Authors: Seressia Glass
“Nothing’s wrong with you dressing ‘like a girl,’ as far as I’m concerned. I’m enjoying the show, though I find it hard to forget that you are, indeed, all girl, no matter what you are or aren’t wearing.”
“Thanks,” she said, instantly mollified.
“I feel the need to point out that I’m more than willing to be a decoy in order to buy you time to pull your blade out of your purse,” he continued, his voice dry. “I might even be able to hold my own for a whole minute before I die.”
Kira rolled her eyes. “Sorry if I bruised your ego, Mr. Ultimate Warrior.”
“My ego isn’t bruised. I know my skills and so do you. I’ve been patrolling with you every night since we’ve been back.”
“So what are you trying to say? That you’re more capable than me in a fight?” Back to combative, gods help her.
“What I’m trying to say is it’s okay for you to forgo being a Shadowchaser for a few hours of hobnobbing. The city won’t go to hell that soon.”
It was an intriguing idea. Atlanta hadn’t imploded during her trip to London. The southeast division of the Gilead Commission had a good group of investigators and security personnel, despite the people skills of its section chief, Estrella Sanchez. It was worth remembering that most of the city’s human and passing-as-human dignitaries would be at the same event she and Khefar were attending: a private fund-raiser at the pre-opening night of “Journey Through the Underworld,” an interactive multimedia production based on the Egyptian Book of the Dead.
Of course, Kira and Khefar knew the collection of prayers and spells was commonly called the Book of Going Forth by Day, but since the papyri containing the spells were traditionally found buried with the dead, the colloquial name had stuck. It would be one of many things they’d have to grin and bear during the course of the exhibit.
“I tried not being a Shadowchaser before,” she muttered to herself, reaching for a necklace made of lapis beads and adorned with gold lotus leaves. It had been one of the pieces in Bernie’s collection, a replica of a Middle Kingdom necklace. “Fat lot of good that did me.”
Khefar stepped behind her, pushing her braids over her left shoulder with a gentle stroke of his hand. “You were alone and powerless then,” he said softly, taking the necklace from her. He fastened it about her neck, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin. “You are neither now.”
She shivered as his fingers glided across her neck. This elemental sensation—this simple human contact of flesh against flesh—was still new, still precious. Khefar could touch her, and she him, without triggering her extrasense. There was no danger of reading his life’s history in every vivid detail; no danger of downloading every thought and emotion from this particular heartbeat all the way back to birth; no danger of draining his life force and leaving him in a coma; nothing to fear, only the exquisite sensations of the heat of his skin, the rough pads of his fingers, the press of his body against hers.
“Kira.”
She met his gaze in the mirror. A hard expression, the warrior’s expression, softened as she watched. His dark eyes had seen civilizations rise and fall, during four thousand years of caring and fighting, trying and failing, living and dying, believing and doubting. He was an extraordinary fighter in every sense of the word, with an extraordinary burden. An extraordinary man who’d appeared at the exact moment she needed someone like him. If only she could keep him. With him at her back, standing by her side, she could handle whatever and whomever the universe put in her way.
She reached up, brushing his hand with hers. The world and all its troubles receded slightly. For a moment, she didn’t think about the dreams that haunted her sleep. She didn’t think about quitting the bed every night after Khefar fell asleep, driven away from his comfort by her dreams. She didn’t think about the secrets Balm had kept from her about her parentage. She would think about all of that later, but for now, she didn’t have to think about anything at all.
Khefar tangled his fingers with hers, squeezed. “You look as if you should be reclining on cushions as you sail down the Nile.”
His voice, rough and low, rumbled over her skin, causing her to shiver with awareness. She quickly wet her lips. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to distract me with compliments.”
He retrieved her black elbow-length gloves from the dresser, his gaze playful as he handed them to her. “Did it work, or should I step it up?”
“I can’t imagine what you could do to step it up,” she said, tugging on the gloves. “And we don’t have time for anything that requires being naked.”
“What about this?”
