Seth remains quiet. He’s not ignoring me on purpose. I can tell by the way he looks at me—uncertain, a little bit scared—he doesn’t know how to answer my question.
He may be a psychopath, but I’m not in the business of making folks feel bad or uncomfortable. “Never mind.” I even smile. “It was a silly question.”
Seth cups my elbow. “You really don’t know, do you?”
I squint. “Know what?”
He looks me deep in the eye. Studies me, searches for something. Doesn’t find it. Shakes his head, and walks away.
Oh, no. He can’t say A and drop the rest of the alphabet. I won’t let him. “Tell me,” I order.
He looks at the rocky ground. “Do you really think I care about immortality? That I’m doing this—that I did all this for eternal life?”
I’m thoroughly confused. “What are you saying? Hey, look at me. Are you saying you didn’t get hundreds of people killed so you could live forever? That you don’t care about eternity?” He’s going to walk away again. I can feel it. “What are you saying?” I’m half convinced he won’t give me an answer no matter how hard I push.
In a low, husky voice, he whispers, “I have ruled this place for a very long time. I watched from the edges of horror as the living became obsessed with forever. They went on to seek youth fountains. What they fail to understand is how lonely eternity is.”
“I don’t get it.” I study his sad face. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing? You blackmailed me into doing the Trials so you can—”
“So I can what?” he challenges, moving closer.
I catch my breath, his proximity sending hot shivers down my spine. “B-be immortal. H-have your power back?” I stammer, his sunny scent messing with my mind and heart.
Fire and heat burst from his garnet eyes. His strong, big hands circle my arms. Time stands still. My heart is racing as if my life depends on it.
His lips crash down on mine, and the cavern explodes. I burn with a passion unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Seth kisses me, and I let him.
The scent of sun and heat, the roughness of his mouth—I missed it. And god, I had no idea you could miss something you never had, but in a former life, I did, and I remember. I missed his closeness, his fingers running through my hair and down my neck. I missed the feel of his lips sucking on mine as if they were an extended part of his.
I missed him—the man of my nightmares, the bane of my existence. Seth.
But above all, I missed the misery.
He pulls back, and the cold darkness of the cavern is nothing compared to what I feel in his absence.
“So I can have you,” he says, his forehead against mine. “It’s always been you. It always will be you.”
I can’t speak or move.
A shrill scream pierces the intense silence.
He scans our surroundings, then laces his fingers through mine. “Your grandmother likes to bend the rules, especially when it comes to us.”
What an ambiguous statement. I’d ask him what he means if I could talk.
I don’t think about the kiss. It wasn’t centrifugal motion or perpetual bliss. It wasn’t a life-altering Cinderella moment either. It was just a kiss. A mistake that should never have happened.
I don’t want another one. I don’t need to learn the hard way how wrong it’d be to feel anything but hatred for the conqueror.
Even if we weren’t surrounded by bloody rivers and sharp rocks, I’d be expecting the worst. It is, after all, Sekhmet’s kingdom. My dad did a lot of research on the warrior goddess. The stories he told me about her resembled every horror flick ever made, all rolled into one. Sekhmet—Ra’s wife—is the definition of cruel.
It wasn’t always like that. Before humanity rebelled against Ra, she was known as a fierce protector of mankind. Then they stopped obeying Ra’s laws and devoted themselves to foreign gods. Needless to say, Ra wasn’t amused. He sent Sekhmet and her army to punish them for their disloyalty. The Lion Goddess and her army slaughtered thousands. Ra watched the bloody massacre and was suddenly overcome with pity for his creation. He ordered Sekhmet to stop at once. It was too late. She was literally drunk on blood. Ra—helpless and torn—tricked his wife. He filled the Nile with wine, pretending it was blood. When Sekhmet drank it, she passed out. Ra, along with some of his children, locked her up, hoping she’d come down from her blood high. Thousands of years later, she still craved blood. It’s why Ra made her queen of the Slaughtering Place. There, she could feed her addiction while fulfilling a higher purpose—to punish those who disobeyed the laws of the Ennead.
