Heidi didn’t respond immediately. She seemed to be considering her reply. She shook her head.
“I was wrong,” she said. “There wasn’t anyone else there.”
She glanced quickly over at the hole she had so recently occupied. A slight smile played at the corners of her lips. As if she could see something they couldn’t.
“What is it, Heidi?”
Still that mysterious smile. And this time a quick nod.
“Nothing, Mum. Let’s go.”
But still it made Yvonne wonder…
The feeling of unease quickly passed. The joy of having her daughter safely returned to her outweighed everything else. She wanted to wrap Heidi in cotton and never let her out of her sight, but in time her fears would ease. At least that’s what she told herself.
The little family turned their backs on the remains of Villa Dürnstein for the last time. Yvonne cradled Heidi in her arms on the way back to the hotel. Her daughter fell asleep and had to be carried up to their suite. When Ryan told the concierge they had found their missing daughter, he was all smiles and insisted on supplying them with champagne on the house. A bottle of Dom Perignon duly arrived, in a bucket of ice with two flutes.
“Heidi can have a bath when she wakes,” Yvonne said. “I’ll tuck her in for now.”
She rejoined Ryan, who handed her an ice-cold glass of sparkling, delicious vintage champagne.
“Wonderful,” she said, after she had swallowed a mouthful of the perfect wine.
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, savoring their drinks. Yvonne spoke at last. “Is it finally over? Have we seen the last of Quintillus?”
“You saw him disintegrate. Even Set deserted him, so let’s hope so. I’ve decided I’m going to ask to be transferred back to the UK as soon as possible. I’ll tell my boss that the shock of finding all the bodies and then the house burning down has proved too much for us. I’ll embellish a little but who cares about a few white lies? He’d never believe the truth if I told him. I’m afraid it might take a month or two but the sooner the better.”
“I thought you might. I don’t think I could ever be happy here after all this.”
“Me neither. Heidi can go back to her old school.”
“She’ll like that.” Yvonne’s eyes were closing.
“Mm,” Ryan said as he dozed off.
* * * *
In the bedroom, Heidi opened her eyes. Her pupils dilated until there was the barest circle of blue. She stretched her limbs before curling fetuslike under the duvet. She felt under the pillow and pulled out a doll. How nice of that strange lady to bring it to her. This one’s eyes were brilliant purple-blue—just like Sekhmet’s. The lady had even sounded like Sekhmet, too. The doll’s black hair reached down to her waist and her skin was dark. Heidi stared into the doll’s eyes for a long moment. Strange how those eyes had dilated. Like her own in the dark. Strange, too, how they reflected pictures—images of a desert and a queen riding in a golden carriage.
Heidi smiled. She would keep the lady’s secret. She tucked her new gift under the duvet and closed her eyes as the doll laid a hand on her arm.
* * * *
At Villa Dürnstein, a middle-aged woman stared at the ruin of the house that had been in her family for generations. She looked without any emotion except a vague sense of relief. It was done. Over with. Finally, after all these years when she had never dared come here. She had wished she could rid herself of his evil house forever, but she could never sell it. Not after the last time. It was better this way. The evil burned away with the bricks and mortar.
A couple approached her. They looked out of time, somehow. She didn’t recognize them. But then the woman’s violet eyes fixed her with a stare.
Liesel von Dürnstein stepped back in horror. It couldn’t be her. Why would she come back? All her long-suppressed fears returned, born of a childhood of her great-uncle’s stories.
She clutched the crucifix she always wore and brandished it in front of her. “Get away from me. Go back to hell where you belong. You and your paramour. You don’t belong here. You got what you wanted, now leave.”
The woman smiled and stepped forward as her male companion watched.
“You have served your purpose. Your great-uncle tried to destroy me. With the woman Adeline Ogilvy, he took the gold statue of Set back to Taposiris Magna and reunited it with Cleopatra. But that didn’t work. Then, many years later, we made a bargain with you, his descendant. The portal was always to remain open here in this house and in return, we would spare your miserable life and the lives of your family. But the house is no more.” She made a sweeping gesture indicating the charred remains. “It is a portal no longer, thanks to your negligence. You have betrayed your side of the bargain.”
