The details of the effigy were amazing. Even the man’s long braids had been captured in fine gold. Naked, he was obviously male since the sculptor had carved his flaccid yet impressive penis in meticulous detail. Broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips, strong thighs and calves—this man must have been a warrior king, Logan decided. His only adornment was a wide, bejeweled torc at his throat and an intricately scrolled band that encircled his right bicep.
“Who were you?” Logan whispered. He’d come to the conclusion that the sarcophagus was authentic, if for no other reason than the fact that Perry had kept it locked up in the Vault and had not relegated it to one of the corners of the basement.
Now Logan’s blood sang with curiosity. A strange compulsion swept through him, making his heart race. He wanted to know, needed to know if the sarcophagus contained a mummy and if that mummy were the man represented in effigy on the lid.
Perry would never tell him. Perry would go ballistic if he ever found out that Logan had even been inside the Vault. It would be the last straw—Perry would find some way to get Logan fired.
But he had to know. Logan’s chest tightened painfully at the very thought of leaving the Vault without satisfying his curiosity. His lungs wouldn’t work; he couldn’t draw in a deep breath. Repercussions be damned—he had to know.
And there was only one way Logan could find out.
He needed to open it.
Chapter Three
FEELING INSTANT relief at his decision and the thrill of discovery coursing through his veins, Logan ran out of the Vault. He returned a few moments later with a heavy black crowbar. Carefully wedging the flat tip under the edge of the lid, he pushed and pried until the lid began to move.
A musty smell of earth and age floated up from the dark recesses of the sarcophagus. Logan slid the heavy lid over until it balanced precariously to one side, and the light of the twenty-first century hit the remains of a man who’d lived millennia ago. Remarkably well-preserved, the mummy lay on his back with his arms crossed over his chest. Time and the mummification process had tanned his skin to dark leather, still bearing delicate strips of decayed gray linen wrappings.
There were no other items in the sarcophagus except for a small jar that rested at the mummy’s feet. Frowning, Logan gingerly picked it up, examining it with a studied eye. It was a canopic jar, used by ancient Egyptians to store the internal organs removed during mummification.
Logan knew that according to the belief at the time, a man would have need of all his body parts on the other side. His internal organs were removed during the mummification process and stored in small jars so they would be accessible to him in the afterlife.
But this jar was unlike any other Logan had ever seen. That there was only one jar was unusual enough. There were usually four, each bearing the head of a different god. Representing the four sons of the great god Horus, each god head guarded a specific organ of the body. Imsety, depicted by a human head, held the liver. Hapi, pictured with the head of a baboon, held the lungs. Finally, there was Duamutef, the jackal, who held the stomach, and Qebehsenuef, depicted with a falcon’s head, held the intestines.
This particular canopic jar had the head of a crocodile. “Setekh,” Logan whispered, shaking his head. “Why would they put Set on a canopic jar? He was the god of storms and disorder, not usually associated with the afterlife. What part of the body did they stick in here? Where are the other jars?” Logan’s mind sped ahead, trying to reason it out. “It can’t be the brains—they were always scrambled and discarded. I just don’t get it.”
He paused as a chill rippled through him, and he recalled Jason’s words from the bar a couple of months ago. He’d mentioned a giant with a crocodilian head. No, that’s rubbish, Logan thought, coincidence, nothing more.
Turning the jar around in his hands, Logan examined it from every angle. Carved from a pale rose alabaster, it was a beautiful example of ancient workmanship, for all its unorthodox features. A thin gold seal that wrapped around the throat of the jar was inscribed with a series of tiny hieroglyphics. Logan ran his fingers over it, feeling the texture, admiring the delicate lines of the hieroglyphic carvings.
Narrowing his eyes, Logan tried to decipher the inscribed markings. Damn, he really should have paid more attention during his Intro to Egyptian Hieroglyphics class. “Cursed is he who has no heart,” Logan haltingly interpreted. “That’s odd. He must have been a really bad boy to have been cursed to suffer eternity without a heart.”
