With M asleep it was as if he and Mike were alone. He could feel her attitude shift. She wanted explanations, reassurances he couldn’t give. She wasn’t going to push him, but he had to say something. “I’m sorry Memphis and her father ended up in the middle of a situation they have nothing to do with.”
Mike nodded. “He’s alive. That’s something. That’s everything.” Her eyes flicked to the rearview, checking on M again. “She’s strong. Her dad taught her how to deal with her mother’s death, and I think she used what she learned to make it through his. And she’s using it for this. Still, making it through isn’t the same as being happy.”
“I didn’t get to know him well, but I quickly came to respect Dr. Engel. He always handled himself with such dignity,” Ash said.
“He’s one of the best people I know. Salt of the earth,” Mike replied. “If she loses him again, I don’t know what it’ll do to her. She’ll blame herself, and I’m not certain she can bear that.”
“Nothing about this is her fault. And she’s doing everything possible to get him back. She has to know that,” Ash protested.
“She won’t believe she did enough until he’s home with her.” Mike slowed to a stop. A tollbooth up ahead had brought traffic to a standstill. A man trotted up to her window holding several garlands of marigolds and what Ash thought were jasmine blossoms.
Mike opened the window and handed him some money. When he gave her the flowers she looped them around the rearview mirror. “They’re an offering to Mae Yanang, goddess of journeys,” she explained to Ash.
“Isn’t it…” He searched for a polite way to say sacrilegious.
“Sacrilegious for a Catholic nun to honor a heathen god?” Mike asked before he could think of one.
“Well, yes.”
“Nah. It’s my way of honoring the culture of the place I’m currently living,” Mike said. “I’m sure St. Christopher will understand.” She tapped the medal that also hung from the mirror.
Ash wondered what she thought about the Eye. Now that he’d seen how close they were, he was positive M had told Mike every detail. But he didn’t want to bring up the Eye. He didn’t want to lie.
They both fell silent until they’d made their way past the tollbooth. Mike spoke up once traffic sped up again. “I’m glad M has had you with her. She can handle herself, I know that as well as anyone, but that doesn’t mean she should always have to go it alone.”
“I didn’t actually give her much of a choice,” Ash confessed.
“I know,” Mike said. “But Greg trusted you. That means a lot. It makes me inclined to trust you too. He’s always been an excellent judge of character.”
Ash stared out the window as if fascinated by the scenery that was much too dark to see.
Mike shouldn’t trust him. Gregory Engel shouldn’t have either. Nobody should.
Not Philip. Ash hadn’t obeyed his mentor’s instructions.
Not Hugh. He’d lied to his oldest friend.
And definitely not M.
CHAPTER 19
“This is so freaking good,” M said, slurping her way through her second bowl of pumpkin coconut soup. She shot a sideways glance a Mike. “Clearly “you didn’t make it.”
“Brat,” Mike said affectionately. She and M sat across from Ash in the convent’s cozy kitchen. They’d been invited to eat with the nuns, but Mike had politely turned down the offer, telling the other sisters that M and Ash needed a little down time. “Sadly it’s true,” she admitted, turning to Ash. “My culinary skills are limited to peanut butter sandwiches and spaghetti with sauce from a jar. Unlike M’s father, who learned to make the local specialties everywhere we traveled, seemingly by osmosis.”
“Remember the time he spent all those weeks making pidan?” M asked, laughing.
“Pidan’s also called a thousand-year egg,” Mike told Ash. “Making them takes four or five weeks. But that was fine with Greg. The more complicated a recipe, the better.”
“You preserve the eggs with a mix of ash, tea, lime, and salt, then wrap them in rice husks and leave them there for weeks and weeks. If you want to do it the old-school way, which of course my dad did,” M continued.
“Of course,” Mike echoed. “He treated those eggs like he was their mama duck. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him sitting on them.”
