Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1)

by Nadine Nightingale

  “I’m fine,” I assure him. “Rob? Not so much.” After an uncomfy night on the couch, he prepared a peace breakfast. Aunt V and Izzy didn’t mind the food, but they continued to give him the cold-shoulder treatment. I was the only Blake girl acknowledging his existence. Hilarious, considering I should be the one mad at him.

  Blaze runs his fingers through his untamed hair. “I honest to God thought I’d never see you again. Your uncle looked like he was about to ship you to a Catholic girls’ boarding school.” There’s not a trace of humor in his voice.

  For some reason, I feel the need to justify Rob’s overreaction. “He had a tough day, and we caught him by surprise,” I explain, grabbing my English book.

  “I am sorry, Nisha.” He gives me the famous puppy look. The one able to corrupt every sense of rationality. “I never meant to cause you any trouble. You have to believe me.”

  No flirting, no touching, no eye contact. But a smile won’t hurt. “You didn’t. Everything is cool.”

  He furrows his brows, not sure if he believes me or not. “Does that mean your uncle won’t shoot off my”—his gaze skirts to his crotch—“you-know-what, if I take you out today?”

  “No, he wouldn’t.” Rob is crazy, not suicidal enough to mess with Izzy and Aunt V. But take me somewhere? Yeah, I don’t think so. Safety distance, remember? “I can’t go out with you though.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs. “And why’s that?”

  Do I really have to remind him? Death curse, hello! Oh, right. He doesn’t believe in curses. Luckily, I have another excuse. “I work the bookstore after school.” And that’s not even a lie.

  He’s not going to go down quietly. “I can pick you up after work,” he suggests. “I’ll have you home by ten.”

  I secure my bag over my shoulder and slam the locker shut. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

  “And why is that?” he asks, leaning against the wall.

  I can’t, for the life of me, think of a good excuse. Have to come up with something though. “I’ve got things to do,” I say nonchalantly. Like reading the new Kami Garcia book, which has just arrived at the store, or shoving tons of junk food down my throat while watching Arrow—heck, I’d rather tidy up my room than be anywhere near Blaze.

  A fire sparks in his eyes, and I just know he’s going to fight me over this. Blaze is like that Dylan Thomas poem. He doesn’t go gently into the night. Always rages against rationality. “C’mon, princess.” He leans in. “Your uncle threatened my manhood. The least you can do is let me take you out.”

  The boy’s persistence is giving me a migraine. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t do dates?” Not after the last one almost ended in another funeral.

  He shrugs. “Won’t be a date. I just want to show you something.”

  “Yeah?” I cock a brow. “And what would that be?”

  He scoops two fingers under my chin and forces me to look him in the eye. “It’s a surprise.”

  So much for the no-touching, no-eye-contact policy. I step back, bringing some space between us. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “You’ll love this one.” He’s so confident, I almost believe him. “C’mon, you know you want to.”

  And this is where things get crazy. He’s absolutely right. I do want to go out with him. Despite everything that happened in my past and my better judgment, I have dragons in my belly at the prospect of spending time with him. I’m such a failure.

  He bats his thick lashes at me. “Please,” he begs, hands folded in a praying position.

  No, Nisha. Stay strong. Don’t let his sweet act fool you. “Fine,” I grumble. “But”—my index finger shoots up—“this is a one-time thing. Got it?” Gee, what is wrong with me?

  His eyes gleam. “Absolutely.”

  Yeah, why don’t I believe him? I’d ask, but more misery is headed my way. “Nisha?” Mole shouts across the hallway.

  Blaze’s expression changes drastically. He’s no longer smiling. His eyes are narrowed. His jaw is clenched. Short: he looks like he’s about to unleash the beast. The one that won him his MMA title.

  “Hey,” Mole says, gaze trained on me. “You headed to English?”

  “Yes?” I have no idea why it comes out as a question. Maybe because I expect one from Mole. Something like: Can you take notes for me? Or, Could you tell our teacher I’m sick?

  What I get is something entirely else. “Mind if I join you?”

  What is wrong with these two boys? Mole almost died because of me. Now he wants to walk with me? And Blaze? He knows what happened to Mole and the others, and still he insists I go out with him? Men are strange creatures, that’s for sure.

