Adaire Winfield (Season 1): Episodes 1-4 (Seal of Solomon)
Author: Matt Larkin; Brenda J. Pierson; Juhi Larkin
Date: 2014-03-01 00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: Incandescent Phoenix Books

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Author's Note

Fortune's Favor

Chapter One

The Goddess Cauldron

Chapter Two

Sands of Morpheus

Chapter Three

Blood of Gods

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Keep Reading

About the Author

ADAIRE WINFIELD (SEASON 1)

Season 1 (Episodes 1-4)

The Seal of Solomon

MATT LARKIN

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.

ADAIRE WINFIELD (SEASON 1)

Copyright © 2013-2014 Matt Larkin, Brenda Pierson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Fortune’s Favor by Matt Larkin

The Goddess Cauldron by Matt and Juhi Larkin

Sands of Morpheus by Matt Larkin and Brenda Pierson

Blood of Gods by Matt Larkin

All Stories Edited by Brenda Pierson and Matt Larkin

Covers by Juhi Larkin

Published by Incandescent Phoenix Books
incandescentphoenix.com
mattlarkin.net

From Matt: For Juhi, who sees magic.

From Brenda: To those who never stopped believing in me. I couldn’t have done this without you.

The Seal of Solomon recollects and rebrands two stories originally published as the Relics of Requiem, adding two more. Adaire Winfield is one of several intended protagonists—a kind of supernatural detective hunting down relics left behind by the jinn. On behalf of myself, Juhi, Brenda, and the full IPB team, I want to thank all of you for taking a chance on this urban fantasy series. Enjoy the ride and watch out for Season 2.

CHAPTER ONE

Yeah, maybe sitting in the back of a detective’s car, hands cuffed before me, wasn’t a reason to smile. But the way that smile made Detective Sullivan’s ears flame red sure was.

The idiot kept glaring back at me in the rearview mirror. “Keep it up, professor. We’ll see who enjoys that pretty grin where you’re going. What kind of moron robs the National Gallery, anyway?”

I shrugged and thumbed the wheel pendant around my neck. A plain leather cord and a small wooden wheel. It was so ordinary it would never draw notice. Sullivan didn’t even realize it had come from the museum.

That car following us, though … they knew. They had to. And that scared me a hell of a lot more than a handful of cops ever could.

“Fortes Fortuna adiuvat, detective.”

“What the hell? You want to show off how smart you are? Try not breaking the law.”

I slunk down in my seat, bracing my knees. Was I looking forward to what was going to happen? Well, without knowing exactly what that would be, in a small way, yes. I mean, I could use some luck right about now … and Sullivan deserved a run of bad luck, right?

The detective mumbled to his partner, then something screeched, like a building moaning in agony.

Then a billboard toppled.

It fell as if in slow motion, a shadow growing over the highway, as bile rose in my throat. What had I done? I hadn’t meant for …

The billboard crashed into the road three cars ahead. Split a Ford damn near in half. A wave of dust and steel and concrete rushed forward as cars piled into each other. Sullivan screamed, slamming his brakes. Too late.

Much too late.

Our car plowed into the pileup and I flew from my seat into the Plexiglas shield. Glass exploded all around me, tearing through my skin, though I hardly felt it. The car flipped upside down, leaving me weightless while it spun through the air. Red filled my eyes.

And then it hit.

Everything went quiet for a heartbeat. Nothing but a dull ringing filled my ears. There should have been more pain, shouldn’t there? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I hurt. But after a crash like that, I’d expected to hurt.

I tried to push myself up, shards of glass tearing into my palms. Blood and vomit covered the floor—or rather the roof. The car was still upside down.

I shook my head, trying to focus. Bad idea. Dizziness clouded my vision again, and I almost collapsed.

People were screaming, crying, honking horns, running. Stinging scrapes covered my arms and face. The copper taste of blood mixed with the foul vomit in my mouth. I probably didn’t want to know how much blood I’d lost.

No time to think about it. I had to move. Even with my hands cuffed before me, I was able to drag myself through the shattered window. The effort earned me fresh jolts of pain as the broken glass tore more gouges in my arms.

Outside, I grunted, pulling myself to my knees. I clutched the pendant. Still there. No one would believe what I’d done to get it.

I wasn’t sure I could believe what I’d just done to keep it. It shouldn’t have been this bad. It had never been this bad before.

The smell of gasoline filled the air, stinging my eyes and sinuses. I couldn’t even tell one car from the next in this pileup. God, how many were dead?

The car that had followed us lay on its side. No one moved behind the tinted windows—not that I could tell. At least that was some good luck, there.

I knelt beside our car’s front window, bending forward to check the officers’ pulses through the broken glass. Still alive, thank God. They’d confiscated my cell, so I snatched that. Keys. Where were the damn keys to these cuffs?

It was only a matter of time before people started noticing a bloodied, handcuffed guy searching a couple of unconscious cops. And my time had run out. I heard murmurs and a few weak protests for someone to stop me. I glanced up. No one was approaching yet. But … something was moving in that other car. Was it him? Shit, I didn’t have time for this.

Luck would have to find me a way out of the cuffs later. I scraped my knees as I crept away from the upside-down car.

Getting to my feet took more effort than I’d like to admit. For that matter, I’d like to call what I did running, but I doubt anyone watching would have. It was more like a glorified hobble. As soon as I reached the guardrail I leapt over it and rolled down the hillside.

Three, four times I spun end-over-end. Just as I was about to lose my lunch—again—my shoulder slapped against something hard. It stopped me cold. After a moment, I tried to rise, but another wave of dizziness sent me stumbling to the ground.

I didn’t have time for this.

Two deep breaths, then I stumbled back to my feet. There was a bridge almost a quarter mile away. Best place for me to lay low for a bit.

My jog there was even more pathetic than my run earlier. As soon as I was hidden in the bridge’s shadow, I slumped against the nearest support pillar, lightheaded and perilously close to half-dead.

Had to catch my breath. My stomach kept leaping about, threatening to heave, though it had thoroughly emptied itself after the car crash.

Wrists still cuffed together, I cupped my face in my hands. A shard of glass had impaled itself in my cheek. With a wince I slid it free, then gaped at the bloody thing. It was almost two inches long. A little higher and it would have poked my eye out.

Hot blood poured down my face and neck. I tossed the shard aside.

Had to stop the bleeding. Fast.

I ripped off a piece of my tattered shirt and wadded it in my mouth. Ever pad your own stale sweat in your mouth? Not the most fun I’ve ever had.

My hands shook as I reached for the cell, my fingers trembling almost too much to dial the number. Damn thing just kept ringing. Why wasn’t she answering? I thumbed the wheel. A little luck? I sure could use some right about now.

“Adaire?” Her voice sounded tired. But at least she answered. “What do you want now, Ady?”

“Shay,” I said, or tried to say. The wadded shirt in my mouth turned it into more of a moan. I pulled it out—tenderly, trying not to make the hole in my cheek worse—and swallowed, working some moisture back in my throat. “Shay. I need help … Please.”

“Damn it, Ady, I don’t have time for this.”

“Shay, I’m in bad shape. There’s no one else I can turn to. I need you.”

She sighed, as if knowing this was a Bad Idea but resigned to doing it anyway. I’d heard my share of sighs like that from her over the years.

When I told her to pick me up under the bridge, she was quiet for a minute. I could practically hear her thoughts: Adaire Winfield, you are a moron. Why do I even bother?

But I knew she’d come. She had to. She always thought she could save me. That might have been why she stayed with me as long as she did.

Turns out she might be right this time. I did need her to save me.

I was an escapee, bleeding out under a bridge, and I’d be lucky if Sullivan was the one to find me. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would be a damn sight better than Option B. I had no doubt a certain spook would be very interested to get his hands on what hung around my neck. And to hang me out to dry in a very dark hole in the process.

I doubted I was lucky enough to have him die in the car crash. If it was even him. It had to be, didn’t it?

A slammed car door jolted me awake. Shit, hadn’t meant to fall sleep.

I braced myself. Not like there was much I could do if the cops had found me. Or the spook, for that matter. But I wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

“Ady?”

I released my breath and leaned against the bridge. Shay. Thank God.

Her concerned expression morphed into a scowl the moment she realized I was awake.

“What the hell have you done this time, Ady?” With a hand under my arm, she pulled me to my feet. While she stared at the handcuffs, I tried to think up a clever response. She shook her head before I managed one. But, hey, I was hardly at a hundred percent. “Get in the car.”

I tried to smile, then grunted at the fresh pain in my cheek. Smooth, Ady, smooth. Probably best if I just got in the Beetle.

Yup. An attractive, young, intelligent woman driving a Beetle, with the backseat stuffed with props and magician’s tools. But even if I hadn’t long since run out of jibes about it, now was not the time.

I slipped into the passenger seat, wincing as the car jostled when she got in. “Aspirin?”

“In my purse.” She snatched the bag as soon as I reached for it, then fished through Band-Aids, medicine bottles, trick cards, lockpicks, and balloons. She’d come prepared.

Her scowl never faded, even as she dropped the aspirin in my hand.

I leaned against the window while she drove, stealing a glance at her here and there. She’d always said everything was my fault. And it pretty much was, so I couldn’t complain about that. Even so, I couldn’t help but miss our times together. Maybe there was still a chance for us. She had come for me, after all.

When we reached the lot for her apartment, I grabbed her leather coat from the backseat and draped it over my arms. Trust some nosy neighbor to report a guy in handcuffs. I darted around her and stood in front of her door. Yup, Shay, I remember the place. Go ahead, try not to smile.

She succeeded, pushing me aside, and unlocked the door.

The apartment hadn’t changed much, everything in its place, from the polished tables to the LCD TV she probably never watched. It would have looked better in my place, though she hadn’t thought so.

I made a beeline for the couch.

“Don’t sit! You’re covered in blood!”

Well, yeah. That had something to do with why I wanted to get off my feet.

She pulled out a trash bag and threw it over a kitchen chair. “I’m sick of cleaning up your messes.” She waited until I sat, then began to unbutton my shirt, without any of the tenderness she’d once shown. Shay wet a cotton swab with alcohol and dabbed it against my cuts, ignoring my sudden intakes of breath. I definitely did not gasp, though. “I want the truth, Ady. Why on God’s good earth were you under a bridge, handcuffed, and covered in blood?”

I shrugged. Careful what you wish for. “I robbed the National Gallery.”

She stopped swabbing and stared at me, slack-jawed. I used to think that was just an expression. Nope. You could drive a small bus through her open mouth. Always good to be able to surprise a woman, right?

“Shit, Ady …” She mumbled after a moment. “Your last extra-curricular activities cost you tenure, so you decided to go for broke? You’re unbelievable.”

“Thanks! You’re not bad yourself.” I held up my cuffed hands. “Can you pick these?”

She laughed and rocked back on her heels. “Ady, those are police cuffs, not stage props. There’s a big difference.”

I raised my hands to my chest in mock prayer—all the better to spin the wheel. “Just give it a try, Shay. Fortes Fortuna adiuvat, you know.” When she folded her arms and eyed me, I sighed. “Fortune favors the bold.”

“I remember. I took your class, professor.”

Yeah. And don’t think I didn’t notice that was the second time she brought up Georgetown. Rub it in, why don’t you? Kick the injured man while he’s down. But, hey, at least she was fishing out the picks.

Shay almost jumped when they clicked open.

Surprise, surprise. Luck was with me.

I rose, rubbing my bruised wrists, and sauntered to her fridge. Soy milk. Whole wheat bread. Yogurt. And not a single beer. She clearly needed my wholesome influence back in her life. And in her cupboard.

“Why the hell do you think you even deserve my help, Ady?” She pushed me away from the fridge. Which was okay, since I’d have called it empty of real food anyway. “I’ve finally gotten my life back together. I’ve got shows scheduled most weeks—not just birthday parties, but real shows. I’m making ends meet.” She looked away. “And I’m sleeping at night without any of that relic nonsense. Why should I get pulled back into your delusions?”

“A friend in need—”

The water heater burst.

“What the hell!” Shay rushed toward it.

Yeah, not the best timing for the backswing. In all honesty I probably shouldn’t have gotten her involved, but she did know about the relics. She might not have believed before, but she would soon.

Shay called a plumber while I tried to stem the flow of water. Which means all I accomplished was to end up a soaking mess. As soon as we got the water shut off I rummaged through Shay’s closet. Nice to see she still had a few of my things.

Hope was not lost, after all.

The apartment was as soaked as I had been, but there was nothing to do but wait with Shay while the heater was fixed. I wandered around, finally pausing behind her TV. She didn’t even have the damn thing hooked up right. Okay, so I owed her. I fiddled with the wires until I got the speakers working.

Why stop there? I mean, I was exposing her to legal and paranormal danger. I could at least get her free cable, right?

“Fortes Fortuna adiuvat.”

A few wires in lucky positions, and wouldn’t you know it, all those pay channels came in crystal clear. If I were a bastard, I’d have called that my good deed for the week. Since I’m not, I was only gonna call it half a good deed.

I crashed on the couch, but gave up on TV as soon as the plumber turned on those drying fans. Damn things could wake a slumbering volcano.

As Shay finished with the plumber, a series of crashes resounded from the glass door to the back porch. Over the noise of the fans, I wasn’t even sure anyone else had heard it, but Shay wandered over.

“God,” she said, looking at the pair of dead sparrows that had slammed into the glass.

I grimaced, then spread my hands. “Fortune’s a fickle mistress.” I slipped my arms around her.

She shrugged me off, then shook her head. “I cannot take this right now … This noise is unbearable.” She massaged her temples. “It’s gonna take days for the carpet to dry. I’m getting a motel room.”

“Great! I’ll go with you.” Probably best to get out of here, anyway. Sullivan’s goons were too dumb to find us any time soon. The spook was another story.

She sighed, but didn’t stop me from climbing back into the VW. “I want the whole truth, Ady,” she said, starting the car. “What did you steal?”

I scratched my head. “Most of it doesn’t matter. Just a distraction.”

“For what?”

“You remember how I told you about a CIA spook looking into the relics?”

She rolled her eyes. “I remember your paranoid delusions outstripped even your insane faith in those old treasures.”

“Well, if you don’t want to know …” I folded my hands.

“Fine. What’s this one about?”

“There’s an old Roman story.” I waited for her overblown sigh before continuing. “According to the story, there was a goatherd. He had everything a man could want. He had a beautiful wife, a nice house, and enough goats to ensure him a comfortable life.

“But he often failed to make offerings to the temples. So when he fell on hard times, men said he got what he deserved. He learned one day that his wife had been sleeping with his neighbor. Heartbroken, he told her to go to him if she loved him more. And he went home and got very drunk. While he was drunk, he knocked over a candle and burned down his house, barely escaping with his life.

“While he tried to save his house, his neighbors, rather than help him, stole his goats. And so he lost everything he had. But still, he was a kind man, so he did not curse the gods, or his wife, or even his neighbors. He had nothing left, so he turned to a life of begging. But few of the villagers would give him anything, saying that the goddess of fortune gave him what he deserved for not making offerings.”

“Is there a point, Adaire?” Shay asked. “I’ve been through your class, and I don’t remember this story.”

In answer, I pulled the wheel pendant from beneath my shirt. “Most important item I stole. Know why?” I continued when she tilted her head. “Without enough food to eat, the goatherd grew sick. In his sickness he lost his eyesight. Alone, blind, and with nothing in the world but the ratty shirt on his back, he sat on the roadside hoping someone would take pity on him. And at last a woman came and sat beside him. She asked him, ‘Old goatherd, your wife has left you. Why do you not curse her?’ And the man answered that she should not share his misery. So the woman asked him, ‘Why do you not curse the villagers who have abandoned you even though you were always kind to them?’ And he said they were only doing what they thought right by the gods. So she asked, ‘And why do you not curse the fickle goddess Fortuna for placing you here?’

“The man answered, ‘Surely the gods know better than I what a man deserves.’ And the woman said, ‘Indeed they do.’ She gave him a small wheel, the symbol of the changing of fortunes. The Rota Fortunae.”

“The Wheel of Fortune?” Shay asked as she turned off the highway. “It’s just a cheesy game show.”

Oh, for God’s sake. “Forget the damn show. Some say the woman was Fortuna herself. Turn the wheel, say the words, and it brings luck. But there’s always a balance. If I bring myself good luck, someone nearby will have bad luck. Maybe even me.”

She grew stiff, watching the road and pointedly not looking at me. “You expect me to believe this is a relic? That this little wheel was held by gods of old? And some conspiracy organization is after you, just because you have it?”

“Yup. And believe me, no one wants them getting any more relics.”

“More relics?”

Unfortunately. “You heard about all that flooding in Thailand last year? Bad people do bad things with the power of the gods.”

“And how about you, Ady?”

Oh, great. A lecture. “Pull in here.” I pointed to a gas station. “You still don’t believe me.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, then bought a scratch-off lottery ticket for her.

“Try.” I handed her the ticket and the wheel. “Just try it.”

When she took it, a light grew in her eyes. “Fortes Fortuna adiuvat,” she whispered, spinning it.

I grabbed the wheel while she scratched the ticket.

She stared at it, mouth agape once again. “A hundred dollars …” Her voice shook. Probably not over the amount. “Think what this means, Ady!”

I smiled. Finally. “It means we can be rich. Run away to Bermuda and live our lives in luxury.” Under the radar, with any luck.

“No. No, think how much good we can do for the world with this.”

I glanced up at a TV mounted in the corner. The police had helpfully plastered my face on it, proclaiming me a dangerous fugitive. Helpful. Especially since I wasn’t the one who was truly dangerous. Shay must have seen the TV, too, because she tensed as we left.

