The door to the apartment flung open, slamming up against the wall.
Sydney whirled, deeply shocked. Alim had assured her no one would come through the doors. They were well guarded and everyone was at prayer, anyway.
Rashid strode into the room, his odd eyes darting about until they found her. He sneered.
Of course, Rashid would be permitted to enter his little brother’s apartment. No one would dare question him.
Her heart sank. Rashid’s face was working with an anger deeper than he had showed out in the courtyard.
“Whore,” he breathed. “You chose my brother over me. You insult me at every turn. You publicly embarrass me. Now I find you here, in his sanctum.”
Rashid had not gone to pray as the rest of the household were doing. He had chosen, instead, to search for her.
Sydney held up her hand. “You misunderstand. I intended no insult.”
“I did not misunderstand your disgusting display of intimacy. You have turned my brother’s head. You have made him look foolish.”
Had she? Alim’s behavior over the last few days had perceptibly altered, yet he had remained properly dignified in public. Rashid was skewing facts to justify his fury.
Rashid charged at her, drawing his sword as he came. Sydney let him come close enough, then bent and picked up the nearest book. It was a heavy, leather-bound, studded thing with a metal clasp, the size of a big text book.
She swung it at his hand, the one with the sword.
It smashed into his knuckles. The sword skittered across the carpets, to slide up against the wall with a metallic, ringing sound.
Sydney swung again, this time aiming for his head, only Rashid was not distracted by the pain in his knuckles. He swayed back, avoiding the book. Then he jumped closer. His big hands reached for her throat.
She resisted the impulse to grab his wrists and try to fend them away. Instead, she gripped the fronts of his tunic, which gave her a precise sense of how close he was. She took a half step closer and drove her knee up into his groin.
It was only a partially successful blow, for the layers of linen dragged at her knee, blunting the impact. Yet it was enough for him to stagger backward, bent over to protect his genitals.
He lifted his head to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t look angry now. He looked crazy. The psychopath who thought nothing of slaughtering the mother of his child and her baby because it was not the sex he preferred was staring at Sydney with the same unstable gaze that Gamala must have looked upon as she died.
Rashid reached behind him and withdrew a curved, wide-bladed knife. It came to a point that looked as fine as a needle. He waved it, drawing her gaze.
Sydney wondered if he thought the mere sight of such a weapon would faze her. She turned and snatched up the long length of breast band. It was linen, a strong fiber.
Rashid laughed. “A typical woman. You bring a garment to battle.”
He leapt.
Sydney flicked the end of the strip out, lashing at his face.
He cried out and reared backward, as it snapped at his eyes. He went down heavily, onto his ass. The knife dropped to the carpet with a muffled thud.
Sydney threw herself on him, deliberately landing on his chest with her knees, driving the wind out of him.
As Rashid gasped and heaved, trying to get his paralyzed diaphragm working again, Sydney spread her knees, pinning down his arms. Then she whipped the cloth around his neck and yanked, tightening it. She wound the ends about both her hands and hauled.
Rashid’s eyes bugged and he gurgled and grunted, straining to reach the cloth with his hands. She shifted her legs, putting even more weight on his upper arms.
He tried to dislodge her. He heaved and bucked and twisted.
Her knee slipped and he instantly yanked his arm free. He hammered at her, raining blows on her thigh and her side, which was all he could reach. However, he was weakening. A few more seconds and he would pass out. Sydney could see the knowledge in his eyes. The fury leapt, distorting his darkened face. True madness showed itself.
He punched her in the side. The blow didn’t hurt and Sydney held on. She knew it was his last ditch effort.
The door to the apartment slammed open again.
“Xanthe!”
Sydney didn’t take her eyes off Rashid. She heard Alim’s footsteps on the carpet, as he ran toward her.
Rashid closed his eyes. The last breath escaped him. He grew still.
