Book of the Dead (Gods of Egypt 2)

by Nadine Nightingale

  The green-eyed wolf is so close, I can see its sharp white teeth. Survival of the fittest, that’s what nature is believed to be. Humanity has slaughtered in the name of survival for centuries, and I can see why. Fear is a powerful thing. It can kill regret and empathy in a heartbeat. And boy, am I petrified. If those wolves attack, I’m dead. Technically, I already am, since I’m in the Underworld, but Seth made one thing clear: if I die here, I cease to exist, and Izzy—I don’t want to know what he’ll do to her if I fail.

  Get a grip, Nisha!

  Easier said than done. My heart beats so fast, it’s ready to jump out of my chest.

  “It’s them or you,” he says quietly. “What’s there to think about?”

  I’m not sure what causes my next action. Maybe it’s the evil glint in his garnet eyes when he speaks about killing the wolves. Or maybe it’s just plain insanity. Either way, I drop the dagger and get down on one knee.

  “What are you doing?” the conqueror hisses next to me. “Take that dagger and get back on your feet. Now!”

  I don’t take orders from you! Never have. Never will.

  “No.” Call me crazy, but I refuse to murder them. “They haven’t attacked yet.” Even though they could have.

  “You’re insane. They’re going to rip you apart. Eat your damn heart while it’s still beating.” His anger doesn’t change my mind. It makes me more resolute.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I say to the green-eyed leader of the pack.

  To my surprise, the wolf sits, looking me over.

  “This”—I tilt my chin at his companions—“is your family. And I know you’d do anything to protect them.” Wolves are like that. They mate for life, and they’d die protecting the ones they love. “I have a family, too,” I go on. “Like you, I’d do anything to protect them, which is why I need to pass through this forest.”

  The alpha bends its head as if he understands what I’m saying.

  “Please.” I search its eyes. “Let me pass.”

  Maybe wolves do speak human, or maybe they can smell my intentions. Whatever it is, the alpha lifts its head and lets out a long howl. His pack joins in, creating a bone-chilling and beautiful melody.

  Then the alpha gets up and vanishes into The Woods, his pack sticking close to him.

  Seth grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. “Your madness is going to get you killed.”

  “It already did,” I shoot back, an image of me dying in the conqueror’s arms flooding my mind.

  His lips are half parted, but I don’t wait for what he has to say. I move along the path, constantly reminding myself that the girl who died in his arms wasn’t me, even when at times it feels like it.

  I walk for miles, ignoring the frost-boils paining my toes. The dead forest goes on for what feels like forever. Just when I wonder how on earth I’m supposed to make it to the temple, let alone through the Underworld, within twelve underworld hours—aka human days—I reach a carpet of colorful leaves.

  I am surrounded by a picturesque autumn forest. I close my eyes and recall the image of the temple. Birds were chirping—the sun wasn’t brutal, but warm and cozy. It felt like spring, which means—I turn and gaze at the wintry landscape I just passed through—autumn is ahead, but spring is what I’m looking for.

  In other words, one season down, three to go.

  The Truth is a Madhouse

  Chapter 20

  Blaze

  I assume no explanation regarding how the story about gods and Underworld portals went is needed. I will say this; Rob’s cusses are very creative, V’s tears are beyond heartbreaking, and Nisha’s parents’ office is stocked with more books than a damn library.

  “You’re not buying this, are you?” Rob stands in the doorframe, watching us like a hawk. “We’re talking magic and monsters here. I mean”—he looks V in the eye—“It’s crazy. They’re probably in shock or something.”

  I sit at the desk, skimming through another tome, unable to tune Rob and V out. “What if it’s true?” she counters.

  “It’s not,” Rob says confidently. “It can’t be.”

  Her eyes narrow. “What’s the other option, Rob? Do you prefer to believe Izzy and Nisha to be amongst the unidentified victims?” More tears roll down her cheeks, and I’m not sure how long she can hold it together.

