Crescent Moon

by Delilah Devlin

  Choosing to ignore the man as he finished his conversation, she strode toward the table and the bag she’d abandoned that held all her worldly treasures. The fabric of the bag was nearly transparent and crackled when she lifted it. Turning it over, she emptied the contents onto the table’s surface. The amulets thudded against the tabletop. She reached into the bag to dislodge the stiff linen wrappings.

  She tossed the bag aside and crushed a handful of linen in her fist. The fabric was hard, coarse, filthy. Her wizened body had rested inside this horrible cocoon. With a shudder, she remembered the panic she’d felt the moment she’d awoken and realized her predicament.

  Closing her eyes, she saw the vizier, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he’d hovered over her, telling her why he’d set on murdering her. From deep inside, panic rose, causing her breaths to shorten as though her ribs were still constricted by linen bands.

  Arms slipped around her middle. Khepri was pulled back against a hard chest.

  Without speaking, she turned and wrapped her arms around Justin, her rescuer. How could she explain his role in all of this in a way that he would understand and believe?

  Neither spoke. Both barely breathed. Their heartbeats hammered together, and then took up the same beat. At the rhythmic sound, she sighed and snuggled closer to his strong, broad chest.

  A knock sounded on the outside door.

  Justin stiffened against her and gently put her aside as he walked toward the door. If possible, his back straightened even more as he stood to one side, allowing another man to enter. A younger man with medium-length brown hair and green eyes whose gaze darted around the room until it landed on her and held.

  Khepri noted the red blotches centered on the younger man’s cheeks, the thinning of his lips, the curling of his hands. The stranger was angry.

  “I am Khepri,” she said softly. “Amun’s wife.” She added the last, although she knew he didn’t have a clue what significance that name held.

  His head bobbed sharply. “Khepri.” His gaze raked her features. “Where exactly are you from, Miz Khepri?”

  “My home was located near Thebes.”

  “Egyptian, and from near where the exhibit was uncovered,” he said, not to her but to Justin, because his head swiveled slowly toward her rescuer.

  Justin’s expression could have been chiseled from quarry rock.

  “Imagine my surprise when the camera tech showed me new feed,” the younger man said, his words tight and brittle. “Especially of the door beside the cargo area—and you leadin’ a naked woman from a fuckin’ crime scene.”

  “The others know?” Justin asked, his voice rough as gravel.

  “Only Sammy, and I told him to keep it to himself. Seems he considers you some kinda hero.” His gaze narrowed and locked with Justin’s. “Tell me I haven’t managed to fuck over my career coverin’ your ass.”

  Justin grunted and turned his head, his gaze finding hers. A crease formed between his eyebrows. “I know this looks bad, but everything about this case stinks.”

  “Robbery of ancient junk not up to your standards?”

  Justin huffed out a breath and his gaze went to the floor. “I know I’ve been an ass.”

  “Yeah, you have. But you lost a partner, so I cut you some slack.”

  Justin’s jaw tightened, and he raised his head, his expression cleared of anger. A look that approached a plea lay naked on his face. “I didn’t want her grilled and booked.”

  The younger man’s anger drained away, his shoulders slumping. “Gonna introduce us?”

  “She just did. Her name’s Khepri, and she’s some kind of nun. The wife of a god.” Justin’s face swung toward her. “Khepri, this is my partner, Michael Prejean. And yes, he has three names too, but I don’t know the middle one.”

  “Michael … is lovely.” She approached him, lifting her hand when he lifted his, because that was the custom here. She endured his scrutiny as she slowly pulled away her hand. No jolt of lightning had occurred when they touched. Not even a faint ripple of awareness. She smiled. “It is very nice to meet Justin’s … partner.”

  Michael cleared his throat. He tilted his head to speak over his shoulder without breaking his stare. “So partner, you better fill me in.”

  “Might take a while. I’ll get you a beer.”

  Chapter Nine

  As the two men sauntered toward another room, Khepri pondered their relationship, wondering at the hint of hostility simmering between them. They worked together, called each other partner, and yet, they were not.

