Eternity

by Tmonique Stephens

  She woke up this morning feeling strangely powerful unlike the drained, listlessness she usually felt. No, she wasn’t suddenly Wonder Woman, but she woke with a smile on her face and a sway in her step. She actually took the time to fix her hair. When she reached for her usual work suits, her hand strayed to the more flattering ones. She didn’t know why and she didn’t question as she dressed and took the time to dab some makeup on.

  Her mood lasted as long as it took McCabe to holler her name across the squad room.

  “McCabe, don’t think you’re taking over,” John Davies, detective from another precinct, groused when they walked into the morgue.

  Excellent, she wasn’t the only one that hated the bastard. The morgue was located in another police precinct. They had jurisdiction and whatever happened here was their case. So why did McCabe drag them here?

  “I’m not, John.” McCabe tried to smile, but his grin looked like it cost him a kidney. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “We found an orderly unconscious in a closet.” John shrugged. “I’ll send you a copy of the file when we’ve solved the case.”

  Lever had never seen these detectives before, and though you couldn’t know everyone, they seemed to know McCabe.

  “Awright, awright.” McCabe scratched his days’ growth beard. “Did you watch the video?”

  John shook his head. “On our way to.”

  “Okay, can we tag along? We’ll stand in the back.” He haggled.

  John shook his head again.

  “Come on, damn it. This Daniel guy ties directly into my case and he goes missing? Lemme watch the video with you and both our captains can brag how well their departments get along.”

  McCabe’s begging worked, but she wished John made McCabe suffer a little longer. Fifteen minutes later, they gathered in front of a nineteen-inch black and white TV watching a VHS tape. Doctor Arthur Mead, his assistant and a security guard joined them.

  “The tape is old, but it still works. If our budget doesn’t get cut, we’re due for an upgrade, but fortunately this is a relatively new tape.”

  The tape wasn’t new enough. At best, parts were hazy, at worst, completely un-viewable.

  “We loop it every thirty-six hours,” the security guard answered the question on everyone’s mind.

  “How old is the tape?” John asked.

  “A month, maybe less.”

  “I’d say maybe more. Great! Modern technology, huh,” John griped.

  “Circa ’85.” McCabe finished.

  The guard stopped the tape. Surprisingly, this section wasn’t too bad.

  “Why are cameras in the refrigeration room?” Lever asked.

  “Back in the 80’s, we had some incidences. Parts and bodies missing. Lawsuits,” Meade replied.

  “There.” The guard pointed and everyone crowded close.

  Two minutes later everyone stepped back. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, shivering, but they hardly noticed.

  McCabe frowned. “What the hell did I just see?”

  “The drawer opened and he sat up and got out and walked away,” John replied in a hollow voice.

  “He also floated.” John’s assistant whispered.

  “Is that even possible?” the guard asked.

  Mead scratched his head. “How did the drawer open?”

  “Play it again,” McCabe ordered.

  Lever heard each man’s voice, but not a word they said, because what they saw and what she saw, were two entirely different things.

  A man, dressed like something that stepped off the wall of a pyramid, entered the room and opened the drawer. He stretched out his hand and Daniel Nicolis’ body floated above the drawer, spun once, then lowered. Like waking from a good nap, his eyes flipped open. He was about to speak, but the imitation of a hieroglyph kind of . . . melted, vanished, faded, in a swirly down the drain manner, that—except for the agony on his face—was kind a cool in a Spielberg sci-fi way.

  No one else saw him. Just like her crazy dreams that weren’t dreams . . . but were because . . . what else could they be?

  “It’s a fucking magic trick!” McCabe said.

  “Dead men don’t get up and walk.” John made the sign of the cross.

  “This isn’t the fucking X-files.” McCabe stressed. “All this proves is that he wasn’t dead.”

  They re-wound the tape and watched it for a third time.

  “I bet you fifty he’s going after Stella Walker again,” McCabe murmured almost to himself.

