by Joy Nash
“Oh, all right. Why the hell not?”
Something in her tone had him catch her gaze. He was stunned to see her eyes reflecting his own anticipation, and she flashed him a grin.
“You know, I think I’m almost looking forward to this. I always thought, Artur, that killing hellfiends was what we did best together.”
Bloody hell, how he missed her.
“Actually,” he said softly, “it was second best.”
“Ms. Durant? Is that you?”
Maddie froze with her left hand on the door latch, acutely aware of the object clutched in her right. She could just make out the figure of a man sitting at the worktable.
“Dr. Ben-Meir? Why . . . why are you sitting here in the dark?”
The archeologist produced a cigarette lighter, then stood to light the oil lamp hanging overhead. Anemic light spilled across his scattered papers. He bent his head to examine the battery-powered lantern on the worktable. He flipped a switch, then shook his head ruefully.
“Dead. It must have gone out after I fell asleep.” He frowned. “What time is it?”
“I have no idea,” Maddie said cautiously. “One, maybe?”
Her answer caused him to look up, as if he’d just realized the oddity of her presence in the work hut. “Ms. Durant. What brings you here at this hour?”
Maddie’s instinct was to turn and flee. She fought it. She stepped into the hut and closed the door.
“I came here to do some research. I . . . I found something.”
His eyes narrowed on her hand. “Indeed. Is that it?”
Her fingers clenched. It’s mine.
“Yes,” she said, backing away. She’d changed her mind. She couldn’t trust Dr. Ben-Meir. She should have run as soon as she realized he was here.
No. She gave herself an abrupt mental shake. What the hell was she thinking? Of course she trusted the professor. She forced her hand to unclench.
The archeologist stepped toward her, brow furrowed. When he reached out, it was all Maddie could do to stop herself from slapping his hand away. She knew she was being irrational. This was Dr. Ben-Meir’s dig, and she’d unearthed a relic, most likely a very important relic. Of course he needed to see it.
She forced herself to place it in his hand and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her chest contracted with anxiety as Ben-Meir examined the artifact.
The disc was the size of his palm. Maddie had rubbed off some of the dirt, revealing scorch marks and discoloration. In a few places, however, the gold still gleamed. But the metal was undeniably damaged, creased through the center of the disc as if it was struck by something sharp and heavy. The impact had severed the delicate strips of gold that held the gem in the center of the piece. The stone itself, which must have once been a full inch in diameter, was now a lopsided half circle. That crystalline fragment glowed a deep, rich red.
“Ms. Durant, this is magnificent.” Ben-Meir tilted the relic into the light, examining the faint tracery pattern on the gold.
“Hammered embossing,” he breathed. “So intricate.” He bent his head. “An ornament for a breastplate, judging by the four holes at the perimeter. Maybe,” he mused, “it took a blow in battle. And the etching! If I’m not mistaken . . .” He rubbed off a bit more of the dirt with the hem of his sleeve. “Yes. Just as I thought. The Seed of Life.”
Maddie frowned. “What’s that?”
“A very ancient design. See?” Reverently, his forefinger hovered over the etching. “One central circle, with six more circles arranged in symmetry around it. Each pair of edges overlap to form an even earlier symbol, this vaguely fishlike shape. It’s known as the vesica piscis.”
His tone assumed the quality of a man accustomed to lecture halls. “Early cultures considered the vesica piscis to be the place where the spheres of Heaven and earth meet—the place and time where life begins. It’s thought the seven circles of the Seed of Life pattern, with each overlapping circle segment forming a magical vesica piscis, represent the seven days of creation. To the ancient world it was a powerful symbol indeed.”
He tilted the piece, catching the light. Maddie counted the seven circles. Repeated at regular intervals around the central stone, the circles created what looked like a six-petal flower.
“How old do you think the relic is, Dr. Ben-Meir? Could it be from the time of the Watchers?”
“Certainly it could. The Seed of Life symbol was known in Assyria and Egypt at least three thousand years ago. The symbol was likely well-known in the early Canaanite period.” His hand trembled as he touched the central stone. “This must have been very beautiful when it was whole. I wonder what caused the damage.”