  Justin was older, with an air of cynicism and suspicion surrounding him. This she recognized, but she knew he harbored no deep distrust of her, although she was sure that was his habit. He’d followed his instincts when dealing with her. At some point, he might decide instinct should not erase habit—something for which she must be prepared.

  Michael wasn’t very hard to read either. He held his partner in some awe. He wanted to trust him, wanted to follow his lead, but Justin kept him away. Khepri almost felt sorry for Michael, but she knew the younger man was adept at turning situations to his own benefit and would one day grow tired of Justin’s rebuffs. She hoped they both soon realized they needed each other. In her quest, she would need them both. This she knew without using any oracular power. In a world without magic, she needed two men, two warriors, with their feet planted solidly on the earth.

  Khepri strode back to the table. Best to get started and learn what she could from her wrappings. If a spell had been used, perhaps the translation would give her a hint of where to begin her search for the demon pharaoh.

  Picking up an amulet, she held it on her open palm, examining the dark hematite figure of a funerary headrest, its bell curve supported on a pedestal. In an instant, she understood its meaning. Like an ushabti in the afterlife, the headrest ornament was meant to grow and support her head in rest. It also embodied a spell to keep her head attached to her body—a not-so-subtle plea for her to remain intact so that she could do future battle. She wrapped her hand around the cool stone and closed her eyes, but received no pulse or jagged ripple of energy. Its energy had been spent helping her get here. Now, the amulet was useless.

  Replacing it along the edge of the table, she reached for the next small amulet, a ring depicting the wedjat eye of Horus. Carved entirely in turquoise, its shape was an eye replacing the body of a falcon and with its brow a wing. The wedjat eye was a symbol of regeneration, for Horus’s eye had been plucked from his head by a rival for the throne, but then later returned, thus healing and restoring his sight. The loss and regeneration of Horus’s eye symbolized the phases of the moon and held powerful magic. She curled her fingers around the object. The stone warmed and shivered. Taking that as a sign, she slipped the ring onto her middle finger.

  Footsteps approached, but she didn’t turn to the sound.

  A hand reached past her, a finger trailing a line of rosined fabric.

  “Juste says you were wrapped in this,” Michael said softly. “That you could have suffocated. Mind tellin’ me how you managed to be wrapped like a mummy but lived long enough for him to cut you free?”

  Her mouth curved softly, and she angled her head to meet his gaze. “Would you believe I was reborn after being mummified centuries ago so that your partner could save me just in time?”

  Eyebrow arched, Michael grunted. “I have a hard enough time believin’ Jesus rose from the dead, and I been hearin’ that story all my life.” His gaze narrowed, studying her.

  Khepri held still, letting him sink into her unshielded gaze. I speak the truth. Some part of you knows this.

  He grunted again and then moved, jerking his head toward Justin. “I can see why you didn’t want her booked. Girl needs a keeper.”

  Her smile deepened. “Do you have no magic in this world that you automatically think I’m telling a story?”

  “Only magic I’ve ever found was in Jean Lafitte’s at the bottom of a bottle of absinthe. Thought I met
his ghost one time.”

  Khepri arched a brow. “If you believe in ghosts, then you must believe in the unseen world. Let your cynicism stretch just a little farther. We have much to do, Michael Prejean. We have to stop the evil set to rise.”

  Michael pointed a finger and tapped her turquoise ring. “That’s evidence.”

  She glanced down and curled her fingers. If he tried to take it, she would fight him. “It is indeed … evidence. But I imagine we have different interpretations.”

  His dark, thick brows drew together. “What is it anyway?”

  “The wedjat eye. The god Horus’s plucked eye.”

  “A little gruesome, isn’t it?”

  “And you have no gruesome symbols in your beliefs?”

  Across the room, Justin cleared his throat. “The sacred heart …” he drawled.

  Michael grimaced. “My grandma kept a picture of a sacred heart on her dining room wall. Told her once it was gross, and she rapped my knuckles with a spoon for bein’ disrespectful.”

  Khepri tapped the amulet. “Because his eye was returned and healed, restoring his sight, this symbol holds special magic. It represents rebirth.”

  “And that’s why you think we should believe you woke up reborn?”

