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Army in the Obelisk Sneak Peek
Part One – Thieves in the Night
Chapter One
Soriya Greystone was looking for a fight. It had been the same motivation that carried her from her underground domicile every night for the last week. Training had resumed with Mentor, what he referred to as “continued education” despite her prowess at the job.
His sudden concern over her ability angered her to no end. All she wanted was some action, a chance to show her teacher that the classroom was no longer necessary—that Soriya had learned all there was from him. The city would show her the way forward.
An alarm rang out, giving her exactly what she needed. The sound shattered the silence of the night. A frightful clanging to most, it resonated like a classical symphony to Soriya. It called to her like a siren song and pushed her away from the shadows of Allure toward the red lights of Evans Tower.
The alarm cut out moments later, but it drew her in all the same. She traveled quickly, ducking between buildings in a full run until she came out before the Portents History Museum.
The museum occupied its own block. A modern aesthetic with a floor-to-ceiling stained-glass display marked the front of the sprawling complex. The images depicted ran through time, each significant era given their proper due for all to see. From the Cretaceous to the Mayans to the Renaissance and more, every piece was detailed with significant achievements and principal players of the time.
From there, the building stretched out with rounded edges instead of solid corners. Four stories tall with over ten thousand square feet of displays and exhibits, the museum was one of the highest profile tourist spots in the city.
Soriya had visited at an early age with Mentor. He had taken her for research materials, of course, though she’d been surprised it contained something relevant considering all they had seen outside the museum’s walls. There is always more to learn, he had said; the lesson circled back on her once more.
She tired of learning, tired of being held back, instead of pushed forward with her talents. Soriya raced ahead to find the danger; she refused to listen to the words of the past any longer.
A squad car sat outside the front doors. Lights flashed, but the occupants were already inside the building. More officers were en route; the radio continued to chirp inside the car, notifying all to their approach.
Rather than head in, Soriya circled the perimeter. With the police involved, there was no need for her in the museum. Instead, she ran to the end of the block and down the adjacent street.
A mural had been painted on the wall of the museum. It showed the founding of Portents and included the prominent figures of the early days of the city. William Rath stood in the center, surrounded by the likes of Wilbur Caldwell and Patrick Hennessey, the three men directly responsible for the settlement. The Founder’s Day Parade began on this block, the route a straight shot past the Central Precinct and Town Hall.
Reaching the back lot of the museum and the loading bay beyond, Soriya paused. She dashed across the empty street for a better vantage. An unmarked van sat parked at the farthest bay. The metal door lay slightly open, leaving a gap at the base. Soriya pulled away from the strange sight as a shadow flitted by from atop the four-story structure.
Soriya returned to the side of the building. She rolled up the sleeve of her jacket, exposing the pink ribbon running the length of her left arm. It slid down her skin, pooling on the ground beside her. Soriya raised her arm, and the ribbon snapped to attention. It shot forward with the force of a bullet until it snagged a flagpole jutting from the side of the museum.
The ribbon pulled taut at both ends. Soriya gripped her side, tugged, then felt nothing but air as the ribbon lifted her from the ground. She soared for the roof beyond the flagpole. Flipping over the ledge, Soriya landed without a sound against the stone mixture lining the rooftop. She let go of the ribbon, which retracted from its perch. It slid along her skin, snug like a blanket, and she pulled her sleeve back over it.
The shadow stopped at her arrival, shocked by her presence, then fled in the opposite direction. Soriya smirked. Her blood was pumping, the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wanted the fight, and it was being handed to her on a silver platter.
Stone crunched under her feet. Soriya passed air conditioning units and stairwell access points. Nothing distracted her from her quarry, not the shattered skylight of the museum or the scattered tools left behind by the maintenance crews. All that mattered was the thief in the distance, the shadow intent on escaping. When the figure reached the end of the building, Soriya slid to a halt.
Her smirk remained. “Nowhere to run. It’s over!”
Soriya shifted closer, her steps careful and slow. The gravel slid beneath her sneakers as she neared the figure.
He wore a light jacket over a t-shirt and jeans, a similar outfit to her own. Tall compared to her own stature, the man was muscular—his biceps visible along the sleeves of the jacket. She didn’t realize the truth until he spun to face her: he wasn’t a man at all. Stepping into the light of the rooftop, the creature had the body of a man but the head of a snake. In fact, it had not one head, but two.
Soriya’s eyes widened. The beast’s name, another in the long line of lessons learned from Mentor, slipped from her lips. “Nehebkau.”
The twin heads of the Egyptian god hissed at her. Two sets of eyes blinked at the same moment as they sized her up.
Soriya cleared her throat, forcing down her surprise. “I said, it’s over!”
The head to the right tilted mischievously and its lips curled. “Now, where is the fun in that?”
The Nehebkau turned and stepped from the roof.
“Don’t!” Soriya shouted. She ran to the edge and peered below. The creature was already halfway across the street. The snake glanced back with a playful hiss upon its lips, practically begging for her to follow.
Soriya sighed. She had asked for the fight. “When am I going to learn?”
