Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1)

by Nadine Nightingale

  “Please,” Mom begs, wiping crimson off her lips. “Don’t make her watch.”

  Something small and black is pointed at Mom’s temple. I don’t know what it is until it’s too late.

  The BANG pierces through the quiet night.

  Glass shatters.

  Blood flows.

  And I—

  “Nisha!”

  Rob?

  “Don’t wake her up.”

  Aunt V?

  “She’s having a nightmare,” Rob says.

  “No, Rob. She’s sleepwalking,” Aunt V explains.

  I’m what?

  I blink my eyes open. The two of them are glaring at me, worried and helpless. “Hey,” Aunt V whispers. “You okay?”

  A pounding pain roars through my left temple. My muscles are sore, and I’m a bit nauseated, but other than that, I’m good. Or, I should say, I was good until I looked around. “What am I doing here?”

  Rob’s gaze drifts from me to my dad’s locked office door. “You were trying to get in there.” He scrubs his three-day beard. “We thought you were a burglar.”

  Explains the baseball bat leaning against the wall. It doesn’t explain why in the name of rationality I’m suddenly sleepwalking. I never have. Maybe Izzy was right. I should stay the heck away from all things Egypt. Who knows what’s next?

  I roll my head, easing the muscles in my neck. “What time is it?” I ask, trying not to worry them more.

  Aunt V stares at the screen of her phone. “Two thirty.”

  I woke them in the middle of the night. “Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my heavy eyes.

  “Don’t be. I was still awake.” Rob plays the whole thing down to make me feel less guilty. But we both know he’s lying.

  Aunt V throws her arm around me. “C’mon”—she leads me toward the stairs—“let’s get you back to bed. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

  I look over my shoulder at the door. Something tells me I won’t be able to sleep again tonight.

  “What’s your take on it, Nisha?” Oz asks.

  I lift my head from the lip above the door panel. My eyes are heavy. My mind is numb. I should have taken my own advice and pulled a Ferris Bueller. Why I rolled out of my bed and went to school is sort of a mystery to me. Maybe I figured tossing and turning wouldn’t be fun either.

  Izzy turns to face me. “You okay?” Assuming Aunt V and Rob didn’t wake her last night to mention my sleepwalking incident, and taking the fact they’re both doing a morning shift into account, I’d say she’s clueless as to what’s going on with me.

  I have no intention to fill her in. “Uh-huh.”

  Oz ogles me through the rearview mirror. “So, let’s settle this once and for all. What do you say?”

  I’d answer if I knew what he was talking about. “Say about what?” I slur as if I had three tequila shots at once. I assume I’d sound like this after three. I’ve never made it past one.

  Oz maneuvers Bumblebee, his new Camaro—named after the yellow Autobot from the Transformers franchise—through the crowded parking lot. “Buffy and Angel, or Romeo and Juliet?”

  I’m still at sixes and sevens. “Is that a trick question?”

  “He wants to know which love story is most epic?” Izzy clarifies.

  My gaze drifts from my cousin to Oz. These two are so odd. It’s seven thirty in the morning. We’ve got a full school day ahead. And here they are, talking epic love stories? I need more than just two cups of coffee to discuss crap like that after the night I had.

  “So?” Oz pushes for an answer.

  I let my head melt into the leather seat and sigh. “Buffy and Angel.”

  “Ha!” Oz slams his hand against the steering wheel, accidently honking his horn.

  One of the football players jumps at the sound. Pissed, he spins. His middle finger comes up. The second he realizes whose car it is, he smiles instead. You get a pass for everything when your name is Oz O’Riley.

  Oz waves apologetically. Then he focuses on Izzy. “Told ya, baby. No lovers beat Buffy and Angel.”

  That’s not what I said, but whatever.

  Izzy cocks a brow. “Bullshit.” She throws us dirty looks. “Am I the only one who remembers Buffy killed Angel? If their love was so epic, she’d have never done that. I mean, you don’t go around impaling the man you love, do you?”

  Gee, can we find a parking spot already? I’ve had about enough love talk for a day.

