“Did you feel that?” she asked.
Markus nodded.
Adeline hugged herself. “Now do you think we are alone in this house?”
He shook his head. He took down a small, but vicious-looking, meat cleaver from a rack on the wall. Inside his jacket was a deep pocket, which occasionally held a revolver. Mercifully, the handle of the cleaver slid in and his lapel concealed the blade. He buttoned the jacket. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but it helps.”
Adeline understood. The forces of evil might not succumb to a blow from a sharp blade, but at least the person carrying it could feel they were protected from anything of human origin.
Markus led her past the wine cellar. In front of them, a large board sealed the entrance to the newly rediscovered room. They both slowed down; each seeming not to want to disturb anything that might be listening on the other side.
Markus put his finger to his lips and placed his ear against the board. Silence.
Seconds ticked by and became a minute, then two.
A long, low groan echoed down the corridor. Adeline grabbed Markus’s arm.
“It’s starting,” she whispered.
Crash! Something hit the board with the force of a charging bull. Markus fell back. He scrambled to his feet.
Another crash. Another. The board shook, but held firm. Sawdust showered down from the edges, coating the floor.
A green light began to pulse and glow, only the narrowest of shards visible at the edges of the board.
Markus leaned close to Adeline, who still clung to his arm, her knuckles white, the skin stretched taut across them. “I can’t imagine how, but I think it knows you’re here.”
Adeline nodded. He might think it. She was certain of it.
Markus cleared his throat. Surely he wasn’t going to talk to it? She shook her head violently, in a vain attempt to stop him. He ignored her.
“Dr. Quintillus. My name is Markus von Dürnstein and you are in my house.”
Another crash and the board bowed in the middle before righting itself. It really couldn’t take much more of that. Adeline clung tighter to Markus.
“Dr. Quintillus,” Markus began again. “I realize you feel aggrieved by all that has happened, but you must leave my house. You are done here. You cannot remain trapped in there forever.”
A cold, raucous laugh filled Adeline with dread.
“My God, it’s not coming from in there. It’s out here, with us.”
Adeline’s eyes grew wide as she stared down the corridor. She pointed a shaking hand. “That’s him!”
Emeryk Quintillus’s skin was fresh and pink. He looked human—but when he came within a few feet of them and stopped, the death in his eyes chilled Adeline. He had no soul. His body an empty shell of evil.
She inhaled deeply. She must not show any of the fear or panic that gripped her spine. Markus placed his arm protectively around her shoulders, but Adeline stood firm.
Quintillus pointed at Adeline. “She is mine.”
Markus coughed. “What do you want with an old lady?”
Quintillus’s stare was difficult to bear, but Adeline concentrated on breathing steadily and maintaining eye contact.
When he spoke, his voice cracked—as dry as he himself had been last time Adeline had seen him. “She is not old,” he said. “She is mine.”
“She is most assuredly not yours,” Markus said. “Now, leave my house. You are done here.”
Quintillus raised his arm, as if about to strike him. But instead he opened his mouth to reveal rotten, blackened teeth. The stench of death poured out of him and a wheezing, as if a hundred trapped souls gasped their last breath, issued from his mouth.
A swirl of smoke coated the board in a veil of black. Markus pulled Adeline to one side. The wood cracked, broke, and cascaded to the floor in a cloud of dust. When Adeline dared to look, Quintillus had gone and they stood on the threshold of the room she saw so often in her nightmares. The sickly stench of decay and decomposition hung heavily in the atmosphere.
The familiar hieroglyphics sprawled across one wall. The electric light was switched on, and two piles of clothes lay on the floor.
Markus held Adeline’s hand and the two made their way in.
Markus pointed at the hieroglyphics. In a barely audible voice, he said, “I swear those weren’t here before.”
Adeline reached up to whisper to him. “We must look for the statuette. We have to get it away from here.”
Her toe caught the edge of one of the piles of clothes and she clapped her hand over her mouth.