It did not escape Maddie’s notice that Dr. Ben-Meir had not mentioned the pulsing red light. Of course not. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t feel it, like she did. Because it wasn’t there?
The archeologist’s head came up, and his dark eyes fell on her. “Where did you find this, Ms. Durant?”
Maddie swallowed. “At . . . at the bottom of the Watchers’ well.”
“That well was empty.”
“It was buried.” She twisted her hands together to keep herself from snatching the ornament. She wanted it back. It seemed so . . . wrong in Dr. Ben-Meir’s hands.
“And you dug it up this afternoon?” Incredulity crept into his voice, along with a touch of anger. “With those American teenagers? And you didn’t report it to the team? You just . . . pocketed it?”
Maddie couldn’t drag her eyes from the disc. “No! No, sir. I didn’t have it this afternoon. I found it just now. Tonight.”
Ben-Meir’s dark brows met over the bridge of his nose. “You went to the dig in the middle of the night? Alone? Why would you do such a thing? You know the protocol. If you suspected something, you should have informed me.” He stared down at the broken ornament. “A discovery of this magnitude . . . it should have been photographed in situ, before you even touched it.”
“I know. I know I should have come to you first. I’m sorry.”
A red light pulsed in the stone; the tarnished gold glowed white. Sparkles of light darted around and around the edges of the circles like tiny frolicking faeries. A red heart beat at the center of their dance.
Staring at the display made Maddie slightly dizzy. What caused the light? Some fusion of metal and crystal? Natural phosphorescence? Or was it simply a product of her disease?
Dr. Ben-Meir turned the disc over. At the same moment, Maddie became aware of a white light outlining his head and shoulders, the same sort of aura she’d seen surrounding the teens this afternoon. She rubbed her eyes.
Dr. Ben-Meir retrieved a brush from the tool cabinet. Gently, he dislodged some of the dirt encrusting the rear face of the disc. Maddie clenched and unclenched her fists. She didn’t like him touching it. She should never have given it to him. She wanted to snatch it back. To cradle it between her breasts where it belonged.
“Perhaps this piece was created in the forge near the well,” he was saying. “Perhaps it was even formed on the anvil we excavated. Often an ancient metalsmith left his mark on his pieces . . .” His hand stilled suddenly, and he sucked in his breath. “What have I found?” he breathed. “Dear God. Is it possible?”
What I found, Maddie wanted to shout. It’s mine. Only mine.
“What is it?” she asked, moving closer.
Ben-Meir’s hand was trembling. “Look. The eye of the Watchers. Right here, in the center. Just as it appears on the Pharos Tablet.”
It was true. The symbol on the disc, a small circle within a larger disc, matched the marking on the Pharos Tablet.
“Let me see.” She reached out. “Let me hold it.”
He snatched the disc away. “Are you insane, Ms. Durant? This relic, this treasure, should not be touched. Not even by me.” Crossing to a shelf, he located a square of chamois and spread the cloth on his palm. He placed the disc atop it. The red light flared, then commenced a slow pulse. Strands of white wove around it.
“Do
you see the light?” Maddie asked suddenly. It couldn’t be all in her mind. It just couldn’t be.
“What are you talking about, Ms. Durant? What light?”
“Red light. And white.” She stretched out a finger. A gossamer strand of crimson arced from the broken stone. It was shocking as it struck her skin. She drew a startled breath and rubbed her thumb against her tingling forefinger. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“That arc of electricity. It came from the stone.”
“I saw nothing.”
“Let me hold it,” Maddie pleaded. “I’ll show you.”
“Ms. Durant. Clearly you’re overtired.” He folded the chamois around the piece. “Why don’t you retire to your bed. I’ll see to the relic.” His fingers closed around the bundle.
He doesn’t see anything, Maddie thought. But did he feel it? Did he feel what she did when she looked at the disc? When she touched it?
The thought brought panic. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t let him hide the disc away. If she did, she would never see it again. She’d been a fool to hand it over to him. She’d found it. It was hers. She had to get it back.
