He shook his head. “I didn’t sit for twenty hours on a plane so I could squeeze into a tiny room in a tiny hotel. I’ve been in Egypt all of five minutes and I’ve already got sand in my hair. If the hotel doesn’t have the words Four Seasons or Hyatt attached to it, I’m not staying there.”
“Expensive doesn’t mean better.”
“Well, it should. And if it doesn’t, you shoot the hotel manager.” He grabbed her arm, tugging her toward a row of limousines. “Come on. Carlos, buddy, use the magic of Google and find us a decent place to stay.”
“You’re a snob,” Lena told him, after he haggled with a man over the price of a ride into town.
“And you’re a miser.” He opened the door and waved her into the car, a cocky grin on his face. Really, he was the only man Lena knew who carried arrogance well. “Stop sweating it. I’m paying.”
Carlos slid in from the other side. “There’s a Four Seasons in Garden City.”
“Give the man the address.” Brian tossed Lena a grin. “See? Easy.”
“It probably costs upward of four hundred dollars a night,” she grumbled. For a room they’d only sleep in. Crazy.
“More, if we get a suite,” Brian agreed.
“Where do you get all this money?” she asked. “Are your parents wealthy?”
He chuckled. “No. My dad was a loan officer at a bank until he retired last year, and my mom is a nurse. No trust funds in my background, I’m afraid.”
“Yet you can afford expensive hotels and designer suits.”
“Yeah, funny thing about that. I was a stockbroker before I died. Not a bad one, either.” His smile turned wry. “But ever since I died, I’m golden. I took half the start-up money Death gave me and invested it. Started with almost nothing and turned it into a nice chunk of change. Now, it doesn’t seem to matter how much I spend—the nest egg just keeps growing.”
“Didn’t you lose a bunch when the bottom fell out of the market?” asked Carlos.
“Nope. I shorted the right stuff.”
“Cool,” the younger Gatherer said admiringly. “Remind me to hit you up for some tips when I have something to invest. First, I’ve got figure out how you survived on half the usual stipend.”
“I ate cat food for a year.”
Carlos chuckled.
The limo driver honked his horn and pulled in sharply ahead of a motorbike piled with people, several of whom hung from the sides. Lena’s shoulder pressed against Brian’s. Without batting an eye, he put his arm around her and tugged her against his chest, not too tight, just enough to make sure she didn’t slide off the seat.
It was a thoughtful gesture that made her feel guilty.
And hot.
“After we check in,” she murmured, trying her best to sound nonchalant, “we should visit the financial district. He has numerous contacts there, and we might get lucky.” Actually luck had nothing to do with it. The amulet had shown her an image of Talaat Harb Square.
“I keep telling you, we don’t need to work that hard. Finding him won’t be a problem. We’ll do a locator spell.”
Every sway of the car telegraphed the impressive details of his physique to her. The limousine was air-conditioned, but even if it hadn’t been, she’d have enjoyed the seep of his body heat. “Don’t you need some kind of connection to the person for such a spell to work? Actual memories or a personal possession?”
“Yup. Which is where you come in.” He slid her a curious glance. “You and this Tariq go back a long way?”
“Four years.”
“Why trust him with the coins?”
She smiled. “I told you: He owes me for getting him out of the country.”
“Even though you haven’t seen him since?”
“Did I imply that? We actually do business together.”
Brian frowned. “What kind of business?”
“He’s a fence.” At least, that was what he did now. Before he escaped from Egypt, he’d been the unwitting partner of Reyhan Nasser, an arms dealer with a vicious reputation and ties to numerous terrorist organizations. “He finds my buyers and handles most of the negotiations. He’s very good at reading people.”
“Good skill to have,” Carlos said, “if you want to survive on the streets.”
Lena agreed.
Tariq’s only blind spot had been with his cousin Reyhan. He’d allowed the other man to steer him along a very dangerous course, getting Tariq involved in activities that curdled his blood once he learned the truth. Which happened when Nasser came under investigation by Interpol’s Fusion Task Force.
