Chapter Ten

On the Run

Khamari

Someone’s been following me for days now. I glance over my shoulder, pretending to yell at the motor scooter that almost mows me over. My fake yells are swallowed whole by the sounds of the busy marketplace.

Alexander sent me directives to visit Abu Simbel. I’d taken a flight from Cairo to Aswan. The city near the Nile River had a different vibe from the crowded streets of Cairo.

The colorful buildings and line of clothes hanging between a maze of buildings remind me of my old neighborhood in Jamaica.

I walk deeper into the crowd, past the throng of tightly packed buildings on the street. A faded yellow truck zips by, leaving behind mud tracks. Vendors sell everything from spices to oranges and lemons. The wind spins up a cloud of dust, leaving tiny dots on my aviators.

“My brother.” A guy with the same dark complexion lifts an off-white shoe wrapped in plastic and then points it in my direction. “My Nubian brother. A deal for you.”

A head bob at the merchant, but I’m in a rush to meet my guide. As much as I’d tried to get my own credentials to navigate inside the temple alone, the travel company insisted that I have someone at least give me a brief tour and an early breakfast.

I take a seat at the restaurant, past the large brown doors, and smile at the small, brown-skinned woman at the front. “I’m meeting someone by the name of Darwish.”

The hostess smiles. “You are Mr. Kam, yes?”

The name I’d given the agency. “Yes.”

“He’s in the back.” She points to a young guy in a bright green coat and oversize black glasses that I can tell, even from here, is for style and not for vision. He looks my age, and I hope the stalker who isn’t here just yet won’t kill him.

“Hello, Mr. Kam.”

“Darwish,” I greet him.

The guy greets me and my fake name. He waves at the spread of food in front of him. “Fool.”

“What?”

“Ah. Yes, not you are a fool, but this is the name of breakfast. F-u-l.” He points at a boiled egg, a creamy dish with beans and spices, tomato-cucumber salad, and toasted pita bread.

“We will eat quickly. It is a three-hour drive, and we must arrive before the solar alignment.”

My stomach rumbles as the delicious smells waft toward me. “I need to wash my hands. Be right back.”

“The bathroom is just behind me.”

I head toward the bathroom, wash my hands, and quickly return. Something cold prickles the back of my neck.

My shadow is here.

I stride to the table, take a seat, and eat as much as I can. My stomach was already full from the blood bag I’d devoured before our meeting.

Twenty minutes later, the woman from the front grabs the empty dishes. I leave her a nice tip that makes us both smile.

As we walk outside, Darwish whispers a question in the darkness. “Where have you visited so far?”

“I just finished the Nile River cruise starting in Cairo to Luxor. Got to see the Grand Pyramids of Giza, Valley of the Kings,” I easily lie. Those are places I would’ve visited if my Egyptologist wouldn’t have gotten killed. I had been staying in the hotel for the past few days, avoiding whoever was tracking me.

Before he can ask me another question, I turn the conversation toward him. “How long have you’ve been an Egyptologist?”

He flushes, and I think he takes my question wrong, as if I care about his age.

“I studied at a university for three years with a degree in Egyptian Archaeology and then I studied under—”

“I’m not questioning your credentials, Darwish.”

“Oh, well.” He drops the serious look and adopts the excited kid one he’d had earlier, then launches into the history of Abu Simbel temple.

I shake my head and move on. With the rocks firmly embedded in the dusty roads, my shoes won’t last for more than a few days. Especially for where I plan to go.

I know I make it easy for my stalker. The blue aviator sunglasses and scarf wrapped around my neck and mouth does nothing to camouflage my height, not to mention my darker skin tone alone makes me standout.

“It will take about three hours, but you will enjoy the sunrise.”

There’s a driver outside waiting near a dirty white van. Darwish greets him cordially in Amharic. The driver cranks the car and leaves. Despite it being quite early in the morning, Luxor is still busy.

“You, my friend, are in for a treat. We are very lucky to witness the solar alignment. It’s an invaluable experience.”

