Goddess, Spellbound Page 5

  Another creature dove at him. He removed its head with one jab, and then took aim at the last monster. It whirled up. The scarab trembled, and tiny legs shot out of it, then latched onto the creature. Silver teeth flashed as the scarab sunk into the monster’s back. The creature stilled as if paralyzed, emitted something like a groan, then dropped from the sky in a freefall.

  Scarab and creature smashed against the ground.

  A woman’s plea split the night. “But officers, he lurked around the neighborhood all day. Ten to one he’s still here somewhere.”

  “Keep your door locked, and if you see any suspicious person, we’ll be back in a jiffy.” At a tip of the cap, the uniformed men climbed into their vehicle and sped off.

  The woman surely would guard the window for some time. He hoisted himself onto the metal ledge beneath her wide window and flatted himself against the wall. Her wall.

  At a light thump, he looked up. A calico cat stared complacently at him. He pressed a finger to the glass, and the feline touched its nose to it from the inside.

  “Honored to meet you,” he whispered. He pulled another silver scarab from the pouch and held it up. “I’m going to place this amulet atop the window to protect her.”

  The animal blinked in agreement but kept careful watch through slitted eyes.

  He rose along the dividing panel, peering inside. A slender, delicate foot at the end of the bed caused him to still, watchful for movement. Other than the heads of six other cats turning his way, there was none. The curve of her ankle roused his curiosity to see more of this female, the woman who would determine his success or failure. Predator instincts took over, and he rose as a jaguar stalking prey, ready to spring away should she stir.

  One long leg stretched lazily to her thigh, covered in blue plaid, a fabric thin enough to reveal her hip beneath. A shirt of palest blue covered her torso, its silken straps more decorative than useful. Her cleavage, her collar bones in high relief against her skin, flawless yet pale. Long black hair tumbled across the sheets.

  But it was her face that truly arrested him. Stole his breath. Part goddess, part angel, her eyes closed but large and set wide, her full lips slightly parted, as if dreaming of a kiss.

  A million tiny pinpricks alighted along his veins. If he thought himself revived before, now he knew he had not been fully alive until this moment. The sight of her had taken him out of himself, lifted him high above the world where only the two of them existed. Before he realized, he stood at his full height, unable to stop staring at her, drinking in the sight of her. The longer he gazed at her, the more deeply he absorbed her, so her essence seeped beneath his skin, penetrated his being. Aside from the goddess herself, he had never before encountered such a powerful presence. She stole his breath and his thoughts, leaving only an intense awareness. Her. Him.

  A soft meow roused him. He awoke as if from a dream, stunned at his weakness. He had climbed to this ledge for a purpose. Her beauty had entranced him, weakened his will—something he could not allow. From this moment, he would shield himself from her power over him.

  He secured the scarab atop her window, an amulet to ward off evil. Then he forced his focus to the ladder and descended to the ground. After an eternal second, he marched himself to the front of the building and paused to survey the area. In case the old woman persisted in her self-assigned watch, he stole across the street like a shadow and scrabbled up into the tree. From the safety of the high branch, he blew out a forceful breath to counter the strong pull still beckoning from her window.

  He planted his back against the tree and resumed his guard. Nothing could interfere with the task ahead. Not even the goddess herself.

  Chapter Four

  The alarm sounded. Sandy reached over and hit the off button. No snooze button today. One luxurious stretch, and she was wide awake, unlike her seven felines, who blinked, yawned, then curled up to sleep again.

  “The exhibit,” she told Nefertiti, on the pillow beside her, but the cat didn’t share her enthusiasm that it was Monday, the show’s grand opening. She scrambled from bed. Today would be a long workday but she couldn’t wait to start.

  For some reason, she dreaded the shower. So much so, she considered not taking one. Don’t be ridiculous. Get in there.

  With a quick twist of the faucet knobs, she drew back while the water reached the right temperature. Holding her breath, she stepped in and screeched. Had someone adjusted the shower head? Instead of droplets, it might’ve been pinpricks striking her skin. She clawed at the fixture to change the flow, but nothing helped.

