Magic and Mayhem: A Collection of 21 Fantasy Novels

by Jasmine Walt

“And if I don’t want it to be?” I asked through gritted teeth as I glared out the window. I was acting like a bratty teenager—something that had been happening way too often lately—but I didn’t care. I figured the prophesied messiah of an entire species deserved a little leeway.

  Marcus reached out and clenched my jaw in his hand, turning my face toward him. “Grow up, Lex. You don’t have the luxury of an independent life anymore. You are our only chance. You are the future of our people. You are so much more than this childish façade.” His touch softened, turning tender, but his eyes retained their fierce golden glow. “I’ve seen what’s inside you . . . when you work, when you flirt, when you kiss . . . you’re a woman with the ferocity and cunning of a lioness. We need you to be that woman . . . that Lex.”

  Wide-eyed, I stared at him.

  “Now, you may be happy to hear we’re moving The Pit to one of the meeting rooms in the main house. You’ll still be an active participant in the excavation and its planning, but you won’t have to dodge assassination and kidnapping attempts like you would on campus.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Assassination attempts? Who—”

  “There is a small offshoot of our kind that believes Nuin’s prophecy could be averted by ending your life.”

  “I guess they skipped the part of the prophecy where my death is the death of the world,” I grumbled.

  “So it would seem,” he agreed. Marcus exited the car and joined me on the passenger side to help me out. “Come. Carlisle’s staff will take your cat and bag up to your suite. There are some matters we must attend to before—” He seemed to catch himself.

  “Before what?”

  “Nothing,” he said, dismissing my question. “It’s unimportant.” But I recognized the look in his eyes as he turned away—pain, sorrow. He was lying to me; whatever he was withholding was very important.

  Swallowing my desperate urge to badger Marcus until he enlightened me, I walked beside him into the exquisite building. For once, he didn’t hold my hand.

  After we walked down a wide hallway, we entered an expansive, modernly furnished room in the back corner of the enormous home. The couches and chairs were all upholstered in various shades of black, gray, and white, and the square coffee table appeared to be a solid slab of polished granite. Black and white prints of people’s faces and other, more sensual body parts decorated the walls, and there was an elaborate fireplace carved from some white-veined, black stone on the far wall. Carlisle, Dominic, Josh, and Neffe awaited us in the room, along with two pairs of unfamiliar men and women. All eight people rose and instantly fell to their knees with bowed heads. “I live to serve, Meswett. My life is yours, Meswett, may you live forever,” they intoned as one.

  Meswett . . . girl-child, I translated in my head. It was from Nuin’s prophecy—the girl-child of Set, the girl-child of Ivan. Even Neffe was kneeling in submission. My mouth grew instantly parched, my cheeks heated. What am I supposed to do?

  Marcus leaned in close to me and whispered, “I accept your life and service, Nejerets. May I prove worthy. Rise.”

  I repeated his words with numb clarity, sounding cold and resolute. All eight Nejerets rose when I commanded it, and watched me with guarded expressions. “Please, sit,” I said upon realizing why they were still standing. They did, though they didn’t stop staring at me. I shot a furious glare at Marcus. He should have warned me!

  He smiled, a sad twist of his lips, and spoke to the group. “As you all know, the Meswett, Alexandra, will be staying here until we depart for Kemet,” he said, using the ancient Egyptians’ name for their homeland in lieu of the western world’s modern label.

  After all eight Nejeret nodded in acquiescence, Marcus faced me. “This group constitutes the core of your guard.”

  “My . . . guard?” I repeated, astonished. And then, when I didn’t think my world could revert any further into an archaic, fantastical realm, Marcus explained each guardsman’s role.

  “Each Nejeret present is of my line, more or less. I trust them above all others, and they will protect you with their lives. On that, you have my word.” Marcus held his hand out toward the man and woman seated furthest left in the room, on a charcoal suede couch. “Heimdall and Saga,” he said, apparently telling me their names. Both were tall and slender with crystal-blue eyes and fair coloring. I would’ve wagered my trivial savings account balance that they were siblings, if not twins. “They are two of the most talented seers alive. At least one of them will be scouring your potential futures for danger at all times.” He paused and divided a sharp, agitated look between them. “Which one of you should be doing right now. Why is neither of you in the At?”