Not lucky, but rich. Between the last-minute travel and tickets, the cost to witness this invaluable wonder had a hefty price tag.

“That’s why I’m here,” I agree. There’s a phenom solar alignment that happens on February 22 and October 22, and today is the October alignment.

The sun rays penetrate the front of the entrance and shine on the statues in the temple, landing on a statue of the deified King Ramses II, the statue of the sun god Ra-Hor, the god Amun, and the statue of the god, Ptah. The amateur astronomer in me is delighted to witness the twenty-minute wonder, but I’m not here to gaze at the light hitting carved rock temples. Before I left, Alexander gave me a rundown on where to hit up. He believes this solar alignment will either reveal a key to the location of the Emerald Tablet, or it is the actual location for the relic.

“Is there any great mystery behind the solar alignment? Like a rumor or something?”

Darwish catches the eye of the driver, and I see them exchange the dumb tourist look to one another.

He clears his throat. “It…it is an architectural mystery as February 22 and October 22 represents the birth and coronation of King Rameses II. And also, Ptah, the god of darkness, remains in the shadows.”

“Ptah is the architect god, right?” I ask, remembering the god with green skin from pictures online. But what stood out most to me was the Ankh he always held in his hand, which represents the Ankhs clan.

“He is a creator god. He’s purported to build the universe itself. Just by the thoughts in his hearts and the words he spoke.”

“Who created him?”

“He created himself out of a void.”

“Like…like God?” I ask.

“Yes. And another similarity is that he gave gods their kas—their souls.”

“That’s…interesting.”

We finally arrive at Abu Simbel. A few thousand people mill about the area. More than a few tourists hold an umbrella to stave off the wind, and I wish I would’ve thought of that as dust sweeps under my sunglasses and into my eyes.

The ground is hard, covered in light brown earth surrounded by Lake Nassar. But what stops me is a large screen and a projector. I look back at Darwish. “Can we go inside?”

He laughs. “Yes, but see all these people?” He waves toward the masses. “The solar alignment only lasts for minutes, so in and out. But the festival is nice. There will be dancing once the sun rises in,” he glances at his watch, “fifteen minutes.”

The Egyptologist looks around. “Let’s get into the line.”

It’s better this way. After the alignment happens, people will enjoy the festival. I just need to mind-bend a few guards when I sneak into the temple and get into the closed-off area where there are no tourists or locals.

We get in line. Blue cylindrical laser lights illuminate the temple. Green and blue and red lights surround the temple, adding an intrusive, modern feel to the mystical wonder. Darwish mutters something about a book and searches for something in his backpack.

Like me, everyone assumes the same position—chin and eyes pointed north, throat exposed. Many tourists aim their cameras at the sky or the temple. But nothing significant happens, just clouds bobbing in a dark, lonely sky.

Lava orange rings around the clouds’ edges like the burning end of a cigarette. The clouds slow, with purpose, as orange sunrays spear and spill into the dark morning sky.

The crowd files in a line into the temple, surprisingly with patience and kindness, to watch the sunlight slice through the darkened temple for a few seconds. Claps and hums and whispers intrude into the majesty above us. While we wait, a couple beside me embrace each other, soft words whispered in a language I don’t know. Maybe they’re saying, “I love you.” A sunrise is a good place to do it. I’d done it before with Raven, just once. Back then, I thought we had a lifetime to watch the sunrise. Now, both of us are bound to the night.

Darwish gives me a nudge and points to a picture covered in plastic of the famous Holy of Holies. “Before we enter, I’d like to tell you about one of the greatest pharaohs, Ramesses II, who built this temple. He ruled from thirty-two years old until fifty-two years old. He became famous because of his achievements and built a lot of temples, palaces, tombs for himself, for his son, and for his wife. But he wanted to something unique, something never done before. They decided to carve the statues inside the rock, dig inside,” he gestures with his hand, as if he’s digging, “to make the pillars, make the statues and everything out of one piece of rock. Do you understand how precise they had to be to realize the exact location? To have it so that the sunlight streams all the way through the temple and illuminates the statues inside?” He says it as if his great-great-great-grandfather built the temple himself.

