Immortal Dynasty

by Lynda Haviland

  Even the porte cochere teemed with activity. Many embellishments were getting a good coating of gold paint. It seemed a Grecian theme was taking shape for the Troy Cosmetics Annual Gala.

  Because of its age and history, it hadn’t been too difficult to find architectural maps online for the Troy Estate. He hoped the old maps were still accurate. Brass and velvet stanchions cordoned off the workers from entering the rooms on the far side of the foyer. These off-limits rooms were likely the ones Lilith used to display her private collection of antiquities. Her collection was reputed to be one of the finest personal displays in the world.

  According to the maps, there should be a staircase in the back room that would lead him down to a basement level. From the rumors about this old house, he figured that would be where they would be keeping his grandfather.

  “I’m ready.” He whispered into the little wire mouthpiece. “I’m in the foyer.”

  “Hang on. ALICE is on it.” Darius could hear Marcus’ fingers clicking across the keyboard on his end. “Okay. The security feed is on a loop, and you are now like a ghost.”

  Darius ducked under the cord and walked very slowly through the first room. Iridescent glass vessels sat on granite pedestals. Jewelry sparkled from within glass cases, and several highly erotic Roman bath tiles hung on the walls. A whistle pierced his ear and he cupped it reflexively.

  “Now there’s a few positions even I hadn’t thought of.”

  “Marcus,” Darius grounded out, wiggling the earpiece. “don’t friggin’ do that again. You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the thermal cameras.”

  “Sorry. There’s not a soul near you. Geez, these rooms are more interesting than the galleries at the MFA. Someone on the floor above you is moving in the direction of the staircase.”

  “Okay, keep an eye on everyone.” He fingered his belt buckle again, double-checking that the throwing knives were still in place. He was ready for any demons unfortunate enough to challenge him.

  Darius finally entered the last gallery. A circular staircase stood in the far corner of the room. It led both upstairs to the residence level, and downstairs to the basement level.

  “Okay. I see it. I’m—” Darius’ voice trailed off. He couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to. In the semi-darkness of the room, a single spotlight shone down on a statue. A magnificent statue. Holy. Shit.

  He’d seen so many wondrous artifacts in his lifetime, but this one he’d put at the top of his list. Here was something even he might consider keeping. His blood raced, tingling through his body.

  She’d been stunning enough in the photograph, but here the lights and shadows together seemed to bring her to life. The amber spotlight magnified every glorious detail. The golden patina glowed like a flame.

  “Wow. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.” Even through a darkened video feed she could apparently inspire awe in a seasoned professional like Marcus. “Can you get a little closer?”

  “She’s in perfect condition. Almost as if she’d been carved yesterday.” The sculptor had captured a pure, realistic quality.

  “Do you know anything about it?”

  “She’s the statue my grandfather has searched for his whole life. The Lady of Flame. I can understand his obsession now. She’s the Egyptian goddess of war, Sekhmet. Usually, she would have a lion head on a human female body. But this one is all human. Very curious. She’s in the typical style of clothing and stance, yet the quality is more lifelike.” He studied the hilt of the dagger a little more closely. “This statue is too detailed to be from an earlier period. This much detail strikes me as from a later period…Ptolemaic maybe.”

  “That is one wicked-looking dagger.” He heard the admiration through the static. “I wouldn’t want to run into her in a dark alley. Unless she was there to save me, of course.”

  Her face captivated him. While he could not see the depths of her eyes, the detail in her face spoke volumes to him. The muscles in her jaw were clenched with determination. Her high wide cheekbones held aloft with confidence and pride. Yet, the crinkling around her eyes and forehead spoke to him of pain. That was something he was currently familiar with.

  “Hey, Dare. Can you point that camera back down again? Let me get another look at the belt?”

  “I didn’t know you could read anything other than bones and dirt?” A sudden itch aggravated him. Darius reached under his shirt to scratch his chest.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but that doesn’t look like hieratic writing.”