  “That truth is only a small part of the magic the vizier worked.” She tapped the headrest amulet, her ring, and a golden ankh symbol. “All represent eternal life, or at least a return to life.” She pointed to the dingy linen wrappings. “And he painted a spell onto the wrappings. Once I read it, I might have an idea where to begin my search for the nameless one.”

  Michael’s gaze sharpened. “The curator at the museum said something about someone who didn’t have a name.”

  Khepri gave him a tight smile. “He had a name. A powerful one. But it’s best to never say it aloud. Giving breath and voice to a name gives its wearer power.”

  Michael glanced at Justin. “Don’t you have a picture—”

  Frowning, Justin gave a sharp shake of his head.

  Khepri wondered at the sudden crimping of Justin’s mouth. “I can read the painting. I just need to lay out the pieces in the correct order.”

  Michael gave her a doubtful smile. “While you do that, how ‘bout he and I have a little talk. ‘Sides, I need a cigarette.”

  Already spreading the cut bunches of linen, she nodded vaguely. As the door leading outside closed behind the men, she found a curved shape and recognized the head. When she picked it up, she felt something thin and hard inside it and pulled free the golden headband the vizier had placed upon her head. A rendering of an ibis sat in the center. She placed the band in line with the amulets and returned to her wrappings, finding narrow cylinders for her arms and larger ones for her legs.

  After a while, she stood back, the remnants of the frayed and cut fabric laid out on the table, forming a truly gruesome sight—the shape unmistakably human, and hers. Her mouth grew dry. These scraps had been her only clothing for a longer number of years than she could count. The symbols covering the fabric were darkened with age and smudged around the edges, but easily decipherable.

  The inscription began, Khepri, ushabti to the nameless one, beloved of Amun …

  It was a message for her eyes to read. Khepri’s head swam and she swayed on her feet. The man she’d screamed at silently for being a monster had left her a message with a gift tucked as securely inside the words as her body had been cloaked in linen rags. Any anger or hatred she’d harbored for him at last drained away. Her shoulders drooped. He was long gone. Dead in this world, and no doubt already judged. Since she was standing here now, she would take the final leap to believe he’d been speaking the truth about pharaoh.

  Again, she read the message, committing it to memory, and then made her way to the outside door. When she opened it, two dark heads bent close in the semi-darkness as they whispered swung her way. “I must find something. Now.”

  “It’s gettin’ late,” Juste said, his voice soft but firm. “Whatever you need can wait ’til mornin’.”

  She held up her hand to quiet his objections. “You do not understand. The longer we wait, the harder finding him will be. He might already be resurrected. Although the king’s vizier was no doubt careful to bury his entrails elsewhere, I fear he might already be assembled. There’s no time to lose.”

  Justin’s eyes narrowed.

  “Entrails?” Michael whispered, leaning toward his partner.

  Justin shrugged. “I been shakin’ my head a lot.”

  Twin lights flared and another large conveyance, a car, came to a stop in front of Justin’s home. The door opened. A Nubian woman stepped onto the bricked path. In the lamplight, her white teeth gleamed as she flashed a smile at Justin. Then her gaze landed on Khepri. “This your mystery woman?” she asked with a point of her chin.

  “That’s Khepri all right,” he drawled.

  The dark woman pursed her lips and considered her.

  A burst of emotion shot through Khepri. And if she weren’t the wife of a god, she might have labeled it jealousy. This woman was the first person Justin had called—an attractive woman he trusted. Khepri held still and set her expression in impassive lines.

  “My cousin’s clothes might fit,” the woman said, although her voice was filled with doubt. She bent and retrieved two sacks from the back of the car. “Well, Khepri, let’s go try these on. You look a little lost in Juste’s clothes.”

  The woman’s use of the shortened version of Justin’s name rankled, and Khepri stiffened. Who was this woman to her warrior? Were they lovers? The woman was quite tall, as many Nubian women had been during her own time. Once Khepri had met a slave who was as tall as she’d been broad. But with a happy disposition. This one’s face was closed. Her eyes harbored suspicions. Did she suspect that Khepri had intentions of consuming Justin’s every waking hour with her quest?