  Oz shakes his head. “Oh, but you fake your death, get your lover to commit suicide, and stab yourself when you realize he’s dead?” That’s another thing I love about Oz. He’s not just popular and good-looking. He’s got brains too.

  “Juliet didn’t kill Romeo,” Izzy murmurs. “They both died because they couldn’t picture life without each other. If that isn’t epic love, then what is?”

  “You’re wrong.” Whoa. Why am I adding fuel to the fire? I don’t know, but it’s too late to take it back.

  Izzy narrows her eyes at me. “Explain.”

  I’m in no shape to do anything other than crawl back into bed. Too bad I didn’t think of it before I objected. “Romeo and Juliet took the easy way out,” I say, gazing out of the window at all the students who hate my guts.

  “Are you saying they didn’t love each other?” My cousin adores the couple so much. She sounds seriously offended.

  I shake my head. “All I’m saying is, true love doesn’t always mean you should be with the person you think you can’t live without. Sometimes the best thing is to walk away.”

  “Again.” Izzy straightens her spine. “Buffy killed Angel.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “She did. She sacrificed her soulmate so the rest of the world could live. Wanna know why? Because deep down she knew it was her inability to walk away that made him evil in the first place. It was her love that jeopardized humanity’s fate, and there was only one way to fix what she’d done.”

  Oz kills the engine. Both he and Izzy are gaping at me. I assume it wasn’t the kind of explanation either of them expected. It’s the truth though. My truth, to be specific. Love is beautiful, joyful, creative, and good. Yet, it can be equally ugly, depressing, destructive, and evil. Like so many of us, Buffy had to learn that the hard way.

  “You’re deep today,” Izzy says, half shocked, half worried.

  Oz nods. “And awfully quiet.”

  I haven’t slept all night. What do they expect? A samba? “I’m just tired.” Of being broken. Of being a dang burden.

  Izzy blows out a long, pained breath. “You sure this isn’t about Mole coming back to school today?” She spoke of nothing else at breakfast. It’s starting to mess with me.

  “For the hundred-and-fifth time, I’m glad he’s better.” I yank the door open and get out, secretly begging the universe to spare me from an encounter with the boy who almost fell victim to the Nisha-Angel-of-Death-Blake curse.

  Turns out the universe is as useless as the so-called gods. How else do you explain that the first face I see when I approach the entrance is Mole’s? For a guy who was crushed by the branch of a sycamore, he looks pretty good. His brown hair is longer at the top, ultra-short at the sides, toeing the line between slick and messy. He wears his Jefferson High football jacket along with a pair of Urban Outfitters jeans, and his face—Izzy refers to it as a baby-face—is as handsome as ever. I can see why, despite my gut telling me not to, I went on a date with him.

  Mole is surrounded by the whole football team, most of the Heathers, and their leader, his ex-girlfriend, Marie. From where I’m standing, it appears like a scene right out of the Bible. The Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus preached to his disciples, with a crowd gathering around them. Too bad Jefferson High has no back entrance. I could really use one. Keep your head down and move on. I want to, but my feet won’t move.

  “What are you waiting for?” Izzy, who finally caught up with me, asks.

  Luckily, Oz is the one who answers. “Look ahead,” he says, pointing to Mole and his disciple
s.

  Izzy is the nicest girl at this school, but when she puts on her bitch-face, every sane person steps away. “C’mon.” She reaches for my hand, hauling me toward the group. “Let’s go.”

  I keep my gaze glued to the ground. Doesn’t mean I can’t see the hateful looks all of them shoot my way. Whispers roar through the crowd. “I hope she stays the hell away from him,” Silvio, the captain, murmurs.

  “Yeah,” Tarryn barks. “The team has suffered enough this year.” What she means is: they lost every game since Mole, their wide receiver, couldn’t play.

  Izzy doesn’t give a crap about any of them. She keeps moving, spine straight, head held high. I have a feeling she and Oz are the only ones who keep the crowd from stoning me. Next time my subconscious expresses the desire to stay in bed, I’ll listen.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Oz asks.

  “We can walk you to your locker,” my cousin suggests.

  They’d never make it to their classes in time if they did. I fake a sweet smile. “I’m cool.”