She jumped from the building. Her feet hit the edge of the sidewalk, and she rolled with the momentum of her fall until she was in the middle of the street. Then, she leaped to her feet and gave chase—leaving behind the museum and the crime scene that started her night.
Chapter Two
He wasn’t supposed to be at the museum. It had been a simple fluke that the call had come over the radio the moment he left his home. Why he had kept the radio so close to him was one of the many questions Ruiz had posed to him of late. Greg Loren had failed to find an answer at the time.
It continued to elude him.
Asking the cab driver for a slight detour, Loren arrived before any backup from the Central Precinct; they were the closest to the scene compared to the other precincts dotting the city. Loren passed along a small tip and vacated the vehicle. Hurried steps carried him from the wide walkway to the massive front doors of the museum, where he paused.
He should have been at the precinct. There was no call for him to be at the scene, but the second he’d heard the code and the location, Loren had stopped everything—every rational thought and argument—to get to the museum before anyone else.
Ruiz called it an obsession. The truth was, Loren had been pushing himself, forcing longer hours on multiple cases to keep his mind occupied. He had always required little in the way of sleep. Now he withheld from the luxury as often as possible; he did everything he could to keep moving, to stay on the streets and away from his apartment.
His needs had created problems of late. Inserting himself into cases not his own had caused tensions with co-workers and more than a few spats with his superiors. He believed them to be necessary, his insight always helpful to the case, but his belligerence in violating proper protocol to appease his restlessness had been the subject of more than one meeting with Ruiz.
None of it stopped him from heading to the museum. And none of it was enough to keep him from opening the door to yet another crime scene.
The lights were off inside. The lobby, complete with admission desks and security checkpoints, ran along the right-hand side. Bathrooms rested to the left. A spinner rack of brochures end-capped the section. A lone hallway funneled deeper into the museum where the exhibits were displayed.
Blocking the hall was a lone officer. Her hands rested on her hips as she approached. Thick brown locks fell to her shoulders. She was taller than him, with light brown skin. Her eyes washed over him, a curious stare at the disheveled detective.
He pulled out his badge without being prompted. “Loren. What do we have?”
It caused the woman to hesitate. She stepped closer to check out his badge and to give his physical appearance a once over. Loren had never been a shirt-and-tie man, but lately he was lucky to find a clean t-shirt and khakis to wear for work. Laundry piled up. So did the dishes, the bills, and every other mundane task he’d chosen to forego. He preferred to work.
“Detective Loren?” the officer repeated, confusion in her voice. “I’m sorry, but what are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” Loren replied. He kept a disarming smile on his face. “Your call mentioned a homicide?”
“My partner made the call, yeah,” she said. A hand pointed to the tag on her chest. “Martinez. Julia Martinez. Officer Willets is still with the body.”
“Lead the way.”
She shook her head and cut him off from the entry doors. “No disrespect or anything, Detective, but Captain Mathers made it clear who was taking point on this. And he never mentioned your name on the call.”
Mathers. He was the newest captain at the Central Precinct. Where Ruiz used his experience to help guide his team to solve cases as an active member of the force, Mathers was a one-man bureaucracy. Paperwork trumped results, because every sheet flowed through his office and his alone. All credit stopped with him, but the blame found a way to flow down to those under him.
Mathers had been at the precinct for six months. Loren had required less than five minutes to make a judgment about him. His impression of the man was less than flattering, to say the least.
Loren grumbled. He shook off his feelings for the captain, returning the smile to his face. “I’m not here to ruffle feathers, Martinez. I was on my way to Central when the call came over the wire. That’s all this is. An extra pair of hands. If you want them.”
She peered at the exit. Her squad car sat alone just outside, but both heard the distinct sound of sirens in the distance. A quick nod and the wave of her hand concluded their argument.
“Come on.”
Leading them around the corner, Martinez stopped at a small table and retrieved a pair of flashlights. She handed one over to Loren. Twin beams projected ahead to light their way through the massive branches of hallways and exhibits in the museum.
“The power is out?” Loren asked.
“Utility company has been notified. They should be here soon.”
“But the alarm alerted you to the scene.”
Martinez nodded. “Yeah. Attempted robbery.”
“Attempted?”
“From the looks of it.”
Their path through the museum cut through the Wilds of Africa exhibit. Tall trees surrounded them with large animal displays, making up most of the room. They passed into a replica of a Mayan temple, bypassing the steps for an access corridor behind the exhibits.
“I’m surprised there isn’t more security,” Loren commented during their travels.
“Used to be,” Martinez answered quickly. She paused, reading the curious look offered by Loren. “My cousin worked here. They downsized him when they went the automated route. Didn’t really help them this time around.”
Her light fell on a junction box at the end of the hall. Sparks flew out, the panel pierced by an elongated blade. The wooden handle jutted out across the way like a limbo stick.
Loren eyed it cautiously, noting the gold trim around the steel blade and the decoration carved into the handle. “Is that a spear?”
“Looks like.”
Loren rubbed at his eyes. He had hoped for another case, a simple investigation to keep his mind off things. Instead, he had walked into something much more. Over the past few months he had come to recognize signs of the strange in Portents, the true city some called it. Finding a damn spear at a murder scene definitely fit the bill.
