Echo Prophecy

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “NO!” Set screamed. “You little bitch! How dare you! Traitorous … ungrateful whore! That’s mine!” Before I knew what was happening, he raised his left hand, which had drooped, and shot Marcus directly between the eyes.

  It was my turn to scream. But I didn’t. I just stood, numb with shock, as Marcus’s body went limp and crumpled to the floor. Far slower than I expected, his blood spilled out and pooled on the polished limestone, glossy and thick.

  But Nuin said … Nuin said … Nuin told me to give it to Marcus …

  Marcus can’t be … Marcus isn’t … how can he be … dead?

  “Now it’s mine,” Set’s poisonous voice broke through my shock.

  Marcus is dead?

  I watched Set stroll over to Marcus’s limp body and exchange one of his guns for the shining amulet, plucking it from Marcus’s limp hand. His face turned rapturous as the other half of Nuin’s power oozed into him—the male half.

  Marcus is dead.

  Screaming, I launched myself at my father. My rage and sorrow were so great that I no longer had room for anything else. I had one purpose—to destroy him.

  He didn’t see me coming. He couldn’t see me coming. One second, I was standing next to the chest, screaming. In the same second, at the exact same moment, I was in front of him tearing the remaining pistol from his grasp. It was impossible, how I’d moved, but it didn’t matter, not when I carried Nuin’s power in my body. Tendrils of the fabric of the At swirled around me like smoke, a part of me.

  “How—?”

  Set didn’t have time to finish the question. I shoved his gun against the side of his head and pulled the trigger. I didn’t even watch him fall, I just yanked the amulet from his hand and turned.

  Suddenly, in another flash of rainbow smoke, I was kneeling beside Marcus. I’d moved too fast again, going directly from one place to another, completely skipping everything in between.

  Marcus … my Marcus … he can’t be dead!

  Keening, I rocked beside his body. I felt hollow. Numb. Wrong. Broken. It was familiar. I’d done this thousands of times before. But he wouldn’t come back this time. No other version of Marcus would suddenly appear. Marcus was gone.

  I won’t let him be dead!

  I needed him. I couldn’t live without him. My body would literally die, deprived of his bonding pheromone. But beyond that, I didn’t want to live without him. The sorrow was too much. I was drowning in the missing. Death would be a relief. I would prefer death.

  Staring at his body, hearing my moaning wail, I realized I was wrong. I would prefer life with Marcus to death without him. I had to do something else. I had to do something. Lucky for me, I could do something else.

  I screamed.

  Like ripples on the surface of a pond, time wavered around me, and stilled.

  I screamed again.

  Everything shivered. Slowly, in flashes, the scene changed. The people around me acted out the past thirty seconds in reverse. They were jerky, like the unnatural movements of a reanimated corpse.

  Set stood. Marcus is still dead.

  Set replaced the amulet in Marcus’s hand. Marcus is still dead.

  Marcus regained his feet, his face surprised as he stared at the amulet in his hand. Marcus is alive!

  That was when things had been going well. That was the perfect moment.

  With a shiver, time halted again. I spared a moment to stare at Marcus, to watch his features once again alight with life, before dealing with the pressing issue—Set’s pistols.

  I had to do it right. I didn’t know how I was controlling the power, or if I could even do it again. If I only had one chance, I couldn’t waste it.

  Tentatively, I approached Set’s immobile form. His arms had drooped from their earlier positions when he thought I was tossing him the ankh-At; one pistol was at his side, the other aimed at the floor in front of him. Trying to remove the weapons was futile. They were locked in his time-frozen grasp. Attempting to shove Marcus out of the bullet’s future trajectory proved equally impossible.

  I glanced back at myself—or where I should have been, behind the shrine—and was momentarily stunned. I was gone. Had I displaced myself in the timeline? Could only one of me occupy a specific time at once? But then, amidst the confounding thoughts, an idea flickered into existence.

  Once time restarted, everyone would expect me to be there, by the shrine. Exactly as I had been after I’d tossed the amulet to Marcus. But, if I stood in front of Set and knocked the gun out of his hand before he processed my change in position, I might be able to save Marcus … to change the future.