  Izzy’s brows fly up. She’s all set to argue with me, but Oz grabs her by the shoulders and spins her around. “C’mon, she’s got this.” Funny how he always had so much more faith in me than anyone else—including myself.

  We part ways. They head in one direction, and I head in the opposite. I almost make it to my locker before he calls out to me. “Nisha?”

  The sound of my name coming out of Mole’s mouth makes me flinch. I contemplate running. I could hide in the girls’ room all day, and no one would miss me until lunch. Then the cavalry, aka my friends, would come looking for me.

  “Nisha.” Mole’s hand is on my shoulder. “Wait up.”

  Too late for a little run-and-hide. I’ve got no choice but to face him. “Hey,” I say, mouth dry, gaze on the floor.

  Everyone around us stops moving. Teachers and students alike stare at us. Probably expecting the same dang thing I do: a you-were-the-biggest-mistake-of-my-life sermon from Jefferson High’s Jesus.

  Mole doesn’t care about the looks directed at us. Or the fact it’s so quiet you’d hear a needle drop. He just stands there and smiles at me. Can you believe it? The guy I almost killed smiles at me. Not a mocking I’m-going-to-make-your-life-a-living-hell smile. A real one, touching his light-brown eyes. “How’ve you been?”

  Maybe the branch did more harm than the doctors initially thought? Brain damage they didn’t detect because they were too busy fixing his knee so he could come back playing. “How have I been? I wasn’t the one crushed by a branch, Mole.” I meet his gaze. “So, the real question is, how’ve you been?”

  He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “I’m good as new.”

  Marie and the Heathers are a few feet behind him, giving me the evil eye. So is everyone else for that matter. Especially the football team. I draw a deep breath, trying to ease the fear coursing through my system. “Glad to hear that.”

  I’m all set to move on, but Mole isn’t done yet. “Listen,” he says, rubbing the nape of his neck. “I want to apologize.”

  Did he just say he wants to apologize? For what? I was the one who almost ended his life. “You don’t—”

  He holds his hand up to stop me. “Hear me out first?”

  “O-kay.”

  “I know my dad and”—his gaze drifts to Marie—“a few of my friends have given you a hard time while I was away. I’m sorry. They shouldn’t have done that.”

  I shake my head. “They had every right to be upset.”

  He sighs. “No, they didn’t, Nisha.” He raises his voice so everyone can hear what he says next. “What happened to me was an accident. It wasn’t your fault. I was there. I know.” Whispers roar through the crowd, but Mole continues, unimpressed. “Anyway, I’m back now. And no one is going to bother you again. Or”—he faces his teammates—“they’ll have to answer to me.”

  I don’t know what to say. I don’t deserve an apology, or his protection. And no matter how convincing he sounds, Anubis and I were there too. We saw the thick branch as it fell upon him out of the blue. It was perfectly fine one second, and then crushing him the next.

  “So, are we good?” he asks, hopeful.

  I nod, because what else am I going to do? “We’re good.” Then I walk away as fast as humanly possible without breaking into a run.

  I stroll down the empty hallway to the cafeteria. Most students are already eating lunch. Thanks to my gym teacher, who happens to be the football coach, I am running ten minutes late. He always picks me to clean up the mess in the gym. Today, it wasn’t enough punishment for his taste. He felt compelled to give me a speech about how important Mole is for the team and how crucial it is for me to “stay the fuck away from him.” Direct quote, by the way. On the bright side, I made it through the rest of the day without another run-in with the guy who almost lost his life because he took me on my first date.

  Checking my phone for texts, I bump into a hard chest. “Watch it,” the owner of said chest, aka Silvio, aka captain of the football team, barks.

  Where did he even come from? Correction, where did they come from? Silvio isn’t alone. Three of his minions are with him. “Sorry,” I murmur, stepping around them.

  The tallest one, I think his name is Jaxon, or Jace, or something with a J, blocks my path. “You always are.”

  I search for an escape route. There’s none. They have me surrounded. I hold my hands up, waving them like a white flag. “Please, I don’t want any trouble.”

