Rings of Anubis: A Folley & Mallory Adventure

by E. Catherine Tobler

  As if to prove it, he drew two revolvers from the folds of his robes. He had no trouble turning on Eleanor to level her in his sights. Eleanor braced her left hand below her right, her hands beginning to sweat around the revolver’s grip.

  “Fair is fair, sweetheart,” he said. “And I always play fair. Remember?”

  Eleanor did remember. In their early days together, he had always given her every advantage, sharing any information he could to hasten the adventure’s successful end. He had always buried his fallen friends, remembered them in prayers. By the time of Morocco and Caroline, though, his interpretation of fair had changed.

  “What do you want, Christian?” she asked him in a low voice. “Is Caroline with you?”

  She asked the question, even knowing the woman was dead. It had its intended effect, though; Christian was the one to flinch now. The implication hovered between them that, much as in Port Elizabeth, Christian and Caroline planned to ambush her in an attempt to gain the ring. Eleanor only hoped Christian didn’t know of the three other people with her. She allowed the chance of that was slim; he had likely watched them approach. He had set this entire meeting into motion, hadn’t he?

  Christian took a step forward and Eleanor took a step back, refusing to allow him any closer. She skirted the debris to her right, placing Christian between her and the mural of Anubis. Those four rings danced above the god’s black palm, spreading light toward the painted horizon.

  “Did you have a good time with Seth?”

  The question drew Eleanor’s attention back to Christian and set her off balance yet again. She feared her arm was about to start shaking. “What?”

  “I thought you would appreciate it,” he said, “though I had no idea the Defenders would take such an interest in you and your companions.”

  Eleanor shook her head, feeling as she had that day Caroline admitted to taking down The Empress. Surely she and Christian had been well suited to one another, cruel and kind by turns—though rather more of the former, Eleanor was coming to realize. She felt like a fool.

  “Come now,” Christian said. “You can’t tell me that place didn’t fascinate you. I mourn the loss of that ship, though—the Nuit was a beautiful piece of technology. Even in her destruction, she was.”

  “What do you want?” It was all Eleanor could do to ask the question again. Her heart pounded furiously and her hands had begun to tremble. She no longer knew Christian as well as she thought. What had the years done to this man? Christian was changed in ways Eleanor would never fully comprehend.

  “I thought my wants were clear,” he said, and took another step toward her. When Eleanor elevated her aim to his face, he stopped. “I want the rings. I know you have two of them now, and while I would love to see them, it seems in poor taste to ask. I propose a race to the last ring.”

  Questions flooded Eleanor’s mind, but none more pressing than how Christian had known she had two rings. “A race?”

  “Fair is fair,” he reminded her.

  He lowered his revolvers, but Eleanor still didn’t move hers. Her arms screamed exhaustion, but she didn’t waver even as his green eyes drank her in, skimming over her in the same assessing manner he had shown in that long-ago tavern. Unlike then, no part of Eleanor fluttered, stumbled, or crumbled.

  “God, Eleanor, you look delightful.”

  If there was an edge of melancholy to his voice, Eleanor tried not to hear it. Christian was past, he was no longer the man she had known; time had changed him and not for the better.

  “And you, you look to be at the end of your rope, sir.”

  Eleanor tensed at the sound of Mallory’s reply to Christian. His boots crunched a path through the debris as he joined Eleanor and Christian. Christian’s eyes moved to a point beyond Eleanor. How long had Mallory listened? He stepped alongside her now, his two revolvers trained on Christian.

  “You all right?” Mallory asked, not looking at her.

  Eleanor said, “Yes,” feeling relief spread through her. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle Christian on her own; it was that she didn’t want to. With Mallory at her side, they stood a chance of reclaiming the carnelian ring—if Christian were foolish enough to have it on his person.

  “I’ve hardly had the time to take advantage of her, my friend, though I appreciate the compliment,” Christian said and bowed shortly to Mallory from the waist. “Outnumbered and out-armed, whatever will I do? Agent Mallory, I presume.”

  Mallory said nothing, unless a snarl could be taken for dialogue. Eleanor had little doubt at this point that a snarl from him often conveyed more than words could, especially in instances such as this.