Rather than retreat to the door, she took a step forward. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Photograph it, of course. Measure it, and make a log entry. Then it’s going into the safe. Tomorrow, early, you and I will go to the dig. You’ll show me exactly the spot where it was found.”
“You can’t lock it away.” Maddie’s voice shook. “You can’t hide it away in a vault or a museum. The relic’s mine, Dr. Ben-Meir. I found it.” She held out her hand. It was shaking. “I want it back.”
Ben-Meir stared. “Ms. Durant. You’re talking nonsense.”
Her rational brain agreed. She had no right to the relic. The artifact represented the pinnacle of the archeologist’s career. It was the means by which he would regain the respect of his peers.
No! It’s mine. Mine. Mine, mine, mine.
Panic. Blinding, unreasoning panic. She didn’t care how hard and long Ben-Meir had worked, or about the professional ridicule he’d faced. She couldn’t let him have it. She lunged for his hand. She pried at his fingers, tore at the chamois cloth.
“Ms. Durant! Really!”
“Give it to me! Now!”
She dug her fingernails into his wrist, deep enough to draw blood. Ben-Meir grunted with surprise and pain. His hand spasmed; he swore. Maddie snatched the prize away. Relief crashed through her.
The archeologist stared down at the blood welling from the gouge on his arm, then up at her. “I cannot believe you did that. Ms. Durant, have you gone insane?”
The chamois fluttered to the floor. Maddie backed away, cupping the disc between her breasts. “I told you it was mine. Mine. I found it.”
“Ms. Durant.” He advanced slowly, palms raised, as if approaching a wild animal. A trickle of blood dripped down his arm. She stared at the dark red line, transfixed.
“Yes, you found it.” The archeologist spoke softly, without threat. She wasn’t fooled. His aura was pulsing, bright with anger. “You are the first person to touch the disc in thousands of years. I am sure it feels as though it should belong to you. But it does not. It is not mine, either,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “This is public land. You know that. The relic belongs to my country. To its people. To all Jews, all over the world. It is our heritage.”
She made no reply.
“Enough. Give it to me.” His tone had turned brisk.
“No.” She hugged the disc fiercely. Warmth seeped from the gold, from the stone, into her skin. “No. Never.”
Ben-Meir continued talking, calmly, firmly, his slow steps herding her toward a corner of the hut. Her eyes darted to the door. She’d never make it past him to freedom.
“Ms. Durant!” He was angry now, very much so. “Have you heard a word I’ve said? Answer me!”
She stared at him blankly.
“I heard you were feeling ill yesterday. Dehydration can affect the brain. I understand that. So just give me the relic. Give it to me now, and I’ll forget this episode ever happened.”
He held out his hand. He was very close now. Too close. The disc’s heat intensified. It burned her chest, her hands. The pain made her dizzy. Tingling sensations ran up Maddie’s arms. She eased the disc from her skin.
He must have thought the gesture was one of surrender. His hand shot out; his fingers closed like bands of iron on her wrist.
“No!”
She tried to snatch her arm back. He dragged her closer. She struggled, to no avail. His free hand pried her fingers back, one by one, and wrenched the disc from her grasp.
Something tore inside Maddie’s chest. She bent double, gasping. A black hole of despair gaped inside her rib cage. She’d failed. She’d . . .
“What the hell—?”
Her head jerked up. Ben-Meir stood motionless, staring down at the disc. The ancient gold tossed white sparks into the air. The red stone spat a beam of light directly into the center of the dancing pattern. That light splashed onto the archeologist’s face, and Maddie had a fleeting impression of blood.
Could he see the phenomenon at last? He must. His hands were shaking.
Maddie could never quite remember exactly what happened next. She recalled a blinding flash, an exploding force. Her body flew backward, curiously light in the air. She heard no noise. Her ears felt clogged. Dr. Ben-Meir might have shouted, but she couldn’t be sure. The back of her head smacked something hard. Everything went black.
Cade smelled crimson anger and sky blue astonishment. And fear. Murky, sour yellow, paralyzing fear.
