The Emerald Tablet (Fated Destruction Book 3)

by D. S. Murphy

  “Fine,” I said, pulling the cuff of the jacket down over my black iron glove. “But only because it’s practical.”

  Ramses drove us to the museum in a black van with tinted windows. The streets were mostly empty, and we snuck into the back alley behind the museum entrance. Isis said she had to prepare resources to build the tower, so we were on our own. But how hard could it be?

  Last time we broke into a museum, the owner had turned into a snake monster – we may not have survived without Sarah accidentally frying him with her powers. This time, we’d be more careful. And I felt stronger, more confident. I had both Sitri and Puriel with me this time, and I wasn’t even worried about Jessie. I thought this stuff would be over her head, but she’d always been the strong one. Together, I was sure we could handle a few security guards.

  The back door had a coded password, and also a padlock with a heavy iron chain. But we came prepared: we’d stopped at a hardware store for metal cutters, a blowtorch, crowbar, and some rope. It couldn’t have been more suspicious if we’d have bought black masks as well.

  Puriel made short work of the chain, but the code stopped us for a few minutes, until Sitri pulled out a small black box and did something with the wires.

  “A gift from Ramses,” he said, when the door swung open. Inside the museum, there were motion activated cameras and security guards roaming with flashlights.

  “We’re kind of ill-equipped for all this,” I said.

  “Yeah, I feel like we’re more of a smash and grab kind of crew,” Jessie said.

  “We don’t want to play our hand to earlier,” Sitri said. “If the tablet is stolen, Zeus will know what we’re planning. We have to be a little more subtle this time, and not trip the alarms. If we get out quietly, they won’t know about the robbery until the morning, and it won’t hit the news until tomorrow afternoon. By that time, if all goes well – we’ll be on our way back to Nevah.”

  “So, quietly? Yeah we can do that.”

  We made our way down the main hall. Puriel’s footsteps were the loudest, he seemed incapable of guile or subterfuge, and unbalanced trying to sneak his large form past the cameras. I heard something wobble and looked back to see him steadying a large vase.

  “Shhhh,” I put my finger against my lips and held up my hand. Puriel’s expression was so comical I almost laughed, but I covered my mouth as a security officer came into view across the hall. He waved his flashed towards us and Puriel ducked behind the vase, as the rest of us darted into the shadows. The guard craned his neck, and I could see his thread in the darkness. Weak, human. Sitri cocked an eyebrow at me, but I shook my head. I could knock him out, but I didn’t want to hurt him, and if he went silent, it could alert the rest of security to our presence. Unfortunately, if he took another step in our direction, he’d see us and radio for help. I couldn’t afford to spend another night in an Egyptian prison. I realized I’d been holding my breath, and let it out suddenly. When I did, I saw the faintest shift in guard’s thread, a simple ripple. He turned to look behind him, pointing the flashlight down the hall. My eyes widened and I gripped Sitri’s arm.

  “I can influence him,” I whispered. “Without touching this thread.” Sitri looked confused, but my eyes were bright with excitement. I turned back to the guard, and held my breath so I could concentrate. I zeroed in on the thread until everything else blurred away.

  “Go away,” I whispered. Then, very softly, very quietly, I blew on the thread. For a second, nothing happened, then I saw my breath move the string, like it was drifting in a light breeze. The guard’s shoulders relaxed and he dropped the flashlight. For a minute, he just stood there, looking at the moon through the skylight. I wasn’t sure if I’d stunned him too hard or done some permanent damage, but after a long pause, he grabbed his flashlight and walked back towards the other wing of the museum.

  “Too close,” Sitri whispered, gesturing us forward.

  We passed by a heavy sarcophagus with bright paint that looked like it had been done yesterday, and a display case with jewel-encrusted canopic jars. I’d read about them earlier: the human, baboon, falcon and jackal heads represented the four major organs, each protected by a different god.

  There were cases of pottery and utensils, hairpins and ancient weapons, then a small dark room with glittering cases of small gold figurines and jewelry.

  “I don’t get it,” Jessie said, checking the map and peering through the glass. “I thought we were looking for an emerald tablet. It’s just jewelry in there.”