“No, no. I am not responsible. I didn’t do this.” Liesel prayed aloud, crossing herself as she did so. “In the name of the Father, the Son and—”
Arsinoe raised her hand and Liesel’s words died on her lips.
“It is done.” Arsinoe lowered her hand. “This place is of no further use to us. It is time to leave.”
Nebunaten touched her arm. “Where now, my love?”
“Now we find the child. I can feel her close by. I have unfinished business with my sister and she will bring her to me. This time there will be no mistakes.”
About the Author
Following a varied career in sales, advertising and career guidance, Catherine Cavendish is now the full-time author of a number of paranormal, ghostly and Gothic horror novels, novellas and short stories. She was the 2013 joint winner of the Samhain Gothic Horror Anthology Competition, with Linden Manor, which was featured in the anthology What Waits in the Shadows. She lives with her long-suffering husband and a black cat who has never forgotten that her species used to be worshiped in ancient Egypt. She sees no reason why that practice should not continue. They divide their time between Liverpool and a 260-year-old haunted apartment in North Wales. Visit Cat’s website at catherinecavendish.com.
Wrath of the Ancients
Don’t miss where Catherine Cavendish’s Nemesis of the Gods series began!
DESTINY IN DEATH
Egypt, 1908
Eminent archeologist Dr. Emeryk Quintillus has unearthed the burial chamber of Cleopatra. But this tomb raider’s obsession with the Queen of the Nile has nothing to do with preserving history. Stealing sacred and priceless relics, he murders his expedition crew, and flees—escaping the quake that swallows the site beneath the desert sands . . .
Vienna, 1913
Young widow Adeline Ogilvy has accepted employment at the mansion of Dr. Quintillus, transcribing the late professor’s memoirs. Within the pages of his journals, she discovers the ravings of a madman convinced he possessed the ability to reincarnate Cleopatra. Within the walls of his home, she is assailed by unexplained phenomena: strange sounds, shadowy figures, and apparitions of hieroglyphics.
Something pursued Dr. Quintillus from Egypt. Something dark, something hungry. Something tied to the fate and future of Adeline Ogilvy . . .
Prologue
Taposiris Magna, Egypt, 1908
Emeryk Quintillus squinted up at the vivid blue Egyptian sky. Not even a wisp of a cloud marred its azure perfection, and the sun beat down, baking the sand in its relentless, searing heat. The merest hint of a breeze whipped up a small shower of desert sand, coating his long, dark jacket in a pale layer of dust. He brushed it off and took out his Hunter watch from his waistcoat. Midday. Not long now. He replaced his watch in his pocket. Nearby, his horse whinnied and thrashed its tail.
All around Quintillus, a small army of Egyptians dressed in traditional galabeyyas sang while they carted away buckets of sand and stones, working in relays as they had done this past three months. The dig had gone well, far surpassing what their employer had anticipated. Soon, if his calculations we
re correct, they would find the culmination of his life’s work—the tomb archaeologists the world over had been searching for this past two thousand years.
Quintillus inhaled the dry air that caught in his throat and burned. He seemed oblivious to the discomfort. His surroundings were of far greater interest. The vast, ruined temple of Taposiris Magna—with its soaring stone pylons—had witnessed burials, ceremonies, battles, and destruction, but now it was about to give up its greatest secret. And, so far, the news had been good. Long-buried artifacts—small alabaster statuettes, coins, all from the right period—all depicting that enigmatic face.
