The Mummy (15 page)

Lana resisted going with Dr. Walters for a few seconds. She looked at Josh, who shrugged. “Will you hold Seti?”

Josh took the leash and followed Lana from a distance. Dr. Walters steered Lana into the second exhibit room. “I owe you an apology, Lana. I never really thought you took the necklace when it was stolen, but I was terribly upset. You can understand that. I'm responsible for all of these artifacts. Anyway, to make up for it, I want you to wear it tonight. That costume demands a lovely piece of jewelry.”

“Oh, I couldn't.” Lana had a terrible fear of even touching the necklace, much less wearing it. It would be heavy, if would hold those feelings the psychologist had talked to her about.

David Walters was persistent, plus he had seen a chance for good publicity. “It will be safe. No one is going to stop looking at you all evening anyway. You could have stepped out of the nineteenth dynasty.” Dr. Walters opened the case and had the necklace out before Lana could protest more. He placed it around her neck.

She cradled the weight in both hands while he lifted her hair and fastened the clasp.

“Stunning, just stunning.” Walters clapped his hands together in delight.

Flashbulbs popped from several directions. No one was any longer asking her permission. No one could resist taking pictures of her wearing the wedding gift from Nefra.

In seconds, however, Lana was hardly aware of the attention she was getting. A warmth like nothing she'd ever felt, deeper, more stirring than that she'd received near Nefra's coffin, surrounded her, seeped into her skin, filled her inside, putting her in a trance-like stupor.

Finally, fighting to regain her own persona, to become Lana again, she looked up to find Antef staring at her. “Bad luck, Lana.” He shook his head. “Everyone who touches that piece is cursed or is dead.”

Josh had followed Lana and said angrily, “Of course they're dead. No one has worn it for thousands of years. Ignore him, Lana. The necklace completes your costume. It could have been made for you.”

“All that curse business is superstition.” Marge showed up to comment on Lana's appearance. “Those emerald stones match your eyes, Lana. You look incredibly beautiful tonight.” Although Marge wore a gown similar to Lana's, she had a plump, matronly look. “I think I'll have to play the role of queen-mother.”

Lana grabbed Marge's hand. “Come with me, Marge. I have to see the necklace for myself.”

Two more flashbulbs went off on their way down the hall to the bathroom. “I wish they'd stop that,” Lana said. “They're making me even more nervous.”

“You asked for it, Lana, looking like you do. But hey, it's fun. And surely people will send you copies of the photos. You'll have them to remind you of the exhibit.”

Lana was certain she'd need no reminders of the last four weeks. The exhibit. This party.

She stopped, awed by her own image in the bathroom mirror. The necklace did complete her costume.

“If I didn't believe in reincarnation before, I could now.” Marge laughed.

Lana continued to stare, grasped the cold basin, tried to breathe normally.

Come to me. Tonight. Tonight is our last chance. Come with me and be my queen
.

She shivered. Suddenly the necklace felt heavy, like thick rope and heavy boulders around her neck. The metal burned her flesh and the mesh cut into her skin. She lifted it and longed to take it off, leave it here on the counter, come back for it later.

“Marge, I have to find Josh. See you outside.” Lana whirled around and left the rest room, practically running down the hall toward the murmur of voices, the tinkle of glasses, laughter, lots and lots of people.

“Where's Seti?” She noticed he was off the leash the minute she found Josh.

“I don't know. I didn't even know he was gone for a few minutes. I'm sorry, Lana. Someone must have released the clip on his collar when I wasn't looking.”

“We have to find him.” Her heart leaped and pounded in her throat. She fought the panic that churned her stomach.

“He'll be all right. He was letting everyone hold him. He likes people. Someone is probably holding him right now. I'll help you look.”

They found him almost immediately. Darrah held him in her arms. He wasn't struggling, but he looked aloof, uninterested in being petted.

“Oh, Darrah, thank goodness you found him.” Lana reached for the leash.