I ushered her into the car. “You can’t help the world, because for everyone you help, someone else pays the price. Notice how my face came on TV the moment you won the money? We can only help ourselves.”

Shay’s face went slack, then her eyes turned dark. She started the car and drove without a word, pulling into the first motel in sight.

At the counter she asked for two rooms. Two, dammit.

As we walked toward the stairs, I grabbed her shoulder, but she didn’t turn. Why did she have to be so stubborn? Deep down, I knew she still loved me. She could have walked away at any point. She didn’t even have to take my call. But she had taken it, and I needed her.

Would the wheel let me get lucky? Probably not what Fortuna had in mind, but what the hell. “Fortes Fortuna adiuvat,” I whispered, then brushed the back of her neck with my fingertips.

Shay trembled, then twisted to look into my eyes. There it was, her resolve falling away. “You have to stop using it, Ady … The consequences, the people who’ll get hurt … We have to find a way to make good come from it.”

I shook my head, but she spoke before I could even open my mouth.

“That big crash, on the highway. That was you, wasn’t it? All those people dead, because of that wheel?”

I shrugged and spread my hands. My stomach kept bubbling. I was doing the right thing by keeping it from the spook. After all, it was better for me to hold the power than some secret society. Right? I had to believe so. “Good things come with a price.” Might have sounded better if I could make my voice sound more certain. “Maybe the price is worth it.”

God, it had to be worth it. Otherwise …

She didn’t resist when I pulled her in for a kiss. At last the wheel would turn and bring back all I’d lost. And then, it would definitely be worth it.

I released her and turned at the sound of a train. Here? I didn’t even know where the closest train tracks were.

The ground shook, wind whipping my clothes. Windows rattled. From the calm night sky, clouds swirled. Seconds later a freak tornado lanced down from the sky, striking the building across the street. It exploded as though crushed by the finger of God.

I couldn’t even hear myself scream as the winds hurled a car toward us. It impacted the motel, narrowly missing Shay.

The funnel bounced off the ground and back into the air. It was coming down on us. We were dead. I’d stretched the balance too far. I’d wanted Shay so much, I’d killed her.

I grabbed her arm and threw us both beneath the staircase, trying to shield her with my body.

The funnel touched down again across the street, closer. The wind stripped plaster from the walls, tried to pull me from my weak shelter. I clenched my arms around the stairs until the edges cut into my flesh.

Then, the tornado landed atop the motel. Everything exploded. Debris flew about us.

My ears rang as they had in the car crash, only worse. I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t see. Everything smelled of sawdust and blood.

The ringing faded a little, and my vision returned. I was pinned beneath the staircase. Shards of wood dug into my arms, but I couldn’t even feel them.

Shay crawled over, tears in her eyes. “Ady?”

“I’m okay, I think … Yeah, just stuck.”

She had it in her hands, then. Had she palmed the wheel before the tornado? Is that why we were alive? Had she used it?

“Give me the wheel, Shay. I’ll get us out of this.”

For a moment, she just stared at it in her hand.

“Now, Shay! He’ll be looking for me. Especially after this, he’ll be coming.” The spook would find me again. He was always just a step behind. “We have to disappear before they can find me here.”

She moved like she might place the cord around her neck, then her eyes met mine. Stopped. For what seemed forever, she said nothing. After that eternity, her voice came out as a whisper. “You’re still going to use it, Ady?”

Well, yeah. “Kind of need a little luck now, you know.”

“Do you know how many people probably just died? It has to stop.” She rose. “I never thought I could do this.” She pulled out her phone and dialed three digits.

“Shay? We can be together now. We can fix everything. We can have anything!” I could only listen while she told the police where to find me. “Shay, he’s going to find me! The police can’t protect me.”

“There’s no spook, Adaire. You’re paranoid. You’ve stopped taking your meds, haven’t you?”

So what? The spook was real. He had to be. Someone had followed me. Someone had shadowed my every move. Someone else was seeking the relics.

“Shay. Help me. Please.”

She looked down at me, tears in her eyes. “I am helping you. I’m helping everyone.”

Well, shit. “Shay … You can’t do this.”

She turned away, still sobbing. “I can. Finally.” The wheel fell from her grasp. My breath caught as her heel crushed it.

Crushed salvation.

Shay didn’t look back at me when she spoke. “Fortune favors the bold.”

She left me there, trapped, bleeding, dying for all I knew.

When I woke up, I was in this room, and you were here. That’s it. Story’s finished.

*   *   *

Agent Crispin pushed away from the desk and closed Adaire’s file. “Is it finished, Mr. Winfield? Let’s leave that choice up to you.”

Adaire shrugged, rubbing the bandages on his legs. His lacerations were extensive. Must have hurt, but he said nothing. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the broken pieces of the Rota Fortunae. Ridiculous as your escapades sound, I can’t disprove any of it.” He paused, letting Adaire stew a bit. “If you found one relic, perhaps you could find another.”

Adaire stared at him for several moments. “Are you offering me a job?”

Agent Crispin shrugged. “You already believe in the power of the relics, and you seem to have a knack for finding them. From what I’ve seen, you’re a natural candidate for the Seal.”

“The what?”

“The Seal of Solomon. Finding relics is what we do.”

Adaire chuckled. “Why the hell would I work for you?”

“Because we’re the good guys, here. And because, as your friend said, Fortune favors the bold, Mr. Winfield. You are bold, and we can give you all the fortune you desire.”

“And if I refuse?”

He shrugged. “Bad luck must fall somewhere, I believe.”

Agent Crispin left Adaire to think it over. Even if the man had really had a choice—and he didn’t—Adaire wouldn’t walk away. His story proved the ex-professor was perfect for the Seal.

It was why Crispin had let him get the Rota Fortunae in the first place.

CHAPTER TWO

I still hadn’t worked the kink out of my neck from the seventeen hour flight to Delhi when the taxi arrived in Rajpura. The little village halfway to Agra had earned a reputation as the latest tourist draw. Given the choice, I might have continued on to Agra—who doesn’t want to see the Taj Mahal?—but Agent Crispin was pretty clear on not funding sight-seeing. Prick.

“Thanks,” I said to the driver, and offered him a couple hundred rupees as a tip. Let Crispin pay for that.

The moment I stepped out of the air-conditioned cab the heat smacked me in the face. There were a handful of other taxis here, and a dozen rickshaws. You’d have to be absolutely desperate to drive a rickshaw in this weather.

Rajpura wasn’t unusual as an Indian village. Dusty, unpaved streets, simple life, lots of animals. Except for here, in front of the Goddess Cauldron, a three-story hotel painted warm pink. This village, which wasn’t even on the map a few years ago, could have passed for a tourist resort in Goa. Of course, the banks of the Yamuna weren’t the same pristine beaches they had down there, so… why had this place sprung up? Crispin had sent me here to find that out.

Was there a relic involved? I doubted it. But hell, it was an all-expense paid trip to India, so who was I to complain?

“Namaste,” the doorman said, pressing his hands together at my arrival.

I returned the gesture and allowed him to take my bags, then approached the front desk.

“Name?” a middle-aged Indian asked me.

“Adaire Winfield.” I slid him my passport, and he copied some information before sending a boy to take me up to my room. I ran my fingers along the wall as I walked to the elevator. Everything was new here. This construction couldn’t be two years old, just as Crispin had said.

It was only a few hours’ drive between Delhi and Agra, so it wasn’t like people needed a rest stop. And yet, business was booming. I eyed an assortment of Indian and Western guests, as well as a small congregation that looked Japanese in the lobby. Everyone seemed quite happy to be here, in the middle of nowhere.

A quick glance around my room told me I was gonna like this place. LCD TV on the wall, a little fridge in the corner—probably no mini bar, but, eh—and a queen-sized bed. Pretty much nothing like you’d expect a village hotel to be.

That was apparently enough to make the Seal of Solomon think something supernatural was happening. Which meant a relic—which in turn meant me, looking for it.

I tipped the bellhop, fifty rupees, then strolled back downstairs. The room looked damn comfy, but I should probably at least try to investigate the place before starting the vacation. Fine aromas wafted in from the downstairs restaurant. I’d heard there was another one on the roof, but it was way too damn hot for that during the day. It seriously had to be 110 out there, at least.

In an alcove just outside the restaurant sat a statue of a goddess, slender in the waist, with large breasts. Her feet were hidden in water, and she wore a crown.

“That’s Yamuna, the goddess of this river,” a woman said behind me.

I turned to see an Indian girl, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Her long hair was pulled back in a knot at her neck, and she wore a white kurti. Very official, and probably uptight. But she had a slight smile. Yeah, I knew it was most likely calculated to put customers at ease… but hey, it worked.

“Are you a devotee?” I asked.

She swayed her shoulders a bit. “We believe in all the gods. All gods are God. Would you like a table?”

“Yeah.”

“Please follow, then.” She led me into the restaurant and gave me a seat near a window that looked out over the river, then set a menu on the table. “My name is Pihu. I will be happy to assist you.”

“You speak English very well.” Remarkably well, for a village girl.

“Benefits of a Delhi education.” She left, returning with a pitcher of water a moment later, then poured me a glass. “What would you like, this afternoon?”

I glanced over the menu, unfamiliar with anything on it. “What do you like, Pihu?”

“Veg jalfrezi—my favorite.” I swear she smirked.

“Veg …? Uh, no chicken?”

She crinkled her nose a bit, then shook her head.

A vegetarian, then. How dull. But that smile was back, and after such a long flight I was pretty easy. “Sure, Pihu. Let me try the veg jalfrezi.”

With a smile she took the menu and sauntered off into the kitchen. Yeah, can’t say I was excited about the food, whatever the hell jalfrezi was, but at least the girls were cute. I took a moment to look around the restaurant. It was late for lunch, but the place was still crowded. A wall with an open arch divided the dining room in two. On my side sat foreigners and a few Indians in suits, and on the other side a bunch of Indians in village clothes. So this place catered to the locals, too. Different price points for different customers? Back home, no one would stand for such a double standard, but it was probably the only way the locals could afford the food in such a place.

Pihu returned maybe fifteen minutes later, with a steaming plate of what I assumed to be jalfrezi, and a stack of Indian flatbread—roti, I think it was called.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

Yeah. Why not? “Well, I’d very much like for you to join me for lunch.”

She blew out a breath and lowered her eyes. “I can’t do that, sir.”

“You can call me Ady.” I stood, sliding out another chair. “And I’ll bet you can. It’s easy, just bend your knees and before you know it you’ll be seated. I mean, don’t you have to teach foreigners how to properly eat with the bread?”

I’d been to a couple of Indian buffets in D.C., so I’d heard about the method for eating. But I still wanted to keep her around to explain.

Pihu, clearly struggling with a smile, tore off a chunk of the bread. “Take a piece of the chapati and use it to pick up a bite of the dish.” She demonstrated, then handed it to me. “You should practice on your own a bit. I’ll be back to check your work later.”

“I used to be a college professor, you know. So I expect high marks.”

She bobbed her shoulders again, then walked off.

I tossed the bite she had given me in my mouth. Suddenly, the place’s appeal became clear. Okay, so I was an all-American boy. I liked my meat and potatoes, and never thought much about vegetarian food. So when I say the layers of vegetables and spices shocked me, I mean I was floored. And, yeah, my eyes watered a little from the spiciness. Didn’t stop me from taking another bite. And another. God in Heaven, this was good.

“Another plate, Ady-ji?” Pihu asked when I’d polished off the entire dish.

I paused for a glass of water, as much to gather my considerable wits as to wash down the burn. How a meal so engrossed me that I didn’t notice a cute girl approaching me, I have no idea. I looked up at her and smiled. “Just Ady, Pihu. And I think I’d better wait until dinner before any more, but that really was amazing. How long have you worked here?”

“Three months. My family is still in Delhi, but the pay here is good.”

Must have been. “Can you bill this to my room?”

“Of course.”

She wandered off to the kitchen, and I rose to find the restroom. I strolled through the restaurant, pausing by the kitchen door Pihu had entered. Beside it, a hall led past a door marked ‘Office.’ Yeah, probably nothing supernatural at all was going on in this place, but I’d have to meet the guy sooner or later just to keep Crispin off my back. I continued on to another door, this one marked ‘Manager.’ What the hell was the difference between Manager and Office?

No sooner had I reached for the door than Pihu suddenly grabbed me. “You can’t go in there!”

I turned to face her, grinning at her hand on my arm, which she dropped the moment she saw my face. Again, she lowered her eyes. Which made me smile even more. Shy little thing. “I just wanted to compliment the manager on his fine wait staff.”

“That’s his private office. No one is allowed. Please follow me.” She tried to walk away, but I stood there, arms folded.

“No one is allowed to see the manager?” What a way to run a business.

“Oh, you can see him in the other office, with an appointment.”

“And he has two offices because…?”

She pursed her lips a moment, then shook her head. “Ady-ji, please…”

I walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. “Pihu, you can tell me.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “One girl was already fired for walking in there. Some of the staff say he keeps his mother’s ashes … I don’t know. Please come away from here. I don’t want to lose my job—my family needs this.”

I nodded. “Okay, Pihu. I’ll see you later, then.”

I returned to my room and dialed up Crispin. It was probably early in the morning back in D.C., so I hoped I could wake him.

“What is it, Winfield,” he said, his voice fogged with sleep. Score one for Adaire.

“There’s something a bit suspicious going on here, but I really don’t think it has much to do with any relics. I mean, they got a bit freaked when I tried to see the manager, but no sign of magic. This is a waste of the Seal’s time.” And taxpayer money, but I didn’t give a shit about that. “Good food, though.”

“Fine restaurants and resort hotels don’t spring up this fast in the middle of nowhere, Winfield. Not with no prior industry to support them. And yet everyone who goes there comes back raving. Everyone. If there’s even a chance—”

“Yeah, it’s a damn fine restaurant, too.” With damn fine staff. Which at least made this somewhat worthwhile. “How do you want me to proceed?”

Crispin sighed. I could almost see him rubbing sleep from his face. “Try the investor route. Make something up. You’re good at that. And make sure you take your damn meds. If there’s a relic, I don’t want your personal problems getting in the way.”

Click.

I smirked, then changed into a finer suit. Best get it over with then.

Back downstairs, I sought out Pihu again. She was waiting on other customers, so I watched her work for a bit, until she seemed free.

“I have to be honest with you, Pihu,” I said, not planning to do any such thing. “I might actually want to invest in the place, maybe even franchise. I’d like to meet the owner.”

Her mouth worked a little, then she shook herself. “Okay, okay,” she said, as though it were all one word. “I’ll tell him.”

A few hours later, an older Indian man came to my room. He had a nice suit, well-tailored, but the way he wore it was stiff, like he wasn’t quite used to such clothes. I rose and pressed my hands together. “Namaste.”

“Namaste, Mr. Winfield. Myself, Mr. Kumar. Pihu said you want to talk about … my restaurant.”

It took me a moment to process his stilted English and thick accent. “Perhaps. I need to know more about the business.”

“Please,” he said, indicating the small table in the corner. “Drink chai?” He made a sipping motion with hand and mouth.

“Yes, thank you.” I sat at the table, and Kumar called out into the hall. A moment later, a boy brought us a tray with chai tea.

“Try, try,” Kumar said. “It’s good.” He patted my chest. “Good health.”

I took a sip, but it was still too hot. Personally, I like my tea iced and sugary. But since that wasn’t what he was offering, this would do. “Mr. Kumar, your restaurant has excellent food. Can you tell me about your success?”

“My youngest son, very good cook. He made this place from a small kitchen. Two years ago, my son a waiter—but very clever. Learns all the secrets, and starts his own restaurant. My oldest son is manager.”

I nodded. “To what do you credit your sons’ spectacular success?”

“Sorry?”

“How did your sons build this place so quickly?”

He beamed at me. “My son very clever. Blessed by the goddess. He go daily to the river to make prashad.”

“What’s prashad?”

Kumar cocked his head. “Like foods.”

Foods? Lots of cultures used to propitiate their gods with food … Probably just a coincidence this place was so famous for its food.

“Well, in that case, I’d like to meet him. Maybe we can open a branch of this place in Agra itself and make excellent money.”

“Thik hai, thik hai.”

“What?”

He stood, smiling. “Yes. Morning time I come and we discuss.”

We shook hands, and I rested until evening, then visited the restaurant for dinner. Hey the food was good. I made a point of requesting Pihu’s section. Because, well, you know …

“Maybe you’d like to join me for chai later tonight,” I said after dinner.

“Sorry. Better luck next time,” she said.

I raised a finger and winked. “So you’re saying there will be a next time. In that case, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

I retired to my room and flipped through the channels until I found HBO. Now this was a vacation. Shame I was spending the night alone, but I didn’t really expect any different. It was India, after all. Everything was very proper.

Mr. Kumar did not come the next morning. By lunchtime, my stomach was growling and my patience ebbing. I went downstairs and straight to the door marked ‘Office.’ I knocked once, then stepped inside, but it wasn’t Mr. Kumar sitting at the desk. A younger man, perhaps in his late twenties sat there, looking up at me, without a smile.

“Yes sir?”

“I’m Adaire Winfield,” I said, and shut the door behind me. “I was supposed to have a meeting with Mr. Kumar this morning, and he never showed up.”

“I am Raghav Kumar. You want to meet my father?”

“This morning, yes.”

He shrugged. “This is India. Different schedule style.”

No shit. “This is important, Mr. Kumar. I was offering to invest a great deal of money in your business. I do not have time to waste.”

At that, he sat up straighter. “Acha, acha, thik hai. Please wait in the restaurant. My father is just coming.”

I sighed, but did as he said, grabbing a table near the hall. The moment I left, Raghav did as well, heading for the other door, in quite a hurry. Yeah, the ‘Manager’ door. I’m not sure what they kept in there, but I doubted it was a private office.