“We were sleeping in tents, working a dig outside Qantara,” M continued. “So a few days before what was supposed to be the grand unveiling of the eggs, I wake up to this absolute bellow from my dad. A jerboa—you know, those little rodents that look kind of like mice with kangaroo legs and fluffy tails?—got into them.”
“The thing that made Greg furious, and Greg is exceptionally even-tempered, was that the jerboa only took a bite or two out of each egg,” Mike told Ash. “It didn’t even—”
“Appreciate them enough to finish one,” M jumped in, snorting with laughter. “He now calls anyone he thinks is ignorant or lacking in discernment a jerboa.” Her laughter trailed off, but she still smiled. “It’s good to talk about him. After he—after I thought he died—it was just too hard, even with you,” she told Mike.
“With time you would have been ready to tell stories about him again,” Mike replied, reaching over to brush M’s hair away from her face.
Ash couldn’t take his eyes off them. Mike had worked her magic again—M was relaxed, dropping her usual wariness. And she smiled, almost constantly. “You were probably named M’s guardian, and someone from the cult of Set tampered with the papers,” he said to Mike.
“After M’s mother died, Greg and I did have a conversation about it, and, of course, I said I would take care of Memphis if anything happened to him,” Mike said. “When I found out he’d appointed other guardians, I just assumed he hadn’t ever made time to change his will.”
“Me too. I couldn’t believe he and Mom were ever friends with Bob and Liza, much less made them my guardians,” M said. “Guess I was right.”
“But they were decent to you, though, weren’t they?” Mike asked, her voice sharpening a little. “You told me they were.” She glanced at Ash. “M doesn’t always like to share how she’s feeling, even with me.”
Ash nodded. He wasn’t the type to share either.
“It was what I was stuck with,” M said. “There was no point in whining.”
“But I live to hear you whine,” Mike teased, refilling Ash’s water glass.
“They were fine. Now I know they had to be. They were protecting an asset. They just felt so conventional, not like any friends of Mom and Dad’s I ever met,” M explained. “Most of my parents’ friends are like Mike, or Joel,” she told Ash. “So I thought Bob and Liza were Mr. and Mrs. Ultra Normal. And then it turned out they’re part of a secret society that worships Set. Who’da thunk it.”
Mike was frowning. She had caught the glint of darkness in M’s eyes too. She was tense again. Ash nudged M’s knee with his. “What?”
“I’m good at reading people. I always have been. But I didn’t see them, even though I was literally under the same roof.” She dropped her spoon into the soup and pushed the bowl away. “Maybe I’ve lost my touch.”
“Or dark god worshippers are experts at being deceitful, more likely,” Mike said. Ash started, his eyes going involuntarily to her face. But she just smiled. He forced a smile in return.
It wasn’t hard for him to believe his parents acted like decent people while they lived with M. They’d always been good neighbors, friends, citizens. It was only Ash they treated like an untouchable.
“Done, M?” Mike asked, nodding toward the soup.
“I guess. It’s so good, but my stomach might burst,” M said.
“What about dessert? There’s sticky rice and oranges in syrup,” Mike offered.
M prodded her belly with two fingers. “Just not possible.”
“Ash?”
“No, thank you,” he said.
“Let’s get to work on the last signpost.” M stood up and star
ted gathering the dishes.
“No.” Mike took the dishes from M and shooed her away. “You are going to get a good night’s sleep. You too, Ash. Neither of you looks like you’ve had one in a while.”
“But—” M began to protest.
“No,” Mike cut her off. “I’ll do some work on the glyphs tonight. Tomorrow I’ll fill you in.”
“You said you had a lead on the lost piece. Where—”
“Tomorrow.” Mike’s voice was as laid-back as ever, but there was an undercurrent of steel to it. “Now go.”
M looked at Ash. “I guess we’re going.”
“Thanks for everything, Sister,” Ash said. “You’ve been extremely kind.”
“Extremely kind,” M repeated, doing a decent imitation of Ash’s accent.
“Good manners are always appreciated,” Mike said, winking at Ash. “You might want to remember that, miss.” She gave M a little push. “Go.”