“Do you understand the calculations?” he asks me, though he knows I don’t. “I heard a tourist once call it clever. It’s better than clever—it is amazing!” He raises his hands in the air. I give him the smile he expects, trying to match his enthusiasm.

He looks sufficiently pleased by my reaction. “Did you notice the dam?”

“I did.”

“The lake is manmade, and unfortunately, the water rose and covered the legs of the statue.”

“I didn’t know that.” My voice sounds interested, and I am. But more, I love his passion for the subject.

Darwish nods. “That’s why the UNESCO saved Abu Simbel. It’s one of the most amazing cultural symbols in the world. So eight different countries packed it. Decided to send machines to cut the temple. They cut it in two thousand pieces, moved it two hundred meters backward, sixty-five meters upward.” He points to the sky. “It took four years, six million American dollars in the 1960s. Previously, it was two hundred meters this way.” He waves just past me.

I raise my hand like a student in the classroom. “Doesn’t that change how the sun hits the statues?”

“No, it still hits the statues, just a different date, though Ptah largely remains in darkness.”

We finally get our seconds to watch the pharaohs, but my attention drifts to the one in the darkness. I see him easily, but there’s a strangeness that comes from him, like there are eyes on me.

His eyes. But it isn’t possible because over half his head looks as if it’s crumbled away.

“What happened to his head?” I whisper to Darwish.

“That is Ptah. It happened during an earthquake.”

I swallow, and something like fear clogs my throat. I scan the temple to look for a glinting green light or a key. There’s nothing.

A body bumps into mine, reminding me my turn is done.

When we move out of the temple, I hear the riffs from an electric guitar in the background. Near the entrance is a trio of guys with guitars, cymbals, and xylophones and some sort of setup that looks like a DJ booth. The music is soft, modern electronica.

Darwish moves us toward the lake, and for a while we stare at the lake that sparkles like a cluster of a thousand tiny diamonds.

Darwish nudges me with his plastic picture. “Beautiful, yes?”

“Very.” A group of dancers in yellow-and-blue garments performs a routine for the crowd. A few dozen people are passing around a small dish of various foods.

“Let’s get closer to the performance, my friend.” Darwish starts toward the festivities.

“Darwish…” I say, using the voice that hypnotizes humans. “You’re doing a great job. You’ve got me eating out of your hand.”

“Are you really eating my hand?”

Shit. I shake my head. That he’s asking a question shows just how intelligent he is. With a deep breath, I cautiously choose my next words. “I’m very engaged and ask great questions. I’m happy to work with someone so enthusiastic and knowledgeable as yourself. And I’m also a high tipper.”

“Yes. Good. You will tip me and the driver and the others, too. Is very important.”

I want to laugh, but I get where he’s coming from. I’ve noticed the Egyptologist and tourist system are great at tipping each other and, in kind, ensuring that the tourists who visit their lands do the same. They have my respect for that, and I wish the American and European tourists would do that more often when they visit other countries who rely on tipping because their government doesn’t pay appropriate wages.

“Absolutely. But I’m going to talk to that cute girl over there.” I tilt my head toward a woman covered from head to toe in a dusky brown linen suit. “Please give me time. Don’t look for me. I’ll find you. Understood?”

“Yes. Mr. Kam, the big tipper, will find me.” He frowns and massages his temple. My mind bending still isn’t top tier, so I have to make this quick.

I easily move through the crowd until I hit the projection. A string of guards with a listening device in their ears stands near the entrance. As I walk toward them, one of them comes up to greet me. “Sir, you cannot—”

“Are you the man in charge?”

“Yes,” he agrees without resistance in his mind or speech.

“Good. I’m a dignitary, and I have special permission to access the temple. Do you see my badge?” I point at nothing on my shirt, but he looks at it keenly. “Your boss told you a special person will have access to the temple.”

