Chapter IV
Exodus
In the fading daylight, more of the estate outside of the city was visible beyond the gate. The guard woman was working solo, and she waved them through the opening gate with a hurried, unceremonious gesture.
This was the coldest reception of Jane’s travels thus far. Not that she’d expected to be welcomed with open arms—even in Paris, Madame Antoinette had seemed a little guarded at first. After the episode at the gate on the previous evening, Jane had confirmed her suspicion that the mysterious Ahmose wanted little to do with her godfather. Somehow, though, she still presumed that the Eye would have warranted some hospitality; after all, the pendant had secured the appointment with the Egyptian for them in the first case. Instead, they were met at the front door by a green-eyed attendant, a waspish, perfectly bald, and narrow-shouldered man whose eyes, contrasted against his dark skin, somehow marked him as having supernatural abilities. The man seemed too servile, though, for what Jane had learned so far of the Cursed. He spoke not a single word as he led the two guests to an interior room with polished wood paneling and no windows.
Here, Jane and Dr. Sylfaen waited for their host.
“Do you think this will take long?” Jane asked, shifting unsteadily in her heels and smoothing the skirt of her black dress.
“I cannot tell you,” he answered, and she wondered whether he meant it literally.
Probably not. When it comes to predicting Ahmose’s actions, Uncle Mederick seems to be fairly clueless, Jane thought. She hadn’t realized how dependent on her godfather’s seemingly endless knowledge base she had become. If someone like him doesn’t know everything, how is someone like me supposed to learn anything? She suppressed a shudder, channeled her nervous energy into the task of brushing her hair behind her ears.
“Relax, Jane. All will be well.”
In what may have been a direct contradiction to the old man’s assurance, the door crashed open a mere second later, revealing the dark silhouettes of the green-eyed attendant and another, taller man. Aside from the apparent differences in their physiques, the two men could have passed for brothers—the same dark complexion, the same close-shaved hairstyle, and identical, brilliant green eyes. The Wasp remained silent as they padded softly into the room, but the taller man clearly spoke for both of them.
“I am Ahmose.”
Jane attempted to muster her confidence, as she had for all the previous introductions. “I am Jane Thom—”
The Egyptian raised a hand to cut her off. “I care not who you are, for I know what you are. And where your allegiance lies,” he added, emerald eyes flickering toward the stone around Jane’s neck. At no point did he recognize Dr. Sylfaen’s presence in the room. “You seek the Book.”
Jane nodded in ascent, rather than attempt to uncover another bout of poise. She wasn’t sure whether she’d find it.
Ahmose narrowed his eyes to reptilian slits. “I take no responsibility for you. I will attest to your merit only because Antoinette has done so before me,” he barked. “We will do this, and you will leave Cairo before dusk tomorrow.”
Damn straight, we will, Jane thought, but she responded with a whispered “I understand.” The Egyptian gestured to the Wasp, and both man and attendant seated themselves on the floor, polished wood like the walls, in one seamless motion. Jane hesitantly sat down as well, holding her dress strategically as she folded her legs beneath her. Dr. Sylfaen completed the circle on the floor. As he sat, Jane realized in horror that she would have no choice but to act as her own fourth. Oh God, please don’t let it hurt too much, she prayed.
For a moment of heavy silence, no one spoke. The Wasp stared at his hands, folded obediently in his lap, while the old man and the Egyptian waited for the other to begin. Waited to find out who dared to begin. Jane could feel the anxiety filling her chest as the seconds dragged on, blocking her lungs of air. She looked at her godfather, then at her host—neither seemed ready to give in just yet.
Oh, for Christ’s sake. “I bear first witness that I, Jane Thomas Sylfaen, deserve the answers that I seek.” Jane knew the words by now, of course, but she was astonished to hear them coming from her own lips. She hadn’t planned to interrupt the battle of wills transpiring across the circle from her, but her oxygen-deprived brain had overruled her intentions.
The skin around Ahmose’s eyes tightened; he gave no other indication that he had heard Jane speak. The Wasp began to look up in shock, but he corrected himself before he could complete the expression. Rather, he maintained his downcast position but juggled his gaze between the impudent girl and his master.
Dr. Sylfaen’s mouth twitched at the corner, and Jane recognized the smile that could not be realized in present company. He bore second witness, and Ahmose spoke third. The Wasp was fourth, and he spoke in a hoarse whisper as thin as his frame.