  Christian clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “This isn’t playing fair, Eleanor. Two on one, and two others elsewhere in the temple.”

  “Coming alone seemed ill-advised,” she said, and Christian laughed at that.

  “Agent Mallory, I was just telling Eleanor that I would like to be fair about this.”

  Now Mallory was the one to laugh. “Fair, Hubert?”

  Christian’s attention swung back to Eleanor. “You’ve come so far, Eleanor, and yet I had to tell you where to come. I’m not certain you ever would have come to this place were it not for me. Being that I’ve done you a favor—”

  Eleanor’s lip curled. Curled, and she couldn’t fathom it, because it didn’t feel like her. It felt like that stranger part of her, like something just under the surface wanted out. “You didn’t—”

  “Being that I have done you a favor,” Christian continued more firmly, “I think you owe me one—though I don’t plan on collecting right now. No, that can wait. For now, simply a race to the final ring. You know, of course, you’ll be seeing me again, for I have the carnelian.”

  The confession felt like a knife in Eleanor’s side, confirming Mallory’s initial suspicion that Christian had broken into the museum. It made her earlier denials seem foolish indeed. The rings she wore weighed heavily, as though she should have left them behind somewhere safe. But they were safe, she argued with herself; as long as she kept them, they were safe. No other should hold them—could hold them, the way she could. Had Sagira felt the same way?

  “You don’t know where the final ring is,” Eleanor whispered, taking a chance it was true. She allowed herself to lower her revolver then and slid it back into its holster. She laughed, realizing what Christian’s arrogance truly was. “This meeting wasn’t for my benefit, but yours. You were hoping I would be foolish enough to guide you to the last ring.”

  When Christian said nothing, Eleanor felt as though the power in the room had shifted, from Christian’s hand into her own. She crossed the chapel now, moving past Christian to the mural of Anubis. Did it somehow hold a clue? But in this setting, the rings were rightly with Anubis; they were not scattered, but where they should be.

  “Two rings to your one,” Eleanor said as she looked back at Christian. Beyond Christian, Mallory stood with revolvers still raised. Eleanor stepped out of the line of fire, rounding back toward Mallory’s side. “And one of them taken right beneath your nose.” She couldn’t resist the jab.

  “Yes,” Christian said with a roll of his eyes. “It takes courage to rob a man while you kiss him.”

  Eleanor bristled at that, as did Mallory. His growl was plain now, and while it thrilled Eleanor in part, it also worried her. If Christian had watched them, how much did he know about Mallory? And how close was Mallory’s wolf?

  “Even so,” Christian said, “I did admire you. It was strange to wake and find you gone. I thought you were bathing, but then I discovered the ring missing too. Math isn’t my specialty, but I reached the proper conclusion, even so, didn’t I?” His mouth hitched in a careless smile. “You could have gone anywhere. I was honestly surprised Caroline didn’t catch you in Port Elizabeth. Guess I taught you too well.”

  “I learned best not to trust you,” she said.

  “That hurts, Eleanor.” He held a hand against his side, a
s though physically struck. Still, his eyes were laughing.

  “I don’t see why.” Eleanor thought back to the tavern, to Christian and Caroline exchanging the scarab ring she now wore. “What was your plan, Christian? To gather the rings and not tell me? What would you have done in the end? Gone on without me?”

  “Looks like we’re in this together now, plus one.” Christian waved a hand toward Mallory, dismissive. “One ring to find; Anubis guiding us and the stars into perfect alignment, for he has called upon us to open his Glass.”

  “And then what, Hubert?” Mallory asked. His revolvers never wavered from their subject, despite the fact that Eleanor could tell he was struggling. The wolf felt close in this small chapel, Mallory’s eyes shaded with too much gold, his voice thick and edged with a growl.

  “What do I plan to do when the portal opens?” Christian asked. He tilted his head, and his smile was broad, bright in his sun-darkened face. “That would seem simple enough, Agent. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

  With the underlying threat finally spoken, Christian lifted his revolvers, which only spurred Mallory to action. Eleanor dropped to the ground and rolled, knowing she didn’t have time to draw her revolver again before Christian moved or Mallory fired. She sought to take herself out of the battle, to leave Mallory’s aim unimpeded, but Christian was too quick.

