“There appears to be some colossus bearing my name and a reputation I must live up to,” I mused.
She made a little face of disagreement at that. “I had hoped we wouldn’t suffocate you with our curiosity, but many like myself are finding that hard to achieve.”
“Then I thank you for giving in,” I told her with a grin. “Admittedly I’ve felt much like a ghost. Nobody talks to me besides Nasira and Sayer.”
Cyrene frowned. “That’s my fault. I meant well.”
“I understand,” I told her. “And I appreciate your effort to make me feel more comfortable. Everyone can relax around me, I promise.”
“Well, you’ll have the opportunity to meet as many of our people as you’d like soon,” she replied. “There is a large group deployed to our headquarters outside London. Our accommodations will improve once we port, I promise.”
“Really, I’m very comfortable,” I insisted. “Everyone seems concerned about that. This is all much more than I’ve ever had, believe me. I’ve hardly spent any time at all in the cabin.”
“We take care of our own, Ziva,” she explained. “That means you.”
I couldn’t help my small smile. “I suppose I’ve misunderstood, then. I’d worried you had thought I preferred the fancy duds. Of course, it’s all lovely, but really, that’s not required or expected.”
“I’m still getting to know you,” Cyrene said. “We all are. My intention isn’t to treat you like a guest. You’re one of us.” She looked up and past my head. “Sayer.”
I turned my head to see him approach and my body seemed to ease into contentment at his familiar presence. Not that Cyrene made me uneasy—rather, a friend made me more at ease.
“Hello,” I greeted him.
“Hello back,” he said, giving me a warm look. Today he was clean shaven and his hair was loose around his face. His clothes were less combat-ready, the fabric soft cotton and linen, rather than thick twill and leather. “Is Cyrene regaling you with her tales of adventures around the world?”
“Not exactly, no,” I replied. “Should she be? I wasn’t aware you were such a globe-trotter.” I shot Cyrene a grin.
“Oh, yes,” he said, watching the priestess closely. “You’ll want to hear those stories.”
“They aren’t as thrilling as he implies,” Cyrene told me.
“Well, the rest of us find the chimera of Mount Nemrut a very thrilling tale,” Sayer said. “Cyrene was the first of us there and saved an entire village from being butchered. There was the Jötunn in the Hamra National Park in Sweden. A cult had been sacrificing children to this creature.”
I stared at Cyrene in reverence. “Truly? So, there are monsters all over the world?”
“There are benevolent immortals too,” she insisted. “We leave them be, but the ones who would spread malice and carnage across this earth must be stopped. That is why our work is so important and why we must do anything we can to save our people, so we can save others. Do you understand?”
I nodded. “Yes. I want to help people too.”
She smiled, red lips catching the sun. “Good.”
Sayer turned his gaze to me. “So, Ziva, I think we should continue your training if you are up for it.”
I nodded. “As much as I possibly can. My body already feels stronger.”
He gestured with a nod to follow him. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER
12
My days were a blur of hand-to-hand combat training in the most secluded places we could find aboard the zeppelin. Using magic could have endangered the lives of passengers, so we stuck to drills and repetitions. I’d noticed as the voyage went on, my sessions with Nasira and Sayer became more energizing than exhausting. Sayer stayed true to his word about my hieroglyphs lessons and he seemed happy to see me working as hard at them as I worked on my combat skills. Learning another language wasn’t necessarily more difficult than learning to maim, disable, and kill with a dagger, but it was a different sort of repetition learned best through immersion. Everything came down to muscle memory—brain as well as body. Thankfully Sayer hadn’t yet attempted a conversation with me in Ancient Egyptian. In between my lessons, I practiced everything—language, combat, spells—in the hope it all would grow to be second nature. One afternoon, Nasira told me she found my relentlessness to be “disconcertingly inspirational.” I took her words as the highest compliment.