“Yes. He did.” He eagerly nods.

“Tell the others I have permission and that you will accompany me. And make sure no one can enter for the next half hour.”

“Yes.”

I relax my shoulders. It’d be easier to have someone show me to the back, instead of my fumbling through the temple by myself. I can wipe his memories once I leave.

“Please guide me through the temple. Back to where the sun will hit their faces. Make sure we avoid being on screen.”

“Of course, Sir.”

He sweeps me through the temple and navigates the ancient corridors like it’s his home. Despite the darkness outside, lights illuminate the wood-planked floor and walls etched in ancient drawings.

The student in me wants to take a leisurely walk. To understand the enormous ego of the man who deified himself and built the temple. It would take lifetimes to understand everything.

We enter the inner temple, which is as long as it is wide, supported by colossal stone pillars and statues carved in the shape of a deified Ramesses. The temple keeps most of its color, with only a smattering of chalk-like streaks on the statues. A few statues are missing the postiches, which look like beards. From what I can recall, it represents masculinity and god-like power.

Security guy halts in front of me. “The Sanctuary. House of the gods.” He doesn’t enter the sanctuary, just steps back and waves me in.

“Thank you.” I’m not looking at him. I’m looking at the big four in front of me.

The solar phenomena are gone, but there is a small light illuminating the four seated figures.

“Are there any hidden access, any secrets about the temple?” The asking pricks my conscious. Here I am, a foreigner in this land, asking for the keys to his people’s kingdom.

“None that I know of,” the security guy answers.

“Thank you. Please take fifty steps away from me. If you hear anything, do not check. You will forget all that you see, all that you hear. Make sure no one may enter. Understand?”

“Yes.” He turns around, walking those fifty steps.

I clear my voice and say their names, and I lower my knee to the ground. “Ra-Horkakthy, deity of the sun. I will need you in the fight against darkness.” I turn my attention toward Ramesses. “Ramesses II, the most celebrated pharaoh, I will need your boldness, cunningness, audacity. What better way than to share your knowledge on your coronation day?” I turn to the next deity. “Amun Ra, the champion of justice. I will need your help to defeat the greatest threat the world has ever known. And last, Ptah,” I address the one always cloaked in darkness. “I seek knowledge of the Underworld, to understand how to seal him back and remove the scourge of vampires from the Earth.”

I kneel, wait, stupidly hopeful that these ancient statues will speak to me. Two years ago, my scientific brain would never allow me to believe that these gods could exist. But I don’t worship them. I just want them to kill vampires.

Then maybe I can go on with living my life, maybe even as a human. My attention drifts to Ptah, the one bound to the shadows. I close my eyes, sit on the floor, breathe deep, and do maybe the craziest thing I’ve ever considered—dreamwalk a god.

But before I can connect, something plugs into me like I’m an electrical socket.

I’m no longer in the temple. I’m outside, in a desert. Nothing but sand surrounds me. The sky is violet.

A voice booms around me, inside me.

I can’t hide.

“Khamari, king of the Ankhs. The one who released the dark one, Alexander. The one who dares to exalt himself as pharaoh. As a god.” Thousands of souls shape the voice who speaks to me. The voice sounds deep and gritty—a terrifying blend of man, woman, child. I root myself into the slippery sands, battling the desert storm swirling around me. Since he is aware of everything, then he knows someone forced me. But I’m not stupid enough to argue with a god.

“I want to rectify my part in his release. Please show me the way to bind him and all others to the Underworld.”

“Take him to your God and cast him away. There are plenty of devils to keep him company.”

“If you show me the way to the Emerald Tablet, I can destroy him.”

“The knowledge is all around you. You do not need to possess the tablet. It is alive.”

“But I need to—”

“The Emerald Tablet is not something you can own or horde or keep. You desire power, not the attainment of wisdom.”

“The power to destroy vampires. Not to rule the world.”