  He lunged forward as Mallory did; the two men collided, Mallory abandoning his revolvers to free his hands. While Christian’s own guns jabbed into Mallory’s gut, Mallory curled his hands into Christian’s robes and threw him to the ground. Christian’s guns went off, shots lodging in the ceiling, where they rained stone down on them. But the gunshots were the least of their worries. Mallory’s jacket split down the back, the wolf given rein to run.

  It was then Eleanor realized Christian didn’t know as much as he believed he did about Mallory. He didn’t know the wolf of him, because the screams that filled the chapel were true and terrified. Christian made to buck the animal off, but the wolf didn’t budge, pressing Christian into the stone floor. One clawed paw rested against Christian’s neck; the other lodged into his belly.

  “Eleanor, run!” Christian’s words were strangled, but she understood him well enough.

  She didn’t run. She picked herself up and moved to the pair of them, watching Christian struggle in an effort to rise. Mallory’s mouth dipped close to Christian’s jaw, nose snuffling as the wolf took in the terrified scent of him. Eleanor reached for Christian, beginning to search through his robes.

  “Do you have it? Where is it?”

  Eleanor knew she wasn’t in her right mind. There was a sense of detachment, a feeling of watching herself from far away—years perhaps—as she rifled through Christian’s robes in search of a ring. A ring that would lead her to Anubis, who would lead her to her mother. Just that, that was all she wanted. Just that . . .

  “Eleanor—for the love of God, get this thing off me!”

  “Where is it?”

  Eleanor’s hands fisted in Christian’s robes as she gave him a hard shake. She was aware of Mallory, close and holding Christian down. She was aware, too, that Christian likely didn’t have the ring on him. It made no sense, and yet she demanded that he give it to her. Some distant part of her mind remained convinced he did have it, had only slipped it into a pocket the way he had all those years ago.

  Demands that made no sense to her logical mind spilled from Eleanor’s lips, over and over, a broken, stammering river that ran until she rocked backward and slumped in the debris. She stared helplessly at Christian and the wolf atop him. The wolf seemed less inclined to withdraw and lowered his head to Christian’s, golden eyes meeting green.

  It was a writhing cobra that, at last, parted them, the snake rising from the shadow of a pillar as if to determine what had disturbed its afternoon slumber. The wolf jerked backward, and Christian took advantage of the motion to skitter back himself, until he collided against a broken pillar. He came unsteadily to his feet, holding up one hand to ward off the wolf as he stepped toward the stream of rock that spilled from the back of the chapel.

  “The race is on, Eleanor,” he said. Though he tried, Christian couldn’t quite muster his usual arrogance; Eleanor saw he was thrown by Mallory’s transformation, by her own demands.

  Eleanor slid away herself, to distance herself from the snake, while Mallory took a defensive position, forelegs spread, teeth bared at both Christian and the cobra.

  “You had better run for your life, Christian,” Eleanor said. She came onto her feet as Mallory began to circle the debris and the cobra in an effort to reach Christian. “And I don’t mean from the wolf.”

  With that, Christian pushed himself up and out across the spilled stone. Small stones skittered into the chapel in his wake and sent the cobra darting back into the shadows.

  “Mallory! Eleanor!”

  Auberon and Gin burst into the chapel, their guns drawn. Auberon’s was braced over his still-cast arm, but Eleanor had no doubt he would have plugged Christian had the rogue remained. Gin made for the back of the chapel and the break in the wall alongside a still-wolfish Mallory, but Auberon drew himself up short at the sight of the wolf.

  “Ah, hell.”

  “It was Christian,” Eleanor said. Gin’s revolver made a sharp report in the air outside the chapel. He returned with Mallory at heel, muttering curses that only ceased when he realized there was a wolf among them. He stared at the beast, then eyed Auberon and Eleanor.

  “Ah, hell.” It was all Auberon could say, and Eleanor’s mouth twitched in a brief smile.

