Sekhmet: The Elsehere, #1 2x3l2a

SEKHMET

The Elsehere, Book One by Grace J. Roberts

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2021 by R.J. Trench 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. For permissions [email protected] Cover design by Enchanted Ink Studio enchantedinkstudio.com First Printing, 2021 Notus Publishing

––––––––

Find Grace J. Roberts at graceandfiction.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Dedication

For my mother, who has ed me and encouraged me ever since I first picked up a pen.

Prologue

It was the smell, or rather the lack of it, that told Nick he was no longer in a war zone. Opening his eyes, he saw a crisp white pillowcase and, just beyond it, a generic hotel alarm clock. A hotel room, then, but where? How? He shifted a little, aware that someone had actually taken the trouble to put him to bed: which probably meant he was amongst friends, but the thought wasn't as comforting as it ought to have been. His last clear memories were of the sirens going off. Of trying to hustle the children to safety. If he was here, that meant it had ended badly. But what of the children who'd been in his care? Where were they? A cough pulled Nick's attention toward the far side of the room. Seated in an armchair that was at least two sizes too small for his build, was a familiar, albeit unwelcome, face. “You are back, then?” The words were English but carried with them heavy traces of the man's native Russian accent. “If I'd known you were here, I'd have stayed unconscious,” Nick muttered. That made the man smirk. “You are welcome.” Nick ignored the remark in favour of sitting up. Muscles, stiff from lying still, complained at the activity but it at least enabled him to take in more of the room. It looked like a side room in a suite rather than a room on its own. That made some sense, but it didn't tell him much more about where he was, beyond the obvious. “Cairo,” said the Russian. “If you are wondering.” Nick grimaced. “Why?” “We were repatriating an Egyptian national.” The man shrugged. “Not a lot of

choice.” That statement confirmed the orphanage had been hit badly. “Where are the children?” “With the Red Crescent. From what Ana was able to piece together, you had already got most of them safely away.” “Most?” “We found one little girl with you. A little bruised and cut, but otherwise well.” The Russian shrugged a little. “No reports of any bodies when they dug the place out. So.” Nick frowned. “How long ago?” “Five days. They dug it out because we told them it was an orphanage. You're welcome again, by the way.” At that, Nick nodded. Five days. That was an impressive length of time for him to be unconscious. It probably meant they'd had to drug him. “TTX,” said the Russian. Nick scowled. “I thought it was your partner who was the mind reader.” Though prolonged use of TTX did explain the Russian's presence: he was obviously there as a precaution against any psychotic reactions Nick might have had. “I'm not a mind reader,” retorted a sharp, female voice, from the doorway. Nick glanced in that direction and saw the woman in question. “Ana.” “Nicholas.” She glanced at the other man and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “You. Cossack. Out.” The Russian smirked again, even as he heaved himself awkwardly out of the toosmall chair. “Be seeing you.” In Russian, he added to Ana, “He's his normal cheerful self. You worry too much.” “And you forget that he can speak Russian,” Nick retorted, a comment that

rewarded him with a sheepish expression on the Russian's face and a roll of the eyes from Ana. Ana moved away from the door, allowing the Russian to exit and then she closed the door behind him. “I see you and Daniil are getting on as well as ever,” she noted. Nick said nothing. From her expression, Ana had expected as much. Instead, she took up the seat Daniil had vacated. “So, I think you know why I'm here.” “I assume you've been poking about in my head.” “It isn't poking if you're practically broadcasting it,” Ana retorted. “I'm surprised Daniil didn't notice.” Nick winced. “It's fine.” “It is not fine.” Ana sighed, slumping back in her seat. “You have been hiding —” “I've been working for Medicins Sans Frontiers. I wouldn't call that hiding.” Ana pulled an impressive grimace. “I'm not saying it's not worthwhile. Clearly it has been. Ousa and the other children were all very sad to know you wouldn't be coming back.” “Did you tell them I was dead?” “I didn't have a choice. Ousa knew before Daniil and I found you.” At that, Nick winced again. Ousa was one of the sharpest of the orphans and she'd seen plenty of dead bodies to know the difference. And now he was one more scar on that bright four-year-old's soul. “No. Stop it.” Ana's voice was sharp. “Does it suck? Of course it does, but it is not your fault. Just like Athens wasn't your fault.” Nick scowled. “Stop poking around in my head.”

“I'm not. I don't have to. Nick...” Ana sighed and hesitated for a few moments, clearly picking her next words carefully. “I'm going to say this once, then I'm going to let you get up, shower and do whatever it is you want to do in Cairo for the rest of today—by tomorrow your new documents should be here ready for you.” Nick folded his arms across his chest, fairly sure he knew what Ana was going to say. “Athens was a fuck up. Athens was a fuck up six ways from Sunday. Maybe seven. Your part in that? Being the guy caught in the crossfire.” Ana paused. “The guy that got to walk away after the crossfire,” she amended. “I know Jonno's tried to tell you this before and you've refused to hear it from him, so maybe you'll hear it from me: someone sold Nita out. It wasn't your mistake that led to the shootout. And, just in case you were in any doubt, you did everything you could to protect Nita, but you are not bulletproof. Someone else had a hand in it. Someone who wasn't you. There was a phone call to Gemel, three days before. Within an hour, Gemel was on a plane to Greece. Up to then, Gemel's attention was elsewhere.” Unwillingly, Nick said, “Does Jonno know who?” Ana shook her head. “Burner phone. Used just twice. Once to call Gemel and once to call for pizza. The pizza ordered was pretty basic and was delivered to an Athens hotel.” “So dead end.” “Except for what it shows: that someone else was on the board. Someone we didn't know about. Maybe someone in Gemel's organisation, or maybe it was someone else. We don't know and at this point, we may never know. The point is: you can only deal with what you know about. You're not omniscient and you did everything you could for Nita.” “Except keep her alive.” Ana rolled her eyes heavenwards and muttered a particularly choice Russian curse. “You and Daniil deserve one another.” She pushed out of her chair. “I've said what I was going to. Up to you what you do now.” She started for the door. “There's clean clothes in the closet for you.” And with that, she left, closing the

door behind her with more force than was strictly necessary. Nick fell back against the pillows with an arm draped against his eyes. Objectively, he knew Ana was right. An unknown third party did mean Athens had been an exercise in futility, but knowing that didn't make the feeling of having failed go anywhere. He'd thought, working with the orphans in Syria for MSF would help and for a time, it had. Or maybe it had just allowed him to avoid thinking about past mistakes. Another thought came to him: had he lost his edge? He'd been doing this for a very long time—only Jonno had been at this longer, but the Larrakia rarely left his computers these days, preferring the quiet of research and his teaching. That kind of semi-retirement suited Jonno but Nick knew it wouldn't remotely work for him. He'd been there and done that. Maybe it was time for him to walk away, then. Cut the cord completely. And do what? Nick let a low growl sound in the back of his throat as he flung the bedding back and rolled out of bed. That was the problem. There was no pension plan. No quiet little cottage in the country. Besides, that would drive him just as nuts as teaching or research. Ana had said he was free to do as he pleased for the rest of the day: maybe he should take a walk. While Cairo had never been his home, there was still the Nile, the one true constant in his life.

––––––––

It was perhaps inevitable that Nick found himself in the labyrinthine halls of the Cairo Museum. He'd intended to take a wander along the river, but his feet, it seemed, had other ideas. So here he was, in the sort of place that only Egypt could do: rooms upon rooms stacked with knowledge and with, apparently, only a bare thought for the care and preservation of the artefacts. He knew there had to be more care than was apparent—linen gloves didn't survive for three thousand years without it—but it still amused him as he moved between the glass cases. As he wandered through the museum, he became aware of someone following him. For a second, he feared he'd been recognised, but then he caught a glimpse

of his pursuer. Dressed in a light cotton sundress with her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, she looked just like any other tourist. He knew she wasn't. He sighed and at the next convenient niche in the displays he stopped to allow her to catch up. “Kari. Shouldn't you be in Wales? I assume Sita had a hand in your arrival.” he asked as she ed him. At that, Kari mustered a sheepish sort of smile. “Don't blame Sita. I didn't think you'd answer my call otherwise.” She shrugged a bit and then gestured to their surroundings. “I'm a little surprised by your choice of activity, though.” She waved a hand at the large sandstone statue of Amenhotep IV, better known as Akhenaten. “I would have thought once was enough.” “Apparently not.” Nick shrugged. He glanced at the information placard for the statue, which defined Akhenaten as a heretic, and snorted softly. “He'd have hated that.” “I dare say,” said Kari dryly. “So why are you here?” There was a lengthy pause while they negotiated a large knot of tourists and started down the stairs. “We're worried about you.” Nick gave her a sharp look. “Really?” “Really.” Her words were firm and there was a certain warmth to her expression. Nick looked away. “Huh.” “We are wondering,” she continued delicately, “if it's your time.” Her words an echo of his earlier thought, Nick now understood why he'd ended up in the museum instead of on the Corniche. The museum represented his past, but it took seeing the glass cases full of obsolete objects to know it wasn't time for him to become one of them. “Not yet.” They stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine of a Cairo summer's day and Nick thought he heard Kari sigh with relief.

“Being worried about me isn’t why you're here, though.” It was several yards more before she answered, by which time they were walking along the Nile Corniche. The river below was as busy as ever, though the boats that plied the waters were more for pleasure than for trade these days. “Well, no. Not entirely.” She sighed. “I need a favour.” Nick came to a halt and leaned against the wall, looking out over the waterway below. “What sort of favour?” “The girl I've been looking after is finally ready to go off to university. She doesn't need me any longer, but she's still under the council's watch.” Nick flashed to a similar conversation, five years earlier. “I'm not sure I'm a good choice.” “Why?” “Athens,” said Nick briefly. “I know you've been busy with your assignment, but you're not that far out of the loop.” At that, Kari gave him a fond if slightly exasperated look. “You're right, I'm not that far out of the loop and this isn't remotely the same. Ayana's not a whistleblower; she's a twenty-four-year-old student. None of the information I've got says this is anything other than making sure she gets to be a well-rounded adult, and I've done the hard work there. Her stepfather's a bit of a bastard, but he won't intervene now she's been accepted to Cambridge.” At that, Nick looked up, surprised. “Which college?” “Newnham, why?” “Evan Jones' youngest granddaughter is about to start her second year there.” “Even more reason for you to be in Cambridge, then,” said Kari. “You can keep your promise to Evan while you're at it.” More gently, she added, “It would give you somewhere to go and something to do, given you can't stay on here.” Nick grimaced. Much as he hated it, Kari was right there. With such a public and

recorded incident as the orphanage, it would be twenty or thirty years before he could safely return to Egypt. The opportunity to see more of Becky wouldn't be bad and it did sound like an easy assignment, not that he ever put much stock in that. He rubbed a hand over his face and turned his back on the Nile. “Tell me about her,” he said.

Chapter 1

“I knew I should have insisted you take the window seat.” Ayana van der Merwe looked up from her book and glanced at her seat-mate. “What?” “You are humming. Again.” Caroline Hickman, formerly a Sergeant and field medic in the British Army, had a facial expression that suggested both fondness and exasperation. The exasperation appeared to be winning. Ayana hadn't been aware of it, but now she came to think of it, she did have a melody stuck in the back of her mind. As it was an unfamiliar one, she assumed it was a transfer from someone who'd brushed her shoulder as they ed up the train carriage. “Sorry—I didn't mean to.” At that, Caroline relaxed and chuckled. “I know. Like I said, I should have made you sit by the window.” She paused, brushing strands of blonde hair that had escaped the confines of her braid back behind her ear. “You need to watch that, though.” “I know. I try.” Ayana sighed. “It's hard.” Caroline smiled sympathetically. “You'll get there.” Ayana tried to return to her book, but now she'd been disturbed, that was hard. She knew, from a glance out of the train's window, that they were in the outer edges of London. It would be less than twenty minutes before they arrived at Paddington, and that would bring her one step closer to her goal. She was finally starting university. For most people, starting university was a daunting prospect. For Ayana it was something that had seemed beyond her reach until recently. A serious accident just as she was about to start secondary school had left her with a myriad of health issues and massively behind her peers. Time had helped with the former;

hard work and determination, the latter. There had still been one big hurdle, though: parents for whom the long months of hospital care was still fresh in their memories. Ayana was still not sure what had finally convinced them to allow her to try applying, but she suspected Caroline, the woman who'd overseen much of the rehab work Ayana had put in, probably had something to do with it. What had definitely eased matters was the letter that had arrived in early January, confirming she'd been accepted by Newnham College. Her father had definitely relaxed at the thought of being able to boast about that. Her mother was still more than inclined towards fretting, but she had also conceded that this was something good—normal, even—and to Ayana's surprise, she'd even agreed that Caroline would be the better travelling companion for this trip. “She will keep it together; I would be a blubbering wreck,” Joelle van der Merwe had itted only the previous afternoon. Ayana smiled faintly to herself. All she had to do now was live up to her choice. The train slowed and ed beneath a wide bridge. Scrawled on the wall was the enigmatic phrase “long ago is far away in images of elsehere”. It always tugged at Ayana's mind with an odd sort of resonance. Caroline nudged her in the ribs. “Nearly there now.” Ayana shoved her book back into her bag. “Remind me again of the plan,” she said, trying to quell odd feelings of panic. “We go from Paddington to your father's apartment in Kensington via the Circle Line. If you're feeling up to it, after lunch we'll do some shopping, perhaps visit the British Museum, have dinner and then tomorrow we travel to Cambridge. We pick up your room key, drop your stuff at your new room and meet your college mother.” Caroline paused and shook her head. “Only a Cambridge College would have that concept.” Ayana snorted with amusement. “It's part of the charm.” Caroline shook her head again, then continued, “I'll leave you to settle in, but I will remain in Cambridge for a day or so, just in case, then return to Tenby.” She paused again, this time for the official announcement of their arrival into Paddington. “I'm sure you have this all memorised.”

“It sounds so much better when you say it. Like I'm not utterly crazy.” Caroline laughed. “You're not crazy. Not about this, anyway,” she teased. Ayana poked her tongue out at her friend, which just made Caroline laugh more. The train finally eased to a stop and a moment later the tone sounded indicating the doors had been unlocked. Ayana busied herself collecting together her things. Most of her luggage for university had gone on ahead to the Knightsbridge apartment so that this journey could be done with the minimum of fuss, but there were still books, magazines and a now empty breakfast bag, plus a jacket and her silk gloves, which she'd discarded somewhere around Bristol. The accident had left her with a particularly livid scar across the palm of her left hand and poor circulation, so the gloves served a dual purpose. Pulling them back on in preparation for travelling on the tube, however, reminded her that to her fellow students they were going to be yet another mark of eccentricity. She sighed. Caroline was doing the fond/exasperated look again. She, naturally, was ready to leave and probably had been since the previous stop. “You should have nudged me sooner,” Ayana muttered as she hauled her jacket on. Caroline smirked. “I thought about it. I also thought you'd been this way a few times before.” “I have.” Ayana grimaced as she finally shouldered her bag. “Paddington always surprises me.” Finally ready, they disembarked the train and made their way down into the underground station. “You know,” said Caroline thoughtfully, “I probably ought to be making you work out which platform and such.” “Do you want lunch any time soon?” Ayana retorted. “You know I hate the tube.” Caroline took pity on her and led the way to the right platform for the circle line where, impressively, they arrived in time to step straight onto a train. Predictably, it was busy and claustrophobic—the two things about the tube

Ayana hated the most. Caroline did her best to act as a shield between Ayana and the other people in their carriage, but try as she might, she couldn't help but brushing against some of their fellow engers. By the time they left the train, Ayana's head felt as if it were fit to burst with all the impressions she'd picked up. Only the steady thread of woodsmoke and incense that signalled Caroline's presence kept her going. “Should have got a cab,” Caroline muttered as they exited onto Kensington High Street. “It's fine.” “It is not fine; you're squinting like you've got a migraine.” Caroline glanced at her. “You’re picking up too much, aren’t you? Reluctantly, Ayana nodded. “I've now got the worst craving for anchovy pizza I've ever had.” She grimaced. “I don't even like anchovies.” That was an easy transfer to mention. Less easy was the flash of someone else's sexting and the jumble of images she'd gained from a third person that flat out made no sense. The transfers were one of the lasting souvenirs from the accident and while the others—the assorted scars from injuries and operations—had largely faded, her sensitivity to the touch of others had remained and, if anything, intensified. Sometimes all it did was leave her with someone else's desire for food or humming music she didn't know. Sometimes it left her with vivid dreams and even nightmares. She suspected the third person's touch would lead to the latter. Just off the high street, Caroline led the way into a smart block of apartments. With a commute of over five hours, her father found it expedient to keep an apartment in London so that he could travel the day before his meetings and not incur ludicrous hotel bills. Right now, it was proving just as useful to Ayana as a way point between Tenby and Cambridge. Caroline unlocked the apartment door. “What do you want for lunch?” she asked. Absently Ayana rubbed the palm of her left hand as she followed Caroline into

the apartment. “Sadaf should be open,” she answered, naming a local Persian restaurant. “Their mixed starters would be good.” Caroline nodded. “I'll place the order and head over to collect it. You should probably have a rest; you're starting to look all-eyes.” “Once a medic—” “Always a medic,” Caroline finished. She pointed in the direction of the apartment's second bedroom. “Go. Lie down. It will take Sadaf at least half an hour to have the food ready and you'll feel better for it. We did have an early start, after all.” Ayana couldn't deny that. “All right. I will go and lie down for a bit.” Satisfied, Caroline took out her mobile phone to place the order. Seeing nothing else for it, Ayana headed into the second bedroom—the one that was notionally hers, although she'd only spent a handful of nights here. Pausing only to toe off her shoes and remove her jacket, she fell face first onto the welcoming pillows, and a moment later, was fast asleep.

––––––––

The market place was packed. It didn't matter to him. Small and slight, he easily wormed his way through the crowds of people and between the stalls. The smells of spices and fruit mingled enticingly, but for once his belly was full. Instead, his path took him towards the barracks. A big, imposing structure, he normally didn't dare come too close to it for fear of bringing trouble down upon his head, but the rumours of a visiting Medjai were tantalising enough to forget all sense of caution. Medjai. Legendary warriors. He'd thought them a myth. But if one was here, that meant they were real. That the stories were real. That,

perhaps, there was a chance for him. He skidded to a halt, just before the barracks' gateway and—

––––––––

“Food!” Ayana started back into wakefulness. It took her long moments to adjust from the vivid nature of the dream, back to reality. Dreaming herself as a man in some situation or other was not unusual. Dreaming of some ancient market place: that was new. “I said, food!” Caroline appeared in the doorway. “Come and get it, before I eat your share.” Ayana stiffly struggled off the mattress. “Sorry. I... must have been more tired than I thought.” “Clearly,” said Caroline dryly. “You were dreaming, weren't you?” Ayana nodded. It seemed pointless to lie. “You want to talk about it?” Ayana considered that, then shook her head. Her companion frowned. “Need to talk about it?” “No.” Ayana shook her head again. “It was just weird, is all. Probably someone who's already been to the British Museum.” Caroline gave her a very arch look, then turned and headed out into the living room. Ayana followed, rubbing sleepy eyes, and largely ignored Caroline's reaction. Instead she focussed on helping herself to the khashke benjan and one of the naan breads that Caroline had thought to add to the order.

“Are you still thinking of shopping?” Caroline asked, taking the hint. “What do you need to get, anyway? I thought your mother had been rather thorough.” Ayana savoured a mouthful of the aubergine mixture. “Running gear. I need new running shoes and maybe another top.” “And she doesn't approve of you running.” Caroline's statement was flat enough that Ayana didn't need to answer it. Joelle would have preferred Ayana to have taken up knitting or crochet as a mental health outlet, but running was something Ayana could do without needing to think, and some days that was something she desperately needed. It was also something her doctor fervently approved of, so while Joelle wouldn't help the hobby, she also didn't stop it. “All right. Running gear on the list. Anything else?” Picking up the salad Shirazi container, Ayana gave that some thought, then shook her head. “You were right; Mum was thorough about the rest of it.” “And did you still want to try the British Museum?” Caroline's voice had taken on a doubtful tone. Ayana thought about the dream, thought about the weight of history the museum represented and sighed. “Maybe not.” Caroline nodded, her expression unsurprised. “All right. I think we can do everything we need to on the high street here. So no more tube until tomorrow.” Ayana hated that she felt relief at that pronouncement. Nick leaned against the bumper of his car and watched, amused, as a young woman with a thick and messy auburn ponytail on the top of her head attempted to extricate herself from a bevy of youngsters all armed with hockey sticks. He shook his head, grinning. “I'll see you next week,” the young woman was protesting. “I'm back now, I promise!” “But we missed you!” chimed a trio of girls so much alike that they had to be

sisters. “And I missed you,” she answered, laughing. “But the session's over; your mums and dads are waiting for you.” A few more rounds of similar comments and she was finally able to escape the group. She spoke a few words to one of the other coaches who, like Nick, was highly amused, and then she headed out of the pitch enclosure, hefting a backpack onto her shoulder as she went. Nick lifted a hand. “Becky—over here,” he called. She looked up and offered him a broad grin and headed in his direction. “I wasn't sure if you were going to be here or not.” “I did a shift swap,” Nick answered. “I finished about half an hour ago.” Becky wrapped her arms around him in a hug, mindful of her own hockey stick. “I can't believe you're actually going to be in Cambridge for a whole year.” “It was a surprise to me, too, but, well, here we are.” The next few moments were spent loading Becky's bag and stick into the car. “You know,” said Becky as she climbed into the enger seat, “I'd have expected you to drive something a little sportier than this.” He did have to it the car, an older model grey hatchback, didn't look terribly exciting. “It's reliable, it's economic and it's so common, no-one gives it a second look. I like that in a car.” That made Becky laugh. It took a little while to negotiate the outer edges of Cambridge—Saturday traffic was reminding Nick of why he usually used the city's park and ride scheme—but once they were out and onto the Newmarket road, he said, “So why are you back a day early, anyway?” Becky hissed a sigh. “Crossed wires. Paul thought I was back today and scheduled a coaching clinic with the under-elevens. By the time we realised the mix up, the kids all knew about it and you saw what they're like!”

“I've seen less clingy boa constrictors,” said Nick dryly. Becky laughed again. “They're not that bad.” “I'm surprised you didn't start using your hockey stick to clear a path.” Becky's laughter got louder at that. “There's laws against that,” she retorted. “But it's tempting sometimes.” At that, Nick laughed. They drove on for a little while in silence, Becky looking out of the window at the ing scenery. “So,” she said presently. “Starbucks? What's that about?” “A chap has to eat,” Nick answered. He glanced in Becky's direction and took note of the scepticism in her expression. “Not buying that one? It does happen to be true.” “You're a doctor. When Mum said you were in Cambridge I assumed you'd be at Addenbrooke's or something.” “For the record, I'm not licensed to practice in the UK.” Becky made a rude noise. Quietly, she said, “You're here because someone's in trouble. Aren't you?” Nick winced. Of course she'd picked up on that. “It's the thing we're not supposed to notice about you, I know.” Becky sighed. “I'm not a kid anymore.” He turned off the main road and headed up towards the house. “No, you're not. And most of the time, you'd be right.” “Not this time?” “It's a favour to a friend.” Nick drew to a halt at the gates and pressed the gate trigger.

That distracted Becky from her inquisition as her eyes went wide at the sight of the house. “Here?” she squeaked. “You're living here?” “For the moment,” Nick agreed, driving in through the now open gates. He parked up in front of the main door and climbed out to go unlock the door. Glancing back, he saw Becky's expression. “What?” “This.” She climbed out of the car and waved a hand in the general direction of the house. “You have the most boring car on the planet, but you're living here?” The house was a large country estate house with the several acres of manicured garden surrounding it. Nick mock-scowled at her. “I can rethink you staying here and take you back to Cambridge.” “But you won't,” said Becky with certainty. Nick sighed. She was right about that. He opened the door and gestured for her to go in before going to fetch her gear. By the time he got into the house, Becky had found the living room and had collapsed onto the couch, cackling like a howler monkey. Nick scowled at her. “What's so funny?” “This.” She gestured helplessly at the surroundings. “It's so not you.” “And yet you complain about my boring car.” He shook his head and relented, the corner of his mouth turning up in rueful amusement. “It wouldn't have been my first choice,” he agreed. “But it's not as if I had a vast amount of choice. I needed to find somewhere fast and inexpensive.” “This is inexpensive?” Nick supposed she had a point. Cheap, it certainly wasn't, but it also had a considerable degree of privacy and security to it—both things he valued. “By comparison to my other options,” he amended. Becky just grinned at that. Nick rolled his eyes and dropped her bag onto the couch beside her. “Would you

like a drink?” “Just water, thanks,” she answered. “I bet you're only living in two rooms.” “Four.” “Kitchen and bathroom don't count.” Nick paused in the doorway and gave her a look. “Knew it,” she crowed. Nick rolled his eyes again and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of water and to make himself a cup of mint tea in the hopes that the familiar drink might bring a little serenity. By the time he returned, Becky's laughter was more or less under control and she accepted the offered glass with a smile. “It's going to be so weird, you being here.” She sipped her drink and frowned. “My parents haven't asked you to keep an eye on me, have they?” At that, Nick smirked. “They might have done. I wouldn't tell you if they had.” Becky scowled. “Not funny. I know they still think I'm a child...” “No parent ever truly recognises their offspring as an adult,” Nick pointed out. “I expect if you ask your siblings your parents still look on them as children sometimes, when Jo is running a very successful business these days and Tom's got a baby son of his own.” “I can't ask them; they're even worse.” Becky pouted for a moment, then shook her head. “Anyway you said it was a favour to a friend.” She paused, frowning more heavily. “You are all right, aren't you? I thought you had another year to go in Syria—” “The contract ended sooner than expected,” Nick cut in. Syria was still very much a sore point. Becky looked up at him, her gaze oddly penetrating. “Something happened. Didn't it?”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face with his hand as if that would scrub away the sudden rush of memories. “A lot of things happened. Many of them unpleasant. It is a war zone.” “I meant to you,” said Becky. Nick opened his eyes again and found himself on the wrong end of a very knowing stare. He grimaced. “There was an air raid; the building I was working in was hit. Leaving wasn't entirely my choice.” That made Becky wince. “You are okay, aren't you?” Belatedly, Nick took up a seat on one of the available armchairs. “Yes, I'm fine.” That earned him another long and penetrating look, but whatever Becky saw this time, she simply nodded. “So, Jo's coming up with the rest of my stuff tomorrow morning.” Grateful to finally allow the topic of Syria to drop, Nick said, “What time?” “She's aiming for ten, at the Trumpington Park and Ride.” “So we'll need to be out of here by nine.” Nick nodded. “Sounds good. So, if you've finished mocking my hospitality, what would you like for dinner?”