The window of the work hut blazed bloodred. A wave of magic swept past, hot wind on the desert, lifting his hair, searing the breath in his lungs. What the bloody hell?
He abandoned stealth and ran. It had already been well after midnight when he separated Dr. Ben-Meir’s jeep from the two other vehicles in the car park and pushed it noiselessly out of the camp. He’d left it about a mile up the road and jogged back to the camp on foot.
He didn’t need the jeep, of course. He could have Maddie far away from here, and quickly, without it. But he’d thought she’d have an easier time of it if she didn’t have to face the truth of what he was—what she was—so abruptly.
He approached the hut, now dark and silent like the others. None of the other archeologists’ huts or laborers’ tents seemed to have been disturbed by the hot surge of magic.
It couldn’t be Maddie’s magic. Not for days yet, until—if—she completed her transition.
He didn’t pause to knock. Wrenching the door open, he plunged inside . . . and drew up short, stunned by the scene that greeted him. It wasn’t anything he could have predicted.
Sulfur and ash assaulted his nostrils. Maddie crouched against one wall, clutching something to her chest. Her eyes were wide and unblinking, but—physically at least—she seemed unharmed. Cade couldn’t say the same for Ben-Meir. The archeologist lay flat on his back, arms and legs flung wide, eyes open and staring. His neck was bent at an impossible angle.
Blast it! This was a complication he just didn’t need. With a troubled glance at Maddie, he went down on one knee and pressed two fingers under Ben-Meir’s jaw.
Dead.
Maddie didn’t move a muscle. He doubted she was aware of anything in the room. Her expression remained blank even when he sank into a crouch before her and waved a hand in her face.
“Maddie?”
He took her hands and pulled them away from her chest. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist. He stared down into her cupped palms at a primitive gold disc set with a fractured red stone. The piece was tarnished and dirty, as if it had recently come from the earth. The sulfurous scent of blood magic clung to it.
Hell. What was this? A Watcher amulet? Where had it come from?
“Maddie.” Cade grabbed Maddie’s upper arms and hauled her to her feet. Avoiding the ornament in her hands, he to
uched her chin, lifting it until their eyes met. “Maddie, caraid, can you hear me? Can you see me?”
He pressed his finger to her pulse and spoke a single jarring word. The magic caused a shudder to pass through her, and she blinked.
“Cade?”
His shoulders sagged on a flood of relief. She was still with him.
“What’s . . . what’s happened? I feel . . . I feel so strange.”
“Don’t fight it,” he said. “Just breathe.”
He pivoted her body as he spoke, intending to block her line of vision to Ben-Meir’s body. But he didn’t execute the maneuver quickly enough.
“Oh my God. Dr. Ben-Meir!” She strained against Cade’s restraining arm. “We’ve got to call an ambulance.”
“No use,” Cade said. “There’s nothing they’ll be able to do. He’s dead.”
Maddie sucked in a sob and buried her face against his chest. “Dead? But . . . why? How?”
He held her close. “You don’t remember, caraid?”
“No. No, I . . .” She jerked her head back, shoving against his chest. The amulet burned his skin. He hissed a curse and held her at arm’s length.
“Was it you?” she demanded. “Did you do it? Did you kill him?”
“Me? I wasn’t even here.”
Her odor of panic spiked; she fought his control. “I don’t believe you. Let me go.”
“Not bloody likely. Come on. We’re leaving.”
“Yes.” She sucked in a sob. “We’ve got to wake the others. Hadara, Ari—”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Of course we do.”
“They’ll wake up soon enough on their own. In the meantime, I’m getting you out of here. And you’re going to come with me quietly.”
She stared. “You did kill him.”
“I didn’t. But that’s neither here nor there.” He grabbed her wrist and hauled her to the door.
“Let go of me!” She twisted and clawed at him one-handed; the other hand continued to clutch the golden disc to her chest. Cade wasn’t sure she even realized she still held it.
Blast it all to Oblivion! What was that thing? Where had she found it? And how had a spell of Watcher blood magic, with its rotting, choking odor, come to be cast upon it?
