by Zoe Ashwood
And despite everything, sleep drags me under as I listen to Nora’s quiet, rhythmic breaths.
Thirteen
Nora
Someone is trying to break into our apartment.
I sit upright in bed, gasping. The sheets slip down, and I realize I’m naked from the waist up. Um, scratch that, I’m completely naked, lying in a bed that’s not my own.
I flinch at a sharp knock and look over to find Levi in the bed next to me. He’s stirring, his eyes still closed, and I’ve never seen him this soft, this relaxed, despite having shared rooms with him before.
Wrapping a sheet around myself, I rise from the bed and hurry over to the door. I don’t want to wake Levi just yet, not before I’ve brushed my teeth, and whoever has come to wake us will have to—
I crack the door open and find myself face to face with an impeccably dressed Raphaël. His gaze slides from my probably disheveled hair down to where I’m clutching the sheet to my chest, and his hazel eyes darken as he draws his conclusions.
“It’s nearly eight,” he barks. “We need to get going.”
With that, he turns on his heel and strides away, and I’m left gaping after him like a fish.
Shutting the door, I push my tangled hair back from my face, and my fingers get stuck in a snarl. Ugh. I must have fallen asleep last night before even taking the time to brush my hair.
Which also means…
I slowly face the bed, where a sleepy-eyed Levi is now sitting up, rubbing his face with his palms.
Oh, crap.
“Morning,” he mumbles and yawns, covering his mouth with his hand. “Who was that?”
“Raphaël,” I squeak. “He says we should get going. Do you want breakfast? I’m hungry. I think I’ll take something to go, though, because we don’t want to keep Raphaël waiting…”
I babble nervously but stop at the look on Levi’s face. He arches one dark eyebrow, and his lips curl into an amused smile.
I stop, groaning. “I’m so sorry for last night.” The sheet trails after me as I walk over to the bed and sit next to him. “I didn’t plan on falling asleep before we…”
He gently takes my chin, and before I can complain about morning breath, he kisses me. His lips are warm and now familiar, but the kick of desire and this weird tenderness in my stomach is entirely new, at least when it comes to Levi. He lingers for a moment, and I press my lips harder against his, returning the kiss.
Then he pulls back and offers me a devastating, happy grin. “No rush. But don’t make any plans for tonight.”
He gives me a quick peck to my cheek, then disappears into the bathroom, leaving me to process this mess of emotions on my own.
What I want to do is crawl back under the covers and remain there for the rest of the day. But I have a competition to win, and since Raphaël literally put his entire life on hold to accompany us to Egypt, this isn’t an option. Groaning, I kick my butt into gear and put on my linen pants and a long-sleeved white button-down shirt that covers me sufficiently. I don’t want to get sunburned on my first day in the desert, and neither do I want to stand out as someone who doesn’t know the culture.
Ten minutes later, Levi and I leave the room, each carrying a takeout cup of tea and breakfast muffins brought by the room service. Raphaël waits for us in the lobby, his expression carefully blank. I didn’t want to flaunt my relationship with Levi in his face, but I don’t feel like hiding what Levi and I have. We’ll just have to play it by ear and see what happens.
Keep it professional, Moss.
“Thanks for waiting for us,” I say in greeting. “What’s our plan?”
Last night, while driving in the taxi from the airport to the city, we quietly explained to Raphaël the details of the competition. He’d taken my hand and stared at the coordinates brand, then shook his head and muttered something about crazy witches.
Which…is fair. No sane person would do something like this, but that’s completely beside the point. We’re here now.
“I checked the coordinates you were given,” he says, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop. “You were right, they’re in the middle of nowhere. No known archeological sites were discovered there, and no roads lead to that particular valley.”
That’s unsurprising given our own research, but still unwelcome news. “So we have no idea where we’re going.”
He grimaces. “We’re going to need a good car and enough supplies to last you several days in the desert.”
Levi leans closer at that. “What do you mean, last us several days? What will you eat?”
Raphaël’s answering smile is all teeth. “Don’t worry about me.”
