Chapter Thirteen
Gigi blinked, very glad Nico’s arm was still wrapped around her waist. That landing had been a tad abrupt.
Taking a deep breath, she studied her surroundings.
It looked familiar, very familiar. Had she been here before?
No, it was the painting of Qetesh surrounded by fawning followers come to life.
This room was either a replica, or actually where the painting had been created some five hundred years ago.
The woman, no, deity, posing sensuously on a large velvet daybed.
Her pale blue toga-styled gown draped around her artfully, displaying one bare shoulder and a lot of leg.
Though since the material was all but see-through and very clingy, exposing any actual flesh was a little redundant.
Dark hair pulled up and back, falling in fat ringlets.
Her skin golden-brown and gleamingly flawless. Eyes dark but ringed with gold.
Twelve or so followers, all golden-haired and skin, both men and women, surrounded the bed, kneeling, all their attention upon the dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty. They looked on her with adoration and love, as if she were the answer to everything.
Qetesh’s lush lips pursing into a small pout of annoyance as she eyed the new arrivals. Lifting a languid hand, waving it in the air. Instantly, golden shackles clicked tightly into place around Gigi’s ankles. The same for Nico.
More of Qetesh’s followers, golden and gleaming, ringed the edges of the room.
All men. All gorgeous, dressed in togas and roman sandals, with swords holstered on the belts at their waists.
Their attention rivetted upon Qetesh, not the new arrivals.
It seems her honour guard were more for looks than actually useful.
“Why did you bring her?” Qetesh’s voice was rich and husky, though the slight whiny tone edging her words did it no favours.
“You said—”
“—bring him.”
“Not our fault she hitched a ride.”
“Consider us even.”
“Tell your Mother.”
The two men, standing off to the side, couldn’t look more unimpressed with Qetesh. There was no admiration in their gazes, and little respect in their attitude. The duo identical, their drawls undeniably of Texan origin. Oh, Merciful Lady, Sek and Mot. It had to be.
Though they didn’t look anything like the wanted posters that had been circulating worldwide following their museum heists of just over a year ago.
These two men were dressed in high-end three-piece suits.
They’d slimmed down dramatically. Their complexions less ruddy.
Dark hair slicked back. Rolexes on their wrists.
Shiny, expensive leather loafers on their feet.
Gigi recalling her cousin Erik’s meld wife, Cara, telling a story about the demi-assholes creating a sand monster to transport her to the Met in New York.
Which Cara, thanks to her uncontrollable chaos powers had all but destroyed.
Gigi noting that the pools of sand that had dropped to the floor around her and Nico were now moving in fast rivulets across the black painted wooden floors headed for the duo.
Climbing over their shoes and disappearing up their trouser legs.
Reclaiming their power, which was clearly plentiful now.
The sand monster had been thirty-feet high.
It had effortlessly transported her and Nico from the atoll to wherever they were now.
Sek and Mot had powered up a level or five.
But even though they stood there now, contained, reeking of money, somehow they seemed antsy to Gigi.
As if they wanted to be on the move, gone.
Hmmm, she doubted they cared that every police and insurance department in the world considered them wanted men.
No, she had a feeling their father, Apep, the God of Chaos, was their main worry these days.
Not so surprisingly given they’d killed their sister, their father’s favourite child in a fit of jealousy and then proceeded to try and kill their father.
But Apep’s soul fled his body before they could get to him, denying them access to real power.
The duo forced to lug around Apep’s mummified remains, using it like a battery for thousands of years.
Now Apep’s soul was back in his body. And he’d made it universally known that he was very, very interested in being reunited with his two surviving conniving sons.
“Wait. Dispose of her.” Qetesh instructed imperiously, pointing at Gigi. She had a very red queen - off with her head - vibe about her.
“Not the deal we agreed upon.” One half of the Sek and Mot duo drawled.
“Get him.”
“We got him.”
“She—”
“—ain’t our problem.”
“Tell your Mother—”
“—we’re square.”
And within a blink the two demi-gods were gone.
Qetesh sighed dramatically. No one reacted. She sighed again, louder.
