Chapter Thirteen

Heartbreaker

Texas

Omar turns to face me, looking downright frightened judging from the sweat that beads above his small, trembling lips.

Good. I need him scared. I need him to avoid any and all thoughts of doing something he deems heroic.

I pull him close, his back on my chest. Slow and careful, we walk down the corridors since the floors are only stabilized by planks and wood railings. He stops in front of a tiny square. White light seeps through the opening.

“We have to crawl.” Omar’s voice shakes.

“Why?”

“This is the king’s chambers. This is where he rests. We must c-crawl,” he repeats, much to my irritation.

“This better not be a trap.” I push him forward. “You first.”

He kneels and slowly disappears through the opening. Like a fool, I follow, not knowing what ancient thing will greet me. My beige linen pants scrap against the granite. After I crawl through the opening, I find Omar clustered in the corner. He presses his hands together, as if he’s praying. He whispers something I can’t make out.

But there’s nothing here. Just a granite block raised in the middle of the room.

“Where is he?” I narrow my eyes at Omar. “Where is Khamari?”

“You cannot see.” He loses some of the fear in his eyes. “Perhaps it is because you are not worthy to see.”

“I don’t care about this worthy crap.” I raise my hand, revealing my stone. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have received the stone.”

I pace the room, moving my hand over the wall. Seeking a sign, a clue, something that’ll help me figure out Khamari’s location.

It’s not like the room is completely empty. There’s a gold bowl on a marble stand that sits just a little lower than the platform.

There is magic here—I can taste its mint-and-cumin flavor. Feel its smooth touch that slides like silk over my skin. Yet it’s out of my reach. But magic isn’t what bothers me.

There are eyes on me, watching my every move.

I turn around and find Omar, lips formed in a smirk. The jerk.

He knows. And I don’t need one of my irritating little voices to tell me. He pretended to be afraid to lead me here. But what is it he’s afraid of—maybe death?

Death. The Book of the Dead.

“Where is it?” I ask, snapping my fingers.

“Where is what?”

“ The Book of the Dead ? There are steps to take. Purification, a knife, or a feather.”

He shrugs but squeezes his hands together, resting them just below his waist.

I read it months ago, but it might as well be years.

Sigh. Anton would remember. Khamari, for sure.

I can know, too.

“Tell me about The Book of the Dead. ”

“I…do not have it.”

“But you know what I must do. You’ve memorized it, I’m sure.”

He stares back at me, defiance gleaming in his eyes. Screw that. I don’t need him. I’ve got the stone.

“Remington!” I yell for him, waiting a few beats. He doesn’t answer me. There’s a quiver in my spirit, but no acknowledgment.

Is he afraid? Should I be afraid?

“I am here,” someone finally answers in my head.

“Who are you?”

“Mikhail,” he says in a distinctive Russian accent.

“Rose’s uncle.”

“Yes. I am here to help you and my niece.”

“Do you know how to do this thing?”

“Go to Omar. Press your forehead against his. I will gain his memories. It is our way.”

I crook my finger at Omar. “Come here.”

He stumbles over himself to get away from me. Maybe there’s something in my eyes.

I grab his neck and yank him forward. His forehead smacks mine, but I’m too amped up to register the pain.

I see what Omar has seen. A long scroll, unrolled, as long as this room. I scan his memories for instructions, then push him away. “Got it, you troll.”

“Don’t… You do not know the power you will bring forth.” Omar waves a hand. A warning, I think.

“I’ll risk it. Unless you want to tell me what’s coming?”

He bites his lips and shakes his head, steadily backing away.

I whip out my knife and toss it in the air. “Omar, if you try to bounce, I will hunt you down and drag you back here.”

“I do not wish to trouble the gods.” His voice shakes.

“Oh, you brought in trouble when you tried to kill us. So now you get front-row seats to what you’ve been studying for most of your life.”

I walk over to the empty gold bowl near the stand. “Purify with water.” I take off my overshirt, wring out the shirt. Then I wave my hand over it, the hand with the stone, and mutter a cleansing prayer. The water, once dingy with my sweat, now sparkles. I pour the small bit of water over my head.

“Next is the gods will hold a feather of Maat or a knife for protection…nothing I can do about that until they show up,” I mutter to myself. “Okay, now I have to say the Negative Confession,” I continue. I sneak a glance at Omar, but he’s still quiet and scared.

Whatever. I’ll have to do this on my own.

I repeat the words without thinking. “ I have done no evil… I have not robbed… I have not been greedy… I have not killed anyone… I have not told lies… I have not plotted against the king…” I let my voice trail off. “Well, damn, the answer is D. All the above.” I shrug. “So I can’t get down there with that confession. What do I do?”

“You will fight the gods,” Mikhail answers.

