Only Lycans Need Apply

by Michele Bardsley

  We continued to the square where I had been spent nearly two weeks culling through sand to find evidence of Set’s temple. I still had hope of realizing my grandfather’s dream to make a find equivalent to King Tut’s tomb.

  “Here,” said Darrius. He had gone to a depression in the corner of the lot and put his hand on it. “Patrick?”

  The vampire joined the werewolf, thrust his hands into the sand, and began to shovel sand away incredibly fast. Jessica knelt beside him to help. Sand flew everywhere, as though the ground had exploded. I was impressed . . . until I realized they were screwing up my dig site.

  That was when I fully emerged from Eva’s attempt at mind control.

  “Hey!” I leapt forward, arms out to push the vampires away from destroying potential evidence.

  Drake grabbed my shoulders and pulled me tight against his chest. “Now, now,” he murmured in my ear, “you must not get upset.”

  “He’s ruining it!” Panic roared through me. All that work, all that time, all that effort, and they didn’t care. “You don’t understand! We have to be careful. It took years to get this far. My grandfather gave his entire life to this place. Please, Drake. Make them stop!”

  “I am sorry, my treasure,” he said. His voice was liquid warmth, and my panic began to dissipate. He had me trapped, but it didn’t actually feel like I was imprisoned. Maybe because his face was pressed against the side of my head and he was whispering soothing sounds. With his arms around me, it felt more like . . . being held. Being comforted. The feeling was so foreign, so nice, it completely disarmed me.

  “Dr. Jameson?”

  Patrick’s use of my honorific snapped me to attention. Drake released me, but stayed close as I joined the vampires, who’d uncovered two steps into . . . somewhere.

  “The temple,” I said. My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Dove, and she grinned. I grinned back, and then I turned an imperious smile toward Patrick. “Well?” I said in my best kill-the-grad-student voice. “What are you waiting for?”

  What would’ve taken us days to uncover took the vampires and werewolves less than an hour. I wasn’t as upset at their methods now, given that they’d found the entrance to a building long hidden by the sand. A building that I hoped was either the temple of Set or at least one of the outer buildings that led to the main complex.

  We gathered around the staircase and stared down into the darkness. Lorcan whispered something in Gaelic, and several orbs of yellow light appeared. They drifted down and bobbed in the air, revealing a stone door.

  Darrius made a move to go down the stairs, but Drake grabbed his shoulder. “It is Dr. Jameson’s right. She should go first.”

  The werewolf gave a sharp nod and moved back. Drake made a sweeping gesture, and I stepped down. Sweet heaven. I’m here, Grandfather. We did it.

  Drake followed me, and I was so excited about reading the hieroglyphs and confirming that we had found Set’s temple that I didn’t even mind how cramped his presence made the tiny space before the stone door.

  “What does it say?” he asked.

  “‘No werewolves allowed,’” I muttered. I looked over the images, and noted the circular hole in the door. Disappointment edged through me as I noted the lack of references to Set. In fact, the glyphs were sparse and basically held one command: “Stick your hand here, and let your heart be judged.” There was a hole in the center of the door. Basically, the discoverer of this place was supposed to stick a hand into that hole, which would, I hoped, open the door.

  Then again, the hole might hold myriad awful things. I could be hurt or trapped. But I wasn’t afraid.

  I lifted my hand, and Drake batted it away. “What are you doing?”

  “Opening the door.”

  “Moira, I don’t—”

  I inserted my hand into the hole and his eyebrows snapped down at my impetuous gesture. I felt something wickedly sharp prick my wrist.

  “Ow!”

  Drake grabbed my arm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  The earth began to shake.

  Sand shimmered onto us from above, and the sounds of stones grinding together echoed in the stillness of night. Drake grabbed my shoulders and tried to yank me away from the door, but whatever had clamped onto my wrist held fast.

  I heard a voice whisper inside my head. “Love will lead you. Be worthy.”

  My wrist was suddenly freed, blood dripping from scratches of whatever had grabbed it, and Drake grabbed me, hauling me up the staircase and away from the groaning, trembling earth.

