Blood.
Someone was hurt, or worse.
“Shit,” she mouthed, lifting her wet fingertips.
Zahra smeared the blood across the floor before wiping some off on her jeans. She got onto her hands and knees and, once more, glanced around the base of the lion, careful not to touch it again. In that second of exposure, she spotted a streak that continued around to the other side of the animal.
Dammit, she thought, biting her lower lip.
Death didn’t bother Zahra. But in this case, she was confident that she’d recognize the body. The only people here, besides her and Grant, were Bernie and his crew of guards, Josh and Drew.
And one of them was in serious trouble.
With her back against the lion’s pedestal, Zahra headed right, in the opposite direction. She made sure the coast was clear before moving out. After confirming that she was still alone, she hurriedly army-crawled to the far side of the lion and nearly screamed in fright as she came nose-to-nose with Bernie. He was on his back, his empty gaze locked onto Zahra’s face. The older man’s throat had been cut, and he was unmoving, at rest in a pool of his own blood.
Muffled voices echoed throughout the Great Court. Zahra was prone and out in the open. She leaped to her feet and scrambled around Bernie’s body, diving headfirst behind the nearby information desk just as a pair of flashlight beams appeared from around the Reading Room. As the speakers neared, Zahra recognized the outline of rifles.
Zahra growled in anger. She refrained from launching into a crazy, rage-fueled assault. She’d wait for the right opportunity. Then, she’d strike.
Chapter 20
Grant
Grant Upton was this close to pissing down his leg. Never had the young man been so afraid. His life was literally in the balance based on what Zahra had told him. Now, he was alone, vulnerable. He was stuck in the very same room that housed the wanted canopic jar. This was the last place Grant wanted to be, but he knew he would not stand a chance out there without Zahra.
Grant had become smitten with his superior ever since the day he had met her. At first, he had even thought about asking her out on a date. The ten-year age difference between them didn’t bother him. If anything, it made him want her more. Plus, Zahra looked more like a college student than someone in her early thirties. No one could have guessed she already had so much life experience under her belt.
But Grant had balked at the notion. He was terrified of rejection and losing, not only a close confidant and an irreplaceable mentor, but also his job. Plus, her father was his professor and could flunk him on a whim. Grant loved what he was doing, and he was hoping to be hired on permanently after he graduated next summer. He needed Zahra’s recommendation for that to happen.
He turned away from the black canopic jar and attempted to get his frayed nerves under control. He had been staring at the artifact for some time, trying to figure out how it was the center of everything going on.
Why you? he asked.
With nothing better to do, Grant spun and made his way over to it. He clasped his clammy hands behind his back and leaned in close, inspecting the intricate engravings. He knew a multitude of Egyptian hieroglyphs, but not all of them. In this case, he could understand most of what the writing said, but not all of it.
“It more or less says: ‘the soul of the… of the god-king Anubis… it, um, resides within.’” He stood straighter. “Well, that puts it plainly.”
He turned away from the jar but stopped and flashed back to it. Going against his better judgment, he picked it up and held it up to his face. Grant reread the inscription. He looked up at the blank wall, lost in thought. “The god-king Anubis? The hell?”
Anubis had never a king. That would imply that he had been human. A god, sure. But not a king. Grant had spent hundreds of working hours near the artifact but had never gotten close enough to notice the inscriptions. And even if he had noticed the glyphs, it wouldn’t have mattered. It was preposterous to think any of it was true.
He glanced at the office door. Until now.
If a secretive ancient society was going through all this trouble to acquire the jar, then maybe the mythos surrounding it were true? At the very least, they believed it was.
Grant snickered at the disillusion. But the ridiculousness of it didn’t make the intruders any less dangerous. It didn’t matter what was true. All that did matter was what they believed.
And it was only a matter of time before they came here to take it.
He cautiously rotated the jar and examined its lid. There was a layer of grime jammed between it and the rim. The sight reminded him of something Zahra had once said. Her parents had never let her open it, and even today, Zahra had yet to open the artifact.
Dumb superstitions…
Grant gripped Anubis’s head by its base and pulled, applying consistent, gentle pressure. After adding a touch more effort, the lid came free.
A horrible stench erupted from within, slapping Grant hard in the face. The smell reminded him of a wet, rotting rat. He reeled back in disgust, nearly dropping the family treasure.
Grant gagged and reeled backward. He took a moment to calm himself before continuing his examination of the object. His actions amused him. He wasn’t typically this jumpy. Then again, he’d never been in a life-or-death situation before.
“And now… you are free,” he jokingly announced, picturing Anubis’ Casper-like ghost zooming around the room.
But the humor was suddenly gone, and the thought of an ancient demigod floating around the room with him made the hair on his arms stand up straight. Shaken, Grant replaced the lid.
A soft clunk somewhere out in the hallway spurred Grant into returning the heirloom to its dedicated spot. A second sound hurried him back into his portion of the dark office. Grant sank down next to his desk and sat against the wall out of direct eyesight of the door. He tucked his knees into his chest and shivered. Grant was going to take Zahra’s instructions to heart and not open the door for anyone unless it was her.
Or maybe Bernie.
Chapter 21
Zahra
Zahra spotted a pair of shadowy figures round the eastern side of the Reading Room. They headed around the front and kept coming her way. If Zahra had to guess, they were on patrol, looking very bored, keeping their rifles pointed nonchalantly at the floor. They spoke softly to one another before being interrupted by the squawk of a radio.
The voice on the other end hollered in angry Arabic. The man to Zahra’s left hurriedly replied, stating that they had yet to see anyone besides the “old man.” The guy who initiated the call screamed for these two to pick up their pace and keep searching.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, clipping his walkie onto his belt.
With that, the two intruders sped up their hunt. Based on the frustration and urgency in the caller’s voice, Zahra gathered that the team here had yet to find her office. It was one of the first times she was thankful for the museum director’s paranoia. Openly labeling the office rooms would have screwed them royally tonight.
The pair swung up their rifles, using their barrel-mounted lights to guide the way. Each one swept it side to side, stopping every now and again to check nearby doors, most of which were locked. A gunshot rang out as one of the men obliterated the deadbolt with a single round. Zahra laughed inwardly. He had just wasted a bullet on the lock to the Great Court’s mop room.