Goddess, Spellbound Read online

  Long, black hair flowed from her head. Set in olive skin, amber-green eyes stared from beneath hooded lids. Her order entered his mind clearly: Arise, O warrior. I command thee.

  The goddess spoke in unison with another woman, one more distant and yet nearer and more distinct. Another who awaited his return.

  Chanting spells, Bastet laid her palms against his chest and floated higher. His spirit broke free, lifted up and separated from his cold, dead body to follow her. With each utterance of magic, energy flowed through her to fill him. Dust thickened to form a strong skeleton. Veins began to pump new lifeblood, and muscles and flesh wrapped around the bone to form a man. The man he had once been, whole once more.

  At first a whisper, her life-giving breath became a cyclone in his veins that burst into his chest. Filling him, propelling him upward to gasp like one dying, the unfamiliar air scraping his lungs.

  Searing pain halted that first breath, suspended him in shock. The need for oxygen drove him to suck in air again, push it out. Each time the process grew easier until he no longer had to make a conscious effort, but breathed as one alive.

  Drained, he rested against the cold slab, the living twin to the empty shell of his former self beside him, the prison of death that no longer contained him.

  It seemed yet another eternity before he could muster the command of his eyelids. No matter how he tried to pry them open, doing so seemed to require the strength equal to that of an army battalion. Once he opened them, the sacrifice would be complete. There would be no going back to his old life. Logic dictated this was already so, but once he actually viewed his surroundings, his world would forever change. Never again would he walk familiar ground, view the smiling faces of friends.

  Familiar foes, he had no doubt he would see again.

  When an image of his beloved city appeared in his mind, he thought he alone had conjured it. Another image followed, then another, a steady trickle of visions of the world as he knew it falling away, and a strange new one rising in its place.

  The trickle became a flood, each revelation flashing behind his closed eyes with the force of a lightning strike. Nearly too fast to absorb at once, all these wonders, the inventions of man that somehow allowed people to take on the very powers of the gods—flying, communicating through the air with a touch of a device, another touch allowing them to view anything taking place across the land. The land itself stretching to vast distances he could never have guessed.

  A gift granted to him by the goddess, this knowledge provided the framework for him to form his strategy, and would aid him in serving his queen pharaoh in the present time. He studied each vision with an intense scan of the details. No matter how wondrous or unbelievable, he accepted each new image as fact, the reality of this time. Otherwise, the instant he stepped onto the streets of this city of Philadelphia, he would be struck dumb with awe and disbelief. Like a true warrior, he used information like any other weapon to prepare for the battle ahead.

  After the visions finally slowed again to a steady stream, then a trickle, then became a single drop, he had collected what he needed in his arsenal. The tutorial had weakened him, and he lay for some time before attempting to command his body again.

  When his mind had stilled, he collected his energy. He put all the force of his will into pushing up his eyelids. Like prying open a stone crypt, they slowly scraped apart. A dim glow rimmed the edges of the ceiling, but after many blinks, his gaze slowly came into focus. He twisted his head to the side and assessed the strange altar upon which he laid, angled within a room of three walls made of glass. The fourth wall was black as night.

  Beyond the clear panel to his right, statues of the goddess Bastet stood in silent watch. When he strained his gaze to the left, there were his weapons—at least, what was left of them.

  Not far from the strange room sat a false door to the afterlife—not his own, because he’d had no grand, formal burial chambers. The granite emitted a malevolence, a forbidding evil not equal to its true purpose. He would have to guard it relentlessly. The goddess had revealed whose tomb the false door had belonged, and how it came to be here. The one buried within that tomb would return. Soon.

  With much struggle, he pushed himself upward through the crumbling crust of his former self. With each inch he rose higher, the invisible strands of time broke away. The gauzy mist in his mind cleared. By the time he touched his sandals to the floor, he had stepped into this new life with every part of his being. The goddess had gifted him with enough knowledge of this strange new time for him to perform his task well, and to walk unnoticed among men.