  Darius bent down to get a better look, gently fingering the indentions carved thousands of years ago. Darius was stunned. “Sumarian? But that would be crazy. That would date this before the Egyptians.”

  She was a beautiful enigma. No wonder his grandfather searched for her his whole life.

  “I can read the hieroglyphs on the base. That part is a warning to whomever possesses this statue to keep their distance, lest the lion within roar with fury and smote you as the enemy. Or something to that effect.”

  “What a find. I can’t believe that this piece is in a private collection.” Marcus sounded like he was clicking on the keyboard madly. “Uh, sorry. I forgot to keep an eye on things. Get out of there. There are two people coming at you from both directions. Hurry.”

  Darius barely had time to jump into a display of a funerary boat. He plastered himself on the floor behind it just as Therion entered the room.

  *

  She felt it.

  Like waves rolling across the sea, pulses rippled against her with increasing speed and intensity.

  Is it time to fulfill the prophecy? Have thousands of sun cycles passed?

  Shaila could almost feel the weight of dust and age, but underneath it all, her soul had fully awakened. Her mind reviewed images collected from the passage of time in a prismatic display of color. With sightless eyes, she had only her memories and dreams to keep her company. Would the loneliness finally end?

  Voices hummed around her, bringing her mind out of the mist. She heard tones spoken with excitement and awe.

  The pulses continued. Something on her chest responded to them, vibrating as if in answer to a primal call.

  Is it time? Is it finally the end of my nightmare?

  CHAPTER THREE

  “There you are, Mother!” Therion strode across the tiled floor of the gallery, meeting his mother at the foot of the staircase. He kissed her cheek. “You really have those high-priced room designers ready to burst out of their skins. They are terrified to disappoint you.”

  “They should be. This year’s season introduction must be flawless.” Her fingers curled around his.

  He watched a frown mar her features. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. A vibration. Something new. Just a feeling that I can’t identify yet.”

  “A disturbance in the Force?” Therion stepped away from his mother to avoid the pinch. She didn’t always appreciate his sarcasm. He greeted the object of his fantasies. “Hello, doll.” His rubbed his palm across the statue’s abdomen. He felt his mother’s icy glare.

  “Are you so desperate that you need to molest a statue?”

  “Oh, tell me you don’t stroke that Marc Antony statue in the other room. Ah, but it’s this particular statue, isn’t it? You hate it. That’s why you gave it to me.”

  She moved to touch the jaw of the statue, but hesitated. “It is a rather disturbing likeness of Inanna’s daughter, but no, I save my hatred for Inanna. She feared your inherited power from Apophis so much that she had you stripped of your immortal spirit.” His mother’s voice dripped hatred, sizzling like acid.

  He cupped the statue’s breast, knowing that the crude gesture would irritate his mother. He decided to bring up another sore subject. “I think it’s time for me to get married.”

  “No.” Vehemence sliced through her voice.

  He fondled the statue again, trying to prick her jealousy. “I would like a wife like this one. Wild and ferocious.” Some of
his nighttime fantasies played across the screen of his mind.

  The explosion of her temper brought a wide smile to his lips. The spotlight over the statue burst, as well as a glass case nearby containing ancient jewelry. She held her right palm up, and a small flame appeared. She looked ready to throw it at the statue. “Men are dirty, rutting pigs!” She seemed to catch on to his ruse. “I did not raise you to act like a horny teenager.”

  “I want a son, Mother.”

  “Speaking of sons, have you found the old man’s grandson?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We have no answer for why the old man is in this coma. Even I cannot seem to get inside his mind. I need to know what he knows. What his grandson knows.”

  *

  Leave the room, damn it! Another painful cramp pierced through his back muscles, but Darius focused on his breathing until the pain subsided. His body was obviously still tired of being in cramped spaces. Not too mention the dust that hadn’t been swept up from behind this antique in years. He pinched his nose to avoid a sneeze that threatened to blow his cover.