  “No,” he assures her. “Of course not, but—”

  She draws a deep breath, swallowing her pain. “Think about it. All the weird things that have happened in the past few weeks.”

  “Like what?”

  She meets his gaze. “The desert rose on Nisha’s windowsill? The fact she was soaking wet in bed?”

  “Not again.” He tosses his hands over his head. “I thought we established Nisha sleepwalked? There’s nothing weird about that, and it’s hardly proof she’s the reincarnation of a goddess, let alone that she’s currently trapped in the Underworld, doing a goddamn trial to get some psycho god’s immortality back.”

  A part of me understands his skepticism. Yesterday, I would have laughed in your face had you told me Nisha and Izzy would be prisoners of a god. The excruciating pain I felt—like my heart was ripped out of my chest— when Nisha followed Izzy was… is too real. I can no longer pretend magic doesn’t exist.

  “We didn’t establish anything.” V sounds a bit mad. “You blamed sleepwalking for everything that happened. I never got how that stupid desert rose ended up on her windowsill, after we locked it away and hid the key. That’s not all. What about…”

  “What?” He pushes impatiently.

  She eyes Shaggy, Scooby, and Oz. They’re by the window, looking for clues in old tomes, completely oblivious to the argument.

  V says, “A couple of days before Aaliyah and Adam were murdered, they came to me. They acted weird. Said something like, if anything ever happened to them, they need to know I’d take care of Nisha. It was almost as if… as if they knew they wouldn’t be around much longer.”

  Rob pulls her close. “Maybe they just wanted to be sure their little girl would be okay. They were about to fly to England, remember?”

  “That’s what I thought. But then they told me that no matter what happened, I should never be afraid of Nisha. That one day bad people might come for her.”

  “What?” Rob steps back in surprise. “You never told me any of this, V.”

  “They were killed a few days later.” She sobs. “I had to prepare the funeral, get rid of my place, take care of two girls rather than one. I just… forgot.”

  My family barely handled my sister’s disappearance. How V is still standing tall, after losing her brother, sister-in-law, and now her girls, is a mystery to me.

  Rob throws his arms around her. “It’s okay.” His Bob Marley shirt is soaked with fresh, salty tears. “We’ll find them, even if we have to invade hell.” The man isn’t joking. He’d give his life for those girls, I can see it in his eyes. I have mad respect for him. Neither Izzy nor Nisha is his blood, but he loves them like a father.

  “Got something,” Shaggy interrupts.

  Hope flares in my hardened heart.

  “Look for yourself.” He points at a page with black and white photos of obelisks. “If we believe Zahi Hawass, those three were the most important obelisks in Egypt.”

  And that’s how hope turns into full-blown excitement. “That’s the one I saw,” I say, index finger on the left picture.

  Rob crosses his arms. “In some drug-induced vision.”

  I really don’t need a reminder of how I got the info, but I can see why he isn’t jumping up and down yet. He thinks I’m mad.

  “Cleopatra’s Needle.” Oz reads the small inscription below the picture.

  Why does that sound so familiar? I study the mighty giant. The longer I look at it, the more familiar it is. I think I’ve seen it before. Not just in visions, but in real life.

  Shaggy, our new obelisk expert, folds his hands, beaming proudly. “Cleopatra’s Needle,” he recites from the book. “Shipped to�
�”

  “London,” I shout, smacking my forehead. How the hell did I not recognize it right away? I walked past it daily, back when I still lived in England and worked out at my gym in Westminster. “It’s located near the Embankment Underground Station.”

  Shaggy nods. “That’s pretty much what the book said. But”—he ogles me suspiciously—“how do you know?”

  Hysterical laughter bursts out of me. None of this is funny, but I’m just so fucking relieved, I can’t keep it together. “I’m from London, remember?”

  “Fair enough,” Shaggy says. “But—”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m just a little worried. I mean, what if you saw that obelisk because the image was in your subconscious? An image of your present, rather than your past.”

  Damn, could that be? What if— No. I can’t go there. Not when this is our only chance. “It’s both,” I assure him. “My past and my present.”