“Going to be one of those nights, isn’t it?” he muttered.
“Detective?”
“Nothing, Martinez,” Loren said. They ducked under the spear to avoid the sparks that shot sporadically from the shattered junction and continued on their way. “Where’s the body?”
“Just up ahead,” the officer said. The corridor opened up to an atrium. Dinosaur fossils were on full display in the center. Light showered in from above, and they turned off the flashlights upon arrival. “The guard must’ve surprised our perp. Unfortunately, the surprise went both ways.”
“What do you—?”
The question fell away when Loren found the body. The guard hung upside down from the ribs of a T-Rex. A small pool of blood adorned the floor beneath him.
“Oh.”
“Willets,” Martinez called to the officer surveying the scene. The man turned at their approach and rubbed his clean-shaven skull. “This is Detective Loren from Central.”
Willets took a step away from them. “I thought Captain Mathers—”
“He is,” Loren interrupted. “I’m just taking in the sights.”
“I wouldn’t get too close.”
Loren noted the blood on the floor. As he leaned closer, Loren observed flecks of skin and pus floating in the crimson pool. The detective covered his mouth and nose. His free hand pulled loose some gloves from his pocket.
Circling the victim, Loren noted the puncture wounds along his neck and hands. More decorated the man’s cheeks, and holes in his pants matched the distinctive wounds. Red blotches and puffed-up skin accompanied each puncture.
“I’ve seen bites like these before. From a snake if I had to hazard a guess,” Willets explained to the quiet detective. When Loren shot a curious glance in his direction, Willets shrugged. “Boy scouts, sir.”
“I had a feeling.”
“You too?”
Loren shook his head. “Not even close. But I still believe in truth, justice, and all that crap, so Mama Loren didn’t mess up her kid too bad. What kind of snake could do this?”
“A damn big one,” Willets said.
Loren backed away from the body. The cause of death was clear from the wounds inflicted, but how could a snake do this? Who would use a snake and a spear as their primary means of assault?
“Where did it come from?” Loren finally said.
Willets fell silent, an answer unto itself.
Martinez shrugged, then pointed to the top of the atrium. “We at least know where it might have gone. Same with our thief.”
Above, the skylight was shattered. Glass decorated the remaining panes outside. The perpetrator clearly used it to escape. There were, however, no clear indicators—from what Loren could see—how they would have reached the window. It was four stories off the ground, with no level close enough for a jump, let alone the force necessary to break the glass.
“How the hell did they—?”
Martinez jumped in before Loren could finish. “Best guess is the guard startled the perp. They struggled until the guard was injected with the snake venom, or poison, or whatever.”
“What about—?” Willets tried to ask.
“By then, the alarm had gone off,” Martinez continued, not listening to her partner’s query. “The perp tried to silence it, but it was too late. So they took off. Right, Willets?”
“Um, I guess,” the officer said, with his eyes on the floor.
It was the reason Loren preferred to work alone. One perspective was enough to handle without a comment from others. It kept things simple.
Martinez made a few good points, but her narrative disregarded the evidence at hand. There were the snake bites to begin with. The guard had not been injected at all. The wounds had come directly from a snake somehow, though the how and why of it escaped Loren for the moment. Too much did.
“That’s one theory,” Loren said.
Martinez’s gaze thinned. “You have another, Detective?”
A sound cut through the atrium. It silenced their conversation, echoing along the branched corridors of the entire complex, which skewed its origin point. The noise rattled along the floor around them. All three pulled out their sidearms in response.
“You did clear the entire scene, didn’t you?” Loren asked, his voice a whisper.
Willets refused to make eye contact. “Well, we were—”
“No,” Martinez snapped, carrying the burden of their mistake. “No, we did not.”
Loren nodded. He peered at the shadows of the massive museum. “Then I’d say we have more company, wouldn’t you?”
Chapter Three
Soriya couldn’t close the gap. Four blocks into the chase and the Nehebkau was getting farther away. She powered through, legs pumping and sneakers slapping pavement all the way down Metcalf for the RDJ in the distance.
It wasn’t until the beast shot left onto Corning that Soriya paused. Her hand shot out to catch the brick edifice of a corner deli to stop her forward momentum. There was no rhyme or reason to the chase, no motivation for the creature to prolong their flight through the city.
Then Soriya turned back. The museum sat in the distance, almost out of view. The lone patrol car remained out in front, but the sound of sirens continued to converge from downtown. Soriya had left the museum behind completely.
When she shifted back to her target, the Nehebkau was waiting. It stood confidently at the end of the block, hands on its hips and twin smiles grinning at the ponderous stone bearer.
“You hesitate,” the creature said with a hiss on its other lips. “You realize your error too late.”
The Nehebkau had pulled her away from the museum intentionally, rather than let her investigate further. Her mind returned to the scene of the crime, and the van parked outside the loading docks. She had noticed the strange presence of the vehicle seconds before the beast’s shadow drew her attention toward the roof and their confrontation. She had been on the right path only to fall for the diversion dangled before her—the fight she had been begging for since she left the Bypass.
“Why?” she asked. “Why have you been drawing me away from the museum?”