  He’d trained his body to lie motionless for hours, but watching Therion from this close proximity knotted his gut. Memories engulfed Darius without mercy. He was eight years old again, protecting his little hideaway in the basement of an abandoned wharf building. Therion and his gang of prep school jerks had watched Darius pick pockets for money and watches. Greedily, they’d come for his stash. They beat him up, threw him into the harbor, and took off with the whole box.

  Even then, he hadn’t cared about the cash or the watches. They didn’t mean anything to him. Only one item had special meaning for him. A single bead hung on the end of a thin gold chain around his neck. Hardly precious, it was a small oblong blue bead made of lapis lazuli. It was the only thing his mother had ever given him besides life itself. It was the only thing that reminded Darius of the days before his mother turned to drugs.

  For five years, Therion and his crew haunted Darius, but eventually the scumbag had figured out how much that damned necklace had meant to him. The day before Therion left for the military academy, he’d cornered Darius in an alley, beat him, and left him for dead. Therion had ripped the necklace from him, claiming it as his war prize.

  The beating Darius endured should have killed him, but the only scar that remained was the one in his heart for losing his only prized possession. If you don’t own something, it can’t be taken away from you.

  Finally, mother and son moved away toward the staircase. He hoped they were going up to the residence and not down to the basement. Therion was groping the statue one last time before following his mother.

  Darius glared at Therion’s back, wishing to hell he could run over there and rip the man’s throat out. He knew he could physically take him on now. But the only move he made was to scratch his chest again.

  Alone now, Darius stood up and approached the staircase, watching the two retreat to the upper level. He couldn’t stand the itch any longer and pulled the medallion out from under his shirt. He figured he was having a bad reaction to whatever metals were in it.

  He started to descend the staircase, but stopped. He couldn’t say why. He just felt a pull to remain on the gallery level. He backed up, and then moved to stand in front of the statue again. The pain on her face tugged at his heart. He wondered why the artist chose to capture her in such a vulnerable emotion. He easily pictured her strong and vibrant, racing wildly across a plateau in her chariot, fighting the enemies of Egypt.

  Unconsciously, he stepped up onto the pedestal with her and placed his palm on her shoulder. He’d expected the golden sculpture to be cold, but it felt hot against his fingertips. He moved his hand across all of the same places he’d seen Therion touch her. Something in him wanted to remove for her the taint of his enemy’s touch.

  As his fingertips passed across the center of her chest, a blue light slowly sizzled to life. Darius started to step backward and nearly fell off of the pedestal. Grabbing her by the arms to steady himself, he realized that she was…trembling.

  The blue light glowed brightly now, and he was stunned to recognize the shape it took. It formed a circle. Inside of it was an eye symbol within a pyramid. It was a reverse image of the one embossed on the medallion.

  The air in the room pulsated. Unlike the deep cold he’d felt around the void, these pulses felt like warm liquid waves. The medallion buzzed with heat, shaking violently. The statue seemed ready to explode. His bones shuddered from the intense vibrations in the room. He had to do something.

  Darius turned the medallion around so that the image on it and on her mirrored each other. The medallion whisked away from his chest and slapped into place on the statue like a magnet. Like a key.

  A glow spread across the statue until it was engulfed in blue flame. The gold patina on the statue began to melt away slowly, revealing soft flesh. A chandelier burst, showering them both with crystal shards. The figure crumpled forward into Darius’ arms.

  Okay, what the hell is this? Surely someone had heard the glass shattering. Darius shifted back and forth on his feet, looking around nervously. He stood there, just gaping at the unconscious form leaning limply against him. Shit. This is not in the master plan!

  He stepped off of the platform and laid her gently on the floor. He backed away from her, again looking around nervously. He rubbed the back of his head. Think, Darius!

  “Marcus,” he whispered. “Marcus.” He tried more urgently. He heard nothing in his earpiece. Not even static. Something must have interrupted the audio feed. He wondered if Marcus had seen any of this.

  He also wondered if this was what his grandfather had meant when he said to get the Lady of Flame. Was that why he’d been so obsessed with finding her? Damn, but he wished he could ask Papa Shadi right now.

