Crescent Moon (11 page)

The interviews with the guards netted exactly the same
answers. Neither man had seen a thing the night the museum had been robbed, and
neither was close friends with the guard who died.

Khepri sighed as Juste and Mikey paused to reflect on what
they’d learned, then quickly noted questions to add to their growing list for
the university crew. Time passed so slowly, she felt her eyelids dip, lowering
as she swayed in her chair, only to snap open as crisply as her back
straightened each time she caught herself drifting off.

Sleep terrified her. Even though she knew it was silly.
She’d been spared, resurrected for a purpose. Surely, she wouldn’t be yanked
back into the
Duat
before she’d served that purpose. If only she knew
what it was.

What would happen after that should have frightened her
more, but her gaze kept sliding toward Juste, resting on his large frame, so
clearly uncomfortable folded into a hard chair for so long. In her mind, she
relived the intimate moments they’d shared. His relentless passion, her
boundless wonder. She’d waited by his side while he’d slept perhaps an hour
before the jarring ringing of his cell phone—his alarm telling him what time to
rise as though the sun was no longer relevant.

The moment his eyes had opened to find her there beside him,
she’d felt her quiet joy slowly fade, replaced by an ugly, painful knot
settling in her belly. By his expression, he didn’t feel the same as she did.
He wasn’t eager to continue their journey together, partners in a sacred quest.

And why should he be? He didn’t believe in what he couldn’t
see for himself. Didn’t have a relationship with any god, so far as she could
tell. That fact saddened her. While she’d thought having someone who walked in
this brash new world, who could navigate its hidden undercurrents, would be an
advantage, she needed someone who could ease his disbelief just a little bit to
follow wherever the gods might lead.

Faith would be an important part of this investigation, and
Juste had none. Not in her. Certainly, not in himself.

Disappointment was bitter, but then she reminded herself she
couldn’t entirely give up on the man. Amun had given her a sign. One she should
heed. Juste was someone important, someone she had to keep close. While her
hurt feelings made her wish she didn’t have to spend quite so much time in his
company, because she would have liked to lick her wounds, this was where she had
to be.

In the museum, anyway. “Must I stay through the other
interviews?”

Juste glanced up. “I need to know if anyone has seen you
before.”

We all have needs
, she thought snidely. “I’ve told
you, no one here could have seen me.”

“These folks dug the missing artifacts out of a cave near
Thebes.”

“And you don’t believe I was what they uncovered.” She gave
a dismissive wave.

“There’s no way you could have survived that long in those
rags. They found you months ago.”

Weary again, she smiled. “If they’d unwrapped me when they
found me, I’d have been the wizened husk one would expect.”

Juste shook his head. “Yeah, let’s just wait and see if any
of them know you.” He pointed toward her ring. “Haddara asked you about that.
Did he recognize it?”

“He did.” He’d also read the inscription on the “rags” and
understood enough of their meaning to know what the vizier had believed he’d
set in motion. Haddara had asked her point blank how she’d come by the ring.

“It was in my wrappings. Along with the headrest near my neck,
the heart scarab atop my chest, the golden ankh, the double ba bird, the blade
in my hand, and the scarab on my tongue.” She’d seen no reason to hide the
truth.

Haddara had gazed into her eyes and she’d let him in,
sending him a wash of warmth he’d been open to receive. His eyes had closed for
a moment, and when he’s opened them again, there had been awe shining in the
black depths. “Khepri, I presume?” he’d whispered.

At the sound of her name on his lips, she froze. “Are you in
league with the nameless one?”

“I am your protector.” He’d touched his forehead and dipped
his head.

Without question, she’d accepted his proclamation. Trust had
felt right and fully intact from that first moment.

Something she knew Juste would never understand or give so
easily.

“Khepri, what else did Haddara say?”

“That he was my protector.” There’d been more, but she
didn’t see a need to share everything with someone who didn’t believe.

“You have one of those already.”

