I click on the first hit. Nephthys – Wikipedia.
According to the source, Nephthys is the Greek name for Nebt-Het, an ancient Egyptian goddess. She was worshipped as the protective goddess, symbolizing death. Seems like she was supposed to be a member of the Ennead, too. Dad once lectured Izzy and me on the subject. He claimed the word Ennead derived from ancient Greek and could be translated as “group of nine.” Mom said the nine deities had been the original gods, or in her words: The Royal God Family. They’d ruled not only over Egypt, but also the other gods. Apparently, the throne was handed down from generation to generation—kind of like a modern-day monarchy.
I scroll farther down. There’s a section named “Mythology and Position in The Pantheon.” Right below, in thick black letters, are three words that terrify me: Nephthys and Seth. My mom used to tell me all sorts of stories, but I’m certain she never spoke about Nebt-Het or Nephthys—especially not in connection with Seth. So, how could my subconscious have possibly put the two names together? I have no clue, but I’m going to find out.
The short Wikipedia version is Nephthys was married to Seth—the slayer of Apep (Ra’s archenemy). Apparently, they were quite happy. Until Seth grew increasingly jealous of Osiris—the rightful heir to Egypt’s throne. When Seth lost his mind, cutting Osiris into pieces and scattering them all over the country, it was Nephthys who helped her sister, Isis, put him back together. Therefore betraying her husband.
I came across the whole “cutting his brother into pieces” thing before. When I tested the waters to see if I was up for organizing the Halloween Ball. But while all of this is interesting, it doesn’t explain why I suffer from these vicious night terrors of Seth. Or why he called me by the name Nebt-Het.
I lean back in my chair. Mowgli meows. The kitten is sitting on my bed—her favorite spot—staring at me. “You don’t happen to have the answers, do you?”
Furball meows once, then goes back to licking her paws.
“I take that as a no.”
I go back to the search results, skimming through the other hits. One website catches my attention. The headline reads: “Nebt-Het’s Real Story.” Exactly what I’m looking for. I click on the link and am redirected to the site when my phone buzzes. Reluctantly, I pull my gaze off the screen and check the message. It’s from Amara. About time she gets back to me. Aunt V and I were close to filing a missing person report.
When I swipe the message notification to the left, my chest immediately tightens and the relief I felt seconds ago vanishes. SOS! Meet me at the store, she wrote.
SOS? My fingers fly over the keyboard. What’s going on?
A second later she replies: Will explain everything when you get here. Hurry!
My stomach cramps. Something isn’t right, I can feel it in my bones.
The next text only strengthens my suspicions. Come alone and don’t tell anyone.
Dumbstruck, I reread what she just wrote. It doesn’t sound like Amara at all. There’s no XX, no sign of any of the abbreviations she’d normally use, and then, of course, there’s the fact she wants me to come alone. Whatever is going on must be urgent, or else she wouldn’t ask me to head to the store by myself at night.
Well, I guess I better come up with a dang good excuse for Rob and Aunt V as to why the heck I’m heading out. I’m still living in a nanny state.
White is the predominant color outside. Apart from a few hours here and there, it hasn’t stopped snowing since last Friday. I zip up my thick winter coat, ignore the icy wind beating against my cheeks, and head down the porch.
To prevent frostbite on my poor fingers, I shove them inside my pockets and move quickly. The stars above me are clearer than usual, the full moon more orange than silver. A dark red circle surrounds the giant, giving him a bloody glow. Something about the moon is eerie. I have no clue why, but I feel like a cast member in a B-class horror flick, too ignorant to read the signs that say: Go Back Inside And Hide.
You’re paranoid, I assure myself and start down West German Street.
I don’t make it very far though. “Nisha, is that you?” There’s no need to turn. I’d recognize Blaze’s rock star voice anytime, everywhere.
I’m tempted to run. I spin on my heels instead. “Blaze?” There might not be any gods around, but that karma thing surely has some truth to it. Or why else would Blaze show up moments after I used him as an excuse to get out of the house?