The Egyptian extended his hand to the center of the circle, and Jane inhaled deeply as her godfather began to proffer his own. I can do this, she told herself. The pain won’t last long, and it will be worth it to know where I can find the Book. Instead of reaching toward Ahmose’s open hand, however, Dr. Sylfaen took Jane’s hand and placed it inside of the Egyptian’s. She shook her head, began to protest, but he silenced her with a slight tilt of his head.
Okay, so I won’t feel any of the pain…I just have to ask the questions. The new arrangement didn’t suit her any better—one wrong question and she would likely find herself, and Dr. Sylfaen, too, in plenty of trouble. The old man and the Wasp reached forth in the defensive position over the others’ hands, and the interview began. Jane scraped into her brain for the right words—words she’d heard Dr. Sylfaen speak to Old Moll and Madame Antoinette. She tried to unfocus her eyes, too, in order to monitor how bad a beating her godfather was receiving from the smoke snakes. She even attempted to become angry with Ahmose, so that she could see like she had been able to on the airplane, but she had to abandon the effort within minutes. There was just no way she could manage to concentrate on both tasks at once. The only emotion Jane felt toward Ahmose was fear, which did not seem to have the same effect.
The Egyptian seemed resentful about revealing the whereabouts of the Book, and, when he finally did so, his eyes were on her throat rather than her face. Every ounce of Jane’s gratefulness toward Madame Antoinette was renewed in that moment, for it was certainly her gift that had made this step of her mission possible. And now, Jane knew where she must go next. She didn’t even care that the Book had already been passed forward, that she was faced with another round of break-neck travel—on the contrary, Jane felt relieved to know that she had reason to leave the city of Cairo as soon as possible. Not five minutes after the circle was broken, Jane found herself buckling into the back seat of the taxi cab.
All the way back to the hotel, Jane chanted a single word in her head. Rome.
Perhaps as a testament of the power that the Eye held over the Egyptian, but more likely an indication of his eagerness to rid his city of Sylfaens, Ahmose had arranged their passage to Rome before Jane and her godfather returned to the hotel. They were informed of this act of generosity by the concierge as they passed the Scarab’s front desk on their way to the elevators.
“Excuse me, Miss…ah, Sylfaen,” the man at the desk called to Jane. “A message came for you while you were out.” He handed her an ivory envelope, embossed with the hotel logo and name.
“Thank you,” she responded, already resuming her progress upstairs. She followed Dr. Sylfaen to his room and seated herself in the same chair she’d occupied at breakfast. As she opened the envelope, her eyebrows nearly rose to her hairline. Enclosed, she discovered a single sheet of paper—a faxed copy of the confirmation for two first class seats aboard a flight departing the following morning. No coach seats among the Cursed, she mused.
Dr. Sylfaen reached out his hand, and she handed the paper over for his inspection. He, too, seemed surprised. “Ahmose works quickly, it seems.”
Jane no
dded, echoing the words Madame Antoinette had used to describe her godfather’s proactive nature during their stay in Paris. “A man of action.”
“Hmmm…so it would seem, Jane. A man of action….” The old man’s voice trailed off. “A man of action…after my own heart.”
The double meaning of his words was not lost on Jane—it rarely was anymore. But she was far too tired to respond. Tomorrow, then, she would be free of Ahmose, free of Cairo, but off to face the next interview—the next circle of supernatural strangers. Will I find the Book in Rome? Or will I spend the rest of my life on this goose chase? Jane dropped her head back against the chair and uttered a sigh of hopelessness mixed with sheer exhaustion. No, she assured herself, this part won’t last forever. Maybe I’ll find it in Rome, and maybe not, but we are getting closer. And I’m learning a lot along the way, too. That I’m not really human anymore, for one. And that there are lots of people like us…and that some of those people would prefer that Uncle Mederick and I didn’t exist. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut as her thoughts bittered. “Uncle Mederick?” she asked aloud.
“Yes, dear?”
“I’m going back to my room now. I need to get some sleep.”
The old man nodded and escorted her to the door across the hall. Jane may have been exhausted, but it did not escape her notice that, this time, it was Dr. Sylfaen who watched the corridor over his shoulder.