Alim dropped to his knees beside them. “I saw him leave the prayer hall. He waited until I got there.” He touched her wrist. “You can let go. He is harmless now.”
Sydney dropped the linen strip and scrambled to her feet. She didn’t want to touch the man any longer than she had to. She took only two steps, then her knees buckled unexpectedly, bringing her back down to the carpet.
“Xanthe…Zidnay…no, no, no, no, no!” Alim got his hand up under her neck as she wilted. She couldn’t hold herself upright.
Alim laid her down. He touched her side and hissed.
His hand was bloody, the blood dark and thick.
Sydney looked down at her bare torso. There was a small cut there, the same width as Rashid’s knife. Blood oozed from the cut. A lot of it. “He punched me…I thought. He must have picked up the knife. I was too busy throttling him to see.”
“Don’t talk,” Alim said. His voice was hoarse. He leaned over and snatched up the strip of linen, wadded it and pressed it against her side.
It hurt and she moaned. “You’ll have to fix it, doctor,” she breathed.
Alim touched her face with his other hand. “There’s too much blood,” he whispered. “A wound that no longer bleeds…that is something I have the skill to stitch. But not this.”
Sydney closed her mind to the fear that bloomed there and tried to think clearly. She knew she had little time to figure out how to deal with this. The blood loss would steal her consciousness very quickly. Then, it would be over.
Stitching wounds. There was something about stitching wounds niggling at her. A stray memory.
Rashid heaved himself upright with a roar, leaping for them. He had woken again.
Sydney opened her mouth to cry a warning, for Alim’s back was to him.
Alim whipped around without hesitation. His hand fell on the knife lying on the carpet. He gripped the hilt and threw his hand up protectively as Rashid fell on him. The knife punched into Rashid’s chest and buried itself to the hilt.
Rashid jerked, his eyes growing very wide. Then he grew limp. Alim dropped him to the floor, letting go of the knife hilt. Rashid rolled onto his back. His eyes stayed open.
Alim looked down at his bloody hand. “What have I done?” he whispered, horror thick in his voice.
Sydney gasped, as the disassociated elements came together in a single beat of her heart—Taylor talking about having her shoulder stitched by Alex and wishing for a modern ER and anesthetic. Alim, staring at his bloody hand. Rashid, the Caliph’s favored general, dead on the floor. History as it should have been… The elements shifted and locked together.
She knew what to do, now.
“Alex. Alim,” she said. Her voice was weak. Time was ticking.
Alim spun to face her again and pressed down on the cloth. “Not you, too,” he breathed.
“Not if I can go home quickly enough,” she whispered. “They will be able to fix this, at home.”
He looked at her, his expression bleak. “Home, which is so far away, no one in the known worlds is aware of it?”
“I’m going to do something. It will take me home immediately. It will look odd, Alim. It will make you think of witchcraft, only it isn’t.”
He swallowed. “It will take you home fast enough to save you?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t care if you call upon demons, if that is what it takes…” He sucked in a breath, his eyes widening. “Wait. Can you wait, just a moment more?”
He scrambled to his feet. “It is important,” he assured her. “Another life can be saved.”
Sydney swallowed. “I’ll try.”
Alim bent and picked up her hand and pressed it against the cloth. “As hard as you can. It will slow the bleeding.”
He ran from the room.
Sydney gripped her side. She was weakening. Her fingers had little strength. She fought to stay awake and aware, for there was still something she had to do.
Alim returned quickly. He could not have gone far, yet he was carrying a basket by the handle. From the basket came soft gurgles and murmurs. A tiny, chubby hand rose above the edge.
Sydney’s eyes widened.
Alim put the basket on the floor next to her, then tilted it so she could see inside. The baby was wrapped in clean cloth, her tiny mouth in a bow, her eyes closed tight.
“Gamala’s child…” Sydney breathed. Stunned, she looked at Alim. “You took her and hid her.”
“With Saffiyah’s help,” Alim admitted.