For a flickering moment, he glances at my neck, but he composes himself so quickly, I’m almost sure I imagined it. I really want to know more, but if he’s not comfortable with sharing, I won’t push. I’m trying to remember if he ever ate human food when we were together. We’d spent most of our dates at his apartment on campus.
My face flames at the memory of those hot nights, and I stamp down on my emotions. We’re here for a magical token buried gods know where, not for a trip down memory lane.
Slapping on a professional smile, I ask, “Do you know where we’ll get everything we need?”
Raphaël’s expression turns wistful. “Yes. I do.”
Fourteen
Nora
The old Cairo city center is bustling with activity. Traffic jams clog the streets, hundreds of motorbikes zoom around cars, and even at this early hour, the sun glares down on the dry, parched streets. The farther we go from the Nile, the fewer the trees, and patches of dried-out grass replace the beautifully manicured lawns we saw around our hotel.
“This is why I wanted an early start,” Raphaël shouts as a bus roars past us down a busy thoroughfare lined with fashionable shops. “It gets unbearable later on.”
“How can you even go out in sunlight?” Levi yells back.
I glance at him in alarm, but we’re surrounded by so many people chatting, making phone calls, and being busy that no one is paying us any attention.
Raphaël turns to us for long enough to roll his eyes. “Myth!” he calls.
I stifle a grin and follow, tugging Levi along before he can ask any more inappropriate questions.
We make turn after turn, and I lose track of our path after a while, so I flick on my phone and have the navigation app tell me where we are in regards to the hotel. The last thing I want is to get lost in a city I don’t know.
The streets get narrower the closer we get to the Khan el-Khalili bazaar. The navigation app points it out as a popular spot in the city, so I guess that’s where we’re going. Not that Raphaël is sharing his thoughts with us. He’s hurrying on, occasionally throwing a glance over his shoulder to see if we’re following.
The shops get more and more packed—and smaller and more colorful, too. Tourists wander around in groups, families with little blond children standing out from the crowd, and we weave in and around them, murmuring apologies.
Raphaël finally stops in front of a wide, ornate stone arch, an entrance to the covered part of the bazaar. “I used to come here with my mother,” he says quietly, and somehow his voice carries despite the controlled chaos around us. “She loved it here.”
It’s the first bit of his history that he’s shared willingly, so I take it as the gift that it is. Levi, for once, is silent next to me, staring up at the carved sandstone patterns.
“What was she like?” I ask.
Raphaël shoots me a quick smile. “Short. She was a tiny woman. Kind. But fierce.” He shakes his head, then motions us inside. “Come on, we’re nearly there.”
After the bright sunshine, the covered bazaar seems dark at first, but then my eyes adjust, and I find myself staring at hundreds of stars—no, they’re lanterns made of hammered copper and stained glass, hung in big clusters and lit up from within.
It’s a magical sight, and though I know it’s
here to impress every tourist who wanders in, I can’t help but gasp in delight.
“When we’re done with this competition,” I say to Levi, “we’re returning here.”
He smirks. “I thought we were going to Paris.”
“Yeah, that, too. Maybe we’ll just repeat the entire journey, but with no pressure.”
He looks down at me with bright eyes. “Sounds great.”
We hurry after Raphaël just in time to see him enter a coffee shop that sits nestled between a spice merchant’s display and a shop selling beautiful woven rugs. Levi motions for me to stand aside and walks in first, as though expecting an attack.
The scene that greets us is much less dramatic. Raphaël is hugging an elderly man who clings to him in turn, his gnarled brown hands patting Raphaël’s back. When they break apart, the man wipes his eyes with his knuckles. Their rapid Arabic is completely incomprehensible to me, but their grins tell me they’re friends.
After a moment, Raphaël turns to us, motioning us closer. “This is Gamal Mansour, an old friend. And this is Nora and Levi. We’re here because we think you’ll be able to help us.”
We shake hands, and Mr. Mansour guides us to a table in the back.
“Aya, coffee!” he calls.
