He moved to another crate. “I cannot steal that which belongs to me.”
I crouched and peered into the guy’s face. I was pretty good at reading people, so I usually knew when someone was lying. This guy wasn’t. Which meant he either actually believed he had some claim on these Egyptian relics or he was crazy. I was inclined to go with crazy.
“Look,” I said quietly. “These items belong to the museum. You’re not supposed to be touching them. You can’t just come into a museum and take whatever you like.”
“Museum?”
“Yes, museum. As in, collection house of antiquities, displayer of old documents and art of great value.”
Pulling the top off yet another crate, he squatted to examine the contents. “Ah,” he said. “A House of Muses.”
“A what?”
He ignored me and, after a brief perusal of the box’s contents, rose with a grunt of frustration. “They are not here.”
“The death jars?” I asked.
“Yes. These are replicas. They do not hold my life force.”
“Life force, right.” Definitely crazy.
Mumbling a few excuses, I stood and began my retreat, but he followed me.
“Without my life force, I am merely a walking shadow on borrowed time,” he stated gravely.
His eyes locked with mine in a disturbingly determined way as I backed away nervously. “I need sustenance, Young Lily,” he said while advancing.
“Sustenance, okay.” Please don’t let hot foreign-model guy turn into Hannibal Lecter. “Well, there are a lot of places where you can get something to eat. May I recommend the Roof Garden Café on the fifth floor?” I backed around a stack of crates as I gave him directions, but he pressed forward.
“Do not run away, Young Lily.”
“Run?” I tittered anxiously. “I’m not running. But speaking of running, if the Roof Garden is too far, there’s always the American Wing Café. It’s right next to this Egyptian exhibit. You can’t miss it. Well, I’ve got a meeting to get to. I’ve really got to go.”
“You do not understand. Without my jars I must share your life force.”
“Share my…Well, see, that’s the thing, I’m using mine just now, thank you. Really wish I could help you, I do,” I said, realizing he’d backed me up against a wall of crates. When my backside hit the barrier, he smiled. Without a second thought, I blasted him in the face with the pepper spray. Howling, he doubled over. At the same time a wind began to swirl around him, lifting little pieces of dust and construction material into the air.
Panicked, I spun and ran toward the curtain. But before I reached it, the lights went out and I banged my knee against the golden sarcophagus. Stumbling to catch my balance, I heard him coming toward me. “Come back, Young Lily,” he groaned. “I need you.”
Oh, I don’t think so. There was no time for my eyes to adjust. Gripping my bag with one hand, I felt along the coffin until I’d skirted the massive object, and then hurried out as fast as I could. He followed me, emerging from the curtain just a few seconds after I did.
My open bag was bouncing, and pens and pencils scattered all over the floor. When my notebook fell out, I had to stop for it despite the danger. I chanced a look back.
Crazy model-boy was standing there, arms raised in the air, eyes closed. He was chanting like before, his voice echoing through the exhibit as I dashed toward the exit. A mysterious wind lifted my hair, blowing it around my face and blinding me as I ran. His words pierced my consciousness, like hieroglyphs being chiseled into stone. He chanted:
Protect me, God of the Morning Sun.
Rebuff those who work evil.
Turn aside this calamity.
With the power of my mouth,
The power in my heart,
I utter a spell.
As our forms are bound this day,
So are our lives.
Tirelessly, she will serve me
Whilst I serve Egypt.
As I wander this land,
Make light my feathers,
Make swift my wings,
Make steady my heart.
I take her strength of body,
And, in doing so,
Pledge to reward the gift given