Around him, the laborers sang their work songs. Different—but somehow reminiscent of—the ones he had heard black slaves sing in the cotton fields of Mississippi long ago, in another lifetime. Quintillus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and removed a black leather-covered cigar case. He opened it and selected his habitual long, thin cheroot. A shot of blue flame from his silver lighter ignited the tobacco, and he inhaled. In his distinctive black stovepipe hat, with his long dark hair flowing over his shoulders, he presented a curiously eccentric figure in the white heat of the desert. He made no concessions either to location or temperature and appeared never to experience extreme heat or cold. But then, there was much about Dr. Quintillus that he chose to keep to himself.
A sudden whoop startled him. The Egyptians were shouting. Waving and excited. Now. It must be now.
The familiar rotund figure of Max Dressler scurried as fast as the heat and his out-of-condition physique would allow. Unlike his employer, he was dressed for the desert, complete with pith helmet. He came closer, panting and wiping the sweat off his face and neck with his oversize handkerchief.
Quintillus tossed the remains of his cigar onto the sand while the man recovered himself sufficiently enough to speak. The archaeologist could afford to be patient for a few more minutes, after so many years of searching.
Max Dressler’s breathing returned to something approaching normal and his face drained its vivid red hue. The handkerchief flapped like a white flag while he gesticulated toward the deep shaft of the dig. “We’ve…found…her.”
Dr. Quintillus’s lips twitched in the birth of a smile. “You are sure?”
“Beyond question, Herr Doktor. The sarcophagus carries her cartouche.”
“And is he buried with her?”
Dressler’s extra chins wobbled as he shook his head. “He may be in another chamber, but he is not there. Not at her side.”
Quintillus’s smile became a broad grin, lighting up his bearded face. “So they were wrong. Then let us go and meet our queen.”
Dressler stepped aside. His master strode past him. The narrow, steep stone steps presented no difficulties for the tall scientist, but Dressler struggled down them. Quintillus ignored him, his mind focused on one mission.
At the bottom, the recently excavated chamber reeked of kerosene from the hurricane lamps, which illuminated it and cast deep shadows in the corners. The stillness hung heavy. It seemed to be waiting for something to break it, and the temperature was many degrees cooler down there than on the surface. Quintillus’s leather boots crunched sand on top of stone. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls.
Maybe a dozen skeletons, their ruined ancient robes hanging off them, lay haphazardly on the floor—the bodies of the queen’s faithful servants. Quintillus ignored them and made straight for the sarcophagus at the far end of the tomb. Propped up against the wall behind it stood an exquisite gold coffin lid, with the queen’s perfect image inlaid with lapis lazuli, emeralds, and rubies. Savoring this precious moment, Dr. Quintillus gazed at it, excitement mounting inside him, his blood pumping hard.
He approached the sarcophagus. The stench of the long-dead body reached him. Max Dressler, a few steps behind, smothered his nose and mouth in his sweat-drenched handkerchief, but Quintillus barely noticed the odor of decay and mortification. He leaned over the coffin and peered down at the blackened mummy.
Quintillus bent down to kiss the ancient queen on her cold, dry lips. Dressler retched.
“She is remarkable,” the doctor said. He straightened. “Her state of preservation is better than any I have seen.”
Dressler removed his handkerchief to speak. “But, Herr Doktor, how can you bear to…to…” He replaced his handkerchief as another retch overcame him.
Quintillus smiled. “How could I not kiss the greatest queen who ever lived? All my life I have waited for this moment.”
Dressler shook his head, clearly too overcome to protest further.
Dr. Quintillus gazed back down at the queen. She had been tightly bandaged, although, by now, the material had blackened and frayed with age and the preservatives used to mummify her. Her arms were crossed over her breasts. In the dim light, something glinted. The doctor reached in and gently eased her hands apart. Just enough for him to remove a small gold statuette. He recognized the image immediately. Set. Egyptian god of desert, storms, war, and chaos, who had murdered his brother Osiris and hacked his body to pieces. He turned the statuette over in his hand. The sculpted figure was of a male human from the neck down, but its head was unlike any known animal. It resembled a jackal, but one with a much longer snout. Its ears were rectangular, protruding out of the top of its head and the creature carried a staff in one hand and an ankh in the other.