He gets off his bike. The dim street lamp illuminates his beaten-up face. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. Seriously, the dark circles underneath his lapis eyes beat mine. That has to count for something. The stubble mushrooming out of his skin along with his wild messy hair only add to the crappy appearance.
“We need to talk,” he says, moving toward me.
I’m not up for a confrontation. Besides, I have somewhere to be. I turn around. “Not today, Blaze.” Not ever would be more accurate.
Like a bolt of lightning, he rushes over, blocking my path. “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait.”
I cross my arms. “I have somewhere to be,” I grumble, hoping he gets the hint.
He meets my gaze. “Well, this won’t take long.”
I should walk away. It would be the smart thing to do. I could spare myself an unpleasant conversation, which is where this is headed. But when a guy like Blaze looks at you like you have the answers to all his prayers, shoulda, woulda, and coulda become meaningless words. “You’ve got two minutes,” I mutter, holding my index and middle finger up.
He scrubs his fingers through his hair. “Fine. Then I’ll get straight to the point.”
“Please,” I urge him with a queen-like hand gesture.
“Are you avoiding me because of what that football-jerk said?”
Silvio and his teammates said a lot of things; he’s got to be a little more specific. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” I also have no clue why I sound so dang angry. Blaze didn’t do anything. I’m the freak who endangered his life.
Something incredibly dark washes over his face. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear what he said about me losing my title because I put someone in a wheelchair.”
Yup, rings a bell. But between the start of the brawl and my visit to the ER, it completely slipped my mind. “Blaze,” I start. “This—”
“It’s true,” he cuts me off. “I did lose my title and my license to fight. I was also the subject of a thorough police investigation and”—he draws a deep breath—“I did beat a guy so badly he’ll probably never walk again.” He looks me in the eye. “But that prick had it coming, and I’d do it again—in a fucking heartbeat, princess.”
“You’d do it again?” I ask, as if that was the most important question right now. I mean, he basically told me he’s a criminal who put a man in a wheelchair. Shouldn’t that be my focus?
Blaze’s shoulders sink. “Yeah, Nisha. I would.”
“Why?” Gee, why can’t I keep my mouth shut?
Blaze’s face slips into a frown. “Because the prick deserved it.”
Is he serious right now? I don’t think anyone deserves to be beaten up to the point where he comes face to face with the possibility of taking his last breath. That’s just plain wrong.
He’s either a mind reader, or the shock his admission has caused is written all over my face. Either way, he goes on saying, “Remember when I told you about my oldest sister hanging around vampire chatrooms?” I nod. “Well, she met a lad there. The guy was five years older and had her convinced he was a real vampire.”
“He what?” That sounds crazier than my hallucinations.
“I’m telling you he pulled it off,” he says, rubbing his face. “Wore white makeup, black clothes. Never stepped foot outside his flat when the sun was up.” His eyes grow distant. “I think he was so knee-deep into this shit, he started believing his own lies. Anyway, one day he took Jade, my sister, on a date. I hated the idea of her being anywhere near the psycho, but my parents warned me to stand
down. They had this strange idea Jade needed to have her own experiences, and I shouldn’t keep her from gaining them. I should have known better than to listen to them.”
A hole opens up in the pit of my stomach. “What happened?” Please, let her still be alive.
The darkness in his eyes is scary. “She disappeared,” he says, looking up at the full moon. “For two fucking days, no one heard a word from her or saw her.” Our gazes lock. “Do you have any idea how that feels? Not knowing where your sister is, or if she’s still alive?”
“No,” I admit, the pain in his voice killing me.
He stares at the white ground. “It was hell,” he whispers.
Closing the gap between us, I find myself squeezing his shoulder. “You okay?” Just because I don’t want to see him anymore doesn’t mean I don’t care about him. The opposite is true.
To my surprise he steps back. “Please, just…” He sounds desperate. “Let me finish the story, okay?” When I nod, he continues. “My parents went to the cops. They’re not exactly fans of my people.”
“Your people?”
“You know”—he shrugs—“Gypsies, Travelers, scum.”