“You seek answers?” the left head of the Nehebkau said. “You have to catch us first.”
“No,” Soriya snapped. She jumped and snatched the awning of the corner deli. Flipping on top, Soriya bounded across while unleashing the ribbon at her side. Strands shot out and up toward the cornice of the roof and the lamppost directly overhead of the Nehebkau. Soriya leaped clear of the awning; the ribbon balanced her, while propelling her forward for the beast. She landed next to him, then swiped her hair out of her face as the ribbon returned with a snap. “I’m done playing your game. This ends here.”
Her fist shot out, but connected with nothing but air. The Nehebkau’s right arm swept out in a wide arc. It slammed into her side and Soriya crashed into the brick behind her. All breath left her; the force of the blow woke her to the power of the two-headed monstrosity.
The Nehebkau hissed, while it loomed over her. “This ends when I finish having my fun. Try to keep up, child.”
Child. She hated the term. The taunt reminded her of the lessons waiting for her back at the Bypass, of the non-stop lectures from everyone around her. She may have only been nineteen, but she had proven herself repeatedly. She had protected the city from threats few could imagine, yet she continued to feel tested on every level.
The Nehebkau’s taunt was the push she needed. She took off in pursuit of the creature, just as it skirted out of sight down a connecting alley. The moment she rounded the corner, intent on cutting the distance, Soriya tripped on debris covering the concrete. She staggered ahead, struggling to find her balance before catching the bottom rung of a fire escape.
Soriya glanced back to see what had fallen across her path. It was the Nehebkau’s jeans and jacket. There was more in the crumpled pile littering the alley. Soriya lifted the peach-colored object to find the beast’s hand in the mix—or at least, the skin that had once covered the Nehebkau’s hand. A thick film dripped from the discarded skin. The fluid ran down Soriya’s arm until she dropped the piece back to the concrete. The beast had shed its outer layer like its namesake.
“I hate snakes,” Soriya muttered, covering her mouth and nose to block the smell. “This one especially. Now where the hell did it—”
She ran for the end of the alley and found it slithering under the elevated expressway. Thick scales reflected the dim lamplight of the streets before the creature plunged into the darkness.
Soriya took two steps forward to begin the chase anew, then stopped. The creature was too fast, too determined to keep the game going rather than fight. She needed to change the rules, to find a better way to take back control.
Her lips curled in a smirk. As the Nehebkau continued south under the expressway, Soriya cut west. She went back down the alley and leaped over the pile left in the snake’s wake before crossing the street for another connecting alley. Two blocks out, she turned south.
At the expressway, Soriya jumped to the on-ramp, using the concrete barrier as a wall. She sprinted to the elevated road. Few vehicles were present, but those that were honked at the running pedestrian as she made her way across eight lanes of traffic. There was no hesitation in her step, no question in her moves.
When she reached the opposite end, the ribbon down her left side snapped to attention. As if it read her thoughts, the gift from Kali grabbed hold of the nearest streetlight. Soriya stepped clear of the expressway and the ribbon swung her like a vine in the jungle.
She cried out with laughter; the pure joy of feeling the wind in her hair and being free in the city overwhelmed her common sense. She didn’t care if the entire world heard—as long as the Nehebkau did.
The two-headed snake turned at the sound. It barely slipped through the underpass, the roadways a tangled mess from years of tinkering with the traffic. Four eyes widened at the sight of Soriya as she flipped loose of the streetlight and landed on her feet before the creature.
“How?”
“This is my city.” Soriya stood tall, fists clenched before her. “Now I believe you were about to answer my questions.”
Chapter Four
Loren searched alone. It had been a simple decision to make. The museum branched off in too many directions and with only the three of them to find the thief in their midst, splitting up made sense.
Of course, Martinez stuck with Willets. It was procedure, something Loren had ignored for months. As he crept through the eastern wings of the expansive complex, Loren quietly cursed his stubbornness. There were cases waiting for him at the precinct. He should have been prioritizing them, solving crimes that had been assigned to him instead of looking for additional troubles.
Ruiz certainly thought as much. Every chance the captain had, he made his feelings known to Loren. Usually the lectures came with screaming and shouting colorful curse words—all the words the father of three typically held in check when surrounded by his wife and daughters. There had been warnings mixed in with the disappointment, concern, and growing frustration.
Loren didn’t need the warnings. He saw the looks on the faces of everyone he had worked with over the years. They had changed over the last few months—from sympathetic at the loss of his wife, to hostile thanks to his impertinence and constant interference during open investigations.
Ruiz wanted him to step back, to take some time off from work. But work was all Loren wanted, all that soothed his troubled spirit. Casework took his mind off the past, off his wife and the mystery surrounding her death.
The Egyptian wing opened up before Loren. Replicated stonework ran on both sides as if he was stepping out of a pyramid and out into the desert. Displays lined the walls, from ceremonial garb and weapons to ancient figures of prominence. Hand tight to his sidearm, Loren tried to focus on his surroundings and not on the constant pull of memory in his ever-spiraling thoughts. The flashlight gave him a clear view of the room, reflecting off the glass cases of the lower displays and the golden artifacts hanging above.
