Chapter 6 #4
Celia. She wasn’t dressed in any nonsense hieroglyphs—just a gold-colored shift decorated with beaded stars.
She wore no wings this evening. Only a circular headband that scattered more stars through her dark hair.
These sparkled as she walked across the sand, passing Vincent on his way through the French doors.
Relief slipped across her face when her eyes met Ezra’s.
“You’re here,” she said.
“Regrettably.”
Celia cast a look back over her shoulder at the pyramid. Its “stones” were starting to shift, revealing a secret passageway in the center that several delighted flappers were disappearing into. No doubt it led to the Seek and Find…
“Hugo hasn’t given you any trouble, has he? I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. I had to work a shift at the shop and then—” She halted, eyeing him up and down. “Why on God’s green earth are you wearing a bedsheet?”
“I figured it was better than putting a looted artifact on my head and accidentally releasing a lifetime of repressed magic at a goddamn costume party,” Ezra replied dryly.
“You haven’t had any other incidents?”
He shook his head and stamped out the cigarette that had been burning ever closer to his knuckles. “There was a run-in with Hugo. Nothing overt. He wants me to translate hieroglyphs in his family’s collection.”
Celia’s lips twisted. Her nose wrinkled.
“Don’t worry,” Ezra added. “I didn’t actually agree to do it.”
“The last thing we need is someone like the Pratts unlocking the secret to some ancient curse.” She sighed. Her gaze met Ezra’s once more. “Why don’t you come and work with me instead?”
“You?”
“Me.” Headband stars sparkled as she nodded.
“I don’t think I’m the ideal candidate to run a dress shop,” he pointed out.
“Neither am I.” Celia crossed her arms over her gown, turned just enough to catch the bobbing lights that were now floating around the crest of the pyramid.
There was a gleam in the young woman’s eyes too—sharper.
“I need your help with something else. The Order… They don’t make their own magic.
They take it. They took everything my father worked for.
Everything that—by rights—should have been mine. I aim to steal it back.”
“Oh?”
“There’s a secret wing in the British Museum where many of the more important relics are stored. The only way through its wards is a pair of giant sphinx statues. I haven’t figured out how to get past them yet, but—”
“Let me guess, they have hieroglyphs.”
“You’d just have to read them for me,” she said. “That’s all.”
“They’re at the British Museum?” He couldn’t recall any statues like the ones she was describing—aside from the winged lions. But those were Assyrian and certainly weren’t inscribed with hieroglyphs.
“In the Egyptian gallery. You wouldn’t have seen them, even with your Enlightenment—they’re hidden with a spell so that only people who know what they’re searching for can find them. That’s what you spotted me doing, the night of the treasure hunt.”
“Casing the joint,” he surmised.
“In a manner of speaking.” Celia tapped her fingers against her arm expectantly. “What do you say? Will you help me out?”
According to British law the most criminal thing Ezra had ever done was love another man—killing them didn’t count if it was done on a battlefield. As many times as he’d stared at Egyptian artifacts in their wistful glass museum cases, he’d never once thought of stealing them…
Why not?
He looked back at the wooden sarcophagi. Still shut. “What would I get out of it?”
“My eternal gratitude,” she said sweetly. “Plus, I promise I’ll try my best to teach you how to control your magic.”
“I thought you were going to do that regardless.”
“Consider this excursion our first lesson.” Celia turned. The back of her dress dipped so low that Ezra could see her naked shoulder blades—the skin there flawless. His heart skipped at the sight. “Come on, then!”
“Where are we going?”
“The Pratts have a portal to London in their garden shed,” Celia explained as she made her way down the gravel path that led to the stone outhouse. “Hugo was bragging about it—saves them the trouble of driving back and forth between houses. It should save us a great deal of trouble too.”
“You want to go to the museum now?” Ezra flapped his arms, the bedsheet snagging on a nearby rosebush. “Dressed like this?”
“No one will see us. That’s the point of burgling.” She paused and looked back as he tore the sheet free from the thorns. “Don’t worry. I’ve visited dozens of times without being spotted. Except by you, of course. We’ll be in and out faster than you can say ‘Bob’s your uncle.’”
“Bob’s your uncle.”
Celia snorted, then moved for the potting shed.
The place was as tidy as its garden—roses arched over a painted green door that led into a neat collection of tools.
Shovels and rakes hung on the walls, and there was hardly a cobweb to be seen.
At the far end of the room, past stacks of ceramic pots, sat a door that should have been the exit.
Instead, when Celia twisted the knob and pushed, Ezra could hear the undeniable sounds of a city, crawling over a brick wall covered in ivy.
“Leave it open,” she instructed as he followed her out. The air smelled of London too—grimy on the lungs. “We’ll be back.”