“I can kill her for you, most divine and beautiful one.” One of the guards withdrew his short-bladed sword from its holster, holding it aloft. It wasn’t a smooth or practised motion. But Gigi supposed that didn’t matter since the blade’s edge gleamed wickedly sharp.
“Demetrius. That would be lovely, thank you.” Qetesh gifted him a smile, tears of joy brimming in Demetrius’s eyes. His Goddess had said his name. His Goddess had smiled at him. Thanked him.
Crap. True believers couldn’t be reasoned with. Couldn’t be swayed from their objective. Gigi glancing Nico’s way, maybe he had a plan. Currently he was down on one knee, trying to rip apart the shackles with his bare hands. He was strong. But if he was making any progress, Gigi couldn’t see it.
Demetrius was ten feet away now and closing in fast. He strutted.
Hard to pull off in roman sandals, but the wickedly sharp blade he held aloft helped him nail it.
Okay, think. Magic? She concentrated her powers on Demetrius.
Heavens, other than water and grapes, the man hadn’t digested anything much for the last day.
Clearly Qetesh’s followers were fuelled by love and not actual food. Damn.
Canary. Gigi fumbled with the latch on his small cage. But the darn thing was fused shut or broken. It had probably happened during all that running around the atoll trying to elude the sand monster. She couldn’t even dissolved the cage itself since it had been a magical gift from Riya.
She could move still, wouldn’t be able to kick, but her arms were free and she could roll. It would have to do.
“Honestly.”
An exasperated voice broke the tense moment.
A woman stepping out of the shadows at the far end of the room.
Overlooked previously because she was not golden and she didn’t glitter.
Of average height she was dressed in skintight black jeans and a tank top that hugged full, bordering on voluptuous curves.
Her hair was likewise black, but riotously curly, falling to just below her ears.
She was beautiful, with dark olive skin, full raspberry tinted lips and dark eyes that had surprising flecks of green in their depths to brighten them.
On her feet she wore ankle boots. And in her left hand she held a pack of playing cards that she constantly divided and re-stacked, her fingers so blindingly quick that the results of the cut were never known, except perhaps by their holder.
“Have you never heard of the word, hostage?” She turned to look at Gigi, her back to Qetesh, winking at her. Winking? What the hell did that mean? Who was this woman?
Qetesh’s pout switched to a petulant moue as she eyed the woman with clear dislike. “Hostages are nothing but trouble, Vaia. Now that I have the fire touched, she’s extraneous.”
“Perhaps. If he was yours. But me thinks one thing does not look like all the others here.” Vaia stood only a few feet away from Gigi, her left hand almost a blur now as she constantly cut and recut the deck of playing cards in her hand.
“He’s not golden. He certainly doesn’t look happy to be in your blessed presence.
And all evidence suggests he’s intent upon escaping your august hospitality.
Lucky bastard.” Vaia muttered the last two words under her breath.
“What kind of trouble are you trying to stir up now?” Qetesh sat upright, swinging her legs around, rising to her feet.
Her kneeling fawning admirers all murmured their appreciation, reaching out as if to touch her, though no one made actual contact.
Treating her like a piece of rare artwork you were scared to scuff.
“You only ever cause trouble when you deign to speak.”
“Make up your mind. You want to know when you stand at Fate’s crossroads or you don’t?”
“Of course I want to know. But so far you’ve failed every single time to bring about the result I desired.”
“I’ve failed. I’ve failed? I’ve given you times, locations, and opportunities again and again. But between you and your squabbling sister and your insistence upon sending sub-par resources to do the job, it goes without saying the winds of fortune have not favoured you.”
Qetesh flushed, high colour flooding her cheeks. “I’m seriously considering returning you to the not so tender care of my Mother.”
“That would be an interesting conversation indeed. Please, contact Hathor. Tell her exactly why you’re returning me to her prison.
Make sure to explain in great detail how neither you nor Neith have managed to set her plans into motion.
How, thanks to your never-ending rivalry, the two of you have threatened everything she has planned. ”
“I have everything in hand.” Qetesh shot Nico, still struggling with his shackles, a look of annoyance. “Almost everything in hand. My plan is brilliant. Much better than Neith’s. She has nothing to show for her efforts except two missing contractors and a large dent in her bank balance.”