Book of the Dead (Gods of Egypt 2)

by Nadine Nightingale

  “That’s it,” Seth says. “The entrance.”

  I pause in front of the thing. “I don’t like this.”

  “And you shouldn’t.” He is still holding my hand. “The Chamber of Fear is its own kind of torture. Nothing is worse than the demons we hide inside.”

  My parents’ faces flash across my mind, along with those of every person that ever died in my proximity. “Guess our own darkness makes Freddy Krueger look like a saint.” No idea why I said it out loud. I guess I needed to get it off my chest.

  Seth squints. “Freddy who?”

  “Never mind.” I keep forgetting he doesn’t speak pop culture. “Shall we?”

  “I am sorry, my love.” He looks at the door. “But The Chamber of Fear you must enter on your own.”

  The desert comes back to me. The cavern I had to brave alone, that almost drove me to my breaking point.

  “You’re brave and strong,” he assures me. “You don’t need me.” His eyes darken. “You never did.”

  I almost tell him I do need him. That I always did need him. But I bite my tongue before such madness leaves my mouth.

  He plants a quick kiss on my cheek. “Go and slay, Princess.”

  I reach for the doorknob. “I’ll see you on the other side?”

  “Always.”

  Why does my heart flutter? Why do I appreciate his company all of a sudden? He’s evil. My enemy, for crying out loud.

  He smiles. “What are you waiting for?” He nudges me toward the door. “Go. I will see you on the other side. I promise.”

  For once, I don’t question him. I question my stupid, stupid heart.

  Chamber of Fear

  Chapter 39

  Nisha

  Thick mist, gray and depressing, awaits me on the other side.

  I blink several times, allowing my eyes to adjust, but the nasty fog is too thick. I can’t see a thing.

  The veil slowly lifts. Dim moonlight slices through mighty tree crowns, descending onto rows of tombstones.

  The graves. I know them. We’re so well acquainted, some of them could tell you my middle name.

  It’s just an illusion. My guilty conscience. My FEAR!

  Yes, that’s what this is. I have entered the Chamber of Fear, and fear is what I face right now. Fear of death. Fear of bringing death. Maybe even of being it, like so many of my classmates accused me of.

  The tombstones judge me for every mistake I’d ever made, punishing me for every death I ever caused.

  A familiar voice rings out behind me, and anxiety returns. “You’re all grown up.”

  The translucent specter of William Tucker smiles at me. He’s the clerk who was shot at the Food Lion, trying to protect me.

  He’s not real, I say over and over in my head.

  “But I am,” he replies, apparently capable of reading my mind. I didn’t know ghosts could do that. Then again, I didn’t believe they existed, nor did I think of Hell as a continent, hosting different countries of torture.

  “I am as real as they are,” he continues, tilting his chin.

  Out of the shadows, into the faint crescent moonlight, float more specters. I know them well. I saw them take their last breath.

  Kitty Parker. Her dress is still dripping wet, and she is bloated by the river that took her life.

  Reena Stine, my second-grade teacher. Her beige satin blouse is soaked with blood, the hole the knife left in her chest still fresh.

  George Bedford, our old neighbor, spares me a nod. Not a smile. He never smiled.

  Toby Meyer, former classmate hit by a stone that was meant for me, winks, his boyish grin reflecting the future he lost.

  Connie Bedford, my only girl friend. She’s still wearing the polka-dotted swimming suit in which she drowned that fateful summer day.

  Each and every person to die in my proximity—Mark Foster, James Berry, Maureen William… I could spend an eternity reciting all the names—are there.

  I want to run. No. I want to bury myself in one of those graves and forget I ever existed. But the graves are taken, and running is no longer who I am. I stand my ground and gaze at the victims of my curse instead. The ones who died because they were unfortunate enough to make my acquaintance.

  Don’t do this! Don’t fall for this trap. Remember what The Benu said. You’re not death. You’re the protector of the dead.

  If only I believed that. If only—

  “You look awfully pale,” William says, stepping toward me.

