Crescent Moon

by Delilah Devlin

  “Hell is…changeable,” Haddara said. “Someone whose heart isn’t righteous shall find monsters, but those of their own traditions.”

  Juste ran a hand over his face. “I’m not Egyptian, but I saw something that had a crocodile head and a mane.”

  Khepri gave another crisp nod. “There are regions of the underworld, just as there are regions in this dimension.” A slim hand waved in front of her body to assist her explanation.

  “So that thing, your Ammit, escaped from a bad place that only people in the Middle East would encounter in death?”

  “Simply put,” she said, “but nearly the truth.”

  “Good enough. How do we send the bitch back?”

  “She must die.”

  Yeah, right. How could that work? “She’s a god.”

  “Even gods can be killed.”

  “Do we need some special weapon, like Superman’s kryptonite?”

  Haddara’s gaze went to Khepri.

  Juste stiffened and tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Oh hell, no.”

  Khepri snuggled deeper against his side. “I will review the talismans. Perhaps, Mr. Haddara, you would stay to help me decide what will serve me best?”

  Haddara smiled, steepled his fingers, and bent his head. “Detective, will you be attending in costume?”

  Nope. Like that would ever happen.

  “I can make arrangements to have something suitable delivered.”

  “No thanks. I have a tux.” Juste checked outside the window again.

  Mikey’s head jerked his way. “Seriously? I only planned on wearing a dark suit.”

  “It’s not necessary to dress formally, but I imagine you want to be seen as a suitable escort for the princess…?”

  “Yeah, she’ll stay on my arm.” Although he preferred her to be plastered to his side.

  Her body stiffened. “And I have nothing to say about the arrangements?”

  Surprise jerked back his head. “You don’t want to go with me?”

  “I don’t need to hang on your arm.” She edged away and turned to meet his gaze. “In fact, I prefer to keep my hands and arms free to fight.”

  “Where are you gonna hide weapons?” he asked, arching a brow.

  She frowned.

  “If you’re on my arm, you only have to slide your hand inside my pockets…”

  He hadn’t meant to growl that last bit, but the flare of desire in her eyes was gratifying. They might have to wait to be alone until later that night, but she was still interested. All this talk of gods and princesses and shadowy realms hadn’t caused her to rethink what the hell she was doing with him.

  “I will fill your pockets with what I cannot carry or wear.”

  Haddara chuckled and pulled a long jewelry box from a deep pocket in his jacket. “This is from the sheik’s collection. Something very old and reputed to be made of lapis pieces from a tomb in the Valley of the Kings. A certain ankh would look lovely hanging from this chain.”

  Khepri took the slender box and opened it. Inside lay a necklace fashioned from small blue beads strung together with gold wire. “The ankh will look lovely with this. Thank you. However, if it is precious, does he not worry it might come to harm?”

  “The sheik is more concerned that the necklace serve one worthy of wearing it.”

  Khepri settled back in the seat with both hands closed around the box. Silence fell around the inhabitants of the car.

  Juste felt as though the air inside was as dense as a blanket, weighing against his chest. He didn’t like feeling as though they were preparing to do battle, because for once, he cared about the outcome. They couldn’t lose, because if they did, Khepri would die.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Unlike the last time she’d worn a similar garment, this time Khepri wore undergarments beneath her thin kalasiris. The linen was a pale gold and matched perfectly the lapis-and-gold necklace. She’d polished the gold ankh pendant and fit the necklace through the top of the ankh. The heavy metal amulet lay flat against her chest and warmed to her skin, providing her with a feeling of comfort. Something she needed right about now.

  Checking the cosmetics she’d carefully applied to her face, she fluffed her hair and then let herself out of the bathroom.

  In the living room, the three men who waited—Justin, Michael, and Mr. Haddara—rose from where they’d been seated, all appearing relieved to have her join them. She wondered how awkward the conversation had been while she’d dressed.

