Goddess, Spellbound Page 4

  ****

  Am I cursed to serve females for all eternity? And while wearing such drab, ridiculous garments? Though Iker must wear this uniform well enough. When he strode down the hospital hall in the green ‘scrubs’, as someone called it, females in similar garb were slack-jawed as they stared, bumped into carts or into each other. He sent them a confident smile and continued toward his target, silently cursing the unnaturally bright light, the constant noise and chaos that flooded his senses. People in this time apparently filtered out such noises, something he would have to learn to do, and quickly.

  He slipped inside the room, assessing it. No hospital attendant, no visitors. Nor any sign of a threat. Good. He secured the door with a soft click and headed to the only occupied bed. His breath eased in the quiet, an atmosphere more similar to what he was accustomed.

  His charge slept, a dark angel whose long hair framed her pale face. He heaved a ragged breath. This was the woman who would conquer their enemy? The one who would break the spell keeping the queen pharaoh from her rightful place in the afterlife?

  The queen pharaoh, Hatshepsut, had at least challenged his wits. Plus she’d granted him a large estate other warriors envied, a salary that allowed him to indulge in gambling or the attentions of women skilled in relieving any type of ache plaguing him, and bestowed upon him a rank demanding high regard from Egyptian subjects. Despite her outward generosity, the queen pharaoh likewise demanded his all in private. When she called him to her bedchamber, Hatshepsut expected loyalty and unquestioning service no matter the request.

  And discretion. Hatshepsut had threatened to cut out his tongue if he spoke of the way she responded to him, her yielding to his touch, crying out for more…

  He grew hard at the mere thought. Even in the throes of desire, Hatshepsut remained unconquerable. Too much so; her lust drained him. Not fully sating her might have meant shame, exile, possibly death.

  He studied the woman in the bed. No denying she was tall and beautiful, but height did not ensure strength. Sanura had already displayed weakness, insecurity, and more than uncertainty—outright denial of her heritage. Unaware of the dangers she faced, she might blindly lead them both into the path of destruction.

  She will need more than coaxing. This called for tutoring, but could a lowly warrior train any woman to be a goddess? Fierce enough to protect, secure enough in herself to seduce? Bastet’s powers equaled her charms—a lover of music and dancing. An enticing seductress.

  He frowned at the lanky female.

  Oh, goddess. The work ahead would be more than a challenge. It might be his end.

  A noise in the hallway snapped his focus to the entrance. Time to make a hasty exit, but he would remain on guard. No one would harm this woman.

  ****

  Bright light stabbed Sandy’s eyes as they fluttered open and a sharp odor stung her nose. She had no intense lights in her bedroom. Nor did her bed incline as this one did. Nor did her condo smell so… clinical.

  “Hello?” She could have sworn a man had just been standing beside her bed. She hadn’t so much seen him as sensed him there, guarding her. Watching her—somewhat disapprovingly.

  She shifted up onto one elbow, but her body felt weighted, her muscles useless, and she eased back onto the pillow. A wafer thin one, definitely not her comfy, fluffy pillow. Buzzing reverberated through her skull as if someone had mistaken it for a gong. She hadn’t whacked her head, had she? What was she doing here?

  A man in green scrubs approached and frowned at a clipboard. “Sanura?”

  “Yes.” She cringed at hearing her formal name, then squinted at him. “Were you in here a minute ago?”

  Glancing up from his clipboard, he gave her the fisheye. “No. Why?”

  “Never mind.” She couldn’t afford to make him any more suspicious. He already looked ready to commit her to the mental ward.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked in a tone normally reserved for toddlers.

  “Fine.” Ready to leave. Too much work yet to do brought a sigh.

  “No dizziness?” he persisted. “Headache?”

  “No,” she lied, attempting to steady her gaze on him.

  “Are you sure? When you arrived, your heart rate was much too high.” He flipped through the pages attached to the clipboard. “In fact, all your systems registered abnormal. Had you experienced some sort of shock?”

  Images came to mind of the warrior Iker leaning over her, calling her goddess. Definitely a first, but not enough to shock her. “No.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Of course. Aren’t all my vitals back to normal?”

