Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1)

by Nadine Nightingale

  Thornton’s jawline tenses. “The what?”

  Blaze grins. “The cemetery.” He shrugs it off. “A Halloween thing.”

  “I think you should all part ways.” This isn’t a request. It’s an order.

  “C’mon, man.” J pulls Silvio away. “Let’s go.”

  The jerk deliberately bumps into me. “This isn’t over, yet,” he whispers.

  Hardly able to believe what just happened, I watch them walk away.

  Thornton clears his throat. “You two as well.”

  Blaze laces his fingers through mine, pulling me away. Once we’re out of Thornton’s sight, he stops dead in his tracks. “Are you all right, princess? Did those idiots hurt you?”

  “They didn’t hurt me.” I look at my palms. They’re redder than red. But while I no longer feel the fire coursing through my system, my fingertips are still buzzing. “I can’t believe they did that,” I say, more to me than to anyone else.

  Blaze’s lapis eyes search mine. “Care to tell me what this was about?”

  The last thing I want is to share my macabre life tale with Blaze after he just saved me from…I don’t even want to think about what they would have done if he hadn’t shown. Or what I would have done, for the matter. “It’s a long story.”

  He directs me toward the cafeteria doors. “You can tell me over lunch.”

  “No.” I stop. “My friends can’t know about this.” They’d start a war if they did. “Please,” I beg. “Please, don’t tell them.”

  I almost expect him to say: “Okay. I won’t tell them if you…” insert whatever it is he wants. What comes out of his mouth is something entirely else. “Okay.” I raise my brows, and he adds, “I promise, princess.”

  “Just like that?”

  Blaze frowns. “I’m a prick, Nisha. Not a complete arsehole.”

  If that means: “I might be a bad boy with a dirty mouth, but not a snitch who saves your butt so he can use it against you,” I have done him wrong. He’s not arrogant. He’s loyal to the bone.

  “Thanks.” I look him in the eye. “For everything.”

  He shrugs it off. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

  Like a proper English gentleman, he holds the door for me. I rush past the tables, straight to my friends. Blaze is right next to me. I’m not oblivious to the looks we get. Mole is staring too. I do my best to ignore all of them, but especially Mole.

  “Where have you been?” That’s how my cousin says “hi” nowadays.

  “I…” was cornered by the football team? “I…”

  Blaze throws his arm around my shoulder, giving Izzy a smile that has the ability to wet panties. “She was with me,” is all he says.

  That’s more than enough to make the boys look at me in a very different light. One they probably never wanted to see me in. “No offense,” Shaggy mutters, hands up. “But MMA Middleweight Champion or not, if you hurt her—”

  “We’ll kick your ass,” Scooby finishes for Shaggy, twin-style.

  My face is burning with shame. First Blaze gets me out of trouble, and now he’s threatened by my friends, all because I asked him to keep the incident quiet.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. “Wouldn’t expect anything less from you, mates.” He faces Izzy. “Correction, I expect worse from her.”

  My cousin beams at Blaze. “Smart boy.”

  He pulls a chair out for me, waiting till I’m seated. “I learned a long time ago, hell really has no fury like a girl looking out for her sister.” He’s so talking from experience.

  Lunch is almost over when Shaggy takes the mic. “Have you thought about practicing with us, Blaze?”

  Blaze drops his fifth pizza slice. He wasn’t joking when he said he was starving. “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea.” His breathtaking eyes are darker than usual.

  Shaggy wouldn’t be Shaggy if he accepted a nice “no.”

  “C’mon, man.” He points to Oz and Scooby. “We’re not that bad.”

  Blaze cleans his oily fingers with a napkin. “I didn’t say you were.”

  Shaggy arches a brow. “Then why won’t you show us a few tricks?” He brings his elbow up, hitting the air. “You know, like the move you knocked out McAfee with. That was—”

  “A classic,” Oz says, eyes on fire.

  Blaze’s shoulders sink. He doesn’t resemble the guy who, just a few minutes ago, was ready to fight three well-built football players. “McAfee’s cover was weak. Anyone could have taken him down.”

  Judging by the looks on my friends’ faces, I’d say that’s the understatement of the century. “You’re very modest,” Oz says. “No one ever took McAfee down.”

