Encore (Descendants of Ra: Book 4) Page 2

  Not fucking fair!

  She’d done nothing wrong except been born to a woman who wanted to be a mother regardless of the shitty hand Ra dealt some stupid ancestor. An ancient ancestor had earned Ra’s wrath, and each of her descendants continued to pay with their lives. Twenty-five years, that’s all she had, all any of the descendants had, then death one second after the age of twenty-six.

  Leslie Cross had lived long enough to explain the curse to her five-year-old daughter. Then she died after the clock struck midnight on March thirtieth, twenty years ago.

  “Stop it!” Ridley clutched her head to keep from repeating the same torturous litany. Eyes squeezed tight, she rode the panic surfing in her blood until the terror ebbed. Now wasn’t the time to lose it.

  Hold it together. Hold it together. Tick-tick…tick-tick-

  Ridley opened her eyes and met the hostile stares of the other passengers. Lip curled, she gave twice what she got, used her meanest glare to eviscerate anyone brave enough to not look away. A few of them didn’t balk. This was New York where fifty percent of the population was certifiably crazy and the rest pretended to be sane.

  Don’t judge me. Her glare threatened until the train rocked and she lurched away from the pole. Hands landed on her waist, steadying her. She glanced up and collided with EJ’s granite features. No wonder everyone gave them a wide berth. EJ Nicolis was an eighteen wheeler trapped in a skin suit.

  His icy blue orbs, which had flashed so brilliantly when they first met, were flatter than Kansas. His dimples, so ready to make an appearance, were hollows in his lean cheeks, and the freckles scattered over his cheeks and nose were stark brown flakes against his white skin. The wrongness of it caused a twinge near her heart.

  Was he in there? Trapped by Khuket’s cruelty and Ridley’s duplicity? Khuket hadn’t said whether she’d wiped his and the Order member’s brains clean. Ridley guessed they were all suspended one level above unconsciousness, able to operate at a basic level. Brains functioning at a minimum, they didn’t need to eat or sleep. They were the perfect slaves to do Khuket’s bidding. It didn’t take much to figure out Ridley would’ve joined their zombie ranks.

  The last Ridley had seen of Khuket, the goddess had trapped Avery in a smothering embrace. A concussion wave blasted over the rooftop and knocked Ridley and EJ into a vortex. They were dumped in the last place Ridley expected, her old mentor’s living room. Luckily, Mrs. Kelly wasn’t home. Ridley hustled them out of there fast ahead of Mrs. Kelly’s return.

  The train rolled to a screeching stop. “Let’s go,” she said, and let EJ clear a path to the sliding doors and the platform. Back on the surface, he shortened his stride and moved in sync with her. His breath curled in the frosty air; his eyes were trained forward, seeming to land on everything, as if everyone posed a threat to her wellbeing.

  Well, I did tell him to protect me.

  And her slave obeyed.

  Lucky me.

  Though that was not how she felt. It would be nice if he was here, helping her with his own free will. Right. Then he’d also have the free will to kill her for her role in his current vegetative state. As would the rest of the Order if they regained their freedom.

  Ridley shoved the thoughts away and made her way three blocks up to West Forty-Seventh and Sixth Avenue. Five forty-five in the afternoon, the storefront windows were bare of any gems. The Diamond District had closed up shop for the night. Good thing she hadn’t come here shopping for anything sparkly.

  She retrieved a granola bar from her coat pocket and crammed it into her mouth. Her unnatural speed was her safety net. Keeping her engine fully fueled ensured a quick getaway from all of her enemies. After swallowing and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she entered a narrow building sandwiched between two skyscrapers and flashed the security guard a smile as she leaned against his desk. His wide-eyed gaze focused over her shoulder, not at her.

  Well, she wanted backup. Ridley snapped her fingers in front of the guard’s face. He blinked, and his gaze flickered between her and EJ when she wanted his complete attention.

  “Hey! The big guy is harmless until I give him a reason not to be.” Her finger tapped a tune on his Formica desk, drawing his gaze to her.

  “May I help you?” His gaze tracked back to EJ.