“Blaze—”
“Fuck them,” he murmurs. “The point is, they dismissed the whole thing and claimed Jade was probably just acting out, that she’d be back in no time. Can you believe that? A seventeen-year-old girl goes missing, and they don’t do shit?”
Unfortunately, I can. If I went missing, the chief wouldn’t care either. “Did she come back?” I ask carefully.
Blaze balls his fists. “I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. So, I rounded up a few of my mates. One, name’s Terry, is a damn good hacker. He tracked the asshole’s IP-address. When we got to his apartment, I found Jade, cuffed to an iron bed, with two deep holes in her neck.”
“He bit her?” I blurt out, shivering at the thought that someone could be so insane.
Blaze shakes his head. “He punctured her skin with an ice pick. Barely missed her artery—one millimeter to the left, and she’d be dead now.”
Gee, that sounds like a creepy Bram Stoker horror novel, not real life. It’s one thing to live in a fantasy world, something completely else when you become oblivious to reality. “He’s the guy you put in a wheelchair, isn’t he?” It makes complete sense. I might have done the same.
His gaze drifts to the bloody moon. “I would have killed him if it wasn’t for my mates. And”—he looks me straight in the eye—“there’d be no remorse whatsoever.”
“Is she okay now?” I don’t think anyone can recover from crap like this, but hope always dies last.
Blaze rolls his stiff shoulders back. “She will be.” I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me, himself, or both of us.
“I’m sorry, Blaze.” No one should have to go through something so horrifying.
He moves closer. “I’m not here for your pity, princess. I’m here to set the record straight. All of the things that prick said, about me being a loser, are true. And if you were my sister, I’d never let you near a guy like me. But you deserved to hear the truth from me. At least now you know why you’re really avoiding me.”
That’s what he thinks? That I’m avoiding him because of what some jerk who kicked the crap out of me said? Man, this is seriously screwed up. The worst part is, it’s the perfect excuse to get him out of my life for good. All I have to do is turn around and walk away. He’ll just assume I couldn’t handle his past. Shame, it’s easier said than done. He’s been through so much, I don’t have the heart to add to the weight on his back. “What Silvio said to you, back at the Shed, isn’t the reason I didn’t answer your calls and texts. Neither is your past.”
“It’s not?” He doesn’t believe me. I can tell by his raised eyebrows.
“No, it’s not.” I know what it’s like to want revenge, to daydream about a million painful ways to off the monster who hurt the people you loved. How hypocritical would I be if I blamed Blaze for going through with it? Had I found my parents’ killer, I would have done the same—or worse.
He crosses his arms above his chest. “Then what’s the matter, Nisha? Did I do something wrong?”
Why does he have to be so dang persistent? “You didn’t do anything, Blaze. I’m just…” Cursed? He doesn’t believe that. Insane? I don’t want to talk about my hallucinations.
“You’re what?” he presses.
“Gee.” I throw my hands in the air. “I’m simply not in the mood for company, okay?” To be fair, it’s not a complete lie. I am pretty anti-social lately.
Blaze, being Blaze, doesn’t buy a word I’m saying. “Bollocks,” he hisses, straightening his spine. “Look, you can either come clean now, or we can stay here all night. But you won’t get rid of me with lame excuses.” He shrugs a shoulder. “Your choice.”
I don’t have all night. Dang, I should have been at the bookstore ages ago. “You can’t keep me here.”
He furrows his brows. “I can’t?” He pushes two fingers under my chin and lifts my head so we’re eye to eye. “Try me, princess.”
This is ridiculous. Here’s this super-hot, sweet dude who is trying everything to get me to talk to him—even shares his dark past with me—and I’m too much of a coward to tell him why we can’t be friends? He thought I deserved the truth. Well, so does he. “Fine,” I grumble, slamming my hand on my hip. “You want to know why we can’t be friends?”
He just stares at me with a blank expression.