  He knelt down next to her body and felt for a pulse. He felt no fluttering of life, yet her body felt soft. A dead body would be hard with rigor after thousands of years.

  Before his better judgment opposed it, Darius tilted her head, pinched her nose, and covered her mouth with his. Despite the flames he had seen and felt, her lips were ice cold. He gave two quick breaths. Nothing. He pumped her chest, and blew in her mouth again.

  *

  Oh, goddess. Help me.

  The first tingling of reality brought fear. Sensations prickled nerve ends, zinging across old pathways to her brain. Moisture trickled through dry veins, bringing life to gray, dormant blood cells. The first pumps of a renewed heart sounded like thunder inside her head.

  What was happening? She wanted to scream with the sheer terror of it. Her flesh burned icy hot as cool air caressed it for the first time in millennia. An excruciating pain flared in the center of her chest. It vibrated unmercifully, demanding something.

  Something answered. A burst of pure energy radiated from her heart. The feeling brought relief and joy at first.

  Voices. There were voices around her, but they had stopped. Where had they gone? Are they frightened of her? Did she look hideous? She felt hideous.

  Oh, goddess. What has become of me?

  She drifted, floating weightless in gray shadows. As if she were drowning, her lungs burned. Like a nightmare, she could not seem to call out for help.

  A warm breath caressed her. Every cell in her body hummed. The dark veil of despair lifted. Shaila pushed aside her fears and called upon her astral spirit to return and guide her.

  *

  Suddenly, the woman expelled a cloud of dust from her lungs. She choked and gulped in fresh air. Wrinkles on her skin filled, becoming taut and firm once again. She glowed with a more natural tone. Her arms and legs rippled with goose bumps.

  Darius put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and a low moan escaped her lips. Her breathing fell to a more natural rhythm.

  Now that she was no longer hidden under a golden glaze, he saw that she wore only a hip belt. The leather was dyed to a dark shade of green. He could envision that at one time the white linen s
kirt had proudly held starched creases. Now, it limply clung to her, just long enough to cover what was necessary.

  Time hadn’t sagged her figure. Tiny lotus petals had been tattooed on the areolas around pert nipples. A sudden image of tracing the path of the tattoos with his tongue sprang to mind. A lower part of his body wanted to spring to life too. He iced that line of thought.

  Still unconscious, she rolled over and curled into a fetal position. With her naked back facing him, Darius could see two long, straight scars running diagonally across her shoulder blades. The top end of each scar came within a couple of inches of joining at the nape of her neck, almost forming an arrow. Between the scars, a dark dragon tattoo curled around a quiver with seven arrows of red flame.

  Papa Shadi had said to find her. That she would help him. Would she?

  He was probably down to his last few minutes alone here. He needed to act, and he needed to act right now. He mentally sent his grandfather his apologies, but promised that he’d come get him very soon.

  Darius tried to look inconspicuous as he made his way back to the ballroom. Within a couple of minutes, he was back in the gallery with a large rolling bin filled with old drop cloths. He lifted her up and into it, covering her body with the drop cloths.

  Praying that the security system was still disabled, he slowly pushed the bin back across the length of the house. The workers were all completely engrossed in their tasks, and they seemed to take no notice of him. The mid-morning sun spilled into the back entrance. Darius pulled his shades out of his pants pocket and put them on. He joined a line of workers pushing their trash bins out into the back alley.

  Instead of heading for the dumpster, Darius wheeled quickly down the long sidewalk toward his borrowed van. His loot still seemed to be unconscious, and he silently hoped that she’d stay that way for a while longer. He stole a glance under the sheet. At least the look of pain was gone from her face. Now, she looked almost peaceful.

  He opened the side door of the van, and lifted her out of the bin. Darius winced when he bumped her head on the edge of the van door. Gingerly, he laid her down. He felt a bit sorry that the van he’d picked didn’t have cleaner carpets, but that couldn’t be helped. Pushing the bin away, he rounded the van and climbed into the driver’s seat.