  Sitri and Puriel looked confused as well, but I could see it immediately. In the dark, it shone with green power. I didn’t even have to squint my eyes to see which object radiated magic. It wasn’t what I expected, though.

  “It’s there,” I said, pointing at the gold filigree necklace on a black satin pillow. In the middle, in a gold setting, was a clear, bright green emerald, about an inch big.

  “But it’s so small,” Puriel said. “How could they store that much information on something so little?”

  “Computer chips are small,” I said.

  “But this was made thousands of years ago, right? Stone chisels and tablets, about the same time Moses came down with his two stone tablets. I was expecting something, I don’t know, more like an iPad at least.”

  “I don’t know how it works,” I said. “Let’s just grab it and figure it out later, okay?”

  I stretched my fingers out to the glass, willing the necklace into my palm. On that emerald was a way to save Sitri, to untangle him from the mess I’d gotten him into; a way to end Zeus and his perpetual threat. And it was so close, only protected by a thin pane of glass.

  Sitri took a diamond-tipped glass cutter out of his black bag, but before he’d even approached the case, the alarm went off. I jerked my fingers away from the glass and covered my ears.

  “What did you do?” Jessie shouted.

  “I don’t know!” I said, “I didn’t even touch it.”

  I glanced around quickly, looking for more guards, but instead what I saw took my breath away. Two green threads formed an X-shaped barrier, blocking our exit. They were moving towards us fast.

  ***

  “Get down!” I shouted. We dove for cover just as two nearly identical figures strode into the display hall. Each one was firing relentlessly from a pair of large silver pistols with serpents engraved on the handle.

  They were wearing dark shades, snakeskin pants and cowboy hats. They looked like they belonged in a sleazy Vegas nightclub rather than an antiquities museum. They even had matching gold chains and carefully trimmed goatees.

  They moved as a team, raining bullets. The display cases shattered around us, and I covered my head with my arms to protect from the storm of glass shards. The alarm was so loud I had to cover my ears, and now we were pinned down.

  “So much for getting out quietly,” Sitri growled.

  The shots stopped, and I could hear the Cadmus brothers walking closer by the sound of crunching glass on their boots. They were dressed differently from the one I’d met in Cairo, but I recognized them from their threads.

  Puriel grabbed the end of a wooden casket and swung it towards the pair like a baseball bat. It caught one of them in the side, slamming him backward into the wall. Sitri used the distraction to pounce on the other, tucking into a roll and kicking him up towards the ceiling. He fell at least twelve feet and landed with a crack against a raised platform. The green thread looked like it had been hit with an axe, but it sprang back immediately and smoothed out again.

  The man stood up and rolled his head with both hands until his neck snapped back into place.

  “Durable little fuckers,” Sitri growled under he breath.

  “My name is Echion Cadmus. You killed my mistress, embrace my sword, for I will have vengeance.”

  “Guys, we don’t have a problem with you,” I said. “Just let us get what we came for and we can all go our separate ways.”

  “You aren’t going anywher
e, godkiller,” the first one grunted. He grabbed the vase Puriel had almost knocked over before and tossed it at us hard. Puriel held up a golden Annubis statue to block it, and the vase exploded around us, sending up a fine mist of porcelain dust. A second later, the spartoi were on both sides of us, one exchanging blows with Sitri. His gun discharged as Sitri tore it from his grasp, shooting holes in the ceiling and wall. The other pulled out a short golden sword. The wide blade was split with a line of black, and decorated with golden hieroglyphs that glowed with power. He slashed at Puriel, who stepped backward and stumbled over the splintered remains of a display case. I wanted to grab their threads, but it was all happening so fast, I was afraid to accidentally touch Puriel or Sitri’s thread – in the close combat of the small room, a momentary hesitation could be fatal.

  “Cover me!” Jessie shouted. She dove out towards the necklace, just as the spartoi stabbed again at Puriel. Puriel spun to the side, slamming his fist into the back of the spartoi’s neck, but his own momentum carried him forward, straight into Jessie. She cried out as he lifted her up by the neck, with his sword at her throat.