  Standing in front of my father, I wrapped my hands around his wrist and pushed down.

  When I released my hold on time, the world resumed. Set was definitely surprised. His hand only raised partially. Unfortunately, he still pulled the trigger; he just didn’t shoot Marcus in the head.

  The crack of the gun firing shocked me so much that I barely felt it … at first. I took a single breath, and let it out with a horrible wail as lightning bolts of pain shot through my abdomen.

  “Lex!” Marcus shouted, lunging toward us in time to catch me on my way to the polished limestone floor.

  “I’ll take that,” Set said, but I couldn’t spare a thought to figure out what the hell he was talking about. Marcus had torn off his shirt and was holding it against my stomach, making the pain more intense. Around us, the domed chamber was full of harsh voices and rushing bodies. People were fighting and shouting out in pain.

  “LET’S GO!” Set yelled. “Jenny, come!”

  “No!” my sister shouted. “Fuck you, you bastard! Lex!”

  “Jenny,” I gasped between clenched teeth. I refused to look at my middle, which felt like it was on fire. I couldn’t let Set steal my sister again.

  “Shhh …” Marcus murmured, hovering over me.

  I heard Set mutter, “Not worth the trouble,” then shout, “Move, you imbeciles!” just before Jenny scooted to my side.

  “Oh God, Lex!” my sister exclaimed, touching my face and leaning close. She looked up at Marcus. “Is she going to be okay?”

  A soft clink barely registered as I stared into Jenny’s frightened eyes. The second clink caught my attention enough to draw my eyes away. As my gaze flitted around the huge chamber, I noticed little pieces of the dome’s beautiful decoration raining to the floor. They were followed by larger pieces of what looked like very ancient, very hard plaster. The shouting and gunshots had disrupted the stability of the dome.

  “Marcus,” I rasped, but he didn’t turn his attention to me. He was watching something I couldn’t see. “Marcus!” That time, he did look. “We need to leave. Now.” A large, heavy-sounding chunk crashed on the floor a few feet away, spraying the three of us with dust and debris. Marcus got the point.

  He scooped me up and shouted, “Dom, get the others out of here! This place is coming down!” Without looking back to make sure his order was followed, Marcus sprinted out of the chamber and along the curving, ankh-shaped passageway. He didn’t stop when we made it to the chapel.

  The ground trembled with what I assumed was the collapse of the entire dome. Whatever Senenmut had used in his grand creation had been pretty damn heavy.

  Marcus and I made it out into the evening air only seconds before the rest of our crew, and they were followed closely by a groaning rumble and a thick poof of dust.

  “Dom, Alex—check if Vali and the others are alive and bring them back to camp. Neffe, come with me,” Marcus ordered before he started jogging, me still cradled in his arms.

  I was woozy and in a whole lot of pain. “Where’s the amulet?” I managed to ask between shallow breaths. “Did you bring it out?”

  “No,” Marcus said. “Set took it.”

  Crap! “Was it still glowing when he took it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the power … some of it went into you, didn’t it?” I asked.

  “I think so.”

  Flood
ed with relief, I passed out.

  PART FOUR

  Council Headquarters

  Florence, Italy

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Introductions & Celebrations

  Turning my head on a pillow, I groaned. My skull felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy—the kind that’s a fluffy swirl of pink and blue with hard little chunks of sugar that didn’t quite make it all the way to the ‘cotton’ stage. Because of the cottony confection seemingly filling my head, it took me several long moments to realize my abdomen didn’t hurt at all. God I love regeneration, I thought lazily.

  Cracking one eyelid open, I peeked at my surroundings. Everything in the room was gilded or flowery or carved in an extravagant manner. And, everything was compact. It was like the maker of each piece of furniture had been trying to make up for its petite size by adding an overabundance of decoration.

  I rolled over, half-expecting to find Marcus asleep beside me. I was more than a little disappointed to find the other side of the bed empty and tidily made. Where’s Marcus? Where am I?

