Neither man bothered with a hello. Val didn’t even look away from his computer. “Where have you been?” He waved his hand. “Never mind. You’re here now. I’m sending you to Egypt. You leave tonight.”
“But I thought you wanted to finish research on the Philae project before we went.”
“Actually,” Val said with a sly smile, “I believe I may have found something.”
A thousand questions formed on her lips, tangling together until only one slipped out in a tentative whisper. “The Temple of Hathor?”
“Yes.”
“And the other artifact? The coin?”
“Alexandria. The catacombs of Kom El-Shuqafa—the Hall of Caracalla, specifically.”
“Oh, my God.” Her fingers trembled as she tugged her amulet back and forth on its gold chain. “Of course.”
This was amazing news. The two artifacts he’d been seeking were of historical importance, but more than that, Val was certain they would be critical in a battle between good and evil. A battle The Aegis believed was brewing at this very moment.
The artifacts, an ancient Gnostic tablet and a bronze coin, were, by themselves, capable of powerful protection against evil. But together they could strike a critical blow to demonkind.
“Can you be ready to go in two hours?”
“No problem.” She moved to the wet bar in the corner and scooped ice into a highball glass. “I can’t wait. I love Alexandria.”
“Yes,” Val said, reaching out to run his finger over the intricate designs etched into the bracelet she’d stolen from the vampire the night before. “I know. But there’s no time for sightseeing. You’ll get in and get out as fast as you can.”
She froze as she tipped the bottle of bourbon toward her glass. “Alone? You aren’t coming with me?”
“Unfortunately, no. The Sigil has called all Elders together. David and I will leave for Berlin tomorrow night.”
David, a handsome, thirty-four-year-old version of Val, with his dark hair and eyes, finally looked up from the map he was studying. “No one to hold your hand on this one.”
He was teasing—he often gave her a hard time about Val’s constant hovering, but he was right; this was highly unusual. Val rarely let her go on trips longer than a night without him. Her safety wasn’t an issue; he was more concerned about the possibility that some man would sweep her off her feet, and she’d finally give in to her desire for a relationship that included all the normal things, like sex. Lots of sex, if she had anything to say about it. God, her body was a powder keg ready to blow, and Val knew it.
He was like an overprotective father with a shotgun.
In many ways, she was glad for that. She’d grown up without a father, without a male influence at all.
After her mother died, she’d been raised in a convent, educated by nuns who had hoped she’d become a nun as well. But Serena had been too adventurous, had desired travel and excitement, and she’d left the good sisters to follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a female Indiana Jones.
She smiled at that, because she’d done the Indiana Jones thing, all right, but not in the way she’d expected.
Eighteen years old and hungry for life, she’d gone to college, her days filled with archaeology and anthropology courses. Which were bo-ring with a capital B. It had taken only a year of working part-time in the archaeology department and falling asleep in class to realize that becoming an archaeologist might not be the right career for her. Too much research, too few ancient curses and speeding bullets.
And that was when Val had stepped in.
He’d been an assistant professor of anthropology at Yale University, and had, in fact, been the reason she’d chosen the college. She’d remembered him as the Guardian who had watched over her mother until she died, and who had visited Serena occasionally as she was growing up.
He’d encouraged her love of archaeology, from the moment she demonstrated an uncanny ability to find pretty much anything anyone lost, and then later during college, when he took a few select students on a field trip to a historical Revolutionary War battlefield.
A gut feeling had led her away from the group, to a forested area just beyond the battleground. There near the remnants of a stone fence and three feet under the soil, she’d discovered a shoebox-sized chest containing a few coins, a pipe, and a letter detailing a heinous betrayal by the leader of the Americans. A leader who had gone down in history as a hero, but if the letter could be authenticated, history would be turned on its ear.
That very day, Val had offered her a position with his private archaeological contracting company, a place to live in one of the two guest houses adjoining his mansion-slash-museum, and pretty much squat for pay. Not that the pay truly mattered—she wanted for nothing, in part because Val paid for the essentials, and in part because he kept her so busy traveling that she didn’t have a lot of spare time.
He’d left the university right after that—solely so he could keep an eye on her, which he still did with annoying frequency.