  “Yes, you may. I’m here to see Lyle Manning. Tell him Ridley is here.”

  He pointed to EJ. “And him?”

  “His name is Friend.”

  “Friend?”

  She ignored the skepticism and nodded. “Mr. Friend.”

  He picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Ridley…?” He paused for a first name because clearly, Ridley was a surname.

  “Just Ridley. He knows who I am.” She’d stolen more than enough items for him over the years.

  “Miss Ridley and Mr. Friend to see Mr. Manning.” Another pause. “Yes ma’am, I’ll send them up.” The guard hung up the phone and led them to the elevator. He unlocked it with a swipe of his badge and a five-digit code. One couldn’t be too careful in the Diamond District.

  Ridley and EJ exited on the tenth floor into a spacious gallery tastefully decorated in browns and white. A few customers milled around, studying the art hanging on the wall and the statues mounted on pedestals. The good stuff, which only the exclusive clientele viewed, remained in a vault at another location.

  Patricia, Lyle’s secretary, approached, all sleek and fashionable in a navy pantsuit with her strawberry blond hair pulled tight into a chignon. Make-up perfect, demi-glasses perched on a pert nose. “Mr. Manning is waiting for you in his office. And Mr. Friend will stay out here with me.” Her manicured hand waved to her boss who paced in his glass-enclosed office, though her gaze never strayed from EJ.

  Like she had a chance.

  He’s mine. My slave. While you are Lyle’s. Still, Ridley glanced at EJ and was pleased he didn’t ogle Patricia; instead, he surveyed the room for any threats. “Thanks, but he’s my friend, not yours.” She strolled across the room, garnering the clientele’s attention as her Doc Martens echoed, while EJ strode behind her.

  Within his glass-enclosed office, Lyle assessed her with hungry eyes. They both knew she’d never give him a taste. Her interest didn’t lie in fifty-year-old men with soft middles and softer hands. That didn’t mean he didn’t hope. His interest shifted to the giant behind her, and his eyes widened with apprehension. His hand shifted beneath his desk, and she knew his personal security would arrive soon.

  She opened the door without knocking and sat without an invitation. She arranged her leather duster so that he had an unblocked view of her crossed legs.

  “Lock the door,” she threw over her shoulder at EJ. With a click of the lock, the glass walls frosted, giving them privacy. This wasn’t a social call so she nixed the chitchat. “Do you have my answer?”

  The greed sparkling in his dark eyes answered her question. Hopefully, the one she wanted. “Tell me.”

  The doorknob rattling preceded a knock on the glass.

  “Let his security inside, and lock the door behind them,” she said to EJ without removing her attention from Lyle. Lyle’s biggest flaw: He loved money and didn’t care how he acquired it. But if he could cheat someone out of a profit and fatten his pocket a bit more, that made every day Christmas. Unfortunately for him, he’d slipped up with his initial fascination at her question. The twinkle of greed in his eyes sealed the deal in Ridley’s favor. Rule of thumb: Never be an eager buyer.

  Now she knew she had something he wanted. Best to let him think he could have it after he gave her what she demanded.

  Two men entered. Tweedle-dumb and Tweedle-dumber, she nicknamed them. They were big on brawn and small on brain matter. EJ towered over both. That didn’t stop her from wondering, in his present subservient state, could he protect her? Until her luck ran out. Nothing could protect her from a cursed death.

  One guard took a stance next to Lyle while the largest one stood opposite EJ. Guess he didn’t consid
er her a threat. She may not have the strength of a man, but delivering a punch at light speed hurt just as much as a body builder’s ham-handed fist.

  Lyle removed the copies she’d given him from a file cabinet. “First, tell me where you got these.”

  She stood and propped a hip on his desk. “Can’t you decipher it?”

  “Is it real? Or are you jerking me?” He waved the pages in her face.

  As if I would ever touch you. “You know they’re real. You’ve had those copies long enough to authenticate. And save your breath. I’m not telling you where I got them.” She paused for dramatic effect. “If you help me decipher it, they’re yours.” For a price. She’d need the money to start a new life.