With a glance around the restaurant to make sure no one saw me, I slipped down the hall after Raghav. The door led to what looked like a storeroom adjoining the kitchen. A private entrance to the kitchen? A staircase led underground.

So, things were starting to seem a bit suspicious. The way Raghav was scurrying around like a Turkey on Thanksgiving … it was the kind of thing someone did when they were panicked. I still doubted there was anything like a relic involved, but this was just too weird to be normal.

I followed Raghav down the stairs, but paused at the base. They opened into a large basement, where another young man sat cooking beside a large ceramic pot. He rose when Raghav entered.

“Kya hu gaya?” the other man said.

Raghav called him Veer, then said something about “papa,” seeming surprised, even concerned. They argued in Hindi for a few moments. Finally, Raghav started shouting, and tried to grab the pot.

“Nahi!” Veer shouted, and all but tackled his brother. They landed on the basement’s stone floor with a thud.

What the hell was going on here? I moved further back up the stairs, afraid they might see me from the floor. My shoe squeaked. I hate dress shoes.

At that, I took off up the stairs. I did not want to find out what these Indian brothers would do if they caught me snooping around. Besides, without speaking Hindi, spying was an exercise in futility. I hurried out of the storeroom and back into the restaurant.

As I passed, Pihu caught my eye. “Lunch, Ady-ji?”

The thought paused me mid-step. “I…” Okay, so the food here was really good. Besides, Pihu might be the only one who could tell me what was going on. “Well, yes, I’d love some lunch.” I let her lead me to a table and sat down, trying not to drool too much.

“What would you like today?”

I pointed to something at random on the menu.

“Thali? Okay. I’ll bring it—”

“Actually, I’d really, really like it if we could talk for a few minutes after your shift. Can I buy you that chai? It’s next time, now.”

She looked down again, starting to shake her head. “Okay, okay,” she said after a moment.

I finished lunch, going over what I knew while I waited for her to get off work. The more I sat there, the stranger that fight downstairs seemed. I mean, why would Veer freak out when his brother reached for that pot? I’ve heard about chefs being crazy about their knives, but the look on Veer’s face wasn’t that kind of weird jealousy. It was fear. Genuine fear. Why would anyone be afraid of someone touching a pot?

Because it was more than just a pot. I’m not sure how I knew it, but I did.

Shit. One odd reaction, and I immediately believe a relic is involved? I was getting as bad as Crispin.

Even so, it made sense.

When Pihu arrived, she led me up to the restaurant on the roof. “Some of the staff like to break here, between shifts,” she said. We sat under an umbrella that kept off the worst of the heat. But it was still damn hot, and we were drinking hot tea. Whatever.

We chatted for a few minutes, about the village and her life in Delhi. Couldn’t be too direct. “Look, Pihu, I like you a lot,” I said, after a while. “I’d like to spend more time with you. Maybe one night when you’re not working.”

She smiled, not looking down for once. “Yes. You are very nice company.”

Somehow, I think it might have been the nicest compliment I ever got. “I need to finish my work, though,” I said. “Mr. Kumar is missing. I followed Raghav and saw him arguing with Veer about it.”

She scowled at my admission, but it was too late to change course, so I figured I might as well plow ahead.

“I don’t know exactly what they were saying, but Veer is the younger brother, right? The one who started this place?”

“Yes.”

“And he had a fit when his brother tried to touch his pot.” Relics could be dangerous—they always had a nasty catch. If that pot really was a relic, anything was possible. “I’m worried something happened to Mr. Kumar.”

She set down her tea. “What pot, Ady?”

I sighed. And here was the hard part. Most people, if you told them, thought you were nuts. Put you on anti-psychotic meds. I doubted I really need those, but Crispin insisted I keep taking them. Since he was the one keeping me out of jail, I did it.

“You remember that statue of Yamuna?” I said. “What if she was real?”

She nodded. “Of course she’s real.”

Well, okay. This might be easier than I thought. Perfectly educated young lady, still open to the supernatural. Maybe I’d like India. “I told you I was a college professor … Back then, I studied old times, old religions. There are lots of stories about relics of the gods …” At least, some called them gods. The Seal called them jinn—like genies. “Things they left behind.”

“Sorry, I don’t really understand, Ady.” She spread her palms, and I couldn’t read her face.

“Look … Kumar said Veer was blessed by the goddess. What if it’s true? It would explain why this place has such amazing food. But these things always come with a price, Pihu. Always. And I need to know the truth. These beings that pose as gods are more like jinn … I doubt they have our best interest at heart. I don’t think Veer has any idea what he’s messing with.” Raghav clearly had no idea, either. “And I don’t speak Hindi, so this is hard for me to solve on my own. Do you have any idea where Mr. Kumar might be?”

She shook her head. “I have to go, Ady.” She rose and walked away.

“No, wait, Pihu!”

She hurried downstairs. I slapped the table, spilling the last of the chai. After a moment, I returned to my room and dialed Crispin. Actually, it was probably about the same time as yesterday, which was almost enough to make me smile.

“Winfield,” he said, “do you know what time it is?”

“Around two p.m., I think.”

“And what time does that make it in the U.S.?”

“Don’t care. I think there really might be a relic here after all. I’m not quite sure what it does, but I have a guess.” Still working out the price, though.

“Then get it,” Crispin said, suddenly alert. “Whatever it takes, Winfield. I’ll be sending someone along to pick it up.” Click.

Dammit. I was going to need a bit more time than that.

When I came down for dinner, Pihu was not there. I asked for her section, and the host told me she didn’t show up for work after lunch. Yeah, maybe I had just scared her off with my crazy talk. But I doubted it.

I stormed over to the office and threw open the door. Veer and Raghav were both in there, still arguing in Hindi.

“Where’s Pihu? Where is your father?”

They spoke briefly, in Hindi, then Veer approached me. “Mr. Winfield?”

“Where is she? What have you done?”

Veer flinched, and dropped the hand he had started to offer me. “Nothing. I haven’t done—”

“Don’t screw with me, kid.” God, he couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. “Two people are missing, and investigators are going to be here asking all kinds of questions very soon. You’ve got one chance to get this mess cleaned up before that happens. Now tell me everything.”

Raghav nodded at Veer, who waved for me to follow him. They led me back down into the basement.

“So where did you get the magic cauldron?” I demanded.

Veer started. “How did you—”

“Because this is what I do, Veer. We’re wasting time. Where are our missing people?”

“I-if they tried to touch the pot … She said not to let anyone else touch it …”

I sighed. Pretty much what I was afraid of. “Start from the beginning.”

Veer nodded, swallowing. “We were waiters at another restaurant. We lost our jobs. Our boss thought we were too honest, we wouldn’t scam. So I went down to the river, every day. I made offerings to the goddess. And I cried over having no food for our family. One day a woman walks up out the water, and asks me what happened.

“I tell her, and she gives me this pot. She says, I can cook whatever I want from this, and it will never be empty. But I can’t tell anyone, and no one else can touch it. If someone does, something bad will happen.”

Shit. Pihu must have tried to investigate herself, after what I told her a few hours before. I scowled. “Continue.”

“I started a small shop, first. I could feed us, and the neighbors, make a little money. But the food it made was so good, and cost us so little … I realized I could have a real business. I made more and more food, and my brother, he managed the business.”

I looked at Rahgev, who shrugged. “He said don’t ask questions. Why would I ask? He was making us rich.”

“Please,” Veer said. “Find my father. He always took care of me. He got me an education, even when we were so poor.”

And now we know the price. Dumb kid. “Take me to where you met this goddess.” I was probably going to regret this, but if what he said was true, I couldn’t take the cauldron to Crispin anyway.

Veer led me and Raghav to the banks of the Yamuna River. By the time we got there, the sun was setting. It was beautiful at night, vibrant and alive. And damn creepy, considering something inhuman apparently lived in those waters.

For a time, Veer called out in Hindi, and I waited. After an hour or so, a woman at last walked onto the shore. Water streamed from her long black hair. She looked Indian, decked in only a simple wrap around her.

“You should not have brought strangers,” she said in English.

“Please, give back my father,” Veer said.

“And Pihu!” I added. “He’ll return the cauldron.”

She laughed, a sound like hollow bells chiming. “I have no interest in the relic. The violators have become my little fish, a part of my endless school.”

Fish? “Wait, fish as in,” I said, flopping my arms around, “fish, fish?”

She sneered at me. Seriously sneered.

“Please! I’m sorry,” Veer said. “Please, give back papa!”

Her smile revealed teeth too white, too perfect. “I’ll break the spell, if you take their place, young soul. Surrender your future into my hands, and they can have theirs back.”

Raghav choked, gasping, but Veer just nodded. “Okay.” He took a step toward the river.

Well shit. The easy thing would be to let him just do it. The spell would be broken, and all the problems would be solved. Maybe I could even take the pot back with me. But the dumb kid didn’t deserve to spend his life as a fish. I grabbed him. “Stop.”

“You stay out of this!” the woman said. Her face had become a visage of pain and fear, her eyes black as midnight. “You helped break one relic already. Interfere here, and I’ll have another prize in my school.”

Veer struggled in my arms, almost throwing me off. He was strong.

“Raghav, help me before your brother does something stupid.” Like I was doing.

At that the elder brother leapt into motion, helping me pull Veer away from the river.

“I’ll be waiting!” the woman said, almost snarling, before she walked back into the waters.

Raghav and I dragged Veer back to the car. When we returned to Rajpura and back to the restaurant, he spoke at last. “This is my fault. You should have let me go.” His eyes never left the cauldron.

“I already lost papa,” Raghav said. “I can’t lose you also.”

“You can’t stop me forever,” Veer said. They set to arguing in Hindi, so I tuned them out.

She knew I’d had the Rota Fortunae. What, was there a goddess hotline where they shared information on blasphemous mortals? Was my picture on an immortal dartboard somewhere? Yeah, that’d suck. And apparently she blamed me for breaking that relic, though I never wanted that. If she cared at all, it must cost them something to make the relics. They must not be so easy to replace.

I turned to Veer. “You can’t give her what she wants. Your life will be finished.”

“Innocent people got hurt. I never should have listened when she said not to tell anyone.”

A secret. The perfect temptation. The goddess knew just how to manipulate us. Almost. No one could resist the chance to alter reality, to change the world we live in for the better. Not unless they’d seen what magic could cost.

She was angry I’d broken the Rota Fortunae—or rather, allowed it to happen. She was angry because, once it was gone, all its power, its Faustian bargains, were lost.

“Hold him,” I said to Raghav.

The older brother looked at me a moment, then grabbed his brother.

“What are you doing?” Veer shouted. “You can’t touch it.”

Oh, I wasn’t planning on it. I grabbed a fire poker and approached the pot. If touching this thing had turned them into fish, maybe destroying it would turn them back. With a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening, I swung.

It cracked, a spiderweb spreading over its surface. A vibration ran through my arms, and a clanging echoed through the chamber like I’d struck metal. Damn thing was a lot tougher than it should have been.

“Nahi!” Veer said. “It’s priceless! You can’t do this with a gift from the gods!”

“Sure I can. I’m a bastard.” God, what if he was right? Would she punish me for this? Would Pihu be trapped as a fish forever? But she was already lost. This was the only thing I could think of that might bring her and Kumar back.

And anyway, I was a bastard.

I swung again. Another clang almost deafened me while the vibration threatened to rip the poker right out of my hands. The cracks had deepened. Steam hissed from them, and for one second, I’d swear I saw Kumar and Pihu’s faces in the curry, like ghosts.

Another swing. Something chill coiled in my throat, and left my eyes feeling like ice. She’d warned me not to interfere. Too late for that.

With a roar, I slammed the poker down on the pot again, and this time it shattered into pieces. The trembles overcame me, and I fell.

The contents, a wonderful curry, turned to dirty water on the floor. More and more water poured from the shattered pot, as though the entire river would empty into the basement.

I struggled to rise from it, but my bones shook so bad all I could do was hold my breath as the water rose.

Fish flipped around in the water, swimming past my face. And then, those fish turned into an old Indian man, and a pretty Indian girl.

Raghav and Veer ran to their father, splashing through the waters, which had at last stopped flowing.

Yeah, if I wasn’t on a dartboard before, I'd bet I was now. Could these beings actually hurt me if I wasn’t using their relics? There was a price for magic. Maybe there would be a price for turning it down, too.

I swear something growled inside my head.

I shivered, and crawled over to Pihu. “Are you all right?” I asked her, while pulling her up.

She was sopping wet, and perhaps too shocked to stop me from embracing her. “I had a bad dream.”

“It’s over now.” An empty platitude, perhaps. Whatever beings, gods or otherwise, that had created the relics, they were powerful, dangerous, and now probably had me in their sights.

And of course, Crispin would be really pissed I’d destroyed yet another relic.

CHAPTER THREE

No one had to twist my arm to get me to check into the Four Seasons in Mexico City. Five-star hotel in a country where the dollar goes as far as a stream of piss off the Empire State Building? Yeah, I could suffer through that.

Still, it was one of those working vacations. You know, the kind where a secret organization sends you to investigate a missing agent in the middle of one of the most polluted and dangerous cities on the planet. Yeah, so maybe there was a little arm twisting. And a bit of bitching. Not by me, of course—I don’t bitch. I vociferously express dissenting opinions, but I don’t bitch.

So I was sitting by the indoor pool, reviewing Agent D’Cruz’s file, and definitely not focusing on the bikini-clad beauties so close I could reach out and touch them. Celestina D’Cruz had been with the Seal of Solomon a bit longer than I had. I was pushing six months now, but Celestina was recruited almost two years ago. I’d never met her, but her photo was hot. Rich Hispanic skin, dark eyes, and lips that were definitely nibble-worthy. Mid-twenties, family deceased, not much else in her file other than she was born right here in Mexico City. Explained why Crispin had sent her back for this.

As usual, the boss’s lips were about as tight as his ass, so I wasn’t sure what the relationship between him and Celestina was. He seemed way too anal to be tapping one of his underlings, but who knew. Maybe Alain Crispin had a sunny side.

A serving girl sauntered over, offering me a tequila. I frowned. I was on the job, so I had to down it in one swig and get back to work. No time to savor the flavor. I chased it with my anti-psychotic meds. Definitely a doctor-approved combination, there. But with the meds, at least I’d know any hallucinations were from the tequila and not the psychoses prancing through my brain.

Agent D’Cruz was supposed to be investigating a dangerous new drug that originated here. According to the report, some kind of hallucinogen called Sand had begun cropping up in the American Southwest. Which had about as much to do with the Seal as an orangutan did with Wall Street. That is—there was probably a connection somewhere, but I couldn’t be sure where.

See, the Seal of Solomon runs around the world hunting these relics left behind by some kind of inhuman beings a long time ago. We call them jinn because, as near as we can tell, they’re kinda like that. So the only reason D’Cruz would come looking into a drug is if she—or Crispin—thought it might somehow lead back to a relic.

I remain a skeptic, but since Crispin basically blackmailed me into service, I figure I may as well make use of his generous expense account. And, yeah, I’ve totally expensed a massage. It’s a stressful job, after all.

Take D’Cruz, for example. She’d been on the trail of the Sand, undercover, for weeks. Then suddenly—nothing. Completely off the grid. No contact, no word sent, no hint she’d even been here. Things like that don’t happen to accountants and dentists. Stressful.

Her last report indicated a contact named Ramos based in the Tepito District. It was one of the poorest districts in Mexico City—not quite as bad as the slums of India, but close. These folks had water and sewage systems, but there were still more than enough dilapidated buildings and winding, dead-end streets to make it dangerous. Perfect lair for a drug runner.

I left the comfort of the Four Seasons and spent a few hours wandering Tepito District’s garbage-clad streets, asking after this Ramos guy with all the grace of an innocent tourist. I made sure to ask plenty of questions about El Colmillo, too, getting directions and opening times for the club. A little acid jazz/disco would be perfect after the ground-pounding.

So what if I was going clubbing using funds provided by the Seal? It was Crispin’s dime, after all.

A taxi dropped me at El Colmillo shortly after nine. I’d expected Mexico to be hot—that “but-it’s-a-dry-heat” crap Americans in the Southwest complained about. Mexico City wasn’t like that. I’d hardly broken a sweat in the sun this afternoon, and as soon as night arrived the temperature dropped enough to make me bitch about the disparity between tropical vacations and sweaters. I was grateful to get off the street before I started shivering.

Bombastic tunes pounded over me the moment I entered. The place was awash in foreign gringos like me, bumping and grinding in the flashing lights. Half of them were probably high, two-thirds were likely drunk. I liked those odds. So I grabbed a drink, found a hot girl to sidle up to, and worked on my cover for a half hour or so.

Average club-goer persona established, I grabbed another shot and headed upstairs to find a place to lounge. I kicked back and waited. Didn’t have to wait too long before a Mexican guy slid into the booth across from me. He had a thick mustache and a shaved head. Tattoo sleeves covered both arms and ran up his neck. An obvious bodyguard stood nearby, but since Ramos looked like he could punch out a bull with his pecs, I didn’t see why he needed one.

“Hola, señor,” I said.

“¿Piensas que estás bien porque hablas mi idioma?”

I smirked. I did, in fact, think I was cool because I spoke his language. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

When I didn’t respond, he leaned on the table and did his best to look menacing. It was pretty damn effective. “What do you want, gringo?”

I slid an envelope with twenty thousand pesos in it across the table. “Sand.”

“Head back home, gringo. By the time you reach Texas you’ll be swimming in sand.”

I eyed the envelope and the man snorted, then flipped it open. He thumbed through a couple weeks’ wages with hardly a blink.