  The woman ushered her to the room where Justin slept and dumped the contents of both bags on his bed. She sorted through tops, picked up a few, and held them against Khepri’s frame, muttering and shaking her head before shoving them back into the bag.

  In the end, the woman found three tops, one with sleeves, the other two with wide shoulder bands to hold them up. They clung to Khepri’s breasts like a second skin when she pulled them on.

  The dark woman shook her head as Khepri touched the tips of her breasts, which beaded against the softly ribbed fabric. “Not very modest, are we?” Her large mouth stretched at Khepri’s frown. “Bet you’re givin’ him fits. Said you pranced around nekkid. Had to be hard on the boy. He’s been in between girls a long time now.”

  Khepri understood the gist of what the woman was saying, although some words were strange. “He complained of my immodesty, and yet he bathed me.” She wasn’t sure why she mentioned it, but liked the way the other woman’s eyes blinked and then widened.

  “Mmm-mm. Bet he did bathe you. Like a baby, huh?”

  “I could not reach my back,” Khepri said, spreading her hands, palms up. “And I would have allowed him to scrub the resin from my breasts too, but he was uncomfortable with my nudity.” She didn’t mention the erection she’d noted, thinking her new boldness did have its limits.

  The other woman chuckled. “I have a Genie bra in this pile. Couldn’t be sure what might fit, but one of those’ll hide the nips and let the poor boy breathe a bit.”

  “You call him boy,” Khepri said, frowning. Justin was no adolescent.

  “We’re old friends. It’s an endearment, sweetie. My husband was his best friend.”

  Khepri’s resistance to the woman melted beneath the depth of sorrow she read in the other woman’s gaze. “Your husband is dead.”

  “Over a month.” She gave a soft snort. “Still can’t believe it.”

  Not knowing what to say in the face of such unhappiness, Khepri lowered Juste’s leggings. “Do you have something I can wear below?”

  The other woman’s brows shot up. “We’ll start with undies.”

/>   Chapter Ten

  Juste kept silent as Michael tilted back his head and drank the last of his beer. He’d only taken a couple of gulps of his own, knowing he needed to keep his wits sharp this night. Mosquitoes buzzed. Crickets trilled. Frogs croaked. The cacophony somehow louder than the sounds of traffic passing on the street beyond the courtyard.

  Michael let out a muffled belch and smiled. “Figured out how we’re both gonna keep our jobs?”

  Juste squinted into the darkness. “We’re gonna follow Khepri. Maybe she’ll lead us to the robbers. Or maybe whoever broke into the museum’ll find her.”

  “Don’t sound like much of a plan.” His gaze narrowed and he shook his head.

  Didn’t he know it. Juste gave him a one-sided smile. “Disappointed?”

  “Guess I’ve been waitin’ to see a little of what made you such a name.”

  “You mean besides my flyin’ tackle across Maines’s desk?” Juste muttered, a little stung by the younger cop’s honesty.

  “Yeah, although I’d have given my left nut to see his face when you did that.”

  “Man had both my balls on platters. If not for the fact his boss knows Maines deserved it, I wouldn’t still be pullin’ a city paycheck.” He shook his head, lips curling in self-directed disgust. “Khepri’s all we’ve got. Thought maybe when we question those guards, we might position her somewhere they can see her. Watch if any of them recognize her and give themselves away.”

  “Think she won’t light up when she meets a co-conspirator? You don’t believe her story, do you?”

  “That she woke up from the dead?” Juste snorted before lowering his voice. “More likely she scared herself crazy. When I cut her free, she asked if she was in the Land of the Dead. I thought she was askin’ me if she was in a cemetery.”

  “Land of the Dead is somethin’ from Egyptian mythology. Their version of heaven and hell.”

  “So maybe she snapped and thinks she’s livin’ in a story?” At the quirk of one of Mikey’s eyebrows, Juste felt heat creep up the back of his neck. Shit, he hated looking foolish in front of another officer. “This ain’t the first time a naked woman’s turned my head. But it is the first time I believe she’s innocent. Or at least innocent of whatever crime was perpetrated at that museum.”