“Must I? Now you are telling me what I must do?” Her smile disappeared altogether, and the fire of her true fury leapt into her eyes. “You seek to give me commands? Perhaps you think you are Menes, now? You think, as he does, that you have the right to force your will upon mine?”
Sheymun tried to sputter out a protest … or perhaps a hasty apology. But in the next instant, his voice caught in his throat, his mouth gaping like a fish as sudden color rushed to shade his skin a bright pink … and then a more intense red. Odjit reached out to grab him by his chin just before blisters began to bubble up on his skin.
“No one will ever tell me what I must do,” she hissed at him softly.
Kamen was certain the man would have screamed if his blood weren’t suddenly boiling up into his throat. Steam began to rise from his body and the stench of cooking flesh filled the room. Sheymun collapsed at Odjit’s feet.
Odjit turned away without even a hint of hesitation, dusting her hands together briefly.
“There now. The argument is settled. Now, Lashtehp, please continue with the task I set for you.”
“But of course, divinity. I will retrieve what you want with all due haste.” The man smiled with a devilish sort of charm and bowed to his mistress with elegance and respect, if not the blithering devotion she received from most. That was perhaps why she sought him out as an aide so frequently. His capabilities as a tracker and hunter of Templar strays was another. Lashtehp never showed her anything but a gracious sort of devotion and dared to flirt with her when others were too terrified to do so. It catered to her femininity and the heart of the woman she longed to be but rarely had opportunity for. These were also the same reasons Kamen was so loyally nearest to her.
And it was why Kamen found himself wrestling with a fierce whip of jealousy. He took control of it quickly, however.
Odjit had far too much power over him already.
And with very good reason, he thought as he looked back at the bubbling mound of cooked flesh on the rectory floor.
Docia was taking a little bit of a personal inventory by the time Cleo came into the meditation room and found her a couple of hours later. She was trying to figure out if falling into the river had been the equivalent of falling down a sort of a rabbit hole, because while things were making a strange sort of sense, it all seemed far too fantastical to be real. After all, what did she have to go on, really? A near death experience and the rare sensation that some part of her was keeping a cooler head than she usually was capable of? Oh, and the word of Mr. Tall and Intense, who also happened to kiss like the devil hopped up on a lightning bolt.
Docia couldn’t stop touching her mouth, her fingers prodding her lips as if somehow that would help conjure an explanation as to how all that sensation and electricity had suddenly come to life against her plain, normal little lips. She had to be going stark, raving bonkers, she eventually concluded. Odds were she was still in a hospital somewhere, suffering from severe brain damage.
Oh dear. Maybe she was in a coma. That had to be it. All of this was just what happened to brain-damaged people in a coma. They started living these outrageous fantasy lives.…
Yep. That had to be it. How else to explain being kissed in such a way that she had felt as though someone had taken those defibrillating paddles and slammed them against her chest, yelling, “Clear!” and pumping fifty thousand gigajolts of power into her to get her heart going. And man, it had worked, because her heart had gone. Totally gone. As in leapt out of her chest, wiggled to some kind of German trance/techno music, and then somehow found its way back to its usual meek little rhythms.
What the hell? How the hell?
“Docia?”
Docia’s skeleton nearly leapt out of her body this time. She twisted around on the bench she had seated herself on to look up at Cleo. Seriously, were all of these people forty feet tall? If so, why would this supposedly great queen of all the Bodywalkers choose a body that barely reached five feet five?
“Jesus, Cleo, you scared the crap out of me!” She glared at the beautiful woman as much as she could while sitting and looking up at an Amazon. She had changed clothing, was wearing a gorgeous gown of deep velvety red that made her cerulean eyes seem to leap to life in her pretty face. Her hair, as black as night and straight as a pin, streaked down from a perfect center part, a pair of tiny braids at each temple the only exception as they pulled back and around like a thin braided crown circling her head. Even tinier strings of opalescent seed beads had been woven into those braids somehow, and now they made the braids look like a softly glowing halo.