“I can’t possibly—”

The floor shakes beneath my feet as tendrils of heat wave through the air. My skin bubbles with sweat. The walls shift, and the room expands—revealing rows of coliseum-style seats that stack above each other in rows. A shimmery outline forms just above the seats, shifting from translucent to hard-formed bodies.

Not just bodies. Whole-ass gods surrounding me, staring at me with furious expressions.

“You are the supposed champion of this world,” an assembly of powerful voices says at once. There are close to two dozen of them. “We will weigh your heart. We will see if you are worthy.”

Their judgment freezes my blood cold. What am I doing?

Thunder rocks the floor, and I’m tossed like an anchorless boat at sea. Kneeling, I try to push up. But fear and wonder root my palms to the ground. An enormous set of paws fills my vision. I lift my head up and marvel at two sinuous legs and muscled thighs prowling toward me. Sleek black fur covers its skin. I lift my head, my attention higher, higher, higher, until I fully take in its entire eight-foot frame.

The torso and arms look like a buff human, but with a head of an animal. He bears a long snout, ears the shape of an isosceles triangle. His eyes are brown and brutal, and not even his eyelids rimmed in gold soften his ferocity. A striped headcloth covers his head and drapes over his shoulders, but his pointy ears remain visible.

He looks like that jackal mask Dakota had worn before I knew she was a traitor.

Anubis.

The smell of ammonia hits my nose. My attention snaps to Omar. A stream of urine splatters and stains his brown suede shoes. Omar’s face is a mask of frozen horror, but his body rattles like an old radiator.

If my bladder wasn’t numb, I’d pee myself, too.

Anubis walks toward me, shaking the ground with each step.

“Shiiii…” I can’t even bring myself to finish my curse because my teeth sink into my tongue. Now it’s swollen and twisted and throbbing.

In one of his hands—yes, a hand—is a staff and the other an Ankh, the symbol of Khamari’s clan. With the staff, he points to the scale.

This can’t be real life. Vampires, yes. I can somewhat conceive, but ancient gods are the limit to my imagination.

He opens his mouth, revealing a row of sharp teeth, perfect for tearing flesh. I expect a howl, but it’s a low, growl-like whisper. “I’ll need your heart.”

“Oh, shit.” I grab my chest, as if I could block Anubis from ripping out my organs. My heart thumps wildly against my trembling hand.

He points to a set of clay jars behind me that weren’t there before. It’s positioned next to a scale and on it a freaking feather to weigh my heart and judge my life.

What will they see? An angry girl with a broken heart? No, my life isn’t light as a feather, and to be quite honest, this whole exercise seems entirely unfair.

Easy for the Egyptian pharaohs to have light hearts when they had all the riches and gold at their fingertips.

Anubis whistles. Another growl rocks the room. And from literally the thin-ass air, a creature that looks like a crocodile with orange, Pantene Pro-V silky mane hair frames his face, or whatever the hell that is.

He walks on four legs—the front legs are brown and furry with large lion paws. The hind legs are gray and furless like a hippo. It awkwardly gallops and leaps next to Anubis’ side.

Omar squeals behind me, catching the attention of the predator in front of us. It sniffs and grunts and growls.

“Ammit, my old friend.” He looks down at the terrifying creature and pats its head. “Today, we will serve justice, and it will taste sweet.”

I slice my hand and let the blood trickle and summon the power of Maximus. Ammit sniffs and licks his curved teeth.

A light blast within the room, then I summon two large sickles. Looks like I’ll have to fight my way out.

“You’re not taking my heart.” I whip my scythes around. “I don’t want to fight you.” My eyes scan the crowd of gods who silently stare. “I only want Khamari.”

“The one who released Alexander, the cheat?” Anubis growls this time.

I grip the hilts of my weapon, steeling myself for the fight.

I can’t lose.

I won’t lose.

Ammit tosses back his head and howls. He drops to all fours. The muscles in his body bunch, rippling under his fur. Saliva seeps from his mouth, and his eyes transition from brown to a pupilless white.

When he launches into the air, I swing up my scythe, slicing at his underbelly. That doesn’t keep him down. He stares down at his stomach, and in mere seconds, the skin knits back together. He doesn’t jump again—just charges and topples me over. One scythe goes rolling across to Omar. He kicks at it and steps back, the unbelievable loser.

Ammit hovers over me like prey to a fallen deer. The heat of his predatory exhale stings my cheek. When he opens his mouth, the smell of rotten eggs erupts.

I gulp. I try. My mouth is dry.

Something snarls in the background.

His attention shifts to Anubis. “Not yet.”

I use the distraction, slice the scythe, but he bites down on my weapon before I can sever his neck. His mouth drips with golden blood.