  “I hope so.”

  “England, huh?” Oz looks at the new dawn rising over the snow-covered town. “Fantastic. Now, we just have to fly across the pond, praying the book really is hidden in that thing.”

  “It’s a long shot,” I admit.

  Scooby studies the image. “But right now—”

  “It’s our only shot,” his brother finishes.

  Rob is about to shoot us all, or at the very least, shake us until we return to our senses. Too damn bad—for him, not us—he’s cut off by the ringing of a phone.

  V barges into the hallway, answering the landline. I guess she hopes it’s news from the girls. Meaning: part of her doesn’t believe our story either.

  “Let me get this straight,” Rob says, looking at me. “You—“

  V holds out the phone to me. “It’s for you.”

  “Me?” Who the heck would call me on the Blake landline? “Hello?”

  “Listen carefully,” a familiar voice says. “They know you’re looking for the book. You have to get everyone out of the house before—”

  Glass shatters.

  Rob waves it off. “Must be Mowgli.” Mowgli is the black kitten I gave to Nisha.

  I hear the tinkle of more broken glass. Voices.

  Rob says, “Not Mowgli.”

  “Blaze,” the caller snaps. “They’ll kill you if you don’t get out of there.”

  “They’re already here.”

  “Who’s here?” V asks, paler than I’ve ever seen her.

  I wish I could break the truth softly, but we’re out of time. “They know we’re looking for the book. They won’t stop until we’re dead. We have to go.”

  Oz checks the window. “We’re surrounded.”

  “By whom?” Rob pushes past me to the window. Whatever he sees drains the blood from his face. “Shit.”

  “Now what?” Oz asks me, of all people.

  Chapter 21

  Blaze

  The hallway is a dead zone.

  Too many voices. Too narrow to escape.

  I consider a confrontation in the backyard. We could climb through the window. Some of us might be able to dodge the bullets and make it out alive. Or we all die, and no one is left to rescue the girls.

  “Blaze?” Oz nudges me hard. Might not have been the first time he called my name. “What the hell are we going to do?”

  I haven’t gotten the slightest clue.

  The voices are close. Whatever we’re going to do, we’ll have to act quickly.

  I glare at the window, the door. “Shut the door!” I order.

  Shaggy slams it. Rob and Scooby shift the heavy wood desk against it, barricading us in.

  “This won’t keep them out for long,” Scooby warns, sweat coursing down his forehead.

  I’m well aware. The guys outside have automatic weapons. The ones inside probably do, too. “It’s going to buy us some time.”

  “Someone tell me what is going on here,” Rob demands. “Who are those people? What do they want?”

  “They want to make sure we don’t find the book,” I explain, tossing the words of the caller at him.

  Rob’s eyes darken. “Do you have any idea how mad that sounds?” He frowns. “Some guys killing a hotel full of people to resurrect a god? My girls trapped in the Underworld?” His gaze darts to the door. “And now mad men invading our home to keep a bunch of teenagers from finding an ancient book?”

  “When you put it that way,” Shaggy says, “pretty crazy.”

  “Crazy or not, it’s true.” Oz runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “We saw them kill our classmates and teachers. They won’t think twice about murdering us.”

  “You have to hide,” I say to V. She shakes her head, ready to argue, but I don’t have time for it. “Listen.” I inch closer, wrapping my hands around her arms. “This isn’t a game. They will kill us.”

  She eyes Rob. He’s still torn. Believing us means he has to accept the possibility that there are gods and magic. Ignoring what we told him, however, may very well result in another massacre. “Look, I have no clue what’s happening here, but,” he says, “there’s no doubt these people are here to cause some serious damage. So”—he grabs her hand, hauling her to a small walk-in closet—“I need you to be safe, okay?”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” He shoves her inside. “Stay there and keep your head down. You hear me?”

  “What about you and the boys?” Her voice is trembling.

  “We’ll be fine.” Rob flashes her a smile. “I always wanted to star in Rambo, remember?”

  V isn’t convinced. “You hate violence.”