As he scanned the room, the light fell on something else entirely: the crouching shadow of a woman. Loren locked on her, weapon raised. “Don’t move!”
She jumped to her feet and screamed. Hands flailing around and eyes shut tight, the woman rushed toward him. She swung for all she was worth to subdue the intruder in her midst, a war cry on her lips.
Loren couldn’t help but grin. She wore a yellow blouse and dark pants. Light brown hair trailed down to her shoulders. Her skin was deeply tanned, no stranger to long days in the sun.
“Hey,” Loren called. He fell back a step to stay out of reach of her swinging arms. Tucking away his Glock, he grabbed at her wrists and held firm. “Knock it off, all right?”
She kicked at his legs. “Let go!”
“I will,” Loren said through gritted teeth. He tried to ignore the pain rushing up his shins from her attack. “Stop kicking me first, or I’ll run you in for assaulting an officer.”
Her feet stopped. She settled back on the ground. Slowly, he released her wrists, and she ran her hands along her blouse to straighten it out. Then she opened her eyes, wincing at the sight of him.
“You’re with the police?” she asked sheepishly.
He nodded, then held up his badge. “Detective Greg Loren.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I thought you were the thief.”
“I thought you were the thief,” he shot back.
Her hand fell to her chest, eyes wide with admonishment. “I work here.”
“Pretty sure business hours ended for the day,” Loren replied.
“I lost track of the time working on a research project.” The woman let out a long breath, blowing back stray strands of hair from her face. Her hand extended for his. “Doctor Patricia Fleming. I work in the Egyptology Department here at the museum.”
He didn’t reply, and her brow furrowed.
“I study Egyptian culture and relics,” she clarified.
He took her hand and shook it before letting the exchange fall away. “That’s a thing?”
Fleming chuckled. “Much to my mother’s chagrin.” She led them deeper into the exhibit. “I was cataloging some glyphs from a new piece we’ve received: a headdress dating back to the 18th Dynasty during the time of…” She stopped, catching his glassy-eyed stare. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not a clue,” Loren said, “but I roll with it.”
“Right,” Fleming said with a smirk. “I heard a noise. Then the alarm went off. I was about to leave my office when the lights stopped working. After that, well, I hid for a bit to tell you the truth, before I worked up the courage to see what was going on.”
“And did you?” Loren asked. “Did you see anyone else?”
She shook her head. “Just you.”
“Great,” he grumbled under his breath. He gazed around the room, one of two dozen in the four-story complex. He had barely scratched the surface of the place. There might have been hundreds of hiding places tucked in every corner for all he knew, which at the moment amounted to very little. “They could be anywhere looking for who knows what.”
“An obelisk.”
Loren blinked at her in surprise. His head tilted and his hand ran behind his ear. “I’m sorry? What was that?”
“The thing they’re looking for,” Fleming said, her words slow and drawn out. She pointed ahead to the rear of the exhibit. “There’s an obelisk missing.”
“Show me.”
It was tucked in the back, behind the Tutankhamen display and the construction of the Sphinx interactive video. Fleming took the lead, silent in her movement. Loren peered down at the sight of her bare feet on the tile. She had an ankh tattooed on her left ankle. Gazing back, the flashlight as his guide, Loren found a pair of heels on the ground where he had found the frightened, yet defiant, Egyptologist.
He turned at the sound of her throat clearing. She was waiting at a vacant space in the showroom. Placards surrounded the display. All denoted a stone spire and the history involved. Loren glanced over the details, trying to understand as quickly as possible.
“What’s so special about this thing?”
A confident smile grew on Fleming’s face. “Have you ever heard of Cleopatra’s Needle?”
Chapter Five
Something about Fleming intrigued him. There was excitement in her voice. A pure joy filtered into every word as she expounded her knowledge over the missing obelisk from the Egyptian exhibit. Loren did his best to stay silent, wondering if he sounded the same when he made a Superman reference.
“They got the name wrong.” Fleming pointed to the figure displayed on the placard. “They have nothing to do with Cleopatra, in fact. Have you seen them before?”
He nodded, continuing to absorb the copious amounts of information on display next to the empty base where the obelisk once stood. Dates were offered, histories explained as to their presence, all of which flew in one ear and out of the other.
“The one in New York,” he answered. “In Central Park, right?”
“That’s the one.”
“Yeah,” Loren recalled. “I took a trip with my family when I was a kid.”
“You sound less than impressed,” Fleming noted.
“History isn’t really my area, Doctor.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly. His response wasn’t what she had been hoping to hear. She bounced back an instant later, leading him through the informational placards like a tour guide. “There are three of them. New York, as you mentioned, London, and Paris. Popular belief has been that these three were the only in existence.”
“So, where did this new one come from?”
“The Valley of the Kings,” Fleming said. Loren stared blankly at her. He didn’t need a history lesson. He needed answers, and she read it on his face. “Egypt. The obelisk was found buried behind a wall. The fissures of the crumbling structure were just enough to get a good look inside.”
“Why is it here?” Loren asked. “Why bring the obelisk to Portents, of all places?”