  Sitting up, I shook my head to clear the webs of cotton candy. I twisted, dangling my legs over the side of the bed so the balls of my feet brushed a soft, crimson and gold Persian rug. I slipped my bare feet into grey, velvety slippers and found a floor-length silk robe draped over a chair by the window. It was a monochromatic crimson so deep it almost looked purple. As I donned and tied the robe over a long, black satin nightgown that most certainly did not belong to me, I peered through a crack in the gold brocade curtains. The view gave no hint as to my current whereabouts. I was looking down upon a beautifully manicured garden that could’ve been in upstate New York just as easily as in England or France. Of one thing I was certain—I was not in Egypt.

  Walking around the room, I searched for hotel stationary or any other sign of my current location. There was nothing. I would have started panicking, but I saw several of Marcus’s elegant suitcases in the corner on the opposite side of the bed. Marcus is with me. Marcus is safe.

  Marcus is alive.

  Stop it! It never happened! I shook my head, forcing away the images of Marcus, the real Marcus, dead with a bloody hole in his head. I buried them in an imaginary titanium time capsule in my head, along with the memory of shooting my father, which also hadn’t happened, at least not in this timeline. No, not my father—Set.

  With a deep breath, I forced a smile and opened the bedroom door. My lips pursed when I heard the sound of cheerful voices drifting down a long, dimly lit hallway. The voices carried with them the sound of clinking dishes, silverware, and glasses, along with the most delicious smells. Basil and oregano mixed with tomatoes, bread, and cheeses in an unmistakable blend—Italian food! Am I in Italy?

  My stomach growled loudly, pulling me down the lavishly decorated hallway toward a curving stairwell and the promise of food. My robe was several inches too long, pooling on the floor when I paused and fluttering around my feet when I walked. I felt elegant in it, almost like a noble woman in a medieval King’s court.

  All thoughts of clothes and anything else disappeared when I heard his voice: “—hope that it’s all over. And if it’s not, we will hunt him down until it is.”

  Marcus. Alive.

  Soft cheers rose and glasses clinked and people laughed as I started down the stairs. When I reached the bottom, I froze.

  Due to the curvature to stairway, the view through the wide doorway leading into the dining room had been hidden. In fact, it wasn’t a dining room at all, but an enormous banquet hall filled with long, extravagantly set tables seating several hundred people. Based on the diners’ sleek beauty, it looked like they were all Nejerets. They were also all suddenly staring at me. I recognized almost nobody in the crowd.

  “Hi?” I croaked, coloring as I realized I was wearing nothing but a nightgown, robe, and slippers while they were all dressed in evening finery.

  At the far end of the room a man stood from what was undoubtedly the head table. It took me only a moment to recognize him as Marcus. But it was a Marcus I had never seen, wearing a pale gray tuxedo of the finest cut and emitting an air of irrefutable authority.

  He rounded his long table and slowly strode between the others like a jungle cat. His keen eyes were locked on me, glinting slyly to match his quirked mouth, and he walked with undeniable confidence. He drew most of the attention away from me—not a single woman was glancing my way by the time he reached the center of the room.

  I was starting to wonder if Marcus purposely toned down his charisma when he was around me, so I wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. At the moment, he wasn’t putting an ounce of effort in that direction.

  Crap—did the regeneration make me look sickly again? I ran fingers through my hair, wishing I’d at least put it in a ponytail before leaving the room, but resigned to let it hang in loose, tangled waves.

  With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, Marcus reached me. He walked a slow circle around me, examining my every inch. Pausing with his back to the crowd, he murmured, “In that delectably thin robe and with bed-mussed hair, you put the rest of these Nejerettes to shame, Little Ivanov. I’m of half a mind to take you back upstairs and act out some of the very inappropriate things I’m imagining … but I’ll save that for later.” He smirked wickedly and raised a single eyebrow. “Are you ready to meet your admirers?”

  Based on the catty glares being thrown in my direction by most of the women, I thought ‘admirers’ was a gross overstatement of the crowd’s opinion of me.