Slamming the scythe harder, I cut into the muscle of his mouth. He finally relaxes his jaw, and I kick his stomach. Ammit flies into the clay pots that are supposed to house my organs. He staggers to his feet like a turtle on its back. But he isn’t a helpless turtle. He’s a revenge-seeking deity with a bloody smile carved by yours truly.

The gods are murmuring something among themselves. They don’t seem at all alarmed based on their stoic expressions. Not even entertained. Just powerful observers who aren’t even curious about who will survive the duel.

Anubis stomps in front of Ammit, his massive arms spread in front of the creature to stop another attack.

“You are strong, but you do not have the endurance of a god. Justice will prevail, just as it will with Khamari,” Anubis says from across the room.

“It’s not his fault,” I say.

“Millions will die. And their blood will be on Khamari’s hands.”

“ You created Alexander. Don’t blame humans or vampires for your mistake.”

“We—”

“Your little temple guardians, aka alchemists, did this to us. You gave them the knowledge to do so. So I’ll be cleaning up your mess, your abomination.” I sling the blood from my blade. The red splatters on the floor. “First, I’ll be needing my… I need Khamari.”

Anubis shakes his head. “His heart is good, but there’s a wickedness inside him. He will go through the trials.”

The darkness inside of me leaps up like a panther. It prowls inside of me, ready to strike. I haven’t felt it in a while, but it doesn’t feel foreign. It feels like a friend.

I need to trust my friend. So I let it take over. My vision narrows like a scope, focusing on Anubis. He needs to go.

Will you help me? I’m not asking the souls. I’m ready to embrace my dark side.

Something seismic gurgles inside of me. The energy heats like lava inside of my veins. Closing my eyes, I inhale, ready to release my humanity.

“Let her go to him,” a soft voice pierces through my rage. The boiling stops.

I look up and find a brown-skinned woman with a feather band around her head with blue-and-gold wings affixed under her arms.

Anubis kneels and lowers his head. “I assume this is what the others believe?”

“Yes,” she answers, her voice drips with authority. “Let her save her strength for what is coming.” The goddess lifts her hand. A cloud-like portal opens behind me.

“Let her eat, let her drink, let her have the ability to survive what is to come,” another voice says from above me. This time a man in green skin. Other gods appear around the room, near the ceiling, seated in stone chairs. There’s something strangely familiar about the god, but I don’t have time to figure it out.

“Show her what she wants.” With the wave of her hand, another goddess with the colorful plumage reveals Khamari’s body on a raised platform.

“Khamari!” I run to him. His body lies naked under a sheer cotton material. With two fingers I touch his neck, checking for a pulse.

I let out a relieved sigh. It’s there, but faint. His skin is deep-freezer cold.

I grab his hand and squeeze it. “What have you done to him?”

“He travels the Duat, as we’ve said before.” Anubis towers over me. “You will join him.” When he waves his scepter, a smaller cot appears beside Khamari’s prone body.

“You want me to trust you to not harvest my organs and kill me?” I snort.

The green god floats from the raised seat down to me. I can’t see his face. It’s covered in a bird-like mask with a long and curved beak that looks like a crescent moon. “My child. You cannot travel to Duat in physical form. You have enough spiritual energy, but you must not delay in the Netherworld, or you will surely die. I am known for many names, but you may call me Ptah. I give you my word that no harm will come to your body from the gods. Unless you perish there.”

“But—”

“It is the only way, and it is a gift from us to you.” His eyes are warm and brown and glow with the intensity of a thousand suns.

I look down and away from him. I don’t have anyone to protect me, to have my back. The best I can hope is that Anton and Rose find me. But hopefully, they won’t. As powerful as they are, they don’t stand a chance against Egyptian gods.

“Your Khamari has been down there long enough. It is a testament to his strength that he survives. But you must find him, finish the trials, and return. You have much to do on this side of the plane.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” I hop on the cot and lie back. “I’m not getting naked, though.”

“Unnecessary. The water and blood have purified you.” Anubis not-so-lovingly tosses the covers over me. “Are you sure we must open her mouth? It seems wide enough.”

“Chill out. I’m trying to help y’all.”

He looks like he wants to devour me. Or toss me to his crocodile-monstrosity friend.

“We will see if you are worthy enough to serve the gods,” Anubis growls.

I roll my eyes and look at the portal. “How do I return?”

“Face the trials, and one of the portals will open,” one god answers. “Close your eyes. It’s easier this way.”

I close my eyes and see the violet skies that Khamari had shown me in his dreams. Somehow, maybe in mind or spirit, I step toward the portal, though my body is still lying here on the cot. “We will return,” I vow.

A man in a shimmery green mask marches toward me with a large gold sword in hand.

I reach for my blade to slice my hand, but I can’t move. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.

I think I might be dead.