Sins of the Flesh

“This is a storage facility.” Which made no sense. The organs were supposed to remain with the mummy, otherwise there could be no reanimation. Why separate the organs from the body and store them here? “Who would bother to set all this up?”


“Another good question.” Dagan lifted one of the jars and studied it for a moment then put it back on the shelf and turned to look the length of the room. “Definitely an Egyptian deity.” He shrugged as he turned back to face Mal. “Could be Aset. Osiris. Horus. Anubis. Apophis. Thoth. Shit, there are so many it’d take us a day to list all the possibilities.” He spread his hands, palms up. “Hell, for all we know, the place could belong to the old man.”

“Yeah,” Mal said slowly, “but if Sutekh knew about this place, wouldn’t he have sent us searching for Lokan’s remains in similar null zones a long time ago? You’d think that if he knew about one, he’d at least suspect there were others.”

“True enough,” Dagan said. “So we cross the old man off the list.”

Mal scraped his hand along his jaw as he looked again at the wall painting. His gaze slid to the last depicted gate, the final obstacle to living, the final barrier to walking in the sun.

Walking free of the Underworld.

A chill chased across his skin.

“The blood of Aset. The blood of Sutekh,” he murmured, the prophecy Kai had recited for them echoing in his thoughts. “And the God will pass the Twelve Gates and walk the Earth once more.”

Dae shot him a look then followed his gaze to the far wall. “Damn,” he breathed.

“Damn,” Mal echoed.





CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO



May you give me a path that I may pass in peace, for I am straightforward and true;

I have not willingly told lies,

I have not committed a second fault.



—The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 15

ROXY TAM PERCHED ON the rail of the bell tower that rose from the north end of the deconsecrated church she called home. Calliope and Mal. She didn’t know what to think about that. And from the odd tone in Calliope’s voice when they’d talked on the phone, Roxy thought that maybe Calliope didn’t know what to think about it, either.

She adjusted her weight on the rail and stared out at the dark line of the horizon. She liked to come here to think. To be alone. She liked the cool air and the stars and the view of the bare branches of the trees reaching up toward the night sky. This was her place, and Dagan left her to it. Though they now shared the home that had once been hers alone, he respected her need for moments, and spaces, where he didn’t follow.

Not that he was here to follow now. He’d gone off with Mal after he’d managed to find the location of yet another null zone between the Underworld and Topworld. It was in such a place that Alastor and Naphré had found the lead casket with some of Lokan’s remains. Dae was convinced that he’d find the rest in another one like it.

Roxy wasn’t convinced. There was something off about all of this. Before she’d ever met Dae, she’d been hunting information about the dead soul reaper, Lokan Krayl. Everything she’d found pointed to a reenactment of Osiris’s murder by Sutekh millennia past, with the body hacked to bits and the parts scattered.

So who’d been collecting Lokan’s parts all neat and tidy in a lead casket with Aset’s name carved on the lid?

A question without an answer.

Restlessness crawled through her. She felt as if something was out there, watching her, stalking her. But when she closed her eyes and let the charge in her blood seek a supernatural’s energy signature, she found nothing. No one.

She’d been in this exact position before, not too long ago. That night, it had been Dagan out there watching her, masking his energy signature.

Tonight, she wasn’t too sure. Not a soul reaper. None would dare hunt Dagan Krayl’s mate. But her gut was telling her that someone was on her turf.

Time to roll out the welcome mat.

She swung off the rail and shimmied down the metal ladder set into the inside wall of the tower. At the base was a scarred wooden door. Pushing it open, she stepped out of the tower into her living room.

And stopped dead. At the far end of the room was a woman. She was garbed in a red velvet gown, shot with black, and a cowl was drawn up to hide her face and head. Around her neck, outside her gown, was a thick gold chain with a gold cartouche hanging between her breasts.

Instinct had Roxy pulling her knife from the sheath at the small of her back.

“I offer no threat,” a female voice said. “For the moment.”

As if jerked on a string, the knife flew out of Roxy’s hand. Incredibly fast, the woman snatched the hilt from the air. Roxy never even saw her hand. Her movements were too quick and the voluminous sleeve of her gown extended well past her fingertips.

“No threat, huh?” Roxy straightened and cocked one hip. “Nice to know.”

“Roxy Tam.” The voice reverberated inside her skull. “You look a great deal like your mother.”

Roxy’s heart gave a little twist.

“And you wear her pendant.”

“What do you know about my mother?”

“That she was lost to us. A tragedy. Your grief is ours.”