Chapter 2

After a night of restless sleep broken by frequent, vivid dreams, Ayana felt decidedly jaded and unprepared for the day ahead. The ancient market place scene had replayed a couple of times, each time with more and more detail though never quite enough to identify where or when it was supposed to be. Frustratingly she woke before her dream-self quite reached the barracks so she also had no idea what her dream-self was intending. Mostly, though, the dreams had been disted and incoherent flashes of images. Lives that had briefly intersected with hers and that had left their echoes behind. “I hate my life,” she muttered into her pillow. “No, you don't,” said a voice from the doorway. Ayana rolled over and saw Caroline standing in the doorway, hands on hips. “Were you—” “—coming to wake you? Yes, I was.” Caroline was frowning. “You look terrible.” “Gee. Thanks.” Ayana flopped back onto her pillows. “Well—I'm awake, so—” “Talk,” said Caroline. “I don't want to. It wasn't anything.” “Bollocks,” said Caroline flatly. She entered the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. In response, Ayana wriggled up the bed until she could sit up. “Something is bothering you and I think you need to tell me what it is before it drives you nuts.” Ayana closed her eyes against the penetrating gaze of the former sergeant. “It was someone from yesterday. One of the transfers from the tube.” She described the market scene from her dreams and waited for Caroline's response. When Caroline didn't immediately say anything, Ayana opened her eyes and saw the

older woman looking pensive. “What?” “You said you don't know where it is?” “Not a clue.” “Well I can answer that much for you: Medjai were ancient Egyptian nomads and, later, Pharaonic bodyguards.” Ayana took a moment to process that answer. She was somehow not surprised that Caroline knew that much—her friend had a ionate interest in all sorts of ancient history and knew an impressive amount of trivia. But ancient Egypt? “Why is my malfunctioning grey matter stuck on this?” “I hate to say it, but I think because you're never playing out the scene in full.” Caroline winced. “There's something about the scene your brain wants you to see and you keep waking yourself—” “You woke me the first time,” Ayana pointed out. “—before it happens.” Caroline gave her that fond/exasperated look again. “And that's hardly my fault. I didn't know your brain was trying to give you a revelation. I just thought you wanted lunch.” She stood up. “You can try and get some sleep on the train up to Cambridge. Maybe you'll be able to untangle it then. Mean-time, the taxi will be here in an hour.” “Not the tube?” Ayana was relieved but also surprised. London's traffic was bad enough that taxis usually weren't worth the effort. “The tube, on a Sunday morning, with an enormous backpack of stuff plus three or four other bags and with someone who really doesn't like other people touching her?” Long before Caroline had reached the end of the question Ayana was holding her hands up in submission. “Yeah, I didn't think that through. You're right. Taxi it is.” Caroline smiled. “I'll go and put the coffee on.” And with that, she departed. Ayana sat for another moment, then climbed out of bed and headed for a shower,

hoping that would make her feel better. Twenty minutes later, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee permeating the apartment, a fully dressed Ayana entered the kitchen. Before she could say anything, Caroline had handed her a mug full. Ayana offered a smile of thanks and sniffed appreciatively at the contents of the mug before swallowed a large mouthful. It helped to finish off what the shower had started. “The taxi's in, what, half an hour?” Caroline nodded. “I guess we need to pack up our stuff.” Caroline's eyebrows lifted. “Okay. I need to pack up my stuff. You probably did yours before you went to sleep.” “No, just when I first got up.” Ayana sighed. “Pretty sure I hate you.” “Pretty sure one of us was trained by the British Army. It does make a difference.” Caroline smiled. “I'll start sorting out in here, if you like?” Ayana knew when to take a hint. Taking her still half-full coffee mug with her, she headed back into the bedroom to start packing. Becky was still yawning as Nick pulled into the park and ride car park just as the car's clock ticked over to ten AM. It was still early in the day and the car park was largely empty, which meant it was easy to spot that Jo Jones had yet to arrive. As he parked, Becky's phone beeped. She pulled it out and glanced at it, then grimaced. “Jo's running late—some sort of issue on the M11. She's currently at Stansted getting a cup of coffee.” “So she'll be another half an hour or so,” Nick guessed. “Pretty much.” Becky sighed. “If you want to leave me here and head on back, or, whatever it is you need to do this morning—” “Your mother would have my guts for garters,” Nick completed. “As well you know.” Becky muttered something indistinct. It didn't sound entirely complimentary, and Nick didn't ask her to repeat it.

There was a long stretch of awkward silence between them as she ostentatiously played with her phone and avoided looking in his direction. Nick cleared his throat. “Becky.” Becky didn't look up. “What?” Nick winced at the defensive tone. “I'm going to trust you with something.” That earned her attention and she looked up from her phone screen. “Me? Nobody trusts me with anything.” “Well, that's not true: for a start, you've already told me you're getting a college daughter this year. Someone in the college's istration clearly trusts you that far.” “Still think it was a typo,” said Becky with a bit of a shrug. “But you're going to do it and you'll do it well,” Nick retorted. “And I'm trusting you with this.” He hesitated for a moment, picking out how close to the truth he should go. “What you said yesterday, about someone being in trouble. I'm not going to tell you who, because they don't know about it themselves, but it's one of the people in your college. Ah!” he added as Becky opened her mouth. “Don't even try and guess.” Her mouth closed again. “I'm not telling you this so that you can snoop or spy. I'm telling you this—trusting you with this—so that you can keep an eye open for trouble.” That earned a frown on Becky's part. “I thought you said you were doing someone a favour.” “I am, and it should be no more exciting than working in Starbucks for a year. But...” Nick scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. A night of half-formed and vaguely sinister dreams had left him feeling antsy. “I have an odd sense that something's not right.” He sighed. “Could just be from living in a war zone for two years.” “PTSD,” said Becky. “Perhaps. Of a sort,” Nick agreed. There was a little more silence between them, then Becky said quietly, “What

sort of trouble do you expect?” “It could be anything,” Nick itted. “So just... look out for anything out of the ordinary.” “I can do that.” “Do you ever use Starbucks?” At that, Becky grinned. “It's my peace and quiet place.” Nick gave her a very long look. “There is nothing quiet about Starbucks.” “Okay, I'll give you that, but no-one pesters you every five minutes, either.” “A good point.” Nick smiled briefly. “If you're in there when I'm working—” “I'll need to pretend we don't know each other,” Becky completed, her grin turning to a smirk. “I'd worked that part out for myself.” Movement outside the car revealed the arrival of Jo Jones, sparing Nick from needing to find a response to that. Instead, he said, “You can always text me, if things get rough. I might not be here for you in that sense, but I'm always available if you want me.” As Jo parked a couple of spaces away, Nick climbed out of the car and went to unload Becky's overnight bag and hockey stick. As he did so, Becky headed over to see her sister. Taller than Becky, but with the same nearly unrestrainable red hair, Jo was nearly fifteen years older and this morning was looking it. “The M11 is hell on earth,” she said, by way of a greeting. “I thought that was the M25,” said Nick. “The M25 isn't a glorified dual carriageway with one lane shut because a lorry shed its load of raspberry jam. No jokes,” she added, “I heard them all on the radio.” Nick set Becky's bag down and held his hands up in submission. “I wouldn't dream of it. Hopefully it will have cleared by the time you have to head south.”

“She's in luck,” said Becky. “Half the reason this works is she has a show in— Lincoln, was it?” “Lincoln,” Jo agreed. “I was always planning on travelling up a day early so dropping Becky off at college made sense. Even if her hockey club did make it more complicated.” Jo shook her head. “Thank you for looking after her, Nick.” “Not a problem,” Nick answered, inwardly wincing at the motherly tone in Jo's voice and seeing Becky's hackles rise. “Right, best get this one off to college,” Jo continued, apparently oblivious to her sister's ire. “See you soon, Nick.” “Good luck with your show,” Nick answered. “And no doubt I'll see you some time, Becky.” Becky grunted a response to that. She'd reverted to playing with her phone again, which Nick took to be a sign he ought to leave before the sisters actually started arguing. He headed back to his car, intending to head back to the house, when his phone started to ring. A glance told him it was the coffee shop. He sighed. So much for a day off.

––––––––

He skidded to a halt at the barracks' gates in time to see three soldiers marching out. Two were common soldiers—the sort who were a regular sight at tax time and who weren't particular about where they poked their spears. But the third? He wore a khopesh at his waist and carried himself with an almost regal baring. This had to be the Medjai. He stared as the trio marched by, trying to take in all the details he could. Surely this was his one chance because he could see the Medjai was also dressed for travelling across the desert. He was already moving on.

And then the Medjai stopped. And turned. “Boy, you are a long way from the temple.” He swallowed hard, hadn't expected to be noticed. “Well?” “I—” “Get away, rat.” One of the other soldiers started to sweep out with the butt of his spear. The Medjai stepped in, catching the wooden shaft easily. “You would beat a child for curiosity?” And the glare he gave the other soldier was formidable enough that the bully seemed cowed for now. “Now, boy: you seem far from your home—” “I don't have a home,” he blurted. Then immediately ducked his head in shame and embarrassment. He should not have spoken so out of turn or so bluntly and he awaited the inevitable reprimand. One minute ed. Two. He finally risked looking up, only to see the Medjai looking down at him, an odd expression on his face. “You are a temple ward.” The Medjai made it a statement rather than a question. Silently, he nodded all the same. “You are learning the skills of a scribe?” Again he nodded. “That is a lucky position.” “And one he should get back to,” growled the soldier whose spear the Medjai had blocked. There was a moment's pause, then the Medjai nodded. “That he should.” The Medjai started to move away, then stopped and half turned back. “I shall seek you out, Little Scribe. We shall talk more.” Then he and his two guards stepped out across the road and were lost behind an approaching cart filled with reeds.

––––––––

Ayana came awake with a start, though it took several minutes for her to sort out reality from dream. For a moment or two, she thought she could still smell the tang of spices, hear the rumble of the approaching donkey cart and the distant bleating of goats. Gradually, though, the smell faded and the sounds became the noise of the train crossing the flat lands of East Anglia and the murmur of other engers. Seeing more of the dream hadn't helped. “Well?” Caroline asked, not looking up from the crossword she was studying. “I don't know.” Ayana related what she'd seen, describing everything she could . “Would it help me if I knew any Egyptian history?” Caroline looked up from the newspaper, a frown on her face. “I don't think so. None of that tells me much more than I could tell you this morning.” “But you can tell me something?” Caroline winced. “It sounds like the timing of this dream might be New Kingdom. That's when the Medjai were most like a part of the army.” “New Kingdom?” At that, Caroline rolled her eyes. “I don't understand how someone who reads so much they read cereal packets if there's nothing else around—don't deny it, I've seen you do it—has managed to end up with such a spotty knowledge of history.” “I was never particularly interested. And Egypt...” Ayana sighed. “Mum and Dad probably discouraged any interest after the accident. Too many bad memories.” Caroline winced. “I suppose they would. Sorry; I—”

“Don't worry about it.” Ayana mustered a smile. “So, New Kingdom means what?” There was a moment of hesitation, then Caroline said, “I haven't memorised the exact dates, but it starts in roughly 1500BC and ends in roughly 1000BC. You've heard of Tutankhamun?” “Even I've heard of him, yes.” “He's New Kingdom. Right in the middle.” Ayana nodded and realised, to her chagrin, that knowing this much didn't help her any further. Caroline had been right there. “So, what you're telling me is that I'm dreaming about something that may or may not have happened, sometime during a five century span of time, three thousand years ago.” “Pretty much.” Caroline offered a sympathetic smile. “Your brain has definitely got quirks no-one else's has.” “Tell me about it.” Ayana sighed. She would have said more, but the train's speed started to slacken as they made their way into central Cambridge. Having slept almost from the moment they pulled out of King's Cross, she didn't have much to pack up this time and by the time the train glided to a halt she'd managed to assemble her assorted bags ready to leave.

Chapter 3

“Good God, this is like being in a war zone,” Caroline muttered as she viewed the scene. Ayana didn't disagree. There were people everywhere. Parents. Daughters. Noise. She hadn't anticipated move-in day would be like this, and the chaos made her panic as people rushed by her—almost, but not quite, touching her. The thought of turning around and walking out again crossed her mind, and her feet even made an involuntary move towards the door, before a blur of blue and auburn swooped down upon her. Even as Ayana backed up against Caroline, the blur resolved itself into young woman with masses of exuberant auburn hair and wearing a pale blue hoodie with a college crest on the breast, the letters CUHC embroidered beneath. She had an infectious smile and while her arrival had been startling, her presence exuded a sense of welcome and, oddly, peace. “You have got to be Ayana,” she said. Ayana stared blankly for a moment, then realised. “Becky, right?” She was rewarded with the grin widening. “In the flesh.” She turned to Caroline and offered a hand. “Becky Jones.” “Caroline Hickman.” Caroline accepted the handshake with a smile. “You'll be the college mother.” “That's me.” Becky smiled. “Normally,” she added, “you'd have someone who's actually doing the same course you are but, well, too many freshers doing law and not enough second years. So you get me instead.” “History, right?” said Ayana. Becky nodded. “Mediaeval History, to be pedantic. There's a bit of crossover, in places.” “More than there would be if you were doing physics,” Caroline judged,

grinning. Becky grinned back. “Right.” She turned back to Ayana. “Do you have your key yet?” Ayana nodded. “I just collected it but I have no idea where to go.” “Didn't they give you directions?” Ayana smiled wryly. “They were about to and someone shoved me out of the way.” The someone concerned had had left behind clouds of a particularly sickly perfume and the impression of a thoroughly unpleasant individual. Ayana hoped that she either never met the woman's daughter or that the daughter, whomever she was, was considerably nicer! Becky, for her part, winced. “Some people are like that. Good news, though: I know where you're going. Follow me.” Within moments of leaving the crush of people, Ayana felt as if she were hopelessly lost, but then Becky came to a halt at a door and flourished a hand. “Here we are: your new home for the year.” She grinned again. “It's convenient for the kitchen and the bathrooms, which is a bonus.” Caroline snorted. “Not if Newnham students are anything like the ones I went to uni with, back in the day.” Becky blinked. “Should I ask?” “Wooden spoon parties,” said Caroline darkly. Ayana snorted with amusement. “I don't think I want to know.” She put her key in the lock and opened the door to her room. It was a long, narrow room, with a gorgeous high ceiling and enormous windows. To the left of the window was the bed. Beneath the window stood a table and chair, clearly intended to act as a desk. A narrow set of shelves stood to the window's right. Opposite the bed, was a long, low cupboard with more shelves fitted to the wall above. To the right of the door was a big wardrobe with a full-length mirror on the wall beside it. As Ayana stepped into the room, she

found that on the left-hand side of the door was a small hand basin, with a cupboard beneath and a mirror and light above. All in all, it was an unusual room, but comfortable, and clearly would be cosy once her things were in place. “What do you think?” “I love it,” Ayana answered honestly. “And you haven't seen the best bit,” said Becky. “Dump your stuff on the bed and take a look.” So saying, she crossed to the windows and drew the curtains back to their fullest extent. “Oh, this is definitely a cut above my uni digs,” said Caroline, a hint of envy in her voice. “I had a rundown council estate to look out on. But this—this is spectacular.” Ayana had to agree. The view from the window showed off the large college garden. There were wide lawns with big herbaceous borders stuffed full of plants that were currently in full bloom and around and through it all wound gravel paths that clearly showed the age of feet. It wasn't just a space to ire but to enjoy. “Pretty awesome, right?” said Becky, the touch of pride in her voice almost suggesting she'd been the one responsible for the view. Ayana grinned. “It really is.” “So,” Becky continued. “I'm going to go and grab my jacket. Then I'll come back and we'll go out for a bit of a walk, get a coffee and give you a chance to get your first bearings around town. We'll do the proper family dinner thing tomorrow or, no. Wait. Tomorrow's the first formal of term. Tuesday, then.” Much of what Becky had just said was opaque as far as Ayana was concerned. She simply nodded and said, “Sounds good.” Becky grinned. “You haven't got a clue what I just said. Don't worry about it; I'll explain later.”

And with that, she disappeared. “Her,” said Caroline, “I really like.” Ayana nodded. “Me, too.” “I can see you'll be in good hands, so I think this is my cue to leave,” Caroline continued. “Assuming I can find the exit, of course. Getting to know your way around this place could be your first challenge as a student!” “It will be.” Ayana swallowed, suddenly feeling emotional at the thought of Caroline's departure. For as far back as she could , Caroline had been an ever-present in her life and the prospect of her not being around was suddenly frightening and overwhelming. “Hey. You can do this,” said Caroline gently. “It's just uni. It's that normal life thing you've wanted.” “I know.” Ayana swallowed again. “You're right. It'll be fine. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?” At that, Caroline mock-scowled. “Haven't I taught you to never, ever ask that question?” She wrapped her arms around Ayana's shoulders in a hug. “Email and texts are things that you can do. I will see you at Christmas, for sure.” For a moment, Ayana held onto the hug, then she swallowed and allowed Caroline to step back. To her surprise, Caroline's eyes were bright with unshed tears. She opened her mouth to ask, but the older woman simply shook her head. “Don't. Neither of us needs to start bawling.” And then, before Ayana could say a word, Caroline had turned and departed, leaving Ayana at a loss for what to do. For the first time in her life, at least so far as she could , she was truly on her own. Exhilaration and terror warred for which feeling was uppermost. With a slightly tremulous smile, she settled on exhilaration. This was going to be a grand adventure. She was going to make it work and she was going to prove Caroline correct: she could do this.

Shrugging out of her jacket and stripping off her gloves, Ayana crossed to the basin to splash a little cool water on her face and then turned to the bags. She had no idea when Becky would return, but making a start on unpacking would be a good first step. While Caroline's army-induced hyper-tidiness had never really caught on with Ayana, she still had a mild horror of clutter and chaos. She set to work, methodically emptying the bags and then putting away the clothing, books and other assorted student paraphernalia. One shelf became dedicated to the assorted knick-knacks and photos that she'd brought with her, while the top of the long cupboard became a place to temporarily put her crockery and cutlery. That, of course, would find a proper home in the kitchen, but she thought she'd deal with that later. Toiletries and towels went either by the sink or below, while the selection of brand-new pens, pencils and notebooks went onto the desk. By the time Becky returned, with a jacket slung over her arm, the room looked both tidy and occupied, with the only things still seeking a home being the new running shoes. Becky's eyes lit up when she saw them. “You run?” “A little,” said Ayana cautiously. Becky grinned. “I promise I won't mug you to the hockey team. I was just thinking, if you were interested, I'd show you my favourite running route.” “How long is it?” “Only a couple of miles.” Becky's grin widened. “I'm a goalie so I don't much like to run, I just know I have to.” At that Ayana relaxed a little. “That would be fun.” “All right. We'll work out a time, once Freshers' Week is over and you're settled in a bit more.” She put her hand on the door. “Now, I said I'd take you out and round Cambridge. So follow me!” Ayana hastily grabbed her own jacket and followed, pausing only to lock her door behind her.

Heading out into the early autumn sunshine, Ayana let Becky lead. As they went, Becky alternated between pointing out places of interest and rattling off a dizzying array of information about life at the college. Ayana knew she didn't really have a hope of taking it all in, but expected at least some of it would stick. And it was simply nice to be out walking in the fresh air after two days of train travel and London's bustle. As they reached the busy parts of central Cambridge, Becky led the way into Starbucks. “We'll get a to-go order,” she said, “and start heading back.” They ed the inevitable queue. “What'll you have?” “Just a black Americano,” Ayana answered. Becky did a double-take. “You drink black coffee?” “Any reason why I shouldn't?” “Well, no. But... You like it that way? Really?” Ayana laughed. “I really do, yes. No sweet tooth and I hate milk. So...” She shrugged. Becky did an exaggerated shudder. “Can I help who's next?” Becky placed their order. Ayana went to get her wallet out, only for Becky to give her a sharp frown even as she paid for their drinks. “My treat,” she said severely as they made their way down the bar to wait. Ayana held her hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry.” Becky's frown didn't lessen. “Is that—that looks painful.” Suddenly self-conscious, Ayana realised she'd left her customary gloves back at the college and the scar on the palm of her hand was visible for anyone to see. Hastily she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. Becky winced. “Sorry—I didn't... you said in your email... I just... I assumed... I

mean I didn't mean... I—” “Stop!” Ayana mustered a weak smile. “It's fine.” Lamely she pulled her hands back out of her pockets and looked at her left palm. She had to it the red mark did look particularly angry at that moment. “It's an old scar but sometimes it acts up a bit—probably irritated it with all the carrying and stuff.” Becky still looked mortified. Sparing the need for further conversation, the barista called Ayana's name. She reached for her drink, turning to offer a smile at the barista. As she did so, he moved the cup towards her and his fingers grazed the palm of her hand. There was a distinct zap of static electricity and both of them jerked their hands back, sending the cup and its contents flying. “I am so sorry!” “Here, let me.” And before Ayana could apologise again, the barista had started to mop up the mess while one of his colleagues started to make a replacement. She looked up in time to see him offer a sort of lopsided, rueful smile. “I'm the one who should be sorry,” he said. “It's my electric personality.” Becky snorted into her own drink. “That's his third today,” said the other barista with a grin. “Don't worry about it.” Ayana wasn't reassured. “But still, I—” “These things happen,” said Becky. “But perhaps I'll grab the new drink?” Ayana smiled weakly, even as the original barista looked increasingly sheepish. This time the coffee was retrieved without incident and they were soon making their way back towards college. “So,” said Becky lightly. “That was a little more exciting than I'd planned. You are okay, aren't you?”

“Me? I'm fine. Mortified and probably never setting foot in there again, but fine.” “Don't be silly. Spilled drinks happen all the time. So does static, by the way,” said Becky firmly. “If you're sensitive to it, beware.” Ayana sighed. “This is why I wear gloves.” “It'll be fine.” Becky took a long sip from her own drink. “So have you given any thought to ing any clubs or societies?” And that was that so far as discussing the drink incident went. The rest of the journey back to college was filled with Becky describing the many clubs—”I'm biased, but I think the hockey club's a fun one”—and societies who'd all be vying for Ayana's attention over the next week. She also talked about some of the other activities laid on for freshers, both by the college as a whole and by the individual departments. By the time they returned to the college, Ayana's head felt as if it was bursting with the information Becky had imparted but she knew at least some of it had finally sunk in when she was able to successfully locate her room again at the first try. Becky grinned. “You'll do. A gang of us will be doing pizza for dinner, if you want to in. Good chance to meet some folks before the formal hall tomorrow.” “Will do.” Becky nodded, satisfied, and headed off while Ayana headed into her room to enjoy what was left of her coffee.

––––––––

Nick settled into a seat in the back corner bar, grateful for the chance to finally sit down. For a day that had been supposed to be a day off, it had ended up being

extremely chaotic, but at least it was nearly over. On the little table in front of him were two drinks: a fruit juice for himself and a pint of beer waiting for his companion. The place was busy but not unpleasantly so, and while he waited, he listened to the currents of chat around the room. It was a habit he'd learned as a boy, and though he didn't specifically need to do it now, it was comforting to fall back into old habits. Most of what he heard was simply college gossip—inevitable, really, in a place like Cambridge, where the university and its colleges dominated the place—but there was the odd smattering of more interesting stuff. Local politics. Dodgy dealings. He'd just picked out the start of a negotiation over the sale of a car, when a voice said, “This seat taken?” Looking up, he offered her a smile. “You survived the day, then,” he said lightly. Kari scowled at him. “Don't. It was bloody awful and I nearly bawled my eyes out. And if you tell anyone I said that—” “You don't need to threaten me; my lips are sealed.” Nick gestured at the pint. “I thought you could use that.” Kari dropped into the seat with a sigh. “I could probably use something stronger, but I'll take it.” As she picked up the glass of beer, Nick sipped his fruit juice and then said, “Becky brought Ayana over to Starbucks this afternoon. She seems nice, if easily flustered.” Kari swallowed some of her beer and set the glass down. “I thought that might be your Becky. What do you mean flustered?” “There was a coffee spill—not her fault, but if Becky hadn't been there I think she might still be apologising to me.” Kari smiled wryly. “I have tried to break her of that habit, but...” She sipped her drink again. “So how'd you manage to swing getting Becky as Ayana's college mother?” “Kui Xing did his usual meticulous job.” Nick shrugged a little. “It's useful—”

“You're not using Becky to spy on her, are you?” Nick gave Kari a very long and pointed look. “No, but given it's an all-women college, if I start hanging around there I will stick out like a sore thumb. Becky knows there's something up—I had to tell her that much to explain why I've gone from MSF to working in Starbucks—so I've asked her to keep her eyes open. That's it.” Kari didn't look entirely mollified by the justification. “Just don't—” “You really don't need to threaten me,” said Nick. He folded his arms across his chest and levelled a glare in Kari's direction. “What didn't you tell me about this job, Kari?” Kari sighed. “It's not what I didn't tell you; it's what I didn't know.” Nick merely stared at her. “Shortly after we spoke in Cairo, something changed.” Kari traced an abstract pattern in the condensation left behind by her glass. “There was a threatening note sent to her father—she doesn't know about it and I'm fairly sure I'm not supposed to, but you know us.” She shrugged a little. “I only caught a small look. Not enough to see it all, but it was definitely a threat to Ayana.” Nick grimaced. “Do you have any idea who? Or why?” “Not at this point. My best guess is, it's something from Robin van der Merwe's past come to bite him.” Kari sipped her drink. “He's a gem dealer and his background is pretty patchy before he met Joelle Haynes—Ayana’s mother. Lwasi swears he moved blood diamonds, but he could never quite catch Robin in the act and now only deals in legitimate stones.” “You said he was a bit of a bastard; how sure are you he's legitimate now?” “Jonno's done a deep dive on his company's finances and business. It's all on the up and up.” “And the man himself?” Kari hissed out a breath. “Harder to tell. Like I said, his records are patchy prior

to him showing up in London and meeting Joelle, but everything I've found so far says yes.” “Has Jonno looked into him?” “Not so far. When the business dealings came back clean there didn't seem to be much point.” It was Kari's turn to grimace. “Rethinking that a bit now.” Nick swallowed the rest of his fruit juice and favoured Kari with another look. “Only now?” “I was there as a live-in physio and nurse when I started. My priority was helping the kid get healthy rather than figuring out what flavour of scumbag her dad might be.” “What about Joelle?” “Completely clean. I can trace her all the way back to childhood without breaking a sweat.” Kari hesitated. “But...” “But?” “Ayana's adopted. So there's birth parents out there, somewhere.” “It'll be easy, you said,” Nick muttered. “It should have been.” “I assume this means you don't know anything about either birth parent, then?” “Joelle knows the mother, but I don't think she knows much about her, beyond the fact that by the time Ayana was born, the birth father was not in the picture at all.” Nick scrubbed a hand over his face. “So it might be something to do with the birth mother, the birth father, or it might be Robin van der Merwe.” “Odds are, it's to do with Robin, but yeah. Pretty much.” “And Jonno's in the wilds of Costa Rica for the next month, so he can't help.”

Kari winced and drained the last of her beer. “I'll speak to Joelle and see what I can find out, when I get back to Tenby, day after tomorrow.” Nick nodded. “And meanwhile, I'll see what I can find out here. If there's a threat... if it's travelled here...” Kari paused, midway between sitting and standing. “Keep your eyes open for a bald chap, southern European or maybe Turkish. I saw him twice yesterday, but as it was on Kensington High Street and it was a Saturday so it could be nothing.” “Or it might be everything,” said Nick, nodding. “I'll keep my eyes open. And give Lwasi a call.” Kari nodded, made her goodbyes and headed out. Nick waited a couple of minutes, then followed. It looked like a chaotic day was going to turn into a long night.

Chapter 4

“Wow, you look like death warmed over!” Nick glared half-heartedly at Jess, the morning shift manager, as he walked in and headed for the back to change into his apron. Truth be told, he wished he felt half as good as she was implying. He'd spent a good chunk of his evening doing preliminary research to see if anything obvious popped up as a potential threat to Ayana—not that he'd really been hopeful he'd find anything, but he still had to try. In this case, all it had earned him was a crick in the neck, so he'd closed it down and tried to get some sleep. Unfortunately, that just led to another night broken by increasingly disturbing dreams. The first couple seemed to relate to the orphanage and Syria, but then they'd moved on to include snatches of his time in Athens and, most weirdly of all, visions of the Cairo Museum, but not as he recalled it from his visit in the summer. There were subtle differences in the displays and in the fashions worn by the other tourists that made him think what he was viewing was from at least a decade ago. Possibly more. It all made no sense. “Hey, space cadet!” He looked up, startled, to find Jess staring at him, hands on hips. “What?” She shook her head. “You've been staring at the wall for five minutes. Are you okay?” Nick grimaced. “Sorry. Didn't sleep very well.” “Clearly,” said Jess dryly. “If you've finished studying the paintwork to make sure it's dry, can you check the sandwiches and stock up. Lunch rush will be starting in an hour.” Nick mustered up a smile and nodded. “Yes, boss.”