  “Enough,” Izzy orders. She seems to be the only person, other than me, noticing how uneasy Blaze looks. “Give the boy a break, okay?”

  Shaggy shifts his chair closer. “C’mon, dude. Just a few moves?” Is he giving Blaze the puppy gaze? Yes, he is.

  Blaze laughs. “Fine.”

  Three pairs of eyes light up, and they’re neither mine nor Izzy’s. “Really?” Oz asks.

  Blaze shrugs. “Sure. Say when and where, I’ll be there.”

  “Awesome.” Shaggy fist-bumps Blaze. It’s a miracle he doesn’t drag him to the Shed right away.

  The bell rings, and my friends rush to their next classes. All of them, except Blaze. He waits on me. “What class do you have?”

  “Math,” I reply.

  He smiles. “I’ll walk you.”

  “You don’t—”

  He gives me the this-isn’t-up-for-discussion look. “Yes, I do.”

  I turn onto West German Street, happy to catch a break at the bookstore. The autumn sun prickles on my skin. It’s weak, but warm enough to make me sweat under my thick hoodie. Having no intention to smell like a pig while assisting customers, I put my backpack down, shrug out of my sweater, and shove it in my bag.

  Enjoying the cool breeze caressing my arms, I catch a glimpse of something tall and black in the corner of my eye. Is that—?

  Anubis. The ancient Egyptian god I happen to hallucinate whenever someone in my proximity leaves this world. I blink over and over, hoping he vanishes. He’s still standing across the street, his black, animalistic eyes gazing right into mine.

  My chest rises and falls quickly. My heart slams against my rib cage as if it’s trying to escape this world. This is worse than worse. Fatal, to be precise.

  Terrified, I scan the area, searching for the next victim, the next flame of life to extinguish. There’s a group of kids. They pass by the creature, laughing and joking, unaware of what is right next to them. Is it one of them? They head into the game store. I breathe a sigh of relief when Anubis doesn’t follow them. A couple of cars speed down the street. I want to yell at them to slow down, but their windows are rolled up. Besides, the god, aka my hallucination, doesn’t seem to care about the cars. Anubis is too focused on me. He holds a long, golden staff in one hand, pointing it in the direction of the bookstore. That’s when it hits me—

  “Amara,” I shriek.

  I drop my bag and run to the store. Sharp pain slices through my chest. I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I need to warn her. I need to save her.

  It takes me less than a minute to reach Four Seasons Books. Wasting no time, I push the door open. Amara is nowhere to be seen.

  I rush to the back of the store, crazed with fear. That’s when I hear muffled voices. Something tells me to stop, and I do. Hiding behind the ajar door, I risk a peek.

  Amara is standing next to her desk, arms crossed above her chest, a defiant look on her face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

  Across from her, way too close for my taste, is a man wearing an expensive-looking black trench coat and hat. “Don’t try to fool me.” Like Blaze, he has a British accent, but it’s far from sexy. Dark and scary would be more appropriate. “We both know you’re hiding it,” he continues.

  Amara conjures up a smile. “All I’m hiding
are signed paperbacks of E.L. James. Would you care for a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey, sir?”

  The guy balls his fists at his sides. “You think you’re funny.” He closes the little gap between them. “Well, do you see me laughing?”

  There’s something seriously wrong about this guy. I feel it in my marrow. Anubis flickers across my mind. Instinctively, I kick the door open. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, pretending I barged in accidently. “I didn’t know you’re in a meeting.”

  Amara narrows her eyes at me. You’d think she’d be happy to see me. She seems furious instead. “What are you doing here?”

  “I…I…” I choke back my confusion and get a grip. “My shift starts in five minutes,” I explain.

  She glances at her watch. “Oh.” When she faces me again, her gaze is sharper than usual. “Why don’t you shelve the new arrivals? I’ll be right there.”

  I look from Amara to the man’s piercing blue eyes. He’s creepy. I hate the way he studies me—like I’m some kind of science project. Amara shouldn’t be alone with the creeper. But what am I supposed to do? Tell her I can’t shelve the new books because I just hallucinated Anubis, whom I only happen to see when someone is about to bite the dust? Doesn’t sound crazy at all. Nope. She’s just going to call Aunt V and beg her to reinstate therapy sessions with my shrink.

