Chapter 1 #2
He produced a narrow piece of metal from the interior pocket of his coat.
As he reached under the coat, I saw that he also had a foot-long knife under his belt.
I swallowed and started to edge away, hampered by the box.
I had only moved a few inches before he finished picking my lock, muttering, “This is terrible security.”
“Yeah, that goes with the student budget.” Also why I kept most of my things in my office.
The Arts and Letters building wasn’t exactly high security, but the campus was patrolled, and that made it safer than this part of town.
No one had come to investigate my door being smashed in, including my neighbors.
There was a reason I hadn’t screamed for help.
“Stay in the hall until I fetch you,” he ordered, taking the box back from me. He stepped inside my apartment and closed the door firmly, leaving me in the hall.
I stayed. I was going to feel really dumb if he robbed me and even dumber if he murdered me.
After a couple minutes, he opened the door again and ushered me into my own home.
As soon as I was inside, he closed the door again. The narrow entryway, with its wall of coats and umbrellas, felt too small for the two of us. He was so close. He could easily pin me against the wall like he’d done before. My pulse raced, and I told myself it was fear.
He didn’t stop me as I slid past him into the apartment proper.
There was the main room, where I spent most of my time because it had the only window.
Through a door on the left was a narrow kitchenette, and on the opposite wall was the door to the tiny dark square of my bedroom, with its unmade bed and moveable metal rack for hanging clothes.
I hoped my home invader hadn’t explored.
The lead box was sitting where my Christmas gift had been. I drifted toward it, the stranger following me within arm’s reach, as if afraid I would lunge for the box and make a run with it. I wouldn’t have gotten far.
“I’m not going to run off with your—my box,” I told him. “For one thing, this is my home. If you want to steal the damned pot why don’t you get on with it?”
“Under different circumstances, I’d take it away with me and tell you to forget any of this happened, but I’m not sure that would make you much safer. Especially not tonight.”
“Why? Is someone after the vessel? It’s an interesting piece but mostly of academic interest.”
“No? How closely did you examine it? Did you touch it?”
“No.” I had touched it a little, but I wasn’t admitting that to this nutjob. For all I knew, he thought the piece of pottery was cursed. “I had just started examining it when you broke down my door.”
“And what did you learn?” His gaze was intent.
“It’s a late Egyptian replica of a much older piece. That was my impression. I’m not a pottery expert.”
“What is most distinctive about it, in your inexpert opinion, Dr. Denby?”
I didn’t bother to correct him again about my title. I suspected he was making fun of me. Well, he wasn't the first or the most effective at it.
“The seal,” I answered. “It hadn’t broken. If anyone opened the jar in the past several centuries, they did so very carefully—melting the wax might work—and replaced the seal.”
“Do you know what it says, the seal?”
“Yes. It was the name of one of the chthonic deities. Lagamal.”
“Huh.” He sounded surprised, but in a much milder way than I supposed most people would be if you told them an ancient artifact had the name of a dead god on it. Not something the average person expected to encounter.
His next questioning ran in an entirely different direction. “The one who gave this to you. Bryant? Is he your friend?”
“No,” I said, too promptly for politeness. “A colleague.”
“That’s good. I’m glad he wasn’t someone you’ll miss.”
Wasn’t? I took a step back. “Did you do something to Dr. Bryant?”
“Not yet. I haven’t gotten close to him. But I suspect he’s already been… harmed.”
“Harmed. What does that mean?” I wiped moist palms on my thighs. I wasn’t under any illusions about my chances if this man became violent.
He sighed. “This is going to be difficult for you to believe.”
That was never a promising start.
“You study our ancient texts and ruins, yes? Do you know of the daeva? They are also called dew?”
“That’s a sort of… entity. They’re gods or demons.
There’s a long-standing linguistic debate about how the term seems to have taken on negative connotations around the time of the composition of the Gathas…
” I made myself stop talking. He didn’t want an academic lecture. Few people did. “Why do you ask?”
He smiled. He had slightly crooked canines, and I found myself wondering how they would feel on my skin. I shoved away the thought, wishing I could do the same with the flush of heat that followed it.
“For present discussion, let us say they are demons,” he said. “Although not the fallen angels of your Christian Hell.”