  My hand lashed out before I knew what I was doing. I wrapped my iron glove around the thread and jerked down quickly, like I was ringing a bell. He crumpled like a puppet, limbs and joints askew. The other brother charged towards me, his sword raised, but I grabbed his thread with the other hand.

  “I can’t contain them,” I said. My left hand was already trembling, as the first spartoi began struggling to his feet. The iron glove made the first spartoi much slower, but my grip was weak from my injured arm. The other green thread slid through my bare hand, resisting my grasp.

  “They aren’t like the others, they’re too powerful.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Sitri said, brushing of broken glass.

  I pulled hard on both threads to create some slack, then looped the extra length of thread around their owners, and then each other, until the spartoi looked like crochet hooks in a bundle of green yarn. Jessie tossed me the necklace and I stuffed it into my pocket.

  Near the door we found the security guard again. This time he lifted his flashlight straight at us, his face flustered with surprise. I flicked his thread lightly and he slumped to the floor. At least he’d survive. But when we burst through the back doors, we were blinded by the headlights of several police cars. Through the flashing blue and red lights, I could make out several dozens figures with pistols and assault rifles trained on us.

  I even recognized the corrupt detective from Cairo, pointing at us with his finger. Probably identifying us as the main suspects in his murder investigation.

  “This isn’t good,” Jessie said, raising her hands.

  “Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up,” said the local police chief. While most of the cops were wearing army fatigues and combat gear, he was wearing a light blue uniform with medals and a brimmed cap with a large star on the front.

  I raised my hands, wracking my brain for a solution. If we got arrested, they’d take the necklace. We wouldn’t have time to read the tablet and get the key to break the spell. We’d go back to Nevah empty-handed, and somehow I doubted Able would let me out of his sight again, especially once he heard about my run-in with Hera.

  A shot rang out behind me and I flinched. One of the brothers had already gotten an arm free, and he’d used it to fire his weapon. My eyes darted to my friends, then checked my own torso, but none of us were hit. Instead I looked back and saw the security guard clutching his chest, a red stain around him on the ground. The one I’d chosen to spare, twice, because he probably had a family and he was just a guy doing his job, and these aristocratic revenge-cult assholes just ended him. In another minute, they’d be shooting at me and my friends, or stab us from behind, while we were standing here like morons with our hands in the air.

  My eyes flashed with anger, and I let my hands fall quickly, with my fingers spread out as widely as possible. It was difficult, because of the difference in depth, but easier because I wasn’t trying to screen out anyone or look for individual threads. I was aiming for everybody who stood in my way. At least thirty full-grown men in uniforms toppled like dominoes. They were like keys of a piano, after I’d struck the chord to depress the lever.

  There was a clatter as dozens of guns hit the ground at the same time, and then the softer noise of bodies striking concrete. I spun and reached for the green thread, just as the spartoi stalked towards us, gun raised. He only managed to get one round off before I grabbed his thread.

  I yanked on it, pulling him towards me. Then I whipped the thread like a jump rope, spinning it around in circles. The spartoi went green in the face and grabbed his stomach. I pushed the thread down low, and he fell to his knees before me, trembling violently.

  “If I let you go,” I said, “will you stop?”

  “I will never stop,” he said.

  I pulled his own sword from his scabbard, the golden one with glowing hieroglyphs, and looped the green thread tightly around the blade. Then I reached into my pocket until my fingers connected with the emerald, and I pulled with all my strength, gritting my teeth and sliding the sharp blade across his lifeline. Ever so slowly, I felt it shift, like I was sawing through a thick steak with bones and tendons, and then it gave way completely. For a second, the spartoi stood there with a stunned look of surprise.

  “Echion?” his brother called from the other room, still untangling the last of his thread.

  Green bile bubbled up from the spartoi’s lips, then a thin red line cut through his body, from his shoulder to his waist. I turned away as the top half of his body slipped away from the bottom half, and his dismembered arm flapped on the ground like a dying fish. His brother roared against his confines, glaring at me.