  We joined the others, who’d moved away from the site. Our gazes were riveted to the shifting sands, and to the object rising from them.

  A huge pyramid rose and rose and rose from its sandy grave. I was awed by its massive beauty. Most people were used to the look of the pyramids in the modern era—crumbling yellow stones. But if we could look at the pyramids in the time they were built, we would see them just as this one was—smooth white limestone, topped with gleaming gold.

  “Holy shit,” whispered Dove. She looked at me, and then over my shoulder, and her eyes widened.

  Before I could follow her line of sight, Drake yelled, “Watch out!” and shoved me hard. I stumbled to the right and fell, rolling across the sand. When I stopped, I found myself lying next to an equally stunned Dove. We stared at the starry sky above, and tried to catch our breath.

  “Other than that time in Guatemala, this is the strangest night I’ve ever had,” she said.

  “Guatemala? When we fell into that pit, and no one noticed until the next day?”

  “No. When Ax pissed off those guys in the bar, and you and I had to sing Abba songs in exchange for his life.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah. That was a strange night.” I glanced at her. “We really nailed ‘Waterloo.’”

  “Totally.”

  We rolled onto our stomachs and took a view of the chaos surrounding us. Our new paranormal friends were engaged in fierce battles.

  “More vampires,” said Dove. “I guess those are the bad guys.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ah. Good point.”

  “Moira.” Drake suddenly loomed over us, and we scrambled to our feet. “We must go.”

  “Where?” asked Dove.

  Drake opened his mouth to answer, but a big white blur plowed into him and shoved him to the ground. The vampire was huge, as brawny and square-faced as a boxer, and he had Drake pinned to the sand. His fangs elongated and he bent down, presumably to ravage the werewolf’s throat.

  “I call bad guy,” yelled Dove.

  “I concur!” I hurtled toward the vampire, using my whole body to ram into him. I knocked him off Drake, and we went tumbling into the sand. Dove ran up next to the vampire’s head and kicked him in the temple with her steel-toed boot.

  That really pissed him off.

  He leapt to his feet, fanged and furious, and Drake dove between us, hitting the vampire in the face. They stumbled back, exchanging quick, brutal punches.

  “Excuse me.” Jessica appeared in a shower of gold sparkles. She held two magnificent short swords that she swung in deadly arcs. Oh, I recognized ancient when I saw it. And though they gleamed bright and deadly gold, they were not modern blades.

  “Drake!” yelled Jessica.

  He moved out of the way instantly, and she lifted the swords, stabbing one into the vampire’s chest while using the other to cleanly slice off his head.

  I followed the progress of the head as it rolled along the sand. Then it, and the body, burst into ash. I looked at Jessica, and she offered a grim smile. “Unfortunately, I’m really good at that move.”

  Her eyes widened, and she raised her swords at me.

  “What are you—” The words stalled in my throat as I felt the grip of cold, steely fingers around my wrist. I was jerked backward, and felt something sharp prick my neck.

  “Enough!” screamed my captor.

  Drake, Dove, and Jessica had all been stalking forward, bu
t now they stopped, their gazes on the vampire who held me. His skin was cold and dry, and as he pressed close to me, I could feel no heave of his chest to indicate breath or heartbeat. So, yeah . . . vampire.

  “I will let her live,” said the Italian-spiked voice, “if you do not attempt to stop me.”

  Drake’s hands clenched into fists, and he emitted a fierce growl. “Karn! Damn you!”

  I was dragged backward several feet and then yanked into an awkward turn. In front of me was the pyramid. I glanced over my shoulder, and he pointed the blade at my left eye. The sharp tip was so close that it brushed the edge of my eyelashes. “Move.”

  I walked forward, because I liked having two eyes and his undead grip was fierce. I got the impression that he was only slightly resisting the urge to snap my wrist. We stopped at the left corner, and that’s when I saw another gold circle like the one in the door that had unlocked the pyramid. There was no inscription on the gold, or the wall surrounding it. Hell, there wasn’t even an arrow pointing toward the gaping hole.