“Do I?” Her gaze slid away. “I wish to see the
naos
.”

“I’ll take you when we’re finished.”

The tenseness in his tone raised the hairs on her neck. “I’d
like to go now.”

A muscle along the edge of his jaw spasmed like a tic. He
set down the writing instrument and glanced at his wrist. “Can you hold off the
interviews for a while?” he asked, his question clearly for Michael.

“I’ll tell them we need a break,” Michael said, his eyebrows
rising. “Have them back in forty-five?”

Juste nodded and stood. He walked toward the door without
glancing back.

His action was somehow insulting, she knew, but she rose
without complaint, following him out the door.

Down the hallway, a woman sat behind a table, glancing up
when Juste neared. “Can I help you, detective?”

Facing the woman, he dug into the pocket in the back of his
pants and pulled out the colorful paper he’d shown Khepri the night before. He
pointed at the shrine. “Where can I find this?”

“Give me just a moment. I know they’ve been unpacking, but
I’m not sure which hall this one’s in.”

She used her cell phone to call someone, then gave Juste a
quick, polite smile. “It’s in Turney Hall.” She reached for another paper,
circled an item, and pointed to her left. “You’re here, you can follow—”

“I’ll find it, thanks.”

Khepri nearly let out a grin as the woman’s smile froze on
her face. She was pretty in a pale washed-out sort of way, like the slaves from
the north—large and brutish and pale as sandstone with faded blue eyes.

Khepri skipped to keep pace with Juste’s long strides. If he
was punishing her for something, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of
seeing her pant. Besides, she missed her lessons with the old man from the
East, which had left her sore and breathless. He’d insisted on her walking
briskly, even running in the silt beside the river to strengthen her lungs and
legs. As tiny as he was, he’d made her gasp trying to keep up with his quick
strides. Juste’s long gait wasn’t nearly as grueling.

They passed one corridor, then another, each filled with
color and lit with natural light through tall glass windows. The glass was
without ripple or discoloration, stunningly perfect, as interesting to her as
the pretty objects scattered on the walls and atop tall dark blocks with lamps
shining more light downward.

Her gaze wanted to linger, to appreciate what she hurried
past. Then she heard it, a soft humming, like the temple singer’s pretty chorus
as she danced between the tall columns. Khepri felt emotion well, tightening
her chest, and she picked up her pace, rushing past Juste to follow the sound.

In an unframed doorway, she halted. The music had stopped.
Silence descended, muffled as though passing through thick balls of wadded
cotton. She couldn’t hear her steps. Nor Juste’s behind her. How odd. Her gaze
locked on an object, sitting in the midst of bits of trash, its white stone
having lost its luster and all its sharply defined edges—but it was still
recognizable, as was the figure seated beneath its short roof with his plumed
hat and golden ankh in his hand. Never mind the gold had long since rubbed off
the statue. It’s mate was in her pocket.

In a slow descent, she went down on her knees in front of
the shrine, wishing she had water to bathe with, incense to burn. In truth, she
was too eager to seek counsel to care all that much.

She bent, curling downward, until her upper torso flattened
against the floor.

O Husband, I call to you.

The rest of her usual incantation made no sense given where
she was and her unprepared state.

Husband, so far have I journeyed. So long have I slept.

Praise to you, praise to the gods of the Duat,

Pray forgiveness for the false tears I wept.

The hour approaches. I feel the urgency build,

Show me the way. Show me your will.

So shall it be done.

Khepri kept her eyes closed, her mind open. For a moment,
she felt nothing, and then the ground beneath her tilted. Next, a blow like a
large, blunt fist hit her between her shoulder blades. Breath was forced out,
her eyes bulged open, and from the edge of her vision, she saw Juste rush
forward, sliding on his knees on the marble floor beside her.

He shouted—she knew this because his lips moved and his face
was red—but she couldn’t hear him. With a rending sound, her soul peeled away
from her body, and her
ba
rose, flying above the quickly bluing body
cuddled against a large solid chest.