  At the double doors, he peered through the thick glass. A round table in the center of a circular space sat opposite another set of double doors. The main entrance, he surmised. Beyond, a light streamed onto a walkway and a smooth stone wall.

  The new world. The one he’d left behind, he could only visit in memories.

  A sudden sting in his side reminded him of the price his allegiance had cost him. A tear streaked his cheek. He swiped it away with clenched teeth. There was no turning back. No room for regrets. Though to him it seemed like last night’s sunset, the choice had been made long ago. He had not hesitated then, and would not now.

  “I am ready, O Goddess.”

  Chapter Two

  Darkness stole his vision, though light from the hallway illuminated the outline of the entrance. He needed to escape this prison, make his way through this strange city and find her, but first, he had to be sure his renewed body worked well enough.

  He slid his feet to the floor and, keeping hold of the hard table, stretched his legs straight. Like a toddling babe, he wobbled. Regaining his balance would require focus, and hard work. He cruised along the edges to let his muscles re-learn their functions, and then released his hold and shuffled another lap around the table. Only once did he have to catch himself, grip the edges and begin again.

  After a few more exercises to stretch and test his muscle memory, he was ready.

  Except a strange glass box imprisoned him. He ran his hands along the perimeter until his fingers found a latch. Locked.

  A sudden beam of light startled him, shone on him from a small yet powerful source, one that had no fire. In the myriad of images gifted him by the goddess, a specific one rose to the forefront. Flash. Light.

  “Hey, you. What the hell are you doing in there?” a man outside the glass called.

  The strange words garbled in his head. The goddess whispered, “My apologies, warrior. You will understand English, and be able to speak the language, as well as the others you once knew.”

  A whirlwind in his mind whipped the man’s words into an order he recognized.

  “I said, how did you get in there?” the man asked more forcefully.

  Shielding his eyes from the brightness, he turned. “I must go.”

  “You’re damned right. You can’t be in there with priceless artifacts.” Keys jingled and the spotlight bobbed. “I’m comin’ around.”

  A moment later, metal jangled, and then an opening appeared. The light shone on him again. He lifted his arms, examining them for any sign of burn. Finding none, it registered that the light produced no heat.

  “Let’s go,” the man said and the light swung down the corridor. “This way. No funny business either.”

  In a steady gait, he walked past the man.

  “What the hell kind of getup you wearin’ anyway? What’s your name?”

  He halted. “Iker.”

  “Ha ha ha, a real funny guy.”

  This man thought his name funny? “What is yours?”

  A pause. “Fred.”

  Iker bowed his head. “Many thanks, Fred.”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll be lucky if you don’t get me fired.” The guard aimed the flashlight inside the enclosure at the mummy on the table. “Wait, did you… Nah.” He closed and locked the door. “Funny, you do look kind of like him.”

  He assessed the man’s uniform. “I require your c
lothing, Fred.” A bit large, but they would have to suffice.

  Fred chuckled. “Get your own, bud. First fill out an employment application, but frankly, the museum’s not hiring right now. I happen to be filling the position, you see.”

  He rested his palm against the man’s forehead. His third eye. “Not anymore. You may go home and wait for further instruction. But leave the uniform.”

  Fred’s expression blanked. “I keep a spare one in the back.”

  “Show me.” He followed the guard down the hall, where the man stopped outside a closet door and pulled out a pressed jacket, shirt and slacks.

  “Boots?” Iker asked.

  Fred removed his shoes and socks and handed them over.

  “I also need your belt and hat.” After Fred flipped the cap from his head, unfastened the buckle and slid the belt off, Iker nodded in thanks. “You may go.” He waited for the man to march away before stripping his tunic and stepping into the pants. The belt helped, and the shirt and jacket fit better. The shoes would have to do.

  After removing two blades from their sheaths, he stowed the tunic on the top shelf out of sight and closed the door, then put on the cap and pulled the visor low.

  He closed his eyes. “Lead me, goddess.”