  “Yeah.” Toby grins. “Kinda like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Connie nudges Toby. “She looks like she’s seen a whole army of ghosts.” The fire-spitting girl winks at me. She always had a weird sense of humor. I sort of liked that about her.

  I dream of rolling into a ball of misery and listening to Rob’s Best of the ’90s songs. The thing is, I’ve been hiding from the truth for too long. It’s about time I fess up. Besides, how many people get to say they got to face their regrets and apologize?

  “I’m sorry,” I choke out, feeling the weight of those words on my chest. “What happened to you isn’t fair. I should never have come near any of you. Maybe then you’d still be alive.”

  Toby breaks into laughter. “Jeez, girl. You’re hilarious.” He eyes Connie. “Why did I never see that when I was alive?”

  She casts him a sidelong glance. “Perhaps because you and your idiot friends were too busy harassing her?”

  He nods. “That sounds about right.”

  “Enough.” William barks at them before turning his attention to me. “What those two are trying to say is that our fates aren’t your fault. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

  Is William on crack? Do they have crack in the Underworld? Can ghosts get high?

  “No, no, and yes,” Kitty says.

  They can read minds.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Stine, my ex-teacher, assures me. “But that’s beside the point.”

  I’m growing increasingly frustrated with them and myself. “What is the point?”

  “You didn’t kill us,” Kitty says matter-of-factly.

  Bullshit. “You jumped because I got out of the car.”

  “I was dead the second I set foot on that bridge, kiddo. The only thing you did was give me peace and comfort in my darkest hour. The light in your eyes shone brighter than anything I’d ever seen, and I knew there was more to this life. There had to be, after all the suffering was over, because what I saw in you reminded me of all the stories my mother used to tell us about heaven.”

  “You still committed suicide,” I half yell.

  “And I’d do it again.” She offers me a gentle smile. “It was the right decision.”

  “Why?” My voice is thick with frustration. I just don’t get it. Suicide can never be the right decision.

  Kitty looks over her shoulder. Out of the shadow of a tree steps another specter, a little girl with an eerie resemblance to Kitty.

  Kitty laces her ghostly fingers through the kid’s. “Baby girl, I’d like you to meet Nisha.”

  The girl smiles like an angel. “Hello, Nisha.”

  “H-hi,” I stammer.

  “I have no regrets,” Kitty says again, pulling her little girl against her. “And neither should you.”

  Okay, so maybe Kitty is happier dead than alive, but what about the others? What about—

  I notice Maureen, the woman who got hit by the black Mercedes. The woman whose son I held while he cried for his dead mother.

  “Don’t look at me,” Maureen grumbles. “Unlike her I’m not happy I’m dead.”

  Ha! I knew it.

  “But,” she goes on, surprising me. “I am beyond grateful you saved my son.” Her muscles loosen, tension falling from her shoulders. “You see, I knew it was him or me. You did the right thing saving him, because I know I couldn’t have lived without him.”

  William pats Maureen’s shoulder. “He’s going to do great things in his life.”

  “He will
.” There’s no doubt in the heart of this mother.

  These people—my victims—don’t hate me. They don’t hold a grudge, like the living do. Hell, they pretty much told me they’re glad their dead, and I was there with them. Shouldn’t I feel relieved? Shouldn’t that heavy stone drop off my chest? I mean, they say all the right things, have forgiven me. Why am I still on edge, then?

  Because this isn’t the Chamber of Redemption, Nisha. It’s the Chamber of Fear.

  I should be facing my worst nightmare, not getting absolution for my sins.

  What am I missing? And why do I feel like I’ve been tossed into the lion’s den?

  My ex-teacher steps forward. “Do you remember when I brought that onion to class?”

  I nod, because I’ll never forget the day Marie screamed at Mrs. Stine. She was supposed to peel the onion. She wasn’t exactly thrilled.

  Mrs. Stine smiles. “What did I tell you about onions, Nisha?”

  “That they have many layers protecting the core?”

  A proud grin tugs at her lips. “The same goes for the human mind. We have layers upon layers, built over the years, meant to protect our soul.”