“Told you before, it's 'yes, Empress of the known realms'.” At that, Nick snorted and and headed out onto the shop floor to check the chiller cabinet while Jess headed into the back office. To his surprise, the cabinet was already nearly two thirds empty. “Ah, that's right; this is your first real Monday.” He looked up to see the other baristas, Sarah and Zoe, both smiling pityingly at him. “Real Monday? I wasn't aware we'd had fake ones.” Zoe snorted with laughter and it was left to Sarah to explain, “The students are back. Just wait till you see lunchtime.” “I've seen a lunch rush.” “Not like this you haven't,” said Zoe. “Trust us.” Sparing him further commentary, a customer came in at that moment and grabbed one of the last remaining salads, recalling Nick to his present task. He half suspected the two baristas were exaggerating—he was well aware he was still new enough to be the target of some gentle hazing—but he also thought he perhaps shouldn't take the risk. Making a note of what was needed, he headed to the back for stock. He was just finishing when the first signs of the lunchtime rush appeared, as large gaggle of students entered. Within fifteen minutes, the shop was pandemonium and Nick realised, to his horror, Sarah and Zoe hadn't been exaggerating in the slightest. The next three hours disappeared in a haze of noise, chaos and coffee. As the lunch rush finally wound down, Sarah came out from behind the counter. She saw Nick and offered him a pat on the shoulder. “Congratulations; you survived!” she said. “I'm rethinking my availability,” he retorted. She laughed and headed to the back to sign out, her shift done while Nick started yet another circuit of the shop floor to collect dirty cups and plates but as he picked up the first load he felt a wave of panic that was distinctly not his own crash over him. For a second, he thought he was going to drop the tray but long

experience at shunting aside the on-rush of adrenaline allowed him to keep it steady and even manage to carry it through to the kitchen. Jess and Matt, the afternoon shift lead, were both in the back office doing the official handover. It was Jess who glanced up, then looked up properly. “You look like you've just seen a ghost!” she commented. “Just lack of fresh air,” Nick answered. “Then go get some.” She gave him a ferocious glare. “What have I told you about taking breaks?” “To take them,” Nick itted. “All right—I'm going!” That made Matt chuckle as Jess returned to her paperwork. Nick, meanwhile, headed back out into the main restaurant and then out through the door, fully intending to take at least a little time outside. As he stepped through the door, however, he felt that odd flash of panic again. Looking up, he finally saw what he suspected to be the cause: Ayana was just coming around the corner. Dressed for a run, she was moving at something close to sprinting pace. The reason for that came around the corner shortly after: a bald man with a distinctly Greek or Turkish look to him. Kari's comment from the day before came back to him, and in that moment Nick knew what she'd seen in London hadn't been coincidence. As Ayana came barrelling towards him, Nick acted, stepping forwards to catch her. He timed his move so that she was looking over her shoulder when they collided and then relaxed into the fall, rolling to make sure Ayana didn't get injured. His spine complained at the abrupt treatment, but it was a small price to pay. As he sat up and started to gently help her up, he noted the bald man had disappeared, though he scanned the street to be sure. “Are you okay?” he asked, helping her into a convenient seat and then taking a seat himself. “Shouldn't I be asking you that?” She sounded embarrassed and looked thoroughly shaken, though how much of it was from the fall and how much of it was from realising she was being followed, Nick didn't like to judge. He smiled a bit at her, finally satisfied her pursuit had gone. “Oh, I bounce. I'm fine. Don't worry about it. But you... you looked like you were running from

something. Or someone.” Ayana briskly rubbed her arms as if warding off a sudden chill. “It was nothing. Imagination.” She glanced over her shoulder, then looked back. “Too many new experiences all at once.” “Still, you look—” Nick realised he was trying to fish for more information than Ayana necessarily had. What she needed wasn't an inquisition, but a little soothing. “Black Americano, right?” She got a flustered, confused expression on her face, even as she nodded. “Be right back.” Nick judged it safe enough for him to duck back into the store for a couple of moments. Zoe, at the bar, had clearly both seen and heard everything and even as he opened his mouth, she said, “One venti black Americano, coming up.” Nick closed his mouth again, and smiled his thanks. Instead he pulled his phone out of his pocket and fired off a quick text to Becky to get her to come by. While Ayana's pursuer had gone, he didn't think it would be a good idea for her to walk back to college alone, and much as Nick wanted to walk her back, as a virtual stranger, that wasn't going to work. “Here you go,” said Zoe. “Thanks.” “She okay?” “I think so. Just a bit shaken.” Zoe nodded at that, and turned to wipe the bar down again while Nick headed back out. As he crossed the shop's threshold, his phone buzzed with a reply from Becky, promising to be there as soon as she could. Satisfied, Nick tucked the phone back into his pocket and then set the cup of coffee down on the table next to Ayana. “One black Americano,” he said, stepping back. She ducked her head and blushed. “It's okay; I don't make a habit of throwing coffee. Or running into people, usually.”

That made Nick grin despite everything. “Maybe not, but let's not go for the hattrick?” “Fair.” Ayana picked up the cup and sniffed it appreciatively before taking a sip. Nick was pleased to note she looked better now; still slightly embarrassed, but much less rattled. “I did not expect to find you here, after yesterday!” a familiar voice exclaimed. Glancing over his shoulder, Nick saw Becky approaching. “You may not find me here ever again,” Ayana retorted, hunching in embarrassment again. Becky came to a halt, her gaze swivelling from Ayana to Nick and back. “What did you do?” And before Nick could say anything, Ayana launched into an explanation. Nick didn't miss that Ayana didn't mention the bald man. He could understand that; she probably thought she'd imagined it, with the way the bald man had disappeared. Then he felt Becky's gaze fall on him again and realised Ayana had stopped speaking. “No harm done,” he said, offering a smile and a small bow. “It's all good.” And with that, he collected a couple of errant cups and headed back into the shop, where Zoe had been ed by Matt. The shift lead merely raised his eyebrows. “If that's what happens when you take a break, maybe I'll get Jess to rethink her stance on them,” he joked. “Not a bad idea,” Nick shot back with a grin. As he headed into the kitchen to deposit the cups, he saw Becky and Ayana head off and nodded to himself. There was a lot to chew over, but one thing was sure: the threat had definitely followed Ayana to college.

––––––––

Ayana watched him leave, taking note of just how tall he was. The way his dark hair was cut just barely long enough to curl against the light brown of his neck. The way his very precise English accent suggested it wasn't his native language. It was something she'd heard from some of her father's business s— wealthy and well-educated men from places like Egypt and Dubai—and his looks went along with that sort of background. Working in Starbucks didn't. It was a curious and very attractive sort of contradiction. Becky's giggles brought her back to the present and she shook her head. “It isn't what I had in mind when I thought I'd go for a run.” “And it's why my running route goes in the opposite direction,” Becky itted. “Otherwise, I'm fairly sure I'd have taken out more than my share of innocent bystanders.” She held a hand out to Ayana. “We'll head back together—got the formal to get ready for, after all.” Ayana accepted the offer of a hand up. Then frowned. The whole reason she'd gone for the run was to get away from the impressions she'd been picking up left and right, even through her gloves. Yet when she touched Becky's hand there was nothing but a sense of peace and calm. It was both refreshing and disconcerting, particularly as she realised the same had held true the previous day—the air of peacefulness Becky's arrival had inspired had been the shutting down of the mental cacophony. “You are okay, aren't you?” Becky asked. “Fine,” Ayana answered automatically, picking up the coffee she'd been given. “Worrying about which knife to use at the formal.” Becky grinned at that. “You'll be fine; it's really not that bad. Just don't trap your gown under your feet or the chair.” “That sounds like the voice of experience.” “Ooh, maybe.” Becky's grin was broad. “Just ask Isla about it tomorrow at family dinner.” She gestured in the vague direction of the college. “C'mon; we should get going.”

They walked back to the college, Becky gently peppering Ayana with questions about her first day and Ayana answering them as best she could. At the back of her mind, she had to it she was relieved not to be walking back alone. As much as she wanted to believe she'd imagined the bald man and his pursuit of her, she knew she hadn't. She knew he'd been there, and that he'd been so focussed on her that she'd been able to pick up his intentions despite him never getting close enough to touch. Those intentions scared her. She shivered and hoped she wouldn't see him again.

––––––––

Nick sat down on the couch, an early dinner of takeaway Chinese food set on the coffee table in front of him, and cracked open his laptop. With the threat confirmed, he needed to really start digging to try and pin point who it was and what they wanted, hopefully before anyone got hurt. He'd already sent a message to Kari to let her know, though the Norse woman had yet to respond. Since she was making the trek back to South Wales, he wasn't really expecting anything from her until the morning. As his laptop finished booting up, he connected to Jonno's database and set it to work, seeking any recently-let rental properties in the Cambridge area. It would produce an enormous dataset, this being a university town, but once he had the data he could start weeding through it. Hopefully that would bear some fruit. Then, while it worked, he picked up his phone and scrolled through the s until he found the one he wanted and pushed the call button. Putting it on speaker, he set the phone down again and picked up his fork to have a mouthful of rice. The call connected. “Molo?” The Xhosa greeting made Nick smile. “Lwasi?” There was a pause and then a rich chuckle and the speaker's next words were in English: “Nico, how are you, my friend? I heard that you had flown north for the

winter.” At that, Nick snorted. “Not really my choice.” “Ah, but do we ever make our own choices?” The laughter left Lwasi's voice as he added, “But I am glad to hear from you. Life would not be the same without you.” “You're going to be stuck with me for a while yet,” Nick replied, though he was warmed to know it hadn't just been Kari and Ana worried about him. “Good to know. Now,” Lwasi continued, “I am sure you have not called me to hear nice things: I assume it's business on your mind?” “One day, it'll be a purely social call...” Nick sighed. “But you're right, this is more business than pleasure.” Over the connection, Nick caught the sound of a bottle top being removed and he heard the hiss of something fizzy. “What can I help you with?” “Thirty years ago, maybe more, you were on the hunt for diamond traffickers. Seem to recall you came to see me when I was based in Alexandria—we busted up a deal or two.” That provoked another chuckle. “A deal or two and a fair few noses, as I recall,” Lwasi agreed. “I it well. I never could quite pin down the man in charge, but I cleaned up enough of his underlings and trading partners it was almost as good.” There was a pause. A sip of whatever he'd opened. “Rescued a fair few from those mines, too.” The words carried a darkness that was at odds with the rest of Lwasi's tone. Nick could well imagine what his friend had seen. “You had a suspect though? As the man in charge, I mean?” “Oh yes. An Afrikaner by the name of Robin van der Merwe.” There was a longer pause. “Are you working with Kari now?” Nick smiled wryly. “Kind of.” “Because she was asking about him, too, though that was a while ago. A long

while.” “She did say she'd talked to you.” Nick stood up and started to pace. “Back then, it wasn't urgent.” “And it is now?” “It might be. I don't know—and I don't like situations where I don't know what I'm dealing with.” That made Lwasi laugh again. “For one who was trained in patience from birth you have remarkably little, Nico.” “I have it when I need it,” Nick retorted, though he smiled as he spoke. “What can you tell me about him?” The sound of Lwasi taking a long pull from his drink was all Nick heard for a few moments. Then came, “The man I was tracking was razor sharp. Smart. He never allowed himself to be caught with anything other than clean dealings and I could almost imagine that he was as he appeared, except his finances were enough above the level of his legitimate trading that there had to be some underhand deals being done. I could never get the proof. I tried to run a stakeout on him, more than once, but it never yielded anything and, of course, I couldn't touch him when he was at home in Kimberly, so he may have done all his dirty work there and I could not get near enough to know.” Lwasi sighed. “He disappeared from the scene as apartheid crumbled. I did get a look at his Kimberly estate, but it had been stripped bare of anything I might find interesting.” Nick nodded slowly. That was more or less what Kari had already told him. “Do you know where he went?” “I know he ended up in London,” Lwasi answered, “but I did not know that at the time. It wasn't until Kari asked. From my perspective, he'd simply vanished. Here is the thing, Nico. I am not even sure that the Robin van der Merwe you are dealing with is the same Robin van der Merwe I was looking into back then.” Nick frowned and sat once more. “What do you mean?” “First, you have to know that van der Merwe is a common surname in South

Africa. It is not as common as Smith, say, but it is definitely not rare. Robin is a little less common, but, still...” “Understood.” “Second, Kari sent me a photo when she was asking. His features were similar, but he looked too young—the man I was tracking was well into his forties, thirty years ago. If it was the same man, I'd expect grey hair or baldness. The man in Kari's photo showed none of those signs of age.” That gave Nick pause. “Good genes?” “Possibly.” Lwasi's tone was doubtful. “But I think something else is more likely.” “You're thinking identity theft.” “It is a strong possibility.” That opened up a world of possible reasons why someone might be threatening him and using Ayana as a tool. “Do you have a photo of him you could send me?” “I should do, somewhere.” Lwasi sighed. “I don't feel like I've helped to correct your unknowns.” “You've given me a few things. A few places to start, at least.” They ended the call and Nick picked up his carton of fried rice. Definitely a few things to think about, not the least would be doing a search for unidentified bodies found in London in the time between the end of apartheid and Robin van der Merwe showing up in Joelle Haynes' life. He winced. That could be quite the list. Looked like it would be another long evening ahead of him.

Chapter 5

He bent his head over his tablet and tried, once more, to inscribe the characters correctly. It was hard work, but he thought he might be getting at least a little better at it. Two full months had ed since the Medjai's visit and life had settled back along its old lines. Mostly. He tried to dismiss the Medjai's promise, but it kept sneaking up on him and made him inattentive to his tasks, for why should a Medjai express an interest in someone like him? He was an orphan. He'd be a beggar on the streets but for the temple accepting him. He was the walking definition of no-one. So why would— His stylus tip poked a hole in the wax and he growled softly at himself. Why was it so hard to concentrate? “And you are sure?” The voice of the head priest, filled with doubt, drifted into his little corner of the temple. “He is not one of our most promising students.” “I am sure.” Three words spoken in a voice that sent an electric tingle up and down his spine. He knew that voice. A moment later and the proof was standing before him: the Medjai had indeed returned. “I would talk with him alone,” said the Medjai, half turning to the priest. The priest frowned. “As you wish.” He turned on his heel and walked away. The Medjai nodded and turned more fully to face him. “Boy, what is your name?” The question, direct and sudden, startled him and he once more stabbed his writing tablet.

That made the Medjai smile and more gently he offered, “It is not fitting to refer to one of such an honoured position as scribe as simply 'boy'.” “I am not an honoured scribe,” he replied. “But you do have a name, do you not?” “Nakht-ankh.” The Medjai nodded once. “I am Ebana. Come, we have much to discuss.

––––––––

When her alarm sounded, Ayana groaned into her pillow. More dreams. A progression, even. That was definitely new. It was also very much not what she wanted, although a tiny part of her had to it she was now deeply curious to know what the Medjai, Ebana, and Nakht-ankh talked about. Ayana shook her head at herself. “You're utterly ridiculous, you know that?” Getting out of bed, she reviewed the schedule for the day: library induction, meeting with her tutor, the family dinner that Becky kept talking about. Most of it sounded fairly straight forward and since none of it was happening before nine, she realised she had plenty of time for an actual breakfast instead of a cereal bar. A few minutes later, Ayana made her way into the kitchen. To her surprise she found there was one person already in there, seated at the table. Her head was bowed over a book and there was an enormous mug of coffee at her elbow though as Ayana entered, she looked up and smiled. “Morning.” “Hi.” Ayana made a quick trawl through her memories and attached a name to the face. “Chloe, right?”

That made the smile widen. “Right first time—I think you're the first person to do that.” “Having a twin sister at the same college will do that for you,” Ayana answered, though she was inwardly relieved she'd picked the right twin. “We're used to it, though we never think we're that alike.” At that, Ayana snorted, amused. She turned to her cupboard and grabbed the bits and pieces she wanted. While she'd been getting dressed she'd decided on pancakes as an easy first attempt at cooking on an unfamiliar hob, so she set about mixing up the batter. Behind her, she was aware of Chloe getting up, but it wasn't until a voice startlingly close to her ear said, “You cook?” that Ayana appreciated she actually had an audience. “It's only pancakes. Nothing exciting.” Chloe grinned. “My idea of cooking is making instant noodles.” “Not true,” said a new voice. “She can make a perfectly good pasta bake. Our parents aren't idiots.” In the doorway was Chloe's sister, Ellie, shaking her head. Chloe pouted, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. Ayana shook her head at the pair's antics. “I'll teach you pancakes if you teach me that pasta bake,” she offered. “Deal.” Chloe moved away, collecting her book but leaving the coffee mug as she headed out of the kitchen. Ellie came in and immediately annexed the coffee her sister had left behind. “So, you're up early,” she offered. “You feeling better after last night?” The night before had been the first formal dinner of term and the whole

experience, on top of the earlier scare and a day filled with a lot of unfamiliar experiences had left her with a pounding headache. “Much,” Ayana itted, starting to heat up her frying pan. “Migraines suck.” Ellie didn't answer, too busy drinking the coffee, but from the corner of her eye Ayana saw the younger girl do a full body shudder so she judged that to be an agreement. Turning back to the hob, she bent her concentration fully to the pancakes. Fifteen minutes later, as she flipped the last pancake out of the pan, she halfturned and realised two more of her fellow students had come in and were watching her with varying expressions of envy and surprise. “You make pancakes!” Kat's eyes were wide. “Breakfast envy!” offered Nicole, pushing her tousled hair off her face. “Not fair.” Ayana wrapped a protective hand around her plate, but it was Ellie who stepped in. “Just because you guys can't cook doesn't mean she shouldn't. Let her eat in peace.” “I'll make you a deal,” Ayana offered. “You buy the eggs, flour and milk, I'll make you pancakes one Saturday morning.” She paused as she sat down. “You wash up too.” “Ew!” Nicole wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust. “I don't do washing up.” “No pancakes for you, then,” said Kat. To Ayana she said, “You'd really do that?” Ayana shrugged. “Sure.” Ellie chuckled. “I sense you may regret that offer.” Ayana grinned at that and enjoyed a mouthful of the much-discussed pancakes. “I might.” She had to it, she'd surprised herself with making the offer, but it had come out so naturally. In fact, the whole exchange put to rest whatever lingering doubts she'd had about whether or not she'd fit in with the other students. When in doubt, offer food.

On the other side of the table, Kat and Nicole—for all her protestations about washing up—were plotting a shopping trip. As other people arrived in the kitchen, and inevitably remarked on Ayana's breakfast, they also got roped in and before she knew it there was a gang of at least seven people in on it. “I don't think Nicole needs to worry about the washing up,” said Ellie, amused. The scale of what the casual offer had turned into made Ayana blanched a little. “No, I think she's probably covered there.” “We'll ply you with chocolate—you do like chocolate, don't you?” asked Chloe, who'd returned and inevitably ed in. “More of a coffee person,” Ayana itted. “Coffee, then,” said Kat with a grin. “I can see this becoming a thing.” At that, Ellie started to giggle. “Better idea,” suggested Nicole. “We should just make it a recipe club. Once a week, one of us cooks for the rest, we share the costs and the cleaning. Either breakfast or dinner, on a Saturday.” “That,” said Ellie, “sounds like a fab idea. Count me in on that.” “Me too,” Ayana agreed with a degree of relief. “Though feel free to ply me with coffee anytime you like.” There was a giggle from the kitchen doorway, where Becky was leaning in. “I... don't think you meant that quite the way it sounded.” Ayana played the wording back in her mind and blushed, provoking general amusement from the rest of the group. Deciding the best response was probably to say nothing, she pushed to her feet and headed over to the sink to wash up her things. Becky entered the kitchen and opened her cupboard to grab a banana. “So, what's up for your day?” she asked. Ayana outlined her schedule and added, “Then there's the family dinner you keep

mentioning.” Becky smiled. “About that: turns out Isla's busy this evening so would you be up for a family lunch instead?” “Sure.” “Great.” Becky turned to leave the kitchen. “Meet here at one o'clock?” “I'll be here.” Becky nodded, waved and disappeared. Ayana turned her attention towards putting away her clean crockery and then also headed out of the kitchen for the library and her induction there.

––––––––

By the time lunchtime arrived, Ayana had all but forgotten the intention to meet up with Becky and Isla. For a morning with only two things to do, it had turned into something of a mission and by the time she'd made it back to her room her head was beginning to pound again from the sheer stress of trying to navigate a thoroughly unfamiliar situation. As she walked past the kitchen doorway, however, Becky called, out a greeting. Ayana grimaced to herself, then pasted on a smile and entered the kitchen. At this hour, it was empty except for Becky and a second student—this, she assumed, was probably Isla. She opened her mouth to say hello and then beg off, only to realise stepping closer to Becky was almost like stepping into a cool shower on a hot day. The headache and mental strain faded away and instead of crying off, her smile became more genuine. “Everything okay?” Becky asked. Ayana nodded. “Fine. Just a bit of an adjustment.” Isla grinned. “Can't be as much of an adjustment as this one needed,” she said,

jerking a thumb in Becky's direction. Becky put her face in her hands and groaned. “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.” Ayana shifted her gaze to Isla. “Should I ask, or should I let her off the hook?” “Oh, expect she'll tell you the worst bits—she's nothing if not honest.” “And she is sitting right here,” Becky objected. “True.” Isla ruffled her hair. “And now you have a fresher to look after yourself. This should be entertaining!” Ayana laughed. “As long as you never set the fire alarm off, you'll be fine,” Isla continued. “If she only sets it off once, she'll still be doing better than I did,” said Becky ruefully. Ayana blinked. “You did it more than once?” Becky finally looked up again. “Yep. Twice.” “One was at six AM,” said Isla ruthlessly. “In January. There was snow on the ground.” “How?” “I... may have set fire to some eggs. By accident.” Becky looked sheepish. “I am officially not allowed to do anything more exciting in here than boil a kettle.” “You can't ruin one of those. They have an auto-cut-off before they can boil dry,” said Isla with a grin. Ayana collapsed into a nearby seat, giggling helplessly. “Have I mentioned I was the family afterthought?” Becky muttered. Isla just ruffled her hair again. “It's a good thing that you are very smart and very

talented at hockey.” Becky grinned at that. “Fair.” She stood up. “So, if you've finished ruining the illusion that I am a functional adult, lunch?” “As long as you're not cooking,” said Isla, still grinning. “I was thinking Thai food,” said Becky, returning the grin. “If you're up for that, Ayana?” Ayana nodded. “Sounds good to me.” “Awesome.” Becky clapped her hands together. “Shall we?” And before Ayana really knew it, she found herself seated in a small Thai restaurant with some fabulous food in front of her and some very lively conversation that veered from extremely bawdy Anglo-Saxon literature, to boy bands, with detours into hockey club socials and punting mishaps. Ayana didn't think she'd laughed quite so much in her life. Isla was a ready story-teller and, while Becky had been the butt of the cooking conversation, she gave as good as she got. It was clear to Ayana that their pair were well matched. They were also extremely good at including her in the conversation, though truthfully, she was just as happy to sit back and listen to them banter back and forth. When the meal finished, Isla headed off, though not before she'd made Ayana promise that if anything cropped up Becky couldn't answer, she would be Ayana's first call. That left Ayana and Becky to take a leisurely walk along beside the river. “You are okay, aren't you?” Becky asked presently. “Me? Yes, why?” “You seemed a little... off, initially.” Becky shrugged awkwardly. “I'm not being too smothering, or something am I? I've been accused—” “Whoever accused you wouldn't know smothering if it bit them on the behind,” Ayana cut in with a grin. “You're fine. It's just... this is all such an adjustment.

The last time I was in a school was when I was ten. Or not even quite.” “Yikes,” said Becky, wincing. “Primary school and university are nothing alike.” Ayana grinned. “No.” They walked on for a little way in silence, then Becky asked, “So you didn't get any secondary school?” “I was too ill, for the longest while. Then too old. No-one's going to put a sixteen-year-old in with a bunch of eleven-year-olds.” Ayana shrugged. “We figured it out.” “Clearly, what with you being here and everything,” said Becky with a grin that faded quickly. “But wow. University's a culture shock for most people...” “I'll probably be okay, given another couple of days. But,” Ayana added, “I might skip the clubs and societies this term. Get used to the work first.” “All work and no play?” “Not if I hang out with everyone, go running with you, maybe the yoga class on a Thursday morning, do the occasional JCR quiz night... I'll be fine,” Ayana finished with a smile. “Promise.”

Chapter 6

It took a couple of days before Lwasi was able to send the photograph. In that time, Nick had managed to compile a list of potential victims to compare it to, based on the information he already had. Even filtering it for obvious exclusions, it was still quite a long list and he knew there was always the possibility that the man he was looking for hadn't been found at all, or that his remains were one of the several unidentifiable bodies found in that period What Nick had not expected was for Lwasi's picture to show someone who looked eerily similar to the man in photograph Kari had sent him. There were some differences: Lwasi's picture showed the man with lighter hair, though that could be sun-bleaching; Kari's picture showed a man broader in the shoulders. Neither photo gave anything that would suggest the height of either man. He sent an email back to Lwasi to ask the obvious question: could Ayana's adoptive father be the son of the man Lwasi had been chasing. He got an answer back, fast: it was possible, but Lwasi hadn't seen any sons. But as I said to you, I couldn't get near that Kimberly estate when he was in residence, so I can't say for sure, one way or the other. Nick chewed on his thumb for a few minutes, staring at the two images. Then shook his head. What had seemed like a promising lead when he was speaking to Lwasi now looked like a dead end. A son taking over the family business, as seemed likely to be the case, was hardly the stuff of potential blackmail and extortion. With a groan, Nick closed both image files and turned back to the rental search. If he couldn't find the motive, maybe he could at least locate the man who was after Ayana.

––––––––

The scent of lotus blossoms mingled with the heavier perfume of temple incense as he followed Ebana out into the temple precinct. Less in awe now, he took in the Medjai's stature and build: clearly Nubian, with the dark skin that went with those origins, and yet with an Egyptian name. “I knew your father.” Ebana's voice was soft, but the force of the words, so unanticipated, made him stop dead. “I have no father.” Ebana chuckled. “Every man has a father, though many may not know him. I knew yours.” Unwillingly, a question bubbled up. “How?” “He was a Medjai, and he was my friend.” Ebana paused for a moment. “He died in the king's service, before you were born. Your mother, fearing the worst, stole away lest your father's killers take you and her. She was successful in hiding you. She could not hide herself.” He swallowed. It was not new to him that his parents were dead, but learning the details was still a shock. “Why?” “They feared your father. They feared what your father might have spoken of to your mother.” Ebana smiled. It was not a pleasant sight. “They were correct to fear your father's knowledge.” “He told you.” Ebana nodded. “That he did. Your father was an honourable and brave man, dedicated to his role as protector of the king. He uncovered a plot amongst certain courtiers to seize the throne before our present king came of age. It was a plot I was able to spoil, but not before they had silenced your parents.” He bowed his head. “For years, I felt I had let them down by that failure. Then our chance meeting allowed me to see that I did not wholly fail. The last thing your father asked of me was that I should tell his story to you when you came of age. And now, I have done so.” He wasn't entirely sure what to say in response. Thanks didn't seem entirely appropriate but by the same token, perhaps they were the only appropriate

response. Ebana, for his part, seemed to not require words. Instead he nodded. “And now, I have a question for you.” “Me?” “Now that you are aware of your true heritage—that of a Medjai, no less—you have a choice. Remain here at the temple, become a respected scribe. Or...” Ebana paused and smiled again, this time an expression full of promise and joy. “Or, come with me, when I return to Thebes. Become a Medjai. What do you say?”

––––––––

Sunday morning saw Ayana out with Becky on the promised run. The rest of of Freshers' Week had ed by in relative serenity, after the difficulties of the first couple of days. It seemed as if, for the most part, her fellow students were focussed on their studies, the clubs and societies they could and the generalities of student life, which meant the impressions she pulled were usually fleeting and uninteresting. Granted, spending Wednesday morning humming JPop had been annoying—though it was a bit of a bonus she recognised the earworm for a change—but it was otherwise harmless, and what dreams there'd been had been formless and indistinct. Until the night before, when ancient Egypt and Nakht-ankh's story had returned in full and glorious technicolour and had left her feeling distracted this morning, so much so that even Becky's normally calming presence wasn't helping. “So,” said Becky as they reached the half-way point of the run, “spit it out.” “What?” Ayana shook herself a little and reminded herself she was supposed to be paying attention to the route. “What's bothering you? You've barely said a word and you're frowning. Has someone done something?” And the sudden sharpness and protective tone

Becky's voice had taken on made Ayana laugh. She had to stop running to catch her breath. “You do know you're not actually my mother, right?” Becky, standing in front of her, merely folded her arms and looked expectant. Ayana sighed, resigned. “Weird dreams.” Becky's eyebrows raised almost to her hairline. She stepped aside and the pair started running once more. “My weird dreams,” she said, “involve talking penguins and running charity cake sales with The Rock. Something tells me you have an entirely different definition.” “You could say that.” And before she could think better of it, Ayana found herself explaining about the Egyptian scenes. How they'd begun after brushing against someone on the tube and how they were growing more and more detailed and complex. She finally wound down and then ran on for a few yards in silence. Ayana waited for the condemnation she was sure would follow. “Huh,” was all Becky said. “I can see how that would be disconcerting.” Ayana blinked and they ran on for few yards in silence. Then, “You believed all that?” “Why wouldn't I?” Becky countered. “Life is weird.” Ayana blinked again at such straight forward acceptance. She would have responded, but they had reached their agreed finishing point on the run, just outside the Porter's entrance. Becky pressed 'stop' on her watch and looked at the reading. “Not a bad time,” she said, sounding impressed. She looked back at Ayana. “Would you be up for doing this regularly?” “Uh, sure.” “I need the incentive,” Becky itted with a grin. “As for your dream problem: meet me back here in an hour.” And before Ayana could respond, Becky had disappeared into the college. With

little other choice, Ayana followed the younger girl into the building. An hour later, freshly showered and changed, and with some trepidation, Ayana made her way out to find Becky waiting. “C'mon,” said the younger girl. It was Ayana's turn to fold her arms across her chest and frown. “Not one step until you tell me where we're going.” Becky looked amused. “Well, first stop's Rymans—I need some new notebooks.” “And the second?” “Somewhere where we can have a proper conversation, without worrying about anyone listening in or interrupting.” Ayana wanted to try and push for a better answer but sensed the younger girl wouldn't move from her stated position. So, with some misgivings about where this would lead, Ayana stepped aside and allowed Becky to lead the way. True to her word the first stop was the big stationery shop, but once the mundanities of student life had been taken care of, Ayana found herself once more being ushered into Starbucks. “This?” said Ayana. “This is your place where no-one will interrupt?” Becky grinned. “Everyone's involved in their own conversations. No-one cares what anyone else is saying and no-one's going to come barging in and ask random questions.” As Ayana had witnessed precisely that sort of behaviour in the kitchen only that morning, when no fewer than five different people had interrupted her attempts to make breakfast, she took Becky's point. On the other hand, “But here?” And she inclined her head in the direction of the counter. “After last time? And the time before?” Becky grinned. “Barista Boy is probably at least as mortified as you are. It's fine. Besides, he's on the till today, not bar.”

