Read The Honey Mummy (Folley & Mallory Adventure Book 3) Online
Authors: E. Catherine Tobler
“Mallory,” she said, lifting her mouth slowly from his, “you said you would not take me in the desert like some rutting beast.” She slid her thumbs up his neck and along his jaw that needed a shave. She did not mind the stubble that whispered against her fingers for it called to mind the wolf, running and playing and tackling. His eyes met her own, heavy-lidded. They were more black than brown in the night, but she had no doubt he could see her clearly, as he ever did. Ever the predator, but she was in no danger of squirrel distractions—not at this altitude.
“How about upon an airship? Riding through the stars even should they fall, with a thousand things below us, but only one between.”
If ever he had needed an invitation, and indeed he had not, Virgil Mallory took this one, scooping Eleanor from the rail and over his shoulder. She did not shriek, only held fast to him, her heart like thunder as he carried her through the
Jackal
, to his quarters, which remained as dark as they had been when she passed. She did not need light to see him, to feel the space he encompassed within and around her.
Through the night-cloaked skies, until they were at last pierced by the coming of a Paris dawn, Eleanor ran. And ran some more.
Dear Auberon,
Yes
.
Cleo
They say no book is written alone, though the first draft of this one largely was. It was a cold November, so I sought the warmth of Egyptian sand to combat winter’s arrival. Given the chill reception of
Rings of Anubis
, I wasn’t sure this was a book that would ever see daylight—be it Egyptian or otherwise. But you’re holding it in your hands, so this happened.
The writing of
The Honey Mummy
was often a challenge; not because the book deals with matters historically distant, or places I’ve not actually set foot and people I can never talk to, but because I wondered what the hell I was doing.
Authors do that a lot, even if we never admit to it. It complicates writing. But at the same time, Folley and Mallory would not shut up, so I had no choice but to continue. And that—getting the story inside of me out—turned out to be an amazing thing. I didn’t have to write it for an audience—oh
Rings
had its hardcore fans, yes, but no one was clamoring for a sequel—I could just write it for the joy of writing it.
My thanks to: Jacob Haddon, for ensuring the adventures continue; Rachael Acks, for her thoughtful feedback on Egyptian stone and quarries of the time; John DeLaughter, for details on meteorites; James Gathright, for unwavering cheerleading; Ida Cooley, for pink martinis. Charles, Jen, Beth, Damien; Dean, Molly, Wendy, Jill; Amy, Anna, Sunny, Alexis. Each of you make me a better writer. Every day.
Folley and Mallory will return in
The Clockwork Tomb
.
E. Catherine Tobler is a Sturgeon Award finalist, the senior editor at
Shimmer Magazine
, and a cupcake connoisseur. Among others, her short fiction has appeared in
Clarkesworld
,
Lightspeed
, and
Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet
. For more, visit
ecatherine.com
A bungled museum theft.
An ancient Egyptian riddle.
The rumor of strange creatures moving beneath the streets of Paris.
Eleanor Folley knew she was in for a challenge when she accepted the task of cataloging Mistral’s archive of purloined artifacts, but she never expected to discover an Egyptian mystery buried in the heart of Paris.
When Anubis and Horus task her with a quest, she cannot refuse the ancient gods, even if it means venturing into the cathedrals of bones that clutter the catacombs of Paris.