  “How do you want me to shelve them?” I ask, hoping to drag this out.

  “I won’t steal more of your time,” the man suddenly says. “I’ll be back when you’re less busy.” He rushes past me. I get a glimpse of the ugly scar running from his eyebrow all the way down to the corner of his mouth.

  “Who was that?” I mutter when the door slams shut behind him.

  Amara won’t look at me. She fiddles with some papers on her desk. “Just a collector looking for a special book.”

  Even if I hadn’t heard bits and pieces of the conversation, and even if I hadn’t seen Anubis, I wouldn’t believe a word she’s saying. “A collector, huh?” Is that code for serial killer?

  A halfhearted smile tugs at her lips. “Can you make sure no one is up front? I’ll be right there.” In other words: I want to be alone, Nisha.

  I follow her order, catching a glimpse of the creeper through the shop window. He’s getting into a black Mercedes. It’s the same make and model the driver in the hit-and-run drove. Odd.

  It’s barely six p.m. when I unlock the front door. I’ve never been home that early on a Monday. According to Izzy, who texted me earlier, I should be thrilled. “When you get off work early, you don’t bitch. You celebrate,” were her exact words. But I’m peeved and not quite sure why. All I know is it has something to do with the way Amara tried to get rid of me after the strange guy had left the store. She wasn’t mean or anything. Amara has never been anything but kind to me. Yet her voice had an edge when she claimed there was no reason for the two of us to be at the store, considering it was a weekday and business was slow. The funny part is, lack of customers never bothered her before. Four Seasons Books isn’t exactly Barnes & Noble. And since a lot of people read on Kindle nowadays, business is always slow. Sure, we have our regulars. Mostly folks who think the Internet can actually be deleted if they press the wrong button, and collectors looking for rare books, but neither Amara nor I ever get stressed out. Her weird reaction isn’t the only thing bothering me. On top of everything, someone took my bag. The one I dropped when I thought my boss was about to leave this world. Awesome, huh?

  “Nisha, hun, is that you?” Aunt V’s voice rings out from the living room. It’s alien to hear she’s home already. I half expected her to do another double shift.

  I kick my boots off. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement.

  A man whispers in the background, letting loose some curse words. I blame the TV and move along. I shouldn’t have. “Oh shit,” I hiss, throwing my hands over my eyes. Unfortunately, it’s too late. I can’t unsee what I just saw. Rob’s Bart Simpson boxers and Aunt V’s Snoopy bra will forever be branded into my brain.

  “I-I’m s-s-sorry.” I stumble backward, bumping right into the wall. “Dang,” I shriek as pulsating pain shoots through my elbow.

  “Nisha.” Aunt V sounds worried. “Are you okay?”

  I turn my back to them and open my eyes. “Yeah, totally okay.” Keeping my gaze glued to Mom’s favorite porcelain vase, I sigh. “Uh, I should head upstairs. Lots of homework.”

  “You don’t have to go,” she shouts after me.

  I’m already halfway up the stairs.

  Determined to forget this ever happened, I plummet down on my bed, searching the room for anything that could take my mind off Aunt V and Rob. I ogle my dressing table with the small perfume bottles Mom got me on her travels. Each one is from a different country. She always said the scents reminded her of me. I didn’t share her sentiment. They smell like roses and lavender, not like death and tragedy.

  A bit frustrated, I let my gaze wander and stop at my bookshelf. I could read the new Penelope Douglas novel. It’s been standing on my shelf for a while, impatiently waiting for me to turn the pages. Only problem, I’m not really in the mood for hot, snarky guys with attitude problems and sexy eight-packs. A novel like that can be toxic when you’ve just met a guy like Blaze. I can’t afford to fill my head with stupid ideas.

  So, what else am I going to do? I smell my shirt. A shower. A long, hot shower. Hopefully the water can wash away all Bart Simpson and Snoopy memories. Maybe even erase the whole day?

  It can’t. But it was worth a shot.