  Lightning strikes. “You aren’t my greatest fear?” It’s a question I already have the answer to.

  “We’re not,” they chant in unison.

  Realization dawns. A part of me still feels responsible for their deaths, but something has changed. It isn’t just what the Benu said, that I’m the protector of the dead rather than death itself. It was a hotel full of corpses and lunatic terrorists that opened my eyes to the truth. I, Nisha “Angel of Death” Blake, am not a murderer. I didn’t slaughter those people. I stood up to evil, tried to protect them to the best of my abilities. The ones who wielded their guns were the evil ones. Like the mugger who shot William. Like the crazy man who stabbed Mrs. Stine. Like the driver of the black Mercedes that hit poor Maureen.

  “You are not responsible for our deaths,” William assures me once again. “Our actions had consequences, and we have to deal with them.”

  Connie’s ghostly hand brushes my arm, feeling like a soft breeze, warm and sweet. “You held my hand when they tried to bring me back.”

  “I did.”

  “Having had you by my side made it easier to trust that scary creature who waited for me.” She grins. “He wasn’t half as scary when I saw him bowing to you.”

  I might not feel as guilty, but that doesn’t mean I can stomach them looking at me as if I’m some kind of hero. I’m not. Far from it. “If you’re not my greatest fear, what is?”

  “Do you really want to know?” Maureen asks, her teal blue eyes clouded.

  No. “Yes.”

  “Then peel the layers,” Mrs. Stine urges.

  Peel the layers, huh? And how is one supposed to do that?

  “Just relax,” William answers.

  Fine. It’s worth a shot.

  I close my eyes and shed superficial doubts and insecurities, refusing to dwell on things I cannot change, things I never could change. When I open my eyes again, my shoulders straighter, my heart beating faster, the cemetery is long gone, replaced by golden walls and a sandstone floor, black hieroglyphs and a larger-than-life statue of Sekhmet, the lion goddess. There, kneeling in front of the goddess, is a girl with black hair and tanned skin. She’s my spitting image, and I can feel her pain and sorrow, all her dreams and longings. I can feel them because she is me.

  “Grandmother,” she says. “Please hear my prayer. You, warrior goddess, strongest of them all, can help my beloved. You—”

  “You don’t know anything, child!” a voice thunders through the gigantic hall.

  “I know you can help him,” she—I?—counters.

  The goddess tsks, sharply. “And why should I?” She always sounds mad, but now she’s bordering on fuming.

  “Because I love him. Because I can’t imagine eternity without him. Because he’s my soul mate. Because—”

  “Love? Soul mate?” Her hysterical laughter pierces my heart. “Your love will get us all killed. Don’t you know men weren’t made for immortality? Don’t you see that your love will upset the natural balance?”

  “Love can never bring chaos,” Nebt-Het says.

  “Love is chaos.” She pauses. “And yours will unleash it.”

  “No!”

  “There’s a price to pay for immortality, child. Seth was never meant for the likes of you. He’s a pitiful—”

  “Stop!” Nebt-Het screams, jumping to her feet. “You know nothing about him. Nothing.”

  “I see you won’t listen to me. Well, continue down this path, but be ready to pay for your actions, the end of everything your grandfather created so you can love this puny human.”

  Fire rages inside her. “So be it, then.” Searing energy rushes through her veins. “Let the world burn. Let chaos rise. I shall never walk away from my love, for it is the beginning and end of all life.” Nebt-Het chuckles. “Even yours, grandmother.”

  Sekhmet’s voice vanishes, and I can no longer feel her presence. At the same time, I feel more like Nebt-Het and less like me. Or maybe we just feel the same emotion? An overwhelming blanket of anxiety. What am I saying? Fear. It’s pure, unfiltered fear.

  The walls around me crumble and fall.

  Sekhmet’s warning echoes as the sky turns black.

  I see corpses. My family and friends—dead. The whole damn world—destroyed.

  A gigantic black mass comes at me. “Thank you,” a snake-like form says. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  I want to ask what it’s talking about, but someone grabs my ankle.