  “You want some of this?” I said. “Come find me. But right now, I don’t have time to deal with you. Go back and tell your brothers to stop bothering me.”

  19

  I didn’t notice Puriel was bleeding until we were almost back to Isis’s manor. Ramses was driving the black van at a breakneck speed through the narrow alleyways, and I wouldn’t have even noticed the black blood seeping through Puriel’s jumper, except for the slight sheen of wetness in the lamplight and the metallic odor.

  “It’s fine,” he said, when he saw my eyes widen.

  “You were shot,” I said. “How is that fine?”

  Sitri tore off his jacket and pressed it up against Puriel’s abdomen.

  “Hold this,” he said to Jessie. “Pressure on the wound.”

  By the time we peeled through the front gates, Jessie’s hands were slick with blood and Puriel was much paler than usual. I was afraid Isis would be out, but she greeted us downstairs as if she knew we were coming, and shouted orders at the servants. In minutes, Puriel was flat out on the dining table surrounded by a mix of modern healing supplies and ancient remedies.

  Jessie washed her hands in the kitchen sink, and I noticed they were shaking. She grabbed a kitchen towel, then stood frozen as if she didn’t know what to do next. Isis stood over Puriel with a long pair of bronze tweezers, one hand holding up her loose sleeves to keep them out of the way. Puriel’s blood reminded me of soy sauce, and I could almost picture Isis at a sushi restaurant, about to dig into a plate of sashimi.

  “Will he be okay?” I asked, pushing the thought out of my mind.

  “Please, I brought Osiris back to life after he was cut into fourteen pieces, I think I can handle a bullet wound.”

  “I thought that was just a myth,” Sitri said darkly. “And medicine has improved a little since the 1920’s.”

  “I know my way around a body,” Isis said. “Surgery began in Alexandria, under Galen. We had a whole hospital wing in the Serapeum. Also, I was awake during the 1919 revolution, so I’ve had some practice with bullets. It’s not all that different from locating a spear tip or arrowhead, and much easier to remove. Ah, got it,” she said, pulling out the small ball of metal and plunking
it into a glass of water. Puriel’s torso was covered in sweat, but he hadn’t made a sound through the whole process.

  “It will take a few weeks to heal,” she said. “So no fighting and plenty of rest.”

  “I can’t promise that,” Puriel said.

  “Suit yourself. You’ll heal faster if I give you some magic,” Isis said, bending down. “But if I’ve learned one thing, giving magic to a leech is rarely a good idea.”

  “No magic,” Puriel grunted, trying to sit up.

  “Very well. At least let me seal the wound.” She stitched up the bullet hole with careful, precise movements, then began smearing a sticky substance over the area.

  “Is that honey?” I asked.

  “Egypt’s finest,” Isis said. “Its antimicrobial, hemostatic, analgesic and healing enhancing properties are unmatched by modern medicine.”

  “Sometimes the old ways are best,” Sitri said. He sat in the corner, holding something green in his hand, pulsing with power. I thought it was the emerald at first, but I reached into my pocket and felt the cool stone against my fingertips.

  “What is that?” I asked. Sitri finished wiping it with a paper napkin, which came away full of bright green gunk. When he held it up to the light, it looked like a curved piece of bone, about two inches long. It sparkled in his fingers, like it had been dusted with gold glitter.

  “I pulled it out of the spartoi you butchered,” he said. There was a tone in his voice, like he wanted to say something else, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with me. “It must be one of the dragon’s teeth, from the dragon Cadmus slew.”

  “How is that even possible?” Jessie asked.

  “They must be passed down through the families. I think they implant them under the skin; it would explain why he was so hard to kill.”

  “Very rare, and very magical,” Isis confirmed quickly, glancing over her shoulder. She was scribbling some runes and hieroglyphs on a piece of papyrus, which she then stuck firmly against the honey. She chanted something, and the runes and symbols heated up, glowing red and burning the papyrus enough to let out a wisp of smoke. Puriel shifted uncomfortably, and I stepped closer to hold his hand. He gripped my palm tightly, until Isis had finished wrapping his torso in white gauze.