The Ripple Effect: Dane

by Jodie Becker

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  Cobblestone Press

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Copyright ©2006 by Jodie Becker

  First published in 2006

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Ripple Effect: Dane

  Copyright© 2006 Jodie Becker

  ISBN: 978-1-60088-070-4

  Cover Artist: Dan Skinner

  Editor: Susan Greene

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cobblestone Press, LLC

  www.cobblestone-press.com

  Dedication

  First and foremost, I'd like to extend my thanks my editor, Susan Greene, for her unbelievable patience and belief in my story. Next, to God, for my passion for writing, and for my loving husband who always supports me. And finally, to Dan Skinner, whose pre-made cover inspired me to write Dane's story.

  Chapter One

  "Oh, my God,” Jamilah gasped as she rubbed her fingers reverently over the soft ridges. “It's beautiful."

  The heavyset man in his late fifties frowned, and his lips disappeared under his beard. “I wouldn't call it that."

  She let out a giddy laugh. She'd dreamed of holding it in her hands for years, but it had been forbidden. “Mr. Turner, trust me. What I have here is breathtaking."

  His bushy gray brows drew low as he leaned forward to garner a better view. “It looks old."

  "It's antique,” she corrected as she ran the pad of her finger over the embossed copper.

  The rustic color of the mirror added character to something that was completely priceless. She still couldn't believe her great-grandfather deemed to leave this Egyptian artifact to her. For as long as she could remember, she'd lived on the tales he would tell her of their family's escapades in archeological digs.

  The stories of sun, sand and exotic locations titillated her, and she'd longed to make her home in Cairo. Unfortunately, she'd been born one hundred years too late to enjoy the true adventure of discovery, when people delved into the unknown and learned of cultures that were so far removed form their own.

  "I think I'll leave you to admire your ... mirror,” Mr. Turner said, and picked up his briefcase from the table.

  Jamilah nodded absently as he left, her focus on the strange inscription on the back of the face. Amongst the embossed flowers, a hieratic script flowed in and out of the design. Frowning, she picked it up and then walked toward the window of her office for a better view.

  A shaft of light hit the copper, and she ran her fingers over the writing. Her heart pattered in her chest as the excitement within burgeoned. As a dealer of antiquities, she'd never known of a mirror that was inscribed, and to have one in her possession was just phenomenal. She could've kissed her ancestors for being so adventurous and giving her an opportunity to hold a personal piece of history because of it.

  She angled the mirror to catch the best light, and frowned as the wording shimmered and then disappeared. What in the world? She stepped out of the light and squinted, looking for signs that what she'd seen had been real and not imagined. Disappointment sat heavily in her stomach when nothing showed up.

  Stepping away from the window, she returned to her desk and placed the mirror on the table. Picking up her mug of coffee, she cupped it and breathed in the heady aroma. The office, though Spartan in its design, was how she preferred it. Her father had served in the military and didn't like clutter. It was a way for her to have something of her father always around her. The room was free of items, save a leather lounge, her desk and a few chairs. The starkness was a welcome comfort to her disturbed thoughts.

  Her attention fell on the mirror, and a small part of her hoped to see the words again. She must've been seeing things. After several late nights in the last week, it was understandable. She released a short, derisive chuckle. Wishful thinking on her part.

  She turned away and shuffled through some paperwork on the table, mentally going through the tasks she needed to complete today. A shimmer caught the corner of her eye, and she glanced back at the piece. She frowned, and her heart slammed against her ribcage as the words upon the mirror flared to life as though consumed by fire. With trembling fingers, she set the coffee mug back on the table, her gaze fixated on the mysterious inscription. She grasped the handle of the mirror and slid it off the table, her breath coming in short gasps.

  Under the lamplight, the words seemed to rise out of the copper. Bringing it closer for observation, she read the inscription that seemed to be bathed in fire.

  "Ho, there, child. You are the bringer of light—" Jamilah broke off at the soft rumble in the distance. She stared out the window and frowned at the fine weather outside. Shaking off her apprehension, she turned back to the mirror and continued to read. "You shall be the light. You shall conquer the darkness."

  Again the thunder rumbled. It sounded closer still, and caused the floor to shake subtly beneath her. Swallowing hard, she glanced around the room. Everything remained in place. Was it a mild earthquake? She immediately shook off that notion. She wasn't living in Florida anymore. New York didn't get tremors.

  Clearing her throat as the trepidation increased, she fought off the compulsion the throw the mirror from her. Her fingers tightened over the handle until her knuckles shone white. This was crazy. Clearly she needed some sleep.

  She held up the face of the mirror and continued to read. "You are god—"

  A loud whoosh of air hit her with such force that she was knocked off her feet. Her head snapped back against the floor when she hit the ground. Pain spiked through her skull, causing light to flash behind her eyes. The mirror slid from her grip and skittered across the wooden surface. The windows shattered about her as a resounding boom ripped through the air.