  “Why would he do that?” Lever forced herself to look away from the screen.

  “Because he’s fixated. This is the second time she got away. Bet you fifty he returns for a third. All we have to do is place her under surveillance and wait.” McCabe’s grin made Lever sick.

  “You’re going to use her as bait?” That couldn’t be legal, Lever thought. And if it was, it shouldn’t be.

  “She’s already bait.” McCabe gave a final glance at the screen and pushed his way out of the room.

  CHAPTER 26

  He never should have called Hector to pick him up. Like a recalcitrant child, his butler collected him from jail with folded arms and a scowl Roman’s long dead father would have been proud to imitate. Neither commented on his incarceration. He slid into the passenger side of the Hummer and didn’t buckle his seatbelt. “How much is this going to cost me?”

  Hector pulled into the flow of traffic. “That is between you and the Judge.”

  Hector whipped into the left lane and grinned when a car horn blared.

  Roman gritted his teeth. To be in debt to Judge Mitchell Nicolis Grayfield was not an enviable position. He opened the personal property envelope and emptied his wallet, watch, and his dead Blackberry into his lap. He closed his eyes and let his head fall onto the headrest.

  For a brief moment he tried to resist, but questions floated quickly to his mind. Was she safe? Did she miss him? “Where is she now?”

  “It’s five o’clock. She should be home, getting ready for work.”

  “Work?” He shifted in the seat to look at his butler.

  “Yes, she returned to her job at the diner last night.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised, still. . . . “Who’s watching her?”

  “Avery, since she’s never met him.”

  Was Avery trustworthy? Or any of them? Roman fisted his hands to keep from punching something. Shit, that question never came up before with any of his men, his family. Now that’s all he thought of.

  He closed his eyes again and tried not to think about her. The chance of that happening was next to nil. He could stop thinking about her like he could stop breathing. Every precious thing about Stella haunted him: the lotus blossom shampoo she used on her hair, the scent of her perfume between her breasts and on the rest of her silky skin. The liquid sweetness of her essence rolling on his tongue, the feel of her beneath him as their bodies merged, her cries as she blessed him with her orgasms. How good he felt to be deep inside her, trapped by her thighs, her sweet nipple—shit! He had to stop this. Her safety mattered and nothing else. He would perform his job as her bodyguard then leave her life.

  Hector pulled into the underground garage of his Park Avenue Townhouse. A short elevator ride and he entered the ground floor of his Manhattan home. Bought in 1930 with money stashed away in a Swiss account from his pirating days, he renovated it in the late 90’s back to its old world stateliness.

  Thane and Quin’s voices echoed. He tracked them to the library, where Quin set up the computer lab. He paused in the doorway, but didn’t enter. There were three things he needed; a shower, some sleep, and Stella. He would only get two.

  “Roman.”

  It was the cautious way Thane said his name that stopped him from moving past the room. He braced himself in the open doorway “What’s happened?”

  Grim faced, both men seemed not to want to speak. Quin stood and came from behind the Victorian desk. He sucked in a breath then said, “Dan
iel’s body’s missing.”

  I couldn’t have heard him correctly. Roman shook his head and had a second, before Quin continued.

  “It’s not public news, but . . . yeah, his fucking body is missing.” Quin nodded abruptly, halting Roman’s attempt at denial.

  Again, he felt an invisible hand at work.

  “Stolen?”

  Thane shrugged. “Most likely. The police are quietly investigating”

  Thane’s statement did nothing to ease the acid bubbling in Roman’s gut. The police would find nothing. “Any indication who took him?”

  “No, he’s—that is—his body’s slipped off the grid.” Quin stated. Tiredly, he pulled the glasses from his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Was he ever on the grid?” Roman asked darkly.

  “Who knows?” Quin shrugged.