We arrived at Southampton and I was excited to explore a bustling city in a whole new country. I braced myself against the zeppelin railing, my knuckles gone white on the steel bar. I’d been smiling so wide for so long my face began to hurt. Every street and path I could see was packed with people. It seemed a lot like New York City, but the stately old buildings of stone, brick, and plaster sported no trace of the Art Deco style American architects were currently obsessed with. Despite the diesel trams and motorcars adding to the noise pollution, something about this place had a fairy-tale charm.
Our airship found its place seamlessly between other arriving and departing vessels as though there was no chaos to this organization. We filed in tightly-packed lines down gangplanks and onto the docks. Many of the passengers greeted their waiting loved ones with waves of their caps and kisses on cheeks.
Amid the excitement, Nasira took my hand and led me toward a number of waiting black town cars being filled with luggage and Medjai passengers. Our procession began, and I soon found much of Southampton’s perimeter surrounded by a gigantic, ancient stone wall. At the end of one street, I saw trams disappearing beneath a medieval gatehouse squeezed between modern brick buildings. I’d been plopped into the middle of a strange mixture of the industrial and historical, and I wasn’t sure which was choking out the other.
We left the city and rolled down a narrow, winding road through the countryside dotted with cottages, sheep, and half-grown lambs. On the way, Nasira explained the Medjai owned a property some ways southeast of London, in the county of Kent, where we would stay. Apparently, this was a permanent residence for a group of Medjai as they monitor immortal threats in Europe. When I’d asked Nasira why there was no true headquarters in the States, she’d explained the Medjai had had every intention of establishing one, but then the Great War had happened.
Our car turned onto a single-lane drive shaded by the canopies of enormous trees, the tires following the worn grooves in the grass, past a gate and gatehouse. I squinted to read the words inscribed on the plaque.
WYTHEFORD HALL
1362
1816
“Why are there two dates?” I asked.
Nasira stirred from some reverie, focus drawing her pupils tight. “Hmm? Oh, the original castle was destroyed a few hundred years ago, and when the Medjai purchased the property at the end of the eighteenth century, the ruins were demolished and the castle rebuilt.”
My brow raised with surprise. “Castle?”
“It’s more like a big house,” she assured me. “Or an inn. There are no moat or turrets—nothing like that. Don’t look so disappointed!” She laughed, making me smile too. “We shouldn’t stay long—once we have the canopic jar, we’ll be off. Not everyone is stationed here.”
My smile faded, and I shook my head, confused. “Stationed? How do you mean?”
“Well, we all have assignments,” she explained. “There’s a possibility you could be deployed somewhere, and I could go elsewhere. Oh—there it is!”
I tried to feel excited about seeing this supposed castle I’d be housed in, but I couldn’t help feeling a certain dread at being separated from Nasira and Sayer. My whole life had been spent alone and now that I’d found friends, I couldn’t bear to be parted from them.
Wytheford Hall loomed ahead, its lawn shadowed by trees in the afternoon light. Dense ivy, clematis, and white jasmine devoured the chiseled brick and stone, spreading toward the steep roofs and gables, tamed only at the vast paned windows. I’d never seen anything so wild and beautiful.
The vehicles ahead of us had rol
led to a stop and Medjai had already begun to exit and gather their belongings. People appeared out of the massive front doors and helped the new arrivals assemble. As everyone filed inside, Nasira and I exited our own car. The air here prickled with magic, and I couldn’t be sure if this was caused by the great number of Medjai, or something else.
I looked up and around, unsure of what or whom I was looking for, but when my gaze met Sayer’s, relief warmed me. It wasn’t as though I’d worried he wouldn’t be here. The way the breeze caught the freed wisps of his hair from its tie and the way the sun illuminated his dark eyes—I felt at home even thousands of miles across the ocean in a country I’d never visited before. One corner of his mouth tugged into a smile for me until his attention turned toward an older Medjai who needed assistance in lifting his bags.
“Ziva?” Haya Bahri approached me with a canvas duffel bag flung over her shoulder. “You can follow me. I’ll show you to a room so you may rest, if you’d like, before tonight.”
“I appreciate that, thank you,” I told her.
“Is this your first time in England?” she asked politely.