  She curled into a fetal position to protect herself against the glass that rained down upon her. Fear emerged from the pit of her stomach like a hungry beast, and she couldn't contain the whimper that rose to her throat.

  As suddenly as the strange occurrence began, it ended. Silence pervaded the room, save the ringing in her ears. Blinking, she let out a heavy gasp as she peeked through her forearms at the chaos about her. Everything lay in disarray. Furniture was overturned, and a thick layer of dust covering the once pristine leather. The fine mahogany doors hung by the hinges, creaking as it struggled to stay to the frame.

  She pushed to her feet and stared, dazed, at the condition of the office. A strange sense of surrealism overcame her as she stumbled toward the mirror—the only thing in the room free of dirt. Picking it up, she turned it over to study the back of it, searching for the inscription that now wasn't there. What happened? Her heart clenched painfully at the strange event that was somehow linked to the mirror.

  She shook as she stepped around the overturned table, broken glass crackling underfoot. The whole building remained eerily silent. She would've thought at the very least, someone would be running by her office for dear life. Stumbling slightly, she cursed and regained her footing
as she made her way toward the door.

  Poking her head around the corner into the hall, she drew in a stuttered breath. Panic expanded within her like a black hole. The corridor was in disarray; dirt and furniture lay on the ground. An amber glow from a fire in one of the rooms on the left caught her attention. The fumes of must and smoke filled her senses. Where was everyone?

  She stepped into the hall and ran her fingers along the dirt-encrusted walls as she cautiously made her way down through the building. “Hello?” she called out. Her voice echoed in the silence.

  Another blast broke the unnatural stillness. Jamilah screamed, and her heart leaped to her throat as she crouched, covering her head with her hands. Although this one sounded decidedly different, she still wasn't taking chances. The safest place in a threat of an earthquake was in the hallways, wasn't it? Somehow, that reasoning didn't sit well with her.

  Again the blast sounded, and this time, closer. Oh, that wasn't good. Standing, she glanced back at her office door and hesitated. Standard procedure in case of an emergency required for her to leave the building. Right now, it sounded like a solid plan. She pushed off the wall and started toward the fire escape.

  Suddenly, a beast rounded the corner and barreled down the hall toward her. Everything seemed to close in on her as she froze in fear and stared aghast at the creature. The animal had a torso of a man, but that's where the similarities ended. With a head of a lion, cloven feet and the tail of a scorpion, it was the stuff nightmares were made of.

  Incapacitated, her feet refused to obey her command to move out of the way. A moment later, another person appeared, this one definitely human. He skidded to a stop and aimed his shotgun, but with a curse he dropped it and charged after the beast.

  If Jamilah hadn't been scared to death, she might've taken the time to admire the physique of a shirtless male running through the building. But now wasn't the time for ogling. In fact, now wasn't a good time to stand there like a statue, either, but she couldn't help it.

  The beast drew closer. Before she had time to even draw a breath to scream, its clawed hand gripped her throat and swung her around. Her back slammed against the beast's chest. "M-ir fyr-bnr," the beast rumbled.

  Demotic Egyptian? Animals didn't speak old Demotic. They didn't speak at all. No one spoke that language anymore. It was a dead language; not even the current Egyptians spoke it.

  This had to be a dream. The nails of the beast dug into the soft skin of her neck with a burning sting and quickly relieved her of that notion. She gagged against the pressure. Terror rose against her chest and brought bile to the back of her throat. Nope, this certainly didn't feel like a dream.

  "I will kill her, Holyman,” the beast rumbled in Egyptian Demotic.

  She clutched the mirror to her chest as though to ward off evil spirits and tried to implore for help. “Help,” she choked out in Demotic, her voice pitched in a soft squeak.

  The fingers tightened around her throat, enough to cut off her words and cause a tingling sensation to run along her face. Her lungs burned for oxygen, and she struggled to remain conscious against the darkness encroaching along the edge of her vision.

  The Holyman's green eyes narrowed dangerously, and the bloodlust in them caused Jamilah to wonder how holy he truly was. That, and the shotgun gave her a bit of concern. Celtic tattoos lined his torso and arms, not at all like the conservative garb her local minister would've worn.

  The man's lips thinned over even teeth. A feral glitter entered his eyes. “If you're going to do it, then do it now."

  Jamilah's eyes widened, her heart slammed against her chest, and a small whimper rose to her throat. This has to be a dream. Please, let this be a dream. The thought flittered desperately as tears glazed her vision.

  The beast behind her stepped back and dragged her with him. “Don't think I won't do it."

  The Holyman advanced. With a jerk, he pumped the weapon and brought it up in one smooth movement. “I don't care what you do. Just know you're not getting out of this building alive."

  The animal hesitated, and the Holyman reacted. A blast of gunfire resounded through the narrow hall. Blood splattered along the side of her face, and the hand released her. Immobilized by the horror of the situation, Jamilah could only gasp as the warm flow trailed along her face and neck.