The statuette felt cold to the touch, but Quintillus’s palm tingled where it lay. He dropped it into his right-hand pocket.
Dressler gasped. “Did you feel that?”
“What?”
Dressler’s eyes were wide. Frightened. “A breeze. No, it’s gone now, but I could have sworn…”
“You have a vivid imagination, my friend.” Quintillus had felt it, too. Exactly as he had expected. The god still guarded the queen. The discovery he had made all those years ago, which had led him to Taposiris Magna, yet again proved its worth. Now his new work could begin.
Quintillus returned to his queen. Her cheeks were sunken, dried out, hollow. Her eyes shut. Clumps of black hair lay around her head. Impossible to tell now whether she had been a beauty, but to the doctor, she was the most enchanting creature he had ever seen.
He checked his pocket watch. Twelve thirty. He could delay no longer.
“The men are all still here?”
“Oh yes, Herr Doktor. I have obeyed your instructions most faithfully. They have been told if any of them leave now they will not be paid.”
“Good. You have done well, Dressler.”
“Thank you, Herr Doktor.”
Quintillus removed a small silk bag with a drawstring from his jacket pocket and held it open in his left hand while, with his right, he probed under a frayed and worn wrapping covering the mummy’s breast. Feeling around he pulled out a handful of gray dust and carefully poured it into the bag. He repeated the gesture of collecting and depositing a dozen or more times until he was satisfied he had sufficient for his needs. Dressler watched as if he couldn’t tear his eyes away. His mouth hung slightly open at the curious sight. Let him. Quintillus had no reason to explain his actions to anyone. Least of all this unimaginative little man.
Quintillus pulled the drawstring tightly shut and dropped the little bag back in his pocket.
He kissed the queen once more. “Good night, Cleopatra, my queen. I return you to your rest.”
A sigh echoed off the walls.
Dressler was visibly shaking. “You must have heard that, Herr Doktor.”
“Heard what, my friend?” Quintillus had to leave, but to give any indication of the urgency of their need to depart would only spook this man and he must have his willing cooperation a little while longer. Until his work here was complete.
Dressler stared at him, seemed about to say something and then shook his head. Once again, he mopped his face with the sodden handkerchief. He stepped back to let Quintillus pas
s.
Both men blinked rapidly in the fierce and unrelenting sunshine. The noise of the Egyptian workers had risen to a cacophony as they celebrated the greatest archaeological find in a century or more. Soon they would be rich. Their fathers and mothers would be rich. Their sons and daughters would wear fine clothes.
Quintillus understood every word. His Arabic was fluent, even down to the colloquial Egyptian dialect. He smiled in their direction, lit another cheroot, and took a few, fragrant puffs.
“Order them down to the chamber,” he said to Dressler who seemed to have largely recovered from his edginess in the tomb. “Tell them they can pay their last respects to their queen.”
“At once, Herr Doktor.”
Dressler ferried the men down the steps, ordering them in his faltering Arabic. One or two protested, but the little man shoved them forward, with surprising physical strength. Dr. Quintillus smoked his cheroot and waited until they were all down there. He beckoned Dressler back over and the little man scurried the few yards across the sandy stone.
“Herr Doktor?”
“Seal the tomb.”
“But, Herr Doktor—”
“Do it.”
“Yes, Herr Doktor.”
Now perhaps his assistant would realize why Quintillus had ordered the massive slab to be sited in such a way that one man could set it off down the steep incline he had ordered to be dug next to the steps. All Dressler had to do was release the lever. He did so and the slab thundered down the incline. Too late, the workers realized what was happening. Their terrified screams reached the surface. A juddering crash cut them off. The slab had sealed the entrance of the chamber.
Max Dressler returned to Quintillus’s side. Panting. His face had turned puce with a mixture of fear and the effort of his labors. His eyes were wide and bloodshot.
Dr. Quintillus stubbed out his cigar butt and reached into his jacket once more. He pulled out a little silver pistol.
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