Heart of the Gods

by Valerie Douglas

For a moment all he could do was stare.

  The swords seemed to blaze with the reflection of the dying light of the sun. It was like watching some ancient goddess of battle come to life, Sehkmet, perhaps, or Astarte.

  Her eyes burned brilliantly, filling the hall with an eldritch blue glare.

  If anything, she looked even more beautiful than she had before.

  As stunned as the rest of them, the leader of the bandits stared at her in astonishment and horror before he backed frantically away, whatever it was he saw in her eyes at first freezing him in place before it terrified him into sudden desperate movement.

  She smiled, the expression terrible, implacable.

  They all stood frozen in astonishment.

  It was too incredible, it just wasn’t possible. That didn’t happen. The bullets should have killed her and swords didn’t just appear. Except that Ky had seen it with his own eyes.

  He found himself caught by surprise, his instincts and training momentarily deserting him in the face of the inexplicable. It was quite simply incomprehensible, but he couldn’t deny what he saw with his own eyes.

  Raissa.

  One moment she was bowed over the pain, in the next moment she straightened, her head snapped around and her eyes flashed red before taking on that uncanny bluish glow, a look of furious despair on her face that was so deep, so strong, it broke his heart to see it.

  And then she moved.

  Fast.

  He couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t think of it. Suddenly he recalled himself. There were the others, Tareq, Ryan, Komi, all in the line of fire.

  They were his responsibility, he had to get them to safety, get them under cover while their assailants were distracted.

  Raissa. Or whoever or whatever she was.

  Some part of him grieved for what might have been.

  “Tareq!”

  His old friend was closest.

  Grabbing Tareq, the closest, Ky wrenched at him, slung him toward cover.

  That broke the other man’s paralysis. They ran for shelter.

  “Ryan, Komi,” Ky shouted.

  He glanced back over his shoulder to see Ryan take hold of the stunned Komi before both of them scrambled behind one of statues. They threw their arms over their heads instinctively as they crouched behind cover, knowing bullets were about to fly.

  Ky glanced at Tareq as they pressed themselves into the shelter offered by the statue. Ironically, the statue of General Khai.

  “Did you know?” Tareq asked, with a tilt of his head toward the madness behind them.

  And Raissa.

  “What do you think?” Ky said, his tone dry. “Hell, no.”

  “Kill her,” the leader shouted.

  The invaders opened fire, bullets sprayed in bursts.

  They had only one target, the one who stalked down the stairs toward the men who stood staring at her in terrible fascination.

  Drawn by the gunfire, the shout drew Raissa’s attention back to him.

  Her head snapped around and the man found himself transfixed by that lambent blue gaze.

  She smiled.

  That smile was terrible to see.

  Ky could only stare.

  Her pretty lips peeled back from her teeth to reveal lengthening fangs, so white against the pale rosy pink of those lips.

  Her voice echoed, rang, in the empty room.

  “Good luck with that,” she growled, softly, smiling wickedly, using one of Ryan’s favorite phrases, “but I’m afraid you’re far too late for that. You see, I’m already dead.”

  In terror one of the men emptied his gun into her chest. Each impact made her twitch. Blood flew.

  She looked down at the bleeding holes, frowned in displeasure.

  Her eyes lifted and that cold luminous blue gaze would have chilled even the hardest of men.

  She smiled again.

  “Clearly, you weren’t listening. I said I’m already dead. What part of that did you not understand?”

  The first of the men came at her, raised his weapon and she spun, swords glittering in the setting sunlight reflected by the windows.

  Blood flew as she dove and rolled past him even as he dropped to his knees, his hands wrapped around his neck. His throat cut, he slowly toppled as she stalked away.

  The next tracked her with his weapon trying to get a bead on her while his companions scattered but she was moving too fast. She was on her feet again, standing in front of him. Her swords struck, like scissors, crosswise, and his chance was gone.

  As was his head and his life.

  It wasn’t in Ky to sit and wait when he could do something and whatever else was happening, whatever was going on, whatever else she was, Raissa was alone out there. There was also no guarantee they would survive without her if they managed to bring her down.

  The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Komi and Ryan were also still in danger.

  He looked at Tareq, who nodded.

  Even without a weapon, with his training Ky was more than capable of doing some damage. It was hardly the first time he and Tareq had faced trouble together, although not of this caliber.

  Still.

  Then a weapon came his way.

  One of the terrorists raced around the statues, probably looking for hostages, but Raissa saw the man first.

  Tossing her left-hand sword in the air, she caught it neatly, turned and threw it backhanded in one swift, smooth motion.

  It struck the man in the back and he arched as the sword pierced him, his gun firing in a useless arc at the ceiling as he fell.

  A gesture and her sword flew back to her.

  Ky couldn’t process that at the moment.

  He saw the man come running towards them, saw Raissa throw her sword and the man fall.

  So did his weapon.

  “Tareq, I’ll cover you,” he shouted as he dove for the gun.

  He snatched up the man’s weapon even as the dying man dropped it, falling to his knees.

  Then it was in Ky’s hands.