  The Holyman stalked toward her, his weapon still held at the ready as he crouched beside the dead monster. Lowering the butt of his gun to the ground, he leaned forward and wrapped his hand around the necklace on the animal's neck. With a quick tug, he snapped it free. He held the pendant up for a moment, and Jamilah caught sight of hieroglyphs before he shoved it into his pocket.

  While the stranger busied himself with removing the body of all of its valuable possessions, Jamilah drew in small breaths against the burn in her throat. Briefly she pondered those women's self-defense flyers she'd seen posted on the office bulletin board for the last few weeks. If only she'd taken a few classes. She might've learned something helpful, but she doubted the classes dealt with being strangled by otherworldly creatures. Great lot of good that would've done her now.

  She glanced behind her and wondered if any more of those things were around. She turned her attention back to the Holyman, who was in the process of chanting something. She clasped her hands before her, unsure of what to do next.

  His back rippled with muscles under the line of tattoos. In addition to his jeans, he sported what looked like some type of leather bag. What was he doing, running around half-naked through the city? When he finished, he raked a hand through blond locks and cupped the back of his neck, looking ... dejected.

  She cleared her throat. “Uh, excuse me,” she rasped in English, hoping he understood.

  His shoulders tensed as he stood. When he turned on her, she was taken aback by the fury that flashed in his gaze. “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled in perfect English.

  "Wha-what?"

  "You could've gotten yourself killed."

  Anger flared to life under the censor he lashed at her. Of all the gall! She didn't ask this gun-toting maniac to shoot at her. If he and that crazed beast hadn't been in her building, she wouldn't have been fearful of her life. “Are you crazy? Killed? No thanks to you,” she said, her voice strong under the indignation that soared within her.

  His lips curled back as he took a step closer, fury emanating from every pore of his body. Jamilah pulled her shoulders back, drawing on her own anger that sputtered under his rage. She wasn't about to let this Neanderthal cow her. Who cared if he carried a big gun? She had—Jamilah glanced down at her fisted hand—had a mirror.

  "Look pal,” she said, pointing the mirror at him like a finger. “I don't know who you think you—” Her words ended in a cry of surprise as he wrenched the mirror from her.

  She lurched forward and made a grab for it, but he quickly evaded her. “Give that back!"

  His gaze narrowed on the mirror, then fell on her, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Where did you get this?"

  She crossed her arms over her chest, hating the way he made her feel as if she were some kind of thief. “It's a family heirloom."

  Without a word he slid it into the back of his jeans, then gripped her elbow and swung her around to drag her along with him. “Hey! What're you doing?"

  "You can argue about your mistreatment if you want, but now isn't a good time,” he said without a glance at her.

  Stepping over debris that lined the floor, she attempted to keep up with the pace he forced on her. She swore as she stumbled slightly, but he continued despite it. She glared at the man, an action that went unheeded. Who was this guy? And where in the world was everyone else?

  "What in the world is going on?” Her voice raised an octave under the hysteria that grew within her.

  "I thought most of the civilians had been evacuated when Set sent his minions into the city."

  Set? Instant images of the Egyptian deity flashed before her. The head of a jackal with a huma
n body. Surely he wasn't talking about that Set? “Who?"

  He cast her a perplexed frown, but didn't ease up on the pace as they marched down the stairs toward the front. “Set, the God of Chaos."

  Chapter Two

  Dane cursed as the woman stumbled and fell forward. He pulled her upright and dragged her with him through the glass doors and into the street. The thick smell of smoke invaded his senses. Perusing the area, his mouth settled in a grim line at the ravages of war. Buildings, once so pristine in his childhood, now lay in ruins. It amazed him that the structure the he'd found the woman in still stood. Along the street, overturned vehicles and fallen light posts lined the roads.

  The woman dug her feet into the ground and wrenched her arm from him. He made a grab for her elbow, but she evaded him and stepped back. Irritated, he suppressed the growl that rose to the back of his throat. “Come on, we have to get moving,” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

  "No, no. I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what's going on."

  Dane briefly contemplated leaving the woman to her own demise, but he knew he couldn't. He'd felt the pull to return to the city, and somehow he knew this woman was the reason the gods wanted him here.

  He frowned. Surely she knew New York had fallen to Set several months ago. Then again, perhaps not. His gaze ran over the conservative heels, black skirt and blouse. What person ventured back into a war zone in a skirt and heels?

  Her wide, brown eyes filled with confusion and horror, and the impact of her emotion slammed into him. “What happened here?” she asked tremulously.

  "Set laid claim to the New York."

  Her mouth dropped open. “New York? This is not New York."

  His bemusement grew at her adamant denial. How disillusioned could she be when evidence of its fall lay before her? “I assure you, this is New York ... or what's left of it."

  The woman stumbled backward and slumped to the ground, her pallid features stark against her black hair that fell in waves from her bun. “No,” she mumbled. “This can't be happening to me. I'm crazy. I must be."