He sits with a grunt, then takes Raphaël’s hand in his. He speaks in Arabic again, and Raphaël answers, then laughs at something Mr. Mansour says. My breath catches in my throat. I haven’t seen Raphaël laugh for two years, and the memory pales in comparison to this real sound. It’s musical and happy, and I remember him laughing like that with me. A pang of longing goes through me, and I look down at my hands to hide my expression.
A middle-aged woman enters the café through a doorway leading to the back of the shop, carrying a copper tray with a steaming coffee pot and four tiny cups, barely large enough for an espresso. She exclaims at the sight of Raphaël, bangs the tray on the table, and hugs him tightly.
“My daughter, Aya,” Mr. Mansour says to us in slow, careful English. “Raphaël saved her life.”
Raphaël ducks his head. “It was a long time ago.”
“How long?” Levi mutters.
Raphaël shoots him a sharp glance. “Forty-two years,” he replies with a defiant glint in his eyes.
Aya clicks her tongue. “It’s impolite to divulge a woman’s age, Raphaël.” But her black eyes twinkle with humor, and she strides over to the bar and plucks another coffee cup from a shelf. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We would have prepared a room for you.” Her English is fluid and perfect, with the lightest trace of an accent, as though she’s spent time in the States.
“I didn’t want to impose,” Raphaël defends himself. “Besides…” He motions at the two of us.
Aya’s gaze comes to rest on me, then flicks over to Levi. She lifts her eyebrows in appreciation, and Levi blushes. I snort, and he nudges my knee with his.
“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay for lunch,” she says finally, settling next to her father.
She pours hot, thick coffee into the cups and offers them to us. “Sugar?”
I accept a cube, dunking it into the cup, but Levi shakes his head. Raphaël stirs his coffee with a small spoon, then sets it onto the tray. The pouring and the stirring remind me a little of a ritual, so I remain quiet, waiting for him to speak. Witches understand all about rituals, and if these humans want us to follow theirs, we will.
Finally, Raphaël takes a sip of his coffee, hums in approval, and says, “We came here for help.” Very broadly, he outlines our mission and needs, skating over the fact that it’s a magical competition. “We’ll need supplies and a car, and preferably a good map of the area. Or a sat phone with a navigation system. I don’t expect our smartphones to be of much use out there.”
Aya narrows her eyes. “Where exactly are you going?”
I take my phone out and show her the area on the screen. “It’s not marked, but it’s right…here. Somewhere between Kharga and Luxor.”
She pulls back as though struck. “You can’t.”
“What?” I clutch my phone tighter. “Why not?”
Aya frowns at Raphaël, then asks something in Arabic. He inclines his head.
“Fine. Raphaël says you know he’s a vampire. But there are worse creatures out there. Evil. Witches and spirits.”
Aya’s face is dead serious. She knows this and isn’t just repeating some scary story she heard as a kid. The grim tone of her voice tells me she’s seen things she can never forget.
I glance over at Raphaël, wondering whether I should tell her we’re witches, too, and that it’s okay. But he shakes his head subtly, his eyes flashing in warning.
“There’s a reason that valley has no name. It’s been erased so no one would think to go there,” Aya continues.
“But why?” Levi asks.
“Magic,” she replies quietly. “Dark, dark magic. The old gods were never really put to rest.”
A shiver passes over me. I glance at Levi, but he only clenches his jaw. Raphaël offers me a small shrug, as though to say it’s my call.
I have to get there.
The thought is still firmly lodged in my head. And Aya doesn’t know what we know—that Levi is an amazing curse-breaker, and I’m a very competent witch. Besides, we have Raphaël with us, and he’ll be able to tell us if we’re walking into some ancient booby trap. I hope.
“We’d still like your help,” I say gently. “You don’t have to come with us.”
Aya clenches her fists on the table, her knuckles turning white. “I won’t help send you to your death.”
Then her father puts a hand on her arm and says something to her in Arabic. I have no way of understanding, but his words are soft, coaxing. Her reply is angry, almost desperate, and I wonder what happened to her to make such an impression.
