Chapter 8
Bes’s voice echoes through the museum behind me: “Miss Hawkins…”
He doesn’t finish, though. And all the better.
I place my free hand on my forehead. Christ almighty, what is wrong with me?
I’m not sure what kept me in that room after Cec left. I should’ve gone with him instead, hedged my bets. Yet, I stayed, and not just because of the startling information they laid on me. All I can pin it on is temporary insanity.
The museum remains silent around me, its dark, looming halls lit only by the pale moonlight filtering in through the windows. It casts shadows along the exhibits, distorting them. I barely spare a glance at any of it.
Pushing the heavy back doors with a bit too much force, they swing out into the night.
I plop down unceremoniously on the hard ground and slump against the museum wall.
The heat of the day lingers on the stone, warming my back.
I release my hair from its haphazard ponytail and deftly pull it back into a loose braid, allowing myself a moment to pout at my situation before heading back inside as I stare up at the night sky.
When I take a calming breath, however, I taste warm, rotting waste in the back of my throat.
No doubt from the Nile directly beside us.
Lovely. It’s no different from any other city I’ve visited with similar waterways—the canals in Venice come to mind—but it merely adds to my situation here.
I’ve never been more ready to leave a place, with such little control over the ability to do so.
I’ll go back inside soon, I tell myself, and then Bes and I will head to the docks his cousin mentioned, and board a boat out of this place and then hopefully on the next flight home.
After that, I’ll likely never see Bes again.
Which, at this point, is for the best. His promise to protect me rings a bit hollow when he couldn’t even protect himself outside the temple.
More than anything, I want no part of whatever is going on with the museum and however many agents of the Third Reich they might employ. I doubt Bes and Cec are protecting me out of the kindness of their hearts or for the sake of their uncle.
I do, however, trust them more than I trust the God Men, considering the latter tried to kill me and the former didn’t leave me stranded in the desert.
My God, the bar for my well-being could not be lower.
In truth, I’m of two minds about it. On the one hand, it does Bes credit that he didn’t abandon me in the desert and hasn’t tried to kill me or steal the amulet.
And though it’ll put him and his cousin in danger, he’s agreed to protect me.
No matter the cost. Plus, they know my nonna and appear to be following orders from her, or at least a friend nonna trusts with my life.
On the other hand, the list of things I’d be willing to do to go home in one piece grows with each passing moment. Going with these two men means that I might not get to do that for some time. Until it’s safe, I assume, and by their standards instead of mine.
I’ve been caught in my share of complicated situations, but these God Men are a completely different beast. I never want to see another one of them in this life.
At this juncture, that seems unlikely.
I glance at Nonna’s watch: 2:27pm. I never changed it from Michigan time, which means Nonna will have already eaten lunch with one of her colleagues, without any idea of how much trouble I’m in.
I usually avoid going to those lunches as they’re excruciatingly boring.
Right now, though, I’d give anything to listen to them argue about the true cultural identity of the Phoenicians ad nauseum.
The longer I sit here in my own misery, the more restless I become.
Forget about Bes and Cecilio. I can make it out of here on my own, without their help. There’s still a chance they’re being overcautious, and might even have nefarious plans of their own for me. If I slip into the night now, when no one expects me to, I bet I can find my own way home.
Getting to my feet, I throw my pack over both shoulders and grab my suitcase.
My booted heels echo in the night as I head for the back corner of the building—running straight into a tall, willowy woman.
She brings with her a distinctive aromatic brew of citrus, rosemary, and lavender. It stings my nose.
I take a step back but don’t meet her eyes. “Apologies.”
Keeping my head down, I go to move around her. She steps in front of me again.
“Apology accepted, Miss Hawkins,” the woman says in perfect English and a distinctly German accent.
Fuck. What now?
Black lace-up oxfords fitted with a military heel stare up at me, followed by nude nylons, a pressed black skirt, and a white button-up. Her white-blonde hair is pulled back tight against her scalp in a curled ponytail, her lips painted as red as blood.
In case I was unsure of her allegiances, something on her right index finger glints in the moonlight: a silver signet ring with a circled black Swastika emblazoned on its flattened surface.