  His lips pursed. “Mm. They do appear to be.”

  She hadn’t fooled him one bit. “So I can go home now?”

  Hesitating, he frowned. “Do you have someone who can pick you up?”

  The clop of flip-flops sounded in the hall, and paused before slapping the floor of her room. “There you are!” Margo hurried to her bedside.

  Sandy sent her an embarrassed smile. “Yep, here I am. See, doctor, I have a ride and I’m perfectly fine.” Not an exaggeration. Vitality coursed through her. “Can I go?”

  He removed a small flashlight from his chest pocket and bent to examine her eyes. “Hm, your pupils look fine. Yes, I’ll release you, but if you have any nausea or dizziness, make an appointment with your regular physician.”

  Hooray, freedom. “I will.” Not. She had way too much on her plate this week.

  “The nurse will bring your discharge papers and instructions.” The doctor strode out the door.

  Margo plopped onto a chair. “If you didn’t want to go out tonight, you should have just said so instead of worrying me to death.”

  She tried to make herself small, and as sorry-looking as she felt. “Believe me, I would much rather have gone out than been dragged here. Were you the one who called 911?”

  “No. I’m the one who dialed your cell about a thousand times. When you didn’t answer this morning, I kept trying. I probably overloaded your voice mail, so you’re going to have to delete a bajillion messages. And don’t listen to them, will you? Worry morphed into anger too fast. I had no idea you were in the hospital.” With an apologetic smile, she slumped.

  “No problem, I don’t blame you a bit. But how did I get here then?” She glimpsed the tote bag on the table beside her bed. Immediately, her finger tingled. She lifted her hand, expecting to examine multiple cuts, but her skin looked smooth and pink—no scratch, no wound, no indication there ever had been one. Had she imagined it all? Including Iker in uniform?

  Margo glanced at the tote bag. “What is that?”

  Safe enough to tell her closest friend, Sandy guessed. “Someone sent me a statue of Bastet.”

  Margo frowned at the statue, then at her. “Don’t you have enough real cats in your condo?”

  “I don’t have any Egyptian ones.” Sandy imagined exactly where she’d put the regal feline: on her bedroom bureau, but only until she could track down the sender and verify the piece wasn’t meant for the museum. Something gave her the feeling the effort would leave her feeling as if she were chasing her tail.

  Using the bed rail as support, Sandy pulled herself up. Her head spun, and so did the room.

  Margo grabbed her arm to steady her. “You’re not fine at all.”

  “A minor setback.” She latched onto Margo’s arm and dragged herself higher. “I will be my old self once I’m out of here. Help me get dressed, will you?”

  Margo winced. “I don’t know…”

  “Please? I promise I’ll go home and rest. I can’t be cooped up here or I’ll go bonkers.” If she hadn’t already. None of this made sense.

  When her friend’s shoulders rounded in defeat, Sandy knew she’d convinced her.

  “All right.” Margo retrieved her clothes from the closet. “But no working. Nothing strenuous of any sort. I mean it.”

  “On my honor. Pinkie swear.”

  Margo grimaced. “Hurry before I c
hange my mind.”

  By the time the nurse entered with the discharge papers, Sandy’s head had cleared. No sluggish feeling weighed her muscles. In fact, she felt pretty good. No point telling Margo that she didn’t need the wheelchair; her friend would turn it in a one-eighty and wheel it straight back to her room.

  Sandy let Margo help her into the car. “You’re a lifesaver.” Who knew how long she’d have been stuck in the hospital otherwise?

  When they parked outside her condo, Sandy gathered her bag. “Thanks again for everything.”

  Margo killed the engine. “Wait, I’ll walk you in.”

  “You really don’t need to.”

  Margo grabbed the tote bag and grunted, dragging it onto her lap. “Oh yes, I do, if only to lug this heavy thing. You’re lucky it didn’t fall on top of you and cause greater injuries.” With loud huffs, she struggled it up the walkway. “It sounds crazy, but this feels like it’s fighting me.”

