He sat outside, an old .38 revolver in his lap. He didn’t really know how to use the gun, but he hoped that its presence would scare anything away. Isis slept inside the tent, her back turned to him so that when he occasionally peeked inside to make sure she was safe, he could only see her glossy black hair. As he always did, he tried not to think about how beautiful she was. Her nose was a little hooked and her eyebrows a bit thick by American standards, but she had a lithe, soft body with everything in good proportion. More than that, she was smart, almost as knowledgeable about ancient Egypt as he was, and she worked hard.
He forced himself to turn away from the tent; he stared up at the sky instead. Out here in the desert there wasn’t light pollution, so he could actually see the stars, unlike in Rampart City, where only the lights from skyscrapers were visible in the night skies. He could stay out here for the rest of his life. With a sigh, he wondered what he would do if the director told him to come home. He could always quit his job and work independently; his father and stepmother had left him more than enough money that he could fund digs for another decade. Or he could try to find another museum or university to fund his work—
A whimper from inside the tent interrupted his thoughts. He opened the flap and then shone the flashlight inside. Isis had rolled over to face him, though her eyes were still closed. She whimpered again and her entire body jerked with a spasm. He played the flashlight around the tent, but didn’t see any animals inside, unless a scorpion had gotten into her sleeping bag to sting her. It was probably a bad dream.
As he debated whether to wake her up or not, her eyes opened. There was something strange about them: not only were her eyes opened extremely wide, but the irises looked black. “Isis? Are you—?”
Before he could finish, Isis crawled out of the sleeping bag, towards the flap. As she came closer, he could see more clearly that her eyes had indeed turned black. Had she been poisoned? He tried to remember from his zoology classes if scorpion or snake venom could do that to a person.
Isis brushed past him and then got to her feet. She had worn her boots to bed precisely to ward away any insect bites to her feet, which came in handy now as she wandered out into the desert. The way she walked was the unnatural, lurching gait of a zombie in the movies. Had she finally snapped?
He had heard that it wasn’t a good idea to wake up a sleepwalker, so he tucked the gun into his pocket and followed her into the desert. He hoped she didn’t intend to go too far. She didn’t.
Isis knelt down in the sand and then began to dig. Dan didn’t remember this spot, but with the sandstorm it was difficult to remember anything of the landscape. He watched with fascination as Isis clawed at the sand with her hands; she threw handfuls of it behind her like a dog. She continued this for about five minutes, until she stopped.
He thought maybe she had woke up, but when she turned to him, her black eyes still bulged. The voice that came from her throat was a low hiss, almost like a snake. “She is here,” Isis said.
“Who?”
“She is here,” Isis repeated and then pointed at the hole.
Dan peered down into the hole, but reeled back when he saw a face looking back at him. It was a woman’s face, rendered in some kind of black stone—onyx, obsidian, or jet he couldn’t be sure. The detail on the woman’s face was incredible; the artist had rendered everything down to the tiny wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. It was far more detail than any ancient artist had ever achieved. Even stranger was how similar the woman’s face looked to Isis’s.
Dan began to furiously scrape around the woman’s face to reveal a head with lifelike hair the same color black as the face. He didn’t realize Isis had left until she returned with two shovels. Together they dug out the rest of the statue to uncover slender shoulders, a narrow waist, and coltish legs. The woman wore no clothes, but had spread hands over her breasts to preserve some of her modesty.
Isis threw down her shovel to reach out to the statue with both hands as if she intended to hug it. The moment Isis touched the statue, it was as if a current of electricity ran through her: her hair stood up on end, her body shook violently, and a scream came from her lips. He tried to pull her away, but her hands remained glued to the black surface of the statue.
Thirty seconds wore on; Isis continued to shake as if being electrocuted. Then as suddenly as it began, it was all over. Isis collapsed to the ground in front of the statue. Dan knelt beside her to feel for a pulse. To his relief, she was still alive. From the look of it, she was no worse for wear either, at least on the outside.