Fleming straightened her back and raised her head high. “I was on the dig. I ran the dig.”
“Oh. Congrats?”
“Appreciated,” she said. Then she sighed at the emptiness of the display. “It would be more appreciated if the obelisk was still in the exhibit.”
“That’s where I was headed,” Loren said. “How could they move it?”
“I don’t follow.”
Loren pointed to the imagery of the other three. “The one in New York was huge. Like fifty feet tall.”
“Seventy, actually.”
“Doctor,” Loren grumbled, hoping to get her on track.
She nodded. “The one we found was only the peak of the spire. At some point, it must have dislodged from the base, though we found no further evidence at the dig site.”
Loren crouched low. Flecks of debris dotted the tile, but then disappeared. He circled the area. No matter how small the peak was, it would have required more than one person to lift and carry it from the exhibit. There were dozens of much more accessible displays, which required far less manpower.
His hand grazed the glass over a panel of weapons, including several spears. Loren recognized the similarity between them and the one used to pierce the junction box. None appeared to be missing from the case, though.
The gold trim alone on just one spear in the case would have made a tidy profit. Dozens of items sat within reach, held back by security glass that would have been no obstacle for a prepared thief. Only one object, though, seemed to have been targeted. As he mulled it over, Loren gave his thought voice. “Why the obelisk?”
“What do you mean?”
“I was wondering why anyone would want to take this piece over all the others in the room. Hell, in the whole museum?”
“I agree. It doesn’t make sense,” Fleming replied. “There’s nothing inherently valuable about the obelisk. Maybe some shifty collector is trying to fill his man cave?”
Loren smirked.
Fleming sighed. “I should probably leave the theories to you.”
“Probably.”
A door opened and slammed shut in the distance. Steps echoed through the vacant corridors. Fleming shuffled closer to Loren, her hands balled up into fists—terrified, yet ready for a fight.
“What was that?” she whispered.
Loren ran his flashlight back the way they had come. The trail led to the atrium and the entrance beyond. “Could be backup finally. With a few more hands, we’ll have a better chance of securing the museum.”
Fleming wasn’t looking in the same direction as him. When her hand fell on his arm, Loren twisted toward her. His flashlight swept across the length of the room. It stopped on the far side of the Egyptian exhibit.
A man stood in the shadows. Black fabric draped over one shoulder and crossed his otherwise bare chest. A mask covered his mouth and nose from view, but failed to conceal his sharp gaze staring them down. His right hand held tight to a blade that reflected the beam from the flashlight. The steel blade curved from the handle before returning to a point at the end.
“Detective?” Fleming uttered as Loren shifted in front of her and drew his sidearm. “I don’t think it was backup.”
Chapter Six
Soriya pounced at the Nehebkau, unwilling to let another opportunity slip by. Her fist connected with the snake’s left head. The head collided with its twin to the right, but the force was not enough to knock the beast over. Instead, the Nehebkau whipped its tail around. Soriya was slapped away before she could follow through on her assault.
The tail had hit her side opposite the previous assault. It was a small amount of luck, considering how sore her ribs felt from the initial strike. If it had been the other way around, the fight might have been over before it had truly begun. Instead, Soriya bounced back from the blow with only a moment’s breath to collect her thoughts—and her anger.
“Brash. Stubborn,” the Nehebkau said, the words alternating between heads. “The tried-and-true markings of youth. And of your downfall.”
She tired of the trash talk. She sure as hell tired of the judgment that came with her role in Portents. The Greystone was hers now. The job might have overwhelmed her at one time, but those days were long since past. Now there was only the future, one she determined on her own, by any means at her disposal.
Soriya yelled as she leaped at the creature. Her fist flew through the air, but in her anger she misjudged the Nehebkau’s position. The snake pulled back far enough to avoid the blow, then shot forward with its fangs bared.
Teeth broke skin on the back of her hand and she fell with a cry. She tried to catch herself, but her hand pulsed in pain and gave way, causing her face to crash to the pavement.
Eyes sparked wide; pure agony ran up her arm. She took a breath. A moment slipped by, and she sensed the beast’s presence in the second she took to collect herself. When the Nehebkau’s shadow loomed over her, Soriya rolled. The beast’s tail crashed at her former position, the concrete cracking from the impact.
Soriya continued to roll away from the attack until she slammed against a corner bench. She fought for her knees, using her good hand for leverage. Her right was almost useless. A large red welt swelled on the surface. The wound burned to the touch and matched the agony filling Soriya’s gut.
“You feel it already, don’t you?” the snake said with a hiss. “Working into your bloodstream?”
The creature’s second head snapped at the air before them. It approached casually, clearly savoring the kill.
“The poison,” the Nehebkau continued. “Venomous and deadly. It will slow you down. Make you easy prey.”
“Never,” Soriya said. She spat at the ground between them, then pulled her weary body up along the side of the bench. Her knees strained to maintain her balance. She refused to fall again—not to this thing.
“So much for your answers,” the creature said, slithering along the sidewalk. “You do not know what we have taken tonight. What secret is locked inside. What it means for your precious city.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Soriya replied. Her eyes thinned, barely able to focus on her assailant. The image swayed, like the snake was caught in a breeze. “Whatever it is, whatever you think you’ve earned tonight, I will put a stop to it.”