  Ha, if Margo wanted to hear something really crazy, Sandy would tell her about the security guard calling her goddess. Or passing as Iker’s double. He must have been the one to call the ambulance. She’d have to remember to thank him.

  Sandy merely smiled. “Almost there.” She humored her friend until Margo set the tote bag on her bistro table, then sent her on her way. “I’m fine. I promise to call you if I need anything.”

  “All right. But I’m holding you to your promise. Rest. Relax. The dead will sleep on without you there to guard them.”

  A shudder ran through Sandy. She closed the door, padded to the table and removed the statue. “Heavy? This hardly weighs anything.” She carried it to the bedroom and set it atop her bureau. “Perfect. Don’t you think, kids?” She turned, expecting to find the cats lounging on the bed, as usual. “That’s weird.” She stepped back into the hall. “Hey, where are you guys? Cleopatra? Nefertiti? Caesar? Ramses? Tut? Ptolemy? Mark Antony? Hello?”

  The hunt for her furry family didn’t last long. The seven sprawled on the kitchen tile in the warm patch of sunlight.

  “What sort of greeting is that? Guess you didn’t miss me at all, huh?” Normally, at least a few came running to the door after a long day.

  She crouched and extended her arms. “Seriously? Where’s my hug?”

  All of them bounded over, some rubbed her legs, some leapt onto her lap. Their collective purr was so loud, it might have been measurable on a Richter scale.

  “That’s better.” She eased onto the tile. “Oh, now I get why you guys hang out here. The sun’s so warm, I could stretch out with you.” She lay down. “So nice.” Cozy. Sleepiness overcame her, and she closed her eyes.

  The sun eventually sank toward the horizon, and the tile cooled. Still in a haze of slumber, Sandy moved to her bed. A vivid dream disturbed her deep rest.

  In the dream, she sat on a pink marble throne. A man dressed in a tunic and sandals bent on one knee in front of her. The warrior Iker. Oh, so fine.

  He bowed his head. “Goddess.”

  “Why are you here?” Not that she was complaining. In fact, she had trouble restraining her compliments on his new look. Not many men could pull off a toga with class, but the style definitely worked on him.

  Too serious, he said, “I have come to beseech your help.”

  Beseech away, baby. “How can I possibly help you?” On the other hand, she could think of multiple ways he could help her.

  He lifted his head, and crystal blue eyes cut into hers. “You are tasked with releasing the Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s soul from imprisonment. The Pyramid Text spells were never performed after the queen pharaoh’s burial.”

  “The Pyramid Text?” Why did he tell her these things as if she should already know them?

  “The spells to send Hatshepsut to the afterlife, goddess.” A flicker of impatience flashed in his eyes but his voice remained even. “You must perform them. Otherwise the Pharaoh Hatshepsut’s soul remains trapped in the netherworld for all eternity.”

  Whoa. Of course, she already knew what Pyramid Texts were for, but she’d never expected him to say she was responsible for any ritual.

  Iker went on. “I’ve been waiting thousands of years for the descendant of the goddess Bastet to make contact with the queen pharaoh.”

  A descendant of Bastet? Not even in her dreams. She held up a hand. “No, I’m sorry but you’ve come to the wrong person. I haven’t contacted anyone.” Despite her pleas to the Egyptian Antiquities Council, Hatshepsut’s remains had traveled to another museum.

  “No, goddess.” His deep voice softened, but his gaze hardened.

  Heat flamed in her face. “Don’t call me that. You’ve made a mistake.”

  “You hold the key.” He looked so certain, so sure of her.

  Did he say key? “I don’t understand.”

  “You will, goddess.” Mist filled the space where Iker stood, enveloping him in a haze.

  Ugh, the G word again. “No, don’t go yet. Wait!” She had too many unanswered questions. She had to make him understand his error.

  The fog thickened, and he was gone.

  She jerked upright in her bed, fists clenching the covers. Her heart had pounded in the dream, but worked double-time now. Night had fallen, but somehow, darkness didn’t obscure every detail from her sight.

  “What the hell…” She blinked hard, but her vision remained clear, like she wore special night vision glasses. Must be a side effect of the conk on her head.