A mostly skeletal hand—its fingers outstretched—lay next to her foot. Diamonds gleamed in gold rings. A bony wrist wore an emerald and ruby bracelet. Shreds of decayed and mottled flesh still clung to the bones and the nails of the hand were torn—right off in some cases. Adeline swallowed bile.
The corpse’s dress had once been sumptuous, but was now dusty, torn and speckled with dried reddish-brown blood.
Markus pulled her away.
Adeline allowed herself to be led. “Your aunt?” she whispered.
Markus nodded. “I believe so. And over there, if I am not mistaken is my uncle. But I don’t understand how they can be here. They weren’t before. Not when the builders first took down the wall.”
Markus led her past Wilhelm’s body, but not so quickly that she didn’t see he was lying on his back, his face mostly eaten away by maggots and whatever other insect life had chosen to feed on him. Adeline wondered fleetingly if the scarabs had made a return visit.
The corpse’s jawbone was visible and unhinged, twisted at an unnatural angle. Quintillus’s handiwork no doubt. A huge black spider emerged from the dead Count’s ruined mouth. It scurried across the floor, into a dark corner.
“Adeline, look at the door. The scratches. How could I not have seen those before?”
Adeline tore her sickened gaze away from Markus’s murdered relation and saw the gouges that had left deep tracks and ragged edges in the wood. “You didn’t see them because you weren’t meant to,” she said. “Not then. Quintillus can somehow create illusions. In your case you didn’t see something that was there. In mine, I saw something that didn’t happen.” She gave a shudder as she remembered back over the years. Quintillus’s head turning toward her, when the professor had seen no movement at all.
“My aunt must have tried to claw her way out.” His voice was heavy with sadness.
“Hence the nails.” Adeline swallowed the sourness in her mouth. “What a terrible way to die. Walled up in here with Quintillus.”
Markus was staring at something on the wall and, with a heavy heart, Adeline knew what it must be. What she had dreaded.
The portrait of Cleopatra. Once again on the wall, in profile.
Markus reached up.
“No, don’t!”
“Oh, by all means, do so.”
Quintillus stood at the entrance. He strode in. “I shall need that again. And the statue.”
“But you took your Cleopatra,” Markus pointed at the corpse of his aunt. “Surely her spirit is still with you.”
Quintillus’s lips curled in a grimace. “That body was mortal. It died. She was supposed to be mine for all eternity but once more, my beloved queen’s spirit is trapped.” He nodded toward the portrait. “I will set her free again.”
“No,” Adeline said, her voice strong and steady. “You will not do this again. Is it not enough that you have destroyed the lives of two people who lie dead in this room? Cleopatra doesn’t want you. She would do anything to get away from you. She tried to claw her way out of here, she hated you so much. Maybe Irina, too, if anything of her remained in that body.” Adeline pointed at the dead woman. “You can never have Cleopatra. She belongs to one man and that is the man she is buried with in Taposiris Magna.”
“Adeline!” Markus grabbed her arms. “Don’t antagonize him. You can see what he’s capable of.”
“No, Markus. Not him. The god. Set. I can see it all now. Set did this and he can do it again.” She jabbed her finger at Quintillus. “You can do nothing without invoking the god’s power.”
Quintillus let out his raucous laugh. “You know nothing about me. Nothing. You are her descendant, as this woman was.” He pointed at Irina. “My ancestor was Julius Caesar. Cleopatra would have been married to him if he had lived. I have always known my destiny. She never loved Mark Antony. He was expedient for her. Her spirit lives on. In that painting.” He jabbed his finger at it. “It rejuvenates and restores itself. It is indestructible. All it needs is a vessel. A descendant to make it live. You will make it live. You will be eternally young and beautiful again—”
Adeline clenched her fists. “No, Quintillus. You tried once with me and failed. You will not succeed now. I’ll kill myself first.”