“My apologies, my queen. I thought you might like to dress … we dress formally for dinner in the house.”
“Dress formally … ,” Docia echoed. “Well, I’m sorry to break it to ya, but when Tweedle Hot and Tweedle Hotter kidnapped me, they didn’t exactly let me pack a bag. And even if they had, I doubt my budget’s idea of a nice dress would even come close to …” She lifted a hand and indicated the breathtaking gown Cleo wore so perfectly. Of course, it was probably more the breathtaking body the gown was on that made it look so good. Docia tried to keep from touching her wounded head, but there was no hope for it. She felt like an ugly duckling in the shadow of the most magnificent swan ever.
Cleo smiled kindly at her. Docia would have read it as pity if not for the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.
“Come,” she said, reaching to scoop up Docia’s hands and pulling her to her feet. “You’ve had enough of the boring details of what it means to be host to a Body-walker. It’s far past time you get to learn about the fun stuff.”
Fun stuff? That kiss had been pretty darn fun. Yep. Definitely fun. Until it had stopped and Ramses II, great pharaoh of ancient Egyptian history, had stopped it, pushed back from her, and looked at her as if she’d just told him she was a plague carrier.
Not fun. Definitely not fun.
Not knowing what else to do, she let the other woman lead her out of the meditation room. That’s what she was calling it, anyway. All that burning incense and places to sit … running water … iconic statuary. It was like meditating inside a pyramid. Or what she’d always imagined a pyramid might look like on the inside.
Cleo brought her up a grand staircase, the cool green marble like agate covered by a pristine white velveteen runner.
“God, that must be a bitch to clean,” she muttered.
“I wouldn’t know.” Cleo laughed. “I suppose so, now that you make me think on it.”
“Tell me, Cleo,” Docia asked suddenly, “who were you? Before all of this, I mean. Who were you before your Bodywalker?”
Cleo stopped on the stair above Docia, turned a little, still holding her hand, and raised a questioning brow.
“Do you really need to ask me that question?” she queried. “My original’s name is Desirée. My carbon’s name is …”
She trailed off meaningfully, an obvious prompt.
“Holy. Crap. Nuh-uh. No way!”
Docia wanted to snatch her hand back and away.
Cleopatra! Cleopatra was touching her! Cleo-freaking-patra!
Cleo held tight to Docia’s hand. In fact, she pulled it to her chest, between a pair of warm, generous breasts, so that Docia could feel her steady, sedate heartbeat.
“I am a long way from what history thinks it knows about me,” she said softly. “And far more human than I was ever given credit for. It never occurred to any-one how young I was. How frightened I was. When the Ptolemy dynasty was moving its children around like crucial pieces on a chessboard, I could only bend my head and do as I was told. But then my hand was forced and I had no choice but to grow up very fast and become something cunning and powerful.
“But that was lifetimes ago, Docia dear. And things … are very different for me now.”
There was such haunting sadness on the edges of that statement that Docia’s heart ached a little. She immediately relaxed and forgot to be cowed by who Cleo had once been and reverted to liking her for wh
o she appeared to be right then.
“So … you promised me fun things,” she prompted the other woman.
Cleo smiled and began to hurry her up the stairs again.
“Sweet mother of God.”
The room Cleo led her into was enormous, but it had to be in order to hold the ridiculously huge bed within it. It ran the far wall, about as wide as two king-size beds set side by side, a hand-carved series of posters and a headboard built right around two large windows, soaring high and wide. The occupant of the bed could lie under an open window in springtime, sleeping under the fresh breezes of the cool nights.
“I know. It’s grotesque and divine all at once, isn’t it? A pure display of wealth … of doing something just because you can. And I am so glad they did. This is one of my favorite houses.”
“Houses?” Docia echoed the plural.
“Oh yes. There are many houses. There are areas in the world, we call them nexuses, that seem to attract us from the Ether. It is far more likely that a person in the area inside these nexuses will become a host to a Body-walker.”
“So … there’s a nexus here? In tiny town, New York?” Docia asked with no small amount of awe. “Why here?”
