Encore (Descendants of Ra: Book 4) Read online

  By the time stamp on the video Quin had downloaded on his phone, they followed EJ’s trail to the administration wing. The pictures continued with images taken from the other side of the door and led to an office with the name William Chadwick on a gold embossed plate hanging on the door. EJ and Ridley were there for fifteen minutes before they left and ran into Daniel.

  They didn’t talk. However, by the angle of the video, they saw each other. EJ followed the woman out of the gallery, while Daniel seemed to trace EJ’s steps back to the same office. He paused, probably listening at the door, and then entered. Too bad there weren’t cameras in the individual offices. And too bad Quin couldn’t get into that office today. Too many people milling about.

  “Let’s backtrack to the gallery,” he said to Thane and led the way.

  “Avery was too busy to come, huh?” Thane said.

  “Yeah. I didn’t tell him about Daniel. Figured he had enough on his plate dealing with the Order and Emeline.”

  “Relationships suck. That’s why I don’t do them.” Thane chuckled.

  The Egyptian Wing housed several lesser artifacts on loan from the Cairo museum. Due to the unrest in Egypt, the return date for the artifacts hadn’t been determined. There were canopic jars and other funerary items. Alabaster figurines of exquisite detail. Golden images of Horus in his falcon incarnation. A piece of tarnished stone snagged his eye. It was black marble threaded with gold with a scorpion carved into the surface. Nothing about it impressed, yet he craved to hold it. To own it. Desired it more than anything else in the world. The edges of his vision blurred and until only the scorpion remained. Did it mov—

  “Quin! Did you hear me?” Thane nudged Quin’s shoulder.

  He shook his head, clearing the fog from his brain. What the fuck just happened? A group of tween girls had him on center stage, their cell phones out, and clicking away.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Quin cast a final glance at the scorpion and made for the exit. He halted, his attention drawn to a woman who’d entered the gallery.

  She had an angular face with a strong jaw. Her lips were full and colored a soft red. By her dusky skin tone, he suspected their natural color would be peach. Or might be, he hoped. Her auburn hair was pulled back, slicked to her skull, and cinched into a thick braid that draped over her left shoulder and rested possessively on her breast. Her eyes, damn, the glare from the overhead lights and display cases prevented him from getting a good look at them. Her prim, black sweater dress clung to soft curves. Seeing her knocked his brain cells into neutral, something that never happened.

  She had a nametag. Simona LaRochelle.

  Simona.

  She glanced at him as if she’d heard her name whispered inside his head. Her chin tilted in his direction, and she tensed, the step she was about to take faltered a fraction of a second, but enough for him to notice.

  “Who the hell is that?” Thane noticed her, too.

  With a pivot of her flats, she strode from the room. Both men tracked her movement until she disappeared into the crowd. Thane made to follow until Quin grabbed his arm.

  “Let’s go.”

  “You cockblocking?” Thane snorted as if the thought was absurd.

  Yeah—no. They’d never fought over women. Even when Roman picked up where Thane left off with Bianca, their butler, Hector’s, daughter, there had never been any animosity. And there wouldn’t be any now. It was a big world with plenty of women in it. The pickins weren’t slim. “Business first. Pleasure later.”

  “What business? This was a wasted trip,” Thane grumbled.

  Quin thought of the woman. “Not a complete waste.”

  “Where to now?” Thane asked as they exited the revolving doors.

  They had one option left. “Let’s go welcome Mr. William Chadwick home.”

  Chapter Seven

  EJ and Ridley had passed the welcome sign to the town of Islip on Long Island about a mile ago. Why were they here? EJ had no permission to ask the question. Wedged into the passenger seat of a stolen KIA Optima, he studied the woman next to him.

  Something was wrong. The giveaway? The long black wig with straight bangs that completely swallowed her delicate features, a non-descript blue coat, and blue jeans. EJ hated it. Absolutely hated her pedestrian disguise. It suited her like gills on a camel. Why would she do this? What would make her change her appearance so drastically?