  “Yeah,” Rob admits. “But I love you. We’ve got this.”

  Jesus, I wish I had his confidence. “Here.” I hand her my phone. “Call Kathy. Tell her we need help.” I shut the door, hoping it’ll keep her safe.

  “The living room is clear!” someone says elsewhere in the house.

  “Tear the house apart,” someone else replies. “We have to find them.”

  Any second, they’re going to barge in. We’re outnumbered and outgunned.

  What was it my old coach used to say? Ah, right. “Just because you know your opponent is going to destroy you, doesn’t mean you don’t have to give the fight your all. True fighters don’t give up. They walk into the ring even if they know they’ll lose.”

  Let the fight begin.

  “Okay,” Rob says. “What do we know about those bastards?”

  “They probably work for Seth,” Oz explains.

  “If they’re the same lunatics that attacked the Ball.” We gape at Scooby, so he adds, “What? Our history teacher shot the sheriff. Anything is possible.”

  Rob pales. “Thornton shot the sheriff?”

  “Yup.” Shaggy raises his brows. “But at least he didn’t shoot the deputy.”

  Scooby rolls his eyes. “Not funny, bro.”

  The ghost of a smile is on Rob’s lips. “It sorta was.”

  “Guys.” Oz sounds beyond mad. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor, but”—he tilts his chin at the barricaded door—“how about we focus on getting the hell out of here?”

  The doorknob rattles.

  “It’s locked,” someone yells outside.

  “What are you waiting for?” another other dude barks. “Break it down, for fuck’s sake.”

  Loud bangs vibrate through the small space. Any second, we’ll be face to face with another group of psychos.

  I say, “We have to spread out. And whatever you do, don’t stop moving when the bullets start flying.” At school—after Europe became a favored target for terrorists—we did survival training with Special Forces. They kept hammering into our brains that when shot at, one must keep moving. Preferably in a zig-zag pattern. Makes you a harder target.

  “All right.” Shaggy wipes his hands on his jeans. “Let’s do this.”

  Shaggy moves to the wall beside the door. Scooby takes up a position across from him. Rob remains close to the walk-in closet, determin
ed to keep V safe. And Oz and me? We pretty much place ourselves in the line of fire.

  THUD. THUD. THUD.

  The table’s shifting.

  “You okay?” I ask Oz, keeping my eyes trained on the door.

  “Not really.”

  “Me neither.”

  THUD. THUD. THUD.

  “Blaze?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m sorry I blamed you.” Oz looks at me. “I know this isn’t your fault. It’s just—”

  “Stop.” I hold up my hand. “I know what you’re doing, and I’m not in the mood for last-minute apologies. Tell me when we’re at the airport, okay?”

  “Sure.” If we make it there alive is what we both think but don’t say.

  “What’s the holdup?” the guy outside yells. “Break down that bloody door already.” Judging by his accent, he’s from home, probably London.

  “Almost there, sir.”

  “Good.” A pause. More banging. “But remember, our lord wants the Medjay alive.” The desk is shoved out of the way, and four men move in, pointing their guns at Oz and me.

  “Hands up!” they yell.

  Oz and I look at each other, nod, and do as they said.

  “On the ground,” the tallest of the four orders.

  “How about a please?” I smile as I drop to one knee. “Didn’t your parents teach you manners?”

  “Shut up,” the one on the left hisses.

  I assess the situation quickly. Four of them against five of us. The odds would be in our favor—especially since they haven’t spotted Shaggy and Scooby yet and seem uninterested in Rob—but there’s the little AK-47 misery. One wrong move, and we’ll be pottery strainers.

  The tallest, without a doubt their leader, approaches me. “So this is the face of a traitor.”

  “Handsome, huh?”

  His dark eyes catch fire. “Cocky bastard,” he says, slamming the back of his hand into my face.

  I bite my inner cheek, tasting iron. “That all you got?” I say flippantly, spitting blood at his feet. Agitating him is probably a real bad idea, but I need him distracted, need his wrath focused on me so the others can act.