From his studies in Egyptology, Logan knew the ancients believed the heart was the center of intelligence, not the brain. During mummification, the heart was the only organ to be left inside the body, done so that the deceased would be cognizant in the afterlife.
“You will meet a man with no heart.”
The chill suddenly returned to touch Logan’s spine with a cold finger of foreboding as Jason’s words again echoed in his mind. Reflexively, Logan’s fingers tightened around the jar.
Suddenly there was a soft cracking sound as the seal separated, the head of Setekh falling off. As Logan snatched at the free-falling head, his other hand inadvertently tipped the body of the jar toward the sarcophagus. A thin trickle of gritty ash poured out, dusting the mummy’s chest a whitish-gray.
“Oh shit,” he whispered, feeling his blood drain into his feet, peering into the empty jar. “I am so screwed. If Perry opens this thing, I won’t be able to get a day pass into the museum, never mind work here.”
Shaking, he replaced Setekh’s head on the jar and laid it at the mummy’s feet before shoving the heavy sarcophagus lid back into place. After backing out of the Vault, he closed and locked the door. He leaned his forehead against the cool wood, his heart still pounding.
With any luck, Perry would never know that Logan had trespassed into the Vault, and Logan’s secret faux pas would be as forgotten as the mummy itself.
IN THE absolute blackness of the Vault, within the recently disturbed golden tomb, something began to stir.
The ashes of a heart that had been turned to dust centuries ago sank into the hollowed chest cavity of the mummy like sand through a sieve, settling under the breastbone.
It began as a soft, dry rustling sound, like the crinkling of old, brittle parchment. Swiftly, it grew louder, popping and fizzing as if the contents of the sarcophagus were effervescent. Wet, slick sounds were accompanied by thuds and bangs as bones, muscles, and cartilage solidified, and taut, youthful skin grew to cover them. Joints groaned as they bent for the first time in five millennia.
Dark eyes blinked open, glowing with rage and indescribable pain.
The sarcophagus rocked as its prisoner furiously threw his growing weight against the sides.
As the mummy’s larynx rejuvenated, tongue and palate firming, lips refashioning themselves over teeth that rapidly grew white and strong, as lungs inflated and drew in their first breath in thousands of years, Seti screamed.
LOGAN TRIED to occupy himself, to keep his mind off what lay behind the oak door of the Vault, but it wasn’t working. He picked up his mop, slopping the wet, stringy tangle of its head across the floor, but no matter how busy he kept his hands, his mind kept returning to the mysterious sarcophagus.
The very existence of the golden tomb in the locked Vault was an enigma. Its value must be incalculable—if it were genuine, the gold itself would have worth beyond measure. Scientifically, even if the mummy were of no consequence to Egyptian history, or if it were indeed only a reproduction—which Logan didn’t believe for an instant—the sheer beauty and workmanship of the tomb would have rendered it priceless to a collector.
For the life of him, Logan couldn’t figure out why the museum was hiding such a treasure down in the bowels of the building. Why wasn’t it on display? Could it possibly be stolen? Secured on the black market? He didn’t think the museum would risk the consequences of dealing with the fossil-and-artifact underworld, especially since Logan couldn’t see the benefit in securing a piece th
at couldn’t be displayed. But, he conceded, it was possible.
Then the thought occurred to Logan that perhaps the museum board wasn’t aware of the sarcophagus’s existence at all. Perhaps Perry had acquired it, squirreling it away behind locked doors. He was sufficiently eccentric and egotistical to stoop low enough to purchase hot relics. Maybe it was to be his retirement fund.
That would explain why Perry guarded the Vault and its contents so zealously. But how did he plan on selling it? The same way he’d bought it, Logan presumed, answering his own question. Perry couldn’t simply put it up on eBay. He would have to unload it on the black market.
Logan’s mind reeled with questions. How many years had the sarcophagus sat in the dark of the Vault, forgotten by everyone except Perry? More than a handful—it had been thickly covered in dust. More important than where it had come from was who the mummy had been in life. A priest? A king? How had he died? Why had he been buried with a canopic jar bearing the likeness of Setekh? What had happened to the other canopic jars that should have been buried with him?