“Yes,” I replied, unsure exactly how much she knew about my past, or what her son and daughter had told her. “I’ve lived in New York for as long as I can remember.”
“I’m afraid you won’t have time to grow too comfortable here during this trip,” she said with sympathy. “You’ll return, I promise. There is an alarming amount of activity we monitor in Europe.”
“Immortals?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “But that’s not our mission today.”
“Is Wytheford Hall well protected?” I asked. “If the Medjai have owned this property for so long, how have the immortals not found it yet?”
“There are many ancient magical protections over Wytheford,” Haya answered. “Many Medjai over the years added their own spells to the old.” She grinned. “It’s quite like layers of a really tall, magnificent wedding cake. Does that make sense?”
I nodded with a laugh. She reminded me a lot of Nasira. “So, the strange electricity I feel in the air must be the protective spells.”
“You’ll get used to it,” she replied.
If lots of Medjai had added their own, I wondered if my parents’ magic was in there somewhere, touching my skin and filling my lungs with the air I breathed.
“Is there anything else you need, Ziva?” Haya asked kindly.
“No, thank you,” I replied. “I’ll be down shortly, after I’ve changed into my gear.”
“Cheers, then.”
Our black Daimler sedan, sleek and sharp as an arrow, shot through the night and rolled past the extraordinary colonnade of the British Museum and around to the receiving dock. Our after-hours arrival ensured we’d only have security guards to deal with and no patrons. Away from the busy streets of London, the rear of the museum had a spooky feel. The windows of the grand building were dark and empty, and the only light was a dim lamp lit outside the receiving door. On a typical day, art and antiquities would pass through here, both coming and going.
Nasira, her mother, and I exited our car at the loading dock as a black coupe came to stop behind us and Cyrene and Sayer appeared. Our Medjai contact, a self-proclaimed ‘overlooked laboratory grunt,’ greeted us, having ensured the receiving door would be unlocked when we arrived. Dina was a plain looking woman at first glance, but that was all part of the character she played as a museum employee. She blended in so seamlessly no one noticed her. The perfect mole.
Inside the receiving room, steel shelves were filled with cardboard, wood, and metal boxes. Most were sealed with heavy padlocks and a few had loose lids with packing paper spilling out of them. Numbers and letters were painted on their sides, perhaps codes to identify the contents. A large framed corkboard hanging on a wall was covered with charts and lists. I was eager to know if they detailed every artifact in the room—where they came from, who made them, what purpose they once served.
“We’ve never had any canopic jar bearing Nefertari’s cartouche come through here,” Dina said with confidence. “Believe me, we’d all be chuffed.”
“Do you know where the one we seek could be?” Haya Bahri asked.
Dina paused at the exit. “We only display artifacts we’ve identified, of course. What we haven’t can be found in storage or in the laboratories downstairs. Someone made a bit of a mess in the precious stones and minerals room upstairs, so our security guards are preoccupied for the time being.”
Cyrene smirked. “Who would’ve done such a thing?”
“My diversion was harmless,” Dina assured her. “Security heard the ruckus and I apologized profusely for my clumsiness. They agreed to pick it all up while I rang maintenance to have the display tended to. We won’t have a lot of time, so we must be quick about it.”
We emerged into a hallway which led in two directions.
“Say we split up?” Cyrene offered. “Cover more ground?”
Haya nodded. “You, Dina, and I can search the storage room. The rest of you head to the laboratories. Nasira, do you remember the way?”
She nodded.
“Good. Go.” Haya turned her gaze to her son. “Sayer, be on the lookout for any hieroglyphs denoting the cardinal treasures. We aren’t only after canopic jars. There may be other clues here.”
“Right,” he replied.
Cyrene beckoned to Haya and Dina and the three started toward the darker end of the hall. Nasira jumped into a brisk pace in the opposite direction and took a sharp left into a cavernous domed reading room. As we steered around the perimeter, I noticed how the dozens of long desks packed with chairs seem to fan outward from the room’s center like the spokes of a wheel. I imagined myself spending weeks at a time reading as many books as I could. Part of me hoped we could linger at least a few more days in London so I could explore the exhibits.