“He found me, actually. He rubbed on my ankles until I picked him up. I think he wanted to be where he could see.” Darrah smiled at Lana, acting as if she'd forgotten she'd ever threatened Lana. Maybe she felt secure because she was with Rod tonight.

“I think he was looking for you, Lana.” Rod wore a classic costume of ancient Egypt, complete with a rounded gold headpiece with a cobra rising from the front. He should have looked foolish in the short skirt, but he didn't. His legs were tan and muscled, cuffed at the ankle with what looked like pure gold.

Dr. Walters searched for Lana again. “Lana, come in here. You, too, Rod. Pose together. With that cat. Is that your cat, Lana? Perfect touch.”

Walters had pulled them toward a group of reporters before Lana could protest. “Publicity, Lana. Think publicity,” Walters whispered.

She tried. For Dr. Walters' sake. For the museum, which always needed donations. In a few minutes, though, she started to wish she had never worn a costume. Had never tried to look like an Egyptian princess. The novelty had worn off. The fun was gone.

As soon as she could manage, she slipped away. Refreshments were in the hall, and people tended to gather around the wine and cheese, the coffee and sweets. She was relieved to find a few minutes of peace in the back room of the exhibit. She needed to visit with Nefra. She
had
to.

Come to me, my queen. Come. Come
.

She needed to look at Nefra's mummy, his image on his coffin, one more time. She needed to let him see the necklace. As soon as the idea entered her head, it frightened her. She realized how much she had come to think of him as a person, alive today, making his presence felt.

He loves me
.

She stopped, startled by that thought. Nefra loved Urbena. I am
not
Urbena.

You belong to me. I need you with me. Come. Come
.

She shook her head to clear the voice that spoke to her unbidden. But slowly her feet moved toward his coffin. The force that surrounded it pulled at her like a whirlpool that would suck her in, spin her around, carry her away.

She stopped six feet away. Four. Then took the final step. She clutched the edge of the coffin and looked inside.

For seconds her mind refused to register what she saw. Not possible — not possible — not possible. Common sense ruled.

She held her breath until her chest ached. Dizzy, she leaned over, placed her hand flat on the smooth wood inside the casket. The box was empty.

I
knew you would come
. The voice whispered beside her, just out of her peripheral vision.
Tonight you must come with me. This is our last chance for happiness
.

She didn't want to turn around, but he insisted, his mind gently demanding. She turned, stared.

His partially unwrapped face was godlike in its beauty. His dark eyes held admiration and the same deep love
she
had felt over and over, here and in her dreams.

Holding out both arms, his long fingers bare, strong, he reached for her.
You must not be afraid. We belong together
.

And then he touched her.

Her legs crumpled. In slow motion she sank to the cool, marble floor. One last thought registered before she passed out.

His touch was warm, oh so humanly warm.

Chapter 21

When Lana regained consciousness, she didn't know where she was. She was no longer crumpled in a heap on the museum floor. When she tried to move, she couldn't.

She squirmed, thrashed, wiggled. She threw her body back and forth, but all she could do was rock. Breathe, she told herself, breathe. In and out, in and out, she filled her lungs, exhaled, kept a rhythm until she felt calm.

The lights were out in the back room. Maybe someone would come in, would notice that it was dark. But what if they didn't? She couldn't call out. Something was across her mouth.

She was tied up.
No, wrapped up
. She could move her fingers enough to feel the texture of the material that kept her rigid. Gauze, bandage gauze.

At the same time that she made that discovery, her eyes adjusted a little to the darkness.

No, please, no
.

She was lying inside something. Smooth walls. Wrapped in gauze like a mummy. Someone had made her into a living mummy.

Urbena's coffin. She was inside the coffin made for the princess. That was the only empty coffin in the show.

Nefra — no, that was impossible.

Come back with me. Tonight is your last chance
.

I won't! she screamed silently and struggled against the gauze. She could shift her hands and arms, crossed over her chest and ribs, but the bandages held her just as tightly as any rope or chain.