  By the time I get out of the shower, I find Aunt V on my bed. “Hey.” I have a hard time looking at her. A really hard time.

  A half smile lifts the corners of her thin lips. “Can we talk?” Her usually rosy cheeks are pale. Her long, dark blonde hair hangs lifeless over her shoulder. The oversized shirt she changed into is a case for the fashion police. I get the feeling she feels worse about the Bart Simpson/Snoopy incident than I do.

  I’d rather not have this talk with her, but she seems tortured behind her smile. “Sure.” I make a turban with my towel and plummet down next to her. “What’s up?”

  She’s quiet for some time, searching for the right words. “Look, Nisha…I…We…” She rubs her palms on her jeans. “Rob and I, we thought we were alone.”

  I fight the smile pulling on the edges of my lips. “Yeah, I figured.” Aunt V and Rob are crazy. They don’t care much about people’s opinions, and their lifestyle is rather unconventional, but neither of them has exhibitionistic tendencies. Unless you count the fact Rob only ever makes breakfast in his boxers—which I don’t.

  Our eyes lock. “We shouldn’t have…” She quickly looks away. “You know…”

  “I do,” I assure her, hoping it’ll prevent her from going into detail, or saying the s-word no kid ever wants to hear from a related grown-up. “I should have called or texted,” I add, trying to ease her guilty conscience.

  The color returns to her cheeks. It’s not a nice, refreshing pink, though. Rather a nasty shade of red. “No,” she says with such urgency that the word vibrates through my body. “No, you shouldn’t have.” Jumping off the bed, she paces the length of my room. “This is your house, Nisha. I don’t want you to think you have to call or text before you can come home. And”—she throws her hands in the air—“neither do I want you to believe Rob and I are disrespecting the memories of your parents.”

  Wait. What? I stare at her in total bamboozlement. “Why would I ever think that, Aunt V?” Aunt V and my dad had been inseparable. They loved each other fiercely. Never in a million years would I accuse her of disrespecting him, or my mom for that matter.

  “It was their couch,” she murmurs. “Their house. Their—”

  “Stop,” I bark, holding my hand up. I don’t like where this is going. Not after everything Aunt V and Rob did for me. “This is as much your house as it was theirs. You, Izzy, and Rob have
given up everything so I could keep this house. You work double shifts to make sure it stays that way, and Rob goes out of his way to give me a sense of normalcy.” I draw a deep breath. “Don’t you ever say this isn’t your home, Aunt V. And don’t, just for a second, believe I question your loyalty to my parents.” Unwanted tears stroll down my cheeks. “Please, don’t.”

  Aunt V storms toward me. Throwing her arms around me, she’s hugging me tighter than ever. “I love you, baby.” She runs her hand through my hair and down my spine. “But you’re wrong. We didn’t give up our lives. We simply exchanged them for new ones,” she says.

  I wipe the tears off my face and smile. “You know”—I point to Mom’s picture on my nightstand—“Mom always thought of Izzy and me as sisters. She’d love for us to grow up under the same roof.”

  Aunt V glances at the framed photo. “I miss her a lot.”

  My gaze drifts to Dad’s photo. He’s sitting in his office, in front of his laptop, grinning at the screen. “I miss them both,” I admit, for the first time ever. The words leave a sour taste in my mouth. At the same time, it’s a relief to finally say them out loud.

  Aunt V hugs me again. It’s not as tight as before, but feels even more intimate. It’s as if we’re glued together in our misery, intertwined in the pain their loss has caused.

  “Aunt V?” I whisper.

  She pulls back. “Yes?”

  “Can you never wear that Snoopy bra again?” I’ve seen far worse than my aunt and Rob doing “you know what,” but I have a feeling we shouldn’t add to the trauma. I really don’t want to end up like Ted Bundy, or one of those other psychos with childhood trauma.

  This time the smile reaches her soft eyes. “Consider the damn thing gone.”

  We both laugh.

  Aunt V gets on her feet. “I’ll see if dinner is ready.” She heads to the door. “Rob is making his famous Pasta Aglio Olio.”

  My stomach groans at the thought of the delicious garlic feast. “Call me when it’s ready?”

  “I will,” she half-sings, closing the door behind her.