M took a step toward the door, then turned around and gave Mike a hard hug. “I love you.” She said the words quietly, but Ash couldn’t help but hear.
“I love you too, Little Elephant,” Mike answered. “Get some sleep.” She opened the kitchen door that led outside, and ushered them through, shutting it firmly behind them.
“Little Elephant?” Ash asked.
“I used to hold on to the back of her skirt and walk behind her everywhere she went when I was little,” M told him as they started up the flagstone path to the cottage where they were staying.
“So you’ve known her—”
“Always,” M said. “She was there when I was born. I call her my big Sister.”
Ash laughed.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.
“No.” An old memory, old, but still fresh, slammed into him. “When I was six, I asked for a little brother, and my mother…” He had to take a breath before he could continue. “My mother said she was afraid of having another child like me.”
M fell silent, finding his hand and folding it into hers. Finally she said, “Mike would know exactly what to say, but I don’t. That’s horrible. It’s an unforgivable thing to say to a six-year-old kid. To anybody.”
Ash shrugged, trying to act as if he’d put it all behind him. “If I’d been an addict, or transgender, or disabled in some way, anything else, they would have still loved me, done anything to help me, I know that. But they couldn’t handle my power. They thought it was evil.”
Because they’d known it came from Horus, and Horus was their enemy …
“Don’t make excuses for them.” M’s voice was tight with fury. “I’m sure you were a good kid. I bet you did everything you could think of to please them. Good grades, helping out around the house, whatever. If they chose to see evil, that’s their true selves being revealed. Not yours.”
He had tried to be good, at least when he was little, before he gave up on trying to please them. But nothing he’d done had made a difference. “It’s in the past. They’re not in my life anymore.” They reached the small stone cottage and M opened the door, dropping his hand. Ash curled his fingers over his palm, wanting to keep her warmth a little longer.
“You have Philip,” M said as they went inside. “Is he your Mike?” She struck a match and lit the oil lamp on the windowsill. The convent was hundreds of years old, but they had put electricity in the main building. The cottages, though, were still stuck in the sixteenth century.
“In a way, I suppose,” Ash said. He sat in one of the rickety chairs in the common room, and M dropped down onto the floor, folding her long legs into a lotus position. “He never calls me Little Elephant. But, in his way, he’s the most important person in my life. He’s been the best teacher I ever had.”
Even to his own ears, the words sounded empty. He respected Philip. But it wasn’t love. Not like what M had with Mike. And he didn’t want to talk about the Eye. Not with her. It made him feel like he was coated with greasy sweat. He gave an elaborate stretch. “I’m knackered. I’m going to bed.”
She snorted. “Knackered? Have you been away from Philip for too long? I bet he’s posh, right? Never lets you use slang, or the wrong fork? Makes you act like a middle-aged man even though you’re only four years older than me?”
“It’s fair to say Philip would be appalled by your influence on me.” He stood. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she answered. “I think I’m going to stay up for a bit.”
He nodded and headed to the bedroom. It was really more like a closet, and the beds were two small cots. He’d heard Mike arguing quietly with M about them staying in the same room. But M had insisted it was the deal they had—so neither of them would betray the other. He cringed thinking about it, then lay down on a cot, not bothering to take off his clothes or even his shoes, and closed his eyes. Sleep. He wanted to sleep. He needed to shut his brain down.
But sleep wouldn’t come.
Instead he tried to meditate, attempting to quiet his mind, except thoughts ricocheted around loudly inside his skull. And when he tried prayer, he didn’t feel the connection to Horus he usually did.
Bits and pieces of the evening’s conversation kept bombarding him. You have Philip. Is he your Mike? I love you, Little Elephant. I call her my big Sister. She was afraid of having another child like me. They were protecting an asset. They were protecting an asset. You have Philip.