  Mole snaps his fingers. “Nisha?”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you mind?”

  What am I supposed to say? No? I can hardly do that, can I? “Guess not.” His teammates’ warnings echo through my mind, and I immediately regret my reply.

  “Great. Le—”

  Blaze clears his throat.

  Dang, how rude am I. “I’m so sorry,” I mutter, feeling like a jerk for ignoring him. “Mole”—I point to Blaze—“this is Blaze. Blaze”—I point to Mole—“this is Mole.”

  Mole won’t even look at Blaze. “We’ve met.”

  I ogle Blaze. “You did?” Turns out there are a lot of things I don’t know, huh?

  He just shrugs. “Small town, right?”

  My gaze drifts from one boy to the other. They shoot each other dirty looks. Something stinks, and it’s not Shaggy’s good-luck sock. The one he stashes in his locker, believing it’ll keep him from getting busted with weed. Nope, it’s the dislike in their eyes. Their stone-cold expressions. What the heck is their problem? I make it my mission to find out.

  “Ready to go?” Mole breaks the silence and the eye battle.

  I secure my bag over my shoulder. “Sure.”

  We’re halfway down the hallway when Blaze shouts, “Pick you up at eight?”

  Every single person comes to a halt and stares at us. Awesome. Thanks, Mr. England. I simply nod and quicken my pace.

  Mole is abnormally quiet. Only when we reach the classroom does he find his voice again. “So, you and the new guy, huh?”

  I stop dead in my tracks. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He makes it sound like we’re an item. We’re not. Not even close.

  “Nothing.” He plays his previous comment down. “Just looks like you’re spending a lot of time together.”

  I have no intention to discuss Blaze with Mole. “He’s new,” I say, as if that explains his interest in me. Well, in my world, it sort of does.

  I’m about to head inside when Mole’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Nisha?”

  I spin on my heels. Silvio, the captain of the football team, is a few feet away, staring at us. He throws a psycho grin my way, lifts his thumb, and pretends to slice his throat. That’s a gesture right out of The Godfather and means: you’re dead, missy. Great. This just keeps getting better and better.

  Instinctively, I step back. “Hmm?”

  Mole’s gaze drops to his boots. “We’re friends, right?”

  Friends? I almost got him killed. I don’t think that’s what friends do. “What’s up?” I ask, without answering his question.

  “I get I have no right to tell you who to date or not, but”—he sighs heavily—“I really don’t think the new guy is good for you.” That makes him the second person to say so. The first being Mr. Thornton.

  “Why is everyone acting as if he’s the devil incarnate?” Even Amara and Aunt V had that weird look when they spoke about the new guy from England, the one everyone talks about.

  Mole pulls his brows to his hairline. “You don’t know?”

  I’m slightly irritated and not sure I like where this conversation is headed. “Don’t know what?”

  “He’s—”

  “Shouldn’t you be in class?” our English teacher barks behind us, cutting Mole off.<
br />
  At eight o’clock sharp, Blaze’s black SUV rolled up in front of the bookstore. Over the course of the day, I had several what-the-heck-did-I-do episodes. At some point, I even tried to get out of our arrangement. I’d texted Oz, asking for Blaze’s number. Once he sent it over, I shot Blaze a quick message saying something like, I’m sorry, I can’t do this.

  He simply replied with, No backing out, princess.

  End of story? I’m lounging in his passenger seat, and we’re crossing the bridge, heading toward Shepherdstown Pike. Blaze’s phone is connected to the radio. “A Touch Of Evil” by Judas Priest is playing as we cruise. We’re surrounded by woods and near the Potomac River. The river I probably tried to drown myself in two days ago. Only a few houses are scattered across this part of the town—mostly farmers and folks who love their privacy. It’s the perfect breeding ground for serial killers and anyone else needing to dispose of bodies. I suppose I should be worried Blaze is taking me out here. Not for my sake. For his. There are a million ways to be offed out here. Being crushed by a branch is just one example of many.