So yes, she had everything—a great life and the career of her dreams. She had almost everything she wanted and no fears save two: years of illness and time spent in hospitals had given her an irrational fear of death—irrational because as long as she was charmed, she couldn’t die. Well, she couldn’t die unless she fell victim to her other fear—that she would someday give in to her desire for a relationship.
Right now she was strong, but she was terrified of the day she met the man of her dreams, because as strong as she was, she was also curious and hungry, and temptation was an evil mistress.
“I’m assuming all my travel, hotels, and entrance into the catacombs have been arranged?”
Val pushed a file on his desk at her. “It’s all here. An ex-Guardian named Josh Nichols will meet you in Alexandria to give you an item you may need to gain access to the chamber I believe holds the coin.”
Setting aside her drink, she picked up the folder and thumbed through it. “Does he know about me? What I am?”
“No.”
Very few humans did. As far as she knew, only a handful of the twelve Aegis Elders, including Val and David, knew. “What am I supposed to tell him?”
“You don’t need to tell him anything. He’s used to people borrowing the artifact, which we think is a key of sorts.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Why would people borrow it?”
“It’s been in his family for centuries, but no one knows precisely what it does. Only that it has been associated with the catacombs, and whenever a new section is excavated, his artifact becomes an object of interest.”
“And now that you know the location of the coin, you think his artifact is significant?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, then. I’ll get going.” Giddy, because this might be the find of a lifetime, Serena headed for the door.
“Serena.” Val’s voice stopped her in her tracks, and when she turned, his dark gaze sent a chill of foreboding up her spine. “Be very careful.”
“Always,” she lied.
“You can’t be too careful,” he said. “Don’t ever forget that, Sere. Never.”
Four
The worst thing about dying slowly wasn’t the dying part. It was the fact that the poison the assassin used had all but killed Wraith’s libido.
He used to require sex a dozen times a day. Since last week when he’d awakened from the drugged stupor his brothers had put him in, he’d been lucky to feel a stir every couple of days.
Yep, dying sucked. Dying slowly sucked, anyway. He’d made a few valiant attempts to accelerate things a bit since he’d escaped the hospital without his brothers’ knowledge, had put himself in some seriously shit situations in demon pubs, had antagonized entire nests of vampires just for fun, and had interrupted a Nightlash demon hunt—never a good idea to get between a dozen Nightlashes and their meal. The battles had been exhilarating, brief, and bloody. Wraith had been outnumbered but never outclassed, and he’d limped away from every one of the fights.
Whether or not he’d truly won was the question.
E had been calling several times a day, calls that Wraith had ignored, though he had gone into UG last night and what he had seen there shocked him.
The hospital had been severely understaffed. As he’d stood in the emergency department, a section of the ceiling had collapsed. Every demon he’d come across seemed agitated; rumor had it that an army was starting to gather in the outer reaches of Sheoul, but no one could confirm it. Besides, a demon army was always gathering somewhere, each time some territorial warlord started something up with another.
Wraith didn’t bother knocking on E’s door. He opened up and immediately Tayla’s ferret Mickey scampered down the hall, his tiny nails clicking on the hardwood floor. The critter climbed Wraith’s jeans-clad leg and waist until he was happily tucked in the crook of Wraith’s right arm.
“Hey, buddy,” Wraith murmured. “Where’s my brother?”
He headed for E’s office, nodded at Tayla and Gem, who were baking something chocolate in the kitchen, but who looked pretty damned grim as they stood there with tall glasses of orange juice in their hands. Their Soulshredder species was tropical, and they required large amounts of vitamin C, especially if they were stressed out.
Wraith wondered how many gallons they’d already gone through this morning. Hell, Gem had been downing the stuff like vodka ever since Kynan had quit the hospital and gone back to the military. Whatever. The guy was decent—he’d volunteered his rein to Wraith a time or two—but when it came down to it, Wraith could kill Kynan as easily as he could look at him.
“Eidolon’s in the den with Shade,” Tay said, and oh, great… this was a family get-together. Must be really bad.
Cursing to himself, because he really didn’t need this shit, he stepped into E’s study, where Shade was lounging on the leather sofa with E’s dog Mange at his feet. Eidolon sat at his desk, nose buried in a medical text. He looked up as Wraith closed the door, and for the first time since telling Wraith he was going to die, E didn’t look at him with sorrow in his dark eyes.