Right wing dipping, she glanced down once as she turned,
shocked to find a piercing blue gaze following her as she swept away, flying
just beneath the ceiling, then ducking beneath the doorway lintel and out into
the corridor. Without a river’s edge to guide her, she followed the hint of a
natural breeze, then a sudden glint of light through another hallway, then out
a window.

Sunshine drew her upward, sparkling on the dark water of a
canal below. She flew downward, dipping her beak into the water, then rising again.
Free, light as her hollow bones, carefree. Careless. Until she saw the dark
shadow beneath the surface of the water. Long and sinuous, moving like a thick
snake, but she knew what it was.

Who
it was. “Sobek!” she wheezed, opening her eyes,
shocked to find Juste’s hands pressing down hard on her chest.

“Jesus, fuck!” he said, sweeping his hands beneath her to
hug her close again.

Sounds were everywhere—his ragged breaths, shouts from the
hallway, feet rushing closer—telling her what had happened and what he’d
thought. But there wasn’t time. “Sobek!” she gasped again.

His strong hold eased and he brushed her hair from her face.
His expression was ashen, his eyes welling with moisture. “Don’t ever do that
again.”

He’d been afraid. She smiled, knowing that was a promise
she’d never make. “My soul left. My body expired. For just a moment, Justin.
It’s a risk I willingly take for the gifts I receive.”

“No gift’s worth that. You scared the ever-lovin’ crap outta
me.”

“She said something when she woke,” came a quiet voice from
the doorway.

Khepri tried to push away from Juste’s chest, but he didn’t
relinquish his hold. She turned her head and met Haddara’s gaze.

His eyebrows were raised and his dark eyes widened.

“I said Sobek. He is in the canal.”

“Sobek himself?”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure. But he’s enormous. Larger
than the crocodiles that bask on the great river’s banks.”

“She got that right,” Michael said as he strode inside,
holding a cell phone to his ear. “A gator just snatched a woman. She and her
boyfriend were havin’ a picnic on the grass ‘side Bayou St. John. Picked her up
like she weighed nothin’. They think he’s now in City Park.”

“The woman?” Juste asked.

Brows wrinkling, Mikey shook his head. “What’s this got to
do with our girl?”

“Don’t know, but she saw it. She stopped breathin’ and the
next minute she’s screamin’ about a so-bick.”

Haddara sniffed. “An Egyptian God, his animal guise is that
of a crocodile.”

Mikey cleared his throat and waved his mike. “’Bout that.
Everyone’s sayin’ they think it’s someone’s escaped pet, ‘cause there ain’t no
crocodiles down here.”

Juste’s gaze dropped to hers.

And she saw it in his eyes, that first glimmer of belief.
Warmth suffused her chest.

“I’m goin’ to lunch,” Juste said, not raising his gaze. “Gonna
have to be a table for three.” His words were rough and raspy.

With the loud statement, she knew he addressed his partner.
But the low-pitched ones made her shiver as she remembered hoarse whispers of
the night before. “Haddara won’t mind.”

A throat cleared near them, and she angled her head to look
beyond Juste’s shoulder.

Haddara smiled. “Looks as though you have two protectors,
Mistress.”

At the renewed tightening of Juste’s arms, she gave him what
she knew he needed, reassurance that what they were beginning to feel for one
another was real. She leaned upward and kissed him.

All throughout lunch, Juste kept his gaze on Khepri. Though aware he was
acting like a Nervous Nelly, he couldn’t shake off the insistent urge to hover.
She’d scared him. When she’d slumped to the museum floor and began turning
blue, his heart had nearly burst out of his chest. His heart hadn’t beat right
since.