  I gaze at the trees flitting past us. The scenery is breathtaking. Nature in its purest form, a festival of autumn colors. Mom and Dad loved it here. They’d literally traveled the world and the seven seas. Yet both agreed there was no place quite as beautiful as Shepherdstown. Except Cairo, Mom’s hometown, of course. When I was little, I thought they were right. Now that I’ve seen the ugliness beneath the picture-perfect façade, I’m not so sure anymore.

  We haven’t spoken much since I got in the car. I don’t mind the silence. It helps me collect my thoughts. But Blaze keeps on watching me from the corner of his eye. “All right, princess, what’s wrong?”

  My head melts into the soft leather seat. “Nothing.” Blaze didn’t take me here so I could pour my heart out about Amara. He doesn’t care about the phone call she got, the odd whispers about some dagger I’d overheard, or the fact that she gave me a necklace depicting the Eye of Horus, demanding I never take it off. Why should he?

  He pulls his brows up, gaze drifting from me to the street and back. “Nothing, huh? Then why do you look like Batman on his good days?” I’d say this is an attempt at a failed DC joke, only Blaze seems dang serious.

  I massage my stiff neck, hoping to ease the sore muscles. Who knew shelving books could be so painful? “Which Batman are we talking?”

  The ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “Does it matter?”

  “Sure,” I say, keeping my gaze glued to the window. “There’s sexy and charming George Clooney Batman; revenge-seeking Dark Knight, Christian Bale; grumpy, handsome, and prejudiced Ben Affleck Batman…Want me to go on?”

  “Depends.” He turns left, leaving the main road. “Is there a sexy, beautiful, grumpy, and uncannily quiet version of the vigilante?”

  “Nope.” I straighten a bit. “But if you scratch the quiet part, you can always go with Harley Quinn.”

  Blaze laughs. “You sure know your DC comics.”

  “Told you, I have a thing for culture.” Comics are a crucial part of it.

  “You sure did.”

  We drive down a narrow, unpaved road. Silvery moonlight slices through the crowns of the gigantic trees, illuminating the colorful leaves. Red, orange, and brown—the colors of autumn perfectly mirror the desert. Gee, why is it everything reminds me of deserts and the man of my dreams lately? Insane, remember? Oh, right.

  On edge, I shift in my seat. Blaze made a huge fuss about keeping the location a secret. I didn’t lie when I claimed I hate surprises. Anyone walking a day in the shoes of the Angel of Death would. “Where are we going?”

  “Home,” he says, tilting his chin at a small Victorian at the end of the road. The white façade is like a drop of light in an ocean of darkness.

  My brows fly up. “Home?” I didn’t know what to expect when I agreed to this—date or meeting, or whatever it is you want to call it when you hang with the bringer of death. But him taking me home was the last thing I would have thought of.

  “Home.” One side of his mouth curves up. “That’s what I just said.”

  My palms are dotted with sweat. Why couldn’t I just stick to my safety distance rule? I think of Mrs. Stevens. What was it she said again? Something about Blaze’s parents not being happy if they knew he was spending time with a girl like me? His parents aren’t around to judge, but Kathy is. Don’t get me wrong. She was weirdly nice to me at the police station. Doesn’t mean she’ll like me around Blaze though.

  He parks the SUV next to Lucille and kills the engine. “All right, enough with the games.” He shifts his upper torso and faces me. “What’s going on with you?”

  I shove my hands between my thighs. “Noth—”

  “Nisha,” he warns.

  My gut says he won’t let this one slide. So, I spell the truth out for him. “I don’t think I should be here.”

  Blaze bites on his lower lip. “I swear to God, princess, if this is about the curse, I’m—”

  “It’s not,” I assure him. “I mean, it’s connected, but not like you think.”

  He gestures for me to continue. “Go on.”

  Ogling the red front door, I exhale sharply. “You live here with Kathy, right?” He nods. “I don’t think she wants me around you, Blaze.” No responsible parent or guardian would want me hanging with their kids.

  His face lights up. “That’s what you’re worried about?” He laughs. “That Kathy has a problem with you being around me?”

  And he’s making fun of me. Again. I cross my arms. “This isn’t—”

  He moves closer, cupping my face. “Listen to me, princess. The only thing Kathy is scared of is me corrupting your innocence.” My eyes go wide, and he adds, “Not that innocence.”