He picked her up and carried her back to the tent. He had no idea what had happened, but one thing he did know: the Plaine Museum had its discovery.
Chapter 1
The door to the old house opened and immediately Emma Earl found herself smothered by a hug. The old woman who had delivered the hug pulled back to give Emma a grandmotherly smile. “Congratulations, dear. We just heard the wonderful news.”
“Oh, thanks,” Emma said. She was about to ask how Mrs. Chiostro had found out, but then she saw the spectral form of a bearded man with a pointed hat in a corner. Emma did her best to glare at the ghost. “Blabbermouth,” she chided.
“Knowing your modesty, I didn’t think you’d get around to mentioning it,” Marlin said.
“Now, you two, don’t argue,” Mrs. Chiostro said. She led Emma through the foyer, into a parlor converted into a dress shop with patterns tacked to the wall, material stacked on the floor, and a mannequin that stood before a window. The old woman patted Emma’s shoulder. “You should be very proud, dear.”
“I am.” Only an hour ago she had been called into the director’s office, where she was offered the position of assistant director for the Plaine Museum. It was a promotion unheard-of for a twenty-four-year-old, one Emma herself had not expected. There were any number of people at the museum with far more experience than her, especially in the administrative side of things, though she had managed the geology department for nearly the last five years.
“I’m sure it’s very exciting.”
“It is,” Emma said, though at the moment she didn’t feel excited. Terrified was more the word for it. Assistant director for the entire museum—not only the actual museum building but also the various research stations around the world—was far more responsibility than a single department. She didn’t know if she could handle it.
“Don’t worry, dear, everything will work out fine.”
“I hope so.”
The old woman’s body stiffened for a moment. “Rebecca is coming up the front steps. Why don’t you go let her in?”
“Sure thing.” Emma hurried back through the foyer to open the front door an instant before Becky’s knuckle could rap on the wood.
“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Becky grumbled. A moment later her chubby face brightened with a smile. “I heard about your good news. Congratulations, kid.”
“Thanks,” Emma said. She wondered if there was anyone Marlin hadn’t told yet. The former wizard’s apprentice could be a real busybody sometimes.
“How much more do you get for this?”
“I’m not really sure yet.” Emma did know, but she didn’t want to talk about it yet. Since it was much more than what Becky made as an assistant to Councilwoman Napier, Emma didn’t want any jealousy to spoil what was Becky’s day. Emma said, “Did you and Steve find anything?”
“Oh, sure, there’s a nice old house down the road from here. Needs a little work, but not too much. A lot more solid than one of those McCondos in the suburbs.”
“This is a nice area,” Emma said. The historical district was the one neighborhood visited infrequently by the Scarlet Knight. For that reason, Emma had encouraged her friend—who was dead set against living in the suburbs—to look for something there. Since it was such a nice neighborhood, anything Becky and Steve could afford would be in need of some repair.
They reached the parlor, where Mrs. Chiostro waited with two dresses. The one on the right
was lavender with ruffles along the shoulders and the base of the long skirt. This dress Mrs. Chiostro handed to Emma. When she pressed it against her body, Emma could already tell it was tailored perfectly for her.
As for the other dress, it was white with puffed sleeves and a flowing lace skirt—a wedding dress. Mrs. Chiostro tried to give this to Becky, but the younger woman was too in shock to take it. Tears bubbled up in her eyes and fingers went to her lips. Emma knew what her best friend was thinking. In all her life, Becky had never expected to be a bride. Ever since they were little girls, it was assumed that Emma would be the one to marry a handsome prince while Becky would be the bridesmaid. In a week, the opposite would happen.
Becky finally snapped out of her shock to take the dress. As if in a trance, she shambled behind an antique screen to change. This process resulted in several minutes of grunts and muffled curses. “Would you like some help, dear?” Mrs. Chiostro asked.