Ayana hunched down. “That makes all the difference.” “Look, you bag us a table, I'll get the drinks. Black Americano, right?” Ayana nodded and did as Becky asked, making for the solitary table available, in the far back corner of the seating area. It wasn't long before Becky ed her and set a large mug of coffee down before her. “So.” Becky took her own seat. “Dreams, huh?” “Yeah.” “Not a new thing?” Ayana shook her head. “I think it's something that started after the accident but to be honest what I from before the accident is so jumbled up, I don't know for sure.” Becky nodded. “Makes sense. Trauma does tend to shake things up. How does it work? Is it like, you pick up other people's thoughts? Or...?” Ayana hissed a sigh. “I think it's touch related. Or touch makes it worse, at least. People. Things. If they've got a particularly strong vibe, I get an impression of it. Mostly, it's harmless: I'll get ear-wormed by someone else's mental jukebox— someone is a really hardcore J-Pop fan, by the way; haven't figured out who, but I keep finding myself humming Baby Metal.” Becky grinned at that. “Sometimes, it's more. That's when the dreams come in.” Becky nodded slowly and took a long sip from her drink. Hesitantly, she said, “Should I ask what sort of impression you get from me?” “It's nice. Soothing. Sort of peaceful.” At Becky's startled expression, Ayana shrugged. “They don't always seem to make sense on the surface, but there's usually something real and true about it.” “I'd have thought I'd be the last person to be described as soothing or peaceful.” Ayana simply shrugged again and offered a faint smile. “You're taking this all like this isn't the weirdest thing you've ever heard.”

“Because it isn't.” Becky picked up her cup. “When I was four, I met a Viking.” Ayana frowned. “Do you mean as in someone from Scandinavia?” There was a pause, while Becky took another mouthful of her drink. “No, I mean a Viking. Norse Warriors.” Ayana opened her mouth to say that was the craziest thing she'd ever heard, then reconsidered, given her own sensitivity. Instead, she simply said, “How?” “I fell into the Elsehere,” said Becky. “It's like a parallel universe or dimension or something. In some places, the walls between here and there are thin—one of those places is Castlerigg—a stone circle, above Keswick in the Lake District. We were up there on a camping holiday. My parents thought I was with them, but I'd stopped to look at some pretty blue flowers and I fell through. Kari, the Viking, found me and was able to send me back. My parents didn't believe me when I told them but... it happened.” Ayana nodded slowly, recalling the graffiti she’d seen on the trip into Paddington. “Elsehere. I like it. I used to imagine dreams came from a different dimension.” “Maybe they do.” “Maybe.” Ayana stared down into her coffee cup. “Do you know anything about ancient Egypt?” “No. Meeting Kari made sure my period was the ninth and tenth centuries. Ancient Egypt is far too old for my tastes.” Becky paused. “But Isla's an ancient history person. If you've got specific questions, she'd be a place to go.” Ayana wrinkled her nose. “I don't want to bother her with stupid questions.” “Depends how stupid the question is,” said Becky. “I know I bothered her with some winners last year.” “Such as?” “How to make a pot noodle.”

Ayana blinked. “Seriously?” “Honest truth. I'd never had one before.” “But... they have instructions on the pot!” Becky shrugged. “I was never allowed in the kitchen at home.” In light of the conversation earlier in the week about Becky's misadventures in the kitchen, Ayana thought that explained a great deal. “Seriously, though, Isla would be happy to help you. She'd at least be able to steer you to the right books or websites. Trust me, you don't want to Google ancient Egypt without a guide.” “I thought it was too old for you.” “I still had to write an essay about the pyramids.” Becky shuddered with exaggerated disgust. “So much crap. So, seriously, check with Isla!” Ayana smirked. “I'll think about it.” She drained her drink. “Thank you.” “For?” “Not looking at me like I'm the weirdest thing you've ever met or completely crazy or both.” “If I thought you were crazy, I'd have to think I was too. And I really don't think either of us are.” Becky shrugged. “A little picked-on by the universe, but not crazy. My last suggestion to you is this: try writing down what happens. Put down all the detail you can , even the tiny ones. Sometimes that helps you to see the connections you're missing when it's just rattling around in your head.” Ayana nodded. “Caroline suggested something similar once, but I've never had dreams that recurred like this, so I've never tried. Maybe now's the time to start.” “Well, you definitely don't want to be preoccupied tomorrow: lectures start and then you're going to be busy,” said Becky.

Ayana nodded. “Maybe I should pick up a notebook, on the way back.”

––––––––

Nick heaved a sigh of relief as he signed out of the till. “Done for the day?” Zoe asked. “Yeah; I volunteered to come in before we open tomorrow to help Jess with the delivery stuff so I get to finish early as a reward.” Zoe looked at him, shaking her head. “I'd rather have the extra hours today and skip the four o'clock wake up call,” she said. Nick laughed and headed out to the back to collect his jacket. As he came back through the shop, he took note of Becky and Ayana in their corner. He wondered what they were discussing and was tempted, for a moment, to sneak a little closer to eavesdrop. Knowing Becky, they'd come here for privacy, so he'd leave them to it. Instead he made directly for the door where, just to its left, was a very familiar looking customer: the bald guy. It was the first time Nick had seen him since the run in the previous Monday and for a fraction of a second he thought about forcibly evicting him. That thought died a quick death: while the seating outside was only for customers, the man had clearly been in and bought a drink, so anything Nick did to him would be an entirely too public scene. On the other hand, as his property search was taking far longer than he'd feared, this might be an opportunity for him to learn more about the man and, more importantly, the threat against Ayana. So as he left the shop, instead of turning left to head for the park and ride bus, he headed straight across and into the bustling market. With the ease of long experience, Nick manoeuvred himself through the crowd. Keeping to large knots of shoppers, he moved around the stalls and kept an eye on the bald man as he sipped his coffee and stared in through the shop window. Here and there, Nick made small purchases to keep up the charade, but his attention was always focused on his quarry.

After about an hour, he saw Becky and Ayana come out of the shop and watched as the bald man stood up to follow them. Nick snaked his way through the market crowd and ed a knot of people travelling in the same direction as his quarry. When the girls turned off, heading away from central Cambridge to go back to their college, the bald man surprised Nick by continuing on. His was not a steady progress. He stopped frequently, studying the impressive facades of assorted college buildings, and, Nick realised, attempting to use any window reflections to see if he was being tailed. Nick let the knot of people he was with carry him on and past the bald man and a little further along the road, he ducked into a small chemist's shop. As he made a show of studying a display of bath salts, he saw the bald man stride by and almost immediately round the corner. Nick shook his head, as if what he'd been searching for wasn't there, and headed out of the shop and made to cross the road the bald guy had headed down. He glanced down the street as if checking for cars, and noted the man had continued on along the street. Clearly whatever concerns he'd had about being followed had been allayed. Nick crossed the road anyway. The glance had been enough to tell him there was some help for him here: the buildings were terraced with high roofs and if he could get up onto them, it would make tailing his quarry far more discreet, and immediately opposite was the sort of narrow alleyway that would allow him just that access. He slipped into the alley, checked for security cameras and quickly started to climb. The task was made easy by the pitted nature of the sandstone and the presence of drain pipes, and he swiftly reached the roof. He took a moment, balanced on the ridge of the roof, to check the bald man was still walking down the street, and then, keeping precariously low on treacherously smooth slates, he made his way along the roof ridge line. He drew level with the man about halfway along the road and watched as the man headed up to a particular house's front door. He let himself in quickly, which Nick guessed meant the man had a key, though at this distance it was hard to be sure. He positioned himself in the shadow of some chimneys and watched the house for any further signs. He was rewarded a moment later by seeing the bald man appear in one of the rooms on the second storey of the house. From the way he walked in and dropped his jacket, Nick judged this was where the man was staying.

Very good to know. Nick watched for a little while longer. The bald man disappeared only to reappear with a bottle of drink in hand—not beer, Nick thought, but something non-alcoholic. He drank that, then made a phone call. Lip-reading wasn't possible, but it also wasn't entirely necessary; the man's body language and sharp gestures with his free hand made it clear it wasn't a happy social call. A few minutes later, the man reappeared on the street and hurried off, back the way he'd come. For a moment, Nick debated giving chase and then decided there were better uses of his time. He hastily clambered to the end of the terrace and shimmied back down to ground level in an alley twin to the one he'd climbed up in and, from there, crossed the road and headed up to the front door the bald man had so recently exited from. Taking note of the multiple doorbells, he realised the house had been converted into flats—not unusual and certainly not a surprise. It also explained the relatively simple door lock, which he picked in no time. Once inside, he headed up the stairs and found himself faced with two doors, both of which could plausibly lead to the flat his quarry was renting. Nick silently crossed the landing space and listened at the first door. Faint sounds of music suggested this wasn't the right door. He moved to the other and listened again. This time, dead silence. He debated for a moment—if he was wrong, this would go very badly—then shrugged and started to pick the lock. It was only when he found himself confronted by the empty drink bottle he'd seen earlier that he knew he'd got the right one after all. Now he had to be quick. Without knowing where the bald man had gone, he had no idea how long he'd be away and he had to make sure his investigations left no trace. So, though it was tempting, he ignored the laptop lying on the table, plugged in and open, and instead looked for the more subtle information. A stack of unopened post lying on the table revealed a name: Dmitri Papis. Nearby, one letter had been opened. An electricity bill that noted it was the first in Papis' name. That told Nick roughly how long Papis had been in Cambridge—slightly more than a month. Given Ayana had only been there a week, that was an interesting note. The rest of the front room was largely bare. There was a couch and a television, but nothing personal or identifiable.

Moving to the back room, Nick found the bedroom to be similar. Minimal furniture and few personal touches, though when he checked the wardrobe and drawers he found both full of neatly folded clothing. Papis was clearly not a slob. On a hunch, he ran his fingers around the underside of the top drawer compartment and found a port taped in place. Removing it, he found it was for Cyprus and for a man called Dominic Adamos, though the picture included was clearly Papis. Which one was the real name? Was either? He replaced the port carefully, and moved on to the bathroom. He found nothing of interest there, just basic toiletries and towels. So he started for the kitchen, only to hear the downstairs front door slam and then hear footsteps on the stairs. Nick froze for a second, weighing up his options. It might not be Papis returning, but he didn't want to press his luck and he'd already seen from the bedroom there was a fire escape outside. The access to that was from the kitchen. With the footsteps getting ever nearer, he moved swiftly into the kitchen and eased the fire door open, blessing Papis' landlord for being up on his fire codes. Slipping through, he pushed the door almost to the point of latching, then waited and listened. He heard muffled cursing, in Greek, and heard keys in Papis' lock. Nick finished latching the fire door and hurried down the fire escape, across the back yard and out into the lane beyond. While he hadn't learned much, it did give him a couple of names to chase and a potential nationality and, more importantly, now he knew where their base of operations was. That should help him pin down just what was going on.

Chapter 7

As term got underway, Nick spent his spare time trying to trace Papis. He returned a few times to the rooftop opposite Papis' rented flat to see what he could learn from the comings and goings there, and the surveillance bore some early fruit as it allowed Nick to take note of a second man of the same general ancestry as Papis. But that was as good as it got. The second man seemed to be impossible to identify, as he didn't appear to be living either with Papis or even in Cambridge. He just appeared to visit for short periods of time. Papis, meanwhile, having scared Ayana that first afternoon, seemed content to bide his time with whatever scheme he was planning. It probably didn't help his plans that after that first afternoon Ayana was rarely out of college grounds alone, but Nick had the sense that Papis was building up to something. Nick itched to simply take him out and get rid of the problem, but he knew it wouldn't work. While it might dispose of the immediate threat, without knowing who Papis was working for and why, it would just delay things. Better to keep with the threat you knew about than have to start all over again. So Nick would continue to keep tabs on Papis and wait for the inevitable screwup. For Ayana, once lectures started, life fell quickly into a routine. Through the week, there were classes, tutorials—or supervisions, by college parlance—and reading by the book load. On Wednesday afternoons there was a meeting of the law society, which was a useful opportunity for all the undergraduates to compare notes. On Tuesdays and Fridays Ayana ed a couple of the college fitness classes. She quickly discovered she had no coordination for either, but since no-one seemed to mind, she persevered. Friday nights, more often than not, featured some form of collective takeaway, with some folks opting to go clubbing afterwards. Ayana mostly didn't, preferring the quiet to catch up on anything left undone during the week. Then came the weekend and a lie-in on Saturday. Recipe club proved to be a loose affair, but a fun one. Ayana's turn, cooking pancakes for six, was certainly a success, as was Chloe's pasta bake. Kat's apple

sponge turned out a heroic failure—it was delicious but the sponge didn't cook right through, leaving the centre gooier than intended—while the less said about Ellie's attempts at pizza dough, the better. Others had more or less success, but it went well enough that as November began, there was even some discussion about trying to cook an entire Christmas meal. Ayana felt that was a little more ambition than was wise. Becky's Saturdays revolved around the hockey pitch—if she wasn't playing, she was coaching at a local kids' team. Some Saturdays Ayana came along to cheer the team on, but most Saturdays she got to hear about the game later. Then Sundays had become her official running day—most of the time, with Becky, but occasionally on her own as she found her feet in the local area—followed by a lunch and quiet chat in Starbucks with Becky. Sometimes they talked university life, sometimes it was their respective experiences with the Elsehere. Through it all, she continued to have periodic dreams about Nakht-ankh and Ebana. She got the sense that what she was watching unfold was the age of Nakht-ankh's life, from boyhood to man—from scribe to Medjai—against a backdrop of political upheaval. She watched on as his training unfolded, as his skills grew and as he finally ed the ranks of serving Medjai. It was fascinating and yet, frustrating, as none of what she saw gave away who the reigning king was, or just what that upheaval actually entailed. The few little bits that she could try searching for online or in the library led to nothing more than generic explanations of or descriptions of items from everyday life. Occasionally, the names of gods and festivals cropped up, but even these were less than useful: Egyptian history was filled with gods and festivals, many of them with centuries of tradition behind them. So she resigned herself to remain frustrated, even as she filled her notebook with all the details she could recall, just in case one of them finally proved to be the key to understanding it all. Away from college, there had also been an on-going text conversation with Caroline, which had helped to ease the initial awkwardness. They had exchanged at least a couple of texts per day to start with, mainly jokes with the odd bit of advice thrown in, but it tapered off as classes became more involved and as she reached the middle of November, and the end of the sixth week of term, Ayana realised guiltily that she hadn't sent a message to Caroline in nearly two weeks.

When she checked her phone, however, she realised that her last message, wishing her friend a happy Halloween, had gone unread, something that struck Ayana as both odd and a little unnerving. As she went to set her phone back down, an email arrived from her mother. Ayana was a little surprised by its arrival—normally Joelle emailed on a Sunday, when she knew Ayana had the time to properly reply; Friday evening at nearly ten o'clock was definitely out of the common. She was even more surprised when she read it and found her mother was inviting her up to London the following day, a Saturday, to meet up for lunch. There was nothing outwardly amiss with the words, but Ayana had the feeling there was more to it than just a simple catch up. Given how far Tenby was from London, it couldn't be just a casual visit, but what Joelle's real motive was, Ayana wasn't sure. For a moment, she considered phoning to check in, but if her mother wouldn't explain in her email, she might well not explain over a phone call. Sometimes, Joelle could be oddly old-fashioned that way. Wiser, then, to just email back and say yes—and get the full explanation in person, the following lunch time. As she set her phone down after replying in the affirmative, there was a knock on the door. “It's open,” she called. Becky stuck her head around the door. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?” Ayana blinked. “As it happens, yes—why?” “You are? Nuts.” Becky sighed. “Anything fun?” “Meeting mum for lunch in London.” At that, Becky smiled. “Nice.” “What were you going to ask?” “Oh, just to see if you wanted to come with us to Norwich tomorrow—you being from far west Wales and all, thought you'd like to see something of the opposite side of the country!” “Any other weekend, I'd probably take you up on that.”

“But not this one.” Becky nodded. “No worries; we go there again sometime after Christmas, so I'll drag you along then.” And with that, she withdrew, leaving Ayana to chuckle. Nick propped his head on his hand as he scrolled through yet another dataset as he tried to identify the man with Papis. It was, he knew, a pointless trawl, but he felt better doing something rather than nothing. His phone buzzed for a text message. Glancing at it, he was surprised to see Becky's number flash up before the screen darkened again. Abandoning his search for the time being, he picked up the phone and read: Going to Norwich tomorrow. Think I should invite A? Nick snorted, amused, and sent back, Why are you asking me? I want a security opinion before I do something stupid. At that, Nick actually chuckled. It's not stupid to invite your friend—she's watched you play before, hasn't she? When an immediate answer didn't come back, Nick put his phone down again. He briefly wondered what Evan Jones would have made of his youngest granddaughter and then shook his head. Evan would undoubtedly have been perplexed but would have loved her dearly. He sighed and turned back to his research. Ten minutes later, the phone buzzed again. Picking it up, he saw a text consisting of one word. Duck. Nick stared for a moment, wondering if Becky was all right. Then a second message arrived, featuring an obscenity followed by a third that read simply Stupid autocorrect At that, Nick laughed. What's wrong? She can't come. Going to meet her mum for lunch in London. That message drained away all of Nick's amusement. Ayana was travelling up to London, on her own. That was practically begging for Papis to intervene. He

resisted the temptation to immediately ask Becky if she knew what Ayana's plans were. Instead he sent back, Maybe next time? and then turned his attention to checking train times. About the only positive was that he didn't need to arrange shift cover.

––––––––

By alphabet, his name should have come mid-list, but it didn't. Was he to be ed over altogether? Cast out? One by one the graduating cadets learned their fate and were marched off to their new assignments. One by one they left until only he remained. Confused and not a little afraid. Then he heard a familiar chuckle. Looking round, there was Ebana and no lesser person than the King himself. He immediately bowed low, mouth drying in fear. “Rise,” said the king. He did as he was bidden, though he kept his gaze downcast. “Yes, you have the look of your father to you. A good man, indeed. Ebana tells me that you, too, are a good man. I have a role for you—a special one.” The King folded his arms across his chest. “There is a group, the Sons of Set. They have been a thorn in the side of many here in Egypt and, while that would be enough for me to wish them dealt with, it would seem they once more have designs upon the throne of Egypt, rendering this mission more critical.” The king began to pace. “Egypt is changing. The old ways are being superseded. You know, I think, that there is to be a new capital?” Silently, he nodded. “Then you should know this is not to be the only change. Life moves on, and those stuck and tied to the past are a hindrance to such changes. The Sons of Set are doubly so. Thus, my role for you—for you both—is clear. Root out the Sons of Set. Either put their feet upon the rightful path or destroy them, for if they have not served me in life they should not serve me in death.”

In the king's direct presence, he could only nod and agree to this, but once the king departed, he turned to Ebana. “Why me? Wouldn't an experienced Medjai be of more help?” Ebana chuckled again. “You would gainsay your king?” He blushed. “Of course not.” “There are two reasons why you,” Ebana continued. “You have shown yourself to be more than capable. Were this training done by pure rank, you would have been top-placed. Second, these honourless ones are part of the same group that killed your parents. They stole from you the life you should have had.” That rocked him back on his heels and before he'd given the matter much thought at all, he nodded. “I will do it.” Ebana smiled. “I had no doubt.”

––––––––

“Wow, you look, uh...” Becky trailed off as Ayana stumbled into the kitchen the following morning. “You really don't do seven o'clock on a Saturday morning, do you?” “Not if I can help it.” Ayana opened up her cupboard and surveyed her options for a quick grab-and-go breakfast. They weren't plentiful—she'd need to do some shopping when she got back. “Ouch.” Becky dropped her spoon back into her cereal bowl. “What's up?” “Bad night of sleep, more puzzles. You know; the usual.” She retrieved a cereal bar from her stash. “Ah.” There was the sound of a chair being pushed back and a moment later, the sound of a kettle being flicked on.

Ayana turned to find Becky pulling a jar of instant coffee and a travel mug from her own cupboard. “I didn't think you drank coffee without the whipped cream,” said Ayana blankly. “I don't,” said Becky. “Well—except during exams. All bets are off during exams. But this,” and she gestured to the mug, “is for you. You're going to need to get going if you're going to make lunch in London.” Ayana winced. “I look that bad, huh?” “You are broadcasting under-caffeinated and over-stressed,” said Becky frankly, though her smile softened the words. “I'd ask about the dreams but—” “But I need to get going,” Ayana finished, grimacing. “We'll catch up tomorrow. I'm making notes on the train.” She stuffed the cereal bar into her pocket and accepted the travel mug. “Thanks for this. And good luck at Norwich.” That made Becky smile. “Thanks. I hope you have a decent journey and good luck with the tube!” Ayana mustered a faint smile at the reminder, hoping it masked the sudden queasiness it brought, and headed back to her room to grab her bag and coat.

Chapter 8

Nick watched as Ayana bought her ticket and headed into the station. She looked about how he felt, with a travel coffee mug clasped in what was undoubtedly a death grip. He wondered what the cause of her sleeplessness was, and then dismissed the question as none of his business. Of greater relevance to him: she'd made it to the station untroubled by Papis. Unfortunately, that was only because Nick had already seen Papis both enter the station and board an earlier train to London. It was possible that was coincidence, but that wasn't something Nick was going to rely on. He headed into the station himself, bought a return ticket to London and headed for the relevant platform. He could see Ayana, drinking her coffee and waiting a little way up the platform. While he did wish she was a little closer to the main crowd, she was also well back from the platform edge and leaning with her back against one of the pillars that ed the roof—he wondered if she knew she'd taken up such a good defensive position, or if it was pure luck. The train's arrival shelved that line of thinking. He watched her board and take a seat, part way along the carriage and facing the direction of travel. That was convenient. He slid into a seat a little further back, where he could keep an eye on her but remain out of her line of sight. He was a little surprised to see her pull out a notebook and pen as the train left Cambridge; he was far less surprised to see her fold her arms, rest them on the little tray table and then rest her head on her arms. The tiredness had clearly won over any dedication to study. Nick smiled faintly. He scanned the rest of the carriage and confirmed that noone else was paying Ayana any attention, then stretched his legs out and leaned back in his own seat. While he wouldn't sleep, he could at least rest for a while.

––––––––

“These honourless sons of jackals,” Ebana muttered. “You heard the leader's gloating?” “That he has an agent in the king's retinue, ready to strike,” he answered, his tone grim. “I heard.” “One of us must escape this trap and warn the king, though it's likely he is not the target. There is nothing to be gained for killing a king who is already dying. Better to kill the heir and hasten the king's demise with a broken heart.” He nodded. There was truth to Ebana's words. Ebana thought for a moment, then nodded. “I will hold them at bay while you escape. I saw camels at their camp—try and steal one and return to the king with all the speed you can muster.” He wanted to object. He knew what Ebana proposed meant Ebana would not leave this place and yet, he couldn't argue. As skilled as he was, Ebana was still better, with his sheer size an added factor in any fight. “I will honour your name,” he promised. Ebana nodded once. “Go, then. Let us do our duty.” They parted and he made his way stealthily back to the camp site. He'd travelled thirty paces when there was a roar of anger and he heard Ebana call, “Come, you honourless dogs. Come and face your doom!” He picked up his pace and reached the camp. True to Ebana's observations, there were camels there. He untied them all and managed to shoo away all bar one; no sense in allowing pursuit to be easy. The noise of the escaping camels drew attention and as he mounted that last one, guards came running. He managed to set off before they reached him and for just a moment he thought he might even get away from the camp unscathed. It was in that moment that he lost concentration. It was in that moment that he overlooked the archer off to his left, who had been alerted by yells of his cohorts. The arrow struck home, lodging deep into his side with a pain that was beyond agony. Beyond thought. Instinct made him kick the camel into a gallop out across the sands. Instinct made him cling on. He was aware of other arrows

following, but none landed and he was rapidly out of their range.

––––––––

Ayana jerked awake as the train pulled into King's Cross. She didn't even drifting off to sleep. One moment, she'd been writing notes on the previous night's dreams and the next she'd been enmeshed in the most disturbing dream yet. She shivered. It had felt so real. So much so that surreptitiously she checked to make sure there wasn't an arrow embedded in her side. Movement from the corner of her eye redirected her attention. A enger had just stood up to leave the train. Wearing a beanie, with a leather jacket and black jeans, he looked just like anyone else on the train. Even down to the scarf he was wrapping around his neck against the chill of late November. And yet there was a frisson of familiarity to him. Thoroughly disquieted, Ayana gathered her belongings and hurried off the train. As she made it through the ticket barriers, her phone pinged for a text message. Pulling it out, she saw it was her mother, suggesting a restaurant in Covent Garden as their lunch venue. Ayana felt a brief flash of panic at the prospect of navigating central London on her own, which she ruthlessly forced aside. “I am twenty-four. I am a grown woman. I can do this,” she muttered, typing the restaurant's name into her map app. The directions seemed simple enough. She sent a quick acknowledgement to her mother and plunged down into King's Cross St Pancras tube station, making for the Piccadilly line. Unfortunately, while the directions were simple, Ayana had reckoned without the general chaos of a Saturday close to Christmas on the tube. The train she boarded at King's Cross was full and only got fuller. Within minutes, she was crammed into a nook by one of the doors with someone else's earworm

competing for mental space with two shopping lists and the intimate details of a lunch date. By the time she reached Covent Garden, she felt panicky and claustrophobic and yet there was also a tiny shred of satisfaction too. She had actually made it. If she'd thought the claustrophobia would ease once she was off the train, she was sadly mistaken: there were only two options for exiting the station. She could take the lift, for which there was a sizeable queue, or the stairs, which were marked as 'no exit' but she could see the odd person taking them anyway. With a head stuffed full of other people's thoughts and desperate for space, Ayana opted for the stairs. Even with the prospect of a long climb, it felt better than the alternative. There were only a few other people who'd opted for the climb and they very quickly outdistanced her, leaving her to climb the spiral staircase alone. That didn't surprise her. What did strike her as odd was how few people were descending. Perhaps it was as simple as fewer people trying to get in over how many were trying to get out. Then, as if to make that observation a lie, the sounds of running feet began to echo in the stairwell. For a moment she couldn't decide if they were moving up or down, but then the echoes cleared a little and she realised they were above, but heading down at a rapid pace. Ayana tucked into the handrail and waited for them to . A moment later, a trio of men appeared around the curve of the stairs, spread out almost to the full width of the space as if racing. They jostled her and she felt her grip slipping on the handrail. For a few precious seconds she thought she was going to fall, then there was a hand on her back, steadying her and the mob had ed. She got a brief impression of a sandstorm and the scent of old linen rose in her nostrils. Then hand was gone and her saviour had already moved beyond her and on up. All she saw was an impression of black clothing before they were out of sight. She swallowed and tried to will her heart to stop hammering quite so hard. “Thank you?” she called, but only silence floated back to her. Even the noise of the descending mob had faded. Ayana shook her head and started climbing once more.

She finally reached the top of the stairs and fresh air in time for her mobile phone to ping with another text message. Looking, she realised she was now five minutes late and her mother, predictably, was asking where she was. “Damn it!” She started to turn in the direction of the restaurant, only to feel a sharp shove in the middle of her back and she was suddenly off balance and falling into the path of an on-coming taxi. She landed on her hands and knees with the taxi's bumper bare inches from her head. “You all right, love?” The cab driver looked ashen—which was about how she felt inside. Ayana swallowed and started to pick herself up, aided by several bystanders. “Yes—fine. Sorry.” The cab driver offered a relieved smile and drove off. One of the bystanders—a lady dressed in a Burberry suit—pressed a bottle of water into her hands and an impression of motherly concern drifted through Ayana's mind. Another—a man in gym gear and giving off jittery vibes—directed her to a nearby seat. A third— another woman, this time dressed in jeans and a jacket—made sure her phone, which had been jarred from her hand in the fall was okay and back in her possession. Mercifully enough, she was wearing gloves so what little she transferred was ephemeral and quickly dissipated. Only when her trio of rescuers were convinced she actually was all right did the three of them leave, leaving Ayana to recover herself. She pinged her mother a quick message to say she'd been held up on the tube—it was almost the truth— and then she tried standing up again. Her knees and hands throbbed with bruises, but her legs felt solid enough, so she set off towards the restaurant. Fortunately it was only a short walk, but by the time she entered the restaurant's plush vestibule, she was hot, tired, rattled, sore and very late. “Table for...?” the host began, even as he obviously eyed her dishevelled state. “I'm meeting someone,” Ayana replied, then winced as she recognised an unpleasant edge to her voice. She tried to moderate her tone a little better. “Name is van de Merwe?”