“All right. Maybe I got what you’re looking for. I can get you flying for this.”

Putting unknown drugs into my body wasn’t exactly my thing. And if it had even a chance of being connected to a relic, it was out of the question. I might as well swallow dynamite and ask for a cigar. “I’m not looking for myself, man. I’m looking to help you expand. Got a big market for it in Phoenix, assuming you can get it across the border.”

The ganger narrowed his eyes at me, and just like that, his bodyguard moved to hover over my shoulder. He didn’t lay a hand on me, but I got the message.

See, that’s why I needed a few tequilas in me. Otherwise, I might have flinched. Totally legitimate business expense. “Hey, amigo. That’s just a taste. I got a lot more where that came from. You let me meet the big guys, we can do some real business.”

It was a bit of a gamble. If Ramos was in charge, he’d kill me just for the insult. But Celestina’s files said Ramos was a small fry. If I wanted to find her, I had to reel in the sharks. Besides, this guy didn’t seem like the brains of an operation like Sand distribution.

The man watched me, eyes drilling into my skull like he could see inside. At last he pointed a finger at my chest. “All right, gringo. We do some business. But if anything don’t look right, you know they ain’t gonna find your body. This ain’t America.”

Yeah, I was getting that. “All right. I’m staying at the—”

“Please. You think I don’t know where to find you, Señor Adaire Winfield?”

Comforting.

Ramos stood and walked away without another word. I sat there for a while longer, nursing nervous energy and tequila, before heading back to my hotel.

Once there, I dialed up Crispin.

“Report.”

“I’m a bit tipsy,” I said, “but this place rocks.”

“Winfield, where the hell is D’Cruz?”

“I’m not sure yet. I think I’ve secured a meeting with Ramos’ superior, though. She was right, he’s just a middle man.”

“Winfield ... I hope I don’t need to tell you how dangerous these drug rings are.”

Uh, no. I’d gotten the picture, loud and clear.

“Is she still alive?” he asked a moment later.

Okay. Man definitely had some kind of feelings for her. I still wasn’t clear on if those feelings were romantic, but he cared. And that was a first for him.

“It’s too soon to tell. Do you know more than you’ve told me?”

“Of course.”

“Keeping secrets isn’t nice, Crispin. How am I supposed to find her if you don’t tell me everything?”

Crispin sighed over the phone. I could just imagine him grinding his teeth and punching his desk in frustration. The thought made me smile.

“D’Cruz grew up among these people. She was a coyote when I found her.”

He’d said, when I found her—he’d recruited her himself. Interesting.  “She was a what now?”

“Coyote. She smuggled people and drugs across the border for the syndicates. Nasty business.”

And not in her official file. Yet one little hint that information might help me bring her home, and he let it slip. If he wasn’t banging her, she was a kind of protégé to him. Either way, it had unhinged my normally tight-lipped boss. Which meant this was my chance to glean a bit more info than he’d usually give up.

“So why do you think a relic is involved here?”

“D’Cruz did.”

Illuminating.

“What are you gonna do with the relic if we do find it?”

“That’s classified.”

“What are the jinn, anyway?”

“You really think I’m gonna tell you that?”

Ass.

Fine. Something he will answer, then. “Why send me after D’Cruz? I can’t be the only Spanish-speaking agent in the Seal.”

“You were the nearest one available, not on assignment. Besides, annoying as you are, you have a knack for digging into places you don’t belong.”

Probably best to take that as a compliment.

“Listen, boss, I won’t give up on Celestina ...” But don’t get your hopes up, either. Maybe he didn’t need to hear it. “I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Do that.” Click.

Yeah. He might have shown he had a heart, but he was still an ass.

I kicked off my shoes and fell back on the bed. I’d likely have a bit of a hangover in the morning. Which was a good reason to sleep ‘til noon.

Or one, as it turned out. So I couldn’t exactly call it morning, but hey, it was morning to me. I strolled downstairs, grabbed a bite to eat, then headed out on the town. I figured I had some time to kill. Drug rings wouldn’t likely contact me during the daytime, and the last thing I wanted to do was waste all afternoon in a hotel. Besides, I’d wanted to visit the National Museum of Anthropology since my teaching days at Georgetown. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to see it—and have Crispin pay for it.

As I walked up the front steps, something jabbed into my back. Cold and hard. Gun barrel, most likely.

“Come with me,” a harsh male voice said.

So, obviously, I’d underestimated the drug ring. Kidnapping a tourist right in front of a national museum ... Sure, why not.

The man guided me back to the street, then shoved me toward a waiting car. “Get in.”

Yeah. Sounded like a plan. I sat inside, across from Ramos, and the ganger who’d abducted me climbed in beside me. He kept a pistol pointed at me, across his body.

And this was when I realized I’d totally forgotten to get buzzed beforehand. Bad move. I licked my lips. “Uh ... can I have a drink?”

“What?” Ramos said.

“A beer? You got a beer?”

The man looked at me like I was an idiot. Which I guess was to be expected.

The car drove for a while, around way too many bends for me to track, then left the city altogether. Eventually, it pulled up to what I could only call an estate. Big stone wall surrounded the whole compound. A massive, double-doored iron gate opened to let the car through. Men with machine guns patrolled the grounds. This place was a damned fortress.

In other words, I was screwed. I hadn’t been expecting trouble, so I hadn’t bothered with a gun. I didn’t even have that much money on me, since Ramos had grabbed me off the street. Ideally, I’d like to think the man would be understanding of that fact. Of course, kindhearted, understanding drug lords were about as common as pink polka-dotted bobcats. And way less cuddly.

The only thing I had to my advantage was a panic transmitter. Hit the button, and Crispin would use his CIA contacts to send in a strike team. I wasn’t supposed to use it until I’d located Celestina, but if these goons decided I wasn’t worth the trouble I might not have a choice in the matter.

“Where are we?”

“Señor Lobo’s estate.”

Lobo. All right. The man in charge, I supposed. Ramos led me from the car and into the main house—though mansion would probably be more appropriate. The lobby had a freaking fountain in it. A naked, white-and-gold marble woman poured water out of a pitcher, like something out of a bad movie. Which was appropriate, since my whole life had started to feel like that.

A pair of spiraling stairs framed the lobby, and a Mexican man in a suit came strolling down the left one, cigar in his hand. All the feigned elegance couldn’t cover the way he walked—still a predator. This was a man grown rich off the spoils of his country, but not a man born to wealth. An observation I planned to keep to myself.

“Señor Lobo?”

“Bienvenidos a México, Agent Winfield,” the man said before switching to heavily accented English. “Welcome to my home.”

Agent Winfield. Well, that was about the worst greeting I could hope for. “Uh, actually, my first name is pronounced Adaire. Subtle difference.”

“You think you can come into my home, come into my country, and take what belongs to me?”

“Oh! The Sand. Well, I was planning to buy it. Lots of it?”

Lobo indicated a room beneath the stairs, and Ramos shoved me toward it. Men with guns watched me, though they kept their weapons aimed at the floor. I stumbled toward the room and let them guide me downstairs. What choice did I have?

A dozen barrels stood against the wall in a basement that smelled of dust and sweat. In the room beyond, a woman lay on a dirty mattress on the floor. Celestina D’Cruz. Her chest rose and fell in slow rhythm. Alive, at least. And apparently sound asleep. I tried not to stare.

Lobo stalked over, bent down, and lifted a single strand of her hair. He sniffed it. Like a freaking dog. Then he yanked it from her skull. She didn’t even twitch.

Not a good sign. I tapped the panic transmitter. How long would it take for them to get here?

Lobo turned back to me, twining the hair around his fingers as he moved. “You want what’s mine, Winfield? You want one of my women?”

“Uh ... How much?”

The man snarled at me, grabbed me by my coat, and flung me to the floor. I landed on my elbow, the shock sending electric jolts through my chest. “Think you’re funny, gringo? You a really funny guy!”

He kicked me in the ribs. Pain shot through me, and I curled into a ball against the blow. Nausea boiled through my stomach.

Lobo paced around the room while his henchmen watched, motionless, clearly inured to their boss’s temper. They did absolutely nothing while Lobo used my abs as a soccer ball. All the while he raged at me, mostly in Spanish, about how Celestina and the Sand belonged to him. At least he was wearing those fancy, expensive shoes. They weren’t made for kicking. But, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It did.

Finally Lobo eased up, allowing me to catch a breath. My diaphragm probably looked like a five-year-old with purple finger-paints had given it a massage. But at least it still worked. Mostly.

I heard Lobo take a few steps away from me and dared to look up. He stopped at one of the barrels and backhanded the top off. He waved his hand, and two men grabbed my arms and yanked me to my feet.

They dragged me over to the barrel, which was filled with yellow dust that did look a bit like sand.

“You want Sand, Señor Winfield? I’ll give you Sand!”

Lobo shoved my face into the barrel. I tried to pull back, but he was strong as hell. The Sand kicked up as I went in, drifting into my nostrils and burning down my throat. Gritty fire shot through me and I choked, then fell coughing.

I fell, except I never hit the ground. I just kept falling and falling.

A fit of coughing woke me sometime later, and I spewed dust and grit from my mouth. Raw irritation stung my sinuses and I lay on the floor, alone in the room. An iron manacle bound me to the same mattress Celestina had lay on earlier. Kinda chafed. Honestly, I’ve never really been into bondage—except for this one time with Shay. Can’t say I’d liked the idea of being chained to a drug lord’s bed. Plus the mattress smelled like a leprous trout had died inside it.

With a groan, I rose and tugged once at the chain. Pretty secure. I patted my jacket pocket. Cell was gone. On the floor nearby, Lobo or one of his men had crushed my transmitter under his heel.

“Hello?” I asked. “Excuse me, there’s been a mistake, I think.”

Scuffling sounded on the stairs above. Yeah, so maybe drawing attention to myself was foolish. But I had no way to know if Crispin even knew where I was, and staying down here to starve would suck too. Best to rely on my natural charm. And possibly a large bribe.

A second later, Shay scurried down the stairs, looking just like I had last seen her nearly six months ago. She was bleeding from a cut on her arm. Once, she had been a student of mine, then a lover. Then, just like that, she’d turned on me and left me for Crispin to find.

“Ady! Shut up! They’ll hear you.”

“Uh ... Yeah. Shay, what the hell are you doing in Mexico? Are you all right?”

She crept forward. “You’re the one chained in the basement.” Point. She pulled a set of lockpicks from her purse and went to work on the manacle. Good old Shay. A professional stage magician, she always had her bag of tricks. Literally—a bag she used to do tricks.

“You’re hurt,” I said.

“Lightly wounded. Nasty encounters in the past. No need to worry.”

The manacle clicked open and I rubbed my wrist. “Thanks. But you shouldn’t be here. This place is dangerous.” Obviously.

“No kidding? Then maybe you should get us out of this mess.”

Fine. I’d do that. I was a professional these days. I slunk forward and crawled up the stairs. “I forgive you, by the way,” I whispered. Of course, if she hadn’t smashed the Rota Fortunae, my lot might have been much improved.

No answer followed. Not even going to acknowledge what she’d done to me, huh? I glanced back to glare at her.

She was gone.

“Shay?”

A quick search of the basement turned up an open window near the ceiling, leading into the yard. Had she seriously just left me down here? That wasn’t like her. I mean, other than the time she left me pinned under a staircase for the cops to arrest. So, not so far out of character after all.

“Right then.” I scrambled up to the window and followed her route into the yard.

In the house beyond a man shouted, and a woman sobbed. I hesitated. That might be Celestina. Maybe even Shay. But there was very little I could do to help either one.

“Please!” the woman shouted. Not Shay’s voice.

Not like it mattered. I couldn’t leave anyone as terrified as that woman sounded to fend for themselves. Even if it was suicidal to go after them. Besides, it was probably Celestina. Crispin would wear my hide as a hat if I left her here.

I snuck up to the house, then slipped inside. All the guards were gone. I crept forward, following the sound of a man cackling.

“Please stop!” the woman said. “Boni!”

I peeked through the door. Inside, Lobo jabbed a fireplace poker at a Chihuahua locked in a cage. The little dog whimpered and shivered while Lobo laughed. Its bark sounded like a pathetic cry for help.

Celestina tugged at Lobo’s arm, trying to pry away the poker. Instead, he shoved her to the floor. “You’re mine, little Coyote,” he said. “Don’t you forget that. Maybe you need a lesson? Is that what you need, Coyote?”

“N-no. Please,” she moaned. “Please. I-I’ll be good.”

“Amigos,” Lobo shouted. “Time for some schooling!”

Out of nowhere, a pair of men in suits rushed into the room. Celestina shrieked as one grabbed her from behind. The other began unfastening his pants.

“No!” she sobbed. “¡No, Dios ayuda mí!”

Yeah. This was not happening.

Yelling at the top of my lungs, I charged into the room and tackled the would-be rapist from behind. We both plummeted to the floor, and I began pounding his face on the ground. That lasted all of about two seconds before the other one dropped Celestina and yanked me off his buddy. The suit spun me around to face him. And I saw it.

The man had no face.

Clearly, I had been off the meds too long.

I was so shocked I didn’t even try to dodge the blow that slammed into my eye. For a second I blacked out, stumbling backward and falling on my ass.

“Run!” Celestina grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. “He’ll kill us!”

Lobo laughed and strode toward us, seeming to grow in mass as he neared. Man was a freaking mountain.

I scrambled to my feet and followed Celestina out. She made a mad dash for the gate, which, thankfully, stood open. Not a guard in sight. What had happened while I was out? This place had gone straight to hell. And considering how it was before, that was saying something.

We rushed out of the estate and off the side of the road, into the overgrowth. I swear Lobo’s laughter just got louder and louder. It was like it echoed off the sky. Sadistic prick.

Celestina just kept running, straight back into the city. I followed her, rivers of sweat streaming off my face, until she collapsed in an alley. I followed suit, slumping down beside her. Both of us were panting, sweaty, and tired. And not from the kind of exercise that makes you happy to feel that way.

“Who,” she said between gulps of air, “who are you?”

“Agent Adaire Winfield. Crispin sent me to find you.”

Celestina swallowed, and stared at me wide-eyed for a moment. “C-Crispin. Crispin. ¡Ay Dios mío, gracias! Are they coming for us?”

Sadly, no. With my transmitter broken and my cell gone, I’d need to get ahold of a phone and call the Seal. I shook my head slowly, and she sighed.

“Did you see another woman in there?” I asked.

“No.”

So. Either Shay had gotten out and left me behind, or ... Regardless, God only knew what she was doing here. How had she even known I was in Mexico? Call me small-minded, but I didn’t generally keep in touch with friends who left me for dead. And a small part of me felt, if she was in trouble, she got what she deserved. Actually, I’d be willing to call it a medium-sized part of me. Slightly largish, even.

A pair of Lobo’s goons raced past the alley, uzis in hand. Still no faces, either. What the hell was that man into? Any chance there wasn’t a jinn involved in this was pretty much blown away by the faceless guys.

Celestina skittered further into the alley, then made a dash for the next back street.

“Hey!” I shout-whispered at. “Get back here.” I scrambled after her, but she seemed to be running blind.

I was thoroughly lost by the time she finally slowed, her head swiveling as she stared at the buildings. “I-I know this place.”

“Hey.” I grabbed her arm. “Don’t go running off. We’re in this together, all right?”

“Sí.” But she wasn’t even looking at me. Instead, she wandered toward a dingy door, as if in a daze. It opened before her, revealing a woman toiling in a small kitchen. Hard life had weathered this woman before her time. Deep creases lined the vacant eyes she looked at us with.

Celestina’s mouth worked silently for a moment before she finally whispered, “Mamá?”

The old woman—Celestina’s mother—shook her head. “Back again. Still running away, good-for-nothing daughter ...”

“Mamá!” Celestina inched toward her mother, reaching forward with a trembling hand. “You don’t understand.”

“No. No, how can I understand? Eat all the food, but don’t bring in no money? Run off with that wolf, and what do I get? One, two months of food, then not a peso. No, not a word from my perrita of a daughter.”

“I-I tried. I thought he loved me ... I thought ... I’d bring us money with him ...”

Was that how she’d gotten involved with Lobo? Judging by the place, her family must have been damn near starving. The prospect of a drug lord taking care of her ... Who was I to judge? In her place, I might have done worse.

Her mother snorted, then waved her hand around the hovel. “If you’re going to be a whore, at least be a good one. Clearly getting you on your back wasn’t worth ten pesos.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I shouted at her mother.

But Celestina just sobbed and dashed past me back into the alley. I spared time to glare at the old woman. And she looked at me for the first time. Really looked at me. It was like she could see right through me. Down, past the façade of confidence and competence. Deep down to the man who had lost his tenure, lost his lover, lost everything. I’d failed at almost everything I’d ever done in my life. Now, here I was, desperate enough—and broken enough—to let Crispin force me to bounce around the globe. Hunting relics for an organization I had serious doubt intended to use them for the good of mankind.

I’d sold myself.

I stumbled backward and fled out the door. Guess I was a bit of a whore, too.

“Oh, you’re not a whore,” Shay said.

I nearly slammed right into her. She stood in the same alley, blocking me from Celestina, who crouched against a stairwell. The poor girl had her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried, though it didn’t disguise the bob of her shoulders as she wept.

“What?” I said, glancing back at Shay. “Where did you come from?”

“Where you left me!”

“I-I didn’t leave you. You ran off.”

Shay snorted. “Please. You never think of anyone but yourself. Did you stop to look? Check if I was in trouble?”

“I ...” I had run off to find Celestina. I’d left Shay in the grips of danger. But right now, I was still more worried about Celestina. Yeah, maybe I was a bad friend to Shay. But she wasn’t the one who barely avoided being raped just to have her own mother call her a cheap whore.