Ahead of us, a pyramid made of black stone rises into a graphite sky. The stink of doom and misery slows me down.
“Whatever you do,” Seth says as we stop near the unguarded entrance. “Don’t trust her and don’t anger her.” It’s a no-brainer he’s got more than respect for Sekhmet. In fact, it’s the closest thing to fear I’ve ever seen on his face.
We walk into Horrorland.
The walls inside are as black as the ones on the outside. If it weren’t for a few torches scattered along the walls, it’d be pitch dark.
The narrow hallway appears endless. So much so, I wonder if maybe we’re walking in circles. But the air starts to smell rotten, like four-week-old pork meat left in the sun, and the atmosphere grows darker, spookier. Soon, the stench of fresh blood and human excrement stings my nostrils. The Slaughtering Place is within finger’s reach.
Seth, too, is on edge. His hands are balled into fists, his eyes narrowed.
“You look terrible,” I say, mostly to distract myself.
“Not a big fan of what’s coming.”
Any other day, I wouldn’t make small talk with the psychopath who kissed me. Speaking to him, however, beats dying of fear. “You’re not a big fan of Sekhmet, are you?”
“No.”
“Why? What’s your beef with her?”
He takes a sharp left, and we travel down another corridor. “Other than her hating what I am, what I’ve become, and the fact she wasn’t shy about letting me know I’ve never been good enough for”—he looks me in the eye—“her granddaughter?” Seth shakes his head. “No beef, as you call it.”
Why the next words leave my mouth, I’m not sure. “For what it’s worth, I think loving someone should never be a crime. Doesn’t matter what or who you are.” I think of my parents. They proved love can conquer any and all boundaries—culture, religion, a flag. It never mattered that they were raised differently or worshipped other gods, or that they were born in different countries with different skin colors. They looked at each other and saw the person they couldn’t live without.
He says, “I thought so, too.”
I’m not oblivious to his use of past tense. “And now you don’t?”
His gaze pierces through me. Goosebumps cover my skin. Breathing is difficult. “The verdict isn’t in yet,” he says and quickens his pace. “Let’s go. I’d rather not stay here any longer than absolutely necessary.”
The horrendous smell grows stronger. It seeps into my clothes, my skin, my brain. Controlling my gag reflex is close to impossible.
He stops near a torch at the end of the hallway. “This will be unpleasant.”
“I had a feeling.” My senses urge me to run back to where we came from.
No running. No looking back. No stopping now.
We round another corner. Even Stephen King couldn’t describe horror like this.
Blood wherever you look. On the floor, the walls, the ceiling. It’s a slaughterhouse, all right. In every sense of the word, only it’s not pigs or cows being killed.
Lined up on opposite sides of the room are six long square stone tables. Men and women are tied to them. Some are missing limbs. Others have no heads. They’ve been cut to pieces, butchered with hatchets and sharp knives.
“Don’t stop.” He drags me past the victims. “Just keep moving.”
I tell myself to look away. I wish
I could forget I ever laid eyes on such atrocities. But the heart-wrenching cries of a woman missing both legs makes it impossible.
She’s lying on the last table, bound to it like an animal. A man with a loincloth wrapped around his waist severs her right arm from her torso with a hatchet.
“Help,” the woman pleads, still alive when she should be dead. Then, down here all creatures are dead already.
The hatchet drops again and again. Eventually bones crack and break. Her arm is gone and thrown on a pile of other limbs.
She keeps begging for help, and I can no longer turn a deaf ear.
“Don’t,” Seth warns, aware of what I’m planning to do. “You can’t interfere.”
“Watch me.” I yank my arm out of his grip.
He blocks my path. “Are you insane?”
“Are you?” I shoot back. “He’s going to kill her, and you want me to walk away?” I can’t be that selfish.
“She’s already dead.” Seth points at the butcher, going at her other arm with the hatchet.“ This is punishment for her sins.”