  “Now?” I whispered, fully aware that every single person was staring at us and that bailing was pretty much useless.

  Marcus’s smirk widened into a grin.

  “Okay, I guess,” I said, unsure.

  He took a step closer and leaned in. I thought he was going to kiss me, there, in front of everyone. He didn’t. Instead, he veered to the left, finding my ear. “Do you feel alright? I can have food sent up to the room if you don’t feel up to this. You’ve only been out for eight or nine hours … we didn’t expect you up yet.”

  I shivered at feeling his breath rustle my hair. “I’m fine,” I whispered.

  “Good,” he said, pulling away. To my surprise, he did pause to lightly brush his lips against mine, chuckling when he heard me squeak.

  The room was filled with a hushed murmur as he pulled away. Men and women alike were whispering to each other behind their hands. Apparently, claiming and bonding in a small camp was one thing, but such a small public display of affection before a formal assembly of Nejerets was another.

  Marcus took my arm, placing my hand on his forearm, and presented me to the room. Staring out at the vast array of exquisitely dressed, gorgeous people, I felt completely inadequate.

  “May I present to you all the Meswett, Alexandra Ivanov, great-granddaughter of Ivan and daughter of Set,” he boomed.

  I half-expected the crowd to explode into applause and cheers, though for what, I don’t know. It didn’t. It was so quiet, I was pretty sure every person could hear my stomach growling as Marcus led me down the center of the room toward the head table. We took the same path he had used in his approach, and by the time we reached the table, an additional, intricate place setting had been laid out between Marcus and Neffe’s plates.

  Sitting in the chair Marcus pulled out for me, I tried to ignore the scrutinizing eyes prodding me from every direction. I made a valiant attempt to focus on Neffe’s words as she explained that I’d only missed the first course and that my hair didn’t really look too bad and that the regeneration hadn’t made me look too sick and that my sister was fine—resting upstairs—but my stupid Nejerette hearing perked up as various women throughout the hall made audible judgments.

  “She’s pretty enough, I guess, but she still looks human-ish.”

  “Did you see her eyes? Blood-red is fitting for one of Set’s line.”

  “It’s just her ancestors that make her the Meswett—I’m sure there’s actually nothing special about her.”
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  “Wasn’t she just shot in the in the stomach this morning? That’s pretty quick to be completely healed, and she doesn’t really look like she just regenerated.”

  “Poor Heru, having to train such a child in the delicate arts,” said a husky French voice. “When I was with him, I always gave him something new and exciting. Whatever he wanted, I did, along with some things he didn’t know he wanted until I did them to him. He will never be satisfied with a girl like her. Eventually, he will come back to my bed.” She laughed suggestively, and I found her in the crowd, staring at Marcus with so much heat it looked like she was trying to set him aflame with her eyes alone.

  Marcus, I discovered irately, was returning the stare. Albeit, devoid of the excessive lust hers held, but still …

  My blood boiled. Who was this woman to declare such a thing loud enough for the large gathering of Nejerets to hear every word? How dare she! I ought to—

  Without warning, I winked out of time and space in a swirl of smoky colors and reappeared before the spiteful hussy. Shouts of surprise and gasps followed my abrupt change of position.

  While tendrils of At were still floating around me, making me look like some sort of furious rainbow fairy, I slammed my hands on the pale yellow tablecloth in front of the woman and hissed, “Listen up, you French whore. You may have been with him in the past, and you may have had to practice bedroom Olympics because without amazing feats of wonder, being with you is just too damn boring.” Taking in her beautiful, silver-blonde hair, pale blue eyes, and creamy skin, I sneered. “But that’s the thing with bonding … with me. Just the touch of my fingertips on his skin is better than anything you might have done to him. You’re a forgotten memory.” I licked my lips and added, “Enjoy your dinner.”

  Straightening, I tried to flash back to my seat at the head table. Nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing happened, again.

  So, I smiled at the people sitting on either side of the scandalized French Nejerette and turned to glide back up to my table. I was more than a little relieved to find Dominic approaching, several paces away.