More horn blowing, and another sudden swerve.
“Four Seasons Hotel,” the driver announced, braking before the curved frontage of a huge, modern hotel. The Nile River lay less than fifty feet away, clusters of feluccas bobbing gently on the surface of the water, lush green trees lining the street.
When the extent of Nasser’s crimes came to light, Tariq made a deal with Interpol and gave evidence against his cousin in return for freedom. Unfortunately, the information he provided was not enough to convict Nasser. The arms dealer walked out of court, vowing to get even, and Tariq was forced to flee.
Nasser’s desire for vengeance against his cousin had been deep and fierce—a blood vow. It would not have waned over the years. The arms dealer’s connections in Cairo were vast and his resources extensive, which was why she truly could not fathom Tariq’s decision to return. Reyhan Nasser would kill him without a qualm.
Finding him quickly was vital.
Had this been the Cairo she grew up in, no problem. Today? A bit more of a challenge. And, unfortunately, Tariq knew the limits of the amulet. If he kept on the move, getting an accurate read on the coins would be next to impossible—a flaw she suspected applied equally to Brian’s locator spell.
She had to hope Tariq slipped up—just not badly enough to get himself killed.
It happened fast.
Brian rolled from the limo, arguably a little buzzed from having Lena’s soft body tucked against his the entire ride. Carlos exited on the other side. Between the two men, they had the vehicle and its four doors covered. But when Brian reached back into the car to help Lena out, she wasn’t there.
The seat was empty.
He stared, his heartbeat lurching to a full stop.
How could it be empty?
Leaning in, he placed his hand on the still-warm leather. His skin tingled and somewhere in the back of his mind he identified the sensation as the residual energy of spent magic. But accepting what it meant took longer. And the reality, when it arrived, hit him in the gut like a two-by-four.
“Holy shit. They snatched her.” He spun around, quickly scanning the street. The east bank of the Nile lay on one side, the hotel on the other. No sign of Lena’s familiar figure. “How?”
“Only one hell perv I know of that’s capable of carrying a person through the barrier,” Carlos said quietly. “A lure demon.”
Like Drusus, the demon who had fried the kid. Christ.
Brian absorbed the tight look on the younger Gatherer’s face, but refused to contemplate what horrific actions the lure demon might be taking this very minute. “She’ll be putting up a fight. He won’t get far.” He thrust a handful of pound notes at the perplexed cabdriver. “Don’t worry, we’re actors. This is just an improvisation game we play from time to time. Take our bags inside.”
“Split up,” he ordered Carlos. “You go left. I’ll go right. Search every street, every alley, every corner. Use your senses. Find her.”
The younger Gatherer nodded, unable to meet Brian’s eyes.
“They won’t kill her,” Brian said. He had to believe that was true; his mind wouldn’t accept the alternative. “They want the coins.”
“Okay.”
The studied neutrality of his response gave Brian pause. Meeting another lure demon couldn’t be a comfortable notion for the kid. “Look, if you need to stay out of this, I’ll understand.”
Car
los’s chin came up, and his eyes were dark and steady. “No way. I’m in.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
Brian darted down the tree-lined side street along the north side of the hotel, sending feelers into every shadowed corner. His throat was dry and his hands were fisted. Every muscle in his body was hot and tense and pumped full of urgency. Fear for Lena’s safety splintered his thoughts, but the cool hum of the sword on his back kept him sane. There were a lot of unknowns, including who had snatched her, how she was coping, and whether she was still alive. But he was certain of one thing: If the fuckers harmed her in any way, he was going to cut their goddamned heads off.
Twice.
12
Mere seconds after the lure demon grabbed Lena, it released her and vanished. When the icy chill of transfer finally let go of her body, she opened her eyes.
She stood in an alley only a few inches wider than the reach of her arms. There were wooden crates and bikes and earthenware jugs all around her, and, above her head, drying linens hung from makeshift clotheslines. But the only person in sight was a lean man wearing a pale blue ankle-length tunic—a galabeyya—and a white turban.