Smiles ran across the faces of the beast. “A dreamer too. Ah, youth. Makes the meal so much more satisfying.”
The Nehebkau snapped at her, ready for another taste of the feast to come. When the jaw of its left head widened completely, Soriya’s fist shot forward. The fangs collapsed on her skin, and she fought back a scream.
“You want a meal so badly?” she said through clenched teeth. “Choke on this.”
Her fingers retreated from the face of the object locked against her palm. She firmly entrenched the Greystone in the Nehebkau’s throat. With a scream, every ounce of Soriya’s willpower poured through her into the stone until light beamed along the surface.
“Wait,” the second head said. Terror filled its eyes. The light continued to grow. Bright waves of luminescence showered down the beast’s shared body, piercing the scales along its skin like a flare. “Wait!”
The left head exploded in all directions. The right, panicked for a brief second, crumpled to the side and the Nehebkau’s body followed suit. When it hit the pavement, the creature’s guts splattered the sidewalk.
Soriya was included in that gory shower. She swiped at the dark blood coating her face and down her jacket. Scales fell from her sleeves and clung to her pants. A shower would never come close to making her feel clean again, let alone ten.
“And I thought you were gross on the outside,” she grumbled. Spit flew free to wash away the taste on her lips.
Soriya stepped toward the window of a nearby storefront. There was cause for concern in the looks department, for sure, but she was still standing and that was where she found the most surprise. Her arm—in agony only moments before—now felt fine. Blood still ran from where the fangs had pierced her skin, but the poison had been wiped clean with the death of the creature. They were linked in nature, it seemed. She was even more grateful for that fact.
Soriya made her way back through the streets slowly. The museum sat in the distance, the alarms replaced with sirens that blared through the night. Nehebkau’s distraction had been a success.
Soriya stared at the four-story structure, filled with concern. “What were you up to, Nehebkau? What the hell have you brought to Portents?”
Chapter Seven
“I need you to run.”
Loren stood before Fleming, blocking her full view of the man with the sword. He tucked the flashlight away to grip his sidearm tighter. The gun did little to intimidate the silent figure in the shadows.
Fleming shook her head at his request. She sidled away from him, practically stomping her feet in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until I find out where my obelisk—”
The masked figure raised his sword. With one swift motion, he swung out and to the right in a wide arc. Beside him was a structure made of pure granite, solid and true. His sword sliced through it without hesitation, like the heavy stone had been nothing but air. The top half of the object slid off the bottom and crashed to the floor with a thud.
The man said nothing at this. No words were necessary. The raised sword was enough of a warning for the both of them.
“Get the hell out of here, Doctor!”
Fleming gulped hard. They shared a glance, reluctance in her eyes. She clearly wanted the fight, strong-willed and obstinate like him in that regard. It was not an enviable quality at the moment.
“Yes. Definitely. Running is an excellent idea.” Fleming bolted back the way they came, away from the man in the tunic. Loren trailed her movement for a second before focusing on the threat ahead.
“Tell me about it,” he whispered.
With no other witnesses to intimidate, the silent figure approached. He spun the sword in front of him.
“Knock it off with the swordplay, pal,” Loren said. He clicked off the safety and took aim. The move did nothing to deter the man. His words went nowhere, and the sword spun faster and faster.
“Strong, silent type, huh?” Loren asked. “You have no idea how much I hate that.” More steps followed. The man was getting too close, a hard look in his eyes that held no fear. Loren raised his Glock, finger hovering over the trigger. “That’s far enough. I mean it.”
There was no stopping him. Hell, Loren didn’t even know if the man spoke English. The gun should have been deterrent enough, but the shrouded figure pressed forward.
Loren had no choice. He opened fire, and the bullet blasted from the barrel. It soared on target, directly for the man’s right shoulder. The shot was intended to wound, to slow his approach so they could start a dialogue rather than end their encounter with a body bag and a ton of questions.
The bullet never made it that far. At its arrival, the man swung the sword up and sliced the projectile in two. He deflected the twin shards aside as if they had been moving in slow motion.
Loren lowered the Glock, shocked. “Okay. That was bad ass.”
Tucking the weapon away, Loren rushed at his opponent. He cocked his fist back and puffed out his chest. “How about some of this, then?”
His fist shot forward, hoping to connect with his opponent. He failed in all regards. The masked man pulled back at the last instant, like he had never been there at all, and Loren sailed ahead with too much momentum to stop.
Once committed to the errant blow, Loren was left vulnerable. One swipe of the sword would have ended the fight. Instead, the masked man crouched low and kicked out his leg. His foot caught just under Loren’s knee and caused him to fall to the ground. By the time Loren recovered, ready to stand once more, the sword hovered at his throat.
“Or not,” Loren muttered.
The sword grazed Loren’s skin. The masked man’s eyes stared intently as he said, “Consider this a warning. Stay out of our way.”
The man was gone in the next breath. He retreated past the shattered granite statue and back to the shadows.