“Knowledge surrounds you. Yet the journey to wisdom is far.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind racing to connect and convince the deity to show me the way. “Alexander’s afraid of you,” I whisper. The grit of the sand slips through my teeth. “He doesn’t fear the destruction of his soul or eternal damnation. Whatever he experienced here…he doesn’t want to return. Also, he wants to destroy everything possible that can bring him back to Duat. He will destroy you, anyone that serves you, and the path that leads to eternal life. Alexander will annihilate all that you’ve created and the knowledge you have given. He will find a way. Help me…help us.”

A hand—corporeal, translucent, nearly invisible save for the outline of the palm—descends from the violet sky. When it touches me, I’m shocked by the solidness, by the warmth. It comforts me.

“The power to eat, to drink, to survive. You will need this…say as I tell you.”

His words tumble from my mouth. “My mouth is given to me, opened by Ptah. With that chisel of metal, with which he opened the mouth of gods.”

I take a breath, exhausted from the expulsion of this ritual. “What…why do I need this?”

“Now. Go!” the being yells at me. I don’t move. I can’t. But I don’t have to. My body hurtles out of the dimension, back to the present, the temple, on my knees.

…

I suck in a deep breath and cough. It feels like I inhaled a pound of powder. Sand, now wet with my sweat, drenches my clothes. It cakes my fingernails, coats my eyebrows and eyelashes. When my tear ducts lubricate, I dust off my hands and then rub at my eyes. After a minute, my breathing slows, and the jackhammer rhythm of my heart evens out.

“I just talked to you,” I whisper to the statue and rock back on my heels. “Where do you want me to go?” Then I remember what I repeated. The words he had me say. Now, I know what I have to do.

“Damn.”

…

Darwish remembers exactly what I want him to remember, which is nothing. He won’t even remember that he gave me a ride to Abu Simbel. I filled the ten-hour day gap with fun memories of another tourist who listened intently to his fascinating history lessons and tipped well.

Darwish dropped me off a block away from my hotel in Aswan. Just as soon as I round a corner, I feel eyes on me. A human male by the weight in his step, and his smell. It’s woodsy but not manufactured and chemically altered. It smells like extracts from a tree.

He knows I’ve scented his presence, but he doesn’t care. I glance up to a scuffle of feet and quickly understand why. Two huge men and one slight man, all dressed in brown hooded robes, surround me from the north, east, and west.

Could be a friend or foe, but I’m not slowing down to ask. Alexander knows how to reach me, and he can easily let me know if I need to meet with a contact. Mostly in the week since I’d arrived, I’d heard from him once. He’d been the one who told me to check out Abu Simbel. Then he’d set up the river tour, too, which resulted in me almost being killed.

Alexander is behind all of this. There’s something I’m missing. He’s moving me around like a piece on the chessboard from six thousand miles away.

Unless he’s already here.

I grit my teeth and slow down. They’re trying to herd me somewhere, but I stay the course, this time bumping shoulders among the throngs of people until I can find a clear opening to jet.

I need to change it up.

If Alexander is behind this, he knows my itinerary. Does he know the gods contacted me?

I need time to decipher what it all means. But I’m alone in this. The only other person who knows about Egyptology just as much as Alexander may have been Paris. Unless…

Yeah. Shit.

Him.

Find a new location. Dreamwalk. Wake up before they find me. They know where I’m staying. There’s a hotel opposite the Nubia Museum, lots of people, which is just what I need until I can get the hell out of here.

…

The eyes backed off when I entered the nice resort. They know where to find me, and if I had to guess, they’d make another attempt at sunrise. I immediately lay in bed, go into a meditative dream state.

“Khamari. What a surprise.” Anton turns to face me. His eyes are a physical reminder of his father, who maybe wants me dead.

By the looks of it, so does Anton. I don’t know him at all, and his subconscious is a steel fortress. The setting is bare. Two chairs, a table in between us. Boundaries. Even when I’m the one controlling the dream. He must be powerful.