“Salaam, Lena.”
She didn’t need the renewed thrum of the amulet against her throat to tell her she was in the presence of a demon. She could tell by his eyes. The evil glow of Malumos was becoming all too familiar.
“I don’t have the coins,” she said.
“You know where they are.”
Lena returned his stare. The lies came easier and easier. “Actually, I don’t. I anticipated that you might not keep your word, and made arrangements to ensure that the coins could be exchanged only on the agreed-upon date. No sooner.”
The man’s dark brows angled sharply down. “You must know where they are.”
“I don’t.”
“Do not insult me with lies.” He nodded to her purse. “You saw the picture we sent. You know the precarious situation your precious Heather is in. Why not simply give me the location of the coins and save the girl some grief?”
At the mention of Heather, Lena grew strangely calm. Ten years of watching the girls grow up, of making them meals when their father was late home from work, of trying to fill the very large gap left by the death of their mother, meant more than she could ever have imagined. She would do anything to prevent further harm from coming to Heather. But giving up Tariq would not save the girl; it would only ensure that she would be used to coerce Lena another time. The only way to save Heather was to trade the coins in an organized manner. Except, of course, she’d promised them to Brian. “No. We have an existing agreement and I intend to live by it.”
“Or die by it.”
“Go ahead. Do what you must. My shields won’t keep you back for long, but I’ll resist as fiercely as I can. Even then, you can take me to the brink of oblivion, but it won’t matter. I won’t be able to give you the location of the coins.”
His eyes narrowed. “The pain will be unbearable.”
“Difficult, yes. Unbearable, no.”
“Are you sure? There are more ways to torture you than burning your flesh, Lena.”
He waved a hand, and the crumbling clay walls shimmered and shifted. Daylight became dusk, shadows deepened, and the industrial scent of smog faded, replaced by the earthier and more pungent smells of the days before indoor plumbing.
In the gloom behind Malumos, two galabeyya-clad men walked toward her, and her heart began to race. They were men she recognized, men whose cruel faces haunted her dreams even now. Kaab and Nazr. Malumos’s body changed—the blue tunic became black, the innocuous white turban disappeared, leaving long black hair that hung to the middle of his back. His jaw sharpened and a jagged scar appeared beneath his left eye.
Dhul-Fiqaar.
She licked suddenly dry lips, and although she wanted to resist, her gaze fell to her feet and the body she knew she would see sprawled there. A man with nut brown skin, a lean, hard build, and a dagger in his belly.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she closed her eyes.
No. It was just an illusion.
This event had occurred over one hundred years ago, and the approaching men were long dead and turned to dust. Still, her mouth soured. What a fool she’d been that day. So full of herself after stealing a set of limestone canopic jars from Luxor that she’d ignored Azim’s warnings. How often had he told her that flaunting her success to Dhul-Fiqaar was unwise? Too often to count.
A rough hand grasped her chin, and her eyes flew open.
Dhul-Fiqaar stared back at her, hatred in his obsidian eyes. “He died trying to save you, Lena. Don’t you feel anything for the fool?”
Seventeen years of living on the streets had taught her to never show weakness—to always keep her fears hidden—and even with Azim’s blood seeping into her slippers, she couldn’t drop the mask. Even with her heart ripping apart inside her chest.
But her lack of emotion maddened Dhul-Fiqaar to the brink of insanity. He slapped her. So hard he nearly knocked her to her knees.
“Give me the jars.”
Lena’s hands trembled. The jars meant more to her than just money. They represented hope and freedom, and a real future for Lily. Selling them would give her enough money for three tickets to England on the next steamer. Oh God. She blinked, trying to clear her blurry vision. Only two tickets now.
“Give me the jars, or I’ll simply cut off your hands and take them.”
Buried deep in her memories, Lena almost repeated the mistake she’d made that day—of spitting in his face. But at the last second she remembered that she was not held to her actions of a century ago. This was not truly 1896.