Cleo smiled. “We don’t know why. It just is. Just as we don’t really know why mummification ended up tethering us to the Ether and the mortal world. It just did. And we only figured that out over much study and understanding that there is no Bodywalker who was not mummified.”
“Sort of a negative proof?”
“Yes. But that’s all boring, dusty details,” she said, waving the whole thing off. “Dinner is promptly at two. Let’s get you a nice bath and something to wear.”
Cleo snapped her fingers so hard and loud that Docia jumped. Jeez, she had to stop doing that! But honestly, could she blame herself? She dared anyone else to try to keep calm, cool, and collected in a situation like this.
The snap called forth a small young woman who appeared instantaneously from who the hell knew where. One minute she wasn’t there, the next she was bowing her dark head.
“Mistress needs me?” she asked softly.
“You gotta be shitting me,” Docia said, staring first at the girl and then hard at Cleo. “For real?”
“Docia, you are queen of all the Bodywalkers,” Cleo reminded her, as if that explained everything. “That comes with certain … perks.” She dropped long black lashes in a wink. “Like Miu here. She is your … personal assistant. She will help you with your schedule, will help organize your life, and is in charge of your personal beautician, your fashion consultant, and anything else that is required to give you a polished and current air of sophistication.”
Docia gaped at her. Okay, shock aside, she had to admit it sounded pretty cool. Like celebrities. They had people. An entourage that followed them around, making them … perfect. Did that mean they were going to make her perfect? Lord. She really didn’t think she could live up to perfect. Sure, she liked to play at being pretty with her pretty resurrected things, but …
“Come,” Cleo said, hustling her deeper into the room, Miu adhered fast behind them. “Now, don’t fret about size. That can all be adjusted. Miu is quite clever with a needle in a pinch, and in the future, everything will be in your exact size, of course. At present the best we could do was maintain an estimation of what would suit our queen.”
She threw open a set of double doors and lights blazed instantly to life.
“Holy guacamole,” Docia gasped. “It’s a store!”
More or less, it was a women’s boutique. Dresses hanging on cedar racks on the right side, every length of skirt imaginable. On the right were pants, shorts, skirts, and suits. Dead ahead were shirts and blouses. There were tables, glass cases, sporting rows of things like watches, jewelry, earrings, hair bands, and combs … some so intricate that she immediately fell into a gasping fool.
“Oh, how pretty this one is! Oh, and this one!”
For the first time, she really felt the lack of hair on her head. Funny how she hadn’t been self-conscious the entire time the big and beautiful Ram/Vincent was staring at her or pawing at her. Very much the opposite. But mother-of-pearl-inlaid combs, pretty bands with cameos at the crest … even simple sparkling ties for an elegant ponytail … none of which she could use until her hair grew back … suddenly made her feel insecure. She absently fondled the straggling length of hair that remained on the side of her head and must have been pouting because Cleo patted her on the shoulder and led her forward. Somehow a remote had appeared in her hand, very likely the work of Miss Miu, and she pointed it at the wall of shirts and blouses. There was a hum and a click, and the wall split apart and swung open.
Okay, so was it really inappropriate to think of the parting of the Red Sea? Seriously, what with the whole Egyptian theme going on, did they expect she could resist … ?
But if the Red Sea had parted, it would have been full of dead fish flopping on the floor, rank-smelling seaweed, and maybe a few sunken ships gone awry of Mother Nature. But even if they had been Spanish galleons, they could never have held such treasure as this!
“Shoes! Oh!” And purses. Clutches of every color imaginable. Fabrics, beads … each glimmered more prettily than the last, and honestly, she thought she was going to cry. Some were encased in glass to protect their preciousness; many of the bags were as well.
“Chanel. Gucci! Holy merde, that’s Louis Vuitton!” And there were so many Aisling Avery designs, easily identified by the cheeky little pink snake on the sole of a shoe or hanging off a ring on the bags. Along the farthest wall were wraps, jackets, shawls … and a little circular staircase in the corner led up to the next level, which had more of everything. A center cabinet had drawers full of gloves, stockings, and all the other unmentionables.
