Pinpricks of light filled the room, reminding me of Asten’s firefly smoke. Swirling golden, silver, and white sparkles collided, becoming larger. Then they surrounded the cloaked minion, circling his body faster and faster. He screamed, and when he arched his back, the hood covering his head fell away.
I gasped, and Dr. Hassan stepped forward, unbelieving. “Sebak?” he exclaimed. “You betrayed me! Why?” Dr. Hassan’s face grew red. “You swore to uphold the order!”
Trapped, Dr. Sebak Dagher, now the incarnation of Apophis, spat back venomously, “You are an ancient relic, unworthy and unwilling to seize the power at your disposal. I would have killed you long ago if you had trusted me enough to reveal the location of Amon’s canopic jars.”
The lights squeezed tighter. “The Dark One is rising, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it!” Desperate now, Dagher continued fanatically, “His hand will not be stayed. He will make his throne from the bones of those who oppose him. Make no mistake; the powers of the Dark One will prevail.”
“Sebak, there is still time!” Dr. Hassan shouted. “You must stop this! You cannot possibly win.”
Ignoring Osahar and turning to me, Sebak said, “I look forward to the opportunity to gaze into your lovely eyes once more.” He thrust his arms forward and red light poured from his fingertips and out the door. Striking his hands together, he disappeared with the sound of a thunderclap.
The red mist surrounding Asten and Ahmose dissipated and the two brothers quickly used their power to thrust aside the bodies of the zombies littering the floor, along with those still barreling toward the door.
Ahmose rushed to my side while Asten went to his brother. Injured again, I limped over to Dr. Hassan, who looked completely stricken at the betrayal of his assistant. After squeezing his hand, I went to Amon. On the floor at his feet was a tray of ancient tools, likely the ones stolen from the display.
A pool of sticky blood surrounded the tray. Kicking it aside violently, I knelt at Amon’s feet and took his hand. Rivulets of blood had dried on his arms; crusty dark stains flaked from between his fingers. Deep slashes marked several places on his thigh, and ugly stab wounds peeked out from between the fragments of what was left of his shirt.
I ran my hand carefully up his arm. “Amon? Can you hear me? We’re here,” I said. “It’s over now.”
He started, his hair hanging limply over his lowered head.
“Lily?” he said, his voice breaking.
“Yes. It’s me. Your brothers are here. You’re freed now.”
Amon’s hands clutched the sides of the chair, the tendons in his arms standing out as he trembled. Finally, sucking in a breath, he lifted his head.
The sight of him filled me with horror.
A loud sob followed by desperate gasps echoed in the room, and it took a moment for me to register that the sound was coming from me.
The beautiful golden god of the sun, the one I now accepted I was falling in love with, looked up and reached out blindly.
His once-beautiful hazel eyes—now dark, bloody, very empty eye sockets, the stuff of nightmares—turned toward me.
“Amon?” I pushed the hair from his forehead, flinching at the feel of his cold skin and the sight of the horrible things done to him. Amon’s sparkling hazel eyes were gone, and my heart was as broken and empty as the man who sat before me.
His lips were cracked and dry, and his breath rattled in his chest as if he were an old man beaten down by pneumonia. Bitter tears stung my eyes and slipped down my face. I couldn’t look at him any longer, so I laid my cheek against his knee instead.
The irony was that even gravely wounded, Amon felt the need to console me. His hand gently smoothed my hair. “Hush, Nehabet. All will be well,” his voice rasped. He began coughing so violently that I raised my head and cupped his neck, murmuring to him until the coughing subsided. When he took his hands away from his mouth, they were wet with fresh blood.