The only stop Jane made between her hotel room and the taxi the next morning was to the small souvenir stand in The Scarab’s lobby, where she purchased and scribbled onto the back of two postcards—one for Cris and one for Lucy. They were typical touristy cards depicting the Pyramids of Giza. She felt better for having some small connection to home. She had sent a postcard to Cris from the Louvre in Paris, as well, and she wondered whether enough time had elapsed for him to have received it yet. Probably not, she decided.
When she joined her godfather on the sidewalk outside, the driver (again, the same man) had reprised his French counterpart’s magic trick of fitting all of the suitcases in the cramped trunk.
“I’m ready now, Uncle Mederick.”
Wordlessly, the old man opened her door for her.
“You okay?” she asked. She thought his eyes looked strained.
“I am fine, Jane. Let’s go.”
She slid into the backseat, suddenly anxious in response to Dr. Sylfaen’s demeanor. Something is wrong…but what the hell could be wrong with leaving Cairo? The engine roared to life, and Jane tried to relax by watching her last glimpses of the ancient city through the taxi window. They rolled along through the crowded streets and hectic traffic for about twenty minutes, when the cab turned down a long, narrow alley street. Jane suspected nothing strange about this at first—the driver had demonstrated a thorough knowledge of shortcuts through the city during his brief time employed by Dr. Sylfaen. But when he came to an abrupt halt and got out of the car, she became confused. When he opened the trunk and began to hurl the contents of the trunk onto the pavement, she began to panic.
Dr. Sylfaen jumped out of the car to confront him. He spoke in Arabic, and Jane couldn’t follow the conversation. The driver seemed resolved to abandon them there, and, though he shrugged apologetically at the old man, no amount of money was going to persuade him otherwise.
Jane exited the taxi, too, just in time for the driver to jump back in the front seat and zip out of the alley and onto the busy street beyond.
“What the hell?!” she shouted in the direction of the disappearing cab. They had a ton of luggage and at least two city blocks to walk in either direction before the alley was bisected by another street. Their chances of making their flight were nearly nonexistent.
“Hush, Jane,” Dr. Sylfaen scolded, head craned toward the opposite end of the alley. Jane followed his gaze and was surprised to spot the shapes of two people walking toward them…no, running toward them.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, instinctively crouching into a defensive stance. “What—what do we do?”
“When I tell you to run, you will run. Do you understand?”
Jane nodded weakly. The dark figures were closing on them. One of them, the taller of the two, had skin the color of polished ebony. And hair down to his waist, a tangle of snaky dreadlocks pulled back in a low ponytail that swung back and forth with each stride, she observed as he neared.
“Now?” she croaked, ready to make a dash for the alley’s exit.
“Not yet,” Dr. Sylfaen answered. He also lowered into a crouching position with his hands held in front of his body, fingers spread.
Her rising sense of terror screamed for her to run now, but Jane forced herself to follow her godfather’s lead. He’ll get us out of this…he’ll get us out here alive. She looked back to the Ebony Man—his face was focused on hers, heavy brows contorted in concentration. His black eyes blazed with fierce determination. The eyes of the slighter man, running a few paces behind the larger, also burned bright with fury and purpose, but his were brilliant green, visible even in the shade of the alley. Oh Christ, Jane thought as she recognized him, it’s the Wasp.
The reality of the situation washed over her with tsunami force. Ahmose made all the arrangements. But he never meant for us to make it to the airport! How could we have been so stupid?! They had fallen into his trap without hesitation—easy prey for the Egyptian. No—that can’t be true. Uncle Mederick was so suspicious…he knew that this was going to happen. He expected for this to happen. And he’ll get us out of here now, she prayed as the Ebony Man raced the last few yards to her waiting godfather.
Dr. Sylfaen stood ready, and he abruptly pitched forward to hit the Ebony Man with his open right hand. The left hand reached in the direction of the Wasp, just steps behind. At the moment their skin made contact, the Ebony Man gaped in shock before crumpling into a heap on the pavement. Had she been angry instead of petrified, Jane knew that she would be able to see an electric blue print on his skin where her godfather had struck him. The old man’s victorious expression vanished a second later, though, when the Wasp hesitated. He sidestepped his fallen partner and continued his pursuit toward Jane. Dr. Sylfaen lunged toward him, throwing himself hard onto the ground, but the Wasp passed by, inches away from the Dr. Sylfaen’s outstretched hand.
“Run, Jane!” the old man screamed.