Lost in thought, Logan was sweeping the mop in lazy, preoccupied circles across the floor when suddenly a piercing scream shattered the silence of the dungeon, freezing Logan’s blood and nearly bursting his eardrums. The mop clattered to the floor as he dropped it, instinctively covering his ears.
Behind him, a tremendous boom thundered. A tremor ran under Logan’s feet, and he spun around just in time to see a deep, wide crack zigzag through the wood of the heavy oak door of the Vault an instant before it splintered apart like matchsticks.
Standing framed in the shattered remnants of the doorway was a man.
Powerful legs spread wide, his sinewy arms braced against the fractured jamb, and his broad shoulders nearly brushed the width of the doorway. Gold-brown skin, the color of toffee and as smooth as silk, stretched tightly over muscles that bulged with strength. A golden torc studded with colorful gems encircled his neck, and a scrolled silver armband was wrapped around his right bicep. Other than those two adornments, he was completely naked.
Between his strong, sculpted thighs, his flaccid, uncut penis and furred sac gave mute testament to his sex, should there be any question not addressed by the rest of him.
Long black braids cascaded over his wide shoulders, falling across his chest and brushing past nipples that were the color of amber. The beaded tips tickled at the ropy muscles that divided his stomach.
His smooth, dark eyebrows shadowed eyes that were as black as pitch but glowed with an intensity that staggered Logan as they looked at him from under thick lashes.
Logan felt himself begin to tremble as icy-cold droplets of fear trickled down the center of his back. That face—it’s familiar. Didn’t I just see it a few minutes ago? It was cast in gold on the lid of the sarcophagus! No, don’t be stupid. That’s impossible.
Suddenly, the man moaned, his legs shook, and he fell to his knees, his hands sliding down the frame, fingers digging into the jamb. Logan realized they were all that held the man up. He was trembling, worse even than Logan.
Logan’s feet paid no attention to the warning being shouted in his head. Instead they propelled him forward, to the stranger’s side. Crouching down next to him, Logan insinuated his shoulder under the man’s arm, bearing a good portion of his substantial weight, helping him stand.
Staggering under the larger man’s weight, Logan led him to a shrouded chair. With his free hand, Logan ripped the protective sheet off the Queen Anne chair so that the man could sit down.
Collapsing into the chair, the man slouched to one side, breathing hard. Those dark, flashing eyes never left Logan’s, nor could Logan break contact with them. It was as if he were spellbound, unable to look away.
“Was it you who freed me?” The man’s voice was raspy, and he winced as if speaking were painful. His accent was unlike any Logan had heard before, although his words were clear.
Logan answered with a barrage of questions of his own. “Who are you? How did you get into that room? Is there some sort of secret passageway in there? Where the hell are your clothes?”
“I am Seti.”
“Yeah? Okay, Seti. You sit right here. I’m going to call security.”
“Summon no one.” The command in Seti’s voice was so strong that Logan froze, his feet rooting to the floor. His mind screamed at him to run to the nearest phone and dial 911, but his body wouldn’t obey his brain’s command. “What is your name?”
“Logan. Who are you?” he asked again.
“I have told you my name. Do you not know of me?”
“No, should I?”
“I am Seti!”
“So you said before. And that should mean what to me, exactly?”
Seti’s face slacked, as if hit with a terrible truth. “You truly do not know of me?” He tipped his face upward, shouting at the ceiling. “Damn you, whore of Horus! Was imprisoning me not enough? Did you need to wipe the memory of me from the face of the earth as well?” He shot Logan a sharp look. “If you know not of me, how then did you know what was needed to free me?”