Loren sat up, a hand to his neck. There was a pinprick of blood, but little else to show a fight had occurred. He had been nothing more than a nuisance to the mysterious figure. In the silent aftermath of their struggle, one thing replayed over again in Loren’s thoughts: the masked man’s last words.
“Our way?” Loren asked aloud, repeating the man’s declaration. The sound of fleeting steps echoed in the distance. It wasn’t over. Loren found his way to his feet and gave chase. “I never was good with warnings.”
When he reached the atrium, Fleming jumped from the shadows. Loren nearly pulled his gun on her.
“Hey,” she called, noting the tension in his step. “Are you all right?”
Loren took a breath. He gave a slight nod. “How would he get out of here with the obelisk?”
Fleming mulled over the options.
Loren’s sneaker tapped at the tile. “Doctor?”
She snapped her fingers. “The loading bay. It’s this way.”
He didn’t question her. He didn’t stop her from taking the lead, either. Loren merely followed in a full run, unwilling to let the night end without a better result. He had something to prove, not only to himself but to the department.
Fleming led him down the thin corridor with the sparking junction box. She opened what appeared to be a maintenance door. When they entered, the room widened—a warehouse of goods stored within. To the back were metal bay doors for shipments. Only one was open.
Loren ripped his Glock loose from the holster and hurried for the van waiting outside. The engine roared to life. Tires squealed, propelling the nondescript white cargo van forward. By the time he arrived, the vehicle had already reached the exit of the rear parking lot and the open road.
Fleming joined him. The wind whipped her hair wildly over her face. Even through the thick brown locks, Loren could see the disappointment on her face. It didn’t come close to matching his own
Chapter Eight
The city lay before him, spread out like a grand altar for as far as he could see. In the shadows of the Heliopolis, the man stood at the windows staring out into the darkness. His hand rested on the glass, like he could reach out and take the skyline with but a thought—as if the world sat in his grasp for him to mold and shape as he saw fit.
His hand fell away, then returned to the mask covering his face. He stripped the thin cloth away, but the tips of his fingers grazed the scars beneath his right eye. The injury had stolen the color from his iris—damning it to white, while the other gazed back at him in ocean blue.
He squeezed the tunic, upset at the necessity. He was not used to hiding. His role had always been to take what was required, to stand tall and proud against the world that sought only to smother and confine. It had left him uneasy, even after completing his task.
The shadows shifted behind him. Figures transported the obelisk on a rolling cart. The weight made the task slow and difficult. Overseeing them was the Grand Vizier—Rekhmire—always mindful of the task ahead. He stopped before the scarred man and read his concern clearly.
“You’ve done well,” Rekhmire said. His voice was boastful and energized, excitement at the prize procured.
The dutiful soldier continued to stare at the city beyond. “I have done what was required.”
The vizier cleared his throat, his words calm and considered. Rekhmire, the consummate politician, sought only to pry the best from those around him—usually in service to his own needs and no other. “What troubles you, Djuhuty, my old friend?”
Djuhuty. It was the name of his birth. Six thousand years had passed since the name meant anything to him. Centuries had been lost since he’d heard it screamed by his enemies and praised by his superiors. Ever the soldier, a general and leader of men, Djuhuty had been feared across the realm. Now, stuck in this place, this city they called Portents of all things, he was the one fearful—terrified of the path ahead. There was only one left to him now: Rekhmire’s path.
Djuhuty faced the vizier, though he kept the right side of his face in shadow. “There were difficulties. The Nehebkau—”
“Played its part,” Rekhmire replied.
“The beast alerted outsiders,” Djuhuty said. He turned back to the city. Through the glass, he recalled the contempt in the eyes of the detective from earlier that night. He had warned the man to turn away, to leave them to their mission. He knew the warning would go unheeded. There was too much fire in the man’s gaze, too much pride at the thought of losing to a masked foe he knew nothing about. It would come back to haunt them in the end.
That, however, was not the end of it. “For someone to dispatch the Nehebkau, they must have been formidable.”
There was another foe, another obstacle, intent on driving them from their path. They could not afford the resistance. They were meant to handle things in the shadows. Now their plans had burst forth to the streets thanks to the actions of the two-headed creature.
Rekhmire shifted closer. His arms crossed, and a smile grew upon his lips. “Yet the victory lies with you, Djuhuty.” He pulled at the soldier, moving him from the shadows to the light beaming from the altar on the other side of the chamber. Two men worked tirelessly to set the obelisk at the altar’s center. The glyphs were pristine on the obol’s surface, even after all the centuries lost. “Fear not. Even with the loss of one, our gods are with us in this undertaking.”
“It is not the gods that concern me, Rekhmire,” Djuhuty said. “But the devils we have stirred in this place.”
They had done more than steal back a treasure. They had opened the door to something much more in the city, the detective on one side and whoever slew the Nehebkau on the other. Both were problems that required handling, of that Djuhuty held little doubt.
“The world will soon see the truth,” Rekhmire declared. His words echoed, drawing all eyes to the obelisk, which glowed upon the altar. The words, however, were only meant for Djuhuty—and the path ahead. “The obelisk is only the start. Now the real work begins.”