  Justin had changed as well, donning a black jacket and slacks, a small silk accessory tied around his neck, a bowtie, she recognized, happy the word came with barely a thought. She was adjusting to having words for things she’d never seen before appear magically in her mind. “I hope I didn’t keep you too long.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. Haddara said, bowing slightly. “You look lovely.”

  Justin cleared his throat and glanced her way; his smile was tight. “Yes, you look…great.”

  She grinned at his discomfort. Did he resent that another man had provided her clothing?

  Mr. Haddara pointed toward the dining room table, where her wrappings and amulets still stretched across the surface. “The ankh is universal protection. Is there anything else that would give you comfort to bring along?”

  Comfort? The vizier had seemed to think she would need them when she did battle, but she was beginning to think they were props for her self-confidence. She hadn’t held a single amulet in her hand when she’d tossed fire at Ammit. And where would she hide another? The ankh served as jewelry. She fingered the blade of the dagger she’d held in her hand for millennia, traced the carvings on the hilt, crude symbols the vizier had no doubt scratched, because again, the sketch spoke of the bearer doing battle with the beast.

  “I have something you might be able to hide it beneath your dress,” Justin murmured, disappearing down the hallway for a moment before returning with straps. “I’ll wrap this around your thigh. The Velcro makes it adjustable.”

  “Velcro” meant nothing, but as he knelt and tapped his thigh, she gave him her sandaled foot and gasped as his hands glided up her leg and wrapped the rigging around her thigh. She gripped his shoulders as he worked, cheeks burning because the other two gentlemen hadn’t looked away as Justin’s hands disappeared up her skirt.

  When the straps were snug, he held out his hand.

  She handed him the dagger, which he secured.

  After placing her foot on the ground, he rose. “Walk. Let’s see if it’s detectable.”

  She took several steps, but the fabric billowed away from her thigh, not snagging on the slender weapon. “This will do nicely,” she said.

  “The incantation,” Mr. Haddara said, pointing to her wrappings. “Some of this might be helpful tonight.”

  “Of course,” she said, drawing close to the table.

  “What does it say?” Justin asked. “You never did tell me.”

  Khepri frowned. Looking at the symbols reminded her of the sound of the vizier’s tapered rush, scratching across her resin-hardened wrappings. But she guessed she wouldn’t be plagued with that memory for long. Breathing deeply, she said, “It begins, Khepri, ushabti to the nameless one, beloved of Amun…” Khepri gave him a small smile. “Sometimes of late, I forget,” she said softly.

  He must have understood her because his hand brushed her arm. “The useful parts.”

  She drew a deep breath. “It says that should the nameless one awaken, he will be reborn with the same drives, the same needs. His nature will reveal him to me.”

  “Not exactly a description I can hand along to the security team. But you’ll know him?”

  “I will see him as he truly is; however, he might try to hide. And remember, my appearance has not changed.” A hand circled her face. “His will be similar. Although I have never seen him, his skin tone will be like mine or Mr. Haddara’s—and not as dark, and his features not as pronounced, as the bomber’s was.”

  “Ancie
nt Egyptians were more Mediterranean in appearance,” Mr. Haddara said, his gaze moving between the American men, “their noses less hawkish, their skin tone closer to modern Israelis, I would assume. The influx of Persians into the region changed our features.”

  “Thanks for the history lesson,” Justin muttered. “There’s more?”

  “Yes.” She traced the dingy brown symbols. “A warrior will arise, one pure of heart and spirit, mated to the wind—that would be Amun, he is god of the winds—and mistress of fire.” She shrugged and rested her fingertips on the edge of the table. “I only played with fire. I lit candles or fire pits with my fingers, but nothing like what happened back at the hotel. How did he know? When I first read it, I thought the vizier was taking poetic license.”

  “Is there anything helpful?” Justin asked, raising a brow.

  She scanned the rest. “I don’t know. Something about severing his connection to the one who serves him, but it doesn’t say how. And then, a warning at the end about delivering him back to the Duat, his body and soul intact, so that he may be judged, and hopefully sentenced to reside in the fire lake—”

  “Delivering him back?” Justin’s brows lowered. “And who the hell is supposed to do that?”