For a few more seconds she lay still, forcing herself to breathe, trying to think about what to do. The thought that came to her, though, had nothing to do with how to get loose. She wanted to know who had done this to her, who had wrapped her up and placed her in this coffin.

Nefra? — No, Nefra did not do this to her. She shuddered as she remembered his touch. Could — could her imagination have run so wild that she thought she saw him, felt his touch? Who — ?

The mummy — the man under the bandages — looked like she had imagined Nefra; he looked just like the image on his coffin, even though that picture was stylized in the Egyptian manner.

Forget Nefra for now. I must escape. She forced her mind to return to her immediate problem. Not whether the man she had seen was six thousand years old. Not even whether he had placed her here or someone else had done it for him. But how to get loose.

She needed something sharp. Her purse! What was in her purse? Sliding her hand up and down slightly, she loosened the gauze enough to allow her wrist to lie flat against her waist. Then she wiggled until she could feel the roll of the drawstring with the little finger of her left hand.

Concentrate. Her hand was tighter against her waist in this position, but she had to slip her fingers over, under the drawstring. The first time she did it, the string slid away from her.

Patience. Just hook your finger around and press the string against your waist to get a grip on it.

She was grateful for the roughness of the cotton. The texture gave her a better grip on the drawstring.

Little by little she bunched up the string and pushed it under her hand. Her thumb could wiggle enough to pull the cloth up and up and up until her finger touched the top of the bag.

All of the fingers in her left hand began to cramp. She flexed them as much as possible and forced them to relax. Then she tugged at the small, cloth bag again.

When she had the top bunched under her hand, she rubbed her little finger over the rest of the pouch.

The clippers! The fingernail clippers she had used to cut Seti's nails. Without thinking, she had dropped them into her bag. If she could wiggle them out, she could use them to cut the gauze. The cloth was thin, and she should be able to slice through it easily.

This was taking forever. Why hadn't anyone come looking for her? In the distance she could hear the tinkle of glasses, a low gathering of laughter. People having fun, enjoying the party. No one realized she was gone.

While she rested her hand, she sent mental messages to Josh and Seti.
Seti, come. Come find me, Seti
. She figured she could reach Seti before she could Josh. She and Seti were the ones with the mind connection.
Come, Seti, come
.

And what good will it do if Seti comes here and finds me? He will probably leap up and sit on my chest. Meow and say what are you doing in there. Get out and pet me.

She almost started to giggle, then realized she was losing control. Her laughter was coming from hysteria. Get back to work, Lana. Help yourself. You need to hurry. Where was the person who put her here? What purpose did placing her in the coffin serve? Surely this was not some sick joke, someone's idea of a prank.

Her hand stopped cramping. She wiggled her fingers again and slid her little finger down to examine the pouch, locate the clippers. Once her finger hooked around them, she pressed as hard as she could and slid. Pressed and slid, pressed and slid. Slowly she worked the clippers up to the mouth of the purse.

Now she must be careful. If she slid the clippers out and they slipped away from her, she could never reach them. Up and up and up until finally she held them in her hand against her ribs. She poked the point of the clippers under a strip of gauze and pushed as hard as she could. Finally it tore through. Tearing that one strip didn't seem to help at all. The process was slow, too slow. But it was working. Snipping the bandage, clipping more and more, she was finally starting to feel she could escape. With her hands free, she could peel the gauze off her mouth and yell for help, or she could keep peeling and get out of the coffin by herself.

Just as she started cutting the last strip that held her right hand, she heard footsteps. She froze, holding her breath. Was someone looking for her? If so, why didn't they turn on the lights? Call out?

As the footsteps approached the coffin, she wiggled and moaned, groaned, yelped, made as much noise as possible with her mouth covered over.

The low laughter stopped her. This was not someone looking for her. This was someone coming back to finish what they had started.

First, hands unclasped the necklace from around her neck, removed it. Hands rough against her throat, a man's hands. A man's smell. Antef! It was Antef!

She tried to call his name, to protest. “Uuuuummmmm.”