I stepped around Shay and knelt beside Celestina, then put a hand on her head. She jerked up to glare at me, then wiped her face on her sleeve. “What?” she demanded.

“Listen to me. You are not a whore. You’re a member of the Seal of Solomon. You risk your life and your mind to keep dangerous relics out of the hands of equally dangerous men.” Men like Lobo.

“I failed ... I failed.”

I knew the feeling. I glanced back at Shay, who now glared down at me. Even Celestina seemed to further wither under that gaze.

God, I had to get through to her. I raced a dozen lines around my mind, trying to find the one thing that would click for her. Her file made her sound like a firecracker. “I don’t know you, really. But Crispin didn’t make you sound like the kind of woman to give up and cry.”

“Crispin?” I could see it on her face. Fear of disappointing her mentor, and the desire to prove herself, warred with the depression trying to overtake her.

It was what you had to do in the classroom, too. If you wanted to make an impression, the key was to find that one thing you could say that would stick with students, years after the actual lessons faded from memory.

And I had. I had helped students. Shay was wrong. It wasn’t all for myself. Okay, I mean, yeah, I’m a bit self-absorbed. But I ... I glanced back at her again. Felt her judging me.

What had I said to Celestina? Seemed like I needed to hear the same things. We risked our bodies and minds ...

Minds.

I looked from Celestina to Shay, then to the gritty alley we were clustered in. An alley in the slums of Mexico City, where we’d run to from Lobo’s estate. But it had taken nearly an hour to drive there this morning. And it was quiet, when the Tepito District had always had at least some kind of sound yesterday—cars, kids, dogs, whatever.

Something was wrong here.

Celestina’s file said she had no family left. Her mother couldn’t be here, because she’d died three years ago. So either Celestina had lied in her file ... Or.

I rose, then turned back to Shay. She was gone again. And she couldn’t have been here at all. She had no way to know I’d be in Mexico City. A day ago, I didn’t even know I’d be here. She’d have had no way to know I was in trouble at that compound, either. And when I came out of the house just now, she’d said, ‘Oh, you’re not a whore.’ But I hadn’t even said I was. Just thought it.

So unless Shay was a telepath—which I doubted, because she would’ve slapped my head off if she heard half my thoughts—I was hallucinating her. How long had I been off the meds? It depended how long I’d been unconscious from the Sand. Unless ... Unless I was still unconscious. Dreaming.

We’d thought the Sand might be tied to a jinn. Follow the trail of the Sand, find the jinn, find the relic. But what if the Sand wasn’t a link to a relic, but the relic itself? These Sands were more than just a hot new drug, they were something much older … and much more dangerous.

And Lobo had dunked me in that big barrel of bad juju. Prick.

So if Shay wasn’t real ... Maybe no one was. For God’s sake, I was being tormented by Descartes’ demon. I walked off, but Celestina chased after me.

“Wait! You said we were in this together.”

“That was when I thought you were more than a figment of my mind.”

“I was ... what?”

“You’re just some twisted manifestation of my psyche.” Just like Shay. She represented my failures, my weaknesses. Had to be. Shay was the bridge between the life I’d lost and whatever semblance of one I had now, under Crispin’s thumb.

She grabbed my arm, spun me around, and slapped me in the face. “Which aspect of your psyche was that?”

My masochistic side? I shook my head, trying to clear it. “You want to play? Fine. When was the last time you saw your mother before today?”

She gnawed her lip a moment. “Her ... funeral. Three years ago.”

“You went to her funeral? And she’s doing what, exactly, in that house over there? Baking cookies?”

Celestina’s eyes opened wider. Odd. I’d sort of expected her to just vanish. “Mamá ... Mamá never believed in me. She said I should have been a son. Called me perrita … But … Mamá is dead.”

Okay. That was awful. And not something likely to have come from my psyche. Besides, since when did I worry I was a whore?

But Shay was definitely from my psyche, and Celestina had seen her. She’d felt the same condemnation from her that I had—I’d seen it in her eyes.

Was it possible we were both in the same dream?

Hey. I’d seen people turned into fish. I wasn’t going to rule anything out at this point.

I put a hand on her shoulder. Had to trust someone. “Tell me what happened to you. You went to meet Ramos. What happened next?”

“I-I ... He brought me to Lobo. I didn’t know he was behind the Sand. When I got here, he … he thought I would be his coyote again. Told me we would be together again. Then a man showed up and told him I was with the Seal. Lobo was mad. Mad like … like he used to be.” Celestina paled and started shivering at whatever memory that conjured up. I didn’t know what to do, so I just waited for her to continue. “Once Lobo learned who I was, he forced me to do Sand. A lot of it. I guess he thought I’d ...”

Become addicted. The Sand must cause dream-like hallucinations. But since Celestina and I had both been given whole lungful’s, in such close proximity, we’d become trapped in a shared dreamworld.

I hate my life.

A low growl sounded somewhere behind us. We shared a glance, then slowly turned to look.

You have got to be kidding me.

With a great bounce, a jackrabbit the size of a grizzly bear, with the antlers of an antelope, hopped around the corner. A jackalope. One of the weirdest creatures from American folklore. I’d always thought they were kind of neat.

It rose onto its hind legs, revealing razor-sharp claws, and snarled. Bits of spittle flew from its mouth.

Yeah. Not looking so neat now.

“¡Ay Dios mío!” Celestina took off running, sprinting around the corner.

I stared at the jackalope for a heartbeat, and I swear the damn thing stared back as if to say Your move.

I followed Celestina’s lead and ran like hell.

Behind us, crashes sounded with each hop, like the stomp of an elephant. Celestina darted into a building and I followed, slamming the door behind us. Not like it would do us much good. The jackalope could break it down with its breath alone, so unless it got confounded by the doorknob we were in some serious trouble.

The jackalope bounced around the corner and kept going, leaping into the middle of a crowded street. Car horns blared at the thing. The shriek of tires and sound of a collision echoed from somewhere out of sight. I leaned against a wall, letting out a shaky, slightly mad-sounding laugh.

“What the hell was that?” Celestina asked.

“A jackalope,” I said.

She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, if the giant rabbit-bear was any indication.

“Look, Celestina. I think the Sand is a relic. It drugged you into some kind of dreamworld, like a living nightmare. Somehow it pulled me into it, too. Certain aspects of our personalities, our minds, are manifesting themselves. That’s why you saw your mother there, and why she made you feel so … bad about yourself.”

Celestina’s eyes shimmered with tears, but I could see her push them away as she puzzled over my words. She glanced back at the door, as if watching for the jackalope to return. “Well, that thing sure as hell didn’t come out of my mind. Exactly what aspect of your psyche is represented by a man-eating bunny?”

Good question. Sadly, no witty comeback was forthcoming. “Uh, well ... I have a little bit of a problem with psychosis ...” And clearly those meds were wearing off.

“Your psychosis just tried to eat us!”

“Yeaaaah. Sorry about that.”

Celestina slumped against the wall. “Fine. So, if this is all a dream ... Lobo’s not really here?”

Not if I had to guess. “I’m thinking he represents your ...”

“My fear.”

I could sense a lot of wounds behind the certainty in her voice. “He hurt you.”

She looked away. “And this other woman?”

“Shay. Must be my own weaknesses. Or maybe my conscience. Same thing, really.”

“Come again?”

“Never mind. That obviously wasn’t your mother, either.” Perhaps a manifestation of her own doubts and self-loathing. The woman’s gaze had made me hate myself, and I’m a pretty likable guy. Sort of.

With a grunt, she rose, shaking her head. “Sí. Mamá is gone.” She was silent for a moment. “So how do we get out of here?”

At this point anything was worth a try. I stood tall and clicked my heels together. “There’s no place like home.” Nothing happened. Well, except Celestina looked at me like I was an idiot. Okay, fine. I shrugged. “It’s your dream. I’m just a spectator.” With a ghost of condemnation and a giant rabbit-bear in tow.

She nodded slowly. “We’ll have to face Lobo, I guess.”

Confront her fears and end the dream. Well, that made sense. Scary, stupid sense, what with him being a muscle-bound hulk and having faceless bodyguards with automatic weapons.

“Are you sure you can handle that?”

She gnawed her lip, then stalked out the door. I guess that was a yes.

Firecracker. Oh yeah.

We retraced our steps back to Lobo’s compound. It was pretty much the last place in the world I wanted to go. But my gut told me Celestina was right, and the way out lay in the same place we got in. I’d like to pretend Lobo wouldn’t be able to hurt me. But Shay seemed to have the same effect on Celestina as she did on me, and dear old Mamá had worn me down too. So, I was guessing, the longer Celestina and I stayed trapped here, the more real the danger became.

I paused outside the compound. Once again, no guards watched it. The faceless men must be extensions of Lobo himself, anyway.

“Look, if those guys with guns are coming from your mind, maybe you can control them. Just focus on turning them off. Can you do that?”

“Sí. You focus too.”

After a deep breath, I sprinted back toward the main house, Celestina in tow. I had to hand it to her. She ran right in there to face her fears. If my psycho rabbit-bear was in there, I’m not sure I would have raced in with quite that much enthusiasm.

I crept through the mansion to the room I’d seen Lobo before. He was still there, jabbing the poor Chihuahua with a poker. “You like it, bitch?”

The dog whimpered as it backed away.

Lobo cackled like a lunatic. Two guards with uzis chuckled, watching the scene. Now or never.

I launched myself at the nearest guard, slamming him into the wall. Celestina stepped in right behind me.

“Not real!” she shouted.

The other guard raised an uzi at me and pulled the trigger. The gun turned to pudding in his hands. Nice. While he was distracted I socked him in the face. Which actually really hurt. I wrung my hand out while I turned to Lobo.

“All right, big guy, you’re next.”

“You gonna bleed, gringo.”

I took a step toward him, but before I could strike a sudden, sharp pain lanced between my ribs. It doubled me over, and I clutched my side. Blood seeped through my fingers. What the …? He said bleed and I did?

The world shifted around me. For one second, I was laying on that mattress, a knife jabbed in my side. Then I was back to the dripping blood, spinning head, and darkening vision. I slumped to my knees.

Celestina screamed.

Lobo grinned, revealing teeth filed into points. Like fangs. He stalked over to Celestina, who curled into a ball before him, then grabbed her by the hair and began dragging her toward the cage. “You and me are gonna have some hot makeup sex. Then I’m gonna lock you in the cage with that pathetic dog of yours until you beg me for more.”

The world rippled, and another Lobo appeared on the floor beside me, groaning. He rolled over, then sat slowly.

Just outside the door, a man spoke. “I told you I wanted them alive, Lobo. A knife to the ribs is not conducive to that state.” The man’s accent was odd, his goatee thick. But it was his eyes that bothered me most. Like fire raged behind them. “I believe it’s time for you to join the party.”

The first Lobo flung Celestina aside to examine the new one. That Lobo—the real Lobo, I suspected—cringed. Even he was scared of the hulk in here. Fitting enough, I supposed. Small comfort we were all going to be tortured together.

Sudden pressure bound the wound on my side, and the blood seeping through my hand slowed to a trickle. Someone was trying to keep my body alive in the real world. Thank God. My side still stung like hell, but at least I could breathe again.

Metal groaned as Celestina flung open the cage. The Chihuahua rushed out and into her arms. It licked her face, then barked at the Lobos. Both stopped to stare at the tiny dog. Damn thing would get stepped on.

Celestina quivered, as did her dog. But beneath that was rage. Celestina released the dog and it stalked toward the men, growing in form as it approached. “The bitch didn’t like being locked up,” she said.

The dog snarled. And then it leapt forward. In midair, it transformed into a coyote and landed on fang-Lobo’s chest. Its weight pinned the prick to the ground. Boni, the coyote, sunk her teeth into the man’s throat.

The real Lobo stared at the scene. A whimper that sounded a lot like the Chihuahua’s escaped his throat. When the dog raised its bloody muzzle toward him, he squealed—I’m not kidding, he honest-to-God squealed—and grabbed Celestina by the shoulders.

“Celestina, baby, I’m sorry! I’m sorry! But you gotta help me. You can’t let that … that thing get me!”

Celestina stared into Lobo’s crazed eyes. I was damn happy I wasn’t on the receiving end of that look. Now I know what it means to glare daggers.

“Estás equivocado, Lobo,” she said. “I can.”

With a flick of her wrist, she sent her attack coyote after him.

Lobo shrieked and ran for the fallen uzi. He brought it up to fire at the coyote, but the gun turned to pudding in his hands. He dropped it and ran. Didn’t get far. The coyote was on him in five paces. It knocked him down, and I had to look away from the bloody mess it made of him.

A few minutes later the Chihuahua pranced back into the room and lay down at Celestina’s feet.

“Uh, what was that?” I asked, finally daring to stand.

She scratched the little dog behind the ears. “I think ... my anger.”

All caged up and ready to boil over. “Hell hath no fury ...” I said, shaking my head.

I looked around. The fang-Lobo had vanished, along with his goons. The real Lobo was a mess of gore I refused to acknowledge. Celestina stood in the middle of it all, victorious. So why were we still here?

“That should have worked,” I said. “You overcame your fears. That should have gotten us out of here.”

“You have not confronted yours,” Celestina said.

I shook my head. “No. But this is your dreamworld. My presence here isn’t more than a complication.”

Celestina turned back to where the man with the goatee had appeared. “That’s the man who brought Lobo here,” she said. “He’s the one who told him I was part of the Seal in the first place. The supplier.”

Supplier of the Sand. And if the Sand was a relic ... that man must be a jinn. It had pissed him off when Lobo stabbed me—not that I was thrilled, either. But that meant he wanted us alive. “The jinn must feed off those under the influence of the Sand. In mythology, there are lots of gods of dreams. The Greeks called them oneiroi. Morpheus was the most famous.”

“You think he’s a jinn? Or a god?”

“God? No. Jinn? Yes. And he might be our only way out.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Obviously he can control the dream, since he brought Lobo here and showed up himself. If his control gets shut off, the dream should end.”

“Or we’ll be stuck in it forever.”

It was a possibility, but one I’d rather not consider. Celestina was great company, but I didn’t relish the thought of spending the rest of our lives literally running from our demons.

Celestina seemed to understand, because she didn’t pursue the thought. “How would we fight a jinn, in a world he controls?”

I had no idea. But I limped out of the compound, hand still holding my side. A second later, Celestina slipped my free arm around her shoulder and helped me along.

“Thank you,” I said.

“No. Thank you, Señor Winfield. Whatever happens ... gracias.”

“Considering we’ve shared a drug-addled Vulcan mind-meld, I think you can call me Ady.”

A tingle passed over my body and the world rippled. Like when the jinn had appeared. I turned to look behind us, and the little goateed man sat on the roof, grinning.

“Enjoying the show, Morpheus?” I shouted.

“Enormously. Keep it up.” The jinn cocked his head. “Morpheus. I like that.”

A growl sounded some distance beyond us. The ground trembled beneath me.

“Not this again,” Celestina moaned.

The jackalope leapt over the compound wall, as if it was no more than a minor obstacle, to land fifty feet away.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sorry about this.”

She shoved me forward. “Just run!”

We took off, but in the compound, there was nowhere to hide. In three bounds, the jackalope had closed the distance and stood before us. It reared on its hind legs and roared again.

Celestina was right. I hadn’t confronted my issues yet. It might not release us from the Sand, but … I guess it was about time I did something about them.

I pushed Celestina away. “Hey! You belong to me, bunny boy!”

The jackalope landed back on all fours and stared right in my eye. Your move.

Well? Why not? I mean, it had worked for Celestina on the guns and Chihuahua.

“All right, bunny,” I said. “As my psychosis, I demand you start working for me this instant.”

The jackalope lowered itself to the ground. Allowing me to mount it. I climbed onto its back and wrapped my hands around its neck, clutching its soft mane for dear life. I am riding a giant rabbit-bear. That represents my psychosis. They’ll never believe this back home.

“What are you doing?” the jinn shrieked from the rooftop.

I gave my noble steed a kick in the side. “Now hop!”

It did, easily clearing the distance onto the two-story roof. Shingles crashed and splintered beneath us, and the jackalope was off again with another bounce. The jinn stood and ran along the roof.

Might as well make the most of it. “Hi-ho, bunny, away!” I shouted.

Bounce by bounce, we gained on the jinn. He teleported away, appearing on the ground some yards below. Celestina sent Boni toward him, the dog again becoming the coyote.

“We’ve got you now!” I shouted, leaping the jackalope off the roof.

The jinn teleported outside the wall. Again and again he cleared distance, but he didn’t seem able to get more than twenty yards ahead of us. Which was only a bounce or two for me and the bunny. I screamed at the top of my lungs as we chased the jinn back into the city. Little prick must not be able to escape the dreamworld without time to concentrate. Hard as hell to concentrate with a madman and his pet jackalope on your heels.

We leapt onto a car, smashing it beneath us, then bounced over a building to land in front of the jinn. He skidded to a stop, trying to double-back. Celestina and her coyote cut off his retreat. I could see the terror forming in the jinn’s eyes.

That’s right. Cornered between an abused woman’s anger and an unhinged man’s psychosis. Nowhere to run, bitch.

The jinn tried to vanish again. The coyote knocked him to the ground just before he disappeared, and a swipe of the jackalope’s claws eviscerated him.

A second later, another ripple passed over us and I shot awake. I lay on the same dirty mattress, beside Celestina. An agent was bandaging my side, and several more were securing the barrels of Sand for transport to Seal HQ. Crispin was fawning over his protégé. Man had actually come out in the field for her. She must be special. But then, I knew that. By now, I probably knew her better than anyone.