  “The good news is, he doesn’t know where the last ring is,” she added. She looked to Mallory, still shaken by the idea of him pinning Christian to the ground. How close that fanged mouth had come to his neck, how she had seen Mallory tear such tender skin to shreds before.

  Auberon holstered his revolver and looked to the wolf. Mallory paced inside the chapel, making certain his circuit involved brushing past Eleanor’s legs a time or two.

  “That’s good?” Gin asked. “That is not good . . . not at all good.”

  Eleanor frowned. “Would you rather he did have it?”

  Auberon slid his revolver away, watching Mallory pace. “If he did, we would at least know where to look.”

  Eleanor agreed; Auberon had a point.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Luxor, Egypt ~ October 1889

  Homer may have called Luxor the City of a Hundred Gates, but Virgil needed only one. The afternoon air threatened to suffocate, but he ventured into the city streets even so. He headed for the docks where ships of sea and sky harbored, where he knew one could find an opium den tucked within the marketplace stalls, hovels, and camels if one knew where to look. He knew.

  Inside the den, the first breath of air was intoxicating. Virgil’s hands were shaking by the time he sat down before tray and pipe. But he hesitated, staring at the lamp and its licking flame. Slowly, fearing he would do it wrong, Virgil began to fill the pipe. He listened to the soft breathing of the person in the nook next to his. No private room here, but he didn’t care. The need was like a cold blade inside him; he could feel it nick every rib as it slid downward and threatened to wake the wolf.

  Still, even with the pipe properly filled, Virgil wavered. The pipe was not the one he was accustomed to, of course, but it was still finely made and rested easily in his hand. It had a pleasant weight, and he knew he had only to place flame to bowl. Yet he waited.

  He closed his eyes and listened to the people around him, to the whisper of bare feet across the floor, the slow shifting of a body on a cushion, the rhythm of other pipes being cleaned, filled, drawn upon. The smoke made his eyes sting, and he became aware of a shift in his breathing, a slow inhale though his nose, an even slower exhale through his parted lips.

  If Eleanor had not been in the Anubis chapel with him, he would have torn Christian Hubert limb from limb. Virgil knew this without a doubt. He would have started with the man�
��s neck, wounding him badly enough that he couldn’t struggle or get away. Next, he would move to arms, to legs, to tear apart and spill his blood onto the rock-strewn floor.

  Mary, please forgive me.

  It was the arrogance of the man, the assumption that he could bend Eleanor to his will, and if that failed, could shoot her. It was the threat to Eleanor—someone, he realized, he was coming to view as his territory. She was no such thing, she was her own woman, and while he knew this and respected her because of it, he had trouble disconnecting that from the wolf’s instincts.

  While he had been married to Caroline, he had never felt such a need to claim a person. As a man the idea was foreign, whereas in wolf form it was only right. The memory of Eleanor refusing his apology after he had marked her neck still thrilled him. It went through him as sharply as his first opium pipe had.

  Virgil opened his eyes to the scene around him, to the splayed bodies which draped the rough wood floor and faded cushions. Revulsion twisted inside him at these familiar sights: the glimpse of bare thigh, the gloss of candlelight on unbound hair, the curl of hazy smoke rising upward to push against the ceiling. His body wanted the visions and slumber opium brought, but his mind was already withdrawing from it. He still wanted to run, but no longer in this way.

  With a shaking hand, Virgil set the pipe down. This motion caught the eye of a passing attendant, who paused beside Virgil, kneeling to the opium tray. But when the attendant saw the set had not been touched, his eyes met Virgil’s. Virgil assured the man all was proper, that he had only changed his mind.

  In the street, Virgil wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead. He stood there for a long while, letting the heat of Egypt soak into him, letting the world spin as he remained still. Eventually he realized he was being watched by a pair of familiar eyes. Across the street in the shadow of a hanging tapestry, Auberon lingered, a pack worn across his torso.

  Once, Virgil would have been angry, would have thought it presumptuous of this man, but that time was long since past. Now, he felt only comforted by the idea of Auberon there. Their eyes met, but Auberon made no move across the busy street. Virgil turned away, walking into the shadowed street, knowing Auberon would follow.