“It’s not my Hell,” I interrupted, unwise though I knew it to be. “I’m an atheist.”
“I see. Well, then, for the purpose at hand, let us leave theology aside and say that they are beings from another dimension, which prey upon humankind.”
I didn’t find that significantly easier to believe, but he had the knife so I didn’t argue.
“It is the duty of my extended family to hunt the daeva.”
Oh great, he had a Chosen One complex, even better.
“That sounds rough,” I said, trying for sympathy.
He blinked. “It—Yes? But that was not my point.”
“Oh, sorry. Go on.”
“Your colleague Bryant found vessels containing daeva during his excavation at Abusir. He freed one and either was possessed by it or accepted some wicked bargain. They often promise humans power or other rewards for serving them. How did Bryant seem to you today? Like himself or—different?”
“Like himself, I suppose? He looked as if he were tired or ill, but he had just come from a long trip. He spoke in his usual way.” Which was to say, like a condescending prick.
But as little as I liked Blake, I didn’t want to encourage this lunatic to knife him or exorcise him or whatever he was planning.
“Perhaps he only removed the dew containers and didn’t open any.
A good archaeologist wouldn’t open them in the field; they’d bring them to a laboratory.
There are scans that should be done first, to see if anything is inside. ”
“I doubt your scientific tests would perceive the dew. Perhaps you are right, but in that case—why did he give you the container?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I was expecting something else. A joke of some sort.”
“It was certainly not a joke. A prank, perhaps, of a most vicious kind. Do you know where Bryant lives?”
“No. He wasn’t meant to be back in the States yet. I know he didn’t keep his old apartment. Maybe he’s in a hotel.” Perhaps my unwanted guest would go search for Blake at hotels and get himself arrested. Hopefully, that would lead to the mental health treatment he obviously needed.
“Sorry I can’t be of more help,” I told him. “If that’s all, I really ought to get back to grading.”
“If that’s all?” He regarded me with narrowed eyes. “You don’t believe me. You’d be more alarmed if you did.”
“Well, you have the container, er, contained, and demons are not my job.”
“I have this container, but there are more, and Bryant walks free. He singled you out as a victim for the dew and may pursue you. Or perhaps your other colleagues are in danger. Or do you not care about that?” he snapped.
I bristled. “Of course I care!” I would care if I thought this wasn’t nonsense.
“Why would he want to hurt anyone in our department? Even if he was willing to—to harm someone for a position, he wouldn’t get a promotion by eliminating one of the faculty.
He’s not qualified for a tenure track job yet. ”
The man shook his head. “The dew need bodies,” he enunciated. “To eat, or to wear.”
I felt ill at the image his words painted. My voice was high and shaky when I asked, “What do you suggest I do? You’re the expert here!”
“Is there someone who might know Bryant’s location? Someone you can contact?”
I groped for my phone. “The head of the department and a couple other professors. Blake’s not friends with grad students.” He wasn’t the sleeping-on-the couch type, anyway.
I inquired about Blake’s whereabouts under the pretext of wanting to be sure he had a place to stay. Two professors expressed surprise that he was back; the other two didn’t answer.
The man stood close enough to listen to my conversations and cursed under his breath when I lowered my phone.
“Blake seemed tired,” I offered. “Maybe he’s in for the night. You could take a rest yourself and resume the search tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “It’s the winter solstice. The barrier between our world and others is particularly thin tonight, and the dark powers are stronger. They won’t waste that. Are there any cursed places in this town? Spots the locals avoid?”
“I have no idea,” I said honestly. “I know more about ancient Persian cities than I do about this one.”
He looked disapproving of that. “I will search online for local history and news.”
Abruptly, he sat on my couch.
I made an undignified squawking noise.
He glanced up in the process of pulling out his phone.
“Can you go do your research somewhere else? Like wherever you’re staying?”
“I will remain here in case Bryant contacts you.”
“Please leave,” I said, trying to sound firm. My voice shook only slightly.
He sighed. “It would make my job easier, and your life safer, if you let me stay. Or you could come with me.”
I shook my head.
He sighed again. “As you wish.”
He stood, picked up the box, and walked out of my apartment.