by Ursula Bauer
She frowned slightly and chewed on her bottom lip. He found the action completely fascinating and when she spoke it caught him by surprise. “Good and evil fighting? Does the good and evil have names? Anyone I know?”
There was the faintest tone of sarcasm. Better than hysteria, he reasoned. “Good and evil have many names. Take many forms.”
“Sounds very biblical.”
“Every religion and culture has their operating manual.”
She toyed with the bottle, her hands steadying at last. “And you work for good?”
“I work for justice. And, I work for balance.”
“You’ll forgive me if it all seems a little esoteric.” She cocked her head slightly to one side and gave him a long, narrow-eyed stare. “I’m between good and evil?”
“You’re in the middle of a fight for control of the balance between good and evil.”
“How will I affect this balance?” She sipped her drink. The droplets of spring water moistened her lips and when the tip of her pink tongue darted out to trace her top lip, Gideon couldn’t suppress his groan, or stop the lightning fast rush of desire that stiffened his cock. He stood and turned his back to her, seeking composure that wouldn’t come.
“How you affect the balance remains to be seen. I need some information from you.” Gideon forced his libido down like a misbehaving dog. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t a kid. He was over eight hundred years old for that matter. He mustered some self-control and turned back to face the red-headed siren. “Once I have some answers I’ll have a better idea of what role you play in this game.”
“Game?” She laughed lightly and shook her head. Some more silken curls slipped loose from the clip. “That’s a nice, anesthetized term.”
He longed to take the clip from her hair, to bury his hands deep into the curls. “It’s the truth.”
“The truth? Why do I get the feeling, Mr. Sinclair, you’re telling me a highly edited version of the truth?”
Damn. Beautiful and smart. Just his luck. “Call me Gideon. Mr. Sinclair makes me feel old.”
He took a swallow of lager and leaned against the ancient dresser. The best defense was a good offense. Time to take point and draw fire. “Have you come into contact with any Egyptian artifacts recently?”
The question caught her off-guard. She sat back in the chair, her look first surprised, then pensive. She licked her lips again. The soft knit fabric of her sweater pulled taut over her breasts as she took a deep breath and released it. Desire thickened his blood.
Meg swept the wild curls from her eyes. “I went to the Met two months ago, down in the city. Is that considered contact?”
So far so good. Maybe he grabbed her early enough. “This would be more hands on. It would have been a canopic jar, or a piece of jewelry resembling an ornate, woven metallic belt.”
At the mention of the jar she went very still. His spirits crashed. He was too late. “What is it, Doc. What did you touch?”
“It wasn’t an actual artifact.” Her hands started to shake again. She put down the bottle of water, laced her fingers together, and folded her hands in her lap. “Dr. Liebers, the other pediatric oncologist at the clinic, ordered a gag gift from a company that makes the stage props and historical reproductions. He sent for a trocar and a few funerary implements to give the county coroner for his birthday.”
“What other implements?” If she had contact with the artifact already it would speak to motive for the attack in the parking lot. His brain raced over possible next steps. He didn’t want any of them to be completion of protocol. Gods, he hoped he had a choice. “Be specific, this is important.”
“The company made a mistake and sent a canopic jar instead of the trocar.” She frowned and looked up at him, guilt and fear clouding her eyes. “But it wasn’t real.”
Gideon put down the beer, retrieved his cell, and pulled up the pictures of the artifact. Okay, so maybe she touched it. That didn’t mean she’d changed the timeline yet. He showed her the screen as he flashed through the photos. “Did the jar look similar to this one?”
He didn’t need her to answer. Her face paled and she chewed on her bottom lip. She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Where did you get those pictures? What is that jar? Why’s it so important? It’s a fake.”
“The jar is real. It was one of five stolen from the newest dig at the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings in Egypt.” He snapped the cell shut and shoved it into his pocket. She saw it, she touched it, that didn’t mean she got her hands on the real deal inside: the woven silver belt known as the Buckle of Isis. According to his briefing materials, her contact with the Buckle of Isis was the driving event and the point where the timeline’s negative convergence could be countered. Then again, all his info could be wrong if a mystic was compromised. Damn. The rock and the hard place. No worse spot to be stuck. “Did you see what was inside? Handle the contents in any way?”
“No. The jar was sealed tight. We passed it around for luck, rubbed it like you would a Buddha’s belly. Everyone in the office had a good laugh. That’s all. I swear.”
Gideon released the breath he was holding. “That’s good, Doc. One more thing in our favor.”
“How is my touching something going to affect the balance between good and evil? It seems so random.”
“Many things that look random are actually a result of fate, destiny, or outright interference.”
“You make it sound as if there’s a master plan being followed.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Though untutored to the fine points of the game, Meg’s comment was dead on. “Unfortunately, there are so many master plans being followed that the fate of the mortal world is always at risk during any given moment in time.”
She smiled back at him, a small, wry twist of her luscious lips that made him hot all over. “The mortal world? So your kind protects my kind?”
“Something like that.”
“How’d you become immortal?”
If she knew the real details she’d run screaming from him and never look back. “I did a favor for a Goddess, then I died. She offered me a job. Here I am.”