“I’ve got it,” Becky said. She stepped out from behind the screen a minute later in full bridal regalia. “What do you think?”
“You look beautiful,” Emma said. Mrs. Chiostro had done a masterful job to tailor the dress to hide the stubborn bulge in Becky’s midsection. Everything from the waist to the sleeves had been done to make Becky appear slimmer. When she raised the veil, even Becky’s face seemed thinner; Emma wondered if perhaps Mrs. Chiostro had used a little magic to achieve this effect.
“You really think so?”
“See for yourself.”
More tears came to Becky’s eyes when she looked at herself in the mirror. “Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s unreal.”
Mrs. Chiostro put a hand on Becky’s shoulder. “I assure you, dear, it’s very real.”
“Thank you.”
In spite of herself, Emma joined in Becky’s tears. She had never seen her friend look so happy as she did at that moment. She gave Becky a hug for support. “Steve is going to love it.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” They hugged again, this time longer, lost in the joy of the moment.
***
As Emma expected, her dress fit perfectly. This was in large part because Mrs. Chiostro had tailored a half-dozen dresses for Emma over the last five years. She wasn’t sold on the lavender color, but Becky had insisted on it. Purple had always been Becky’s favorite color but she obviously couldn’t wear it to her own wedding, so her bridesmaids would be her proxy.
Emma stepped out from behind the screen for Becky’s inspection. Her friend smiled and then clapped her hands. “It’s perfect,” Becky said.
“You think so?”
“Just like how I imagined.”
“It is nice,” Emma said. She looked at herself in the mirror. As she continued to study the way the dress fit, the opening to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony rumbled out of her purse. She knew what this meant even before she scooped the BlackBerry out of her purse. The ominous tone meant the Scarlet Knight had received a message.
“Trouble?” Becky asked.
Emma nodded. Only one person had the anonymous Email address for the Scarlet Knight: Lieutenant Lottie Donovan of the Rampart City police force. The Email address was Donovan’s link to the Scarlet Knight; Emma had programmed the ominous ring tone so she would instantly know when her alter ego had mail.
“Urgent! Meet me as soon as you get this. DD,” the message read. Below that was an address for one of the many abandoned warehouses along the waterfront. As the Scarlet Knight, Emma rarely went around in the daylight. There was little more conspicuous even on the streets of Rampart City than a woman in red plate armor.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”
“Now?” Becky said.
“I’m sorry. It’s important.”
Becky sighed. “At least change out of the dress first. I don’t want my maid of honor showing up in rags.”
Emma hurried back behind the screen. After she took off the dress, she said, “Mekka lekka weep ninnebaum.” An instant later, a red case appeared beside her. There were no handles on the case, but it yawned open at her touch. Inside was a set of red plate armor that gave the Scarlet Knight her name. After five years of practice, Emma could strap on the leg and arm pieces and breastplate in less than a minute.
As always, she saved the helmet for last. With a deep breath, she settled it on her head to become the Scarlet Knight. When she stepped out from behind the screen, she saw that Becky looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” Emma said again. She lifted the visor enough to give her friend a peck on the cheek.
“Give ‘em hell,” Becky said.
Emma’s red motorcycle waited outside where she had left it. Had anyone been foolish enough to try and steal it, she had wired the seat with 5,000 volts, enough to disable any would-be thief. She deactivated the security system and then kicked the bike to life.
Emma didn’t get to the waterfront too quickly, as the heavy concentration of vehicles on the road and pedestrians on the sidewalk made things more difficult than at night. Though she knew the helmet concealed her face, she couldn’t help but feel conspicuous in the red armor with the golden cape flapping behind her. Her face turned warm beneath the visor as a pair of boys in a minivan waved at her.