She turns to us, her furious gaze flicking from one to the other. “What did you offer him? Raphaël? Huh? What did you give him to make him accept such a dangerous mission?”
Taken aback, I blurt out the truth without thinking. “A spell. Any spell, his to choose after we’re done.”
Levi groans quietly. I realize my mistake and clamp my mouth shut, but the secret is out now. My stomach drops, and I prepare myself for their attack.
Aya just turns to Raphaël and raises her eyebrows. “A spell? So they’re witches? What are you doing with them?”
His expression is calm, his voice steady as he replies something in Arabic. To my utter shock, Aya’s gaze fills with tears, and she presses a trembling hand to her lips. Raphaël takes her other hand and presses her fingers, explaining something more. She nods, squeezing her eyes shut, and silent tears roll down her brown cheeks.
Then she heaves a big sigh and wipes her eyes with the flat of her palm. “All right.” She sniffs. “All right, I’ll help.”
I look from one to the other, but neither of them translates what just occurred. What did Raphaël say to her to make her fall in line with our plan? What truth could possibly be more shocking than the bomb that I dropped?
It takes Aya a minute to pull herself together, but finally, she takes a quick sip of her coffee, which somehow signals that it’s time to do business. From then on, we make lists—of food, gear, and possible extraction points if anything goes wrong. Aya is adamant that no employee of hers will come within twenty miles of ‘that cursed valley,’ as she calls it, which means we’ll have to walk that distance through scorching desert if anything happens to our car.
That’s why Levi insists on an absolute monster of a truck, the best we can rent in such a short time. A perfect desert vehicle, equipped with extra water tanks.
“We should take camels,” Raphaël argues. “They do much better in the desert.”
“Camels,” I repeat. “You’re serious?”
Mr. Mansour cracks a smile. “Camels would be great if these two had ridden them before. As it is, you’d spend more time picking them off the ground than riding.”
�
��Thanks,” Levi says, but his grin says he doesn’t mind the ribbing. “And I vote for the truck.”
I grimace at Raphaël. “Sorry, so do I. No camels.”
Then we really get down to business and build a detailed plan to head out to the most notorious valley in Egypt.
Half an hour later, our work is complete.
“Come back tomorrow morning,” Aya says, “and I’ll have your car keys ready. The car will be loaded and waiting for you at the parking lot next to the Al-Azhar Mosque.”
I chafe at the idea of waiting yet another night, but this arrangement will save us the time we’d otherwise spend running around the city, collecting supplies from various stores and suppliers. Now we can pick everything up in one place—and rest before we need to move out again.
Raphaël nods, clearly familiar with the place she mentioned. “Thank you,” he says to both of them. “After this is done, I’ll come visit for a proper lunch.”
Aya pulls him into a motherly hug. “See that you do.”
Levi picks up his coffee cup and knocks it back. Then he grimaces, peering at the dregs inside. “What is this?”
Mr. Mansour and his daughter dissolve into laughter.
“You’ve never had real coffee before?” Aya asks.
Levi’s answering smile is a little tight, and he takes out a bottle of water to take a sip. “It’s, uh, delicious. But I’m more of a tea person myself.”
I thank our hosts and pull Levi away before his smile slips. “We’ll see you tomorrow!”
Raphaël’s grin is just a touch smug as we all stop in front of the café. “I should have warned you. Your American coffee is nothing compared to the real thing.”
Levi shakes his head. “I’ll take it any day over this.”
They start off toward the exit, but I call out, “Wait. Just give me a second.”
Checking over my shoulder to make sure none of the human tourists browsing the nearby shops are watching me, I hold out my hands and close my eyes. My magic, replenished by a good night’s sleep, bubbles up as soon as I reach for it. Focusing my energy on the little coffee shop, I murmur a basic protection spell, one that witches put on their houses, cars, and even children to prevent them from coming to harm. It’s no real protection, but it will save Mr. Mansour and his family from small misfortunes like burst pipes, and it’ll help them escape the notice of anyone who wants to do them harm.