“Sins?” Anger rises inside me. “What could she possibly have done to deserve this?” There are evil people in the world of the living. Murderers, rapists, pedophiles, and terrorists are just a few examples, but being cut to pieces? No one deserves such a cruel fate.
“I don’t know what she did,” he says, seizing my hand. “But this is justice.”
“No.” I cross my arms. “Whatever she did, this is horrible. Make him stop.”
His brows fly up and a wicked grin settles on his face. “You think I can make him stop?” He laughs. “Oh, love, this is your grandmother’s palace. The butcher is her soldier, not mine.”
“You’re still the Ruler of the Underworld,” I say, standing my ground.
His shoulders droop. “Doesn’t mean your grandmother’s demons answer to me.” He tries to pull me away. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not worth it.”
A bloodcurdling scream echoes through the slaughterhouse. I can’t walk away. I march toward the butcher.
“Nisha! Stop.”
I can’t.
“Hey.” I tap the butcher’s shoulder. Hatchet above his head, he looks at me. “What did this woman do to deserve this?”
Sangria eyes glare at me. The butcher’s face, though human, has animalistic features. Cheekbones too high, a long, narrow nose, eyes like a cat. When he opens his mouth, he roars like a starving lion. “Who dares disturb me at work?”
“I do.” I’m scared. Petrified, to be exact. After everything the Underworld has thrown at me, however, I refuse to be intimidated by him. “What were her crimes in life?”
The hatchet is coming my way. No warning, no word. I can already see the thing sticking between my eyes when Seth steps between us. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Desert god.” The butcher acknowledges Seth by spitting at his feet. “You are not welcome in the goddess’s kingdom.”
“She calls this a kingdom?” I shudder.
Seth ignores my comment, forcing his spine straighter. “I am here as a guide, and you would do well to remember who I am, slave.” He gets all up in his face.
The butcher laughs. “Oh, and who are you?” His eyes are two narrow slits. “A lonely boy who fell in love with a princess?”
Judging by Seth’s furious expression, I’m pretty certain he’s going to beat the crap out of the guy. So it startles me when he smiles instead. “Says the king who was downgraded to doing the Lioness’s dirty work.”
I hadn’t recognized the blue headdress on the butcher’s head. It’s made of leather, decorated with a golden disc—the Blue Crown, or Khepresh. Pharaohs wore it in battle and on ceremonial occasions. From king to butcher, huh? I wonder if he too is being punished for the way he lived life.
“Careful,” the butcher says. “You’re here for the rest of eternity. I doubt you want to spend it on this table.”
Seth is about to unleash hell on the idiot. He’d deserve it, too. Only I’m not up for an ego battle when that woman is still crying out for help.
I push between them. “Tell me what she did.”
The former king turned butcher/slave jerks his head my way. Nasty comments are about to roll off his tongue. I can tell by the look in his eyes. Except when our gazes collide, he shuts his mouth and stumbles back. “You?” To say he sounds surprised wouldn’t do his confusion justice. “I-I’m sorry, Princess.” He bows low. “I didn’t recognize you earlier.”
Part of me is still repulsed that people call me Princess and bow to me. In this case, however, I overlook the discomfort and ride the wave. “What did she do?”
“She burned her daughter alive,” a spine-chilling, otherworldly voice roars.
Seth freezes. So does the butcher. I try to locate the source of the voice. Unsuccessfully. I do, however, recognize it almost immediately.
“Fantastic,” Seth grumbles. “You poked the lion, and now it’s out of the cage and up for a game.”
“Quiet, boy!”
Seth cringes but says nothing to the ten-foot-tall woman with the head of a lion approaching us. It’s not just her height or looks that send shivers down my spine. It’s more the way she carries herself—unbeatable, untouchable.
The Lioness glares at me. Do you still wish to help this creature?” she asks, pointing at the woman on the table.
Burning her own daughter alive. I have no words for how wicked that is. And yet, despite knowing what she did, I feel bad for her. “What she did wasn’t right,” I say to the Lioness. “But neither is this.”