He pulled a small black box out of the dresser drawer he’d claimed upon their return from Europe. The box looked like a smaller version of the archive cases she used to transport artifacts back and forth, a discreet gunmetal gray. That let her know that the contents were very important and, coming from Khefar, very old.
She lifted the lid. Nestled inside the display form was a gold arm cuff, delicately carved and inlaid with blue and red enamel. With a start, she recognized some of the design elements indicative of Meroitic culture.
“Wow, it looks like a fine example of craftwork from the Kushite kingdom, or Meroë.” She looked up at Khefar. “Is it authentic?”
“It belonged to Kandake Amanirenas.”
The box wobbled in her hands. “
The
Kandake Amanirenas, warrior-queen of Meroë, who led an army against the Romans in Egypt?”
He nodded. “She gifted it to me as thanks for saving her son.”
Kira’s mouth dropped open. “By the Light. You saved Akinidad’s life. There’s got to be a story there and you’re so going to tell me all about it. I can’t believe you’d keep a story like that from me. Actually, you’ve kept almost all your stories from me.”
“Kira—”
“No talking. Looking now.” She lifted the box to eye level so that she could examine every intricate detail of the arm cuff without touching it. If he’d gotten it from Kandake Amanirenas, that meant the bracelet was more than two thousand years old. What would she learn if she did touch it?
“It’s beautiful, a fantastic use of the glass to mimic rubies and sapphires. Pure gold, with an intricate geometric pattern around both edges. The hinge work is amazing. It’s simply a stunning work of art.” She handed it back to him.
He pushed it back at her. “It’s yours.”
“What? No. No.” She held her hands up, panic coiling in her stomach. “I couldn’t accept something like this. It’s precious, it’s priceless. Kandake Amanirenas owned this! It belongs in a museum, not my jewelry box! Why in the world would you give me something like this?”
He took her gloved hand, pressed the box into her palm. “It belongs to someone who will truly appreciate what it is, and what it means. I think Amanirenas would be pleased to know you have her bracelet. In fact, I know it.”
Kira bit her lip, gazing down at the cuff with pure unadulterated longing. It was an unbelievably beautiful piece, and she wanted it, wanted it badly. She wanted to settle it on her bare wrist, wait for the impressions to bombard her. How much of a glimpse would she have of Amanirenas’s life? Would she uncover something that would enable her to be the first to decipher Meroitic writing? She could write an article, no, a whole book, on the ruler. She could publish in archaeological journals, and speak at symposiums. Maybe even get the opportunity to lead a dig.
She looked at Khefar. The Nubian had carried the bracelet with him for more than two millennia. Would she be able to learn more about his life if she touched the bracelet? Touching his dagger had shown her Khefar’s life as a warrior over the last four thousand years. She knew he carried a fetish bag that contained mementos of the devastating loss of his family, the event that had set him on a four-thousand-year-old path to redemption. She’d accidentally touched that small leather pouch, and experienced the death of his wife and children, his grief, his rage. Experienced his revenge.
So why give the bracelet to her? Surely, he’d had plenty of opportunity to present it to someone else over the centuries. Why would he give this to her? Why now?
Maybe there wasn’t a deeper meaning other than he wanted her to have it because she’d have the highest appreciation of it. If so, that was more than reason enough to satisfy her.
She wrapped her gloved fingers about the bracelet, pulled it free of the box. “It would be appropriate to wear it to the gala tonight, but I’m afraid to let it out of the house,” she said, holding it close to her chest. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“I know you will,” he said with a smile. “I have faith in you. Now, we should probably get going or we’ll miss the tour of the exhibit.”
K
ira directed Khefar into downtown, onto Marietta Street and then down Andrew Young International Boulevard to the Georgia World Congress Center. The center was part of a sprawling sports and entertainment complex that also encompassed an arena and Centennial Olympic Park. Though it was mainly used for conventions and trade shows, the center had three buildings that could handle anything from a movie showing to graduations to special exhibits expected to attract thousands of people. Kira knew the organizers of the underworld exhibit were hoping to break attendance records with their show. Given the public response to other shows and the always popular subject of ancient Egypt, Kira thought they stood a good chance of doing just that.