  His vague statements give me a headache. “What are you talking about, Blaze?”

  He lets go of me and stares ahead. “Let’s just say I’m not the kind of guy anyone would want around a nice girl like you, okay?”

  No, it’s not okay. He can’t just say stuff like this and not expect me to inquire further into the topic. Gee, I told him about the curse. The least he can do is be straight with me. “Why, because you’re a fighter?”

  “No, Nisha.” A pained smile crosses his lips. “This isn’t about my fighting career, or my tattoos. I’m bad news, princess.” He meets my gaze. “And if I weren’t such a selfish prick, I’d be the one telling you to run from me. Hell, if you were my sister, I’d beat the shit out of myself.”

  I spot an otherworldly darkness in his eyes. One I know all too well. It’s a combination of guilt and the realization something evil lives inside you. “You don’t scare me, Blaze.”

  He slams his head against the seat. The cocky Brit who cracks jokes and acts like he’s invincible has left the car. “Is that so?”

  “I’m the Angel of Death, remember?” I shrug. “My innocence has been corrupted long before you made an appearance in my life.”

  His dimple comes out. “Girl, you better be careful.”

  I return the smile. “Or what?” I tease, hoping to chase his inner demons away.

  Blaze zooms in on my lips, like he did when he had me pinned against the fridge. I spot the hunger in his eyes. The world around me spins. The intensity of the moment makes me gasp for air.

  “Or…” He caresses my cheek.

  My mouth is dry. My heart slams against my ribcage like a wild gorilla trying to escape its prison. I want to taste him. You better not touch. I want to hold him. My brain tells me: Stop. I yank the door open and get the heck out of there before the last resistance crumbles and falls.

  By the time we reach the porch, I realize two things. One: the safety distance rule needs an upgrade ASAP. Two: I like this guy too much to go through with it.

  “Ready?” he asks, hand around the doorknob.

  No, but it’s too late for that. “Let’s do this.”

  We step into a cozy hallway. The walls are painted a nice shade of ivory. F
resh flowers decorate an ebony dresser next to a stained-glass window. And the scent of hibiscus crawls up my nose.

  “Blaze?” Kathy yells from somewhere in the house. “Is that you?”

  “This was a bad idea.” All fears I had five minutes ago about her not wanting me here come crashing back. I eyeball the door, searching for an escape route. “Maybe I should go.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” he says, pulling me back.

  I’ll run if I have to. “Y-Yes, I should.”

  “What’s going on?” Kathy is standing in the doorframe. She’s wearing an apron covered with what appears to be tomato sauce. Her long blonde hair is cascading down her shoulders. She’s even prettier when she wears it down. “Should I be worried?” she asks, glaring at Blaze’s hand around my wrist.

  Blaze rolls his eyes. “Kathy”—he shoves me toward her—“you’ve met Nisha, right?”

  A smile tugs at her lips. “How’ve you been?”

  I part my lips, but Blaze is quicker. “She’s worried you don’t want her here.” That was blunt.

  While I want to be swallowed by the earth, Kathy rocks a confused expression. “And why would you think that?”

  “Well…” Great. What am I supposed to say? Ah, you know, no one wants the Angel of Death as a house guest? Or how about: I’m sure the chief told you all about me?

  Blaze sighs heavily. “She thinks she’s cursed.”

  I shoot him a killer look. “Gee, thanks, dude.” Now she thinks I’m crazy on top of all the other crap.

  Kathy crosses her arms. “Cursed?”

  I shrug. What else am I supposed to do?

  She marches toward me, grabs my hand, and pulls me into the kitchen. “How about you tell me all about this curse over a nice lasagna?” I’d rather not tell her anything, but I could never say no to lasagna. It’s one of my all-time favorites.

  We gather around the table. It’s been set for three. She was expecting me. Luckily, Blaze does all the talking for me. He fills Kathy in on my curse theory while I devour her delicious lasagna. The woman can cook.

  She folds her hands on the table and listens patiently. “I see,” she says, once Blaze has shared my macabre life tale with her. “So, that’s why the chief treated you the way he did?”