  Silvio gets in my face. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you buried our best player beneath a goddamn tree.”

  “It wasn’t a tree.” Did I just say that out loud? What is it with me and my quick tongue today? My brain—the part still functioning properly—seems to be on vacation.

  Jaxon, or Jace, or whatever his name is, crosses his arms. “So, you admit it?”

  “Admit what?” I ask, not sure what he’s referring to.

  Silvio takes another step in my direction. “That you’re a killer witch.”

  The worst thing I could do is laugh. I’m surrounded by a bunch of dudes on steroids, blaming me for losing six games in a row. It would be suicidal to give them the impression I’m making fun of them. The problem is, I can’t help it. The laughter pours out of me and just won’t stop coming. Can you blame me? They called me a killer witch, for sanity’s sake.

  Silvio infiltrates my personal space. He’s so close, I can smell the garlic on his breath. “You think this is funny?”

  One: I need to stop laughing.

  Two: I have to get away from here before things turn uglier than they already are.

  I swallow hard, search for an opportunity, and when I find a tiny gap between Silvio and the one whose name starts with a J, I push through.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Silvio snarls, catching my wrist and pulling me back.

  Whoa. Something inside me catches fire. The energy I felt the night my parents were murdered returns. It’s vicious and out for blood. My skin burns. My fingertips buzz. I’m close to erupting like a dang volcano. “Let go.” The words may come out of my mouth, but they don’t sound like me.

  The players laugh. “You really think we take orders from a freak like you?” one teases.

  The heat searing through my veins turns my breath into fire. “I’m not going to say it again,” I warn them. “Let go of me.”

  “You heard her.” Blaze’s husky voice roars through the hallway.

  I look up. What I see isn’t the Blaze I know. I’m in the middle of another hallucination.

  The dull gray walls turn into pure gold. Hieroglyphs are carved into the shiny metal. Images of old gods and weird animals are staring back at me. The ground is no longer a solid vinyl composition, but a beige ocean of sandstone.

  Blaze moves past a huge statue of Bastet—the cat goddess. He’s wearing nothing but a loincloth. His colorful tattoos are gone, replaced by black markings that glow like the
runes from Shadowhunters.

  He halts right across from me, his face harder than granite, his fists balled into lethal weapons. “Step away from her. Now.”

  The illusion fades the second J opens his mouth. “Or what?”

  “You gonna put us in a wheelchair too?” Silvio mocks him.

  I could swear Blaze flinches at the word “wheelchair.” It happens so fast, I’m not sure I can trust my eyes. “Would you like me to put you in a wheelchair?” he asks casually. “Because I’d certainly be able to assist you if that’s what you desire.”

  Silvio’s grip on my wrist loosens. “Why don’t you just mind your own business, Brit?” He tilts his chin at me. “This is about us and her. We have no beef with you.”

  Mischief flickers across Blaze’s lapis eyes. “Sorry, mate.” He stares at Silvio’s hand around my wrist. “You made it my business when you put your hands on her.”

  “You going to fight us over a freak like her?” Silvio shakes his head. “Did no one tell you what she is? Who she is?”

  Blaze smiles at me. “Oh, I know who she is.” He draws to his full height, cocking a brow at the captain of the football team. “I’m just not sure who you are.”

  “I’m the cap—”

  Blaze laughs. “No. I meant: are you as dumb as you look, or simply suicidal?” He moves closer, invading Silvio’s space like the jerk did with me before. “Which one is it, Yankee?”

  They engage in a stare-down. I mentally prepare myself for a bloody fight. Luckily, Mr. Thornton rounds the corner. “What is going on here?” He looks at me for an explanation.

  “Nothing,” J says quickly. “We were just having a friendly chat. That’s all.”

  He doesn’t believe a word J is saying. It’s written all over his face. “That true, Nisha?”

  “Uh…” Telling the truth is going to make them hate me more. “Yeah.”

  Thornton crosses his arms and faces Blaze. “Mr. Boswell, would you like to tell the truth?”

  Blaze keeps his gaze glued to the captain. “It’s all good. They just needed directions to the cemetery.”