Nasira traveled so swiftly and lightly on her feet her steps didn’t echo. She ducked into an alcove and flew down a winding staircase. I heard voices and stopped cold. I grabbed Sayer by the jacket and pulled him against the wall beside me. The voices came again. Security guards, I presumed.
“I rang the geologist, but he won’t be in until the morning. He said not to damage anything.”
“They’re rocks! He’s got to know that, yeah?”
“I didn’t dare tell him so, though.”
Their laughter faded, and I exhaled when I became certain they weren’t coming our way. Nasira nodded to us in the pale light and we resumed our pace. The basement laboratory wasn’t as large as I’d expected, but it was about the size of the receiving room we’d arrived in. The only sounds were the buzz of the lights overheard and the tinny whir of some machine. We wasted no time in our search. Clean scientific tools were spread on canvas mats beside a sink. The fragments of broken pottery were neatly arranged on a wooden table. The seat appeared very well used, judging by the indent of a rear end in the cushion. Sayer disappeared down an aisle and Nasira rummaged through boxes at her eye level on a wooden rack. It wasn’t long before I’d gone through everything in front of me without success and Nasira’s low curse told me she’d also found no clues.
“I found two jars from the fourteenth dynasty,” Sayer told us. “That’s it.”
“Should we meet up in storage?” I asked.
“Let’s take the long way,” Nasira suggested. “I want to search the Egyptian exhibits. Someone might’ve misidentified the artifact and put it on display.”
We tidied up the laboratory, ensuring the next morning no one would suspect it had been searched, before heading back in the direction we came. At the top of the stairs where I’d seen the guards, we paused to listen. The exhibition hall appeared void of life and so we crossed it to the enormous and elegant staircase, sticking close to the walls and displays and avoiding moving through the open where we could. We ascended to the second floor and passed rooms dedicated to various Mesopotamian civilizations until we reached our destination.
<
br /> I felt transported to another time and world; colossal stone sphinxes and sculpted heads of Ancient Egyptian rulers stared at us as we entered. Their small, secretive smiles reminded me of Kauket’s war mask and I felt a sliver of ice snake up my spine. Incredible painted wood and golden sarcophagi covered with hieroglyphs and funerary scenes stood on end to display as much of their art and decoration as possible. Wood curios filled with faience shabtis and animal amulets stood against the wall. Glass cases of dazzling gold jewelry inlaid with gems filled the center of the room. Stone pottery, both painted and plain, were displayed on marble stands. Behind more glass were miniature coffins with feline heads and canopic jars engraved with pictures and prayers.
Sayer was an expert at deciphering hieroglyphs, but he’d taught me a lot. I could help him find the artifact we needed. I leaned close to the glass to examine the markings on the canopic jars. I hadn’t learned all of them, not even close, but I recognized a few lines.
“Let my eyes see, let my heart beat, let air fill my lungs and give me breath,” I read quietly. “Let my soul return from the netherworld and through the stargate. Let me live. Let me live.”
I didn’t see anything about Nefertari on these, so I started to turn away.
One of the cat jars twitched. I stopped, staring. If I had blinked, I’d have missed it.
A sound came from another—a scratching noise.
No. No way.
A bundle of linen wriggled, and a neat slice opened down the middle with a dry, papery sound. Something long, thin, and grayish-brown pushed through the slit, and the tip stretched. Jagged, yellowed talons attached to paws covered in leathery, hairless, dead skin appeared.
The breath seeped from me in a slow leak as horror set in.
It was a cat—or at least it had been three thousand years ago. An eyeless face pushed through and seemed to peer up at me from empty sockets. Where its nose should’ve been, empty holes flared, taking in the scents around it. Its ears, dried and shriveled, twitched to listen. It opened its mouth, flashing chipped, browned fangs, and it made a hoarse, raspy meow. The rest of the cat mummy emerged, gangly, joints snapping, papery, hairless skin scratching, a low, whining growl shredding its dry throat.
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