“You let me think you didn’t give a damn about the baby.”
“I didn’t know you. I didn’t trust you. Not then.” He picked up her hand and curled her fingers around the handle. “Take her with you to your world, where women can be leaders of men, where they are truly free.”
Sydney nodded. “I will try,” she said. “In return, I want you to do something for me.”
“Name it,” he said swiftly.
“You just killed your brother, to save a Christian. That is an offense they will not forgive you for. You can’t stay in Cairo, Alim.”
His gaze dropped. “I would do it again, if I had to,” he whispered.
“Nevertheless, you must leave.”
“And go where?” he asked bitterly.
“Palestine. Jerusalem. There is a man you will find there. His name is Peter the Hermit. What he will tell you will change your life, Alim. You will be free to study medicine, to study anything you want—the sciences, literature, history, all the knowledge of man. You will become a great doctor. You’ll cross the sea…you’ll cross many seas.”
His gaze met hers again. “You know this?”
“Yes. Don’t ask me how. I just do.” She hissed, for the pain was growing. “Promise me you will go.”
He swallowed. “I promise I will do this. Now, go.”
“Kiss me first.”
He bent and kissed her and she felt the moisture on his cheeks.
“You must forget about me, Alim,” she whispered. “Tell no one what you see next. Tell no one what I have told you about your future. Let everyone believe your brother killed me and you, too.”
Alim sat back. “I will do all that you ask, if only you save yourself now. Please, go, in whatever way you must.”
“Goodbye,” she whispered and closed her eyes, gripping the handle of the basket tightly.
Marit’s instructions repeated themselves. Relax. Repel fear. Reach with your mind and take your body with you…
Sydney leapt. In the darkness, she reached out with her mind.
Marit! Help me!
I am here.
Relief touched her. Sydney let go and darkness closed over her.
Chapter Eighteen
“Jesus wept! Veris! Alex! Hurry!” Brody yelled.
Alex threw himself off the cot he had been using to rest and think.
Brody was leaning over Sydney’s cot, both hands pressing down on her belly. Blood oozed between his fingers. It was dark venal blood.
Veris was at the other end of the long room. Then suddenly, he wasn’t.
Alex didn’t remember moving to Brody’s side. He was just there, fear grabbing his throat and freezing his thoughts.
“Alex!” Veris snapped at him. “Don’t wig out on me. I’ll need you. Brody, the surgical tray. Move it.”
Brody moved. Veris slapped his hands on the wound and pressed down.
Alex shook himself, pushing aside his fear. Cool calm descended. His heart slowed.
Veris was watching him. “With me, doc?” he asked.
Alex nodded.
Brody came over with the tray of instruments, sponges and other emergency supplies. He nearly tripped at the end of the bed and lifted the tray aside to look down. “What the hell?”
A baby squalled loudly.
Brody looked up at the ceiling and filled his lungs. “Taylor! Marit! Anyone! Get down here!”
Overhead, feet thudded on the floor. Brody had been heard.
Brody pulled the rolling table over the end of the bed and put the tray on it.
Veris snatched up the sterile pads and pressed them against the wound.
“About three inches,” Alex said loudly over the baby’s screaming, for he had inspected the cut for the split second it had been visible. “Clean. Knife wound, most likely.”
“Three inches makes it a fuck of a long knife,” Veris said. He lifted the pad to look, then replaced it. “Dark blood. A lot of it.” He looked at Alex. “The position…the blade could have nicked the Vena Cava.”
The primary vein in the abdomen.
Sound wavered in his ears, thudded in his head. Alex breathed hard, fighting for calm. “We’ll have to go in.”
Taylor was there, bending to inspect the screaming baby. She picked up a basket with a handle. Alex glanced at it and felt a dizzying sense of recognition. He had seen that basket before. He didn’t know where.
“Where did this come from?” Taylor asked.
Alex gripped the safety rail on the cot, fighting for clarity again.