Quintillus took a step forward. Markus brandished the meat cleaver and sliced it through the air. The archaeologist’s right hand twitched on the floor. Blood gushed from the wound. A green radiance began to pulse from his jacket pocket.
Adeline wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Get the statue!”
Markus hesitated an instant, clearly shocked by what he’d done. It was a moment too long.
Quintillus lashed out with his stump, spraying blood over Markus. He chanted something in that ancient language Adeline hadn’t heard for decades. She braced herself.
Markus was caught off balance and the cleaver clattered to the floor. It glowed red hot. Its blood spatters sizzled. Boiled. Evaporated.
The green light grew brighter, the pulsing more urgent with every second.
With a cry, Quintillus thrust his stump down onto the blade. He screamed. The smell of burning meat filled the air. Steam and smoke rose from the cleaver as the wound cauterized. Quintillus straightened himself and his eyes bored through Adeline’s brain. She felt a tugging sensation, as if he was trying to wrench her soul from her body, to leave her as empty as he was. That was what he wanted. To drain her own soul and fill her body with Cleopatra’s spirit. Out of the corner of her eye, Adeline saw the portrait twitch.
With a speed born of sheer desperation, she darted forward and grabbed the statuette from Quintillus’s pocket. She brandished it high, feeling its power surging within her.
“You are finished, Quintillus,” she said. “Now it is your turn to be cast out into oblivion.”
Quintillus lunged forward, Markus was too quick. He sent the crazed doctor staggering, clutching his injured, and still smoking, arm.
On the far wall, a shadow formed into the jackal-headed god Adeline had hoped never to see again.
While she still held the statuette that bore his name, the god raised his staff. Quintillus seemed to sense what was coming. He cowered.
“No, it is my right. She is my queen.”
A roar like a pride of lions filled the room. Quintillus screamed. A small army of scarabs poured down the walls, scurried across the floor and crawled up his body, their jaws snapping. They bit and left shriveled flesh. Rivulets of blood became gushing streams. The flesh peeled away, consumed by hundreds of ravenous, tiny mouths. Then they found his eyes, devouring the corneas, pupils, irises, until there was nothing left but bloody sockets. And all the while, Quintillus screamed until the insatiable insects chewed through his neck and consumed his larynx.
It took a mere couple of minutes before a fleshless skeleton collapsed onto the stone floor, its clothes in tatters.
Adeline lowered her arm. The statuette lay cold in her hand. Markus put his arm around her as the scarabs disintegrated into dust.
A small tornado smashed up the crackling, clattering bones, until a pile of grayish-white powder was all that was left of Dr. Emeryk Quintillus. It mingled with the remains of the scarabs. The shadow that had been Set dissolved.
Only the portrait remained.
Markus squeezed Adeline’s arm. “Come, we still have work to do.”
They left the house without a backward glance.
Chapter 19
Taposiris Magna
The helicopter landed on the site of the great temple of Taposiris Magna, sending clouds of sand and dust high into the air. As the blades slowed to a halt, Adeline and Markus waited for the air to clear before climbing down onto the stone ground. Markus held both of Adeline’s hands as she stepped down from her first-ever helicopter ride.
“Thank you,” she said, dusting off her cool, cotton dress and adjusting her wide-brimmed hat.
Markus looked around him. The sky was a vivid, cloudless blue and despite the early hour—seven thirty a.m.—the heat already matched a fine summer afternoon in Vienna.
“Which way? I wonder.” Markus surveyed the tall stone pylons and extensive ruins.
“I don’t know, but the professor seemed to think that we would somehow be guided. By the statue I suppose.”
In the helicopter, the pilot opened his newspaper and began to read.
Markus retrieved the statue from the pocket of his trousers and turned it over in his hand.
“Do you feel a compulsion to move in any particular direction?” Adeline asked.
Markus shook his head. He looked up and squinted at the far wall of the temple. “It looks more promising over there, though. I think some excavations may have been taking place.”