  She laid down and pulled the pillow against her. The dream replayed through her mind until sleep overcame her again, and throughout the next day.

  Light flooded her bedroom. Her mind flitted between the dream world and the real world, but her consciousness confused the two at times. Try as she might, she couldn’t rouse from her slumber, and eventually gave in to the call of dreams—Iker waited for her just beyond the veil of the other world, beckoning. Dangerous to follow, she knew. It wasn’t just Iker, but destiny calling.

  Somehow she couldn’t convince either one that they had the wrong number.

  ****

  The hours had grown tedious. Iker had walked this city block so many times, he was beginning to know the tall structures in detail. Patrol was one duty he’d never much liked, but since Sanura had arrived safely home from the hospital, he had no choice but to guard her from the outdoors. He put the time to good use by adapting to the noises of the city, learning to distinguish which signaled a threat and which did not. For instance, stepping into the street elicited a blaring horn and screech of tires, and angry shouts from the driver. He quickly learned their hand gestures posed empty threats, but that he should wait for vehicles to pass before crossing.

  Discreetly, he studied the neighborhood, the schedules and habits of the residents. Most importantly, their faces.

  Only so many times could he pace up and back without garnering unwanted attention. The older woman who gazed out of the top floor of a nearby building had focused her attention on him. To obscure himself from her view, he waited for her to leave the window and then hoisted himself into the cover of the leafy branches.

  Waiting, on the other hand, amounted to nothing short of torture. Eons in hazy slumber were less mind-numbing than sitting. Less ass-numbing too. He shifted his weight and stretched, a small relief.

  As the sun dropped below the horizon and shadows grew thicker, he shifted to high alert. None would dare threaten her in daylight, but nightfall provided better opportunity.

  No sooner had the evening star appeared than four winged creatures flitted out of the deepest edge of night, straight toward her window.

  With a growled curse, he edged to the center of the branch and stepped down to the next lower one. He lowered one leg, bracing to jump to the sidewalk. The red-lighted roof of a vehicle slid close, so he drew up again.

  Two uniformed men climbed out, their movements bold and precise as warriors marching to battle. Obviously military, with multiple weapons fastened to their belts.

  The old woman watch
ed from the window above as they shone their flashlights into alleyways, behind trash cans.

  Blocked. Iker couldn’t get across the street without notice. And the creatures approached, their shrieks eerily sounding like laughter.

  One officer gestured with his light. “I’ll search down here. You check that way.”

  The second grunted. “For the third time this year. The old lady needs a hobby.”

  “Yeah, well, we still have to look. Let’s make it fast.”

  The winged monsters hovered above the roof. Larger than bats, their reptilian faces mocking, tongues flicking past fangs.

  Iker couldn’t chance pointing them out to the officers. Most likely, if the policemen saw them at all, the creatures would appear as four black spots, which would soon vanish. The officers would then attempt to apprehend Iker, forcing a confrontation. One they would lose, of course, but he wished not to draw more attention to himself.

  But if he didn’t hurry, the monsters will break through Sanura’s window. The venom of one bite by these creatures of the undead would kill her before he could get her to someone knowledgeable about treating such wounds.

  After the officers separated, Iker slipped to the sidewalk, hid behind the tree until a car approached. As soon as the vehicle passed, he ran in a crouch to the other side of the street.

  He moved along the wall of her building and scaled the fire escape. The creatures dipped low and flitted near. Hanging onto the ladder, he reached inside his jacket for the leather glove stowed there. A long-ago gift from the queen pharaoh, the glove served a double purpose—it held flat silver weapons shaped like a scarab but with razor-sharp points. With expert care and deadly aim, he flung one at a creature.

  It screeched as the scarab severed a wing, then whirled down in a nosedive.

  No sooner had he donned the glove than the scarab weapon circled back to him. He caught it, then aimed it at another approaching monster. Fangs hung past the lower jaw, and sharp talons reached for his head. The instant before those claws lodged in his face, he dodged and slashed, spilling the putrid contents of its underbelly.