  Had to be a man, someone she feared enough to forego her signature color and cover her platinum hair. Or maybe it was Khuket, the goddess who had turned him into a walking slab of meat. The bitch was dead the nanosecond he spotted her, whether he was still the walking dead or functioning human.

  Ridley parked the car but didn’t cut the engine. Her gaze darted to the elementary school she’d parked beside. Clouds filtered the late afternoon sun. That didn’t stop a group of thirty or so kids playing in the cold schoolyard. The setting sun and dreary sky hadn’t slowed them down.

  A car rolled past them and made a right into the school’s circular driveway. The driver honked. All the kids stopped except for one little boy who hopped off the swing and snatched up his backpack. The driver partially exited her car and waved at the teacher sitting at a picnic table, then yelled, “Come on, Sam.”

  “Okay, Mom.” Sam picked up speed, and a few moments later, the boy, mother, and car were back on the road.

  Ridley flipped down the visor and combed her fingers through her wig as if that would help. EJ wanted to rip the rug from her head and shoot it. She slapped the mirror closed and knocked the visor out of the way.

  Hmm. Didn’t like what you saw, either, huh? He mentally smirked.

  Nervous energy clung to her. She fidgeted, sighed, and hummed a tune—badly—though he did manage to decipher the song. Her finger began tapping in time with the humming. If he had to listen to much more of either, he’d go mad.

  She gazed at the school. EJ stared with her, wondering what had set her on edge. She inhaled a shaky breath and opened the car door. Softly, she closed it and then meandered down the block, away from the school entrance, toward the playground. Fifty feet away, she stopped, and both of her hands gripped the chain link fence.

  She hadn’t ordered him to stay, so he exited the car since he was still under her original command to protect her. He walked down the line of parked cars and joined her at the fence. He watched their surroundings as she observed the school, cognizant of how conspicuous two random people studying a group of kids in a cookie cutter suburban neighborhood could be. At best, they had fifteen minutes before a patrol car paid them a visit.

  A gray Lexus GX cruised down the street and turned into the school. The driver honked and the kids followed the same stop-and-gape routine. This time, a little girl emerged from a log cabin playhouse at the edge of the playground. A curtain of long platinum hair streamed behind her as she raced to grab her backpack.

  Ridley’s breath rasped in a steamy cloud, and she leaned against the fence, her face tight, except for her trembling lips.

  “Bye, Josie,” another girl called from the entrance to the playhouse.

  Josie pivoted without stopping. “Later, Britney!” She spun and continued into the open arms of a woman who hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. A woman with long dark hair and straight bangs. He suddenly remembered the girl; she’d bumped into him at the museum.

  Their combined voices drifted across the distance. The woman questioned how the girl’s day went. “Good, Mommy.” Their discussion about homework and pizza ended when their car doors thunked closed. The engine kicked on and the car sped away.

  Ridley sobbed, a distraught sound that ripped at his heart. Her fingers gripped the cold metal as she sagged, the fence bowing under her weight. Tears bled from her eyes, streaked her cheeks until the wind plastered a yellow flyer to the fence, close to her face.