  At her whispered instruction, he strode outside. Unfamiliar sounds filled the night—the whir of tires, the blare of a distant horn, a few shadowy figures hurrying along the sidewalk and out of sight.

  He slipped outside. A deep inhale, and he coughed. Not the hot, sweet air of his beloved homeland. A metallic haze hung in this city, stale and unpleasant.

  A black cat sat on the smooth stone path outside the museum, gold earring glinting in the street light.

  He struck his fist to his chest. “I am at your service.”

  The cat walked off and he followed along the stone pathway, keeping the sleek animal in his sights while scanning for anything or anyone out of place.

  A pack of vehicles whooshed up, faster than any chariot. He braced, grip tight around the hilt of his blade, but the metal chariots sped past one by one.

  After a backward look of disdain, the cat continued on.

  “Apologies.” He would have to curb his warrior instincts and adapt to this city’s activities.

  After a few blocks, a man in ragged clothes staggered toward him, the reek of alcohol preceding him. He stopped to cling to a rail. “Did you pierce your cat’s ear? Man, that’s crazy.”

  Iker kept walking. “She belongs to no one.”

  “Aw, she’s homeless too? I’ll keep her. She’s a beauty.” The man made kissing noises. “Come to papa, baby.”

  The cat paused long enough to hiss, then pointed her nose in the air and trotted away. As they traversed more streets, the buildings took on a different tone, quieter somehow, with recessed lighting revealing homey interiors. More trees dotted the pavement. Along one such street, the animal sat and gazed across the thoroughfare toward a tall building.

  “Here?” Starting at the bottom level, he searched the windows. In one on the second level, the panes framed the silhouettes of two cats. Beyond them, a dark-haired woman danced alone.

  “Is that her?” he whispered.

  Looking up at him, the black cat purred.

  The woman’s fluid grace seeped out like a song surrounding her, a siren’s call that beckoned him. The music drifted to him in bits, strange like everything else in this new world. Yet she seemed familiar. Even at a distance, he recognized her regal bearing, her natural beauty more stunning than any goddess’s. He would have no difficulty keeping guard over her. The real difficulty would be in tearing his gaze away. He could watch her day and night and not tire of it.

  When she laughed, Iker instinctively gripped the knife and lifted on tiptoe to see who else was with her.

  She bent down, lifted two furry bodies and continued dancing, her long hair whirling.

  Only more cats. No reason to rescue her. He heaved a breath. “Am I to remain here tonight?”

  At his feet, the black feline meowed, and then scrabbled up the tree stretching past the second story of the building behind him. He leapt up to grab the lowest branch and swung himself up over it, then climbed higher. This afforded a much better view through her window. He settled against the thick center, content to while away the hours until daylight, when he would return to the museum in Fred’s place. Until then, he would not let her out of his sight.

  Movement on the street below caught his eye. When two hooded figures approached with the stealth of shadows, he flattened against the branch and stilled, hardly daring to breathe. They spoke in low murmurs, just loud enough for him to catch their meaning. Flashes in the darkness sharpened his attention and his wariness. Both had drawn blades and spoke in low, guttural tones.

  The cold of the crypt clamped onto his spine. They had come for her.

  Silently, he slipped down to the pavement and drew both his knives. He had a message of his own to send, long overdue.

  Crossing the street in perfect tandem, the pair glanced back in unison, revealing scaly hides for skin and snarling, reptilian snouts in place of mouths. When they growled, the centers of their eyes glowed red.

  Fear rippled through him. He absorbed it, then used it to harden his muscles.

  They moved like mirror images of one another, making it easy to follow their actions, at least. He lashed out with lightning strikes, plunging a blade in the neck of one and the other knife into the eye of the second. Hisses filled his ears. He jammed the weapons deeper and twisted. “Return to the depths. Tell the vizier he is not welcome here.” A yank withdrew the blades. Before the creatures crumbled to inky dust, he added, “She will triumph.” The pair shriveled to a black puddle that seeped below the pavement as if sucked to another world, leaving no trace behind.