She reached out to pick up a shoe, unable to help herself in spite of her shaking hands and the feeling that she’d walked into a vault full of precious gems. She had to look inside. She couldn’t help it.
“Oh …” She exhaled dejectedly. “It’s not my size.”
“Don’t worry. Others will be. There is a large variety in anticipation of whatever type of original our queen might choose,” Cleo assured her.
“This is by far the most orgasmic closet in the universe,” Docia said.
“You ought to see the one at the main house. This is merely a selection from the stock array that is kept for any Bodywalker female that might travel this way and stay. Our safe houses are prepared for all instances.”
“So there are other houses just like this all over the place?”
“Nexuses, remember?”
“How many nexuses are there?”
“Mmm …” Cleo tilted her head, tapping a finger to her chin as if she were doing a mental count in her head. “I believe there’s somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty.”
“Like … where are these nexuses?”
“All forty of them?”
“Umm …”
“I don’t think I could remember all fifty … ,” Cleo said, trailing off.
“I’ll settle for the most important ones,” Docia said weakly as Cleo’s number seemed to jump with every sentence. Cleo either was completely oblivious to it or was pretending to be an airhead to suit her purposes.
“Cairo is a key position. Venice. Fiji. Carnaby Street, London. There’s one in San Francisco, one in the French Quarter in New Orleans. A little town just north of Montreal, Canada. Honestly, I can’t list all one hundred of them off the top of my head. But the most important one for you is going to be the one in New Mexico. They call it the Land of Enchantment, did you know that? Isn’t that funny? If they only knew. It’s home to one of the busiest and most powerful of the nexuses. And also the seat of our government. The desert sands and their towering rock formations … there in their raw form feel much like home to us.”
“You know, this is a bit overwhelming, but I think I’m beginning to adjust.” She waved the shoe under Cleo’s nose. “Apparently I
can be bribed!”
Cleo chuckled. “I know, right? I have to admit, when we were first Blending, this was the first commonality Desirée and Cleopatra found with each other. Fashion. Shopping. Beauty. The pursuit of all of it. Vain, perhaps, but we find it an excellent grounding point to help us make up over arguments.”
“Arguments? You … argue with yourself? Selves? I mean … ,” Docia faltered, not yet sure she understood what she was talking about.
“The Blending is like … two voices singing in beautiful and perfect harmonization. It feels and sounds true and delightful, a single note of beauty made by two separate beings. But that harmony isn’t always perfect,” Cleo said with a shrug. “Desirée and I are like … the very best of friends. Very much of one mind on most things, if you’ll pardon the pun. But occasionally we will argue when we see things differently.” Again, she waved away the topic of herself as if it were a pesky fly in her face. “Enough of that. We should dress.”
“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Docia asked.
Cleo put down the beaded clutch she had been eyeballing and looked at Docia with surprise.
“Hasn’t anyone explained to you … ?” Cleo didn’t bite her lip the way Docia did when something was troubling her, but Docia could sense the tension suddenly rolling off her. Of course, that just made Docia ten different kinds of anxious. “We Bodywalkers are … nocturnal,” Cleo supplied gently. “We live our lives in the darkness of night and sleep in the daytime.”
“You … you mean, like a vampire?” Docia asked, her voice hitching a little.
“Like a Nightwalker,” Cleo corrected matter-of-factly. “A species of creature that prefers the darkness over daylight … for many different reasons. Mainly because …” There she went, not biting her lip again. No doubt she was trying to figure out how to not overwhelm her. Docia could have let her off the hook by telling her it was too damn late. “Let’s just say, for now, that daylight causes us significant difficulties. There are those who say it is Ra’s punishment, and that we angered him by thinking we could live forever. Because of that we cannot walk in Ra’s light. Suffice it to say, the effect is something you want to avoid. Right now you are not as susceptible because you are not fully Blended, but it will still affect you to some degree. More specifically, it will affect Hatshepsut.”