She skidded to a stop in front of the warehouse. Like many of the buildings along the waterfront, this one had fallen into disrepair to become a nest for transients and criminals. If it were up to Emma the buildings would all be torn down, but most of them were owned by holding corporations that through a complex series of transactions belonged to Don Vendetta, the head of organized crime in the city. The don in turn used the buildings as meeting places for dealing drugs, weapons, and other illegal goods.
Emma pulled the golden cape around herself as she approached the front of the warehouse. She and Lieutenant Donovan usually met at the band shelter in Robinson Park, but that would be occupied in the daytime. Still, there was a small chance someone else might have figured out the Email and sent a fake message to trap the Scarlet Knight. She didn’t want to be unprepared.
“There’s no one else inside,” Marlin whispered in her ear.
“Did you look at the screen?” she asked him.
“Of course.”
“That could have been private.”
“Oh yes, it could have been from one of your countless admirers.”
“Hush,” she snapped more out of habit than anger.
As Marlin had reported, there was no one else in the warehouse. Lieutenant Donovan sat on a pile of rotten crates, an ever-present cigarette in her mouth. “You made it,” she said and tossed the cigarette away. Emma knew it wouldn’t be long until she pulled another one out of her jacket.
“What’s the emergency?”
“Sorry, were you polishing your breastplate or something?” Despite five years of working together, the lieutenant and Scarlet Knight still did not have a cordial relationship. Lieutenant Donovan frequently lamented how she needed the help of a “goddamned vigilante” to help contain crime in the city. Emma understood this enough not to take offense.
“What’s going on?”
As expected, the lieutenant reached into her jacket for another cigarette. “Tonight’s the night. We’re going to nail that bitch this time.”
“Don Vendetta?”
“That’s right. I’ve got it from my sources that she’s going to be receiving a shipment of computers. Real high-end ones. We think she’s going to try getting into the information business. These babies are top-of-the-line with the best encryption. God help us if she turns them over to Al-Qaeda or someone worse.” She went on to describe the place where the meet would go down, a similar warehouse no more than a half-mile away.
“And you want me to stay away?” The last time the police had closed in on Don Vendetta three-and-a-half years ago, Lieutenant Donovan had asked Emma to stay away. The deal had turned out to be a ruse. Since then, the lieutenant had worked slowly for another chance.
“No
t this time. This time I want your help.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing much. When she tries to run, make sure she doesn’t get far. That’s all. Just let us make the arrest.”
“I understand.”
“The less she sees of you the better. Give her lawyers less to work with.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you.” Lieutenant Donovan tossed her latest cigarette away. “This is going to be it. I can feel it.”
“Let’s hope so.” With that, Emma wrapped the cape around herself and disappeared.
***
Emma would have preferred to go back to Mrs. Chiostro’s house to check on Becky; they still had a lot of plans to finalize before the wedding. Instead, she sat atop a silo used for cement. With the amplified vision of her visor, she could see the warehouse where Don Vendetta would be, despite that it was a half-mile away.
She wasn’t the only one with eyes on the warehouse, of course. The police had already set up their trap. Boats cruised the harbor; the officers on board used high-powered binoculars to watch the warehouse. Other cops disguised as dockworkers milled around the area, ready to rush in as soon as Lieutenant Donovan gave the word.
If Emma could spot these, she wondered if Don Vendetta would as well. The don had proved to be a slippery foe in the last five years, always a step ahead of both the police and the Scarlet Knight. Much of this was because the don had moles within the department who fed her information about any possible raids. Lieutenant Donovan and internal affairs had rooted out some of these, but there were certainly more they hadn’t discovered. Would one of these notify Don Vendetta of the trap?
Though she was usually an optimist, Emma couldn’t help but feel trepidation about all of this. She had fought crime in Rampart City for five years, which had taught her not to get her hopes up, especially when it came to Don Vendetta. She wouldn’t believe it until she saw the don in a jail cell with her own eyes.
Marlin appeared at her shoulder. “Becky is fine. She’s going home to meet her beau.”
Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Page 55