, even his foes, to find advantages he may take.”
Hell. Juste’s gut tightened. “He could be anybody?”
“But likely someone he met,” Haddara said, nodding, “someone he could study in order to mimic.”
“So someone whose path he may have crossed? That’s a lot of people.” Juste glanced toward the doorway the curator had exited. “Dorman?”
Haddara shook his head. “I’ve dealt with Dorman before. He is prickly and arrogant, but doesn’t seem any different than before.”
“Just how long have you been here? As Mr. Haddara?”
“Since the sheik was a young man.”
Juste studied the man who was more than a man. “You’ve been waiting.”
“I picked the time. The place. I waited for you, Justin Henry Boucher.”
Me? Shock quaked through Juste. “There I go, thinkin’ you actually might have had a good plan.”
Haddara smiled. “You do not believe you are special, that the man you are now is perfectly formed for this task?”
“Formed…did you have anything to do with Bobby’s death?”
“No, but I met Bobby, when he passed through. What he told me about you intrigued me.”
“That happened only a month and a half ago.”
“And I am not constrained by your concept of time. For me, I can step in when I please. In the Duat, time has no meaning. After I met Bobby, I befriended the sheik, starting him on his lifelong passion of collecting artifacts and studying the traditions of the past.”
Air stuck in his chest and burned. “You could have sto
pped Bobby from bein’ killed.”
“I cannot interfere with what is predestined.”
Juste scraped a hand through his hair. “How was he, when you saw him?” he asked, his voice rasping.
“At first, he was worried about you. But he met your Khepri. When last I saw him, he was smiling hugely.”
The crowd had thinned. Khepri finished her conversation with a couple who couldn’t seem to stop touching her arm or her hands. Juste knew the feeling. Although, he was sure his impulses were more on the carnal side of desire, where they simply were fascinated with the air of innocence and the spark of magic in the room.
Khepri approached the two men, but leaned into Juste’s side.
He obliged her by placing his arm lightly around her back. He bent and kissed her forehead, his gaze never leaving Haddara’s slightly narrowed eyes. The man might be her husband, but he’d never given her the one thing she’d craved. Physical connection and love. And because this was all predetermined, Juste’s desire for Khepri and hers for him could be no surprise. Juste went with it, shrugging off any scruples he might have had regarding being with another man’s wife. Khepri was no man’s wife. So far as he was concerned, she was a free agent.
“I saw Dr. Dorman, and he was alone,” she said softly, her gaze rising to meet his and then swinging to Haddara. “Can you find out whether anyone has seen her?”
Juste hadn’t heard any chatter about any problems, but then, the team didn’t know to keep Madame Massri in their sights at all times. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, dialing Mikey.
“Heard your girlfriend put on quite a show,” Mikey murmured in his ear.
“Yeah, but we may have a problem. Madame Massri. Have everyone looking for her. I want to know where she is, who she’s with. But don’t approach.”
“I’ll get on it now.”
Justin closed his phone, listening to the chatter in his ear bud as orders went out to find her. The men at their various posts, responding to Mikey’s description, reported one at a time from the different halls. She was nowhere to be found. Glancing at Khepri, he pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. “Any thoughts about what she might be up to?” he asked, directing his question to Haddara.
Crescent Moon Page 20