  Grrr. She gave up and lathered, then rinsed in record time. Shaving would wait until after. The water simply irritated her too much.

  Her exit became a leap, and she grabbed the edges of the vanity to steady herself, but found she had perfect balance. The reflection in the mirror startled her. Hair tousled, her eyes peered back with a kind of…

  No, it couldn’t be, that was silly. She straightened and pulled a comb through her hair. The fall must’ve knocked sense from her. No one, especially herself, had ever described her as radiating power.

  The buzz of her cell phone pulled her into the front room. Margo’s name appeared in the display. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Sandy, how’re you feeling? Are you all right?”

  Margo’s worried tone made her smile. “I’m good. Better than good, actually. I feel great.” Healthy and strong, even though she’d skipped her salsa and spin classes the past few weeks to prepare for the upcoming show.

  “Whew. I worried when I didn’t hear from you yesterday.”

  “I followed doctor’s orders and rested.” She’d slept all day, like her furry babies, but Sandy wouldn’t admit that.

  Lounging in the sunlight on the tile, Ptolemy, Caesar and Nefertiti blinked lazy eyes in her direction. Did I really fall asleep on the floor with the cats? How bizarre.

  Margo’s voice penetrated. “Hello? Did I lose you? Sandy?”

  “Sanura,” she blurted.

  “What?” Margo’s laugh didn’t hide her disbelief. “You hate that name.”

  She did when it reminded her of all the qualities she lacked. Used to lack. “I’ve decided to use my given name. Sandy’s a cheerleader name. It’s time to make my professional persona a more adult one.” And embrace her newfound strength and grace so maybe the abilities wouldn’t fade, though the newfound ease and surety with which she moved told her the awkward girl of the past was gone for good.

  “Oh.” Margo sounded far away. “Are you nervous about today?”

  “No, not at all. I’m excited. The show will be an amazing success.” The unwavering belief replaced her earlier anxiety.

  “Well, listen to you, all confident and poised. I’m so thrilled for you. And I can’t wait to see all the artifacts.” Margo’s smile sounded in her voice.

  “You’ll love them.” She glanced at the clock. “Gotta go. See you there.”

  “Okay, Sanura,” Margo said haltingly, and disconnected the call.

  What had made her tell Margo that? It had been a snap decision to use her given name, one not without complication. It meant reprinting her business cards, among other things, but the process would be worth the end result.

  Finally, her name felt right.

  ****

  Opposite to what she’d anticipated, Sanura spent most of the day not wringing her hands. Instead, she flitted from the exhibit room to her office and back with blissful confidence.

  Not even Howie could dampen her spirits, though he haunted her at every turn. She wouldn’t mind if he’d only appear to absorb any of the knowledge she shared with him.

  “Let’s review the exhibit one last time,” she told him.

  He followed her into the room full of artifacts. “We’ve done this repeatedly. We should—”

  “Shh.” No more backtalk from the intern.

  He cocked a brow but remained silent.

  “You must always go over and over the details to make s
ure no mistakes jump out at you.” As so often happened at the last possible moment.

  As she double-checked that the artifacts still sat in the positions she’d so carefully set them in, pride filled her. She’d outdone herself this time.

  Howie spoke through a grimace. “Everything looks great to me.”

  Satisfaction billowed inside her. He was right. She couldn’t make one improvement. Not even Mrs. Allgood could complain. “Then we’re ready to open. Unlock the front doors.”

  He strode out to the metal double doors and twisted the dead bolt.

  As she’d hoped, a group of people entered immediately. “Welcome.” With a warm smile, she gestured to the exhibit entrance.

  Howie took his place beside her.

  While assessing whether guests were appropriately awed, no nervousness crept over her. They should revere these artifacts. Any who didn’t show respect should not return.