  Rolling over onto his shoulders as he slid on the highly polished marble of the floor, he fired off a short burst square into the chest of another of their assailants―the broadest target he could be sure to hit as he slid. There was more punch to this gun than the one that had shot Raissa. His target flew back and went down even as Ky scrambled for cover against the inevitable backlash of gunfire.

  Moving fast, Tareq caught another of the men around the throat, grabbed his head and twisted it sharply, breaking the other’s neck instantly. He caught the man’s weapon as the dead man dropped, found cover again as he shouldered the rifle.

  He shifted it to single-shot and picked his targets.

  Raissa took another bullet, pain on her fine features even as she turned to look at the man who had done it, her long beautiful hair swirling around her with every turn of her head.

  That one took one look at the expression on her face, in her eyes, at the pitiless look in them, dropped his gun and ran.

  In spite of it all Ky was startled to realize that she still looked astonishingly beautiful, she was like a fierce warrior goddess, ethereal and otherworldly. Her golden hair gleamed brilliantly in the fading light of the sun, haloing her face, her fine features as still as marble. Her blue eyes blazed brilliantly. Flickers of red sparks flashed in them like embers in a hot fire. Her pretty lips were parted, blood still on them from when she’d coughed after the impact of the first bullets.

  She was wearing the pretty pale blue sundress he’d bought her in the gift shop at the hotel. It seemed surreal. The hem fluttered around her shapely legs.

  Now the dress was patterned with gunshots, spattered and blood-stained.

  One of the men stepped out from behind a statue and leveled his gun at her head as she turned to face him.

  Ky found he couldn’t watch one of them put a bullet in her head and stay sane.

  He snapped off two quick shots and the man fell even as Raissa looked at him.

  She smi
led brilliantly, the gratitude in her eyes shocking, her expression suddenly and startlingly soft and warm. Her head inclined a little, a gesture of thanks. There was a sweetness in that look that shook him to his core.

  Another bullet struck her. Ky saw her jolt with the impact.

  Her expression shuttered, went cold.

  Raissa turned.

  This wasn’t done, she had to finish it. It was her duty, it was for this she’d served the Gods for nearly four thousand years, to preserve, defend and protect. It was for this she’d given up everything. It was who and what she was.

  She went after the others.

  Seeing her coming with her swords held down and back like the wings of an avenging angel, her face still, her expression unforgiving and unrelenting, they opened fire on her. As she intended. She was already moving, spinning away from the spray of bullets, running, drawing their fire away, away from the statues…away from Ky, Tareq and the others.

  Giving Ky and Tareq targets.

  A glance at Tareq.

  There was no need to speak. He understood instantly, nodded and took advantage of the distraction, opening fire in return.

  As did Ky.

  He turned to duck his head around the base of the statue, trying to see Ryan and Komi.

  In response to that look Ryan said, “Fuck this shit, boss.”

  To him Raissa looked like something out of his favorite actions movies, except that this shit was real. And he was damned if he was going to die here like this.

  One of the attackers came stumbling toward him from one of Raissa’s kicks, arms flailing as he staggered backward.

  “Fuck this shit,” he repeated, and snagged the gun as the man released it.

  Raissa’s kick had been perfectly placed, just below the breastbone.

  The man coughed, a great gout of blood spurted out of his mouth.

  Ryan put him out of his misery, saved him from a long miserable death and shot him.

  Keeping within the cover of the base of the statue, he picked his shots. Damned if he was going to wait until they shot him. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on but for the moment he would just go with it.

  Still running, Raissa leaped, planted her feet against the wall by the doors, pushed off and up into a twisting backwards somersault in apparent defiance of gravity to come down in a crouch in the midst of their attackers. Heads lifted, turned, to follow her progress. Stunned at the speed and suddenness with which she moved, two fell as she stood and her swords flashed.

  Then she was moving, spinning like a dervish, a kick driving off one assailant, her swords laying waste around her as she fought with swords and feet.

  Attacked from all sides, some of their assailants spun to defend themselves as Tareq patiently dropped one after another, choosing his targets and Ky took his own.

  Ky tossed his empty weapon away and snatched up one of the automatic rifles dropped by one of the fallen. He spun away from answering fire as he shouldered the gun and returned it. The gun chattered. More fell. Against the paired onslaught the few remaining were routed. The Museum doors smashed open as they hit them with their backs in full retreat, all of them shooting wildly to drive off Raissa, Ky, Tareq and the surviving security guards who had just arrived in the hall in response to the sound of gunshots.

  Racing past, the security guards went in pursuit of the attackers, some covering the doors.

  For a moment Raissa simply stood in the center of the room, her head slightly lowered, surrounded by the dead, none of them her own.

  She was too aware of them staring at her as they came out of the cover of the statues.

  Ryan and Komi, Tareq. None had so much as a scratch on them. For that she was grateful.

  And Ky.

  He stared at her, his dark eyes expressionless.

  That pierced her, the pain sharper than that of the bullets.

  Memories moved through her.

  She could almost feel his lips on hers again, as she had that night, his strong body close.

  For just a second, she closed her eyes in sorrow for all the lost possibilities, the spark that had been growing between them.

  Gone.