  Moisture welled in her eyes, and she was careful not to let Justin see, her gaze swinging to Mr. Haddara, who could read the symbols as well as she could. “This is my quest,” she said, her voice thickening. “My duty to perform.”

  Justin’s hand wrapped around her bare upper arm. “Like hell.”

  She blinked away the tears and raised her chin, locking with his gaze. “I’ve always known I was meant to do battle, that I would likely not survive. There are rules…”

  “Fuck rules, and if there’s somethin’ I know about rules, there’s always a loophole.”

  With a gentle caress, she cupped her hand over his fingers. “You will bruise me. Then I will have to find something else to wear.”

  “Sorry,” he whispered. “Let me do my job. Tonight, he might not even show. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble where there might not be any at all.”

  She smiled and nodded, although deep inside, she knew there would be no reprieve, no tomorrow. Not for her. Lifting her hand, she flattened her palm against the side of his face. “I am happy we had this time. I will hope for more.”

  A voice cleared behind them, and Khepri glanced over her shoulder.

  Michael pointed at his watch. “We really have to go, or we’ll be more than fashionably late. Don’t want Maines sendin’ anyone to find us.”

  Mr. Haddara’s features were set, his smile tight, but he gave a slight bow and waved an arm toward the door. “After you, my dear.”

  “I thought the custom was that the woman follows,” she said, laughing lightly.

  “You are quickly adapting to this new world.”

  “I have, haven’t I?” Feeling calm, the ankh warming her skin and the presence of her protectors giving her a sense of belonging and acceptance, she waited as Michael opened the door and bent his arm to escort her down the steps to the waiting vehicle.

  Outside, heat pressed against her, so heavy she had to remind herself to breathe. Thankful for the thin, breathable linen she wore, she glanced toward the darkening sky. The moon was full and looked so large she had the whimsical thought that if she reached up, her fingers would skim its surface. When they were seated in the back of the car, she kept her gaze on the moon through the window. “Khonsu is the moon god,” she said, talking because she needed to say something, but didn’t want it to be terribly important. “Amun’s son by his goddess wife, Mut.”

  “So Amun wasn’t faithful?” Justin said, his lips curving.

  He was teasing her. She liked that he was trying to ease her nerves. “Gods are not expected to be faithful. They are immortal—”

  “For the most part,” Mr. Haddara said, grinning from the seat across from her.

  She nodded. “Yes, another god can kill them. Anyway, I feel comfort that the moon is out. Khonsu protects travelers at night. And with my connection to his father, I have hope he will give me special attention.”

  “Have you met him, this moon god?” Justin asked.

  He said it like he really believed she might have. Khepri smiled her approval. “Just as I have no memory of his father, I also cannot say whether I met his son in the Duat. But along with Mut and Amun, they were a triumvirate of gods whose place on Earth was my home, the area around Thebes.” Talking of such things relaxed her, took her mind off the coming event.

  “Much of the later temple building at Karnak was dedicated to Khonsu,” Mr. Haddara said, giving a shrug. “It seems Thebians thought that Amun withdrew for a time, leaving a void, so they turned their allegiance to his son.”

  “Do you mean after I was taken?”

  “That I cannot say. Records from so long ago are spotty.” Mr. Haddara rested his elbow against the window. “However, it was commented on in reliefs inside the newer sections of the temple complex that the oracular powers of the original naos dissipated. After a time, The God’s Wives were ceremonial titles only. A noblewoman could play at being a goddess and pretend to dispense wisdom.”

  “The power of the naos seemed quite strong when I prayed.”

  “Perhaps the naos found the one in whom it could entrust its power…?” he said, his voice sliding into a silky purr.

  Something about Mr. Haddara seemed less…tame. The avuncular man who had been kindness itself was being replaced by a sharp-eyed man whose tone resonated with authority. Here was the protector he had promised he was.