  What’s gotten into me? She was supposed to welcome any and all guests, not harbor such negative thoughts. To shake off the odd sensation, she went to her office for a final review of the arrangements for the reception that night. Caterer on the way—check. Everything on schedule—check. Digital 35 millimeter camera in hand, she headed down the hallway, not even worrying that her three-inch heels might slip on the tile floor. Not a chance, with her blossoming boldness.

  When she reached the exhibit hall, she paused in the doorway to survey the space, filled with parents and children, couples of all ages, and single women and men. A good crowd, though not overwhelming. Hopefully the reception later would draw a larger number of visitors. After snapping a few shots of them, she panned the viewfinder to where the security guard stood along the back wall. With his boots at shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind him, his stance appeared a military ‘at ease’.

  Zoom. The visor of his cap sat low, casting a shadow across his face. Click. Maybe once she downloaded the photos, more detail would appear on the computer screen. Of course, she could make up some excuse to walk over there and speak to him. Face to face. Eye to eye.

  For the first time that day, tension twisted through her, but not in a negative way. Tendrils of heat singed her senses in a prickling dance, a tango tapping a trail straight toward him, beckoned faster by his strong vibe, however imposing and impressive it might be.

  The event details crowding her mind fell away and her dream loomed in the forefront. Every bit as vivid as last night, she felt the heat of his hard body pressed against hers, his touch searing an imprint beneath her skin.

  A blurred figure passed too close to the lens, breaking the spell. After a gulp did nothing to wet her parched throat, she lowered the camera, then grabbed a small bottled water from the tray of a passing server and drained it as if fevered. Of course, the stress of holding such an esteemed exhibit—the most important of her career—must have triggered the reaction. Even the Fred-Iker illusion? Yes, too easy to explain away. An anxiety attack. Of sorts. Sure, a bizarre, weirder-than-weird, convoluted exhibition of her stressed-out state of mind, but it couldn’t have been anything else. The alternative would mean years of therapy.

  “Ms. Whitaker, are you all right?” Mrs. Allgood leaned against her cloisonné floral-embossed cane and stared at Sanura as a scientist might study a rare—and contagious—specimen.

  A smile launched full-blast on Sanura’s lips. “Of course.” Of all the people she wouldn’t wish to observe her strange behavior, Mrs. Allgood ranked in the top five. The woman’s annual contributions to the museum could fund Sanura’s salary and then some. The patron’s poker face might win her another fortune if she played cards. Sanura had made it a personal challenge to determine what pleased Mrs. Allgood and what didn’t. No one else was able to decipher the woman’s expressionless face.

  The white-haired woman appeared unconvinced. “You had the strangest expression, as if you were arguing with yourself.”

  Sanura’s laugh rang out too loud. “Oh, that’s merely my way of keeping myself motivated. I nag myself constantly, or I’d never tick the tasks off my To Do list.”

  “Mm. My late husband did much the same thing. Then they diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s. At least he had the foresight to update his will prior to the diagnosis.” The woman leaned on her cane toward Sanura. “Have you prepared a will yet, Ms. Whitaker?”

  “No, I haven’t.” The courts would frown upon her wish, final or not, to launch a cat sanctuary to protect homeless cats, including any of her own that remained after her death.

  Her efforts to train her focus on Mrs. Allgood failed. The warrior mummy pulled her gaze to him again. At least the woman hadn’t mentioned Iker’s less than radiant appearance, despite having been present for the opening of the shipment from Egypt. Mrs. Allgood’s frequent nagging for Sanura to notify her of the arrival had struck her as strange, but Sanura had to forcibly hide her shock at seeing the old woman gape at the warrior, eyes glazed with more than wonder. No doubt the old girl still had some life in her, even if the warrior didn’t.

  Following the day’s usual routine, next Sanura visually sought out the security guard, standing in the corner, stiff as a sarcophagus. She knew he was there because anytime she re-entered the room, his intense presence drew her immediate attention. Wherever she moved, she kept him in her peripheral vision like a touchstone. Chin up and cap perched low on his brow, the brim still shielded his eyes.