“Free you? Pal, I don’t know what loony bin you broke out of, but I assure you that I had nothing to do with you escaping whatever rubber room they had you locked up in. This is the National Museum of Natural History. I’m assistant to the curator of relics, and you’ve just destroyed some very valuable private property!” Logan replied with a lot more confidence than he felt, jerking his thumb toward the shattered remains of the door to the Vault. “Did you touch that sarcophagus? Man, if you so much as scratched it, you are in for a world of trouble with Dr. Perry—”
“Silence! You jabber like a tent full of old women.” Seti tipped his head from side to side, cracking his neck. In the silence of the basement, each pop sounded like a gunshot. “Where is this national museum that you say I have found myself in?”
“The moon,” Logan said sarcastically. Who the hell did this guy think he was, anyway? “This is a restricted area of the museum. You must have set off a half-dozen alarms when you broke in here. The police are probably already on their way.”
Seti fired Logan a look that made Logan think twice about his flippant answer. “Listen to me very carefully,” he said, his black eyes snapping with anger. “I have spent the last five thousand years in a box, unable to move, unable to speak, but fully aware of the passing of time. I could hear everything that went on around me. That was the worst part of my curse. The awareness. But it is how I learned to speak your language. It is also how I know what the moon is and why this museum could not possibly be on it. Do not lie to me again.”
Logan swallowed hard. Not that he believed the crazy part about Seti being in a box for five millennia, but because there was something in Seti’s eyes that belied the sternness in his voice. For all of Seti’s posturing, for all his size and obvious strength, the man was afraid, and that struck a chord in Logan’s heart. He felt sorry for the poor nut.
“Look, if you hurry you can probably make it out of the museum before the cops get here—”
“The police are not coming, Logan. I did not set off any alarms, because I did not break in. I was already in here,” Seti said. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed deeply. “In the sarcophagus. My tomb.”
“Your tomb? So, you’re telling me that… what? That you’re the mummy?” Logan smirked. “Please. Do I look like I fell off the turnip truck yesterday?”
“You do not look like you’ve been injured recently, no,” Seti replied, looking Logan over. Logan could feel those ebony eyes ghosting over his body no less than if Seti’s fingers had touched him. He shivered as Seti’s sloe eyes awoke parts of Logan that were better left sleeping.
Something wicked sparked in Seti’s eyes as they met Logan’s, a hot ember that flared for an instant, one that matched the fire that had been kindled in Logan’s core. Then it was gone, replaced by the same mask of cool conceit Seti had worn since he’d first begun to speak.
“Go look,” he or
dered in a smug voice. “See for yourself so that you will not again doubt my words.”
“This is ridiculous,” Logan murmured. Yet he felt a sudden, strong, irresistible urge to do just as Seti had ordered. Before he knew it, his feet were moving toward the Vault. His muscles bunched as his body fought itself, his brain issuing stern commands to stop but his legs paying absolutely no attention.
Reaching the Vault, Logan took a deep breath to collect his frazzled nerves, and peered inside.
Chapter Four
THE VAULT was better lit than it had been the first time Logan had opened it, even without flipping on the light switch, thanks to the gaping hole Seti had made in the door. Bright light from the main room streamed in, glinting off the golden sarcophagus.
The lid had been tossed to the side, landing end up against one of the walls. A spiderweb of long, jagged cracks laced through the golden effigy, heaviest at the head where they obscured the sculpted face.
One look told Logan that the sarcophagus was empty. Nevertheless, Logan ducked into the room, first peering carefully into the empty tomb then into all the shadowed corners. He crawled behind the sarcophagus, checking every inch of the floor, looking for the mummy. He banged on the walls, listening for any hollow echo that might indicate a hidden doorway or passage.
But there was no trace of the mummy anywhere and no way that Logan could find for it to have been spirited out. For that matter, there was no way he could find for Seti to have gotten into the locked room except through the door he had shattered. It was as if the mummy had vanished into thin air. That unbelievable but undeniable observation posed a problem for Logan’s pragmatic mind.
Logan was a scientist, a researcher. Methodical, unlikely to jump to conclusions, he had been trained to carefully study the evidence long and hard before posing a hypothesis. In this case, however, the facts spoke loud and clear—the mummy was gone.
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