Now that she no longer looked like a corpse, the thing that burned
through his mind most was the fact she’d kissed him—in front of God and
everyone else. When he’d passed Mikey at the doorway, he’d aimed a glare at
Mikey because his partner’s lips were pursed around a silent whistle. Haddara,
once his dark eyebrows had lowered again, kept his disapproval carefully
hidden, although Juste got the distinct feeling the other man didn’t think he
was anywhere near her league. During the ride to the restaurant and as they’d
waited for a table, the air of deference the other man exuded, the breathless
anticipation of her every need, made Juste feel just a little unsettled, like
he was missing something important.

Khepri was just a woman—a beautiful one, but one he had every right to
pursue—
if
he wasn’t in the middle of
an investigation, and
if
he hadn’t
found her at the scene of the robbery.

Which had happened just yesterday.

That thought gave him pause. So much had changed since then. He’d spent
twenty-four hours barely thinking about Bobby’s death and his own role in that
botched operation. He’d met a mysterious woman who might be Egyptian, might be
in cahoots with thieves who had burgled a museum, and he’d slept with her. No,
he’d barely slept. He’d been all over her, a suspect, a line he’d never
crossed, never thought he’d be tempted to cross—but damned if he’d have done
anything differently.

And after what he thought he’d seen in the museum—a light-filled,
bird-shaped “essence” pulling away from her supple back—he thought she might be
more than just the god’s wife, as she’d called herself. He thought she might be
a goddess herself. Something he dismissed automatically, because he didn’t
believe in God, much less a host of them.

Now, there was a monster in a canal running through New Orleans.
Something connected with her and this crazy-ass crime that he’d never cared
about but which seemed more and more sinister at every turn. Juste wasn’t
superstitious, didn’t put a lot of credence into intuition, but the weird,
magical vibe he’d been getting all along was growing too insistent to ignore.

For the ten minutes since their meals had arrived at their sidewalk table
at a popular Creole restaurant, he’d been doing his best to get his frayed
nerves and knotted belly back under control.

Juste took a deep breath and swung his gaze to Haddara. “Why don’t you
tell me what this is all about. I don’t believe for a minute you wanted Dr.
Dorman to interpret the inscriptions on your mummies. Seems like you could read
’em just fine.”

“You are perceptive,” Haddara said, nodding. “I can read the ancient
text. I needed the bodies removed from the region. I thought that taking the
nameless one from his surroundings would lessen the chances of something
terrible happening. Just as Khepri draws power from the naos,
he
could draw power from the sand, the
Nile, and the blood of the descendents of those who followed him in the past.”

Juste shook his head. “You know you’re talkin’ about a fuckin’ mummy.” He
glanced at Khepri and grimaced. His foster mom had taught him better than to
curse in front of a lady.

Haddara’s mouth curved. “I am not a mystic. I believe in Allah and thought
the beings that existed in my country’s traditions were fantasies, perhaps
morality tales.”

“Somethin’ happen that changed your mind?”

Haddara’s gaze veered away, his expression tightening. “I was responsible
for the security surrounding the summer digs. The year they uncovered Amun’s
shrine, rain fell for a month.” The corners of his eyes crinkled up in
laughter. “If you knew the region, you would understand that rain falling for a
month has implications—biblical in scale. There were worried murmurs from the
villagers, and then an old Coptic priest appeared on the sheik’s doorstep one
day, warning of a terrible storm.

“We laughed at his timing. The storm had already arrived. But he warned
that the nameless one would soon rise. And when he did, he would annihilate all
who had turned from him. The sheik owns a formidable library and is a student
of mythology. He found reference to one of the scorpion kings, one who had been
denied a proper tomb, who was so feared that a warrior accompanied him into the
Duat
—”

“The Land of the Dead,” Khepri whispered beside him, then bent her head
to clumsily use her fork to tear away another sliver of chicken.

“I know what it is,” Juste muttered. “Your hell.”

“Not mine,” Haddara said, “but certainly the nameless Pharaoh’s. And then
the archeologist’s team found the cave.”

Khepri drew his attention, by stabbing her chicken again. He realized she
didn’t know how to use her fork. Juste leaned toward her. “Told you, you should
have eaten the gumbo,” he said, waving his spoon.