“Goddess?” She furrowed her brow. “Well, I guess if you’re going to be immortal, the old-fashioned gift from the Gods is as good as any way to get there. Of course, I imagined a fountain of youth, or some kind of vampire thing. More romantic.”
“There’s nothing romantic about vampires. They’re soulless parasites, most of them.”
“Don’t tell me vampires exist.”
“Okay, I won’t. But me not telling you doesn’t change the fact.” He could watch her for hours and never get tired. The woman who’d first seemed so plain in pictures was as seductive to him as a flame to a moth. What was it about this mortal? Why did she capture him so? And why did she threaten what he held so tight inside of him, those ghosts, the dead of his past? She didn’t look like anyone he knew from his once mortal existence, and yet every moment he spent in her presence was another moment those ghosts gathered strength and pushed hard against his fortified walls. “You don’t believe a Goddess would grant me immortality?”
She shrugged and her breasts moved in a languid, entrancing way. “No.”
Gideon swallowed hard. “But you believe I’m immortal.”
“I can’t disprove it at the moment.”
Ever the scientist. He only needed some more information, then he could lock her away at the safe house in Rouses Point and get on with this job. “Where’s the jar now, Doc? I need to get it, and I need to get you to a safer place.”
“Dr. Liebers still has it. The coroner’s birthday is at the end of June.”
“Call Liebers. Arrange a meeting tomorrow.”
“It’s after midnight. Are you crazy? No, wait, don’t answer that. He’s covering for me on my day off. He’ll be in the office tomorrow at nine sharp. I can stop in and ask him about the jar. Then you can be on your way. Will that work for you?”
“Only if I go with yo
u. I’m not sure I can trust you. I don’t think you really get it yet. You can’t go back to work, Doc. Can’t go back to your old life. Not until this business is concluded, not until I’ve figure out who was trying to snatch you in that parking lot, and not until I’m sure that everything’s nice and neat.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with fury. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m going to stick you in a safe house. It’s a farm run by a Wiccan priestess. It’s on consecrated, protected ground. Nothing can touch you while you’re there.”
She jumped to her feet and stormed over to him, standing toe to toe. “I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but I’m a real doctor. Not a PhD. An MD. I don’t only do research, I still have an active practice with live patients who need me to be there for them. I can’t just run off and hide.”
Gideon forced himself not to smile at her uproar. He’d pegged her right. Meg Carter was a fighter. She looked ready to take his head clean off. Her sultry heat washed over him in waves, despite the chill of the air conditioning cranked at full blast. He had to grab his beer with both hands to keep from reaching out and pulling Meg hard against him. She stirred the most primal of urges inside him in a way they’d not been touched since he was mortal. The effect was both terrifying and intoxicating. “What do you think those things in the parking lot were? Boy Scouts?”
“I can’t explain what they were.”
“I can. The greyish, yellow-skinned things were a species called Ash demons. The ones we fought were foot soldiers. They run in mercenary teams and sell out to high powered mages to do all kinds of nasty, evil things. They have a leader called a Keeper. He’s ten times as tough as any of his soldiers. I didn’t see him, but he’ll be around soon with reinforcements, since the first wave of his boys failed to do their job.”
“Demons?” She appeared confused. “No.”
“Yes.” He stood, set down the beer, and took a step closer. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe, never let her go. He needed to get through her thick, scientist skull she was not only in danger, but a danger to everyone around her. “The other things were zombies. Again, servants of a powerful master. All of them out for you, Doc. They’ll kill anything that gets in their way, and trust me, whoever this guy is that wants you, he’ll send more. The Ash tend to travel in packs of twelve, and I only dusted three. You do the math. You want to help your patients? Your coworkers? Steer clear of them until I fix this mess.”
She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes misty, innocent, entrancing. “Why, Gideon. Why do they want me?”
He savored his name spoken by her. He brushed a stray curl back behind her delicate, shell shaped ear. The strand was gossamer soft and burned him like a brand.
“I don’t know.” It was only half a lie, making it half the truth. “But I’ll find out. And when I do, I’ll put an end to it all. I swear this to you, Meg. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Did your Goddess send you to me?”
“She sent me.” Another half truth.
She drew a ragged breath, and suddenly the stress and strain of the night showed. “Who is this Goddess, and why would she send you to me?”
Finally, something he could answer with complete honesty. He reached out for her, touching her shoulders lightly. She was so delicate, so feminine. The urge to protect Meg was as strong as the desire to possess her. “Her name is Bastet.”
“The Egyptian Goddess of justice.”
“And the patron of women and children. I’m her champion, Doc. I fight for justice, that’s why she sent me.”
“Justice wouldn’t involve stopping me from my work, taking me from my life. I help children, I fight death. Don’t lock me away. I’m needed.”
“It won’t be forever.”
She pushed the hair from her face with a quick, impatient gesture. “How long?”
“One week. Maybe two.”
His words renewed her ire. She pulled out of his grasp and planted her hands firmly on her shapely hips. “Two weeks? Not only do I have patients, but I’m scheduled to meet with a pharmaceutical company. The clinic is in the top three choices for staging a very important drug trial. Without me…”
“They’ll survive.”