Which is why I wasn’t surprised when she rose, walked over to Lobo’s dead body, and kicked him in the face.

“Winfield,” Crispin said. “Took us a while to trace your transmitter. It cut off so suddenly. Got here as soon as we could.”

Must have been why Lobo stabbed me. Probably didn’t like a SWAT team of Seal guys storming in on him.

But what about the jinn? There was no sign he’d ever been here. Had we really killed him, or had he somehow survived the dream? Maybe he just lost his source of food when we were no longer afraid, so he bolted. I hoped we’d killed him, but I had no way of knowing. Hell, I didn’t even know if they could die. If the Seal knew anything about how to kill the creatures, they hadn’t shared it with me.

“Medic says you’re going to be okay, Winfield,” Crispin said.

“Yeah, thanks.” I turned to look at Celestina and felt ... something. A level of understanding two people almost never managed. It felt like I’ve known her my entire life, and then some. I could almost tell what she was thinking just by her eyes.

There were a lot of details I’d be leaving out of my report.

And I knew she could tell that by the way she smiled at me. She walked over, hugged me. “Gracias, Ady.”

I returned her hug and stroked her cheek. “You’re gonna be okay. Remember not to keep that fire locked up inside.”

“Sí. And you? Will you be well?”

“Yeah, sure.” I shrugged. Pretty sure I could get Crispin to arrange some time off. I did get stabbed, after all. “Actually, I’m thinking about getting a pet bunny.”

CHAPTER FOUR

There’s nothing quite as soul-crushing as the shriek of your phone at four in the morning. I was having a good dream, I think, about a girl in a clown car. And instead of finding out just what she was going to do with that balloon animal, I was forced to roll over and get the damn phone.

“Hello?”

“Ady-ji?” a woman said.

“Puhi?”

“Kya?”

I chuckled under my breath. My Indian friend was easily flustered. “Do you know what time it is in America, Pihu?”

“You made me worried … I thought I had maybe the wrong number.” She spoke quickly, an edge to her words. “You told me I can call you if anything else unusual ever happened.”

Yeah, I did. I didn’t mean at four a.m., but what the hell. With another groan I rose to sit, cracking my neck and stretching. “All right, then. Hit me.”

“Kya? Are you well, Ady?”

Well I’d have been better with another two—or maybe five—hours of sleep, and possibly a real girl in bed beside me, but I supposed she wouldn’t want to hear that. I’d kept up with Pihu on Facebook, the occasional email, but this was the first time she’d called me since I left India six months before. She’d since moved back with her parents in New Delhi. “Okay, just start at the beginning.”

“Thik hai. This … In Connaught Place … There was a …” Her voice trembled a little and broke, and she began to whisper. “In the McD’s I …”

Well that was illuminating. “Pihu, calm down. Where are you?”

“Hospital. I’m waiting now. There are other people hurt worse, and I …”

“Hospital? What happened, Pihu?” I stood now, and pulled on my pants. I was clearly not getting back in that clown car any time soon. “Are you all right?”

“Thik hun, thik hun. Just some cuts. He … He threw an auto into the window, Ady! It … The driver is in a coma, another man’s arm is broken. One little girl got trapped beneath, she’s in surgery … Ady, I—”

“An auto?”

“An auto-rickshaw.”

As in one of those yellow-green taxi things? Who the hell could throw something like that? She must have been in shock. Someone must have lost control and driven it through the window. But I’d never heard her so shaken up. She always seemed so innocent, so happy. Just this cute kid right out of college, working as a waitress. “Pihu, listen to me. Take a deep breath, all right? I’m on my way. You just take care of yourself and go home and get some sleep.”

“Acha, thik hai. You’re coming to India again?”

God help me. My last assignment had taken me to Mexico, and I’d only gotten back a few days ago. I told her again to rest, then dialed up Agent Crispin. His position with the Seal of Solomon meant he could have me on a plane for India in an hour.

“You think this has to do with a relic?” he asked after I explained the situation.

“I don’t know, Crispin,” I said as I buttoned a shirt. “But my contact thought something supernatural happened.”

“And since when are you so eager to jump at every lead?”

Since Pihu wound up in the hospital. I didn’t have a lot of friends—my secret life hunting relics for the Seal tended to make more enemies than allies. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let one of those few friends down. “It’s what you pay me for.”

“Fine. Go.”

An hour later I was in the air. And, yeah, a flight from D.C. to New Delhi was as painfully long as a B-movie marathon, and without the cheap laughs at dumbass teen hijinxs. But since it was a private plane, I could at least catch a few more hours of sleep without some smelly whale draping his arm over my armrest or blabbing in my ear.

I’d spent the last year of my life scouring the globe, hunting down relics of supposed gods—we preferred to call them jinn—on behalf of a secret organization, and all I really knew about Crispin and the rest of the Seal was they were liars. And power mad. And very, very rich. They paid me well. Plus they kept me out of jail despite some prior indiscretions. And by indiscretions I mean felonies.

I woke to the unmistakable taste of cardboard in my mouth. And in my haste, I hadn’t even packed a toothbrush. You’d think I would have gotten better as this international travel thing. Not so much.

Sleep in a chair, even on a private plane, wasn’t the most restful, and I was sore—mentally and physically—as I went through customs in Indira Gandhi International. I bought a toothbrush and some basic necessities at the airport, then stepped outside. There were always about a gazillion taxis and auto-rickshaws available, so I had no worries about finding a ride. It was already morning, and Delhi seemed as sleepy as I felt, so much different than when I’d come in at night last time.

“A hotel, nearby,” I told one taxi driver. “The Radisson.” Let Crispin foot the bill for that.

He grinned and waved me into a car. The moment I sat, he handed me a business card, and starting talking a million miles an hour, offering me anything I needed. I just pointed to my phone. I dialed up Pihu from the back seat. The roaming charges were probably a bitch, but Crispin provided the phone, so let him deal.

It rang a half dozen times. Didn’t she have voicemail? And then she answered, her voice thick and slow. “Hello?”

“I’m here. I’m just going to check into the Radisson, then I’m coming to meet you. Text me your address.”

“Mmmmm. Okay.”

Yeah—she was going back to sleep the moment she cut the line.

I leaned forward to the driver. “Can you tell me what happened in Connaught Place yesterday?”

“You going Connaught Place?” His accent was thick.

“No, I just want information.”

“Go Connaught Place?”

“No! The Radisson.”

“Sorry. My English okay, okay.”

So … I spoke English, Italian, Spanish, and a bit of French. Hindi, not so much. I rubbed my face, my eyes dry. I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this guy. Instead, I paid him, and checked into the hotel, relieved to find the staff spoke English.

After a shower—and yeah, I really, really needed that—I checked my phone. Pihu had sent her address, though it meant little to me.

I showed it to the deskman downstairs, and he hired a taxi for me. I tipped both men well. My Hindi may have sucked, but money spoke any language. That was one thing world travel taught you. Everybody liked the green. Or pink, in the case of these rupees.

It was almost noon when I arrived at Pihu’s house, and I admit a certain trepidation in shuffling through a neighborhood of Indians watching me critically. There was no hatred in their stares, it wasn’t like that. But a clear sense of confusion, an unsaid warning I did not belong here. Course, I was used to sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, so I trod up the steps and banged on the door.

After a small scuffling on the other side, a middle-aged man opened it. I pressed my hands together over my chest and made a slight bow. “Namaste, Mr. Patel.”

The man returned the gesture. “Namaste. Please come. Beta,” he called into the room beyond, then led me through a short hall. A pile of shoes sat in the corner, so I kicked mine off too.

A moment later Pihu stepped around the corner, wearing a colorful outfit—shades of blue, green, and yellow offering brilliant compliments to her slim frame. My attention didn’t linger there, though. She had a bandage wrapped around her left hand, and a pair of Band-Aids on her cheek. Other, smaller scrapes marred her brow and the bridge of her nose, dangerously close to her left eye.

I took an involuntary step toward her, and only restrained myself from hugging her when she shot her hand out to shake mine. “Welcome back, Ady-ji.”

“Pihu, I told you. Just call me Ady.”

She bobbed her shoulders. “Thik hai. Chalo.” She waved me into the other room, which had a simple couch arranged in front of a mid-sized TV. I joined her on the couch, and she smiled at me wanly. The cuts obviously hurt, and my vision narrowed. I had the irrepressible urge to beat the living hell out of whoever had hurt the poor girl.

“Chai, Ady?” she said a moment later.

“Uh, sure.” I didn’t normally drink tea, but when in India … Or whatever. She probably wasn’t going to offer me a beer, anyway.

She spoke in Hindi, calling into the kitchen to her mother.

Her father joined us in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “You stay for lunch?” he said.

I shook my head. “Thank you, no.”

“Please. Indian tradition. Please.”

And it was going to be vegetarian, wasn’t it? I forced a smile anyway, and spread my hands. “Okay. Thik hai,” I said, the words feeling awkward on my tongue.

“Tell me what happened, Pihu,” I said.

She sighed, then looked down, lowering her eyes. “I was going shopping at Palika. I just stopped at McD’s for lunch.”

“McD’s?” I ran that around in my mind. McDonald’s? A girl who had worked in one of the finest restaurants I’d ever eaten at went to McDonald’s for lunch? I glanced at her father, but though he watched intently, it seemed he didn’t completely follow the conversation.

She nodded, then her mother came in with a tray of hot tea. I took one and tried to sip it, but it seared my tongue. Mrs. Patel disappeared back into the kitchen. Pihu watched her tea a while, then turned to me. “I was downstairs, having lunch.” Downstairs? McDonald’s had two stories? “Glass shattered upstairs, and people screamed. Then an auto came flying through the window. Just like bashoom!” She waved her hands near each other. “Ady, there was so much blood, so much screaming. But on the street, I saw this one-handed man. People said he threw the auto at us. That’s impossible, right Ady-ji?”

I sipped the tea to buy time to think. I’d certainly never heard of anything like it. I’d spent a lot of time studying the relics. They could let people do some amazing things … Alter probability, create mind-blowing food, even trap a man in dreams. But I’d never heard of something allowing someone superhuman strength.

“Pihu, are you sure that’s what happened?”

“This happened very quickly. So danger, Ady.”

Yeah. But there was no reason to believe anything supernatural was going on here. Of course, that’s what I’d thought last time I was in India, too. Pihu had just taken it for granted the supernatural existed, which made it much easier to explain to her than others. It really was kind of a relief. Most people think I’m insane—which is partly true. If I skip my meds I can get a bit paranoid, even start to hallucinate …

“Look, I’m going to go there and check it out,” I said. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

“Yes, I’m coming with you.”

I shook my head. “No. Stay here and rest.”

That frown was so damn cute when she nodded. I hoped her father couldn’t guess I was imagining her naked. I grinned stupidly at the man, and raised my cup. “Thank you for the tea.”

They served lentils and rice for lunch, which I can’t say was too exciting, but I was hungry. After the meal I headed out to Connaught Place and tracked down the McDonald’s in question. It was indeed two stories, with each floor offering a massive window out into the street. Both windows had been removed and taped over, and the place was closed. Inside, workers cleared away a mess of broken glass, blood, and crushed tables on the first floor. Something had busted the place up big time. It wasn’t the worst destruction I’d ever seen, but I still shuddered. Pihu had been inside when it happened. Where had she sat? One seat to the left or right, and would she be dead now?

I stalked closer, then a security guard sputtered at me. “No, no. No, no.”

I stepped close to him. “Are there tapes of what happened?”

“Hanji?”

“My friend was in here, she was hurt. I want to know what happened. Do you have security tapes? Recordings. CCTV?”

“CCTV?” He raised his hands, waving them in front of him.

Time for the universal language, again, then. I discretely slipped fifty thousand rupees from my wallet. It was so easy to be generous with Crispin’s money. I guessed it was probably about a thousand dollars, more than a McDonald’s security guard made in a year, probably. To his credit, he hesitated. I mean for about half a second, but it was there, that doubt. It didn’t last. He motioned me inside and led me into the back, then started the tape.

It focused on the upstairs. A foreigner there, a one-handed man, looked at something out on the street. He dropped his chicken burger, stood, and punched through the glass before leaping into the street. Dear God. That could not be real. “Run that back,” I said, waving my hand.

I watched it a second time. The man’s face was not clear, but he had definitely punched his fist into that window and shattered it. Then jumped down a story like it was nothing.

So. Pihu was right. Something beyond the norm was going on here. “Is there more?”

The guard grunted, then switched the angles. The cameras had a view of the sidewalk, but not a clear view of the street. I could see a shadow of the one-handed man as he ran into the road. But the only clear view was that of a goateed man just downstairs who started to run. Another foreigner, an Arab maybe. The other man threw himself prone an instant before an auto-rickshaw flew through the air, driver and all, like someone had flung a frisbee.

The vehicle slammed through the glass downstairs and the window exploded in a rain of deadly shards. Wood and plastic and glass and dust flew everywhere, clouding my view. When it cleared, both men were gone. A hollow pit emptied in my stomach. I scratched the back of my hand with the stubble on my chin.

I’d seen some pretty crazy things in my life. But this was … Pihu was lucky to be alive. Everyone was lucky. That man on the street, he’d known the one-handed man. That much was clear on his face.

“I need a copy,” I said, offering him another ten thousand rupees.

It was three in the afternoon and I already needed a drink. Instead, I took the DVD the guard gave me and went back to Pihu’s house. She was the only witness I had. I hated the thought of making her relive it, but she might catch something I’d missed. One thing was clear. I couldn’t just go home. These two men had come here and nearly killed a friend of mine, and using some kind of power that had to come from a relic. If I could find the one who ran, he might lead me to the other one.

When I returned to her house, Pihu brought me her laptop and slipped the DVD in. She cringed as the scene played before her. And, yeah, I felt like an ass for making her watch, but I’d feel worse if I did nothing. I patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“Ary! I know him,” she said pointing at the goatee man. “He stays at the Oberoi. He’s been there full time I was working there. Mr. Seth.”

Well now. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard after all. “I guess I need to have a chat with our foreign friend.”

She bobbed her head. “I will take you. Chalo.”

“Pihu, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. This guy could be dangerous.”

“Oh, so danger, mmm. But you need my help, I work there.”

I reluctantly agreed. She had a point. An employee could get me to the man twice as fast, and attract less attention doing it. Of course, the last time she tried to help in an investigation it almost cost her life. But there was no denying her this time.

We took the metro to the Oberoi Hotel in Central Delhi. “Please wait,” she said when we entered the lobby, then scurried off to talk to someone. A few minutes later she returned. “He’s in room 201. The staff says he’s there now. Chalo?”

“Yeah, I’m going. You wait down here.”

Her mouth hung open in a cute little way. I smirked and made my way to the elevator, then took it up. Okay, then. Deep breath. This guy might have a relic, but I’d dealt with relics before. I knocked.

After a moment, the goateed man opened the door. His skin tone was deep, though not as deep as an Indian. He might have been Arabic, or possibly mixed-race, it was hard to judge. Candy bar wrappers littered the floor. So he was a bit of a slob. My kind of guy.

“Seth?”

The man looked me up and down, then stepped aside, allowing me into the room. “Who are you?” he asked after shutting the door.

“A lot of people got hurt yesterday.”

Seth folded his arms and sat down on his bed. Despite the mess, the room was posh. Maybe more than mine. I might have to get an upgrade from Crispin. “You should tell me your name.”

“Adaire Winfield. Is Seth your first or last name?”

“Yes. How did you find me, Mr. Winfield?” His obvious ease disturbed mine, the way he watched me without a hint of nervousness.

I paced around the room. “This one-handed man … Who is he?”

“Mr. Winfield, you know you want to tell me how you found me so quickly.”

I did want to, I realized. I mean, this smug little man sat there thinking himself so high, and I’d tracked him down in one day. “Security camera. Funny how much more attention people pay to those, after someone throws an auto-rickshaw through a window.”

Seth smiled, though it seemed more disappointed than anything else.

“Now answer the question,” I said, “before this gets ugly. Your antics left a man in a coma and … lots of innocent people could have died.”

Seth rose and began packing a bag.

I looked at him incredulously. Was he for real? “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m going for a walk. This room is rather a mess, don’t you think, Mr. Winfield? I know how much you hate a dirty room. Maybe you’d better clean it up.”

He was right. I did hate a mess. God, there were wrappers covering the floor, dirty dishes on the counter, an apple core rotting in the trash. What kind of five-star place was this? I fell about, grabbing wrappers and tossing them in the trash.

“I’m sure you’ll have it spotless long before I get back,” Seth said, and walked out the door.

Yeah, I was gonna make this place shine. I rushed out into the hall and snatched a bucket and mop from a cleaning lady, ignoring her protests. With the trash cleaned away, I threw water on the floor and began to scrub. I’d show these people how to run a hotel.

When I finished that floor, I started in the bathroom.

A hand on my shoulder shocked me. “Ady-ji?”

I turned to see Pihu, her face a mask of concern, her brows drawn. “Are you well, Ady?”

“Yeah, I’m great. Just … cleaning up.” I glanced around the room. The floor was more squeaky clean than I’d ever seen my own place look.

“They said you stole a mop and started cleaning …? Why?”

Huh. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. “Where’s Seth?”

“He’s gone. He walked out the front door. That’s when I started to worry about you.”

That made two of us. I’d lost my man even faster than I’d found him. I was clearly rusty. Or something.

My head felt foggy. Jet lag must have been wearing on me. “You know, I think I’d better head back to my hotel,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Please. You must let us give you dinner first.”