  EJ couldn’t see the words, but Ridley stiffened, squared her shoulders, and pushed away. A few rapid blinks later, she scrubbed a hand ov
er her face and glanced his way. Her impassive mask was back in place, yet her eyes were hungry and haunted, desperate as only a parent who’d lost a child could be. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Stunned by the unexpected and concerned for her pain, EJ followed, his list of questions a mile long, yet unable to say a single word.

  ~~~~~~~

  It took a full day for Ridley to dial down the anguish in her heart and get her head straight again. Stumbling over Josie at the museum was bad enough. Marilyn must’ve treated Josie and her friends to a day in the city. Ridley couldn’t think of any other reason for them to be in Manhattan. She shouldn’t have hightailed it to the elementary school as if she just needed a reason to go. As if not seeing her daughter for a year hadn’t been enough of a reason.

  One glimpse of Josie and Ridley had lost all reasoning. She wouldn’t be that reckless again. Josie is safe and loved. To jeopardize that is selfish.

  Yet the yellow flyer announcing the school’s Christmas pageant had tattooed the flesh behind her eyelids. Seemed every time she blinked the image appeared.

  “Damn it.”

  Seeing her at her school, hearing her call Marilyn mommy, shredded Ridley’s heart. Going there was stupid, irresponsible after being so careful about Josie’s welfare all these years. What if she had seen her?

  The answer to the question pulled her up short. Nothing would have happened because Josie didn’t know her. Her daughter knew nothing about the sacrifice Ridley had made, continued to make, until the curse was lifted and they were both safe. Only then could she get her daughter back, and the temporary arrangement with Marilyn would end.

  Fetid water splashed onto her shoulder from a leaky overhead steam pipe. The droplet rolled down her red leather coat. Ridley pulled her head out of her ass and concentrated on the dank corridor between the house on Riverside and the adjacent building. Her footsteps echoed along with EJ’s, who marched behind her.

  The basements had been joined back when coal was still used as a heating source. After the last renovation, a wall separated the basements. It wasn’t completely solid. During the renovation, the director of the Order installed a secret door to use as an emergency escape route. Tonight, it would serve as an entry point and an exit if they/she survived. They wouldn’t kill EJ, but they would kill her. Especially Emeline. The woman wanted her head.

  Ridley might hand over her head after the curse was broken and Josie was safe. That mattered, nothing else.

  They passed a laundry room and a generator room until they came upon a wrought iron gate. Thank God, she had the master keys still in her possession when the shit hit the fan and she and EJ were tossed through the vortex. She shoved the key into the lock and twisted. The rusted thing wouldn’t budge.

  “Help me get this open.” She stepped aside and let EJ work the lock. It didn’t take long for him to get the cylinders to engage. The gate swung open with a metallic whine she hoped no one heard over the thrum of the water heater and generator. At three a.m., everyone should be asleep.

  She was counting on it. Otherwise…

  The gate opened to a storage room. Old beds, rockers, chairs, bureaus, assorted furnishings, and paintings filled the cramped space. They had to get to the back wall. According to the plans she’d seen when she staged her coup and assumed leadership, the wall wasn’t real. It was really a door to the vault and the Order. “Help me move this stuff.”

  It only took a moment to clear a pathway. She ran her hand along the dusty baseboard, feeling for the four notches. Her fingers stumbled over them. Four, two, three, one, and then all of them together.

  Whoosh.

  Grinding gears screeched. Concrete and plaster filtered from the ceiling, clogged the air. Ridley managed to stifle her cough, but EJ hacked away.

  “Quiet.”

  The door opened into the dark back of the vault, though a sliver of light split the darkness from the partially opened door at the other end. A deplorable breach in security that worked in her favor.

  Unless...someone was there. Waiting. Ready. To kill her.

  Ridley cupped EJ’s face and brought him close to her. “No matter what happens. No matter who you see. At all costs. You will protect me…and no one else.”

  Chapter Eight

  Avery ran toward his brother as EJ pointed a Glock at his own temple. His finger on the trigger. His gaze blank.

  Please. No. Don’t!

  CLICK.

  Avery woke with a start, the hollow echo of the gun ringing in his head.

  Emeline murmured something and snuggled closer. In her sleep, she held him as if the pieces she’d helped glue back together on the rooftop of the Order might fall apart. And she was correct. His new and unwanted godhood cloaked him like smoldering tar, even though everything about it seemed right. This was his destiny, he now realized, which unsettled him even more. How unlucky could one bastard be?

  Then Emeline would catch his attention with a wink and an air kiss. He’d bask in her love and recognize, instead, he was one lucky bastard.

