Chapter 32
Could it be?
Ezra knelt down by the pile of stones, his breath shaking.
The immurement spell is broken. Several of the onyx pieces were sharp enough to test the theory.
He sliced one across the edge of his index finger and watched in wonder as a bright line welled up.
He could bleed… He could die… Only this time, there’d be no escaping the underworld.
The door Nour had carved open all those years ago had finally been sealed, thanks to Celia’s sacrifice. Her key had closed the door.
Her closure had locked it.
Ezra gazed across the broken stones to find Celia staring back. It was the kind of exchange he’d seen often during the war: Soldiers who’d just gone through hell together looked at one another differently, once they reached the other side.
“You came back,” he found himself saying.
She smiled at him. “Just in time, it seems. You made quite the mess while I was out.”
“Most of this was Vincent’s fault,” Biz chipped in, doing her best to brush out her blood-streaked dress. “I may not be a ghost any longer, but I’m still going to find a way to haunt that bastard until his dying day!”
Ezra bit into the side of his mouth. Like the bodies of the Germans, he knew Vincent’s final moments would be waiting for him in the dark before dreams… those blue eyes holding him hostage with all their history…
“Something tells me you’re too late.” Celia held Ezra’s gaze as she said this. There was no accusation in her pale eyes. Their color no longer reminded him of ice.
How could they, after she’d gone into hell for him?
For him and Biz and…
“George,” he rasped, looking around the chamber. It was a mess. Sphinx statues dislodged and two Order magicians bound in the corner. All the dead that plagued them earlier had been cleared out. He’d felt no sign of his brother in their shadows.
Biz’s head shook.
“Our boat was too heavy,” Celia said after a moment. “He got out to push us, and it helped, but the river started carrying him away…”
Ezra’s wounded finger throbbed. He knew what that river meant. His brother was gone. Really gone, this time.
Biz moved in for a hug, burying her face into his shoulder feathers. Ezra could feel her tears—not just the wetness, but the power of them. Grief was savage magic. Not quite so neat as hopes and dreams… He understood exactly how his mother had used it to rip a door to death open in the first place.
Ezra held his sister close and let her tears fall to the floor.
He had enough sadness of his own.
The Ageless Ones watched the scene. At first glance, their postures were wary, but Nour’s memories warned Ezra that there was more.
Lionesses looked that way too as they watched gazelles.
And these Sancts? They were far worse than large cats.
They’d gladly drink Biz’s tears. Or Ezra’s blood, come to that.
Yet they seemed most focused on Celia.
“You sealed the gate,” the man with the brass masque said.
“Sure looks that way.” She dusted off her hands. “You’re welcome.”
The second male Ageless One tilted his bald head. “How?”
“I used a key.”
Ezra could feel his feathers bristling. If the Ageless Ones decided to turn on them, there was little Ezra could do to stop their vampiric ways. Especially now that he could be wounded.
But Nour’s ancient foes did not seem interested in dining at the moment.
When the female Ageless One spoke, it was to Ezra, in his mother tongue: “You should join us, son of She Who Soars. Hide your heart away in the sands, so that the magic of the old world will never die. Guard the tombs. Curse their thieves. Honor your mother’s memory.”
Such as the one that now flashed through Ezra’s mind: a knife held up to Nour’s breast by her own hand, digging into skin, fat, muscle, bone, and finally heart.
She’d cut the organ out herself. Easy enough, because everyone she’d loved was gone.
It turned out to be a bit harder, once Thomas Ellington got his hands on the mummified muscle, once she started to recall what it was to smile and laugh and see a person for more than just their shadow.
Love—she figured that’s what it was, when the lord finally offered her heart back to her.
But then another heart began to grow inside her body…
She couldn’t dream of cutting it out, yet it left her anyway.
It beat outside her chest. Love was a boy with green eyes and an untamable cowlick.
Love was knowing that she could never unknow him.
She could never be heartless again, as long as Ezra Bright lived.
“She did not want that fate for me,” he answered in Ancient Egyptian.
Biz frowned at this exchange. “What are you talking about?”
“They wish for me to stay with them in Egypt. As an Ageless One.”
Celia paled.
“He cannot walk our path,” the Sanct with the brass masque said, again in Ancient Egyptian. “He is too attached to the outsiders.”
They weren’t wrong. Ezra still had his wing wrapped protectively around Biz. And Celia… She’d drawn closer to him as well. She was gripping the ankh Biz had handed over—the way a more storied vampire slayer might hold up a crucifix. The relic shimmered brightly.
“What the Order has done here is wrong.” Ezra nodded at that first pair of dynamited sphinx pedestals.
“I cannot blame you for cursing thieves, but I also don’t believe this power was meant to stay buried.
My mother didn’t want her relics kept in tombs.
Or museums,” he added hastily. “She wanted to pass them on to a new generation of Sancts. Egyptian Sancts. Like me. I refuse to hide anymore. I want to free our magic—to watch it flourish!”
“You sound excited.” Celia glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you sound so excited? Don’t tell me you’re seriously considering eternity as a glorified mosquito.”
“Do you really think I could carve out my heart, Miss Sinclair?” he murmured. “You just got it beating again.”
Her eyes rolled, but they softened too.
Ezra went on. “We were discussing the best approach to the Lord Carnarvons of the world,” he explained.
“Ah, mosquitoes.” Biz nodded sagely.
“The threat of curses only seems to excite other archaeologists. It hasn’t stopped the Order; only convinced them that there’s something worth stealing.
Taking tokens from the dead is easy. I believe magicians like Hugo Pratt over there will start second-guessing once the relics are being wielded by Egyptian Sancts. ”
The Ageless Ones exchanged several unreadable glances.
“She Who Soars had many dreams.” The brass-masqued Sanct switched to halting English. “But her magic was made of prayers, and our temples are all in ruins. Too much has been taken from us already.”
“So, let’s take it back,” Celia broke in.
Everyone turned to stare at her.
“What?” She shrugged. “We’ve robbed the British Museum before. What’s one or two more trips?”