Veris was putting on gloves, while Brody held down the pad. “No time,” he said shortly. “I need to think. Can you deal with it, please?” His tone was curt.
Taylor nodded and took the basket away.
Sydney sucked in a deep, deep breath, like a swimmer breaking the surface. Her eyes fluttered open. Instantly, her face creased in pain.
Alex bent over her. “You’re back,” he told her. “You jumped back because of the wound. I remember…that much, anyway.”
Sydney reached up and gripped his sleeve. “The baby?”
“She’s here.” He took her hand. “We’re going to have to operate, Sydney. I’m going to knock you out again. Just for a while.”
She gripped his hand with a frantic grip that was weaker than he liked. “Turn me,” she breathed. “Before it’s too late. Turn me now.”
Alex straightened up, shocked. He glanced at Veris.
Veris had a loaded needle up against the IV tube, waiting for Alex to tell him to proceed. “Your call,” he said quietly.
Sydney sighed again. The heart monitor stopped beeping and the flat, single note sounded instead.
Veris tossed the needle onto the tray and stepped back. “It’s not too late,” he said. “We could still get her back. Only that’s not what she asked for.” He turned his head. Rafe stood at the end of the bed. His face was pale. “Whatever we do, we have to do it fast,” Veris told him.
“We turn her,” Rafe said hoarsely.
Alex sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Finally, yes.”
* * * * *
It was dark when Sydney opened her eyes, yet not really dark. Even as she blinked, trying to orient herself, the dark grew lighter, until she could see details. It was the sort of light that came with a full moon, ghostly and washed out, but clear, nevertheless.
“Sydney. Talk to me.”
Rafe’s voice.
She breathed. “I’m awake,” she assured him.
His shadow detached from the dark corner of the room. It was their bedroom. The blinds were drawn, the curtains closed over the top of them…so where was the moonlight coming from?
Rafe stood at the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?” His voice was wary.
Sydney took stock. No pain. Nothing. Everything felt quite normal…except not exactly normal.
“You turned me,” she
breathed.
“A week ago,” Rafe admitted. “You had a rough transition. Do you remember any of it?”
Darkness that wasn’t dark. A hunger so powerful it screamed in her head, shouting down all other thought.
Spicy rich liquid sliding down her throat like a golden, warm liquor. Relief, so intense, it made her dizzy.
“I fed…”
“Neven volunteered.” Rafe’s hands moved restlessly on the bedspread. She was lying on top of it.
“What is it you’re not telling me?” she asked.
He gave her a small smile. “You were hard to control. Next to impossible, really. It’s been an interesting week.”
“Oh. Did I…hurt anyone?”
“Brody called it a good workout.” He shrugged.
“Where is Alex?” she asked. “He’s here, isn’t he?” And suddenly, she dreaded the answer. Had history still gone astray? Had Alex disappeared from everyone’s minds and hearts, except her?
“He’s recovering, too.” Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. “He won’t say anything about what happened back there, even though I know he has remembered the changes now. He’s been reading books and staring at the mountains and not talking to anyone, when he wasn’t in here watching you.”
“Sulking,” Sydney breathed. “He has nothing to be ashamed of,” she added.
“Tell him that.”
“I will.” She moved toward the edge of the bed.
Rafe didn’t move.
Sydney hesitated. “I don’t think Alex is the only one with something on his mind.”
Rafe sighed. “Marit told us what went wrong. About Etienne. Then Alex explained how impossible it would be for you to fix things and I…” He hung his head. “I doubted you, Sydney. All I could think about was that you would absolutely fail and I would be left alone and I…I think I even hated you for a little while, for doing that to me.”
“I very nearly did fail,” Sydney said. She brought her hand to her belly, under the robe she was wearing. She felt nothing there now and wondered if there was even a scar remaining.
“Except you succeeded. Alex said you were brilliant. That was all he would say.” Rafe picked up her hand. “Will you forgive me?”
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