  He sheathed his weapons and stared up at her window, where she cradled two cats to her in a slower dance.

  If he harbored any doubt before, he didn’t now. She was the one. All he had to do was convince her to perform a small task, one that would forever alter each of their destinies.

  ****

  Sandy hurried down the street, but she wasn’t alone. She never was.

  No matter where she went, they followed. From alleyways, they slunk, from windows and doorways, they crept behind her and fell in line. People stared as she walked, but it didn’t faze her. She knew full well why. Call it animal magnetism, an affinity, or just plain weirdness, cats found her irresistible.

  At least some living thing did. Her pale complexion and pitch black hair flowing past her shoulders provoked jokes, labels of Goth girl or Cleopatra-wannabe, though she used neither eyeliner nor kohl. Some might envy her five-foot-ten slender frame, but on her, it turned her limbs gangly and awkward, and tripping over nothing provided comical relief for others.

  So unlike the felines she adored. How many times had she wished for a fraction of their sleek grace? Their surety and strength that could explode into power with one hiss? The most she could muster on demand was a weak mewl before slinking off.

  As she passed a stoop, the orange tabby lounging atop the step caught her eye and she bent to scratch its head. “Hello, baby. Aren’t you beautiful?” The cat’s throat rumbled in a loud purr. One of the best sounds in the world—instant affection.

  Another cat, a sleek grey one, rubbed against her leg. “Oh, look at you. You’re gorgeous too.” The feline pressed its head against her hand, and she accommodated its demand to be petted. “Wish I could stay longer, but I have to go.” Margo would kill her if she didn’t hurry.

  She texted as she hurried down the street: Sorry I’m late. On my way now. Time had gotten away from her, as usual. But who could blame her, after a night dreaming about The Excellent One?

  She used to dream of being the goddess Bastet, the defender of the pharaoh and of the sun god Ra. Not that she’d share that with anyone. Even Margo, her best friend and fellow geek girl would look at her askance if Sandy revealed how the world of the
sun god heated her nights, robbing her of sleep. Not that Sandy minded one little bit. If only in her dreams, she was a goddess sought after by buff gods and warriors.

  Like the Greek-speaking Egyptians who once inhabited Alexandria, she practically worshipped Bastet. The Egyptian goddess known as the cat goddess, moon goddess, Lady of Flame, Eye of Ra. With each step, excitement shivered through Sandy. To have the chance to actually handle artifacts of that age made her giddy as a schoolgirl. Reading about the recent find in Alexandria of a temple to Bastet, she’d nearly dropped her latte.

  Now the new exhibit would open in mere days, a once in a lifetime deal for the museum, a show of the caliber normally reserved for the likes of The Smithsonian or the Franklin Institute. A major coup, it would look incredible on her resume as curator, but that paled in comparison to the real reason excitement kept her awake at night.

  When Sandy rounded the corner, the book store loomed ahead, its wall of windows revealing a busy morning. From a front row table of the coffee shop within, Margo waved at her.

  Before entering, Sandy stooped to pat a few furry heads. “Go home. You’re not safe in the streets.” She hurried inside and sat at the bistro table opposite Margo. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No worries. Except your latte might be a little tepid.” Margo slid the cardboard cup across the wooden surface.

  “You are such a sweetie. Did you get extra cream?” Sandy lifted the cup and sipped.

  “Of course.” Margo leaned her elbows on the table. “So are you all set for next week?”

  “I think so. I’ve been over and over every little detail, but I’m so nervous. This is the most important exhibit I’ve ever managed.”

  “It’ll go great.” Margo’s smile helped ease Sandy’s nerves.

  “It still baffles me that Egypt’s Supreme Council on Antiquities agreed to send the artifacts. I never expected them to take my request seriously. And it’s almost unheard of they’d responded within a week.” It had bothered her ever since, some faint niggling from the back of her mind, warning her this was all wrong. She did her best to silence it.