Finally, he had to admit to himself why the words kept attacking his brain. He’d lied to M, to himself. Philip wasn’t his Mike. Yes, Philip had taken him in. Yes, Philip had corrected his thinking about which god he was meant to worship—not his parents’ dark god, but the just god, Horus. Yes, Philip had reassured him he wasn’t evil, no matter what his parents had said.
But it had never been out of love. Ash was an asset to the Eye. He was an asset to Philip. Nothing more. Nothing more than what M had been to his parents. Ash was valuable to the Eye because he was a god channeler. It was the only reason Philip had sought him out. Because he had felt Ash’s power and knew where it came from. It had nothing to do with helping Ash.
Whereas Mike worried about M. She spoiled M. She listened to M. She made M feel safe. She loved her. Not something M could do, just M.
And M loved Mike. It was obvious. It was also obvious that she loved her father. It was there in the way her eyes glowed when she was telling that silly story about the eggs. It was there in the fear and desperation and fierce determination he’d seen in her from the day they met.
Ash had never loved anybody like that. He’d never been loved like that himself. He’d never thought love like that existed.
He sighed, shoving himself off the bed, and walked to the window. M was out in the courtyard, going through a series of moves with her bo staff.
At first her motions were smooth and slow, almost a dance, her body lithe and graceful, but then she launched into a series of quick, brutal strikes. Even though he couldn’t see her face, he could imagine the intensity of her expression.
When the time comes to take the pieces, I have to be fast, he thought. I can’t give her the chance to strike first. If she were to knock me out, my god-channeling ability would be for nothing.
The thought made him feel as if he’d been eating stones, his stomach heavy. Taking the Set pieces would be the end of their partnership. He’d vaguely hoped he could convince Philip to mount a rescue once the Eye possessed the pieces, but he knew it was a false hope. He’d been hiding that truth from himself as much as from M. Once the pieces were rehidden, there was no reason for the Eye to put themselves out on Dr. Engel’s behalf. Saving M’s father wouldn’t gain them anything. Philip didn’t do things because they were good, or right. He only did what was useful to the Eye.
And once the pieces were rehidden, the Set cult would decide M’s father was useless. So they would kill him.
If she loses him again, I don’t know what it’ll do to her. She’ll blame herself, and I’m not certain she can bear that. Mike’s voice pie
rced his brain, their earlier conversation replacing every other thought.
She had been right. M would blame herself for not saving her father, and it would destroy her.
He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t destroy M.
And he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t his choice. He could use his power to take the pieces from her by force. Or he could use the pieces as an asset.
He would give the pieces to Philip only after the Eye rescued Dr. Engel. Not before. That was the bargain he’d made with M, and he was going to stick to it.
If Philip couldn’t agree to those terms, he and M would come up with a new plan.
Together.
No matter what, he was standing with her. The love between M and her father was worth fighting for. And he would do whatever he could, use all the power that had been given to him, to save M’s father.
He’d worry about saving the world after that.
* * *
“Ash is still sleeping,” M said when she found Mike in the convent kitchen early the next morning.
“You should still be sleeping too.” Mike banged a glass of mango juice onto the table to register her disapproval.
“Thanks!” M said cheerfully, taking a long gulp. “I’ll sleep when I get Dad back.”
Shooting her a look, Mike sat down next to M. She pulled enlarged photos of the most recent glyphs out of a worn leather satchel, as well as a legal pad covered with notes, then pressed her hands together, resting her fingertips against her lips. Mike hesitated. “I’m concerned about the boy.”
“Because he’s part of a woo-woo Horus-worshipping cult?” M teased.
“Is that what you think of it?” Mike asked, her tone serious.
M shook her head. “It’s what I thought at first. I guess I still want to think of it that way, because the truth freaks me the hell out.” She wiped a drop of condensation off the side of her glass. “I told you about the crocodiles. But do you know how we got these pictures from the Buddha’s mouth? Ash commanded the statue to speak, and it did.”
She saw her own shock reflected in Mike’s expression.
I Do Not Trust You Page 21