  Heimdall bowed his head in deference. “Apologies, Father . . . apologies, Meswett. We have been having difficulty—”

  “—finding her future in the At,” Saga said, finishing his explanation fluidly. “It’s being hidden by someone . . . perhaps her father?”

  “No,” Marcus said thoughtfully. “It’s not Set. She was hidden from him as well. Lex”—he looked at me—“you aren’t, by any chance, concealing your future in the At, are you?”

  Baffled, I shook my head. “Not that I know of.” After a hesitant pause, I said, “But . . . is it possible to conceal myself without meaning to?”

  “Damn it, Lex,” Marcus growled, earning a chorus of hisses from the women and an admonishing “Heru!” from Dominic. Appeasing them, Marcus modified his statement, though his eyes sparkled with irritation. “Meswett, if anyone could do such a thing, I have no doubt it would be you. You might just bring Nuin back from the dead and save us all the trouble of dealing with his inconvenient prophecy.” He took a deep breath.

  “Heimdall and Saga will work with you on removing whatever kind of cloak you’ve created. Vali and Sandra,” Marcus said, motioning toward a muscular man and svelte woman on the opposite side of the room from Heimdall and Saga, “will take turns heading your bodyguards. Don’t let Sandra’s size fool you—she’s as vicious and clever a warrior as ever has lived.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather,” the slight woman said. Pale, dark-haired, and pretty, she had a childlike quality to her features.

  “When I’m away, Carlisle runs the entire Heru compound, including the guards covering the perimeter and grounds. If you intend to leave this building, you must let him know.” Marcus stepped in front of me, holding my stubborn gaze with his own. “I mean it, Le—Meswett. You may leave the main house and explore the grounds and other buildings as you wish, but you will tell Carlisle first. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Heru,” I said, and he flinched.

  His eyes seemed to plead with me to understand . . . to forgive. “Neffe and Josh will remain in your vicinity whenever their excavation duties allow. Dominic has volunteered to be your chief bodyguard and attendant. He will keep a room adjoining yours and remain near you at all times. Anything you need, you can get through him.”

  It was utterly insane . . . all of it. I was overwhelmed with the sudden significance of my existence and my position among my people. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. Two weeks earlier, I had been Alexandra Larson, archaeologist, sperm donor baby, and possible lunatic. Two days earlier, I’d been Alexandra Larson Ivanov, archaeologist, Nejerette, and Marcus Bahur’s potential love interest. But those had all been eclipsed by my current identity—Alexandra, Meswett, prophesied savior of the Nejerets. Who would I become next? What would I become?

  “And you?” I asked the tall, striking man who held my heart in his deadly hand. “What’s your role?”

  “I am Heru,” he stated simply, his three words squeezing my heart until it ruptured.

  “Are you?” Overwhelming bitterness and disappointment colored my next words. “My apologies, I mistook you for someone else—for a man. I won’t make the same mistake again, Heru.” With each syllable, traces of my Marcus chipped away, revealing the arrogance and coldness—the blood and death—of Heru. I could no longer tell if my Marcus had ever really ex
isted.

  I cleared my throat, a vain attempt to shove away my heartbreak—my desire to cry—and turned away from him. Blinking away tears, I said, “I thank you all for your service, and I look forward to getting to know each of you better. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to rest for a few hours. It’s been a long night.”

  Dominic earned my instant and immutable love when he rushed to my side, saying, “I’ll show you to your suite, Meswett.” He draped a comforting arm around my shoulders and hustled me from the room. I wasn’t far enough away, or they didn’t speak quietly enough, when the argument started.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Neffe hissed.

  “What must be done,” came Marcus’s reply.

  “You are trying to go around it . . . to void it with your idiocy! You cannot stop it from happening! You cannot prevent her from being the Meswett by pretending!” she yelled. “It’s too late!” The last was a shriek worthy of a banshee.