The host offered a customer service smile. “Right this way.” Ayana tailed on behind the host, trying to smooth her disarrayed hair and generally pretend that the last fifteen minutes hadn't happened. From the looks some of the other restaurant diners were giving her, she wasn't really succeeding. And then she spotted her destination and the day finally started to look up. Joelle, was her usual elegant self, in a gorgeous blue dress and her smile on seeing Ayana lit up the room, though it faded rapidly as she took in Ayana's rumpled state. Instead of a greeting, her mother led with simply, “You said you'd been held up by the tube, not run over by it!” Ayana offered Joelle a sheepish sort of smile, even as the host showed her to her seat. “Yeah. Well.” Their waitress arrived at that moment to ask for Ayana's drink order and to offer her a menu. Joelle waited until the waitress departed, and then said, “That is no answer to give your worried mother.” Ayana sighed. “The tube was stupidly busy... and... I may have tripped up, leaving the tube station.” Joelle's brows lowered considerably. “I brought you up better than to lie to your mother. Out with it, child.” Ayana winced at the tone. “I... may have had some help, tripping.” Her mother leaned back in her seat, but if Ayana was expecting surprise or shock, she was the one to be surprised. Instead of reacting with fear or anger, her mother simply nodded, her expression grim. “She was right. They have found you.”

––––––––

Nick took up a seat on a bench outside the restaurant Ayana had entered. While he couldn't see inside well enough to know what was going on, he knew from Becky's texts that she was meeting her mother and he knew this particular venue only had the one entrance, so he was content to sit and wait and watch. After events at the tube station, he knew Papis' trip to London wasn't coincidental; although with two failures to his name, Nick hoped Papis was rethinking his visit to the capital. There was certainly no sign of the other man, or any of his as-yet unidentified goons, around the restaurant. But Nick had managed to finally catch a break on the identity front: one of the youths who'd made the clumsy attempt to knock Ayana down the Covent Garden stairs had unwisely had his wallet in his pocket. Nick had easily relieved him of it. The ID inside was a fairly average fake, but the picture matched the man he'd lifted it from, so it was still something to go on. “Here.” Nick glanced up and found a coffee cup being held out to him. From what he could smell... “Jonno, where did you find proper Turkish coffee and why have you never told me about it?” Jonno smirked. “You know me, mate. Always know where to find the good stuff.” Nick accepted the cup and savoured his first mouthful. “How was Costa Rica?” “Good, but the jetlag's a bitch. Speaking of, you know you look like shit, right?” A second mouthful of coffee soured a little as Nick swallowed and glared up at his friend. “Thanks.” Jonno shrugged. “I can lie if you like, but...” He sat down on the bench beside Nick and stretched his legs out comfortably. “You are okay, aren't you?” Nick took another mouthful of the coffee and then sighed. “Define okay.” That earned a snort. “Good point.” There was a moment of silence between them. Nick looked up at the restaurant, then glanced in Jonno's direction. “I'm dreaming.”

Jonno's posture stiffened. “We don't dream.” “Not normally.” “That's one of the good points, or else some of the shit we've seen...” Jonno trailed off, his expression distant. He suddenly snapped his gaze to Nick's. “What about?” “Athens is a part of it.” “Mate—” “Don't say it,” said Nick tiredly. “Your ability to not let things go is legendary,” Jonno retorted, shaking his head. “Especially things you had—” “—no control over. I know.” Nick looked away, back to the restaurant. “It takes me a while to accept these things.” That just earned another snort. “Anyway, Athens isn't the only thing that keeps cropping up.” “Uh-huh?” “Also Cairo, but Cairo from a time I wasn't there. Literally. I was in Tunis, looking for Gemel.” “That was, what. 2000?” “2001—August. Even if I didn't have a photographic memory, I'd where I was that month.” “And the next one,” said Jonno quietly. “You sure it's Cairo from then? How can you tell?” “The clothing says it's around then and I get a snatch of music that means it can't be any earlier than June 2001. Angle of the sun says later than that.” Jonno said nothing for a while. Nick glanced in his direction and took note that his friend was frowning heavily now. “What?”

“When Kari gave you the skinny on your girl, did she tell you about the accident?” “Not in detail.” “It happened in Cairo. Right around that time.” Jonno looked troubled. “You shouldn't be dreaming and you really shouldn't be dreaming that. Something's wrong.” Nick looked away, his turn to snort. “Tell me about it,” he muttered. From his pocket he pulled out the lifted wallet. He handed it to Jonno. “What's this?” “Wallet, lifted from a would-be assassin. The ID's fake, but the picture's real and I'd guess so are the cards. Think you can find out who he really is, who he's working for?” “I'll see what I can do.” “And while you're at it,” Nick added, “another couple of names for you to run: Dmitri Papis and Dominic Adamos. At least one of them's an alias, maybe both. The man attached to them's Greek. Bald. Stocky.” “Not a lot to go on—I'm guessing you didn't find anything.” “But I don't have your skills.” Jonno chuckled at that. “You could have, you know. You could learn.” “I had no patience as a scribe, what makes you think I'd have any as a researcher?” Jonno laughed and pushed to his feet. “Yeah, and come to think, I'm not volunteering to teach you. Reckon we'd kill each other inside a week.” “You'd give us that long?” Jonno chuckled again. “Listen, I'll see what I can find, and as for the dreams thing...” His amusement faded. “I can look into that too, but you may not like

what I find.” Nick knew that was exactly why he'd mentioned the dreams to Jonno. “I'm assuming it's not going to be sunshine and rainbows.” “You've been hanging out with Becky too much,” said Jonno severely. “Actually that one comes from the shift manager at Starbucks.” Jonno shook his head, amusement back on his face. “I'll be in touch.” “Thanks for the coffee.”

Chapter 9

There was a pause in the conversation as the waitress supplied Ayana's requested glass of water and took their food orders. As soon as the waitress was out of earshot again, Joelle said, “You never asked how you came to be adopted.” “Because I never cared,” Ayana replied, frowning. “What do you mean they've found me? Who's they?” “I don't know,” said Joelle. “I never pushed her for answers. Maybe I should have.” “Her? Her who? Mum, you are not making any sense.” Joelle leaned forwards and pitched her voice low so that it barely carried to Ayana's side of the table, much less to any of their fellow diners. “Your mother. Your real one.” Ayana scowled. “You are my real mother. That's all I've ever cared about. You wanted me when she didn't.” “Oh, child.” Joelle sighed. “Life is never that simple, and you should know that by now.” She glanced down at the place setting before her. Then looked back up. To Ayana's surprise, there was the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “I always meant to tell you this story. Once you grew old enough. Somehow, though, time slipped away from us. Rob said it didn't matter. But...” She sighed again. “I think it does.” The conversation lapsed again as the waitress brought their food. Ayana forked through her salad with a growing feeling of unease while Joelle merely glanced at her linguine and didn't even go so far as to pick up her fork. “I knew her as Tanya—your mother. Whether that was her real name or not, I don't know. Looking back, I think it probably wasn't. I know she wasn't English,

but I never thought to ask where she was from. She and I, we worked together for a little while at the British Library. She came to trust me, at least a little, and one night she told me her story. She'd escaped an abusive relationship and she'd been trying to get back on her feet only to find she was pregnant.” “With me,” said Ayana softly. “With you, yes. You were born early, but you were so perfect. She stayed with me for a few months after you arrived—she needed the extra help and I was happy for the company. This was all long before I met Rob, you understand?” Ayana nodded. Acid had begun to bubble in the pit of her stomach. “She's dead, isn't she?” Joelle sighed. “No. Or at least, she wasn't. You I get postcards, every now and then?” For a moment, Ayana didn't understand the relevance. Then the full import dawned on her and a wave of betrayal fuelled a sudden burst of anger. “You've been in with her all my life!” “And if you'd ever expressed a desire to know her, I would have told you.” “I still haven't and yet you're telling me now.” Ayana dropped her fork and pushed her chair back. “I think I should—” “Sit,” said Joelle in a tone of voice that had Ayana's spine straightening of its own volition. Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Eat.” Despite her anger, Ayana found herself chewing a mouthful of salad. “You can be as angry as you like, but I'm not having you waste good food.” Ayana glowered at her mother and deliberately stabbed a slice of tomato. Joelle actually smiled faintly at that. For a few minutes, there was silence between them as they both ate but for all her strictures on not wasting food, Joelle set her fork down again after only a couple of mouthfuls. “You were, I think, about six months old, when Tanya told me he had found her.

I had taken you out so that she could rest, so I don't know exactly what had happened, but when I got back, she was packing. She was terrified. For her and for you. She'd been going to simply leave, without a trace, leaving you with me. She thought then that he didn't know about you and thought that her leaving would keep you safe. And, I think, it did. For a while.” “For a while?” “Your accident,” said Joelle. “Your father will always tell you that it was just that: a freak accident. But I am not so sure.” Unwillingly curious, Ayana asked, “What do you mean?” “You don't that day, do you?” Ayana shook her head. “It was our first big holiday as a family. We were in Cairo—we were due to depart on a Nile cruise that evening—and we were taking a last chance to visit the Cairo Museum. You were entranced by one of the street stalls. The vendor was dressed in a long robe, with a turban and scarf, so from where I was, I couldn't see anything of their face. They gave you a golden scarab to look at. There was a flash of light and then the stall seemed to vanish, the tour bus hit you...” Ayana swallowed. She'd never heard Joelle speak so much about that fateful afternoon. Looking up, she saw more tears in her mother's eyes. These, she couldn't blink back. Instead she dabbed at her eyes ineffectually with a tissue. “So long ago,” Joelle muttered. “And yet it still feels like yesterday.” “Is everything all right with your meals?” The waitress' return was timely. Seeing her mother struggling for a response, Ayana mustered a smile. “Oh yes; fine. Thank you.” The waitress looked dubious but moved away all the same. Once she was gone, Ayana said, “I still have that scarab.” “Not for the want of trying,” said Joelle. “I've tried to get rid of it, but it seems to have a life and mind of its own.” Ayana stared at her mother. “You realise you sound ridiculous?”

At that, Joelle managed a smile. “I am not unaware.” The smile faded. “In the aftermath, I didn't give what I'd seen much thought. I assumed it was a figment of my imagination. Truthfully, I'm still not sure I believe what I saw. But the last postcard I had from Tanya, four weeks ago, contained the coded warning she and I dreamed up the night she left. It came from Cairo. Since your father and Caroline were travelling there, I asked Caroline to look into it.” Ayana shivered. “You haven't heard anything from her, either.” It wasn't a question, but Joelle shook her head all the same. “Not for several weeks. She told me she'd found something she would follow up. Then nothing more.” “Is Dad okay?” “Yes. He came back yesterday—Caroline told him she was going to take some personal days and had changed her return flight.” Joelle frowned. “Eat, child.” Mechanically, Ayana did as she was told. Trying to process everything she'd been told and failing miserably. When had her life turned into some sort of spy thriller? “Until he arrived back, I knew nothing of her plans. By what he knows, she should have returned earlier this week, so I do not know what to think. Except to think that Tanya's warning wasn't just for me, but for you. I thought keeping you safe meant not telling you unless you asked, and even then only telling you what Tanya wanted.” Joelle's mouth thinned into a grimace. “Now, I'm not so sure.” Ayana heard the unspoken corollary. “You mean after this morning.” “One thing that Tanya told me before she left: if it feels wrong, it is wrong.” Ayana frowned as she forked the last slice of cucumber. As her mother gave voice to that philosophy, she realised that she could feel something wrong. It was a vague feeling, insubstantial and impossible to pin down, but it was there. Considering it more, she realised she'd been aware of the feeling since the summer, though she'd dismissed it then as anxiety about starting University so much older than the other first years. Or as the natural anxiety of moving out into the world with all her quirks. Heck, it could even have been as a result of those quirks.

She now knew it wasn't. Joelle was nodding. “Let those be your watch-words, Ayana. If it feels wrong, it is wrong. Trust yourself.” Ayana sipped her water. “Mum... what was she like?” Joelle smiled. “She was a lot like you: strong-willed, determined and brave. I wish you had been able to know her. I think you would like her.” The conversation finally moved on to less fraught topics. With her warning given and story told, Joelle seemed a little lighter than Ayana had ever known her and for perhaps the first time found herself relating to her mother on more of an even footing. They spent the afternoon meandering around the Covent Garden shops and stalls. Although it was busy, people were on the whole happy to be out and about, and as the darkness started to fall, the Covent Garden Christmas lights made the whole area look festive. “Are you staying in Knightsbridge or heading home tonight?” Ayana asked. “Oh, staying in Knightsbridge,” said Joelle. “I'm far too old for arriving home after midnight.” “You're not old, mum,” Ayana objected. Joelle laughed. “Nice of you to say.” “I mean it.” A surge of fear made Ayana wrap her arms around Joelle in a tight hug. “I want you to be safe. Promise me.” “Oh, child.” Joelle smoothed her hand down Ayana's spine. “I will be as safe as I know how. Now, perhaps we should get some hot chocolate and then you should probably head back to Cambridge.” Reluctantly, Ayana released her mother and allowed her to draw her to a booth selling some truly decadent looking hot chocolates. After purchasing the drinks, Joelle led the way into the Covent Garden tube

station. They parted, with a promise of text messages once they arrived at their respective destinations, and Joelle went towards the westbound platform while Ayana headed for the eastbound. She reached King's Cross with the minimum of issue and discovered, to her delight, that the next train to Cambridge was in less than half an hour. She ducked into Hotel Chocolat to pick up some gooey caramels for Becky and then made straight for her platform. Settling into a seat on the train, she pulled out her notebook. The dreams needed to be noted down, but even as she started to make her notes about what she'd seen, she experienced a nagging sensation. Her birth mother had been in Cairo. Caroline had gone missing in Egypt. Her own life had been severely interrupted there. Why did so much of her life seem to connect there?

––––––––

When she made her way into the little supermarket adjacent to the station, Ayana was still chewing over the day's revelations. While the ones relating to her birth mother and the accident seemed to be overwhelming, one or two of the dream ones showed a little more promise. Perhaps Becky was right and she should ask Isla about the Sons of Set—a quick internet search on her phone had turned up nothing, but that proved little. She leaned over to select a bunch of bananas from the tiny produce display, then stepped back and almost into the person behind her. Off balance, she tottered and would have fallen but for a hand steadying her. “Sorry about that.” The voice was familiar enough it distracted her from the sudden scent of old linen and desert rain. She turned: her would-be victim and rescuer was the Starbucks server she saw most Sundays. She blinked, surprised to see him away from his normal location, and chagrined to have once more literally bumped into him. Before she could quite censor it, she blurted, “Barista Boy!”

He looked amused by the mode of address. “Nick,” he said. “Though Barista Boy does have a certain ring to it.” Ayana clapped a hand to her face and groaned. “I am so sorry.” He chuckled. “It's fine. As long as you're okay?” “Mortified, again, but at least I didn't quite make the hat-trick and I'm not lying in the fruit rack, so...” She lowered her hand and shook her head. “I should have been paying more attention. Sorry.” “Really, I probably should have been paying more attention too. Call it even?” “Deal.” He nodded and leaned in to pick up a net of lemons. “See you later.” Ayana watched him walk away, up the aisle towards the cooked meats. Those black jeans and leather jacket did look good on him. Far better than that green apron, at least. She smirked and made a mental note to share that particular observation with Becky later. The smirk slowly faded. The clothing combination, like the impression of scent, tugged at her memory, but whatever it all meant eluded her. Sighing, she turned her attention back to her shopping. It was getting late and she really should be back at college soon—before Becky or someone else decided they needed to send out a search party. A few minutes later, newly purchased groceries stashed in her backpack, Ayana debated the best way to get back to college. After the events in Covent Garden and with her mother's warning ringing in her ears, she wanted to reject the idea of walking, but by this point in the evening, the buses were infrequent and there didn't appear to be a taxi to be had. If she wanted to get back to college before ten PM, a walk it would have to be. It wasn't a long walk, and the lighting for most of the way was good, but she tried to concentrate on her surroundings more than her own thoughts all the same. Just in case. As a result, she quickly became aware of footsteps behind her, apparently following. Turning, she was surprised to see Nick coming up behind her. She stopped beneath the next street light and waited.

“I swear, I'm not following you,” he said with his hands raised in surrender, as if sensing her scrutiny. “You're going in the same direction I am and walking behind me,” Ayana pointed out dryly. “That sounds a lot like following to me.” Nick opened and shut his mouth a couple of times. “Okay, that's fair,” he agreed. “Would it help you if I said I'm walking to the park and ride car park?” “Isn't part of the deal that you ride the bus to the car park?” “I just missed the bus.” He looked slightly sheepish. “It's twenty minutes until the next one and I figured it would be quicker to just walk.” Ayana considered that for a moment. If he'd already covered the distance from the station to the park and ride stop and then back to this point, he was probably right. “Then, if we're going in the same direction, at least have the decency to walk next to me.” “Less creepy that way?” “Much.” She wasn't going to mention that it didn't actually feel creepy at all. She knew it ought to be weird, but her intuition or whatever it was her mother had urged her to listen to that afternoon appeared to be quite happy. They walked on in silence for a few minutes, Nick kindly adjusting his speed so she didn't feel like she was trotting, then he said, “So what made you decide to come to Cambridge?” “What makes you think I'm not a local?” Ayana demanded, bridling at the assumption. “Well, you arrived in town on move-in weekend, as far as I can see, and you have enough of a Welsh accent to make me think you're not a native East Anglian.” “Given away by the accent,” she muttered with disgust. “Afraid so. So, why Cambridge?”

This time Ayana actually considered the question for a few moments. “Newnham College worked out my best choice and it's far enough away from home my parents can't just stop in.” “Over-protective?” “Just slightly.” Nick chuckled politely at that. “And how've you liked it so far?” “It's... quirky, but I like it.” Ayana smiled. “It's nice to be challenged.” They walked on for a few yards in silence. Then she asked, “And how about you?” “Me?” “Are you a native of Cambridge?” “Touché. No, I'm not. I'm here on furlough—a friend has loaned me a house so I could write the next great novel.” “And you're working in Starbucks because...?” “I still have to eat.” Ayana conceded that point and led the way into Coe Fen. The sudden absence of lighting made her obscurely glad she had Nick with her. “So you're really a writer?” she asked. “I'm really a doctor,” said Nick. “The writing thing... bit of a hobby really.” “Everyone has one, I suppose.” The lights of Newnham Road were just apparent through the skeletons of the fen's denuded trees, a sign that Ayana knew meant they were almost back to the college. Unconsciously, her pace picked up and by the time they came out onto the road-side pavement once more, she was a good five paces ahead. Off to her left, she heard an engine rev. Looking in that direction, she saw nothing amiss. A glance the other way also

showed no traffic, so she started to cross. There was a roar of engine. She turned, mid-stride, in time to be blinded by headlights on main beam. There was a squeal of tires. A breathtaking thud. And then, somehow, Ayana found herself on her back, on the far side of the road. Nick was crouching protectively over her while the car roared off into the distance.

Chapter 10

For a moment, Ayana could only stare in dumb shock as her brain thoroughly refused to comprehend what had just happened. “I won't ask if you're okay,” said Nick, his voice gentle. “Are you hurt?” Ayana could only stare at him. Her voice seemed to have gone on a hiatus, along with her general comprehension of events even as her heartbeat seemed to double and triple with the onrush of adrenaline. Fortunately, Nick seemed to get this and just waited patiently, crouching beside her. Eventually her heart began to slow and things started to slide into clarity: she'd been crossing the road, Nick a few paces behind. A car had been waiting for her and had launched from a standing start, straight at her. The part she still couldn't make sense of was quite how she'd landed here, on the far side of the road. She was winded and lying on her back in a sticky mess of broken eggs and squashed banana, but she was otherwise apparently unharmed. Quite how a man who'd been behind her had suddenly been able to tackle her out of the path of a speeding car she wasn't sure. She also wasn't going to ask. “I think,” she said hesitantly, “I am okay.” Nick nodded and gently helped her up into a sitting position. The movement identified a few scrapes and a bruised elbow, but it was when he went to help her back to her feet that they discovered the main consequence. “My knee!” Unable to place weight on her left leg, she started to sag back towards the ground until Nick wrapped his arms around her and held her up. “Okay, easy,” he murmured. “I won't let you fall.” She wobbled for a moment more, then finally managed to balance. “May I?” He gestured towards her knee.

“You really are a doctor?” He gave a huff of slightly embarrassed laughter and looked sheepish. “Really am, yes. I've been working for Medicines Sans Frontiers in Syria.” “Hence the furlough.” “I needed the break.” He shrugged. “May I?” “Sure.” He crouched down and gently ran his fingers over her knee a couple of times. “I can't feel anything out of place. Might be a sprain but more likely just badly bruised.” He looked up, expression still sheepish. “Sorry about that.” “I think it beats the alternative,” said Ayana with a shudder. Nick got back to his feet and looped his arm around her shoulders. “Still... Rest it, ice it and if it swells or gets worse, go to A and E.” He paused. “Is there someone you can call to meet you at the door? I don't know how far you've got to go from the entrance, but I'm betting it would be easier with a bit of .” As they had now set off Ayana couldn't disagree. Even with Nick's , walking was tricky, though better than she'd initially feared. She pulled out her phone and sent Becky a quick message, knowing that her college mother would be at the porter's entrance, no questions asked—though there'd probably be an inquisition later! A few minutes later, sure enough, Becky met them at the porter's entrance. Her expression told Ayana that she looked considerably worse than she felt—and considering how badly she felt, that really was saying something. “Thanks for getting her here,” said Becky to Nick. “I'll make sure she's okay.” Nick nodded. “Not a problem. And : rest, ice and if it gets worse—” “Accident and Emergency is a thing,” said Becky with a grin. “Been there once today already.” At that remarkable statement, Nick did a double-take, then shook his head and

stepped away. “See you later,” he called. Becky tucked her arm around Ayana's shoulders and gently manoeuvred her through the building and into their shared kitchen and then down onto a convenient chair. “So was that Barista Boy bringing you home?” she asked with a deliberately light tone. Despite how much she hurt, it made Ayana laugh. “His name's Nick, apparently. Though he says Barista Boy has a ring to it.” “That's nice—wait, what?” Becky stabbed the kettle's switch to start it boiling. “He knows about that?” “He does now,” Ayana itted. “Oh, do tell,” said Becky with a salacious grin. So Ayana did, starting with the unconventional meeting in Sainsbury's and ending with the incident near Coe Fen. Becky punctuated the tale with a freshly made cup of tea, but otherwise said nothing until Ayana had wound down. “Well that's one way to end your fun day in London... you did have a good time?” “Bit of a mixed bag,” Ayana itted with a yawn. As the last of the adrenaline ebbed away, she found she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. “Tell you tomorrow?” Becky nodded. “Of course. But, you're okay, right? Bit scraped up, but nothing broken?” “Only the box of eggs and the bananas I bought.” Then a new thought crossed her mind. “He had no lemons.” Becky regarded her a moment, head cocked to one side. “I'm sure that made perfect sense somewhere, but wherever that is, it's not in this kitchen.” “Nick. We bumped into each other in Sainsbury's first. He was buying lemons but... where were his lemons?”

Becky giggled a little at the phrasing. “Could have been in his jacket pocket, or maybe he bought them for someone else and dropped them off before heading for the park and ride. You must be really shaken up for that to be the thing you're fixed on.” Ayana felt a little silly for having made a fuss about so inconsequential a detail and yet: out of everything, it was the one thing that felt wrong. She frowned, then shook her head. Becky was right about it being a stupid thing to worry about. Maybe the best thing she could do was have a hot shower and an early night. “Of course,” said Becky, “there is another reason for no lemons.” “Which is?” “He likes you and decided an evening stroll with you was better than a bag of citrus fruit.” Ayana stared for a moment, wondering if she was now so tired she was hallucinating. “That's absurd.” “Is it, though?” Becky smirked. “I mean, I've seen the looks he gives you when you go into Starbucks.” “You're being ridiculous. It's probably to make sure I'm going nowhere near the counter in case I throw more coffee at him. And you were probably right before, about the lemons being in his pocket or something.” Becky grinned. “Perhaps.” She stood up and held her hand out to Ayana. “C'mon. I'll help you along to your room. Ellie and Kat were going to go on a takeaway run. I'll see if I can get them to add something in for you.” Ayana accepted the help, but said, “I think I'll give the takeaway a miss. I'm not sure I can keep my eyes open long enough to eat.” Becky frowned with disapproval. “You should eat something.” “Tell you what; I've got some cup-a-soup in my cupboard. Will that satisfy you?” At that, Becky smiled. “That works. You get comfy; I'll go make it for you. Not

even I can ruin a cup-a-soup.” Ayana laughed. Becky disappeared to do just that, while Ayana hobbled around her room, sorting her stuff out. Her backpack went into the sink to be dealt with later and then she sat to start peeling off her jeans. As she dropped them, she realised they landed with more of a thump than they should have done. Picking them up again, she checked the pockets and found her golden scarab in one of them. Ayana frowned. She was sure it had been in her jewellery box when she'd left that morning. Her mother was right, the wretched thing really did have a mind of its own. With a sigh, Ayana put it back in the jewellery box and then hauled on her pyjamas, just as Becky returned with two steaming mugs. “Hot chocolate and chicken soup,” the younger girl said, answering the unspoken question. “Is something sugary your answer to everything?” Ayana asked, amused. “Pretty much.” Becky grinned, unrepentant. She set the mugs down on the table and then turned to leave. “Text me if you want anything else; otherwise, I hope you can get a good night's sleep.”

––––––––

Sunday dawned bright and sunny, which was distinctly contrary to Ayana's state of mind. While she'd dreamed no more about Egypt, the incidents from the day before had been a recurring motif, which left her feeling jaded and sore. She flopped back against her pillows with a forearm pressed against her eyes. She was going to have to try and get up. If this was a normal Sunday, Becky would soon be knocking to see if she wanted to go for a run and, while this wasn't a normal Sunday, Ayana was certain Becky would be checking up on her any minute. As if cued, there was a knock on her door and then Becky called, “We're doing

brunch—you in?” “Brunch?” Ayana frowned, then looked at her phone and realised that while she hadn't slept well, she had slept long. “Uh...” There was a chuckle from the other side of the door. “Tell you what. us when you're ready. I'll make sure your coffee's just how you like it.” Ayana heard Becky walk away. She wondered who the 'we' was and decided the best way to find out was probably to get changed and them. Getting out of bed, however, proved to be a challenge as every part of her that wasn't bruised was stiff. Hobbling, she made her way to the small sink and splashed some water on her face, then riffled through the small store of assorted necessaries for her painkillers and arnica cream. They wouldn't fix her assorted injuries, but between them and a hot shower, she'd probably feel a bit more human. Twenty minutes later, Ayana limped her way into the kitchen. Becky was holding court with the usual crowd. Becky waved her over, even as she said, “So that's how I added Norwich A&E to my list of hospitals I've visited. At least this time I wasn't the patient.” Ayana gave her college mother a look. “It sounds as if you had at least as interesting a day yesterday as I did.” “You don't know the half of it,” said Kat with a grin. “Did you at least win?” “Five-nil,” said Becky with a grin. “So it wasn't all bad. How're you feeling?” “Better now than when I woke up.” Ayana itted. “What happened?” Nicole asked. “We,” said Becky, “bumped into Barista Boy over the lemons in Sainsbury's.” By this point in the term everyone had come to hear about her two run-ins with Nick and the nickname Becky had bestowed on him. Ayana sat down, face in

hands. “How am I ever going to set foot in Starbucks again now he knows that idiotic name?” The rest of the group made generally sympathetic noises. “It'll be fine. He got to play hero for you, so it's all good,” said Becky soothingly. “You watch. Your next Americano will be on the house just for turning up whole.” “He is so sweet on her,” said Kat with a chuckle. “What happened? What did I miss?” asked Chloe. Ayana was content to sit back and let Becky tell the story of her evening, but as she listened, her mind once more drifted to the other events from the previous day. Her mother's warning. The events at the tube station. The night before, she'd tried to rationalise it all as just one big coincidence, but in the cold light of day, with bruises throbbing even under the arnica cream, it wasn't so easy to reject the obvious conclusion: someone was trying to scare her, or kill her. Why? But there she had no clues. She might have been tempted to assume it was something to do with her father's business dealings. Robin van de Merwe was a highly successful businessman, but Ayana knew enough about his business dealings to know that they hadn't always been as legal as they could have been. So far as she knew, though, that was all far in the distant past. From the time before he moved to England and long before he met Joelle Haynes and her adopted toddler daughter. Why would it come back to bite him now? It made no sense, particularly when she took Joelle's warnings into . On the other hand, targeting a twenty-four-year-old first-year undergraduate seemed to be the stuff of absolute fantasy. Unless— “Earth to Ayana?” Ayana started, blinked and then stared at Ellie, who was waving her hand in front of Ayana's face to try and attract her attention. “What? What did I miss?” “About twenty minutes and three attempts to ask how you found London,” said Nicole, frowning. “You are okay, aren't you? You didn't hit your head last night?”