“Drink?” I wave at the empty glass.

He gives me a look as dry as the desert. “I trust this must be an emergency if you are walking my dreams.” His tone is soft, but there’s strength in it. “Our intelligence informed us you are in Egypt.”

“Yes. I visited the Abu Simbel Temple.”

“During solar alignment?”

I nod. “Have you been there?”

“Yes. Many years ago, when I first began my exploration of alchemy.”

“Did…you find anything? See anyone?”

“No.” He shook his head, crossing his legs at the knee. “I felt something. A power that made even the hairs on my nape stand. An ancient power. Looking back, I feel like it was a warning.”

“What was the warning?”

“Turn away. Stop knocking on their door.” He looks at me. “Perhaps my lineage made me an unwelcome visitor.”

“It…they…spoke to me.”

“Who are they?”

“Ptah.”

“Hmmm.” Anton looks away, a strained smile crosses his face. “Perhaps. What did he say? Did he warn you away?”

“No. He blamed me for Alexander’s resurrection.”

Anton gives me a smile as dry as sand. “Yes, well, you had a choice.”

“And I chose my brother.”

“Over the world, no less.”

“There isn’t someone you would sacrifice anything for…even the world?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Not even Texas?”

“She is the Maximus. She knows the dangers.” Anton seems indifferent, but I noticed the flinch when I said her name.

“Texas has accepted the dangers. And yes, she knows she can die. But I guarantee you if she has a choice between saving a friend and risking humanity, she will try to do both.”

“Her view is immature, black and white—”

“But her heart is not,” I cut him off. “I trust her to do both. I’ll give her a chance to try… Will you?”

Anton sighs. “I trust you did not come into my dreams to tell me about my protégé.”

I recount my conversation with the Ancient Egyptian god. The refusal to give me the Emerald Tablet, and how he gave me the power to eat, drink, and survive. Then I filled him in about the hooded guys who follow me.

Anton leans forward. “Listen to me. The Order of the Temple Guards are after you.”

“Who are they? What do they do?”

“They will do whatever it takes to protect the gods, the Emerald Tablet, and all who can challenge The Order. You need to leave now, or they will kill you.”

“Okay, fine. What about Ptah?”

“He’s given you the powers to travel to the Underworld.”

I grimace, knowing what he says is true. “But…don’t I have to be dead to go there?”

“It’s possible. Get out of my head and don’t find out.”

I’d been here longer than I’d expected. And dream time is usually double the time in real life.

But there’s one lingering question that I must ask. “The Order. Do they work for Alexander?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “They hate him. They are the ones who mistakenly made him who he is. Which is why their methods for vampires can be…extreme.”

“Good looking out. So Alexander isn’t behind it.”

Anton frowns, and I can tell he wants to say something.

“What is it?”

“Texas plans to fully heal your brother, and he refuses to seek shelter because Alexander will be suspicious. And if he’s suspicious, he must have eyes on you and your brother. It is only a matter of time before he’ll know Texas is involved… Therefore, he’ll figure out your past connection.”

“Shit. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“Texas and I will retrieve your brother.”

“They’ll follow him and Texas. You have no idea—”

“Alexander is powerful. This is true.” Anton nods. “But he cannot read your mind. Have you ever wondered why?”

“I… My mother, I think. She was a witch.”

“And Khaven has the same mother.”

“Yes, but he can read Khaven’s mind—”

“For now. Until he discovers he cannot. As such, we must be preemptive.”

I take a deep breath. “Right. Texas will save him.”

Anton sighs but nods. “Oh, and Khamari?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t tell Texas you’re in danger. We both know she’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth. Don’t put her in the position to test your theory on saving you and the world. She’s not ready for that burden.”

I wake up from the dreams, but I can’t move. I’m bound in chains with a pair of dark eyes staring at me from under a hood.

A sharp blade lowers toward my chest and stabs me. I stare at the blood blooming in my chest, my throat and mouth flooding with blood. Inhaling and choking on blood, I prepare for death.