  He kissed her forehead and stroked her back until she relaxed and his racing heart steadied. Carefully, he untangled their limbs and slid from the warm bed. As the new God of Chaos, he didn’t need light to see his haggard features in the bathroom mirror. The darkness kept no secrets from him. He splashed cold water on his face, which cleared the remaining cobwebs, but not the strain from his worried eyes or the Ink staining his torso.

  Usually, the Ink slept when he slept, especially with Emeline lying next to him. The nightmare disrupted that pattern. Now, inky glyphs crawled over his pecs, ribs, abs, every inch of exposed skin. If only he could figure out what the hell they said!

  The glyphs responded to his emotions and whipped over his flesh. This happened every time and defeated his chances of deciphering the ancient language, freeing the Order and EJ.

  A whimper came from the bedroom. Ever since his Ink healed Emeline, their emotions were connected. Bad enough he lived in chaos, now she did, too. He had to master his Ink. His life—her life—the lives of the Order and his brother’s depended on it.

  He forced his emotions to level out, the burn of his Ink to ease, and watched the glyphs sink into his pores. Still with him yet, for the moment, invisible. Gradually, Emeline’s whimpering ceased. Exhausted, he leaned against the counter until his strength returned. Every day, controlling the chaotic energy sapped him. It wanted free rein to infect everything it touched. That, he could never allow.

  Quietly, he pulled on some sweats and grabbed the standing mirror in the corner of the room. With a last glance at Emeline, he exited the bedroom. Voices from the various caretakers of the women still under Khuket’s power reached him. Many returned from abroad to aid the sisters in the Order. Most of them glowered at him. He wasn’t wanted at the Order, and he couldn’t deny them their honest opinions. But he was now the Order’s de facto leader, whether they liked it or not. He understood their reticence and ignored them. As long as Emeline remained, he remained.

  He took the elevator down to the main floor, passed through the lobby and nodded at the staff on guard.

  Avery made his way to the library. He swept aside the antique tapestry with its dizzying array of blue, yellow, red, and black and proceeded down the stone staircase to the cold sub-level. The stone slab guarding the entrance to the gathering room creaked open as he approached, recognizing his right to be in the sacred chamber. At times, the powers he’d inherited from Khuket did come in handy. He crossed the black and red mosaic tile, passed the eerie eyes of the mural of the former goddess, and propped the mirror against the marble altar then headed for the vault.

  Again, the door opened at his approach. He didn’t bother with the light. He knew exactly where the items were since he’d placed them on the shelves earlier that evening. The Book of Eidos, the Scroll of Heka, and the journal that used to belong to Emeline’s Grandfather. He took them to the altar and opened the last two. The blank pages of the Book would only mock him so h
e left that closed. There had to be a way to separate the words from his Ink.

  Avery angled the mirror until he had a full view of himself. Then he stripped off his shirt. This time, instead of studying the words, he decided to speak them aloud while staring into the mirror. If anything worked, he would see it. He picked up the Scroll and scanned until he found a cartouche he recognized—the only thing he’d recognized in the archaic document. He was about to recite the words when a tremor shook the building.

  Confused, Avery paused. It felt like the rumble of a train, but the subway wasn’t close. Also, as many times as he’d been in the room, he’d never experienced it before. Footsteps sounded behind him. Boots on concrete, their unique tread familiar, so much like his own, chilled his spine. The Scroll floated to the floor as he pivoted and gazed into the face of his little brother.

  “EJ—” A tidal wave of emotions choked off the rest of the sentence.

  Avery rushed forward—and into a roundhouse that snapped him back. Knees wobbled and he dropped. He shook his head and the four EJs settled into one. “What the fuck was that for?”

  No answer. EJ stood there like a cement wall. Wary, Avery climbed to his feet. It was EJ’s expression, his waxy, glazed eyes, his passive, gray face that froze Avery.

  Just like the women of the Order.

  Even though he knew this was EJ’s condition, reality was harsh.

  The man he knew as his brother was gone, replaced by the empty shell standing in front of him. He spotted Ridley Cross waiting in the doorway of the vault. The simmering rage he kept a tight lid on, exploded. “What have you done to my brother?” He snarled and charged toward her.

  EJ hooked Avery around the waist. Next, he was airborne, flying over EJ’s shoulder and French kissing the tiles. That EJ used their well-practiced move on him, stunned Avery.

  Instinct ordered him to roll. He escaped an elbow aimed at his sternum, but he didn’t evade a steel-toed boot to his ribs. Pain blotted his reasoning. Ink surged across his skin. When he climbed to his feet, incandescent armor clung to his flesh and claws replaced his fingers, kill, the only thought crowding his mind.