She glared. “You said the okra was slimy and the dish spicy.”

He held out his spoon, which she grabbed. They scooted dinnerware to
exchange dishes.

At the clearing of a throat, Juste glanced up to find Haddara watching
their interplay—and likely guessing correctly at how intimate they’d become.
What was sharing a spoon? She’d used his toothbrush.

“The other mummy was a pharaoh.” Juste barely contained a grimace. All
this talk about mummies and myths didn’t sit well with him. It all sounded like
a bunch of crap, but he still had questions he needed answered. “How’s
she
fit in all of this?” he said,
pointing his fork at Khepri.

Haddara leaned over the table. “First, tell me how you found her.”

Since, in his gut, he knew Haddara wasn’t involved in the robbery, he
said, “I found her swaddled like you’d expect any mummy, with the same
characters painted on her as in the picture you gave me.”

Haddara took a deep breath and leaned back. Again, he wore that same
expression he had when he’d first met Khepri—a peaceful wonder that relaxed his
otherwise closed features. “Where?”

“In another crate, hidden away in the back.”

“And you freed her?”

“She was suffocatin’.”

Khepri’s free hand slid into the one he rested on his knee, and he
glanced sideways, finding her golden gaze resting steady on him. Even simple
touches, shared glances, affected him. In the past, he’d have felt as though a
noose was tightening around his neck, and the urge to escape would have him
putting distance between them before such intimacies grew, but not this time.
With this woman, every gesture, every look, drew him closer.

“Justin Henry Boucher was meant to find me, Mr. Haddara. Our meeting was
destined.”

Juste swallowed and squeezed her hand. “What the hell happened back there
at the shrine? I thought … I saw something.”

The corners of her mouth curled upward. “What did you see?”

Juste’s cheeks grew hot. Saying it out loud made it sound even more
ludicrous. “I saw something shoot out of your back.”

She smiled. “You saw it? No one ever has before. You must have some
talent for magic or you would never have detected it.”

Juste grunted. “What the hell was it?”

“My
ba
—my soul—separating from
my body. A gift from my husband. He allows me to leave my mortal prison and
leads me until he has shown me what he wants me to see.”

“The monster in the canal …” Haddara murmured.

Khepri shrugged. “I asked him to show what he wants of me now that I am
awakened.”

Juste shook his head. “No matter how many times you say it, I’m not
buyin’ you came back from the dead.”

Her smile was serene, her gaze warm. “And yet it is true. Somewhere
inside you, you know it’s true.”

“What I believe,” he said, tapping the table with his index finger, “is
that you’re connected to some bad shit that’s about to happen. My gut tells me
it’s gonna get worse—worse even than crocodiles carryin’ off women. What I want
to know is what we’re facin’ so I can keep you safe.”

“My safety isn’t your responsibility,” she said, then turned to Haddara,
“nor yours. You have both proclaimed yourselves my protectors, but you are my
support when I do battle. For I must do battle. You simply aren’t equipped.”

Juste squeezed the hand he held atop his knee. “And you are? Last I
checked, the only weapon you had was a little knife.”

“That little knife is a powerful amulet that gives me magical powers.
Whatever weapon I need, I will know how to use it.”

Rather than argue any further he changed the subject, because his head
hurt thinking about the things she said. 
“You got any idea what happened with the other mummy?” he asked, turning
to Haddara.

Haddara shook his head. “The nameless one may well be walking among us,
just as Khepri is now.”

Since that was something he’d seen for himself, Juste nodded. “Any idea
what his agenda might be.”

Haddara smiled grimly. “To retake his throne.”

“Might be kinda hard since we don’t have any kings here in Nawlins ‘less
you count the King of Mardi Gras.”

“He was pharaoh,” Khepri said, her tone lilting even as it held an edge
of dread. “Exalted, a living god. He will demand worship. When he’s frustrated
or served disrespect, he won’t be happy.”