“I'm fine. And no, that's the one bit of me that doesn't hurt,” Ayana answered. “Sorry.” She sighed. “Just thinking about an essay I need to write today.” It hadn't been the source of her preoccupation, but even as she said it she ed she did have work to deal with. As an excuse, of course, it ed muster and drew groans from the rest of the gathering, presumably as they recalled their own workloads. “You had to say the 'e' word,” Becky moaned in mock pain. Ayana smiled faintly. “Sorry. Sometimes I show my age.” “You're only as old as you feel,” Ellie retorted. “No-one is that old.” “Well,” said Kat, “now I've been reminded, I'm heading for the library. Anyone coming with me?” “I need to,” said Nicole. “Not me. You don't need a library for maths,” said Chloe with a grin that was remarkable for the degree of smugness it demonstrated. “No, you just need to be certifiable,” Kat retorted. Chloe poked her tongue out at Kat, who grimaced back. “What about you, Ayana? Library?” “I went on Friday and made my notes.” Kat and Nicole bid their goodbyes, with Chloe and Ellie following on a moment later, Chloe pausing only to get a refill on her coffee. That left Becky and Ayana at the table. Ayana was uncomfortably away that the younger girl was giving her a look of close scrutiny. “You are okay, aren't you?” Becky asked. “I am sore, but even my knee isn't as bad I thought it might be. I'm fine.”

Becky looked dubious for a moment more. “Something tells me it wasn't just last night.” “It wasn't, but I'm not sure I want to talk about it here,” Ayana itted. “Let's just say things got really weird.” “Coming from you, that is a terrifying prospect,” said Becky. “Do you want to talk?” “Maybe in a bit. I think I'm still processing.” “All right. I'll stop by your room later. I'll bring snacks.” Ayana smiled faintly. “You'll need them.” “In the meantime, fun times with Anglo-Saxon verbs await me. What's your essay about?” “An act of parliament.” “So you also get to have fun times with Anglo-Saxon verbs, just without the punctuation.” “Something like that.” The two of them left the kitchen and parted at Ayana's doorway. Becky, by virtue of being a second year, had a room upstairs, so with a cheery wave, she headed up, while Ayana headed into her room. As she sat down at her desk, her eyes fell on the golden scarab. Her mother was right: the thing definitely had a mind of its own. She was sure she'd put it away, in her jewellery case, and yet, there it was, sitting on her desk again. She reached out, intending to pick it up and put it away. “Osiris, Lord of the Living, if you can hear me, help me,” he murmured, arm pressed against the wound that was slowly but surely killing him. “Help me complete my duty.” He forced himself to keep moving, even though his vision was tunnelling. There was no other option. He vaguely felt the presence of another at his left shoulder. Distantly saw a

second shadow his own. “You called me,” said a voice. “I came.” A chill ran the length of his spine and he didn't quite dare to look. “Lord of the Living. Please... grant me the life I need to complete my duty.” There was a rumble of something akin to laughter. “A dangerous request, mortal. Particularly for one who waters the desert roses with his own blood. What makes you think I should help him who has turned from me?” He coughed and pain lanced through the wound. “Not him. His son. In danger.” He coughed again. “Let me save him and I will serve you until the end of my days.” That garnered more amusement. “There is a price for such a boon, a price you may find difficult to pay. But I know your heart is true, your skill is great and your will is mighty.” There was a moment of pause. “I will grant you this boon. Save the renegade's son. See that he is brought up with a full understanding of the truths of life. At the time of my choosing, I shall claim my payment.” Before he could say anything more, a hand yanked hard on the arrow shaft, pulling it free. He screamed at the sudden spike in pain and perhaps even blacked out for a moment or two. When his vision cleared, to his surprise, he found he was standing on the approach to the king's new capital. His robes were clean of blood and though there was a dull ache in his side, there was no wound remaining and even as he noticed it, the ache was fading. The questions of how and of why would wait. He had sworn an oath and he would uphold it. So he hurried forwards, into the new city. At this hour of the day, at just about the midpoint of the day, all would be gathered in the central square for the Aten's daily blessing. All eyes would be on the king and his family, who would all be there. Even the young prince. It would be the perfect moment to strike. He broke into a run. As he neared the square, he could hear the beginnings of the ceremony. And then suddenly, he was there. He could see the square, packed with celebrants, as

ordered. At the far side of the square, the royal family were all on show on a balcony above the crowd. His eyes focussed on the young prince, in the arms of his wet nurse. All looked well. And then he spotted the would-be assassin. Standing off to the side, in the shadows. Dressed as a servant, the woman didn't look out of place and yet she was. He knew her as one of the Sons of Set. A woman who'd rabble roused for them and who, he thought, had met her death in the wilds of the great Nile delta. He ran, weaving a path through the fringes of the crowd, eyes fixed on the woman as she inched closer to the prince. He was still too far away. The closer he got, the thicker the crowd. The woman pulled a knife from the sash about her waist. From somewhere he found one last burst of speed. Twisting and squirming through the crowd, causing angry shouts and disrupting the ceremony. “Who dares—” the king began. “Protect your son!” He managed to find the breath to shout the warning, even as he reached the front of the crowd and made a leap for the balcony. As he hauled himself up, the would-be assassin's eyes widened at the sight and she started to back away. “Stop her!” He rolled up to his feet as other palace guards stepped up to block the would-be assassin's exit. “Your ambush failed, your plot is finished. You will not harm one hair upon that boy's head while I draw breath.” And he drew his own dagger and held it to the point of her chin. The woman scowled. “What is going on?” The question came not from the king but the queen. “This woman is an assassin,” he answered. “She intended to kill the royal prince.” The queen nodded once. “Is this true?” she asked of the woman. The woman's scowl deepened. “The Medjai does not lie.” She spat in the queen's direction. “I would kill you all if I could.” The queen's mien didn't change. “Then it is as well for the royal family that our Medjai are as brave, true and loyal as you are faithless.” To the palace guards, she simply nodded, and they roughly hauled the failed assassin away. “And you,

Medjai, have earned our deepest gratitude. Please, refresh yourself—I would speak to you once the ceremony is complete.”

––––––––

A door slam, somewhere in the building made Ayana jerk back in surprise. From the general dimming of the light coming in through the window, she realised that she'd somehow lost a good chunk of the afternoon thanks to that... what? Vision? It was a continuation of what she'd seen on the train the day before, she was fairly sure, and yet this time, she'd been awake the whole time. What did it mean? Was she about to have some sort of nervous breakdown? For just a moment, a hysterical bubble of laughter threatened to spill out. She swallowed it back. It wasn't funny. Ayana leaned forward, propped her head in her hands and groaned. For just a moment, she wished that she'd remained in Tenby on the estate, with Caroline and her parents. Except, would things be any different there? She supposed not. There was a knock on her door and Becky called, “Up for a chat?” Ayana regarded that damn golden scarab for a moment, then nodded. “C'mon in.”

Chapter 11

Becky pushed the door open. “I come bearing—what the hell's happened now?” Ayana pushed a trembling hand through her hair. “Tell me you brought alcohol.” “I brought cookies. From the look on your face, I'd say the last thing you need is to get drunk.” Becky let the door close and took up a seat on the foot of Ayana's bed. “What happened? Your mum...?” “No; mum's fine.” Ayana paused. “As far as I know, at least. She's not due home for another hour.” That made Becky wince. “This was... something else.” Becky slit the packaging on the cookies and held them out. “I know you don't have much of a sweet tooth, but take a couple. I'm going to go get you a cup of coffee.” And before Ayana could object, Becky had disappeared. Left with little other option, she did help herself to a couple of cookies and was unsurprised to find they were chocolate chip. Becky really did have a sweet tooth, though in the moment there was something comforting about them. They reminded Ayana of home and safety, and above all, sanity. Becky returned with a mug of coffee and handed it over before perching on Ayana's bed. “Now,” she said, “what's happened?” Ayana sniffed at the coffee and sighed. “I think I'm going mad.” “That, I doubt.” “Try this: I'm now dreaming when I'm not even asleep.” Becky stared. “What?” Ayana sighed. “I was reaching for the scarab and then suddenly I was in the Egyptian desert, bleeding to death and...” She stopped. “And asking a favour from a God.” She rubbed her arms briskly as a chill overtook her. “No; that's wrong. Gods don't grant favours, they make bargains.” The words felt right, but

also felt as if they'd come from someone else. She shuddered. “Scarab?” Becky's question pulled her attention away from that disturbing sensation. As an answer, Ayana turned back to her desk and reached once more for the golden scarab that was still sitting in the middle of the table top. This time, to her relief, nothing happened and she was able to pick it up and show Becky. “I've had it since... well, since the accident.” She handed the figurine to Becky. “Huh.” Becky frowned at it, turning it over and around in her fingers. “Looks like any other tourist souvenir. Bit more expensive, but still...” She looked back up, her expression thoughtful. “Can I see your hand?” “My hand?” “Your left one.” Ayana flinched. “Why?” “Because...” Becky hesitated. “Because I think this made the scar.” “It can't have done. It... Robin told me they found it in my pocket. He... they said the scar was from debris.” And yet there was something in Becky's hesitant suggestion that made her peel off her customary glove and hold out her left hand, palm up. The scar wasn't a thing Ayana had spent a great deal of time looking at over the years. It was an ugly reminder of what had happened to her when she mostly wished to forget. Looking at it now was almost as if seeing it for the first time. Its lines were an angry red and it was itching fiercely, but it did indeed resemble the vague shape of the scarab. For emphasis, Becky displayed the scarab next to it. “It looks an almost perfect match.” Becky paused. “How? You were ten at the time.” Ayana shrugged and pulled her glove back on. “I don't know. I don't understand any of this.” She sighed. “And there's more.”

Becky handed back the scarab and Ayana set it back onto the desk. “More?” Before she could think better of it, Ayana launched into an abbreviated description of her trip to London, of Covent Garden and of the conversation over lunch. Becky winced. “You're thinking last night relates to all that, aren't you?” “I can't see how it doesn't. And none of it makes any damn sense.” Ayana glanced down at her left hand. “Unless it is something to do with Robin.” “Okay, that's twice you've mentioned Robin: who is he?” Becky asked. “He's my mother's husband and probably the closest thing I know to a father. He and my mother met when I was a toddler, I think. I don't really . The trip to Egypt was our first family holiday.” Becky winced. “Ouch.” “It's funny,” Ayana continued, frowning. “I used to actually think of him as my father, but since I've been here that's... faded.” She felt no differently about her mother; why was Robin different? “Okay, that is weird.” Ayana gave her college mother a look. “Really? This is the point you decide this is weird?” The younger girl grinned. “The rest could just be an overactive imagination.” She held a hand up as if to silence Ayana's brewing objection. “I know it's not, but it could be. Feelings fading; that's definitely different.” Her grin faded into sombreness. “I... have a friend. He's someone with connections to the Elsehere... I suppose technically he's a friend of my parents but... anyway. The point is: he knows more about this sort of weirdness and dreams than I do. I... think you should maybe talk to him.” Ayana wrinkled her nose. “I'm not sure about talking to a stranger.” “Then let me. I can at least ask him if he's heard about anything being up. Anything that might give you a clue.”

That sat rather better in Ayana's mind and she nodded. “That sounds like the best bet.” “Then we'll call it a plan. And in the meantime, maybe don't leave college without being part of a group.” Ayana thought back to the first day of Freshers' Week and the bald guy she'd been so viscerally afraid of. Had he been a part of this? She shivered. “Good point.” “And now, what you need, is an evening of fun,” Becky continued. “There's a quiz night in the JCR. You, me and Isla are entering.” “But—” “Not taking no for an answer,” said Becky briskly. “If you sit in here all evening, you're just going to worry yourself to death. So: how's your knowledge of daytime soaps?” And much as Ayana wanted to argue with her, Becky was quite the force of nature when she wanted to be, and before she knew it she was seated in the JCR with Isla and Becky, taking part in the monthly trivia quiz. Their team performance was not particularly good—though they did avoid the ignominy of finishing last—but it was fun and later, lying in bed, Ayana itted Becky had been right. She had needed it.

––––––––

Nick lay on the couch, trying to resist the temptation to send Becky a message asking after Ayana. Neither of them had shown up in Starbucks that morning, and while he wasn't entirely surprised, it did leave him wondering if Ayana was okay. He thought that he might get away with it, with Becky, on the grounds that he had been the one helping Ayana back to college. Then again, by now she'd also know what had happened and he was fairly sure that sharp young woman would

have put two and two together and he really didn't want to do anything that might confirm any suspicions Becky now had. What he really needed to do was get a handle on what Papis wanted—or what Papis' boss wanted, perhaps more importantly. If he could find that out, he could put a stop to it and let Ayana have her university studies in peace. At that moment, his phone started to ring. Picking it up, he wasn't surprised to see his caller was Jonno. Nick connected the call and said, “Took you long enough.” Jonno snorted. “Your pickpocketing victim's name is Markos Tzolis. He was easy to find. He flew in from Athens a week ago. On the same flight were a couple of other known Greek thugs. Sounds like a crew building up.” “There were three of them, yesterday,” Nick agreed. “Though if that was the extent of their plan, it wasn't very good.” “Opportunistic stuff never is.” “Anything on Papis?” “Yes and probably no.” Jonno sighed. “I found a rental agreement in his name, some utility bills, that kind of thing, but I'm guessing you already know about that.” Nick grimaced. “Yeah. I found that the old-fashioned way: tailed him to it.” “In which case, answer's nothing you don't already know. The man's a nearenough ghost, which means he's got a powerful friend or two and has skills as well.” “What about Adamos—the other alias.” “I can trace him, in Larnaca, but it's definitely an alias. The real Adamos died eighteen months ago. I'd say that port's a one-trip get away document rather than an established identity.” Nick thought about that for a few moments, then nodded. “Makes sense.”

“I did find one really interesting thing, though,” said Jonno. “Oh?” “One of the bills I found was for Papis' phone use. There was a number on there, jumped right out at me.” Nick frowned. “What do you mean?” “It's a burner phone. Last time I saw it in phone records, it had called for your basic pepperoni pizza to be delivered to a hotel in Athens.” Nick stared at his phone for a moment. “What?” “Papis is talking with the mystery third party from what went down with you and Nita in Athens. And doing it on the regular.” “Can you trace them?” “Tried. As far as I can tell, the burner's only switched on when Papis calls. Maybe for a minute or two before hand, and then it's turned off right after. And Papis' calls aren't long.” Jonno paused. “There's no connection I can see between your girl and Nita.” Nick was silent for a long moment. “Are you saying Papis is here because of me?” “Unclear,” Jonno itted after a long pause. “You got to Cambridge before him, that much I do know, and it's pretty clear there is someone after Ayana van der Merwe. How it all fits together... that's a toughie.” There was another long pause. “Something else you should know.” Nick wasn't sure he wanted to hear this. “Go on.” “Your dream problem. I've been looking at some of Aretas' writings.” Nick frowned, now positive he didn't want to hear it. “He was a superstitious lunatic.” “He was also a pretty good observer of human nature,” Jonno retorted. “You

aren't the first to have dreams. According to Aretas, Livia suffered from them, from time to time. What I've got doesn't say what she dreamed about, but Aretas makes it clear it was a warning that allowed her to stop an assassination attempt. With everything going on that suggests there's some kind of tie to what went down in Athens—” “—you think I should take the hint and be prepared.” “Reckon it can't hurt.” The conversation ended and Nick went to set down his phone, only for it to buzz with an email from no lesser person than Becky, but the subject line made his heart sink. It read, simply, Something weird He opened it. To his general surprise, the content was not the accusation he was half-expecting. Instead it was a cagey question about weird things happening and strange dreams. That part actually made him laugh, although it wasn't really funny. He sent back a quick reply to Becky to say he would look into it and if he found any good answers he'd let her know, then set his phone down. Finding a good answer seemed to be the furthest thing from likely.

––––––––

In lieu of any better idea, Ayana returned to researching the contents of her dreams while she waited for Becky's friend to come back with a proper answer. Between the dream on the train and the waking nightmare, she had a little more to go on: some sort of heresy was the political backdrop. That much was clear. Helpful, even, as a cursory search suggested there was one period during the New Kingdom that would fit with her dreams: the Amarna period. It meant that at long last she knew the when of what was going on. Unfortunately, that just led to a rabbit hole of conspiracies and outlandish concepts, not a single theory of which suggested any information about Nakht-ankh, his importance, or why he should have been haunting her dreams for more than two months.

It felt futile. It didn't help Ayana's state of mind that there was still no reply from Caroline— either directly to her, or to her mother. Becky did what she could to cheer her up, but the younger girl had her own academics and the hockey club to deal with too, which meant she wasn't around much of the time. And to add to Ayana's vague feelings of paranoia, she felt as if she were being watched on any occasion she set foot outside the college gates. She could never spot anyone, but the sensation made her skin crawl and she ventured out less and less as the week progressed. About the only mercy was that after the waking nightmare, the dreams that punctuated her sleep were of a more domestic nature. No further blood, death or battle. Just scenes where Nakht-ankh taught a young boy (was it really a young Tutankhamun?) how to use a bow and then, later, showed him something of life in Memphis. As Friday evening drew in, Ayana found herself cornered by Ellie, Kat and Chloe as she was on her way back from yet another trawl through the library, arms full of books. “You need a break,” said Chloe with an air of decision. “You've been practically hiding in the library when you've not been in class.” “I need—” “A break,” said Kat. “No arguments. C'mon. Get your coat. There's live music at La Raza and they do some great cocktails.” Ayana vaguely thought she ought to put up more of a fight against going out, but on the other hand it would be with a whole group of people and she was aware a sort of cabin fever had begun to set in. She definitely needed to do something. “What sort of live music?” “Two Girls and a Guitar,” said Ellie. “So folk and country.” That wasn't normally her style of music, but it would be a change. She sighed and gave in. “All right. When?” “Get your coat,” Kat repeated. “We're heading out now. Another group's already

gone and there's another taxi on its way for the last stragglers. You don't want to be late.” Ayana offered up a smile. “Be right with you.” She headed into her room and dropped the armload of books on her bed. She briefly considered getting dressed up for the evening and then shook her head. Her jeans and shirt were smart enough and La Raza didn't operate a dress code. Instead, she grabbed her jacket, checked that her phone case had her debit card and ID still tucked in and that the phone had at least a bit of charge. That done, she headed out to catch up with her friends, pausing only to lock the door behind her.

Chapter 12

The night was exactly as Ellie had billed. The music was good and the cocktails were far better than she'd anticipated, and it felt good, just for an hour or two, to forget about her worries—even her university course—and just relax. It felt almost as if a ten-pound weight had lifted. In fact, the only oddity to the evening was the man lurking near the bar. Ayana only glimpsed him once or twice but she had the unsettling feeling she ought to recognise him. His build; his mode of dress; it was all faintly familiar but she couldn't link it to anything of substance, and in the end she tried to dismiss him from her mind. She really didn't need any more mysteries. “Told you you needed the break,” said Chloe breaking across Ayana's thoughts. The younger girl was wearing an expression of justifiable smug satisfaction. Ayana scowled half-heartedly and idly poked the ice in what was left of the virgin blood orange mojito she'd been drinking. “All right. Perhaps this week I did need this.” “You totally needed it,” said Kat with some severity. “I know this is Cambridge and we're all utter overachievers, but we can't work at that pace all the time.” Ayana raised her hands in surrender. “All right. I promise to be more social.” “Good.” Chloe stood, tottering a little. “Are you getting the taxi back with us?” Ayana hesitated a beat, then shook her head. “I think I'm going to walk. It's not so late, not far and I haven't seen the Christmas lights.” Chloe seemed to accept this reasoning. Kat, who'd clearly had far less alcohol frowned. “That's not a good idea. Walking alone. One of us should go with you, at least.”

That brought back her promise to Becky that she wouldn't leave the college alone. Ayana opened her mouth to it Kat had a point, only for a feeling of inexplicable dread to wash over her. For a moment, reality seemed to ripple around her and she saw outcomes. Every single one suggested she was in trouble, but the one where she left the club alone seemed to be the one that offered the best outcome of a bad selection. All the rest, whether she left on foot or left by taxi, suggested her friends would be in the path of whatever the oncoming storm would prove to be. Taking note that Kat, Chloe and Ellie were engaging in a rather vehement debate and consequently paying her no attention, Ayana quietly made her way to the door of the club and then out into the chill of a late November evening. The sense of doom that had wrapped itself around her like a cloak was still there, but she knew her friends would be safe now. To further distance herself, she deliberately set off in the opposite direction and then ducked into an alley. Choosing routes at random, she hoped to steer whatever was coming away from innocent bystanders. At the same time, she felt very much as if she were walking straight into the trap that had been set for her. Tugging her coat tighter around herself, as if to ward off the approaching disaster, she quickened her pace. She heard a sound above her. She looked up in time to see a man leaping down into the alley from the roof of the building to her left. There was a whirl of sand and linen, leather and cologne and Ayana found herself being almost slammed against the wall by his landing. His hands went to her shoulders, forcing her down. Ayana opened her mouth to scream... ...and in that moment came the gunfire. Rapid. Terrifying. Ayana knew the unseen shooters were there for her, wanted her dead. She wanted to scream, wanted to run, but the man pressed up against her kept her still and silent. Protecting her. She heard him grunt some bitten off curse: once, then again and again. Had they hit him? And there was silence.

“Come on; they're reloading.” A distant part of Ayana's mind ed that she knew the voice but she didn't bother to stop and pin down who the man was. She just followed his lead. Out of the alley and onto Sidney Street, opposite Chapel Court. Here there were a few more people around and now Ayana felt instinctively safer just for their presence. Or was it the man she was with, making her feel safer? He kept her moving. Down Sidney Street. Towards the bigger shops. The medical centre. More people. Never moving faster than a brisk walk, but never slowing either. “My college—” she ventured. “They'll be looking for you there,” came the response. “We're going somewhere else. We—” He stopped, feet stuttering in a trip. “Oh, we are in trouble.” A bubble of purely hysterical laughter floated up Ayana's throat at the entirely matter-of-fact observation. “Now we're in trouble?” “They...” He stumbled again. Swore in an unfamiliar language. Then thrust a mobile phone into her hands. “Keep moving. Code to the phone is... is 18-0401.” He stumbled again and now instead of him holding her, Ayana found she was keeping him upright. “Address. Key code. s. Under... under...” The last of his strength gave out and Ayana found herself ing a complete dead weight. She stumbled and nearly fell before she managed to brace his unconscious body, the effort setting still-healing bruises to shrieking with fresh outrage. It was clear they weren't going to be going anywhere too far. Looking around for the first time in what felt like forever, Ayana couldn't see her attackers. In fact, it didn't seem as if there was anyone paying any attention to them, which she took to be a good thing. Up ahead, only a blessed few yards away, was a taxi rank. Whispering a quick thank you to a god she wasn't sure she believed in, she set off in that direction. The driver of the lead cab, bless him and all his works, saw her and came over to help. “Too much to drink?” he asked.

“Something like that.” “I'll take you but if he pukes...” “I know. I can pay.” The cab driver helped her to pour her saviour into the back seat of the car and for the first time Ayana got a good look at him, but if she thought that was going to enlighten her as to his identity, she was let down. It was too dark in the back of the cab to make out more than a faint air of familiarity. “Where're you going, love?” the cab driver asked. “Oh, uh...” Ayana gathered her scattered wits and for the first time looked at the phone he'd given her, miraculously still in her hand. She fumbled the code and then stared helplessly at the s list. He'd ed out before he could tell her which she needed, and there was nothing so helpfully named as 'home'. In fact, most of them s seemed to be coded in some way. “Uh...” Then her eyes fell on an entry entitled Bes. That was a word she'd come across in her reading. A god of the home from ancient Egypt. Tapping it, she found an address and an access code. Hoping this was the correct information, she showed the address to the cab driver. The driver nodded. “Right you are.” They pulled away and Ayana settled back into her seat. Just who was her saviour? What was she mixed up in? Belatedly, she thought to check his back for bullet wounds. A quick check revealed suspicious holes in his leather jacket, although in the poorly lit back of a black cab she couldn't tell how bad they were. In fact, about all she could really tell was that he was still breathing. Maybe, when they reached their destination, she'd get some answers. Then again, maybe he'd still be unconscious.

––––––––

“Here we are, love,” called the cab driver. Ayana shook herself out of the stupor she'd fallen into and peered out of the window. They appeared to have stopped somewhere in the countryside outside Cambridge, at the gate of a large and, by all outward appearances, expensive estate. The gates were closed, with a keypad for entry. The price showing on the taxi's meter indicated they'd been travelling more than an hour. Ayana used her debit card to pay, giving the driver a decent sized tip into the bargain, if only because he hadn't asked questions and had allowed an unconscious enger in the back of his cab. She was well aware that not all taxi drivers would have done so. The driver gave her a look through the rear-view mirror. “You need a hand with your mate?” Ayana eyed her companion. “No, I can manage. I think.” She climbed out of the taxi and checked the phone for the gate code. It was the same as the phone's lock code, which was convenient for her, though surely not so good for general safety. She frowned, then shrugged and turned her attention to her companion. Now that she wasn't in the first flash of panic and shock, she took note that he wasn't as heavy as she'd first imagined, though he was considerably taller—no surprise there. “You sure you can manage?” The cab driver had climbed out of the car, probably wondering why she was taking so long to get her 'drunk' friend out of his taxi. “It's fine.” Ayana quirked a small, hopefully reassuring smile. “I'm stronger than I look.” “Still and all...” The cab driver frowned, then shook his head. “At least let me help you to get him to the gate. You've got the code for that, right?” Ayana nodded. It seemed silly, in a night where so much weirdness had already occurred, to object to a little further help, she supposed. So she trotted across and punched in the gate code. It was only when the gate motor started to whine to draw the gate open that she released a breath. It was the right place after all.