  “We should’ve known.” Roman’s hands balled up, aching to destroy something. He spent two days in the care of NYPD hospitality. He suffered worse, but that was before he had someone to worry about. Fragile, Stella. She couldn’t take care of herself and now she was out there defenseless. He studied his men standing in front of him, waiting for a decision. He never questioned their loyalty, never needed too. However, that was all he thought about while in lock up. Who could he trust? The unknown ate at him. Even with Avery’s return, he still wasn’t sure. When in doubt, trust no one. Not even the men you raised.

  “Also, I have the other information you wanted regarding Carmen Gonzales.” Quin handed him a copy of a death certificate. “She had one son, Jose. He died three years ago. Overdose. He’s buried next to his mother in Greenlawn Cemetery.”

  Stella didn’t kill the man who raped her. Roman crushed the paper and wondered if the information would comfort her.

  An undercurrent flowed around him, moving him like a piece on a chest board without his consent. He’d always felt some unseen hand manipulating his life. He never told Reign. His practical twin didn’t take to the supernatural. Roman kept his thoughts to himself . . . until the curse changed their lives. The curse was the beginning, the end unknown. Would her love break it, make him mortal? Would they have children, grow old together, die in each other’s arms? No, she wouldn’t forgive him. Not this time, but it didn’t matter. To save her—and his sanity—he had to find the underlying cause of this quickly.

  “I want an accounting of all Daniel’s time,” Roman said.

  “Already done.” Quin handed him several sheets of data downloaded from Daniel’s locator.

  Roman scanned the paper. “There’s plenty of unaccounted time here.”

  “As with all of us. We go on mission, we go silent. He could have been on mission?” Thane said.

  “If he was? Who hired him?” Roman replied.

  “A hired serial killer? Whoa?” Quin exhaled a shaky breath.

  “Or someone hired him to be a serial killer,” Roman said to no one in particular. “Stella she said a name . . . Anubis, said his eyes glowed.”

  “Not possible,” Thane said.

  Roman gave him a hard stare.

  “She probably hallucinated,” Thane added. “And who’s Anubis?”

  Stella’s eyes glowed. Daniel’s eyes glowed? “I don’t know. But I’m going to fucking find out.”

  Perched on her throne, Nephythys leaned forward and studied the essence of the man who appeared before her. Shackles on his ankles and wrist, and chained low to the floor, brought him to his knees and bowed his broad back. The enchanted metal strained to contain him. The condemned usually didn’t arrive in this combative condition. But, along with his non-submissive state, there were a few other problems. First, he wasn’t Egyptian. An Anglo-Saxon struggled on her white and gold marbled floors. He growled, spit, and used the foulest language. That alone could send him to the deepest pit in Duat.

  But, he reminded her of someone . . . someone dear to her.

  She rose and her white, green-bordered robes billowed around her as she stepped down from her throne. “Cease,” she commanded. The chains sagged as he stilled instantly. “Raise your eyes to mine.”

  She contemplated his ruggedly boyish face, deep blue eyes, and cropped curly hair. From a distance, the similarities were enough to make her blood surge invitingly through her cold body. Yet upon close appraisal, the man before her bore only a passing resemblance to her beloved.

  Her heart ached. Tonight her husband returned to claim marital rights denied him for many millennia and all she wanted was a man that didn’t want her.

  “What is your name?”

  “Alamut, Goddess.”

  An Egyptian name, yet he wasn’t Egyptian. “How do you come to be in my presence?” His lips compressed and his eye blazed, but he couldn’t resist her command.

  “I am not sure.”

  “You are dead,” she confided, smiling into his face. “You reside here because of your actions and the evil infested in your heart. Yet you are not a follower or a descendent, so this hell should not be your final destination.” She stepped closer. He squirmed as if her gaze troubled him more than the restraints. “I see a god’s handiwork wrought within you.” He shifted is gaze away.

  He had strength. She might have been impressed if she hadn’t met one whose strength eclipsed the specimen sweating on her floor. At her command, his gaze returned to her and she stared deep into their blue depth.