  “Blaze!” I shriek.

  “Help,” he whispers, choking on his own blood.

  Thunder rumbles, lightning strikes, and flames swallow the world. Swallow me.

  “You failed, Goddess of Protection.” The black mass laughs. “And I won.”

  I’m suffocating, choked by what’s been, what’s to come, what I did.

  “Princess.” Blaze can barely speak. “Peel the onion.”

  Peel the onion.

  I’m here to face my greatest fear. What is that?

  I glare at the black mass, at the corpses. I take it all in—death, destruction, and the end of all living things.

  “You released me,” the mass says cheerfully.

  He’s not lying. Nebt-Het or I (potayto, potahto) disregarded Sekhmet’s warning, put a spell on the amulet, and all that led to this.

  “What is your greatest fear?” William asks. “Tell me, kid.”

  “My greatest fear,” I whisper, “is that I’m responsible for all of it. That I could have prevented all the misery if only I’d been strong enough to walk away from love.”

  “That’s in the past.”

  “But the past is connected to the present,” I say. “What I did back then is still influencing what happens today.” I saw it at the Bavarian Inn. “I was selfish then. What if I’ll be selfish again?”

  It hits me then. My greatest fear isn’t death. It’s not even that I’m evil. It’s that I will put one ahead of millions. Like I did with Seth. Like I’m doing with Izzy.

  “Now you know.” A black gate creaks open. “Everyone pays a price. Make sure you’re willing to give them what they ask for.”

  I should be leaving. I should run and be happy I found a way out, that I faced my fears. Only the same fear is keeping me glued to the spot. I disregarded warnings before, and it turned Seth into an evil, vengeful god and eventually got him killed. What if doing the Trials to get Izzy out of here has greater consequences? What if what I saw when I touched Horus’s Eye is going to happen because I choose to repeat the same mistake again? What if—

  What if isn’t going to help you! Ask yourself this: what if you let the people you love die? What if you don’t even try to save them? Could you live with yourself?

  I move toward the gate, slow but confident. Scared but, like Kitty, certain my decision to help Izzy is the right one. />
  The gate to the Chamber of Fear shuts behind me.

  Seth awaits me, just like he said he would. “I’m proud of you,” he whispers as we continue our journey.

  The Slaughtering Place

  Chapter 40

  Nisha

  Seth doesn’t leave my side. His flaming eyes search my face for signs of distress. There are plenty, I assume. The Underworld would take a toll on Captain America and Voldemort alike.

  The things you see and feel down here, they change you. Make you realize that whatever crap you endured in the land of the living wasn’t as bad as you made it out to be. There are worse things than bullies. I’m not necessarily talking about demons, either. Those creatures are scary as heck, but that split second when you realize that you are your worst enemy is so much worse. Fear traps us, guilt kills us, and loneliness is the real devil.

  “You’re doing well,” Seth says, breaking the silence.

  I am not feeling exceptionally proud of myself. “I’m trying.” Just like Blaze taught me.

  “You’re succeeding.” There’s not a trace of doubt in his voice.

  If you say so.

  The dark path leads us farther into this cavern, a place made of blackness and terror, stones, and crimson rivers. Danger lurks in the distance. I can feel it. It tightens the knots in my stomach to the point where I can hardly breathe.

  Aware I shouldn’t dwell on what’s to come, I focus on the present. “Can I ask you a question?” Any distraction, even talking to a psychopath I’ve grown to hate less, is welcome.

  Seth won’t look at me. “You don’t need permission to speak to me. “You’ve never asked for it before…” He trails off, but I’m pretty sure he was going to say before you killed me, betrayed me, stabbed me in the back. Literally.

  “Why is immortality so important to you?” It’s a stupid question. Who doesn’t want to live forever? There’s a reason folks are so obsessed with vampires, and it’s not just because they’re supposedly handsome and great in bed. There’s something about living without fear of death, without loss and endings. But—and this is a big but—immortality has a dark side, too. Roaming the world forever, watching the people you care about die while you continue without them? That pretty much sounds like my worst nightmare.