  He leaned back in his chair and tossed the pages on his desk. He folded his hands on top of his soft belly. His shrewd eyes narrowed, assessing all the angles. Ridley waited. Lyle had a routine to his thought process, and it couldn’t be rushed. “I sent the pictures to an associate of mine, and he can.”

  “Who?” In all her time working for Lyle in secret, she had never met any of his associates. He chose to keep her in the dark. Now, his greed would cast some light her way.

  “William Chadwick.” Lyle jotted something on a post-it and peeled it from the stack.

  Hope sparked in her chest as she snatched the post-it. Could this be the key to her salvation? If he could decipher the copies from the Book of Eidos, then maybe she had a chance. She glanced at her watch again.

  “He will be expecting you.”

  She stood and noticed his gaze locked on her legs. “Thanks. If this William can help me, I’ll deliver as promised.”

  “You’ve never gone back on your word. So I have no reason not to trust you.” He leveled a weighted stare at her that promised retribution if she ever broke that trust.

  Ridley stood her ground and didn’t flinch. She’d lived too long with the Sword of Damocles trimming her hair to be intimidated. Behind her, she heard EJ move closer. Lyle’s bodyguards did the same.

  He waved his men off. “Easy. We are all friends here. Right, Ridley?”

  She had no friends. “Sure.”

  “Next time, leave the muscle behind. Too many dicks in one room can lead to a misunderstanding.”

  A misunderstanding was the last thing she wanted. There would be complete clarity during this transaction. Ridley turned to EJ and motioned toward the exit. Lyle’s security guard moved out the way and followed them out the door.

  “You better hurry. The museum closes soon,” were Lyle’s last words before the door locked behind them.

  Shit. It was a long way to the Museum of Ancient History on Seventy-Ninth Street during rush hour traffic. At night, she could use her speed and get there in no time. Impossible this late in the afternoon. She had to hurry because nothing and no one would stand in the way of her salvation.

  Chapter Three

  Avery Nicolis exited the bedroom he shared with Emeline and walked through the quiet residential halls of the Order. All of the bedrooms were occupied, and all of the doors were open. The home of The Order was no longer the private residence for the female descendants of the Eidos, a race of elementals the Egyptian gods had conquered as soon as the earth cooled. Five days after Khuket’s defeat, the women she had enslaved were still enchanted. No, not enchanted. They were more like zombies from The Walking Dead, alive, but not living, except they were docile, empty vessels without a thought of their own. Khuket, the Goddess of Chaos made them that way. The converted apartment building was now an institution dedicated to the women’s care.

  He had to find a way to free them. And EJ.

  His Ink—the manifestation of the chaos churning in his soul—scraped across his skin. Every inch of his flesh was affected, even the crack of his ass if he wasn’t concentrating on keeping it at bay. This was his thanks for saving the world from Khuket. Note to self: Let someone else defeat the next crazy goddess and absorb her fucked up powers.

  He exited the staircase on the ground floor and didn’t have to wonder at Emeline’s location. Her raised voice led him to the administration office.

  “We can’t keep lying to their families,” she yelled at Mrs. Margie Kelly, the diminutive new leader of the Order.

  A halo of white hair framed Mrs. Kelly’s lined face, giving her an angelic glow. “And what exactly would you tell their families? Go on, let me hear how you’ll explain to their mothers, fathers, and husbands their unique condition. Have you factored in an explanation for the authorities, the doctors? Maybe they will let us be roommates in prison. It would be beneficial since someone my age will need protection without ending up as someone’s girlfriend.”

  Avery choked his laughter. “She’s right, babe.”

  He’d paused in the doorway to watch their argument; now, he entered the room and stopped out of arm’s reach in case his girlfriend decided to throw a punch his way. They’d only made it official two weeks ago. Though he loved her, would do anything for her, things between them were still new. Fragile. But he wouldn’t stifle the truth to keep a happy home.

  Emeline whipped around. Her curly hair settled around her heart-shaped face and shoulders in a messy wave as if he’d spent all night with his fingers buried in its depths—which he had. However, the current expression on her face was not one of the many she’d shared while they made love.

  “Involving more persons in the operation will lead to disaster. The last thing we need is this splashed all over the news,” he said.