Jane turned obediently on her heel; she had managed a half dozen scrambling steps toward the alley’s exit when the Wasp’s left hand caught her left shoulder. His entire right arm wrapped around her neck a second later, the Eye pendant tangled in his grasping fingers, his forearm crushed against her windpipe. Jane shoved her weight forward, and her air supply vanished. You can do this, Jane! She was pleading with herself, begging herself not to surrender to the Egyptian’s power. He’s not that much bigger than you…if you can just make it to the end of the alley, someone will see….Black spots were forming in her field of vision, she would be depleted of oxygen in seconds, especially struggling as she was. She focused on the exit, like the mouth of a cave, a couple of hundred yards in the distance. If you can just make it….The spots grew larger, obscuring her view, but Jane noticed the exit taking on a familiar shade of blue. It began to flicker, too—two perspectives of the same view, one closer than the other—one where she was, the other where she desired to be—yes! I can make it if I—
Jane’s thought was cut short as she felt herself hurtled forward to the exit of the alley. A high-pitched scream pierced the silence and drowned the snapping sound of her travel, echoed off the walls on either side of her. The scream was behind her, but the hand cupped around her neck was still there. There, but not gripping as it had been. The fingers no longer fumbled over the green stone pendant.
Her body fell into uncontrollable spasms as the hand, no longer attached to its owner, fell to the pavement below her with a wet thud. Oh my God, she thought, not daring to look down. Oh my God oh my God oh my God oh my—
“Jane…Jane, are you alright?” Jane jump
ed at Dr. Sylfaen’s question; she had not heard him running toward her. She opened her eyes, watched as he looked her over for injuries. “Take off your shirt,” he said quietly as he led her backward, away from the mouth of the alley, now only twenty or so yards away.
“What?” she asked stupidly. Her tongue felt numb inside of her mouth.
“Take off your shirt, Jane. Change into something from your suitcase.”
Jane looked down at the shirt she was wearing. The entire front of the pale blue blouse was drenched wine red with the blood of the Wasp. Her eyes followed the trail of blood over the narrow street to where his right hand and forearm, severed below the elbow, littered the pavement.
“Oh my God,” she repeated, and then leaned heavily against the nearest wall and vomited noisily onto the street below her. Dr. Sylfaen left her there and walked back to the luggage to find her a change of clothes. When Jane regained a fraction of her composure, she staggered toward him, careful not to look at the place where the maimed Wasp lay unconscious and bleeding. She could not avoid looking at the Ebony Man, however, as his body was sprawled across her path. As she stepped over him, he twitched.
Her godfather reached out to help her manage the last few steps to where one of her suitcases lay open. Jane began to struggle with the buttons on her shirt, popping a few in her hurry to undress. She had no concerns about modesty—she wanted the bloody garment off of her as quickly as possible. She had to abandon her bra, also, as the red had run through, but thankfully her jeans had not been stained. Dr. Sylfaen handed her the clothes he’d retrieved, then he took the pendant from her and wiped it clean while she redressed.
“Do you want this back?” he asked when she was finished.
Jane nodded and took it. Was the Wasp attacking me because of this? She wasn’t sure, but she also felt a strong compulsion to put it back on. After a brief moment, she decided to shove it into her pocket.
Dr. Sylfaen, meanwhile, had consolidated the most important of their belongings, and any that would reveal their identities, into two of the tapestry cases. Everything else was tossed out onto the street.
“Take this, Jane,” he ordered quietly, handing her one of the repacked cases. “We must hurry.”
“Should we…I mean, can we just leave them here?” She wasn’t referring to the abandoned suitcases.
“Ahmose will clean up his own mess,” he answered grimly, his upper lip curled into an uncharacteristic snarl.
Ahmose. He meant us harm from the very beginning, Jane thought. Probably from the second he found out that we were in the city. She was angry now, and she ventured a look over her shoulder at the Ebony Man. As she expected, she could make out the fading electric mark that her godfather’s hand had made upon his skin. The worst of her shock had passed, and she dared a glimpse at the Wasp, as well. Jane tried to feel some semblance of sympathy for the slight man, lying comatose on the pavement, but she found none. Maybe she would regret wounding him someday, but for now she still felt too relieved that she had survived his intended attack. Even more so, she hated his master. It all goes back to Ahmose. This was his doing. But why? Why would he want to harm us? Why would anybody?
Two hours later, after hailing another taxi and rushing for the airport, Jane and Dr. Sylfaen departed the city of Cairo, courtesy of the Egyptian himself.