  “Open it.”

  “You open it.”

  He yanked me close, placing his lips on my ear. “I will kill you, Dr. Jameson. If you value your life, then you will do what I say.”

  Why did psychos believe that making empty promises would grant them compliance? He meant to kill me the moment he got what he wanted.

  As Dove would say: Screw that noise.

  “No time for games,” he hissed. He moved to my side and jerked me around, grabbing my chin. “I want the ambrosia.”

  I stared at him, openmouthed. “Ambrosia? Seriously?”

  His gaze narrowed and his grip tightened. Okay. So he was serious.

  “Get away from her, Karn.” This edict was issued by Drake.

  My captor was surrounded by vampires and werewolves. Apparently all the bad guys had been dispatched—save this one. I took a step back, but Karn followed, keeping the knife severely close to my eye. “Back, mongrel! Or I will kill her.”

  Everyone believed the surety in his tone and honored the request. They didn’t go too far, but I was betting no one could get to me before he buried the knife in my face. Fear beat with wings of dread in my stomach. My heart pounded so hard I could hear the rush of the blood in my ears.

  “Open it.” He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.

  I didn’t know how to open the pyramid. Okay, so maybe sticking my hand in the circle might work again. But I wasn’t going to do it. Not for that undead asshole.

  “Look,” I said, “just stick your hand inside the circle.”

  Karn squeezed my arm, and pain shot down my elbow. “Do you think I’m a fool?”

  No. I thought he was crazy, and believe me, I know crazy. I pointed at the hole. “There was another one on the door we found. I stuck my hand inside, and boom! We have a pyramid.”

  Karn moved the knife to my throat, pressing it against my carotid artery. “If you’re lying, you’ll gasp your last breath before they can get to you.”

  Keeping the blade pressed into my flesh and his gaze on mine, he lifted his arm and shoved his hand into the gold circle.

  “Your fate does not lie within,” said a male and a female voice blended together. “Seven days hence, only the chosen may enter.”

  Then the pyramid disappeared.

  No sound. No movement. No nothing. The damned thing just . . . vanished.

  Karn released a string of violent Italian, and then I felt a swish of cold.

  “He’s gone,” said Drake. He reached me first, and put his hands on my shoulders, studying my face. “Are you okay?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “What did that mean?” asked Jessica. “Seven days hence . . . Jesus. Who are the chosen? Where the hell did it go?”

  “The pyramid is coming back in a week . . . I think,” said Patrick as he joined his wife. “We’ll have to leave someone here to keep a watch out for its return. And as for the chosen . . . we know it’s not Karn.”

  “I kinda have dibs on that pyramid,” I said.

  “Sorry,” said Patrick, and he actually did seem to be sincerely apologetic, “but the vampires had dibs first. We appreciate all that you’ve done, Dr. Jameson.”

  “But our services are no longer required?” asked Dove.

  Drake offered us a grim smile. “At least you won’t remember anything when we’re through here.”

  “Hard to forget this night,” I said.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned. Eva’s kind gaze met mine. “You’ll forget most of it, if that’s any comfort.”

  “Um, not really.”

  I looked at Drake, saw that same regret gleaming in his eyes. “Till we meet again, Moira,” he said. Then he winked.

  Chapter 6

  Six days hence . . .

  Dove leaned over my desk and dropped the book with a dramatic flourish. The hardback landed with a resounding thump and rattled the papers that littered the shiny wood surface. I looked at the title and sighed. “Vampires Are Real! by Theodora Monroe. Oh, Dove. You’re killing me.”

  “The ushabtis had fangs.”

  “Unfortunately, the crypt we found was empty.” I put my fingers near my mouth and mimicked fangs. “We’ll never know if the mummies came back to life . . . and sucked all the blood of the last archaeology team to discover their secret burial chambers.”

  Dove ignored my sarcasm. “That crypt had a completely weird vibe. And what about the lack of wall reliefs?”