  Her lips thinned, ready to continue the argument as tears pooled in her hazel eyes. He went to her. Emeline eased away, arms wrapped tight around her waist. That didn’t stop him from pulling her stiff back against his chest.

  “Babe, it’s going to be all right.” The state of her fellow members was not Emeline’s fault, yet she continued to blame herself.

  “What if they stay like this?” she murmured.

  Denying the possibility that they might remain as they were would be easy. Avery’s feet had never found the easy road, and he wouldn’t start searching for it now even though sometimes a small white lie seemed gentler than the truth. Their relationship had been birthed on a bed of lies. The first promise they’d made to each other was to never repeat that. Feeding Emeline false hope would dry her eyes and bolster her spirits—a Band-Aid over a bullet hole of pain—and place their love in jeopardy.

  “Then we will take care of them and deal with the consequences. We’re not at that point yet. I’ll find a way to free them.” Including my brother. Somewhere out there, lost in the world, his little brother was in the same condition, at the mercy of a woman who’d helped Khuket almost destroy the world.

  “I’m going to bring in more members from around the globe. They’re the only ones we can trust to keep this crisis a secret.” Mrs. Kelly clicked away on her computer.

  “I’m heading to the Gathering room for another crack at the books and the artifacts. Maybe I’ve missed something that will help us. Join me?” Avery gave her a gentle squeeze.

  Wiping her eyes, Emeline turned in the circle of his arms and brought his cheek to her lips. She kissed him and whispered, “I will in a moment. I want to go over the members she’s recalling.”

  He wanted her with him, but he wouldn’t push. He’d give her the space she needed. Besides, examining the relics without an audience could be productive. He moved through the house, barely disturbing the eerie quiet as he traveled to the library. The staircase to the secret subterranean level of the building lay hidden behind a nine by the ten-foot oriental rug. He pushed the thick wool aside and descended the earthen stairs. At the bottom, the Gathering room. Pews, murals, and a marble altar as large as a queen-sized bed, all emulated a church, yet there was nothing holy about the space where the women of the Order had their will ripped from their minds.

  Now, he had the goddess’s power. Unfiltered chaos roamed his skin, polluted his blood. Not his soul. That was held by Emeline.

  Avery strode past the altar
and noted the etchings carved deep into the surface. Did Emeline know their meaning? He would ask later, he thought, entering the vault behind the altar and removing the Scroll of Heka and the Book of Eidos. He placed both on the altar. History said Heka, the Egyptian God of Magic, willed the Scroll into existence while the Book of Eidos, the sacred writ of the Order, had been passed from disciple to disciple, each adding more to the volume until the practice ceased millennia ago, leaving it unreadable.

  He opened the heavy leather cover of the Book. It creaked, protesting the invasion of its privacy though he was careful to go slow and only touch the edges of the pages. The earlier writings were faint and in a language he didn’t recognize—not that he was an authority. Page after page, he delved deeper into the tome; each faded image piqued his interest more. His Ink stirred with restless intent.

  He gazed at the Scroll waiting above the Book. Gently, he unfurled the delicate papyrus, worrying over each creak of the five-thousand-year-old treasure, until it covered half of the altar. The delicate document should have vanished off the face of the earth millennia ago, yet it survived, the hieroglyphics vibrant as if the god had taken ink to the papyrus yesterday. The blues resembled the deep ocean, the gold as brilliant as the noon sun, the greens as startling as a four-leaf clover and the reds as deep as the boldest burgundy wine.

  He studied the hieroglyphics, awed by their strange beauty and confounded by their mystery. Experts had been brought in and paid handsomely only to fail at deciphering the text. A cipher was needed. The Scroll was too obscure, too ancient. The hieroglyphics predated anything they had ever seen. The document could take decades to unravel. It needed to be examined in an academic environment. Protected, they argued, pleaded. At a whim, his Ink would mutate into similar glyphs. No rhyme. No reason. So what did he hope to accomplish?

  Minutes crept into hours as Avery compared the two tomes, inch by inch, page by page, section by section. He stared at each glyph and unique lettering, imagining how each would sound.