  Her blossoming friendships with Ryan, Komi, John, and now Tareq.

  Gone, too.

  And always, always, Ky…

  Gone, all gone.

  Like acid, grief burned in her chest.

  Ryan looked from the doors through which their attackers had escaped to Raissa standing in the center of the room with blood-stained swords in her hands, her head slightly lowered.

  “What the fuck!” he said, suddenly, sharply, in dismay and shock.

  None of this was possible, none of it could happen, but it had. Ryan tried to make sense of it, looking from one to the other of those around him, but everyone had the same disbelieving look, everyone was trying to process it.

  Even Professor Farrar.

  Ky was glad Ryan had spoken.

  He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know what to think, what to believe. It was all incredible.

  The one thing he couldn’t deny were the three neat bullet holes in her dress, those first ones, so neatly centered on her chest. Over her heart.

  They hadn’t missed. He’d seen the impact of those bullets drive her back.

  There was no blood. Not as much as there should be.

  Words came.

  “What the hell are you?” he demanded.

  Raissa closed her eyes and her breath caught at his tone.

  What. What was she. Not who.

  A hundred bullets couldn’t have wounded her more than that simple phrase.

  She couldn’t blame him, but it still hurt.

  She couldn’t look at him although she felt his gaze on her.

  Ky looked at her standing in the center of the room, her brilliant hair streaming loose over her shoulders, surrounded by the bodies of the dead. Men she’d killed. An odd sense of déjà vu passed over him, as if he’d seen her like this before. Multiple circles, burn marks, bullet holes, marked her dress where bullets had struck her. Blood stained her lips and a trickle of it ran from the corner her mouth. He knew he shouldn’t be looking at her standing there. She should be dead. By all rights she should be dead. He’d thought she was in those first few seconds, a terrible grief tearing through him at the thought. Those first bullets should have killed her almost instantly. All of them had been centered so perfectly over her heart it was like looking at a target in a shooting gallery.

  Except it was real and it was Raissa.

  And she hadn’t died.

  She was as still and as lovely in that moment, in that place, as one of the statues that surrounded them. Slender and beautiful, her skin was like alabaster in last of the fading sunlight. Her hair rippled over her shoulders in streams of gold and those brilliant blue eyes were almost too bright. Reddish sparks flashed in the depths of them.

  There were swords in her hands.

  Three bullet holes were centered in her chest, as neatly placed as any marksman could wish.

  He kept coming back to that. Couldn’t deny it.

  Lifting her chin, Raissa looked up into the face of the statue of Khai as her hands clenched and unclenched on her swords, her knuckles white.

  Then she turned to face them.

  “I am Irisi, High Priestess of Isis and of Sekhmet,” she said, lifting her chin in acknowledgment to the empty chair behind Ky. “The one they called Nubiti, the Golden One, and Guardian of the Tomb of the Djinn.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sprays of gore spattered the statues and the floor, puddled on it, making it sticky. There were holes and chips in the priceless statues. The scent of blood, coppery, along with the tang of gunpowder and the dust of shattered stone, was so thick in the air you could taste it.

  Ky looked to Tareq, whose jaw was tight as he, too, looked around, noting what had been done to his precious museum. All because of the Tomb of the Djinn.

  Their eyes met briefly then lo
oked back. At Raissa.

  Or Irisi.

  “Are you trying to tell us that you’re some kind of reincarnated mummy or something?” Ryan exclaimed, his tone incredulous.

  He wasn’t the only one. The same expression was mirrored on all of their faces.

  For a moment Ky could only stare at her in shock and disbelief…at the brilliant beautiful golden hair that streamed over her shoulders, lit by fading light of the setting sun as that gilded radiance filled the room. The warm light made her blue eyes brilliant.

  He remembered how they’d glowed.

  Raissa.

  Irisi.

  Impossible.

  Packed among his things was a small figurine of a golden-haired woman standing between lions with what looked like swords at her back, her hand on a lion’s head. It had been found in the remains of an ancient temple. At the base was the cartouche for Nubiti. Carved inside it was the ran―or symbols―for Khai. The eyes of the figurine had been painted blue. Carbon dating had placed it in the right era for Irisi/Nubiti’s time period. It was the only extant carving of the priestess named Nubiti. Its existence had never been recorded or documented.

  Only he knew of it.

  Because he’d done the unthinkable, risked his career and kept it.

  He stared at her, caught between amazement and something that felt like betrayal.

  If it was true and how couldn’t it be true, he’d seen what he’d seen…?

  Something wrenched inside him.

  She was still so beautiful…even with blood on her clothing, on her lips.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Ryan said, despite what he’d also seen.

  Slowly she shook her head. “No.”

  Ryan considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Cool.”

  Startled, Raissa could only stare at him but it was clear he meant it.

  Brought up in an era of movie special effects it was easier for him to accept the incredible than it was for the others.

  It was clear Komi was still doubtful, he stared at her uncertainly, warily, trying to come to terms with what he’d seen.

  Closer than anyone to these lands, to myths and legends that inhabited it, Tareq looked grim, yet still looked no less stunned than Komi did.

  Or Ky.

  Raissa steeled herself then turned to look at him.