  There! Swirling dark tendrils lashed at her, their signature unmistakable.

  “Anubis.” What could that minion of SET be up too, and does The God of Evil know? Doubtful. No, this subtle intrigue was beyond Anubis’ capabilities. Just as she was about to question the man further, he flashed from her chambers, recalled to his master’s side.

  Nephythys flashed across the distance separating the two palaces and appeared in Anubis’ antechamber. A Null rushed in, but backed away, bowing. They were soulless, brainless vessels that were filled with whatever their owner chose to put into them. Good, evil, deceit, deception even some sort of love could be poured into their vacant shell. Puppets, they were to be used, never trusted and owned by the last to touched them.

  “Where is your master?” she demanded.

  “He does not confide in me, Great Goddess,” he replied, bowing low and backed out of the room.

  She walked through the few rooms allotted to Anubis in his father’s palace. Ten rooms out of hundreds. The Nulls had more suites than Anubis, Prince of Darkness. She almost laughed at the human reference, but forgot to when a door barred her way.

  A door. Egyptian palaces had no doors. How human of him and how stupid. Clumsily, she grabbed the knob and pushed. The door didn’t budge. She tried again to no avail. She could destroy it, but preferred to leave no trace of her presence.

  Her hand slipped and the knob moved slightly. She grabbed it and turned her hand to the right. Click. The door opened to a room empty of furnishing, however filled with unadorned canopic jars on shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. Incandescent souls flickered brightly inside, stored in this secret warehouse and denied judgment. Their consciences beat at her, demanding reward or punishment. And like Alamut, these souls were not followers or descendents.

  Harvested. An ancient practice not done since the first pharaoh united the kingdoms by building an army so terrible his enemies surrendered rather than fight. The Sacred Dagger was lost during that time. Buried in the desert at the order of—

  “Nephythys. Your presence demanded mine.”

  She spun around and found Anubis bowing to her.

  “Goddess, it has been a very long time since you visited.” Without her permission, he rose and his gaze met hers. “However, you have appeared in the wrong chamber. SET resides on the opposite end of the palace. May I show you?”

  “I did not come here for SET.” She glared.

  His face showed surprise. “Then I am honored.”

  “Anubis, this is a dangerous game you play.”

  “Game? I don’t understand? We all play this game and da
nger makes everything more interesting.” His lips peeled back and all his teeth showed.

  Small of stature, thin framed and mottled pasty skin, he reminded her of his father. “Where is the Anu-Ra, The Sacred Dagger? Give me it.” She held out her hand.

  “No.”

  “You say no?” How dare he.

  “You heard correctly, Nephythys. My answer to you is, no. I will not hand over the Anu-Ra. It evens the field in my favor.” He moved away from her.

  “You think having a relic makes you an equal? Protects you from SET’s wrath?” She laughed and stalked him.

  “No, knowing the face of you lover does. Shall I inform your husband of your faithfulness?”

  His words halted her. “I have no lover.” She spoke truthfully.

  “The man, hanging in your alcove. The forbidden human, that lives, breathes, sweats, and bleeds, waiting for your return. That is the lover I refer to.”

  She couldn’t stifle her gasp or the sickening smile that graced Anubis’ face. Somehow, he’d touched her personal null Kema. That is the only way he could know all of this.

  “He would not appreciate the news, Anubis?” Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “It took you long to recover from the last time you brought unwanted news to your father, did it not?”

  His voice shook and his thin frame along with it. “My father loves me—”

  “And would still peel the flesh from your frail body.” She loved reminding him of SET’s sadism.

  “No different from you or any of the Gods on Chemmis. You’ve come for one reason and now you must beg for my silence. Not what you planned for this evening, but I am entertained.” His smile had the warmth of an asp.

  The tips of her hair quivered in agitation. She didn’t beg, at least not to him.

  “Is your lover still there waiting for you to return?” Like a gleeful child, Anubis rocked on the balls of his feet.