  Marcus’s cold voice responded like a whiplash, “Remember your place, Daughter!”

  “And you remember yours, Father! She is already too far gone for what you’re about to do. It won’t work! And you—I’ve never seen you so . . . so . . . affected. You’re in deeper than she is! For her sake, if not for yours, don’t do this! Mark my words, Heru,” Neffe said, spitting her father’s name like a curse, “you will ruin us all if you persist with this charade.”

  Their argument continued, but Dominic and I were finally far enough away that only the muffled sounds of angry voices reached my ears. I reveled in the release from their harsh words. I didn’t know why Marcus was behaving so coldly toward me, and I was hurt enough that, at the moment, I didn’t want to find out.

  Dominic tightened his hold. “Don’t worry, sister. Everything will work out in the end. I know it.”

  An incessant, rhythmic vibration on the bedside table woke me from dreamless sleep. Dominic had settled me in an enormous, unfamiliar bed and given me some water and a small, orange pill, promising it would bring true rest rather than the fitful half-echoes that frequently plagued our kind’s dreams.

  I fumbled for my buzzing cell phone and tried several times to touch the screen’s answer button before succeeding. “Hello?” I croaked. Coughing softly, I cleared my throat.

  “Lex? Is it really you?”

  I groaned. “Hi, Cara. Yes, it’s me.”

  “Oh my God! I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever! How are you? Are you okay?” Did she hear about the dead bodies in my apartment? Was it on the news?

  “I’m . . .” . . . horrible, lost, brokenhearted, pissed off, scared, worried, overwhelmed. “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “Uh, good, I guess. Worried about you. What’s been going on with you? I haven’t been able to get ahold of you since the . . . since New Year’s,” Cara whined.

  “Oh yeah, sorry.” I guess she hasn’t heard about the dead men . . . “With my mom here and then the quarter starting, it’s just been kind of crazy,” I explained, repeating the excuses I’d given her days ago and withholding pretty much everything else. Great—I’m becoming just like my parents, Grandma Suse, Alexander, and Marcus . . . Picturing Marcus, I squeezed my eyes shut, willing away my sudden, roiling despair.

  “Okay, well . . . I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Thanks.” I rolled over at the sound of a door opening and waved at Dominic. He was standing in the open doorway joining our two bedrooms. “I’m fine,” I mouthed and he slipped back into his space, leaving the door ajar. Privacy, I noted, was quickly becoming a thing of the past. I really, really missed it.

  “So, could we meet up for lunch or something . . . soon?” she asked. “I miss you, Lex.”

  No . . . but I wish we could. “Cara, it’s only been two weeks. We’ve gone way longer than this without speaking or seeing each other before.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ve never gone so long after one of us almost died!” she screeched.

  “I’m fine, I swear,” I told her.

  She scoffed. I was quickly wearing down her thin veneer of patience. “Come on, Lex. When can we get together? Annie’s worried about you, too.”

  Frantically, I tried to think of an excuse. I could hardly tell her the truth—that I was being held captive for my own good because I was the subject of a millennia-old prophecy. “I don’t know . . . it’s complicated. I’m out of town for the excavation for a while.”

  “For how long?”

  “A while,” I repeated.

  “Which is?”

  “A while?” I offered, again.

  “Nice try, sugar lips. What’s going on, really?”

  “I’m out of town for the excavation for a while.”

  “Is it a guy?” she asked. Sometimes, I could’ve sworn she was part bloodhound.

  “Cara! I’m. Out. Of. Town.”

  “Geesh! Repeat much? So when are you back?” she asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. The director is kind of a dick,” I explained. I heard Dominic snort loudly in his room, and I smiled.

  “Oh . . . well, do you think it’d be possible to get my dress back?”

  The dress I was almost date-raped in? Who wouldn’t want that? “Sure. It’s at the dry cleaner’s.” I hadn’t had the balls to pick it up.

  “Oh, which one?”

  “College Suds on the Ave. It should be ready by now,” I told her.

