My uncle shook his head. “I’d prefer that you sketch and paint what you can.”
I sipped my tea in lieu of responding. He could tell me how to spend my days, but he had no say in what I did at night. I thought back to that frantic moment on the dahabeeyah, the instant I saw him tuck my mother’s journal into his trunk. What else of hers did he want to keep safe? I wanted to discover what else he hid from me.
I wanted to know about the mysterious gate.
But first, I needed leverage.
*
I stepped gingerly out into the night, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, and found a softly treaded path toward Trajan’s Kiosk. The Nile lapped against the rocky coast of the island, a push and pull that soothed my fluttering heart. I carried some of my parents’ supplies: matches and a candle, Papá’s switchblade, a canteen of water, my sketch pad and charcoal pencils. The night whispered against my skin, and I wished for my uncle’s enchanted shoe. It would make observing my surroundings much easier.
From what I could see, the path behind me remained empty. I scrambled across the sand, reaching Pharaoh’s Bed quickly and as quietly as I could. The call of the magic flared to life, roaring as fiercely as a proud lion. I took a step forward but the hair on the back of my neck rose, and goosebumps flared up and down my arms. My knees shook as I halfway turned around, waiting with my breath trapped between my ribs, expecting to see someone following me.
But only the stretch of sand greeted me.
I kept still for several seconds longer before whirling to face the kiosk. But the sensation of someone watching shook me, and my hands were not altogether steady as I stepped inside.
Only then did I strike the match and light the candle.
The small flame barely illuminated the grandeur of the enclosed space. The upper half of the structure displayed enormous columns, reaching three stories or more, while the bottom half were walls covered in bas-reliefs. I stepped closer, examining each carved area, looking for any signs of the goddess Isis. The magic thrummed, as consistent as my own heartbeat.
“Find anything interesting?”
I jumped and somehow managed to cut off the scream at the back of my throat. “Whit! Por el amor de Dios!”
As was his usual manner, he lounged against the entrance, ankles crossed. He regarded me in bemused stupefaction. “I can’t find any reason why you should be out of bed at this hour, Olivera. Are you perhaps lost?”
I glared at him.
“No? I didn’t think so.”
“Surely my uncle doesn’t expect you to keep an eye on me day and night.”
“That would certainly be scandalous,” he said, smiling faintly.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“I don’t care enough to feel anything, one way or another,” he tossed back. “Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing out here?”
Dios, he was such a liar. I saw the furious gleam in his eyes before he stomped away, the sharp, tense line of his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He had felt something, even if he didn’t want to admit it.
“Does it look like I’m in mortal peril?”
He narrowed his gaze. “I’m still determining if you’re a danger to yourself.”
“That’s rude.”
“I repeat. What are you doing here?”
“I’m exploring this building without my uncle’s watchful eye.” I held up my sketch pad. “Haven’t you heard? My time here is extremely limited. I thought I might draw the interior.”
He bent forward, laughing.
“Sssshhh! You’ll wake them!”
Whit stifled his amusement and stepped inside. “Good Lord, you are such a terrible liar.”
I stiffened. “I’m not.”
His lips twitched. “You mean you don’t feel magic’s pull right now? You’re not trying to discover the link?”
I turned away in disgust. There was no point in lying. “Of course I am.”
I expected him to drag me away from Trajan’s Kiosk, hollering at me to go to bed, but he did none of those things. He merely went and sat in the corner, his long legs stretched out before him.
“You don’t have to stay here,” I said after a moment.
“Don’t I?”
I glared at him, and his expression softened. “I’m going to make sure no one bothers you.”
“You’re not going to make me go?”
“I’ve been trying to get you to leave since the moment I met you.” Whit shrugged. “I’ve learned that any attempt is futile.”
“Oh. Well, do you know what it is I’m supposed to be looking for?”
He smiled. “I said I would guard you, I didn’t say I’d help you, Olivera. Your uncle wouldn’t appreciate it. I have my marching orders, after all.” A hint of anger punctuated his words. Enough for me to glance over. His face held all of its usual charm, the laughing lines bracketing his mouth, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. The only thing that gave away his frustration was his clenched jaw.
“It was unfair of me to suggest—”
“That I don’t have a mind of my own?” he asked, and this time he let me see his anger. “That I can’t make decisions independently, irrespective of what I’ve been told to do?”
“Yes. Um, that. I’m sorry.” I paused. “So you were dishonorably discharged. Do you want to talk about it?”
He looked faintly outraged. “Absolutely not.”
I turned away and continued examining the walls. “So your plan is just to sit there and watch me—wait a minute.” The magic jumped, a sensation that made my stomach lurch. I peered closer at the wall, found nothing of note, but then my gaze dropped to the floor. Parts of the pavement were dusty and covered with smaller pebbles and packed sand. But there was something that called to the magic moving restlessly inside me. I dropped to my knees, the warmth of the fire making my skin dampen with sweat, despite the cool night. Gingerly, I brushed my fingers against the stone, moving things around, feeling for something I knew to be there, even if I didn’t know what that something was.
My fingers glided over a bumpy stretch of stone. I moved away more sand and pebbles until a small cartouche that spelled out Isis stared up at me. A thrill of discovery fluttered to my limbs. It was intoxicating, a sensation I wanted to feel again and again. “Whit.”
He was next to me in an instant. “I knew you’d find it,” he said, grinning.
“You couldn’t have helped me?”
“Actually, no.”
“What? Why not?”
He sat back on his haunches. “Ever since your parents’ deaths, your uncle has only allowed Abdullah with him at the start of each day. He only lets everyone else inside after the tunnel has been opened.”
“But not you. Doesn’t he trust you?”
“Problem with authority, remember?” he said wryly.
“What about Mr. Fincastle?”
“To a certain degree, I would think. Imagine not trusting the man hired to protect the team,” he replied. “It’s unlikely he’ll involve him unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Speaking of security, where is it? Shouldn’t this place be guarded? I expected it to be so.”
“And you still came out here alone?”
“Just answer my question, Whit.”
“Mr. Hayes.”
“No. I’ve earned the right to call you by your name.”