Khefar found a place to park his black Charger on a lower level close to the main entrance of Building A, and then helped Kira out of the car. She looped the strap of her beaded purse diagonally across her chest, like she would her messenger bag. Purses had never been a part of her daily wardrobe; she usually needed easy access to more things at any given time than the largest purse could hold. Even before college, it was easier to tuck the things she needed into pockets or a backpack, which could hold much more than tissues and a tube of lipstick.
They made their way down and across the International Plaza to the main doors. The arena dominated the view on the east side of the deck while the dome took up much of the west, with the main entrance to the center across the street directly in front of them. A little ways away, above the hum of traffic, they could hear crowds at Centennial Olympic Park. This time of year part of the main field held an ice-skating rink. Kira had yet to go, but then, her jobs kept her schedule full.
Khefar stopped short. “That’s not subtle.”
The main entrance to Building A was emblazoned with banners heralding J
OURNEY
T
HROUGH THE
U
NDERWORLD
: A
N
I
NTERACTIVE
T
OUR OF THE
E
GYPTIAN
B
OOK OF THE
D
EAD
.
“That’s a lot of words to fit on a small banner,” Kira said. “Besides, you’ve got the Great Pyramid, the Great Sphinx, Rameses the Great. Since when has Egypt been small scale about anything?”
“True, but I’m not talking about the banners.” Khefar pointed. It was hard to miss the two giant statues of Anubis that flanked the main entrance. Black and gold and two stories high, the statues advertised the Book of the Dead exhibit in no uncertain terms.
Kira settled her black velvet wrap about her shoulders, made sure the beaded strap of her purse was secure across her chest. “I should warn you now, if you don’t like the outside, you’re probably not going to like the inside all that much either.”
“The exhibit?” Khefar frowned. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well …” She hesitated. “Maybe we should say it’s more of a show than an exhibit. I worked on the displays for the artifacts and reproductions section, but a production company handled the interactive Journey Through the Underworld exhibit.”
They crossed the plaza and headed up the steps to the doors. “Meaning it’s meant to entertain, not educate.”
“I think the term they’re using is
edutainment
. I haven’t been through it yet so I don’t know how closely it resembles Ani’s Book of Going Forth by Day, but maybe it’s a good thing that it doesn’t.”
The Book of the Dead exhibit was being staged on the first level of the A Building at the Georgia World Congress Center, not far from the Georgia Aquarium. It was a massive undertaking, so massive that the exhibit took up the entire level. The whole floor had been decorated in the theme, with scenes from the funerary text printed on banners hanging from the rafters along the main walkway.
Guests were thick on the floor by the time Kira and Khefar made their way to the lower level. People gathered in knots around high-top tables draped with gold and black fabric, or clustered near the portable open bars. She recognized several members of Atlanta’s thriving music community and other local celebrities. Kira chatted with a few of her colleagues and used Khefar to run interference with people who she knew tended to become a little too grab-happy when they were deep in their cups.
“How are you going to manage this?” Khefar wondered as Kira shook hands with yet another colleague. “Alcohol to dull the senses?”
“No, I don’t do alcohol. Besides, I’m not going to do anything to blunt my extrasense.”
“Why not? Are you expecting any trouble?”
“There are a lot of people here, people who have no problem hugging and shaking hands and even kissing one another on the cheek as a way of being polite.”
“Oh. This is going to be difficult for you, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “The gloves and shrug will help, but I’m shielding so hard right now that any psychic within a mile is going to think they ran into a brick wall.”
Concern filled his eyes. “How long before you reach critical mass?”
“I should be able to make it through the meet and greet without needing to run out of here screaming,” she answered. “The tour shouldn’t be a problem. I think the whole event shouldn’t be more than three hours, four tops.”
“So you won’t be able to detect any Shadow trouble?”
“No. Gilead’s got sweepers and Special Response Teams on standby. Sanchez herself will be here, since Gilead, under the auspices of its umbrella company, Light International, made a sizable donation to the arts and culture program this benefit showing is for. Like you said, it’ll be all right to forgo being a Shadowchaser for one night.”