“One”—my index finger shoots up—“I’m the Angel of Death.” His lips part, but I’m far from done. “Two”—my middle finger joins my index finger—“I almost choked you to death in the Shed, and have no clue how I did that. And”—the third finger comes up—“I’m insane, Blaze.”
He laughs. “Aren’t we all a bit crazy, princess?”
And so the levee inside of me breaks, unleashing a flood of emotions—the trailblazer being self-loathing. “I didn’t say crazy, Blaze. I said insane. I see stuff that isn’t even there. Egyptian gods, creepy creatures, and oh yeah, did I mention I tried to kill myself in the Potomac River and was rescued by some dude who only exists in my dreams?”
He’s shocked. His jawline is tenser than ever, his eyes so wide I fear they will drop to the snow-covered ground any second. I could have broken the news more gently, but I get the feeling this is the only way Blaze gets the message.
Awkward silence settles between us. While Blaze hasn’t given me the freak look yet, I don’t intend to stay around and wait for it. Stepping around him, I’m ready to walk out of his life for good.
Too bad he has different plans. His warm fingers circle my wrist. Next thing I know, he spins me around, and without any warning, claims my mouth. His soft lips slip over mine. The kiss is so gentle and slow, it’s not even close to what I’d expected from a guy like him.
Heat and need thrill through me. The initial shock gives way to delight, to amazement. Nothing will ever be able to compare to his lips touching mine.
He gently explores every inch of my mouth, my tongue. All the while, his left hand traces down my spine, causing shivers and explosions at the same time.
I forget everything—Seth, the curse, the dead, the living. For all I care, the world could end, and I still wouldn’t move an inch.
Blaze presses his palm against my lower back, pulling me closer. So close, there’s nothing but unnecessary fabric between us.
He deprives me of his lips and pulls away, leaving me breathless and mourning the loss. “I don’t care about the stuff you see,” he whispers, his forehead glued to mine. “And I don’t give a rat’s ass about some stupid curse. But don’t you ever dare to stop fighting. No one said life was going to be easy, but giving up isn’t an option. Understood?”
I nod.
“Say it,” he orders, eyes flaming.
“I won’t try to kill myself again,” I promise and actually mean it.
His gaze darts back to my sore and needy lips. His
mouth comes down. He’s inches from mine when my dang phone rings.
I step back and pull it out of my pocket. Where the hell are you? Amara texted.
“Shit.”
Blaze lifts my chin. “What’s up?”
“I gotta go.”
Amara’s instructions were clear. Come quickly and come alone. I failed her twice when I spent twenty minutes in front of my house with Blaze and agreed to let him accompany me. What can I say? It was either him coming with, or losing more time fighting an argument I’d lost the second I told him about the weird text messages.
“What you’re saying is, every time someone dies, you see that Anubis creature, that right?” It’s a one-minute walk from my place to the store. One minute which Blaze uses to shoot question after question at me. I did my best to give him the blurb version of my insanity. Told him about my night terrors, the strange things that happened in the past few weeks—desert rose, Seth appearing at the river when I tried to end it all, why I pushed Marie against the sink—but the fact I keep seeing Anubis anytime someone says goodbye to this world intrigues him most.
“I only started seeing him after my parents died,” I clarify.
He ogles me from the corner of his eye. “Okay, but how is Marie still alive? If what you’re saying is true, she should be dead, right?”
Valid point. “I don’t know, Blaze.” I’d like to believe the day you die isn’t carved into stone, that maybe I bought her a few more years when I pushed her out of the way.
“Have you ever told anyone else about this?” Gee, he won’t give it a rest, will he?
I’m about to tell him I enjoy the freedom of not being locked away in Shepherdstown’s psych ward when I spot a black Mercedes parked in front of the bookstore. It’s the same make and model of the car that killed the little boy’s mother. The same one the guy with the ugly scar got in after he had an unpleasant conversation with Amara.
“You okay?” Blaze sounds a little worried.
I stop next to the fancy ride, heart pumping like crazy, belly cramping. “I saw this car before,” I admit, cold shivers running down my spine.
Book of Souls (Gods of Egypt 1) Page 23