❝death is only the beginning.❞
Mara El-Masri's fascination with the long-ago world of ancient Egypt started with the stories her stepfather would tell her when she was a child. Her brother Talib El-Masri is missing, left after their mother's funera...
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MOONLIGHT SHONE THROUGH the windows in the curator's office. The curtains were tied to the side and he stood at it, looking out into the calm Cairo night. The skies were clear, hardly a cloud in them. He could see the pyramids, still standing tall thousands of years later. Even when all life had been ripped from this planet, the stars would still wink.
When the door opened, a loud thud behind him as the person stepping into his office slammed it against the wall, the curator did not have to turn to know who it was. He could hear the heavy, anxious footfalls. He had expected this visit.
"Is there news?"
The curator turned. He had seen the stepfather several times over the past five days, more than he'd seen of him in the past five years, and each day the man was more frazzled than the last. He came each day looking for updates from the chieftain. The chieftain would not contact the stepfather himself. All communication would be between the chieftain and the curator.
"I have just received word from Ardeth," said the curator as he stepped away from the window. The silhouette of the falcon Horus could still be seen in the distance. There were two small scrolls on the curator's desk, brought to him by the falcon, and he passed one across to the stepfather. "The creature has risen."
The stepfather's face remained steady when told of the frightening news, yet one could look into his eyes and see the fear behind them. He had not looked at the message yet. He asked, voice wavering so little one would only hear if they were listening closely, "My daughter. Is she alive?"
"He said she was," the curator said. The evenness of the stepfather's face vanished and was replaced by relief. He read the message he had been handed, and then he read it twice more. She was alive. "He also said she is responsible for burning one of his men two nights ago. She threw a firebomb at him."
There was a hint of fatherly pride in the stepfather's eyes. Then it disappeared as the first half of what he had said truly set in. His daughter had burned one of the Medjai warriors. She wouldn't have done that if she wasn't defending herself. He stepped closer, and he lowered his voice to a threatening tone, "I told you to tell Ardeth she was not to be harmed."
"And she wasn't."
"But if she felt threatened enough to make a firebomb...!" The stepfather cut himself off. There was no use getting angry when she was safe. He couldn't fathom how threatened she must have felt to make a firebomb. Of all the things he'd taught her, every lesson he'd given her and her brother in defending themselves, creating a firebomb was not one of them. It seemed his daughter was keeping her own secrets from him.