  “Empty,” I repeated. “No sarcophagi. No mummies. We found no ritual offerings. No canopic jars. It’s likely that the crypt was never used.”

  “Or it was cleared out to protect the mummies and their burial treasures.” She lifted a finger. “And that’s why we found ushabtis outside.”

  “So the thieves and/or priests who cleared out the crypt—in theory—dropped some stuff on the way out?” I shrugged. “Anything’s possible.”

  “Even vampires?”

  “I’m skeptical,” I said. “But I won’t rule out the possibility of an unknown”—I waved my hand—“something. There are surprises in archaeology all the time.” The likelihood of a vampiric royal was about . . . oh, nil. But the idea of a blood-drinking cult that worshiped Sekhmet was intriguing. I looked down at the book. The cover was black and the title a bold red that appeared to be dripping blood. Classy.

  Dove sat down on the stiletto-shaped crushed-velvet chaise that I kept as my “visitor” chair. I was a professor at a small, stuffy private college in upper New York State. Anyone who came in to harangue me had to sit on that chair to do it. Most declined. Okay, yeah. I was known as being “difficult.” I’m sure it frustrated the hell out of officials, staff, and other professors, but there wasn’t a lot they could do about it. Y’see, my family founded the college nearly a hundred years ago. I was the reason the school and its various programs got funded. I was the kind of wealthy that put me on the Christmas card list of Bill Gates. I’d also been raised by a go-your-own-way-damn-the-consequences grandfather who inspired me to be brave, to be creative, and to be stubborn as hell. He challenged me, encouraged me to be strong and persistent, and celebrated my quirks. He hadn’t been afraid of my mental instability. He’d loved me fiercely, and I found my way out of the dark because of him. He instilled in me the virtues and stalwart attitude that carried me through all the difficulties of life, including the old curmudgeon’s death last year.

  I still hadn’t forgiven him for dying.

  “It’s almost four o’clock,” said Dove. “Don’t you have a gala to attend in three hours?”

  “Shut up.”

  Dove offered me one of her patented sneers. “Dress, right? High heels. Makeup. Fancy hairdo. All your favorites.”

  “I hate you.” Every so often I had to play nice with the regents, especially when they were glad-handing the alumni (who also weren’t particularly fond of me). We didn’t have fund-raisers, since the college was generously funded through the Jameson Foundation. I
think sometimes the regents wanted to host fund-raisers because they harbored hope that they could raise the millions needed to run the school and wouldn’t need Jameson money to operate. They didn’t like asking me for checks. I was very circumspect about spending money—and no one got away with abusing the privileges of their position. We paid everyone well, but misuse of school money for personal expenditures would get your ass fired. Just ask the last college president, who thought taking his mistress to Fiji for a week of fun and frolicking was a “research” trip. There wasn’t a whole lot of red tape when it came to getting rid of assholes. I had ultimate say, and power, when it came to administration. Ah. Just another reason I was so popular with everyone. They sometimes blamed my eccentricities, along the lines of “that bitch is still crazy,” but no one was brave enough to say such things to my face. No, they followed college protocol and talked about me behind my back. Then they put on big, bright smiles that never reached their eyes to ask me for money.

  This particular gala was a charity event put on by people I actually liked, the Heart of Darkness Literary Society, which was a student-run organization. The funds were distributed among literacy programs throughout the United States. Everyone attended not only because it was a popular event, but also because it was well covered by the media. And regents, alumni, and assorted other bores liked to remind the public how altruistic they were.

  Sigh.

  “You’re going with me,” I said.

  Dove stared at me for a full thirty seconds. One of the more effective weapons in her snark-casm arsenal was utter silence accompanied by her you-are-stupid-and-wrong expression.

  But I was immune to Dove’s sneers, slights, silence, and all eighteen forms of her sarcasm.

  I said nothing, and we sat in my office staring daggers at each other. Finally, she gave a low, dramatic sigh and said, “I’m wearing a corset.”

  “And those ballerina boots? Those shiny red ones with the crazy toes?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes. Your pet will be on display.”