  Justin’s thigh pressed against hers, drawing her attention sideways. His expression was questioning, as though he sensed a change in the atmosphere occurring inside the spacious vehicle. She wondered whether Justin knew there was more to Mr. Haddara than his lean appearance and softly spoken words conveyed.

  At least Mr. Haddara was preparing for war. He understood the consequences of failure. And something told her he believed every bit as strongly as she did that they weren’t going into this battle alone. They might have police and extra security, but the added human force was perhaps only intended as a distraction or to prove the humans’ worthiness of winning this battle.

  Gifts of continued prosperity and relative peace had to be earned. A lack of spirituality could be tolerated, it seemed, but laziness or an unwillingness to fight for family and community was proof of a void of conscience.

  Now and then, sacrifices had to be made. She and many of those who stood with her would be that sacrifice.

  Her mind was still, comforted by the thought that everything leading up to this moment had been predestined. But how sad was the fact no one would chronicle their story? That beyond some transitory mention in the coming days on flimsy paper or on the loud, flat screens that hung on people’s living room walls, nothing would be written in stone, preserved for the millennia to come. No one would know that Khepri, The God’s Wife, had reawakened to do battle with an ancient foe. No one would remember the names of those at her side.

  Khepri closed her eyes and drew her faith around her like a cloak. Perhaps her wish was selfish, but she prayed that one life would be spared.

  Justin Henry Boucher, she said inside her mind. Let him know happiness. Let him forgive himself and build a family.

  Please, husband, let him forget me.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The museum was lit up like a partier on Bourbon Street. Colorful lights placed in the lawn beside the sidewalk led the way to the entrance where well-built young men, likely students from Tulane and dressed only in off-white, kilt-like skirts, waited at the entrance to check tickets and hold open doors.

  Using an earpiece to pick up on any law enforcement chatter, Juste took up the rear of their entourage, his gaze going to the shadows surrounding the building and parking lot, scanning the people lined up, seeking entrance to what promised to be a helluva good party.

  Dressed in his tux, he fought the urge to pull
at his collar. He was already sweating, and the cool breeze that teased each time the doors were opened wasn’t enough. But the sultry air wasn’t what had him hot. Seeing Khepri dressed in a slim, one-shouldered dress that hung straight down, her breasts and hips giving the elegant gown definition, had him wishing they’d snuck off the moment the limo’s door opened. He wanted to feel those curves beneath his hands, wanted to mold her soft flesh as he kissed her delicious mouth. Tonight, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he knew what the thin fabric hid.

  The night was going to be long. Their group edged forward. What he wouldn’t let himself think was that this might be the last night they’d spend together. She might believe in destiny and a predetermined fate, but he couldn’t allow that possibility to enter his mind. Tonight, he had to be edgy and alert. Hopefully, any dangers presented would be handled with quiet efficiency by the team Haddara had assembled and with help from the beefed-up law enforcement crawling over the property.

  Through the doors at last, he stepped forward and slid his hand against the small of Khepri’s back.

  Her cheeks grew rosy, and she gave him a shy smile.

  How could she do that? The things they’d done together, and yet, she looked so fresh, so pure. He’d have thought by now they would have rubbed the “new” off, but here she was, showing her quiet joy at a simple touch. His chest rose, filling with warmth.

  “I am so pleased you chose to wear the costume,” came the sheik’s voice from behind them.

  Remembering that Khepri was posing as the ruler’s niece, Juste removed his hand from her back and turned to give the sheik a polite smile while Khepri reached out her hands.

  The sheik enfolded hers. “Niece, you are lovely this night,” he said, leaning closer to give her a wink. “Worthy of your true title.”

  “Thank you, Uncle. For your generosity, and for your belief.”

  The sheik nodded to Haddara. “Everyone is in place?”

  “Since well before the gala started. They completed a last sweep as the caterers were setting up. The task force followed them with another check. They were very thorough.”