“I’ll wait while you come up with a plausible explanation.” He scowled. “A lie, most likely.”
I backed up another step. Whit remained motionless, coldly furious. His arms were still folded tight across his broad chest. I always forgot how he towered over me, his presence taking up so much space I could see nothing else but him.
“There was no one in my room last night.”
His lips pressed into a thin, pale slash. “Bullshit.”
“Even if there were, it would be none of your business.”
His fingers dug into his arms. “Why are you here, Olivera?”
Whit’s question caught me off guard. My mind scrambled in a million directions, and my palms began to sweat. I couldn’t figure out why he’d ask me that question. He sounded suspicious—as if I had something to hide, and not the other way around.
I fought to keep my voice calm. “I’m here to learn what happened to my parents. I’m here because I want to find Cleopatra.”
“That so?”
I nodded.
Whit took a step forward. “I think you’re hiding something from all of us.”
Anger pulsed in my throat. How dare he try to corner me like this when he kept secrets professionally? He knew that my parents hadn’t gotten lost in the desert, just like he knew that my uncle was just as corrupt as the antiquity officers he supposedly hated. The hypocrisy galled me. I threaded my hands through my hair. It chafed against me, to remain silent when I wanted to scream. The words sat on my tongue, burning. I gave into the flames, the insistent roar that demanded I do something, and skirted around Whit.
He followed after me. “Damn it, Olivera! We are not finished with this conversation.”
Nimbly, I rounded a column, intent on losing him, and ducked into a small room that opened to another even smaller room. The minute I stepped foot inside, the taste of roses burst in my mouth. I stopped and Whit crashed into me. I fell forward, but he wrapped a strong arm around my waist.
“Are you all right?” He released me and gently placed his hands on my shoulders, turning me around to face him. He peered down at me. “What’s happened? What is it? You’ve gone pale.”
I couldn’t even pretend to hide it from him. The thrumming under my skin felt faint, as if it were a magic from a distant land, beckoning me home. I shifted under the weight of his gaze and walked slowly around the chamber, tilting my head, sensitive to every subtle shift in the magical current flooding my veins.
“I thought you didn’t feel anything in the temple,” Whit said. “You’re shaking. What the hell is happening?”
“I didn’t walk this far inside. Never made it to this room the first time. It’s very faint.” He blinked. I wasn’t making sense. I let out an impatient sigh. “Whit, I feel magic.”
His lips parted. “There must be something here, then.”
In unison, we began a search, examining every corner, studying each of the stones. But I came up with nothing. No sign of Isis’s cartouche carved into the walls.
“Holy shit, Olivera. Come look at this.”
I was arrested by an intricate painting of a banquet. I wished I understood more hieroglyphs. “Just to be clear, you addressing me by my family name is observing proper decorum? And cursing?”
“Will you just walk over to me, please? Preferably with less cheek. Thank you,” he added at my approach.
“This way is much better.”
He blinked. “What way, exactly?”
“This version of yourself, which I suspect is closer to who you were before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you were dishonorably discharged.”
He stared down at me with dawning outrage. There was an exasperated curve to his mouth. “You’re so . . .”
“Forthright?” I supplied helpfully.
“Aggravating.”
Aggravating was much better than indifferent. But then, I wasn’t supposed to care because of his marital status and all. “What did you want to show me?”
He pointed to the single column in the small room, three feet thick and reaching up to the ceiling.
I nodded, immediately understanding his thoughts. It had stood out to me, too. “It’s the only room in the temple that has one like it.”
“Exactly.” He lightly tapped his finger against the column. “This is the hieroglyph for sun, and right next to it is the hieroglyph for moon.”
“Hardly unusual. Those symbols must be all over various walls across Egypt.”
“True,” he conceded. “But taken with the knowledge that Cleopatra named her twins—by Marcus Antonius—Helios and Selene, Greek for sun and moon, I think the finding interesting. Especially inside a temple of Isis, a known identifier for Cleopatra.”
“You don’t need to convince me further. I know the column is important. I feel it,” I said quietly. “You search the upper half of the column and I’ll take the bottom.”
“Do you enjoy ordering me around?” he asked, faintly amused.
“Does it look like I do?” I tossed back. Question for question, just how he liked it.
His response only proved my point. “You don’t think it actually works, do you?”
Without missing a beat I said, “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“How is it that a moment ago, I wanted to strangle you, but now I feel like laughing?”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“We aren’t done with our earlier conversation.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to it,” I said sarcastically.
Whit chuckled through his teeth as he began his careful examination of the column. My portion consisted of dozens of bas-reliefs, a variety of letters in the ancient Egyptian alphabet carved forever into the stone. While I studied each one, I couldn’t help hoping that I would paint something that might be worth saving, something that would outlive me. My fingers brushed along the lower half, searching for any unusual creases or divots, while I also paid close attention to the sudden flare of the magic swimming in my veins.
“Whit,” I whispered.
He knelt beside me. “I see it.”
Together we pushed down on a small section of the bottom lip of the column. The front of it scraped forward, a thick door that followed the curve of the column. The stone had moved forward only an inch, but it was enough purchase to pull from. We stood. His rapid breathing filled the small space. I was in the same state. As if I’d run for miles.
Excitement propelled me forward and I reached for the door. The magic rose within me like a strong current, and I could do nothing but ride it. I was helpless against its strength. “Together, Whit.”
As one, we pulled at the door and the scraping noise reverberated in the plain room. It wouldn’t budge easily, and it took our combined efforts to widen the entry enough for us to pass through. Within the column, narrow steps appeared, descending downward in a curve. I stepped forward, but Whit caught hold of my shoulder.
“Absolutely not,” Whit said. “I go first.”
The magic in me roared in protest. “But—”
“Go get your candle, and a canteen of water.”
“Don’t you dare take another step without me,” I said. “You won’t be happy if you do, I promise you.”
“I haven’t been happy for quite some time, Olivera.”