Yeah, maybe food would help. She brought me back to her house, and her family served us this giant spiky fruit thing I’d never seen or heard of. And I’ll be honest, I was not sure about trying that thing at all. It was bigger than my head, and clearly not a watermelon, so…

“It’s kathal,” she said. “You’ll like it.”

I tried a bite. And I did like it. Go figure.

After dinner, Pihu called me a cab, and I crashed as soon as I hit the room. At least, I tried. But sleep eluded me. Instead of tossing and turning fruitlessly, I dialed Crispin. Maybe I could catch him still asleep.

“Report.” By the chipper sound of his voice, no luck there.

“Honey!” I said in my best whine—and I can whine like a pro, believe me. “I’ve been working all day and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

And … pregnant pause.

“Well, there is definitely something going on here,” I said at last. “I just haven’t been able to get a handle on quite what.”

“Well hurry up and get one, then,” Crispin said in a dry voice.

Had to love that man. “There’s at least two people involved, one of whom appears to have superhuman strength. I might need a bit of an edge getting a lead on these guys …”

“Superhuman strength? Do you have reason to believe the man in question is not human?”

Being one of the few agents to have had direct contact with a jinn—what the organization was calling these beings posing as gods—gave me a bit of pull. But the man on the video sure looked human. As the others had. When they chose to. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to let the trail go cold.”

“We have a man in RAW. I’ll put him at your disposal.”

“RAW?”

Crispin sighed. “It’s like the Indian CIA. He’ll have contacts in the area to help you.”

Oh great. Because working with one CIA was not enough. I wasn’t really surprised, though. Crispin’s work at the CIA was a cover for the Seal of Solomon, which was clearly international. Was this RAW agent in the Seal, too? “Fine.” I cut the line and laid down for some rest.

The ring of the hotel phone woke me. I rolled over and checked the time. Still the same night. Damn. What did I have to do to get some decent sleep these days? “Yes?”

“A man here to see you, Mr. Winfield.”

I sighed. “Send him up.”

I opened the door, then stepped back as an Indian man in a suit slipped into my room, looking around. “I’ve been told to arm you,” he said, handing me a holstered pistol.

I looked down at the gun, then back up at the Indian. Okay, so I’ve shot a gun a few times before. It didn’t mean I was thrilled to be in a situation where my people thought I’d need one. At last I grabbed the thing, uncomfortable with its weight in my hand. Could I shoot a man to save myself? The image of the auto flying through the window flashed before my mind. Hell yes, I’d shoot him.

“You’re RAW?”

“You can call me Saif.” The agent glanced around my room again, as if a threat would somehow materialize out of nowhere. “I need to see whatever records you have of the targets.”

Targets? “There’s two men we’re looking for,” I said, handing him the DVD. “The one-handed man I know little about, but the other one was going by Seth and staying at the Oberoi.”

Saif tucked the DVD into his coat, and handed me a badge. “National Security Consultant.” Nice. The agent turned and left.

Okay then. Bed. Again.

In the morning I went to check on Pihu. She was healing well, and, as usual, her father offer me chai. I swear the man was an addict. Or trying to make me one.

“I asked around at the Oberoi and Seth never returned,” Pihu said as we sipped chai. “But when he was there he always paid in advance, tipped well, and wanted to be left alone. Did you learn anything?”

Eager little thing, wasn’t she? I was about to warn her to back off when my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“He’s in Pahar Ganj, staying at Hotel Dada, room 301. Fake passport.” The line went dead.

Impressive work. Saif might want to buff up his social skills, but I’d cut him some slack. Mainly because I hoped to never need to talk to him again.

“Listen, I have to go,” I said. “I’ll call you later.”

“Ady … Take care.”

I nodded and left, then grabbed a cab to Pahar Ganj. The streets there were dirtier, and the back alleys I found myself wending through stank of rotting food and stale urine. A motorcycle sped by, almost running over my foot. I leapt backward and stepped in a puddle. “Egh…” I shook my foot out, trying really hard not to think about anything that might have been in the puddle other than water.

Hotel Dada was a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place. So why would someone used to the posh luxury of the Oberoi slum it in one of the cheapest sections of Delhi? Because he wanted to go unseen. God only knew how Saif had tracked him here. Passport, maybe. Hotels here always checked those.

Inside, I showed the man behind the counter my badge. “I need to see a foreigner staying here. Room 301.”

He shook his head. “No foreigner. Punjabi.”

Punjabi? Really? “Fine. I still need to see him.”

The man pointed at the lift past the stairs. I strode over and hit the button to go up. I paused outside the door. I’d strapped the gun’s hostler to my belt. My coat covered it, mostly, but I reassured myself it was easy to draw. Then I rapped on the door.

A light-skinned Indian man with a goatee opened the door. His skin and eyes had changed, but I’d have sworn it was Seth. I stood there with my mouth agape, and he grabbed me and pulled me into the room. He flung me onto the couch and closed the door.

I stumbled, turned around, and met his original face. I blinked. Okay, I had not just seen that. Because I had taken my meds this morning … Hadn’t I? Had I been taking them since I got to India? I may have missed a dose …

“You are persistent, Mr. Winfield. Irritatingly so.”

I reached a hand inside my jacket and wrapped it around the gun, but Seth made no threatening move, so I didn’t draw the weapon. “I want some answers, now.”

“How did you find me this time, Mr. Winfield?”

I rose from the couch, but didn’t advance. He stood blocking the door, and I could do nothing unless I attacked him. “I’m good at my job. Tell me about the other man. The one-handed man.”

Seth folded his arms. “You want to have a seat, Mr. Winfield.”

I sat, relieved to get off my feet.

Seth walked over to a bag on the bed and pulled out a Snickers. He unwrapped it and started to eat.

“Tell me what the hell is going on here!” I demanded.

After chewing a bite, he swallowed and walked over to me. “You are good at finding people, aren’t you? And you want to find my brother?” He nodded. “Yes. You want to find my brother.”

Yes. I did. I really did.

“The one-handed man is your brother?”

He nodded. “You should find him and tell me where he is.”

I grunted, then inclined my head. That would be the right thing to do. He clearly knew how best to handle the situation. Seth watched my face, then chuckled and took another bite of the Snickers. “Forgive me. Low blood sugar sometimes.”

“Does your brother have a relic?”

“I’ve met your kind before, you know,” Seth said. “No matter how many times I send you away you’re going to keep digging, aren’t you? You’re one of those men who can’t tell what’s in your own best interest. And even my best efforts are temporary. Sooner or later it’ll wear off, and you’d be bothering me again. I just wanted to catch a movie at the Regal. Maybe get some popcorn. What’s the point of immortality if you can’t enjoy the small things?”

Immortality? What in the world?

I’d had about enough of this crap. I had to go find his brother. And before that I needed to know what was going on. I pulled the gun and rested it in my lap, the message clear. Start talking, or things get ugly.

Seth folded his arms again. “You should put that away.”

He was right. No reason this had to get ugly. I put the gun away.

“You know,” Seth said, “the stories call me a villain and my brother some noble victim. They say I murdered him, made him king of the underworld. Can you believe that? People never get things quite right. Normally, I might just kill someone as annoying as you. But I suspect you’d be helpful in stopping Osiris, or at least in finding him.” He stepped closer to me, and I struggled to back away. “Hold still.” I did. “You really want to know what’s going on? Be it on your own head, Mr. Winfield.” He slipped a long knife from the back of his pants, then cut his palm.

He walked to the vanity and squeezed, several drops of blood falling into a glass. Then he returned and handed me the bloody glass. “This is a cup of refreshing red wine. You’ve had a hard day and should take a drink. Then you want to find my brother and come back to me.”

I took the frothy glass of red wine, savoring its fresh aroma. It was small, so I chugged it in one swig, feeling its rich burn, and its odd coppery aftertaste.

“It was always in the blood, you know,” Seth said. “We just didn’t realize right away. You should go, Mr. Winfield.”

I stumbled to my feet, suddenly drunk as though I’d had three glasses of wine instead of one. My vision swam, and for a moment a tree rose up in front of me, an acacia on the African veldt, huge almost beyond imagining. Animals gathered around the tree, lions and zebras, predator and prey lying together to drink from the stream before the acacia. Such a thick canopy, a sheet of leaves in a hundred colors, it should have blocked out the light and limited foliage beneath it. Instead, flowers bloomed everywhere around the tree.

I reached out to touch the acacia, then fell to my knees. Someone helped me up. I was in the hotel lobby. God, I needed to get my meds. This was like an acid trip, and I did not need that right now. I stumbled out of the hotel and around the corner, back toward the main street.

I held my hand up until an auto-rickshaw pulled over, then told the man to take me back to my hotel. My head screamed as I reclined in the back seat.

“Soon I will have your blood, Desertbringer.” The voice resounded through me.

I looked up from the pavement outside the McDonald’s, looked up at Osiris standing in the street where he’d just hurled the auto-rickshaw at me.

“It’s Seth now,” I heard myself say. “You killed Shu, didn’t you?”

Osiris smirked.

“How did you free yourself?” I asked.

“Archaeologists. Back in the 20’s. Who would have thought people would develop such an obsession with the past they’d go around cracking open tombs? Sounds like madness to me.”

I shook myself, suddenly trembling in the back of the rickshaw. I had to find Osiris. It was the right thing to do. I had to help Seth. That was all that mattered.

As soon as I reached the hotel I rushed upstairs and downed one of my anti-psychotics. I’d had enough tripping for one day, thank you very much. I dialed Pihu.

“I figured out who the other man is. It’s Osiris, Seth’s brother. I need to help him find him right away.”

“Kiyaa? You want to help him now?”

“Of course. I have to.”

“Ady, please stay there. I am coming soon.”

Right. I dialed the number Saif had called me from and told him to focus on tracking Osiris. A one-handed man couldn’t be that hard to find. I had to get Seth his location ASAP. I mean, why not? Osiris was the one who threw that auto. He could have killed me! Or … not me. But Seth. And Pihu …

I tapped my foot anxiously, and must have looked at my watch twenty times before Pihu arrived. I shuddered, back on that street. A bus-driver jerked his wheel at the sight of a flying auto. The bus screeched, and spun, landing on its side. Glass exploded around me, and I threw myself to the ground again. Cars piled up, and Osiris disappeared across the hell-crazed street.

When I let Pihu in, she looked me up and down and raised an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I waved my hand. “I just almost got hit by a car.”

“What? When?” She patted me down, looking me over.

“When the bus crashed on the Sansad Marg, after that auto flew into McD’s.”

She cocked her head. “Ady, you were in America when that happened.”

“I …” I was in D.C., wasn’t I? I shook my head.

“Why do you want to help Seth?” Pihu asked, while she led me to sit down on the bed.

“Well, he asked me to …”

“Ek second,” she said, and went into the bathroom. She came back with a glass full of water. I reached to drink it. She threw it in my face.

I gasped from the sudden shock, and shot up from the bed. “What the …?”

“Ady, did he ask you to clean his room, too?”

“Yeah, he …” I shook my head. Everything was so foggy. A rapid sickness rose in my gut. God. Had he made me drink his blood? She did not need to know that. Had he somehow given me some of his memories? Why?

“He has some kind of magic to control you,” Pihu said.

I stared speechless at her, wanting to point out the ridiculousness of such a leap of logic, but unable to because she was probably right. And yet, my rational brain dismissed the idea. Wouldn’t I know when it was happening?

No. Of course not.

I swallowed hard and sat back down. He must have some kind of relic that gave him the power of suggestion. Which meant I was totally screwed. And I still felt I needed to find his brother. A hollow pit rose in my stomach. Was I seeking Osiris because of what he’d done to Pihu, or because Seth told me to? I couldn’t trust myself, couldn’t even trust my own memories, my own ideas. Because I didn’t know which ones belonged to me, and which had been given to me by this man.

“He claimed to be immortal,” I said.

“Immortal means?”

“That he could … live forever.”

I dialed Agent Crispin. This time his voice was groggy. Score one for Adaire. But right now, I was so shaken I could hardly celebrate the victory. “What now, Winfield?”

“There’s no such thing as vampires, right boss?”

He hung up on me. I counted to ten, then redialed. It rang several times before he answered, and he said nothing, so I did. “Okay, I’m serious. This guy claims to be immortal and he seems like he has the power of suggestion—as in mind control. On me.”

“And this led you to vampires?”

Well, a supposed immortal fed me his blood and controlled my mind, so … No. It probably wouldn’t be wise to tell Crispin that, and I sure as hell didn’t want Pihu to hear it. “Just ruling out the … impossible. You know. So that whatever remains …”

“Yes, Winfield. I know the expression. Okay, I’ll have something couriered to Saif that might help you. An agent in Thailand already has what you need. And Adaire, I swear to God if you break this relic …”

“Got it, boss.” Yeah, having seen that jinn may have given me some clout. But Crispin wasn’t about to forget I’d cost him two relics already.

He hung up again. Prick.

I mopped my brow with a towel, then flipped on the TV. Pihu glanced at me, then sat down, as if afraid to leave me alone. That was sweet.

I shut my eyes, trying to make the room slow down. Iusas had found the tree, I remembered, vaguely aware the memories were not mine. We called her Grandmother, though she wasn’t. Just the tribal elder. She said the great acacia was the Tree of Life, given to nourish the world. She bade us drink its sap. It was sweet as nectar, and I felt it course through me like a river of fire and ice, saturating my body and transforming every inch. It flowed through my blood and became a part of me, forever. My body no longer aged, and each member of our tribe gained a unique gift.

Pihu shook me awake and I found myself trembling her arms. “Ady? Ady?”

Sweat poured off my face and trickled down my neck. “I … Need a shower,” I said, and stumbled into the bathroom. What had I gotten myself into? Who was Seth?

Seth and Osiris. Osiris, the Egyptian god of the dead. And Set, his evil brother, lord of chaos and god of the desert. Egyptian mythology wasn’t my strongest area, but I knew enough. Set was said to have mutilated Osiris. His brother’s wife, Isis, put the dismembered corpse back together, and her and Osiris’s son Horus sought revenge.

Hot water eased the pain and tension in my neck, and gave way to a lingering relaxation. The deep memories, the torrents of ages past, unfolded before my eyes.

Osiris had helped Menes unify Egypt and found Memphis, and the priests called him a god for it. And now, at the dawn of Egypt's first dynasty, Iusas was dead.

My brother’s wife, Isis, trembled in my arms as we stood on the balcony overlooking Memphis. I brushed my fingers through her hair, having no words to offer. We had all thought Iusas’ ability to control her metabolism would let her recover from almost any wound, but the king's servants had found her exsanguinated in the royal garden.

Beneath us the city carried on as though nothing had happened, shopkeepers closing for the night, peddlers stowing their wares, beggars trying to find a warm place to sleep. When my brother walked in, flushed as with fever, I thought at first it was anger at seeing his wife in my arms again.

“Brother,” he called to me, reaching his hands out to take mine. He turned to Isis as if in afterthought and drew us both into his embrace. “We promised to spend eternity together.” His breath was hot on my neck and I could feel his heart pounding through our embrace. “We can have it all, the four of us.” Four—as though I still took Nepthys as my own.

He had spoken before of driving out the other immortals, of ruling Egypt as god kings and queens. But I had everything I wanted, almost. I tried to shake my head, to tell him to abandon such ideas.

“No, don’t you see?” he cried. I watched as the flush left him, as his breathing slowed into utter calm. “With our powers, we can take those of the others. Set, with your power, none could stop us.” Isis pulled me back, her jaw trembling, but I could say nothing either. “The gift, it’s in the blood, you see. I have it now, her power.”

A tear ran down Isis’s cheek. I had gone rigid. I wiped all expression from my face. “You murdered Grandmother.” Osiris tried to open his mouth, to protest, but my calm slipped first. “You are no god, Osiris. You're a monster.”

Isis sank to her knees beside me. Sorrow or perhaps a look of betrayal passed over my brother's face and for a long time he only stared into her eyes. Then at last he turned his gaze on me. “If you won’t join me, I will still have your gift, Set.” He moved so fast the blade seemed to appear in his hand from nowhere, but still he waited for me to draw, to defend myself. “Maybe it always had to be this way, brother.”

The moment the blade was in my hand his assault began, so fast I could only stagger back with each parry. His blade snaked through my guard and tore a deep gash in my chest.

Isis was screaming at him, but I couldn't listen, didn't have time to think. And then she was between us, between me and the chop that should have killed me. And instead it opened her flesh from neck to hip.

“Isis!” I cried her name again and again, caught her in my arms.

My brother dropped his blade and staggered backwards, mumbling under his breath. The fiend only stood there, as though shocked by his actions. I set Isis on the ground and threw myself at Osiris, pummeling into him in his shock, and sending him barreling over the side of the balcony to crash onto the stones two stories below.

And then I held Isis as she died.

I wept, resting on my knees, heedless of the water building around me.

“Ady?” Pihu asked. “Ady?” She had turned off the water, and was clutching my shoulders.

“God, he killed her,” I said.

“Who?”

“His wife, his own wife, Isis …”

She pulled me to her again and held me until the trembling stopped. Only then did I realize I was naked.

She seemed to realize it at the same instant and backed away, turning her head to the side. “Sorry, Ady. You were crying so much, and didn’t answer. I didn’t know …”

I wrapped a towel around myself, feeling strangely free, and clearly less embarrassed than she was. “Can you check something on the laptop for me? Can you tell me when Memphis was founded and by whom? Memphis, Egypt, not Tennessee, mind. M-E-M-P-H-I-S.”

“Okay, okay.” She left the bathroom, probably eager to put some walls between us.

By the time I dressed she turned the computer to face me. Good old Wikipedia. Memphis, Egypt. Founded by Pharaoh Menes around 3000 BC. “God,” I whispered. “It’s all real.”