  Mrs. Allgood’s stern voice intruded. “Both are fine specimens of manhood.”

  A joke? From old stone face? For the second time since meeting Mrs. Allgood, Sanura schooled the surprise from her expression. “Pardon?”

  The elderly woman stared at the security guard. “Warrior material, both of them. Excellent.”

  Sanura followed her gaze to the man. Did Mrs. Allgood see the resemblance, too? With his buff build and warrior-like stance, the security guard could pass for The Excellent One’s doppleganger.

  “The marketing ploy?” prompted Mrs. Allgood. “It’s an inspired idea.”

  “Marketing, yes.” Sanura had no idea what the woman meant, but better to play along, even if she appeared a dunce.

  The stern, white-haired matron examined her and gave an approving nod. “Wonderful notion as well, to dress the part for tonight.”

  Sanura absently twisted the ring on her hand, a replica of an ancient Egyptian one worn by Bastet herself, as legend told. The last one in the showcase of the museum gift shop, it had called to her, and she couldn’t resist buying it. Wearing the gold spiral encircling her upper arm had been a last-minute decision, like the little black dress and necklace, also a replica of Bast’s, the pendant representing The Sacred and All-Seeing Eye. With her eyes lined in black, she might’ve even passed for a goddess.

  Yeah sure, Sanura the kitten goddess. Sanura was about to thank the woman when Mrs. Allgood turned her sharp gaze onto Howie.

  The intern stopped short, then bolted behind a group of visitors.

  How come he never moved that fast when she asked him to do something?

  He reappeared across the room and watched Mrs. Allgood with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. Sanura made a mental note to speak to him about projecting a more approachable persona during his internship.

  Mrs. Allgood locked her gaze on his with an intensity that appeared to hold a warning, though Sanura had difficulty discerning who was threatening whom.

  Right now, Sanura had no time for mini-dramas. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure everything’s ready for the reception.” Some goddesses still needed a paycheck.

  The image of a hawk eyeing its prey, Mrs. Allgood cocked her head. “Did you order the wine I suggested?”

  “Absolutely.” Or she’d never have heard the end of it. The wine Mrs. Allgood insisted upon had cost ten dollars more per bottle than the brand Sanura had in mind, but who was she to tell the woman what to do with her money? Mrs. Allgood had pledged funds specifically for the reception and this exhibit, noting the show’s great importance to the museum. As if Sa
nura hadn’t already known.

  “Ms. Whitaker.” Mrs. Allgood’s sharp diction cut the air.

  “Yes?” Sanura might’ve been a naughty girl called to the principal’s office.

  “What do you know of The Royal Daughter of Amun Society?”

  Sanura searched her memory for some relevant fact. “Didn’t Hatshepsut call herself the daughter of Amun so no one would question her authority?” She’d never heard of a society, though.

  The woman’s gaze grew razor-sharp. “So you’re unfamiliar with the group?”

  Such a strange interrogation. “I’m sorry. Am I missing something?”

  “Yes. But not for long.” After a dismissing nod, the woman tapped her cane to the floor and sauntered off.

  How odd. Sanura went to the lobby, where the caterers were putting the final touches on their set-up.

  All was in order. The reception would begin on time.

  The memory of similar words froze her. It has begun. Had she dreamed it, or had the security guard actually said that? What had he meant? The memory of his strong, yet tender touch again zapped her senses. Or had that been part of the dream, too?

  ****

  At long last, the mission had been set into motion. Since the day workers had dug the false tomb door from the hot sands, crated the heavy granite and sent it soaring halfway around the world, he had begun his return. Soon his ba would once again join his ka to become a whole man and live again.

  Called from the recesses of the netherworld, he prayed for the strength to see his mission through to victory. His followers had already taken their positions and awaited instructions.

  As he traveled the distance to the portal, imprisonment pressed upon him with a crushing weight. After thousands of years of waiting for this moment to arrive, the bumpy trip seemed to last another eternity.