“Ah, Nebt-het.” The Lioness laughs wholeheartedly. “My dear little granddaughter.” She eyes Seth. “Those pitiful humans have always been your weakness.”
“Don’t piss her off,” Seth warns.
Too late. I can’t stop the venom pouring from my mouth. “You say pitiful humans,” I shoot back, mirroring her evil smile. “But they aren’t the ones who need temples and shrines or beg for attention, and when they don’t get it, lose their shit.”
“Feisty as always.” I expect punishment, but she simply lifts her hand. “Come.” I float toward her, feet dangling above the ground. “We have much to discuss, granddaughter dearest.”
Chapter 41
Nisha
“Let me down!” I yell like a broken record.
The Lioness ignores my wishes, and her magic is too strong to fight. So I dangle two feet above the ground, floating behind her like a helium balloon.
Seth is beside me. We pass through another room similar to the last. Demons cut their victims into pieces, smiling at their morbid work. “You don’t have to look,” Seth whispers, pretty much giving me a free pass to be a coward and close my eyes.
“Yes,” I grit out. “Yes I do.” If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you can’t cherry-pick. You’ve got to face the ugly to hold beauty dear to your heart. One can’t exist without the other.
Inside the next room are hundreds of burning cauldrons. Demons use them to dispose of body parts. The blazing blue flames devour what’s left of Sekhmet’s victims.
If I’d thought the smell of burning flesh bad, I was up for the lesson of a lifetime. At the end of the godforsaken chamber is a large dining table. Demons sit around it, shoving human hearts and livers down their throats.
I fly past the flesh-eaters, ignore their nasty grins, the blood dripping down their chins, and focus on the massive gold door we’re approaching.
“You’re not alone,” Seth whispers, taking my hand.
We pass through the door into a breathtaking chamber. There’s a gold throne at the far end, decorated with the most beautiful gemstones I’ve ever seen—rubies, turquoise, lapis.
Other than that, the hall is bleak. A black stone chair is in the center, and that is that. “Sit,” Sekhmet orders, and I do so. “Stay.” With a flick of her finger, I’m glued to the uncomfortable seat, unable to move.
I’m pissed off. “I’m not a dog, you know?”
Her cruel laughter pierces my brain. “Oh, but you are.” She takes a seat on her throne, gracefully crossing her legs. “Now that you’ve chosen to be one of them.” I don’t miss the nasty look she shoots Seth and am not oblivious to the fact she’s referring to humankind.
I can’t look at her. She’s everything I despise: self-righteous, ignorant, evil. More so than Seth even. To think she was my grandmother? Let’s just say it makes me appreciate my real grandmother, even though she, too, hates what I am—a stain on her perfect bloodline.
I turn my attention to the large statues behind her, a depiction of her and Ra, holding hands.
“Whatever you do,” Seth says, “try not to agitate her. She isn’t exactly known for mercy, even when it comes to her own blood.”
“And you, desert boy,” Sekhmet roars. “Aren’t exactly known for gratitude, are you?”
Seth frowns but keeps his mouth zipped. He truly is afraid of her, but who wouldn’t cave when faced with a ten-foot-tall woman with a heart of stone?
Sekhmet looks me up and down as if I’m some animal in the zoo. “Humanity doesn’t become you, my dear.” She pulls her animalistic lips up. “Makes you look weak and puny.”
“Weak and puny doesn’t sound half as bad as bloodthirsty psychopath.”
The Lioness throws her head back and laughs. Her big eyes lock with mine. “At least you haven’t lost your spine, my child.”
“I’m not your child.”
“Oh, but you are. Dear child, tell me what brings you home.”
Emphasizing child just to make me angry, huh? “I think you already know why I’m here, grandmother.” Bile rises in my throat as I admit to sharing her blood, but two can play that game.
Her predatory eyes focus on Seth. “It seems desert boy finally gets what he wants.”
Book of the Dead (Gods of Egypt 2) Page 22