She thrust the leather satchel into his hands.
“Take them—they’re yours.”
Dhul-Fiqaar offered her a twisted smile. “Very unlike you, Lena. But wise.” He lifted a wavy lock of her hair, rubbing it between his finger and thumb. “Will you be as smart about accepting your fate, I wonder?”
“What fate?”
He shrugged. “Azim is dead. He can no longer protect you.”
Lena’s stomach heaved, and the present folded in on the past. His words were both a warning and a promise. Three years ago, while searching for the elusive Book of Judgment in the temple ruins at Karnak, Azim had saved her from a rapist, a fellow thief. He’d taken her under his wing and together they’d hunted for and found the book—though freeing it from its encasement in hardened tar had proved impossible. Over the years, their relationship deepened and they became a couple. Her attacker never again threatened her and the incident faded into hazy memory, the way all nightmares did. But that attacker—Dhul-Fiqaar—stood before her this very moment.
“You do not want me,” she said, praying.
“It’s not a question of want, but a question of right. You are mine now.”
She bit her lip. The lines between illusion and reality were blurring. Keeping the past separate from the present grew harder with every minute that passed. She had hoped that by giving up the jars, by not spitting in his face, she could avoid reliving her brutal death. But Malumos controlled the vision, and he had no intention of letting her off so easily.
Her gaze flickered to Kaab and Nazr.
In the past, they had held her down while Dhul-Fiqaar raped her. They had sneered and jeered as he slowly cut her to ribbons and watched her blood mingle with Azim’s in the sand. But it wasn’t that horrific abuse that brought about her death. She had survived injuries far worse, and she would have gone on to live a lesser but lengthy life. She would have retold the tale of her misadventure as a warning to her grandchildren. Except he had threatened the one person more important to her than her own life—Lily. Her infant daughter. And that had triggered a terrified, uncontrollable need to fight back.
Her eyes met Dhul-Fiqaar’s.
“Take what you want from my body. I will not fight.”
Another smile, deeper this time. “Never let it be said that you do
n’t learn, Lena. You remain as passionate as ever, yet the rashness of your youth has been tamed. Bravo.”
The vision abruptly ended.
Her nostrils filled with the recognizable smell of car exhaust, and the walls closed in around her once more. Honking horns, rumbling buses, and the chatter of millions swallowed up the quiet of Victorian Cairo. But the man standing before her continued to stare at her through black eyes.
“Since you assure me you’re still committed to our deal, I’m going to let this drop for the moment. But don’t forget those hard-won lessons, Lena. Too much blood has already been spilled for your selfish needs. Don’t get anyone else killed. Bring me the coins.”
Then he was gone.
Relief swam in her veins, but almost of its own free will, her gaze slid down to her feet.
No body, of course. Just paving stones and a thin layer of sand blown in from the desert. But the sand was dark in an uneven circle that included the tips of her boots. Her heart thumped so heavily she could barely think, and her knees gave out. Sinking to the ground, she put a hand to the wet dirt, touched the cool surface, and lifted her fingers to look.
Sure enough, it was red.
Although she knew in her heart that it could not possibly be Azim’s blood, Lena’s head bowed. She had many regrets, but this was one of the worst. Her death that day had meant no one had grieved for him. No one had washed his body, wrapped it tenderly in shrouds, or seen him properly buried. No one had honored the passing of a truly fine man. He had died pointlessly and alone.
Because of her.
She covered her face with her hands, and she cried.
Brian entered the alley with his sword aloft and his pulse pounding, ready for anything. Ready for anything but what he found.
Lena. On her knees.
Sobbing.
After double-checking to make sure they were alone, he scanned her body for signs of injury, but found nothing. No burns, no cuts, no blood. Just some wet sand stuck to her fingers and copious amounts of tears streaming down her face. The sight was so unexpected, for a fraction of a second he simply stared at her, unsure.
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