  “Great! Thanks! I have a date next week with this totally hot younger guy. He’s a personal trainer . . . a.k.a. yummy.”

  “That sounds awesome, Cara.” I tried to sound enthusiastic, but the emotion refused to form to back my words.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Cara asked suspiciously.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “Just tired.”

  “Oh, well, I’ll let you go then.” She’s definitely getting pissed.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “But you have to promise to call me soon and tell me everything that’s going on in your crazy Egyptologist life!” Maybe not too pissed . . .

  I laughed, “Okay, I promise.”

  “Good. Bye, Lex.”

  “Bye,” I mumbled as the line disconnected. I stretched, wondering if I could fall back asleep. A knock at the door to the sitting room adjacent to what was now my bedroom ruined my plans. Marcus hadn’t been joking when he’d said I would have my own suite. My cluster of rooms consisted of a sitting room, which also had the only door out to the second-floor hallway, a bedroom with an adjoining full bathroom, and a smaller bedroom—Dominic’s room—with doors to both my bedroom and the sitting room. It was all very medieval.

  I heard the door in the sitting room open and Dominic say, “I don’t know if it’s best to tell her about this right now.”

  A few seconds later, Sandra followed Neffe into my new, lavish bedroom. The curvaceous beauty waved the smaller, deadlier woman away. “She’ll be fine with me, my dear, I promise. Though you may remain if the Meswett wishes.” Neffe looked to me for my opinion. When I shook my head, my petite bodyguard left the room.

  “My niece is diligent, but can be a bit overzealous at times,” Neffe said as she approached my bedside. She shot an irritated glance at Dominic’s open door, but dismissed it with a roll of her luminous, amber eyes. Darker, but so much like Marcus’s. I sighed. Not Marcus . . . Heru.

  “Please sit, Neffe. What is it?” I asked, propping myself up with pillows. I wasn’t used to receiving guests in bed, but I considered it one of the issues accordant with being a messiah. It was annoying—I didn’t want to be a messiah.

  “It’s my father,” she said, pulling a burnt-orange suede armchair nearer to the bed. “He’s being unreasonable—more so than usual—and you deserve to know what’s going on.”

  “Okay, what’s going on?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I like you or anything,” she told me bluntly.

  I took a slow, deep breath. “Right, so . . . ?”

  “But I do love my father, even if we ten
d to fight each other like scorpions, and he’s done something that will hurt you both . . . and I really don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “Neffe, just tell me.”

  “He left,” she explained, without explaining anything.

  “Marcus left? Where? When? How long will he be gone?” I asked. Was it me? Did I drive him away? I’d only intended to give as much cold bitchiness as I got—and it had been coming off Marcus in waves—but I now feared I’d gone too far.

  “Precisely,” Neffe said, sounding so much like her father that my heart ached. “He’s being an idiot, by the way. He’s been focused on Nuin’s prophecy for so long that the real world rose up and bit him in the ass without warning . . . except it wasn’t the real world . . . it was you and his precious prophecy. I should have realized what was going on earlier! How was I so blind?”

  “Neffe . . . you know I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I know!” she exclaimed. “I think that’s why I find you so infuriating. You weren’t raised like us, and you don’t know our customs, so why are you the Meswett?”

  “Because Set decided to impregnate my mom?” I offered dryly.

  “I suppose you are correct—it’s not really your fault. I know,” she said, looking sort of ashamed. “But my father, he’s going to ruin everything.”

  Right, that explains so much. I was getting the impression that Nejeret minds worked quite a bit differently from that of regular Homo sapiens. I sighed, not doing a very good job of hiding my exasperation. “And how exactly is he going to ‘ruin everything’?” I asked.

  “You must understand him . . . his past. He’s been trying to work around Nuin’s prophecy for thousands of years. His vehemence that it could be avoided . . . it’s started wars . . . it split the Council down the middle . . .”

  “And he left now, because . . . ?” I urged.

  “Because of the part of Nuin’s prophecy that he left out when he was explaining it to you,” Neffe said sadly. She started reciting.

  Heru will look after the girl-child and

  She will trust him.