That was something. A moment later and the cab driver had half-carried half-dragged her unconscious companion over to the gate. There was a moment of awkwardness while they sorted out how to transfer custody of the body and then Ayana got herself balanced. It was going to be hard work dragging him up to the house, but it would be doable. “Got keys?” the driver asked. “Yes, it's fine.” Ayana lied through her teeth. “Thank you.” “Right you are.” And this time, as Ayana started up the path, the driver got back into his car and started back for Cambridge. Five or six paces up the driveway, there was a noise behind her. Ayana yelped and half turned before she realised it was just the gate starting to shut. She shook her head ruefully. “I hope you hid your keys under a plant pot,” she muttered. Ten steps later, she lowered her charge to the doorstep and studied the door. To her relief, the door's lock was a smart one, which meant the phone was the key. It took a couple of attempts to enter the codes in the right order but eventually the lock flashed a green light, there was a click and she was able to open the door. The next challenge was getting her unconscious companion up over the threshold and into the house. That proved to be tricky; her arms were tiring and the injuries from the weekend before were beginning to hamper her movements, particularly the knee she'd bruised. Somehow she managed to drag him into the house, only then to hesitate: just where did you put unconscious bodies that might or might not have been shot? Ayana shook her head at the stray thought. This whole thing was absurd. She settled on getting him into the nearest room and then up onto the couch in a position that was half on his side, half on his front. She busied herself with shutting the front door, turning on some lights and beginning a search for the first aid kit and something to drink. In her head she could hear a voice from some distant memory advocating that 'something' should be a good brandy, or at least a bad rum, but she dismissed the idea of alcohol out

of hand. Whatever was going on, she felt she ought to retain as many wits about her as she could. Though that turned out to be a moot point: there was no alcohol present in the house in any form. Her search for the first aid kit also came up short. There didn't seem to be so much as an aspirin in the house. In fact, it appeared that her companion was only using two rooms on the ground floor: the living room, where she'd left him on the couch, and the kitchen. The rest of the ground floor rooms were littered with dust sheet covered boxes. Upstairs was little different. Just one room with obvious signs of use—a bedroom—and a solitary towel hanging in the bathroom. Feeling vaguely voyeuristic, she abstracted a clean t-shirt from the pathetic pile of clothing in the bedroom and grabbed the washcloth from the bathroom before heading back to the living room. Lacking a first aid kit or, she had to it, much in the way of first aid knowledge in general, she wasn't sure there was much more she could do for him, but there was a vague thought that getting him out of the ruined clothing and into something clean might make him feel better. Ayana shook her head at herself. Undressing a stranger? She wondered what her mother would have to say about it and decided that Joelle would probably be giving her a certain 'look' for not getting on with it. Crouching beside the sofa, she studied what she could see of his back and took note of the close grouping of holes in the jacket. They were at about the midpoint of his back and should have been fatal, she was sure. And yet, here he was, still breathing. How? Ayana managed to remove the ruined jacket without too much trouble, but that just revealed his shirt. If she'd had any doubts that he had actually been hit, the amount drying blood crusting around each hole and soaking through the rest of the back of his shirt cleared that up. The wounds had been serious. Yet once she managed to remove the shirt all she could see was a few spots of drying blood and unblemished skin. There wasn't even the faintest mark or bruise. It was impossible. Wasn't it? She used the washcloth to clean off what she could see. The thought that there ought to be more blood to clean crossed her mind but in the current situation she decided that was not her most pressing conundrum. Once that was done, she

went to dispose of the ruined clothing and things got weirder still. As she wadded up the remains of the shirt she felt something hard caught in the fabric. She fumbled through it until she found the source: a small, black pellet, no bigger than her fingernail. It could have been a piece of grit, except that as it dropped into the palm of her hand she felt a wave of malignant energy wash over her and she had to fight the urge to fling it away. She shivered. Whatever it was, her instincts clearly thought it was a threat. For a moment, she hesitated over what to do. Every inch of her said to get the object out of the house and as far away as possible. On the other hand, it also felt important. Significant. She might not know what it was, but she suspected her companion would, but only if she showed it to him. Ayana grimaced and settled for placing the object on the nearby coffee table before turning her attention back to her companion, who was still unconscious and still shirtless. Increasingly uncomfortable, Ayana somehow managed to get the clean t-shirt on and then withdrew to the far side of the room. She wrapped her arms around herself shivered. “Tea,” she muttered. “I should make some tea.” She thought she recalled seeing a kettle and a selection of teas in the kitchen, and the act of making tea would at least give her something to do, now she'd done all she could for her companion. Taking the remains of the jacket and shirt with her to dispose of, she headed back into the kitchen to see what she could rustle up. As she'd thought, there was a selection of tea on the counter top, next to the kettle. They all appeared to be herbal varieties, with at least three different types of mint, which struck her as odd. After dropping the ruined clothing in the kitchen bin, she selected one of the mint teas and set the kettle to boil before turning her attention to a hunt for a mug. Like the rest of the house, most of the cupboards were empty, but she eventually found a couple of mugs in a cupboard at the other end of the counter from the tea and kettle. She smiled wryly. She supposed her companion had his reasons, but the logic of the placement escaped her right then. As she stood up, mug in hand, her eyes fell on a distinctive green apron wadded up as if flung off in a hurry. For a moment, she felt faint. Her vision tunnelled and she thought she was about to out. The sound of the mug shattering on the hard tile floor as it slipped

from suddenly nerveless fingers broke the spell and brought with it a surge of pure rage. Nick. Barista Boy. He'd been at the performance earlier. He'd been the man she'd seen on the train. He'd been— The one who'd stopped her from falling down all those stairs at Covent Garden. The one who'd stopped her from being run over on the way back to college. He'd taken three bullets for her. “Bastard!” She wasn't sure who she was angry with: herself for not putting it all together or him for not telling her the truth. She should go. She should leave, go back to town, get back to college and forget this whole shitty incident. Except... The anger deflated as fast as it had come. He'd said they would be looking for her at college, whoever they were, and he was probably right about that part. The trip to the club wasn't something she'd planned, weeks in advance, so it followed that whoever was after her had, in fact, been waiting for her to do something out of her normal routine. Watching her, just as she'd suspected. She shuddered. Belatedly, she realised the kettle had boiled. Perhaps a cup of soothing mint tea would help her make sense of things. Perhaps. The next hour dragged by, so far as Ayana was concerned. While the tea helped to calm her adrenaline-shot nerves, it did little to make her feel better about the situation. At first she paced while her brain kept recycling through the same handful of points. On the one hand, Nick was quite clearly far more than he presented himself as, and had possibly been watching her, following her, almost stalking her—if she was right about his presence in London the previous weekend. On

the other hand, he had demonstrably saved her life at least twice. But that also meant he knew someone else was after her and hadn't warned her. And weirdest of all was the part where the red flags his apparent behaviour should have triggered... just weren't there. She felt safe in his presence. She realised she'd instinctively felt that way the very first time she'd spoken with him—the day she'd literally run into him outside of Starbucks—and that same feeling had come over her again, just recently, when they'd met in Sainsbury's. Clearly, though, that meeting hadn't been accidental. “Lemons,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. As time wore on, though, her pacing slowed and eventually, Ayana took up a seat in the living room, opposite Nick's unconscious form and as far away from that malignant object she'd found in his clothes as she could be. Watching and waiting and almost praying for him to finally wake up. At one point, she even started to doze, though that was terminated by the buzz of a text message arriving on Nick's phone. A quick glance made her feel oddly guilty for prying, but that also reminded her that her own phone had been strangely silent since she'd left La Raza. Surely someone had noticed she hadn't come home yet. Digging it out of her pocket, however, she discovered the answer: her battery had died at some point. No-one was going to be getting in touch with her that way until she could get some charge into it. She briefly wondered about looking for Nick's phone charger, even got as far as starting to stand up, and then realised the two phones were different makes. Ayana sighed. Of course they were. Nothing in her life was simple any more. So she sat back down and went back to waiting.

Chapter 13

Something close to panic drove Nick's return to consciousness. His head still pounded like it was being used as a football and his stomach still churned with nausea, but it took only a moment for him to realise it wasn't Athens all over again. He was face down, true, but not in an alley in Cambridge. He was on his couch. Warm. Clean. Safe. Was Ayana still with him, or had she left? A throat was cleared across the room. He shifted a little and managed to squint in that direction: there was Ayana. She looked tense and was probably both angry and scared, but she was blessedly whole and, for that, Nick would happily accept whatever was about to come his way. “You okay?” he rasped. Ayana snorted and shook her head. “I'm not the one who was shot three times. What are you?” The bald description made him wince all the same and he swallowed a couple of times to try and ease his dry throat. “Water, please.” Ayana clearly considered that request for a moment, then shrugged and headed for the kitchen. While she was out of the room, he made an effort to sit up. The last bits of healing in his back twinged at the action and it made the whole room spin, but he forced himself to remain upright. He thought back to the alley. He assumed Papis had been there. Had they been tailed out of Cambridge? Unlikely. Had Papis simply let them go? Possible. What was the play? “You look rough.” Nick started. He hadn't heard Ayana return. Glancing up, he accepted the glass of water and took a sip. “Atropine poisoning will do that to you. It's ing.” Ayana retook her seat. “So, again: what are you? Who are you? What's going on?”

Nick sipped some more water. “The short version is, there's someone after you. I'm not sure who, or why, but—” “But they want me dead or scared,” Ayana finished, propping her head on her hands. “I know. I also know, I think, that you're some sort of bodyguard.” “Some sort,” he agreed. He drained the glass and set it on the floor. “I was tasked with keeping you safe while you were at college. We thought this was something to do with your father, but I'm not so sure. Especially after tonight.” “Who asked and who is 'we'?” Nick sighed and slowly pushed to his feet testing out his balance a little further. The room was still inclined to sway, but at least it stopped spinning. “The who is complicated. It's a group of very powerful individuals who have your best interests at heart.” He smiled grimly. “Mostly, at least.” “Mostly? That's not really comforting.” “They'll want something in return.” “Gods do not grant favours, they make bargains,” said Ayana softly. Nick froze at words she couldn't possibly know. “Where did you hear that phrase?” She looked startled. “I... I don't know. It fits though, doesn't it?” “It does.” Nick tried to ignore the disconcerting nature of the conversation and moved on. “How long was I out?” “You ask that so casually. Like this is normal.” Nick rolled his shoulders and grimaced. “If this was normal, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” He sat down again and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Whoever it is knew I was out there tonight. You don't lace bullets with atropine to kill a mortal. It's overkill. Literally. It means they wanted me out of the way, to get to you. I'm guessing, since you're here, they didn't manage to tail you, us, out of Cambridge, but they must have something planned. Otherwise why bother?”

At that, Ayana noticeably paled. She lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the coffee table. “I found that, in your clothes.” Nick looked at the small black object and cursed briefly. “A tracker.” He looked back, his expression grim. “How long was I unconscious?” “About three hours, I think.” Nick pushed to his feet again, more urgency to his movements. “We need to go. Now.” “Go? Go where?” He opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by the high-pitched shriek of warning from the wards that had been set up in a ring around the house. To his surprise, he could see Ayana looking around, as if she could hear it too. Before he could say anything, she said, “That doesn't sound good.” “It isn't. We're out of time,” said Nick. “Can you take it on trust that I'm one of the good guys?” She looked both confused and resentful at the question. “Yes.” “Good. You've ridden a motorcycle before, right?” Ayana stared at him for a moment. “How—” She swallowed. “Later. Right. Yes.” “The coat cupboard, beside the kitchen. There's a jacket in there and a helmet. Grab them and head into the garage. The bike's fuelled and ready to go, keys are in the ignition. I'll you in a moment.” Ayana stood and started out of the living room, then paused and turned back. “Are you all right to drive? You still don't look well.” Nick smiled faintly. “I'm not driving. You are.” “I—but—you—I—” “Look, you're right. If we had another hour, things would be different, but we

don't. We need to leave. Whoever it is, they're still more than a mile out. It's not much of a lead, but it's enough, if we go now.” Ayana swallowed. “One of us is crazy,” she muttered. “I'm just not sure who.” Nick snorted. He wished he could disagree with that assessment. Instead he headed for the stairs to grab a new jacket and his laptop.

––––––––

With Nick heading unsteadily upstairs, Ayana made for the coat cupboard where, just as described, was a motorcycle jacket and helmet. The jacket was clearly sized for Nick, which was reinforced when she pulled it on and found it absolutely swamped her. It would, however, be better than nothing. She tucked both her phone and Nick's into one of the jacket pockets and firmly fastened it closed, then picked up the helmet and headed into the garage. This was the one space she hadn't investigated earlier, though it came as no surprise to find that it was largely empty aside from the bike. She eyed that with now small amount of apprehension. It was much bigger than the one Caroline had taught her on and more powerful, too. This was utter madness. There came another shriek of alarm and a moment later Nick appeared. He looked better than he had even five minutes earlier. With a new leather jacket on and a small backpack, he looked ready to go. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Back towards Cambridge.” Nick thought for a moment. “Aim for Fen Dutton. Once we're clear, we can figure out what happens next.” Ayana nodded hesitantly, well aware she had only the vaguest idea of where Fen Dutton was located.

Yet another shriek of warning sounded. “Okay, they're half a mile out now,” said Nick. “I think that means they're on foot, so that should give us a bit more help. We good to go?” Ayana swallowed nervously, nodded and pulled on the helmet. She was gratified to find it was a reasonable, if not perfect, fit. Climbing onto the motorbike, however, was as bad as she'd feared. Not for the first time in her life she wished she'd been blessed with just an inch or two more of height. Nick winced. “This was not in the plan.” “Good to know there was one,” Ayana muttered, balancing on the tips of her toes. She managed to get the bike started at the second attempt and started to walk it to the now open garage door where Nick was pressing the gate control. “Ready?” “Sure.” Ayana hoped her voice sounded more confident than she felt. Given Nick's reassuring smile, she thought she might have been successful there. He swung his leg over the back of the bike and the additional weight and sudden, overwhelming impression of linen and sand made her senses swim. Ayana struggled, fighting against the imbalance on both a physical and mental level. And then a thought that wasn't her own forced its way to the forefront of her mind. Be like sand. The words were accompanied by an image of a sand dune; solid and yet shifting. For a moment, she was confused, and then she understood. She forced herself to relax and finally things steadied, allowing Nick to get properly positioned. “Okay,” Nick's voice was now roughly at her ear level, “stay as low as you can. I'll cover you as much as I can, in case they start shooting again.” Ayana gulped. Caroline's teaching hadn't involved people armed with automatic weapons. She revved the engine once and started to pull away, moving slowly at first. Behind them came one final warning shriek. Ahead of them Ayana saw the first signs of the intruders. Men, dressed in head-to-toe black, nearly invisible in the

darkness. All armed. Without hesitation, Ayana accelerated. With a roar of the bike's engine, they shot past the first couple of intruders and out through the gate and onto the road before the others had a chance to bring their guns to bear. As the bike fishtailed under her, Ayana got a quick look at a big van just rolling to a stop behind them. She gunned the bike and took off. In the mirrors, she could see the van following, its headlights set to main beam to dazzle her. Ayana swore to herself and tried to focus on the road ahead. They were now travelling at speeds that were ill-advised on winding country roads, but the van was showing no signs of slowing. At the next opportunity, Ayana took a side turning, throwing the bike into the turn so fast she thought they'd wipe out, but somehow they remained just about upright. The only sign Nick gave of his thoughts was a tightening of his grip. There followed more tight, high speed turns, taking them onto progressively narrower and narrower lanes. The van stuck with them, but the narrowing widths was forcing them to slow. And then they came to a downed tree. Ayana had barely a moment to swerve around the obstacle. Somehow, she made it. The van did not: there was a loud crunch as van met tree. In her mirrors, the lights dimmed as at least one bulb blew through the force of the impact. Then the bike rounded a curve and the van and its occupants disappeared from view. After a couple of miles, she risked dropping their speed from insane to merely stupid and attempted to find a main road. When she found it, after a few more turns taken almost at random, she was pleasantly surprised to find they were almost immediately ing a sign saying 'Welcome to Fen Dutton'. How they'd made it, Ayana didn't care to work out. Instead, she pulled into the deserted car park of the village pub, rolled to a gentle stop and cut the ignition. Only then did she realise she was starting to shake with a mixture of adrenaline and relief which robbed her of the ability to balance the too-big bike. For long seconds, she thought they'd both fall. Then, somehow, Nick was in front of her, holding the handlebars and keeping her upright.

“You're okay. You did great and bought us more time. You can let go now.” “Don't patronise me!” Ayana spat. “Not my intention. There's no upside to that and plenty of downside.” At that, Ayana let out a breath. “Sorry.” At that, Nick shook his head. “Not necessary.” He smiled faintly. “It's been a long evening and it's not like it's going to get any less weird from here.” “That sounds ominous,” Ayana muttered, but the normality of the exchange helped to lessen the trembling and she slowly released her grip. “So what happens now?” she asked. “Do you have a mobile phone—your own, I mean.” She nodded. “Is it on?” “The battery died before all this started.” “Good. Keep it that way for now. You can't be tracked if it's not turned on.” “What about yours?” “It needs to be turned off too, but I need something from it, first.” He held his hand out. Ayana dug into her pockets and eventually pulled out his phone and handed it over. She watched as he unlocked it, saw the text message and winced. “Problem?” “Not exactly.” He typed a quick reply, then powered the phone down and, to Ayana's surprise, popped the battery out. “There are ways you can turn on a phone that's been switched off.” “But not if the battery is dead?” “No.” He put his phone and its battery into his backpack. “Do you have a credit card or a bank card with you?” “Bank card.”

“At the next ATM, before Cambridge, I want you to draw out some money. Enough that you can buy a tank of petrol, some food and drink.” “Won't they track that?” “They'll try. It won't get them far.” Nick smiled briefly. “It's not like this is London, with a camera on every corner.” Ayana nodded. “Once that's done, we'll head back into Cambridge. We'll get you a change of clothes, then head out for somewhere safe to hide out and figure out our real next move.”

––––––––

The last place Ayana had ever expected to be in Cambridge was the back office of the local Starbucks. But here she was. The space was claustrophobic and not a little dark, with shelves filled with takeaway cups lining two walls, but it was also, as Nick had said, private; and with the shop not due to open until seven am, no-one else was using it. It still made Ayana feel as if it was a space she shouldn't be in, but it was also probably the safest place for her to wait while Nick accomplished... something. He'd been suspiciously vague about what he was actually going to do, but after being awake for nearing twenty-four hours, Ayana didn't really have the strength to press for more information. So she waited. She fell into a light doze, only to be jerked awake by the unmistakable sound of the outer door being opened. As Nick had locked it behind him when he'd left, Ayana felt a shot of pure adrenaline flood her system again. Was it someone come to start work early? Nick returning? Or something more sinister. Wildly she looked around for somewhere, anywhere, to hide, but there was

nowhere in this tiny little room. And then its door opened and Ayana realised that, while the new arrival wasn't Nick, it was still a friendly face. “Becky? What—” Ayana stopped as she recognised the bag slung over Becky's shoulders. “Is that my bag? How?” “Someone taught me lock picking when I was a teenager,” Becky answered as if that was the most normal revelation going. “Lucky for you.” “What?” Becky waved the question off and perched on the corner of the desk. “It's a long story and I don't think you have the time for it.” “What are you doing here?” “I... need to tell you something.” Ayana waited for Becky to continue. “Nick. Barista Boy. He's the friend I was getting in with.” “You've known him this whole time?” Becky bit her lip and nodded. “So you know, knew, something was up?” Ayana couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Becky hissed out a sigh. “Yes and no. He warned me there might be weird stuff going to happen, but he didn't tell me you were the reason he was here. He wanted me to be careful and keep my eyes open, but he never asked me anything about you—not last Sunday morning, after someone tried to run you over. I only put it all together last night. “ Ayana stared for a few moments, trying to comprehend her friend’s words. “You... spied on me?” Becky shook her head vehemently. “No.” She sighed. “Maybe inadvertently. I did tell him about your trip to London—I'd been going to invite you to Norwich. Given what you told me about what happened in Covent Garden tube station, maybe that worked out for the best. I did also mention something about La Raza.”

“That's how he knew to be there,” Ayana muttered. “Afraid so. Sorry.” Becky looked uncomfortable. “Apart from that and the email you know about, the only thing I've said to him about you was a panicky text last night, when you didn't come back to college with the rest of the gang.” For few moments Ayana considered what her friend had said and finally nodded. As much as it felt like yet another betrayal she could understand her friend's predicament. She offered a faint smile and said, “So you're Heka?” Becky frowned. “What?” “I saw a text come into his phone but as at least half his address book's in code it didn't mean anything. You're Heka.” “Huh.” Becky blinked. “I'll have to ask him about that. Later.” She shook her head. “He got in touch an hour ago, asked me to pack you a bag and to try and figure out a way of your leaving college without it raising any issues.” “So you picked the lock on my door.” The younger girl shrugged apologetically. “I wasn't sure what else to do.” She handed over the bag. “There's some clean clothes, your wash bag and the scarab. Actually I didn't have to pack that; it was already in the bag.” Becky looked up. “You did say it had a mind of its own.” “To be honest, I half expected it to be in my pocket already.” “I've also put your dream notebook in there. Maybe Nick can help you make sense of what's been going on.” “I hate riddles.” Ayana sighed. “And yet somehow, that seems to be what my life has turned into. Thank you.” Becky offered a sympathetic smile. “I would say 'anytime', but I think this is probably a one-time deal.” Ayana shuddered. “I hope it is.” She swallowed. “What are you going to tell the college?”

“That your mother rang late last night, saying your father was sick. You left in a hurry.” Becky shrugged a bit. “It's the only thing I can think of that will keep them off your back for a little while. Though it won't work forever.” Ayana nodded slowly. “It makes sense at least.” “There's one last thing,” Becky continued. “Oh?” “Nick. You can trust him. He really is one of the good people out there. He...” Becky sighed. “I don't know the whole story, but he came into my family's life in the 1940s. I know,” she added, “that sounds insane.” “Actually that sounds less insane than you'd think,” said Ayana dryly, recalling once more the trio of wounds she'd seen. Becky smiled briefly. “Right. He said you'd had some trouble.” “Whatever else maybe true about him, he can certainly make an understatement.” Becky snorted and tried to muffle her giggles. Ayana smiled in return. “Do you know his whole story?” Becky shook her head, her giggles dying away. “Only that it's long. A lot longer than he's known my family. You can trust him.” “I know.” Ayana sighed. “I do. I don't know why, but I do.” “Because he's Nick,” said Becky simply. “He said he'd be waiting for you across the road.” “Do you know where he's taking me?” Becky shook her head. “It's probably better I don't know. Then I don't have to lie.” Ayana grimaced. She hoped the only questions that came Becky's way would be from the college authorities. The alternative was something she didn't want to

contemplate. They both stood and for a moment there was hesitation, then Becky wrapped her arms tightly around Ayana's shoulders. “Be safe,” she whispered. “You too,” Ayana answered. They parted, Becky leaving first, though not before handing off Nick's keys. Ayana waited another five minutes, then followed the path her friend had taken, out into the still dark and now drizzly morning. She locked the door and turned to see Nick and the bike almost instantly, in the shadows of the alley opposite. Looking left and right, Ayana hurried across to meet him. He offered a smile in welcome. She scowled at him. “You had Becky spy on me.” Nick winced. “I did not have Becky spy on you. I asked her to keep an eye out for weird stuff happening and to be safe. I didn't tell her anything about you and she didn't tell me anything about you that you're not already aware of.” “The email. And London.” Ayana paused. “It was you on the train, wasn't it? And at Covent Garden.” Nick had the grace to look sheepish. “I'm clearly out of practice.” “Or I'm observant.” “Life was so much simpler when being arrested for stalking was less of a possibility.” At that, Ayana snorted and mustered a smile. “I would imagine so.” Nick's answering glare was half-hearted at best. “We should get going. We've got a long ride ahead of us and I want us to be well out of East Anglia before we stop.” “Where is it we're going?” she asked, as he handed over her helmet. “It's a cottage, in North Yorkshire. Well off the beaten track. We'll be safe

enough there to plan our next move.” He produced a second helmet and went to pull it on. “Where did you—on second thoughts, perhaps I don't want to know,” Ayana muttered. “We'll be travelling by the back roads,” Nick pointed out. “We need to attract as little attention as possible, and a motorcyclist without a helmet is practically asking to be noticed.” Ayana winced. “Sorry.” Nick shrugged. “I hate improvising and it's not like any of this is normal for you. You're allowed to have questions.” He sighed. “When we get there, you can ask me anything. I'll answer.” “I'll hold you to that.” Ayana pulled on her helmet then paused. “I assume you're driving this time?” “As I know the way, I'd better,” Nick answered. He'd already pulled his helmet on so she couldn't see his full expression, but from the twinkle in his eyes, she thought he was smiling. “Let's go.”

Chapter 14

The court had been back in Memphis for perhaps three weeks when he started seeing the shadow. Never solid in form; never there the moment he turned his head; always just a couple of paces behind. A reminder that his days drew short. The time Osiris had given him was almost at a conclusion. For a week he pretended he couldn't see it. For a week more he tried to ignore both it and the other subtle signs, like the plans being made for a new temple to Osiris or a bigger-than-usual Nile flood. By the third week, however, he'd begun to make his peace. A vow was a vow. On his final day, he said careful goodbyes to those who'd note his disappearance. Most would assume simply that he'd been sent out by the queen on some pretext or other and that would be fine, but there were one or two people at court who needed to know he wouldn't be back. The very last of these was the prince himself—hardest of all because the boy was growing to be a man he could ire and his one regret was knowing he wouldn't see how he would flourish when the kingship was ed to him. As night finally fell, he made his way to the small temple of Osiris. At this late hour, the priests had gone and only the guttering fires from the day's offerings showed any indication of activity. He entered the complex, knelt before the altar and waited. He hadn't been waiting long when he felt a distinct presence behind him sending a chill down his spine. He straightened, tipped his head back to better bare his throat, closed his eyes and waited for the sting of a blade he was sure was only moments away. Those moments stretched out and then there was a chuckle. “I do not want your death, mortal.” Footsteps followed and a moment later, as he reopened his eyes, Osiris appeared before him. Skin as black as the Nile flood soil, the Lord of the Living was almost

invisible in the temple's dim light and yet all the more imposing for it. he tried to suppress the shiver of fear and failed. Being in the presence of a god was hard enough, but being face to face made even a Medjai quail. Mortals were not meant to look upon their gods. “It is your life I want.” “My... life?” The question was barely more than a whisper. “You vowed to serve me until the end of your days. I have need of a servant to walk this earth, doing my work. Helping those in need. Saving those who cannot save themselves. Acting as a bane to those who would work against me and my laws. Serve as my Medjai.” It wasn't phrased as a question, but he knew it was one. There was a choice to be made. Decline and Osiris would reap his soul in payment of the debt owed. Accept and transfer his life's duty from the king on earth to the one supreme. “Time grows short,” Osiris rumbled. “I must have an answer before the dawn begins to pale the sky. s must be settled.” He swallowed. While it was a genuine choice, for him it was no choice at all. “I swore to you that day in the desert. I swear to you now. I pledge my life to you. For as long as it lasts.” Osiris let out a chuckle. It was a more sinister sound than before and there was just long enough for he to think he might have made a grave mistake before the god's hands came down onto his shoulders. The touch burned. He reflexively tried to pull away, but the hold was tight, freezing him to the spot even as the flames spread out from his shoulders, consuming him. He screamed as the pain grew...

––––––––

“Wake up!”

Ayana's eyes flew open and found not an Egyptian temple but a cramped hotel room and, more to the point, realised she wasn't being incinerated by the touch of a god. Instead, it was Nick's hand on her shoulder, though he withdrew, seeing her eyes were now open. “What was that?” Nick asked, sitting back down in the room's solitary chair. “A... nightmare, I think.” Ayana swallowed and slowly wriggled her way up the bed until she was sitting up. Before she could even ask, Nick was offering her a glass of water. “Thanks.” “Some nightmare,” Nick commented, his expression revealing that he was almost as shaken by it as she'd been. Ayana shuddered and sipped the water. It helped pull her more fully back to reality. They'd stopped for lunch at a little roadside pub somewhere on the coast, east of Boston. She wasn't entirely sure. She thought Nick would have preferred to continue after the meal, but he'd changed his mind when she'd nearly fallen asleep in her soup. Fortunately, the pub also did lodgings. Nick had been able to get a room and had decided that they were probably far enough away from Cambridge that they could risk at least a few hours delay. Ayana realised she barely ed climbing the stairs. “Do you want to talk about it?” Nick asked. Ayana sighed. “I'm not sure it will make sense. It's... I think it's part of a sequence of dreams I've been having... the ones Becky emailed you about.” “She emailed me but didn't exactly tell me much. What are they about?” Ayana sighed. “That is just it: I'm not sure.” “Maybe stick to what I woke you from, then.” Ayana nodded. She took a moment to choose the right words. “It started with a boy as a king-in-waiting, walking with a limp. A temple. A presence. Gods don't grant favours, they make bargains. It ended with flames.” She grimaced. “It's all jumbling up in my head as I try to speak.” She looked back at Nick and realised his face was even paler than it had been when he'd been unconscious the night

before. “What?” “The boy was Tutankhamun,” he said softly. It was confirmation of everything she'd worked out and yet it was still a surprise, not least for the implications. “You? You are the... the Medjai?” “I was.” “That's...” Ayana shivered. She wanted to say it was impossible, but it wasn't. Becky's comments about her family's history with Nick. The constant impression of sand and linen. Her own sense of truth and certainty. They all came together to say it wasn't impossible; that the evidence for it being true was sitting right before her. “How?” “I made a bargain with a god,” said Nick softly. Silence fell between them, punctuated only by the distant sound of bird calls. Ayana didn't know what to say, and it seemed neither did Nick. His expression suggested he was moving back and forth between nervousness and embarrassment. “I was stupid.” The words were still soft, but they made Ayana start with surprise. “The bargain wasn't worth it—he died young. Never achieved what he might have done.” “But was it, really?” Ayana retorted. “You did save him when you could. How many others since? Do none of them matter?” Nick winced. “I didn't mean it that way.” He sighed. “Anyone I've helped. Protected. Served or fought for. They've all been important. I know that, up here.” He tapped the side of his head. Then he tapped his heart. “But in here, all I are the ones I couldn't help.” It was Ayana's turn to wince. “Sorry.” She would have said more, but she felt the short hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “We have to go. Now.” She half expected Nick to argue, but he didn't. Instead, he started to swiftly gather their belongings, while she stiffly climbed off the bed and found shoes she didn't removing. As he worked, he said, “You feel it too?”

