Seth jerked his head up to look at her. “Oh, hey, Natara. You want to join?”
Forgetting her tears and frustration, Natti’s face turned hot with rage and embarrassment. She stamped her foot, turned, and marched off in the opposite direction.
“Hey! Natara! Wait a second!”
Natti heard the girl’s moan of disappointment and Seth’s hurried footfalls behind her. He latched onto her arm, the intense tingling sensation starting to soak into her skin with his touch. She yanked free from his grasp and punched him in the arm. Seth leapt back in surprise, rubbing his bicep.
“Is something wrong with your trousers?” Natti snarled, taking in his disheveled state. “You would think with your wardrobe allowance you wouldn’t always have to run around with your fly down!”
Seth glanced at his pants, blushed, and zipped. “I can’t help it that you caught me while I was having my lunch.”
Natti rolled her eyes and started to walk away again.
“Come on, Natara Stone.” The sound of him speaking her name made Natti freeze in her place. “What’s it going to take?”
She felt his hand brush up her arm. A shiver ran through her as she relaxed a bit under his touch. She had hoped it had been only her imagination yesterday; that the strange, hypnotic feeling was all in her head. She knew the touch of a few boys from her past. Each was soft, sometimes intense; a spark which sent her skin glowing with desire. Seth’s touch was that and more. Like a fire burning under her skin mixing with the intense tingling sensation that danced through her veins. It was enticing, haunting, mesmerizing. . . . Better than she had ever known before. It simply seemed impossible.
What about him is making me feel this way?
Seth pressed his body behind hers, making her lose her focus on the world around her. A headache began to form between her temples. He pulled her hair back to expose her neck and shoulder. He leaned his lips next to her skin.
“Come on, Natara,” he whispered. “You know you want to.”
Oh God, he was right. Something inside her body stirred, wanting him. A deeply driven urge. One she had no idea where it came from. His fingers began to raise her shirt, letting him feel her waist. The tingling and fiery sensation increased. Her body begged. Her heart refused to submit. The headache flared.
“What’s it going to take?” Seth repeated.
The echoes of Jen’s and Kevin’s words mixed with the heavy feeling in her chest turned her insides cold. Whatever was happening to her, she had to be stronger. She had to fight back.
Natti pulled herself away. “A lot more than you have to offer.”
From a small basin sink, Seth bathed his body in a solution of sacred water and natron, a mineral salt consisting of hydrated sodium carbonate. He submerged his arms, cupped his hands under the liquid, and spread the cool, fresh liquid over the skin of his neck. The droplets ran over his chest and shoulder, slowly trickling to the cold stone floor of the small bathroom. Slowly and carefully, he sponged his body for purification.
Glancing out the frosted window above, he could see the rays of sunlight just appearing. He dried himself off with a clean linen towel and changed into his ceremonial garments. He picked up an antyw incense burner from the counter and lit the myrrh inside. He wafted the gentle puffs of gray smoke over himself while muttering a prayer.
Seth moved into the first floor hall of the far eastern wing of the mansion. His mother, Michelle, waited with her eyes cast to the ground. In her hands was a large, silver tray with food, two bowls of sacred water, wine, linens, natron and myrrh, priceless jewelry, and a dagger. Seth held his head high, trying to ignore his mother’s presence for she was nothing more than a servant to him in this ritual. And as such, they were forbidden to look upon each other directly.
He walked to the hidden inner sanctuary of their manor, took the key entrusted to him, and opened the door. The dimly lit room was bathed in a blood red color of the morning sun. Seth entered the sacred chamber in silence with his mother following several paces behind. Each step he took he fanned the myrrh incense into the already stuffy air. He made his way to the shrine, a rectangular box carved from a single block of wood, came to a stop and bowed.
“O Set,” he spoke in the ancient Egyptian tongue, “It is the hem-netjer who sends me. I am Seth O’Keefe, his son and your loyal worshiper. Arise in peace.”