Juste let go of her hand and reached for his fork, stabbing the chicken
to peel away a strip of meat that had been rubbed with spice. “Guess he’ll be
pissed. Might make him easier to find.” Juste ate the chicken and chased it
with a helping of dirty rice. Beside him, Khepri pushed slices of okra to one
side of her bowl but attacked the gumbo with gusto, her eyelids dipping as she
swallowed a bite.

“You like it?”

She nodded and took another bite.

Haddara and Juste shared smiles, because she’d managed to dribble soup on
her chin. Even goddesses weren’t perfect.

Back at the museum, Juste rolled his shoulders. A dull ache had settled
in his neck, likely because he’d slept on his back rather than his belly while
he’d held Khepri against his body last night.

After lunch, Haddara had excused himself to make a phone call to his
benefactor, the sheik, who had left him a text message that he’d boarded a
private plane and was on his way to New Orleans. Haddara had drawn a deep
breath and offered Khepri a small tight smile. “I mentioned you. He’s eager to
meet you. And concerned …”

They’d shared a long glance that made Juste uncomfortable, because the
two had taken an instant liking to each other. The fact Haddara had accepted
her story without a quibble was odd to him, but Khepri seemed relieved. Like
someone who had found a much-needed ally.

Juste didn’t like that she couldn’t trust him. But trust ran both ways,
and she had yet to give him anything solid to believe. He didn’t even believe
things he’d seen with his own eyes. The more time that passed since she’d
slumped to the floor in Turney Hall, the more he wondered if what he’d seen had
been a trick of the light streaming through a tall window.

Mikey opened the conference room door and lifted his eyebrows in a quick
waggle before stepping through. “I asked them to come in together.”

Juste nodded. Not the way he usually conducted an interrogation, but he
was antsy to get the hell out of the museum. He cut a sideways glance at
Khepri, who wrinkled her nose.

“Will this be the last of your interrogations?” she asked quietly.

“Why? You got somewhere to go?”

Her gaze narrowed. “I must make my own inquiries, in my own way. If your
investigation turns up something helpful to me finding him, then I am
satisfied, but when it does not—”

“This is the last of the interviews,” he said, his tone terse.

 Three people filed into the
conference room. They looked exactly like what they were, a professor and his
graduate assistants. The professor’s hair was a shaggy, graying blond, and he
wore a pair of wire-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was
dressed in khaki twill trousers, comfortable loafers, and a rumpled,
short-sleeved striped shirt. His assistants, one male and one female, both wore
T-shirts. The male wore one from the museum’s gift shop, with a picture of a
sarcophagus and the dates of the exhibit. The girl, blonde and in her early
twenties, wore a pink tee that hugged her small unbound breasts.

Juste wondered which of the men she was trying to attract. When she chose
a seat next to the professor rather than the grad student, he thought he had
his answer.

He glanced at his notes. “Dr. Anton Felton?” he said, pointing at the
professor.

The professor gave a curt nod. “This going to take long?”

Juste ignored him and aimed his glance at the girl, “Becky Ward?”

“Yeah,” she said, straightening in her chair.

“And Charles Mabry.” The male grad student grunted, but his gaze went to
the side, past the professor to the girl, who was twirling a lock of hair and
ignoring his glare.

So maybe not the professor, and the two students were having a tiff? Not
that Juste cared, but he liked to get an instant bead on people.

“You were all part of the team that found the missing mummies?” Juste
grimaced as he said it, knowing Mikey was likely stifling a chuckle. Anyone who
knew him could hear the way his tone sharpened every time he said the word.

“We were,” said the Dr. Felton, folding his arms over his chest. “They
could be significant finds. I can’t believe the museum’s lost them.”

“They didn’t lose anything. They were stolen.”

The professor’s head shook. “Those mummies survived over four thousand
years without being pillaged in Egypt. I still don’t understand why Haddara was
in such a hurry to get them here.”