Five thousand years ago two brothers had fought over divine blood. Stories call me a villain and my brother a noble victim, Seth had said. Indeed they did. I rubbed my face and almost felt like weeping again.

Instead, Pihu insisted I come back to her house for dinner. She seemed afraid to leave me alone. And I was afraid to be alone, trapped in my own failing mind with the memories of a man-turned-god. Whatever he’d done to me, I couldn’t always tell where he ended and I began.

Iusas had been exsanguinated—drained of all her blood. Osiris had drunk it to steal her gift. And did he take with it her memories, just had Seth had given me a glimpse of his own? Did these vampiric gods steal more than each others’ powers, but their very essence? If so, how many people were inside each of them?

I’m not even sure what Mrs. Patel fed me that night. It was probably good. I got a call later from Saif. He said a package had been sent to my hotel.

“You should stay here tonight, Ady,” Pihu said. “We can go get the package tomorrow.”

I had no desire to be babied. But since Seth had damn near made me lose my mind and she knew it, I could hardly argue.

And the dreams continued. The scent of blood filled my being.

I held Isis, dying in my arms, in the palace in Memphis. Even without Iusas’s gift, the fall from the balcony probably would not have killed Osiris. With it, he’d heal in moments.

“Take it,” Isis told me, her words throaty and garbled by the blood of her wound. I shook my head, not understanding. “Blood. If he’s right …” I could only cradle her in my arms, tears running down my face, shaking my head. I would never do such a thing to anyone, least of all her. “My power. You need …” Her fingers gripped mine, but her grip began to slacken. “To stop him.”

I will never know how she found the strength, having lost so much blood, to pull my head down to her breast. At first I gagged on the warm, sickening, copper taste. But more and more I drank, her warmth filling me even as her body grew cold in my arms. And then I could feel it inside me, her gift. Her ability to glamour herself in illusion, to disguise herself as anyone.

I kissed her then, and disguised myself as a servant, my clothes and skin changing before my eyes. I could flee my brother and live far away. But I could not flee the rage boiling inside. And so I changed my disguise, appearing as Isis. I retrieved my blade and left the balcony, all hesitation gone.

My brother was ascending the stairs when I met him; dozens of cuts marred his face, and bruises had started to form, but it did not slow him. “Isis?” He stumbled and almost fell on the stairs. He had found another blade somewhere below. He shifted it to his left hand, tried to embrace me. “Oh, Isis, I thought—”

I did not give him the chance to finish. My blade severed his left hand at the wrist. The jet of blood drenched my face, stunned me so that I paid no attention to his bellowing, nor to my disguise slipping. Our gaze met for only a moment before he ran, ran faster than I could ever catch him. Iusas’s gift would keep him from bleeding to death. And I would hunt him to the end of time for his crimes.

I woke screaming. Pihu’s father rushed in, followed by her a minute later. They’d given me a pillow and I slept on the couch in the living room. My hands shook from the visions, and I lay back on the couch. “Bad dream,” I mumbled.

Her father made a clucking sound, then went into the kitchen. Probably making tea. Oh well. I didn’t much feel like sleeping more anyway.

Pihu, on the other hand, yawned like a bear.

“You all right?”

“Just sleepy tired,” she said.

Sleepy tired … Right. “You should go back to bed. I’m fine.”

But I wasn’t, and I feared to sleep, instead graciously accepting Mr. Patel’s offer of chai. I watched the sunrise from the Patels’ balcony, and I left before they woke. I had placed them all in enough danger already, and I’d imposed myself on them more than I should have.

I took a cab back to the Radisson. A package waited for me there, with a note from Saif. “An amulet to protect you from harm.” I tore open the package and found a gold pendant inside, carved with the Eye of Horus. I’d read of this … the Eye of Horus was supposed to let the wearer see to the truth of the matter, to pierce all lies. Horus, child of Osiris. Eternal foe of Set.

Whatever that bastard had done to me, he was going to answer for it. He and his brother’s war had spilled into the lives of people I cared about. And they’d answer for that, too.

I picked up my phone and started to dial Saif. I could probably use some backup before taking on this so-called god. But I hesitated. Even if the pendant protected me, it would be only me. Seth could turn anyone else against me. Which meant I had to do this alone.

My hand shook as I checked the gun Saif had given me. All right, then. This is what I came to Delhi for. Best get to it. After donning the pendant under my shirt, I returned to Pahar Ganj, my steps painfully slow. Part of me relished the coming confrontation, the chance to throw Seth’s bizarre gift back in his face. But I’d be a fool to think him defenseless without it. The man had lived for at least five thousand years. Meaning he had knowledge beyond measure, and probably very little moral compass. That was okay. I’d lost mine a while back, too.

Only a handful of people walked the back alleys this early, and they looked at me with suspicion, and likely greed. The Dada Hotel door was locked, so I pounded on it. The deskman must have been sleeping nearby, because after a moment he came and unlocked the door. I flashed my badge again, then stepped past him and rushed up the stairs.

I kicked the door, hard, then drew my gun. Seth opened the door, and I immediately brandished the weapon.

“Inside. Now.” I probably should have had a deeper plan. I couldn’t well march him downstairs at gunpoint. Even if no one stopped me on their own, Seth would only need to speak to turn people against me.

“You don’t want to do this, Mr. Winfield. You want to put the gun away.”

I shoved him, and he stumbled back, falling on the couch. Yeah, karma’s a bitch. I shut the door and held the pistol in both hands.

For a second, a single breath, confusion washed over his face. Then it resumed the mask of calm. Seth remained seated, making it clear the ball was in my court. Worked for me.

“Start talking.”

“About what? Politics in the Middle East? The state of the Indian economy? My views on your president?”

“There’s no relic, is there?”

Seth laughed. “We are living relics, I guess you could say. Where do we go from here, Mr. Winfield? Are you going to shoot me?”

“If I have to. Why do they call you Desertbringer?”

His smile faltered. At last I’d finally gotten through his armor. “It’s a long story … I’m surprised it hasn’t come to you yet. I thought a taste of my memories would be enough to show you just how vile my brother is. He’s the one who called us gods, you know. He wanted to be worshipped. Most of us just wanted to live. It kind of went to his head like that, people prostrating themselves, calling him their god.”

It sounded in line with the things I’d seen … The truth was, I had no idea what to do with Seth now that I had him. I should hand him over to the Seal, but he’d talk himself out of that in a heartbeat. “What happened after he fled Memphis?”

“I left too, heartbroken, unwilling to remain buried in bitter memories. I was in Sumeria for a time, and when I returned, Osiris had displayed Menes. The people called him a god king. I came into his palace, a veil of illusion disguising me as a servant. But he knew me. He’d killed Sekhmet, and taken the gift of her extraordinary senses. He sat on a throne, the fingers of his right hand rubbing the stump where his left hand should have been. Other men and women around the throne room watched me.”

“And?”

“If you want to know that badly, maybe you should take another drop of blood. It’s all there. A few sips won’t give you any power, but the divine blood carries memories. Genetic memory, in fact, as we learned later, when our children were born.”

Yeah, not gonna happen. I kept the gun leveled at him, then moved to sit on the bed.

At last he shrugged. “I came to confront him over rumors of him feeding the sap of the great acacia to other mortals. A ‘new generation of gods,’ he called them, gods all loyal to him. And when he tired of them, he’d drink them dry, stealing their memories and powers. He rose from the throne, holding his stump at me in accusation, then had his people throw me a sword. In his mind, the only way this could end was with a last duel between us. Of course, I couldn’t match his speed, but what choice did I have? Discovered, I could not easily flee, nor affect so many minds.

“Fortunately, I didn’t have to. Osiris’s sword bent back on itself, deformed. He dropped it in shock, and I rushed him, plunging my sword into his side. The wound wouldn’t kill him—not with his powers—but it was enough for me to run, whispering lies and torments to any who tried to pursue. I escaped to find my rescuer, my former lover Nepthys.”

I lowered the gun, just an inch. My arm was tired, and he seemed disinclined to attack me. Maybe telling the story was some form of catharsis for him. Somehow, I could feel he spoke only the truth. “You didn’t answer my original question.”

Seth swallowed, then, and leaned forward onto his knees. “Nepthys and I … We did terrible things together. It’s why, even now, when she called me to India and told me Shu was missing, I still couldn’t … I don’t think she ever really wanted to do what she did, but I convinced her. The world didn’t need gods, not the kind that walk among men and demand rule. That’s what I said, anyway. As long as Osiris could offer his followers immortality, they would flock to him like sheep. And so we returned to the great acacia, deep in the wilds. I remember, she warned me we didn’t know what would happen. But in my rage against Osiris, I didn’t listen.

“And I burned it. The acacia Grandmother had called the Tree of Life. I set it aflame. It sounded like a peal of thunder when the trunk split. The flowers surrounding it died, the ivy wilted, the stream turned to dust, the animals fled. And then the ground began to turn to sand. I knew then, that what had been green would become desert. It would spread and spread for years. Perhaps the entire world would be engulfed. Perhaps I had doomed all life. Once I turned, I couldn't look back at the burning acacia. I just kept walking into the spreading desert.”

“Wait …” I said, the gun now resting in my lap, “are you saying you created the Sahara?”

Seth said nothing. Desertbringer.

My breath shuddered in my chest. I took out my phone and dialed Crispin. He answered on the second ring. To be honest, I’d lost all track of what time it was in D.C. “Winfield?”

“I’ve captured Seth, the one with the mind-control powers. What should I do with him?”

“Keep him there. Tie a gag around his mouth and wait for backup.”

I gave him my location, then cut the line. I raised the gun, staring at Seth. Gag him. Yeah, easy for Crispin to say. “Cut the bed sheet and tie a gag.”

Seth chuckled, rose slowly, and we switched places. He pulled a knife from a bag on the bed, then began cutting it into strips. “The Eye of Horus? Is that how you managed this?”

Now it was my turn to stare mutely at him.

“I gathered followers after burning the tree,” he said while he worked, “men I used my power or my guile to convince, casting Osiris as a false god. Nepthys and I tracked him down, along with his godlings.”

His words were hypnotic, even if his power was blocked. I saw the acacia burn in my mind, feeling the terrible guilt, the awful burden of what I’d done. The doubt if the desert would ever end, or if it would grow to consume all the world.

I stood by as Nepthys deformed Osiris’s sword, and the weapons of his followers.

“Osiris has betrayed you all,” I told his men and godlings.

I could see the suggestion hold some of them. The men I had already swayed subdued the rest. They brought Osiris before me on his knees.

“You want to be a god so badly,” I told him, “then I will give you the same eternity these people give their gods.” On my orders, the guards dragged him to a tomb out in the desert. “Seal him inside,” I told them with grim satisfaction.

“Men will curse you, Desertbringer!” Osiris spat at me. “They will say you betrayed your brother, call you the monster here!”

I didn't care.

I jerked into alertness the instant Seth’s hand closed around my gun and yanked it aside. His elbow caught me in the face, and he spun me around, twisting my arm and forcing me down. A lance of pain shot through my shoulder, and I moaned.

“So easy to get lost in deep memories, isn’t it?” Seth said.

I really should have just shot the prick.

A sudden ringing made him leap, pointing the gun at his own phone on the bed. I tackled him, pinning the gun to the bed and wrestling with him. Seth might have been more experienced, but I was bigger. I shoved him with my foot and he stumbled to the floor.

I trained the gun on him then answered his phone. “Speak.”

“Who is this?” a woman asked. “Are you Winfield?”

So Seth had told others about me? Fine. “Yeah.”

“Then I take it you have my husband?”

Husband … Was this Nepthys? How many of these Egyptian gods was I going to have to deal with? “I do.”

“Well, Osiris has your girl. He’s convinced he can use her to get to Seth. So if you want to see Miss Patel again, I suggest you act quickly.”

A coldness built in the pit of my stomach. Pihu. How did she even know? How did Osiris? I sucked air through my teeth, and growled in frustration. “Where is he?”

“The Lotus Temple. A grand place to finish their duel, he says. Tell Seth I’ll meet him there. We have to finish what we started.”

I cut the line and relayed her message. Seth sighed. “You should have stayed out of this, Mr. Winfield.”

Obviously. Part of me still wanted to just shoot the man. But … Pihu … “I have to get her back. I got her into this.” Too many people had suffered for me in my life. I would not let her become another victim. And I couldn’t well fight Osiris. Seth was right. His memories had shown me that clearly.

“I can save her,” Seth said.

And somehow, I knew he spoke the truth. The Eye of Horus. It told me he didn’t lie. “Just use your power,” I said, “tell him to let her go.”

Seth shook his head. “It won’t work. He drank Horus’s blood, gained immunity to my gift. I have to fight him.”

So be it. I went with him to the Lotus Temple, left with no choice but to trust a man myth compared to Satan himself. Set—god of chaos. God of the desert. The man who destroyed paradise. And I placed my life, Pihu’s life, and maybe the fate of us all, in his hands. If Osiris took his blood, there would be no stopping him. With such powers, he could raise an army of fanatics unlike anything humanity had ever faced.

I dialed Saif on the way and filled him in. “I’ll be there,” he said.

A crowd gathered around the temple, behind a police barricade. I hesitated, but Seth just kept walking. “We’re here to solve your problem,” he told the lead cop. “What’s the situation?”

“Seven hostages inside,” the cop said. I suddenly realized they were speaking Hindi. The Eye was letting me understand other languages? Yeah, I was not giving this back. Ever.

Seth motioned me onward, and the police let us pass. “I’m going in. I’ll send out the hostages to you, including your girl, if I can.”

“Can you win?”

He frowned. “Sure.” I felt the lie. My eyes stung, and Seth read my frown. “It’s been a long time since I even held a sword.”

But still he walked right into that temple. He had courage, I’d give him that. I crept around the side and watched from another entrance. Osiris was there, waving a gun at hostages. A woman stood there, too, beautiful and exotic, and holding a gun on Pihu, who knelt before her.

“Nepthys?” Seth said. “What is this?”

“I’d think that’s obvious, brother,” Osiris said. “You took my wife, I’m returning the favor. You never really appreciated her anyway.”

Osiris tossed the gun away, then pointed at a sword lying near Seth’s feet. When Seth bent to take it, Osiris pulled his own. “Run,” Seth told the other hostages. They raced past me as Osiris advanced on Seth. Nepthys still had Pihu.

Osiris feinted left then struck right, testing Seth. He parried the blow, but Osiris’s backswing tore into his cheek. Seth fell back, and Osiris gave no respite. Again and again Seth deflected his attacks only to earn himself repeated cuts over his arms, legs, face.

And then Osiris caught Seth in the face with an elbow. My own heart raced as Seth plummeted to the floor. His brother knelt over him and moved to open his throat. He’d take Seth’s blood, and it would be all over. I stepped into the temple, trained my gun on Osiris’s chest, and fired.

The gunshot rang through the temple’s high ceiling. Osiris jerked with the impact, then turned to me, growling. I fired again, twice more, and he fell. And then my gun twisted in my hand, the barrel turning down. Another gunshot rang out and a bullet grazed my shoulder.

Hot pain flashed through me, and I fell, clutching my arm. Pihu screamed. I probably did too.

“That gun is red hot,” Seth shouted.

Nepthys dropped the weapon, grabbing her hand as though it were scorched. She ran from the temple. I hoped the police would shoot her.

Osiris had started to stand, but Seth dropped down on him, then slit his throat. “You win, brother,” Seth said. “At long last, I become you after all.”

“Seth …” I said. I had started to crawl to Pihu, but something was wrong.

Seth plunged his head downward and drank in the flood of life leaving his brother’s body. Nausea rose in me, and Pihu vomited. I ran to her, rubbing her back and trying not to look at the spectacle.

Finally Seth rose, blood dribbling down his chin. And then Seth’s clothes changed, becoming a suit. The blood vanished from his face, and yet, I could still see it there, see his t-shirt beneath the suit. Illusions. “The stories call me a villain and my brother a noble victim. My brother was not noble, and he was a victim only of his own madness.” Seth shrugged. “I never said I was not a villain.”

I pulled Pihu to her feet and faced off against him. If he was going to kill us, we’d die standing, facing him.

His eyes locked to mine, then he nodded. “Just go, Winfield. I’ll cover you with the police. They won’t even remember you were here.”

I didn’t care if it was cowardly. I didn’t need to be told twice. I grabbed Pihu’s hand and we ran from the temple. She took me to the hospital, and they stitched my arm. Not the most fun I’d ever had, and not a single person offered me a stiff drink.

I tried to focus. Seth and Nepthys were still out there. Maybe others. Crispin and the Seal needed to know about this. Assuming they didn’t already. In case my job wasn’t already complex enough, now I had immortal blood-drinking gods. Actually, that was probably where the myth of vampires came from. And somehow, I doubted Nepthys was finished with us.

“Thank you, Ady,” Pihu said, as I walked her back to her house.

I grinned. “All in a day’s work.” Yeah right.

“I know,” she said, as though I’d been serious. “I wasn’t scared. I knew you’d come for me.”

Wow. Okay, no pressure, Ady. Since when did people believe in me like that? I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “So you’re going back to work in the Oberoi?”

“No … I don’t think so.”

I don’t know what came over me, but I had to speak before I lost the nerve. “You know … if you want a job, I could probably use an assistant.” I mean, she was good at getting to the bottom of things, and she seemed able to handle the supernatural.

“Y-you want me to come to America?” She almost tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. “I don’t know … I’d have to ask my parents … They need me.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Well, I can assure you enough pay to help take care of them, but the choice is yours. You have my number.”

She nodded.

“And Pihu? Don’t call at 4 a.m.”

That night, Crispin had me on a plane back to the States. And visions of a life that hadn’t been mine haunted my dreams.

CHAPTER FIVE

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