Her shoulders slumped, and he felt like a total heel. Next he’d be kicking puppies. “It won’t be easy, I’m sure,” he added as consolation. “Maybe I’ll get this taken care of sooner. If I can get the artifact, who knows?”
“What is the connection between me and that jar?” She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t get it. I don’t get any of this. How can a jar affect the balance of the universe?”
How much could he really tell her? How much should he tell her, about the timelines, the preservation effort, the games the Gods played. The convergences that hinted at the end of time, or worse. “The details don’t matter. All that matters is you don’t touch it, and lay low until the solstice passes.”
She digested the information but she didn’t back down. “But I touched it, Gideon. I told you I touched it.”
“Did anything happen?”
Again, that dainty shrug.
He watched the rise and fall of her breasts and wished not for the first time he were mortal, a man who could meet her in her world, a man who could share a kiss, a touch, a normal life.
“You touched it, but not what’s inside. Nothing happened, which means you’re safe.” He hoped. He wasn’t exactly sure, and if the mystics were wrong as he suspected, it was really anyone’s guess as to how her connection or lack there of with the artifact would affect the timeline convergence.
Meg looked to him for answers, salvation, and he was fresh out of both. “You’re tired. Stressed. Have something to eat. Try to relax.”
She frowned and turned away from him. She paced to the far end of the room and stood by the small, beat-up desk in the shadows just beyond the pool of yellow light cast off from a cheap, dome-shaped overhead light. The unit was small, cramped, outdated. She looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “I’ve been attacked, kidnapped, held hostage in the worst decorating of the nineteen seventies, told all kinds of insane things, and you want me to eat pizza? Don’t mind if I take a pass.”
She appeared smaller, tired, like an elfin child abandoned in a strange place, with no hope of finding her way home. He would have given anything at that moment to change what happened, to change fate. “If you’re not going to eat, then get some sleep. We need to leave early to be back in Troy by nine in the morning. It’s already past midnight.”
Meg wrapped her arms around herself, and shivered. “I’m scared, Gideon. Of you, of all you’ve told me. How am I supposed to sleep?”
“Lie down, Meg. You’re exhausted.”
She looked behind him at the bed, then back at him. “What about you?”
“I’m going to stay up a while. Eat. Think. Keep an eye out.” He turned the dimmer switch, lowering the overhead light until it was nothing but a dull glow. Then he moved the chair and pizza, and took up guard by the door. “Go ahead. Clean up and get some shuteye. You’re safe with me.”
Meg took him up on the suggestion, and after a few minutes fussing in the bathroom, climbed onto the bed where she lay ramrod straight, staring at the ceiling. He moved the orange curtains enough that he could see the outside from his angle, but not be visible. As he sat, he ate and tried not to think about the captivating female in the bed. Time passed, and soon he heard the even, deep breaths of sleep. Despite the tension, she’d managed to drift off.
Gideon breathed in her unique scent and it played havoc with his self control. He couldn’t recall a time in any of his centuries, mortal or immortal, when a woman had affect him so strongly in so short a time. Meg Carter was dangerous. She was a threat to his clear thinking. He couldn’t dispose of her, not yet, nor did he want to. He figured at best he had another twenty-four hours in her company before he could dump her at the safe house.
; He recalled the velvet feel of her skin, the sensuous texture of her lips, and he recalled his body’s reaction to hers the instant she pressed against him in the heat of battle. Gideon had never lacked for female company. He’d never lived a monk’s life like some of the other soldiers and players in the game. But he’d been careful and he had the added advantage of a heart that was less than whole. He remembered his ordeal, the trial of the Forty-Two Assessors when he died down in the sands just outside of Cairo so many, many years ago. They weighed his heart, those Egyptian Gods, because no other Gods came to claim him, because in life he’d denounced any faith in anything other than his sword and his lust for vengeance and battle. That heart came up wanting.
A man who could not be manipulated by the emotions lodged in the heart, a man free from the complications of love and jealousy, was a rare prize. A man who was not beholden to any other Gods, a seasoned warrior not afraid to fight, was even rarer still. He was that man, and he was the right man for the job Bast had vacant. If it weren’t for her, his wanting heart would have been devoured by the alligator-headed Goddess, and any hopes of afterlife, eternal rest, heaven, hell, or reincarnation, would have vanished. His existence would be nullified, his consciousness shredded, his body and blood an eternal feast for Sokar, the darkest Goddess of the Dead the Egyptians had to offer. So he counted himself lucky that sometimes, a wanting heart could be a valuable asset and that a mindless favor done to a four-legged creature would save him from an eternal nightmare.
It never mattered to him, not having a whole heart. Hell, it explained so much of his past in his mortal life and many of his mistakes. As he listened to the soft breathing of Meg Carter, as he watched her shadow, inhaled her scent, felt her essence in his blood, Gideon clung to that fact as a drowning man held fast to anything that would keep him afloat. Meg hit him on a far more visceral level. Hormones. Her presence stirred his hormones, stirred them hard into overload. No more. No less. She couldn’t touch him any deeper, for there wasn’t anything to touch. He was safe. And so was she.