I shut my eyes for a moment and mutter, “I can’t catch a damned break.”
Finally, my attention snaps to the cold, blue-eyed gaze of one of the goddamn God Men. Fear once more sinks its sharpened claws deep inside me.
I hold my ground, not wanting to show weakness. “What is it with you fascists? One of you dies and two more pop up in their place.” I casually glance around to both further my point and to figure out my options, of which I find few. “Where’s the second head?”
The woman smiles closed-lipped and takes a step toward me, giving me no choice but to take one backward. The back of the museum reappears in the corner of my eye. “Oh, Miss Hawkins, we’re not mythical beasts like the hydra. We’re very real.”
“Unfortunately.”
When no other option presents itself, I set my suitcase down and reach into my pocket for my switchblade.
The woman watches the movement, her smile widening to split her face in two.
In response, she reaches behind her and procures a German Luger.
She doesn’t point it at me—not yet, anyway—but the threat remains terribly real.
My stomach clenches with nausea. I never thought I’d tire of seeing a particular gun, but there’s a first time for everything.
I tighten the grip on my switchblade, and the woman clicks her tongue. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.”
I pause, wishing now that I wasn’t alone. Where the hell is Bes when you need him?
“I need to start bringing guns instead of knives to these violent gatherings,” I stall. “Is there some sort of bulletin board I can refer to in the future, so I’m better prepared?”
At that exact moment, the doors beside me burst open. Speak of the devil.
A stranger—who bears a striking familial resemblance to the woman in the color of their hair, and the shapes of their small noses and rigid jaws—stumbles backward through the doors.
Bes strides out after him with great purpose, landing an uppercut that ends with the man sprawled out on the ground, writhing and groaning.
My mouth drops open at the confidence in Bes’s movements. I didn’t know he had it in him.
With the woman momentarily distracted, I remove my arms from the straps of my pack and allow it to tumble to the ground.
I get the feeling I’m going to need the full use of my arms for this.
Pulling the switchblade from my pocket, I flick the release and press the button, falling into an attack stance.
I say my next words through my teeth. “I knew there was another one of you hiding somewhere. Like damned cockroaches.”
The woman turns to eye my switchblade with mild interest, clearly unconcerned for herself or her companion. “That’s a compliment. Cockroaches are resilient, nearly indestructible, and have been around since the time of the dinosaurs.”
I grimace. A lesson on cockroaches was rather low on my list for today.
“It’s disturbing how much you know about cockroaches, Fr?ulein.”
She places her free hand over her heart. “A German education provides all kinds of useful information.”
Repulsion turns my stomach again.
“Do they teach you about anything else besides cockroaches? Like how to treat your fellow human beings as if they’re actual people instead of vermin?”
She bares her teeth in an attempt to smile wider. “You’ve got spirit. It’s a shame.” Her ice-blue gaze slides to where the top of the amulet peeks out of my button-up. “If you don’t give me the Amulet of Amun, I’m going to have to kill you and take it off your cold, dead corpse.”
Her words punch the air from my lungs. I’m suddenly and painfully reminded of the Luger that Claude pressed into the small of my back—the Luger currently sitting unused in my pack. And just like back at the Temple of Seti I, I’m running out of options.
Considering she could’ve killed me before she even said hello, though, I have to wonder if she’s bluffing. Or, she wants something else from you, like information you don’t have that she plans to torture you for.
Like Bes said, the God Men believe me to be involved now.
The amulet warms against my chest, probably from the thought of my own demise spiking my blood pressure.
At the likelihood of dying today—again—the coward in me wants to hand the stupid thing over.
Not that it’ll make a difference. If the Third Reich is putting this much manpower into obtaining it, that must mean that they truly believe it can make the wearer invisible.
Despite not believing it myself, can I allow them to get their hands on it?
If there’s even a slight chance it contains any mystical powers that Hitler can use to his advantage, then I can’t give it up.
After all, I do have some moral standards.
“Ingrid,” the man, who now has the upper hand now over Bes, snarls. “Hor auf, mit deinem Essen zu spielen.”
“Oh alright, Klaus.” She rolls her eyes at me, as if we’re both in on the joke. “My brother wants me to stop playing with you.”