Adeline fanned her face with her hat, before returning it to her head. She followed Markus. They crossed the few yards to a jumble of stones and debris.
Markus set the statuette on a partially raised stone slab and stepped back. Adeline stood next to him.
They waited. The only sound came from a slight breeze whistling through the ruins.
Minutes ticked by.
“I think we’re in the wrong place.” Markus made to retrieve the statuette. He stopped.
Beneath their feet, the earth rumbled.
“Earthquake?” Adeline felt the color drain from her face.
Markus shook his head. “I don’t think so. But I do think we should move back.”
He grabbed Adeline’s hand and half-dragged her back toward the helicopter.
The rumbling grew louder, the ground shook; a pressure cooker of force built up underground. Suddenly, the stone slab shot up high into the air. It crashed down. Smashed into a thousand shards. Stone grated on stone. Sand swirled up into a cloud that set Markus and Adeline choking and covering their mouths and noses with their hands. Behind them, the Egyptian helicopter pilot had started the engine. The rotor blades began to turn.
He called out to them. “Come now. You must come at once. You don’t see what I see. Come now!”
He lifted Adeline into the helicopter and reached for Markus. Adeline coughed. Her eyes streamed. She dabbed at them with a handkerchief and stared across at the dust storm that had taken on a green phosphorescence.
Beside her, Markus choked on dust.
“Did we do it?” Adeline asked him.
The helicopter took off and gave a swerve that sent Adeline’s stomach sinking. Markus finally managed to speak
“I believe so.” Markus called to the pilot. “Could you circle around here for a few minutes, until the dust settles? We want to fly over that site.”
The pilot shot them a horrified look. “But, sir, it is not safe. Look to your right. There is something there.”
Adeline and Markus saw the sight that had so frightened the pilot. Rising above the cloud of dust and sand, a huge figure with a jackal’s head brandished a staff. Adeline caught her breath.
“Set,” she said. “He has come to claim his image and return it to its rightful place.”
Markus exhaled. “Then we have succeeded.”
“I hope so. Yes, surely we have.” If Adeline
could convince herself that it was finally over she might at last be able to sleep soundly after all these years.
“Sir.” The pilot was pleading now.
“You have enough fuel to fly over the site, correct?” Markus asked.
“Yes, sir, but—”
“I’ll triple your fee if you do it. Agreed?”
The pilot hesitated. When he spoke, he sounded subdued, nervous even. But Adeline knew he had been offered more money than he could expect to earn in a month. She had been with them when Markus agreed the higher than average fee, designed to buy his silence, along with his flying skills.
The pilot hesitated, but only for a few seconds. “Yes, sir. Agreed.”
The sight that greeted them when the sandstorm died down and they flew directly overhead was extraordinary. A long, steep flight of stone steps led down between two high walls. At the foot, the emerald glow pulsed brightly.
“It is the work of the devil,” the pilot said. The fingers of his right hand worked furiously at the bright blue worry beads he clutched.
“Circle around once more,” Markus said.
The pilot muttered something in Arabic, but did as he was bid.
This time, the glow faded. The noise of the helicopter drowned out whatever grating noise emanated from below. The stone walls closed in and concealed Cleopatra’s tomb once more.
“Back to Alexandria,” Markus called to the pilot who didn’t need telling twice, by the speed at which he turned the helicopter.
“What will you do now?” Adeline asked. “Return to Vienna and live in that house?”
Markus shook his head. “Certainly not yet. Maybe never. I don’t think I can ever feel safe in it after what’s happened. I’ll import some unsuspecting builder from Turkey, put him up in the house and get him to build the wall before he hears any of the rumors. Then maybe I’ll sell it, but only to someone who can prove they’re not descended from Cleopatra.”
Adeline smiled.
Markus looked at her hard. She flinched under his gaze. So intense. Like he was trying to see inside her head.
“What will you do, Adeline? Back to your little house in Wimbledon?”
Wrath of the Ancients Page 20