“That someone has just done a cha-cha class across my grave?” Nick quirked a smile despite the situation as he hauled his backpack back onto his back. “Not sure I'd have put it quite like that, but yes.” Ayana hauled on the too-big bike jacket and picked up her helmet. “Yes.” Then the implications hit her. “It's not just me?” Nick shook his head. “Definitely not just you.” He cracked the door open and checked the hallway beyond. “Come on.” Ayana followed him out of the room and along to the stairs, but voices floating up from below warned them someone was coming. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted a fire escape door behind them. She tugged on his arm. “This way.” Now moving faster, Ayana led the way to the fire escape and pushed down on the bar, opening the door out onto a set of precarious metal stairs that ran down the outside of the building and into the largely empty car park. Of the vehicles there, nothing had changed since they'd parked a few hours earlier and a quick scan showed no-one waiting, so Ayana started to head down. She was aware Nick wasn't immediately behind her and looked up to see him closing the fire door gently. She raised her eyebrows. He put his finger to his lips and she realised whoever was coming for them was now in the hallway. He gestured down, with some urgency. Ayana started to run down the stairs. She was almost at the bottom, when Nick vaulted the rickety banister and landed with cat-like grace on the ground. “Show off,” she muttered. He shrugged apologetically as he jogged the remaining distance to the bike. Ayana just rolled her eyes and pulled her helmet on, following in his footsteps. From above them, there was a shout. It seemed someone had realised their escape. Nick offered up a curse and kicked the bike into life. “Get on and hang on tight,” he ordered. Ayana did as she was bidden and found they were moving almost before she was safely balanced, which was just as well as their pursuers had almost reached

them. She had a brief moment to see the face of one of their would-be attackers: dark hair, dark eyes, olive-toned skin; unremarkable save for the look of pure hatred. Then he was gone and they were burning up the road. The next half an hour was almost as terrifying as the flight from the house in Cambridge had been. The only thing that lessened it, so far as Ayana was concerned, was the fact she wasn't the one driving. The scenery sped by in a blur of sharp turns and twists as Nick put distance between them and their would-be attackers. He only slowed as the light dimmed and their path took them into a forest. Ayana had no idea where they were now. A few minutes later and they were rolling to a halt in another pub car park. “We're not stopping long,” he said. “I need to make a phone call. I think I'm going to need some help.” “How did they find us?” Ayana asked. Nick's expression was grim. “I don't know. Could have been luck. Could be they spotted the bike on a traffic camera. We'll be here for a little while, I need to make a couple of calls, so you might as well come in and have a comfortable seat and a drink.” That made Ayana smile faintly. “Sounds good to me.”

––––––––

Nick glanced around the bar, then grimaced as he spotted the payphone's location: on the bar, where anyone who happened to be present could casually eavesdrop. On the other hand, his other options were severely limited. Fortunately, it was early and the bar was empty save for Nick, Ayana, the barman and a couple of older gentlemen whose attention was firmly glued to the televised football match being shown on the big screen in the corner. Unfortunately, the barman was loitering behind the bar near to the phone, probably also watching the football. Nick sighed and wondered if the barman

could be convinced to find something to do at the other end of the bar instead. To his surprise, Ayana chose that moment to walk up to the bar to order her drink, pulling the barman in the desired direction. The timing was odd, but Nick certainly wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He picked up the phone and dialled Jonno. It took the Larrakia a few moments to answer, and when he did it was with a very cagey greeting that made Nick smile despite the situation. “I could offer to talk about the car accident you've had or to extend your vehicle warranty, if you want.” Jonno barked a laugh at that. “Already had both of those this evening; just waiting for Windows . What's up?” “I was calling to let you know we've rescheduled the family get-together.” There was a moment's pause, then Jonno said, “Things not going well, huh?” “We've had to move the location because of party crashers.” “Ouch.” “Think you can make tomorrow?” “I'll be there—and I'll bring the family albums with me. I've found a few twists to the family tree. Think I might have finally nailed it.” “Can't wait to see it,” Nick answered. “See you soon.” He hung up. Jonno had finally found something that explained this whole mess. Hopefully that meant there was also a solution. He debated for a moment, then checked his watch, then dialled a second number. This took much longer to connect, and when it did the recipient sounded cranky and answered with a stream of Tamil Nick had little hope of understanding. He hoped he'd not mis-ed the number. “Sita?” “I should have known.” The speaker sounded no less cranky but did drop into English. “Only you would manage to call me in the middle of training.”

Nick winced. “Are you booked for tomorrow?” There was a pause, and Sita's next words were less cranky and more worried. “No, it is a day off.” “In that case, maybe I could interest you in a side commission?” “I would certainly be interested in one of those. I assume I should bring all my tools, in case a full demonstration is needed?” “That would be best; I'm not sure what your audience will be yet—we'll be in the alternative venue.” “Understood. I will see you then.” Sita hung up and Nick set his own receiver down. He debated calling in another favour, but anyone else he could call was an international flight away. On the other hand, Sita would be a one-woman army and it was always possible this mess wouldn't need to be resolved with violence. He snorted at that and shook his head. He didn't believe that. The shootout in Cambridge told the tale there. He glanced around the bar once more and spotted Ayana sitting at a table in the corner, a drink in her hand, with a second collecting condensation on the table. He frowned for a moment, then realised she'd bought one for him as well. Nick wasn't sure how long it had been since anyone had extended that particular courtesy his way. He headed over and took up a seat. “Did you speak to... your friend?” she asked. “Friends,” Nick corrected. “They're going to meet us tomorrow. It sounds like Jonno's finally untangled what's going on.” Ayana sipped her drink and nodded. “That sounds positive.” “Hopefully.”

Ayana nodded. “And until then, we... what?” “Same as before. We head north. I hate improvising, but when all you have is bad choices, you have to pick the least bad option on the table and right now, that's the house in Yorkshire. It's warded and shielded far better than the house in Cambridge so we should be safe there.” “Should?” For answer, Nick shrugged. “I'd have said will, but then they somehow found us in Lincolnshire.” He picked up the drink on the table. “We'll get going soon. Take the pretty route to get there.” He swallowed a mouthful and then offered a faint smile. “Unless you've got any better ideas?” Ayana snorted into her own glass. “I know even less about what's going on than you do.”

––––––––

The rest of the ride north ed with far less drama. They stopped a few times, for either fuel or for what Nick referred to comfort breaks, and Ayana knew the route they took was circuitous, but it was also somewhat soothing. The British countryside bathed in the moonlight of a November near-full moon looked suitably strange and otherworldly, and somehow it seemed to fit the circumstances. The final leg of the journey was along a barely-paved, rutted track that appeared, so far as Ayana could tell, to lead into the middle of absolute nowhere. From the way Nick was swerving the bike, she got the sense that he was trying to avoid the worst of the potholes, but even with that she felt her bones were being shaken to jelly. And the track climbed up, and up and then suddenly they were at the top of a big ridge of land. From either side, Ayana could see the rest of the local country laid out beneath the waning moon and up ahead was the faint shadow of a hut. It was only when Nick parked the bike and switched the engine off that Ayana

realised they'd reached their destination. After the house in Cambridge, Ayana wasn't sure what she was expecting, but this rustic little dwelling on the high top of one of the moors certainly wasn't it. “Are you any good at lighting a fire?” Nick asked, as he wheeled the bike towards a small lean-to at the side of the building. Ayana glanced at him. “Fire?” “It's an old shepherd's hut,” came the explanation. “It doesn't have heating other than through the open hearth.” Ayana blinked. She hadn't realised there were places quite this primitive in England still. “What about lights?” “That'll depend on how much sun there's been recently.” Having secured the bike, Nick turned back to face her. “Otherwise it'll be candles until I can find the hurricane lamp.” “The what?” Not for the first time, Ayana wondered just what she'd been pulled into. “It's not as bad as that.” Nick unlocked the door. “C'mon in.” There must have been a reasonable amount of recent sun; as Nick pushed his way into the house, he flicked a light switch and a couple of bulbs lit up, allowing Ayana to take in her new surroundings. After a quick first glance, she decided that for all of the primitive features, she liked this house far more than the expensive property in Cambridge. This was clearly a lived-in home even allowing for the thick layer of dust that implied it had been a while since it had actually been occupied. As she took off her jacket and set down her helmet, she took the opportunity to survey her surroundings. It was a single room with a mezzanine sleeping platform. To the left was a kitchen area with an enormous old-fashioned stove, a sink, a couple of cupboards and a tiny fridge. A small table and a couple of chairs were pushed up against the wall to complete that side of the room. To the right, below the mezzanine, was the hearth with nooks on either side for, respectively, a couch and an enormous bookcase, while at the end of the couch was a steeply pitched ladder up to the mezzanine.

For a second, Ayana considered sneaking a look up there, but decided against it. From the little she could see, there probably wasn't much more up there than a mattress anyway. Instead, her attention was taken by the bookshelves. The bottom shelf appeared to be comprised entirely of big, leather-bound volumes with no identifying marks on their spines, but the next few shelves were stuffed full of fantasy and sci-fi paperbacks. Scanning through them, she saw books by Jules Verne and HG Wells; a copy of the Hobbit, dog-eared and clearly frequently read; several Robert Jordans; media tie-in books from at least half the major sci-fi and fantasy films of the last thirty years, plus plenty of books she couldn't identify because their titles were in languages and alphabets she couldn't read but whose covers seemed to indicate similar genres. It was an impressive library and, fleetingly, she thought Caroline might enjoy it. Further up and the shelf contents turned from books to leaflets, pamphlets and papers. These were much harder to identify because of the haphazard way they'd been stuffed onto the shelves but a few of them looked familiar all the same. At the very top of the bookshelves, just below the level of the mezzanine, was a shelf of things her mother referred to disionately as dust-catchers. None of them looked particularly valuable, but all of them looked old. One was a small statue of a cat, which she recognised as a particularly Egyptian design. Another was a small elephant that she thought might be a representation of the Hindu God Ganesh. At the back of the shelf, almost invisible in the gloaming, she could make out a rock with a brightly painted design of swirls and dots. Of the other items on the shelf, she recognised the shape of an owl and something that might have been a Roman amphora but for its miniscule size. The rest were items unfamiliar in both shape and form. “So, I'm thinking we should both get some sleep.” Ayana jerked out of the trance she'd fallen into. Spinning round, she found Nick was now behind her. Turning back, she saw the grate now had a roaring fire set. She turned to face him properly. “Sleep?” He looked amused. “You know, rest. The thing you'd usually be doing right now if your life hadn't taken a turn for the weird.” She rolled her eyes. “I know what sleep is.” And almost as if cued, she found

herself yawning. “Perhaps it is a good idea,” she itted. “So: we both get some sleep, then tomorrow we talk. I know you've got a lot of questions and frankly,” he itted, “after your nightmare earlier, so do I.” That made Ayana grimace at the reminder. “You're assuming I want to sleep after that.” “You might not want to, but you probably need to.” Nick shrugged, his expression sympathetic. The bulbs gave a flicker and then went out. “And I think that perhaps our decision's just been made for us.” Ayana grimaced but accepted his point. Nick brushed past her and shinned up the ladder to the sleeping platform. A moment later, a fleece bundle was tossed down, aimed roughly for the sofa. Amused, Ayana intercepted it before it could actually end up in the fire, and realised it was a bedding role. She set it down on the sofa as Nick climbed back down again. “Sofa or bed?” he asked. “I have no head for heights,” she itted. “And I really am not sure I'll sleep much.” She paused. “You're not much for chivalry.” Nick quirked a smile. “That sort of chivalry always struck me as stupid and sexist.” Ayana pursed her lips in an effort not to giggle. “Fair point.” “If you're happy with that, it works for me.” While Ayana unfolded the bedding and toed off her shoes, Nick dealt with the fire, then, after bidding a quiet good night, he shined back up the ladder. A few moments later, she heard the sounds of him laying down and then the cottage was silent apart from the soft sound of the wind outside. She sat for a while, watching the way the shadows played as the fire burned low. It had been a very long and strange couple of days and she sensed things weren't likely to get any less strange come the morning, but for the first time since

leaving the club she felt genuinely and completely safe. The fire burned lower still and the temperature in the cottage dropped. Ayana bundled herself up in the fleece blanket, then snuggled down on the couch and turned her mind to trying to determine what questions she most needed answers for. At a certain point, she found herself repeating points, and then she was fast asleep.

Chapter 15

Ayana woke with a start. One moment, she'd been lying on the couch, thinking about what she wanted to know; the next, it appeared to be morning. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the cottage's window and she could smell the distinctive fragrance of pancakes. She hadn't expected a night of utterly dreamless sleep, but that appeared to have been just what she'd had. She stretched a little and started to uncocoon herself from the blanket. Short as she was, even she found a full night on a couch to be cramped. As she sat up, she saw Nick was over by the stove, cooking the pancakes. He didn't turn to face her, but he did call, “Morning.” Ayana dug around in her bag until she located her hairbrush and set to work on taming hair mussed from sleep and a day of wearing a motorbike helmet. “I guess it is.” “I'm afraid there isn't enough solar battery for a shower, or really any hot water, but if you want to freshen up, the cold water's clean.” “Is there—” Ayana began, but trailed off as Nick gestured to a door she hadn't spotted the night before. “Through there. I have checked for wildlife.” At that Ayana grinned. “Wildlife?” “Last time I was up here I had an argument with a squirrel.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I think it was lost. There's no trees up here, so where it had come from is anyone's guess.” Ayana giggled at the thought and carried her bag with her through the door. Beyond was a tiny shower-room. Having been warned about the lack of hot water, she settled for giving her face a good sluice with water that was icy

enough to sting. It did a thorough job of waking her up and by the time she'd finished and made use of the change of clothes Becky had packed, she felt much more alert than she'd been in a while. She returned to the main room of the cottage, where Nick was still standing at the stove. “I hope this is all right for breakfast—it was either this or porridge, and I refuse to inflict my porridge on anyone who isn't me.” “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “Just grab a couple of forks from the drawer over there,” said Nick with a negligent wave of his hand, “then take a seat. It won't be long.” Ayana followed his direction and found the cutlery drawer without issue. From it she withdrew two mismatched forks and turned for the table. While she'd been freshening up, he'd pulled the table out from the wall so that both chairs could be used. She placed the forks on the table and then slipped into the seat that allowed her to watch what Nick was doing. “So, you slept okay?” he asked. “It seems so.” She paused. “And you?” Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Mostly. A few dreams.” Ayana smiled faintly at that. “I know the feeling. Should I ask?” He turned back to the pan and flipped the last couple of pancakes out onto the plates. “Old memories.” His tone of voice implied they weren't good ones. Ayana frowned but before she could say anything else, Nick turned and brought the two stacks of pancakes to the table. To her surprise, they weren't the American-style fluffy pancakes she occasionally made, but smaller and studded with dried fruit. “Griddle cakes?” “I thought they'd be a bit heartier than just pancakes on their own.” Nick offered a smile as he set the plates down. “Help yourself to honey.” He turned back to the range and collected a steaming French press and two mugs. “I'm not sure how good the coffee is, but it's hot and caffeinated.”

“And better than nothing,” said Ayana as he set the mugs down. “I'll risk it.” He poured out a mug full and handed over before pouring himself one and finally taking a seat. “Eat, before they get cold.” Ayana noted that he'd taken his own advice and sensed there'd be little further conversation until the meal was finished so she dug in herself and for a few minutes, there was a companionable silence between them. After the adrenaline rush from the day before, it was nice to simply sit and eat like a civilised person again. For a few moments, at least, Ayana could almost forget how weird things had become. The griddle cakes proved to be a lot sweeter than her normal pancakes, with the added honey and the dried fruit, but they helped to counteract the bitterness of the coffee, which was definitely not up to Barista Boy's normal standards . She wondered if she should make that joke and decided against it. Nick poured himself a second cup of coffee. “So, you asked who I was.” Ayana's last mouthful soured as she swallowed it. “I think, technically, I asked what. Which was rude.” Nick made a noise somewhat akin to a cat hacking up a hairball. “You'd been in the company of an unconscious body for three hours, after being shot at. You're allowed to not exactly be at your best, under those circumstances.” He sighed. “And it's a fair question.” He paused and sipped his coffee, clearly gathering his thoughts. “On the basis of what you've been dreaming, I think you already know at least some of the answer.” “A Medjai,” said Ayana slowly. “The... the temple ward who became a Medjai and made a bargain with a god.” She paused, frowning. “That bargain's how you're here, now. Isn't it?” Nick nodded. “The Lord of the Living made me one of their Hands on Earth. I serve their Council. I go where they tell me; do what they tell me.” “You're three thousand years old,” said Ayana flatly. “Give or take.”

“And you don't die.” “No.” He hesitated a beat. “There are ways to hurt me. Certain poisons. I'm not bullet proof. I can be wounded. Stabbed. But I heal.” Ayana nodded slowly. “And you don't age.” “Not so as most people would notice.” Ayana nodded slowly. As she did so, she studied his expression and took note of a certain tightness about his eyes. “I'm guessing this explanation doesn't normally go well.” “Not usually.” Ayana nodded. “Well... I believe you.” The tension eased in Nick's expression, though he still looked on edge. Before Ayana could ask, he said, “Which leads to my question: why have you been dreaming my life's beginnings?” Ayana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I don't know.” “How can you not know?” Ayana shrugged helplessly. “I... sometimes... most of the time, if I touch someone, or even sometimes if I'm just close to them, I pick up impressions. A sense of who they are. What they're thinking. It sometimes leads to dreams, but this... with you, your story, it started before I met you.” She paused. “Unless you happened to be in London the day before moving-in day?” Nick shook his head. “I was working in Cambridge. Becky can vouch for that.” “Then who did I bump into on the tube?” “I don't know. There's only...” Nick stopped and his face paled noticeably. “Neith.” Ayana wasn't sure if that was a name or a concept, but she judged from his expression it wasn't a positive development.

“There are gods, goddesses, you do not want to be noticed by,” he said. “Neith tops that list.” “She's powerful?” Ayana asked. “She is the things that are, the things that will be and the things that were. Present. Future. Past. She was an old goddess when I was born.” Nick actually shuddered at the thought. “What I don't know is why she would be getting involved in mortal affairs. We—mortals, Hands and the younger gods—tend to be beneath her notice.” “I guess we can't just ask her why,” Ayana judged. Nick snorted and poured out more coffee. “Part of the why is simple enough: she wanted you to know me. It's the rest of it that worries me.” He stared down into his mug for a few moments. “Perhaps...” He looked up, still pale and tense. “I think I need to know what you know. If you can tell me.” Ayana grimaced, but nodded. He was right. For answer, she pushed back from the table and crossed to her bag to extract the book of notes. “This is everything —everything that I could , even the bits I couldn't make sense of,” she said, handing it over. “It's probably jumbled up a bit but, well, you know your own timeline.” Nick accepted the notebook with a wan, embarrassed sort of smile. While he started to read, rather than sit and wait for the inevitable questions, Ayana busied herself with clearing the table of the empty plates. There was no hot water from the tap, but she filled the kettle and set it to boil on the range and when it started whistle merrily, she poured the now-scalding contents into the sink on top of the dishes, then added enough cold that she could scrub the plates and cutlery clean. When he hadn't finished by the time that task was done, she set about making more coffee. As the kettle started to sing once more, he said, “I'm sorry.” Ayana glanced back at him. “For what?” “For you getting tied to this grab-bag of crazy.”

Ayana mustered a smile at that. “Now that I have a frame of reference for it, it's not so crazy.” She finished refilling the French press and brought it back to the table. “Definitely not Barista Boy standards, but I reckon we can both use it.” She poured herself a fresh mug full and sat down again. “So do my notes help?” Nick set the notebook down and picked up the French press. “Maybe?” He refilled his own mug and took a sip. “Neith clearly has a reason for you to know that specific part of my life. If it was simply about making sure you trusted me, I can think of better ways. So it's something more specific.” Tentatively, Ayana offered, “The heresy?” Nick shook his head. “That died with Akhenaten.” He paused a moment and smiled faintly. “More or less, anyway.” He took another long drink and sighed. “I think... the focus of what Neith showed you was my mortal time.” He wrinkled his nose at the phrasing. “The Aten heresy was one source of conflict. The other was what got my father and Ebana killed.” “And should have killed you,” Ayana murmured. “But Osiris was listening.” Ayana nodded. “Ebana called them The Sons of Set, but I couldn't find out anything more about them.” “You wouldn't. They've gone to some lengths to fly under the radar since Amarna. So. A history lesson.” Nick set his coffee mug down and leaned back in his seat. “Long before I was born, there was a war between the gods. One faction wanted to enslave mortals. The rest of the gods, led by Osiris, wanted to allow mortals to grow and live, free of all but the lightest of intervention.” “Meaning what?” “Meaning guidance would be offered only if sought, not imposed against wishes. Those who opposed the idea—those who wanted to rule—pointed out that without direct rule, eventually the gods' places would be usurped. Those wise enough to recognise that if they ruled, one day they would be overthrown, knew and accepted the truth of it and were still willing to push for that freedom of choice.

“The war was a long and brutal one. Mortals, like the gods, were split. Some ed the fight. Some fled. The Hands were born during the conflict. Mortal warriors, made more than mortal, to protect mortals from the gods. Eventually, the war was won by Osiris and judgement was rendered. The elder god who'd led the losing faction, Cronos, was bound for all time. The rest of his army were punished and the gods withdrew from the mortal world. For the most part.” “For the most part?” “Some of the gods opted to remain in the mortal realm, to live alongside mortals. For that reason, the Hands remained—to guard against threats that might arise.” That was a statement so obviously loaded with implications. “By threats...you mean children, don't you?” Nick's shoulders twitched. “Yes and no. Not every child with a god for a parent gains powers. Not every child with utterly mortal parents remains powerless. Human beings are complicated. Equally, of those who do gain powers, not all will be dangerous. Many won't be. For some, the power they get is simply a better understanding of nature, or an ability to think five steps ahead. For others, it's the ability to see and to feel what was and what might be.” “And some aren't so benign,” Ayana finished. “There is the occasional woman who would be queen,” Nick agreed. “Or a man too easily led. And there are those, out there, who still view Osiris' victory as simply a temporary setback. They may have power, or they may be entirely mortal and just brought up to Believe. Either way, the Hands are positioned to stop them.” “And the Sons of Set are on the setback side of the equation,” Ayana judged. Nick nodded. “They want to release Cronos. We, the Hands, tend to just refer to them as the cult of Cronos; it's easier than keeping track of their many different names.” Nick's mouth compressed into a grimace. “We thought we'd finally dealt with them, but, assuming it's them behind all this, either we missed a... a cell, or someone else has revived them. Jonno will know more.” “And Jonno is? Another Hand?”

Nick nodded. “How many of you are there?” “Not many. Jonno likes to joke that there's ten of us, like the fingers and thumbs for a pair of hands, which might have been true once. These days, I'd put the number at nearer twice that.” “Have you met them all?” “Hard to say. Most of us have a region that we stick to and unless there's something particularly big, we tend to work alone.” “And your region is the UK?” Ayana's eyebrows lifted at that. Nick chuckled. “My region is the old Egyptian empire. But...” his laughter faded. “I didn't lie about why I was in Cambridge.” Ayana frowned. “What do you mean?” “I was in Syria with MSF. It ended... badly.” Ayana winced. From the bleak tone and pained expression, she could guess what that probably meant and decided to change the subject. “So this group who want to free Cronos: why would they want me?” There was a long moment of silence. “Three possible reasons,” Nick finally offered. “They want you as leverage over your stepfather; they want you as leverage over your birth parents; they want you for the power you have.” “But... I don't have any power. I'm a university student!” Ayana objected. “A university student that Neith has taken an interest in,” Nick reminded her. “A university student who gets ear-wormed by other people's mental jukeboxes.” Ayana stared at him for a moment. “How do you know about that?” Nick winced. “I'm not the first Hand assigned to you.” “What do you—Caroline.” The feelings of betrayal were even stronger than she'd felt on Friday night. “Is there no-one in my life who's who I think they are?

First mum, then you, Becky, now Caroline—” “What do you mean about your mother?” Nick asked and the expression on his face, tight and worried, cut through Ayana's anger. “You know I'm adopted,” she said with a degree of bitterness. He nodded. “It turns out, mum's been in with my biological mother my whole life. That was why mum wanted to meet up in London—to on a warning to me.” “A warning?” “I guess about... all of this.” Ayana gestured vaguely. “Caroline was supposed to be finding out more—apparently, my biological mother was somewhere in Egypt.” She stopped. “Why does so much of my life seem to go back to Egypt?” Wisely, Nick took that last remark as rhetorical and instead asked, “So have you heard from Caroline?” Ayana shook her head. “Not for the last three weeks. Not since before I met with mum and she hadn't heard anything either.” Nick's expression fell another notch. He swore vehemently and pushed to his feet. “We need to get moving.” “We do? Why?” “Because this cottage is Caroline's, she knows I'd bring you here in case of it all going to hell, and there's only one reason she'd have dropped off your radar.” He paused for a moment. “Whatever you think of her not telling you who she really was, she is still your friend. She had wanted to stay on in Cambridge but—” “My desire for independence.” Ayana cringed. “That was a factor,” Nick itted. “It wasn't the only one, though.” Ayana let that sit for a moment. The last of her anger was rapidly turning into fear. “If you say she wouldn't drop off my radar, that doesn't sound like anything good's happened.” She hesitated, really not liking the conclusion she was drawing. “You think the people after me have got her.”

Reluctantly, Nick nodded. “I hope I'm wrong, but we can't take that chance. Pack your gear. We need to get out of here, now. I'm going to check the bike.” Nick headed out of the cottage. Ayana got to her feet and started to collect her things together, but no sooner had she started to shove her notes back into her backpack than Nick returned. His expression suggested that things had got worse. “Too late to run,” he said. “They're already here—there's a vehicle approaching and it's not Jonno.” Ayana swallowed. “What do we do?” She watched as Nick thought for a moment. “You need to hide. Up on the sleeping platform, there's a hidden crawlspace to the left of the chimney. It's where the solar battery is, but there should be enough space for you to fit.” Ayana had already started scrambling up the ladder before she thought to ask, “What about you?” “I'll try and bluff them,” was the less than reassuring response, thrown over Nick's shoulder as he hastily gathered together the bedding from the sofa. The false wall was virtually undetectable in the gloom and it took her precious seconds to find the catch to open the space. As Nick had said, the space was mostly taken up with the paraphernalia relating to the cottage's solar battery, but there was just enough space behind that for her to squat. She turned to close the and found herself face to face with Nick, who was hurriedly flinging in her bag and bedding. “Stay here; no matter what you hear,” he warned. Ayana swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and nodded. Nick retreated, shutting the and leaving Ayana squatting huddled in virtual pitch-black darkness, waiting. It didn't take long for the space to become hot and uncomfortable, and for the dust to start making her nose itch. Ayana managed to inch her hand into her pocket for a tissue and was surprised to find her fingers closing around

something small and metallic instead. The scarab. It felt warm in her gloved fingertips, but also oddly comforting. She grasped it now, and prayed.

Chapter 16

Nick cast a final glance around the cottage to make sure that any signs a second person had been present had been removed, and was satisfied. Only his mug and the coffee pot were on the table, which was pushed back against the wall, trapping the second chair. The breakfast dishes Ayana had washed were all put away. The bedding was gone from the sofa. None of Ayana's belongings were visible. Even the second motorcycle helmet was safely hidden. It was as good as it was going to get. Outside, he heard the vehicle pull up. He headed outside in time to see three men climb out of a late-model SUV. One he recognised as Papis. One was the youth whose ID card he'd managed to pickpocket in Covent Garden—Markos Tzolis. The third was the other person he'd seen with Papis in Cambridge and that he hadn't been able to identify. “Nowt up here but sheep. Are ye lost?” Nick forced his voice to take on the rolling accent of the local area and made his posture relaxed. “Where is the girl?” Papis snarled. “Girl? What—” Papis reached out and grabbed at Nick's shirt, dragged him in until they were nose to nose. “Do not test my patience, Medjai. Where. Is. The. Girl.” So much for bluffing. “If you know I am the Medjai, you know I'm never going to answer that question.” He prised the bald man's hands off his shirt and stepped back. “Now leave. You are not welcome here.” Tzolis actually backed up a pace. Papis and the third goon merely sniggered. “Make us,” said Papis. The trio started to move in in some attempt at a pincer movement. Watching their movements, Nick saw Papis' weight shift fractionally and dodged aside,

allowing Papis' punch to collect nothing but fresh air and take the bald man stumbling away. Even as Papis reeled, Nick continued his own movement, dropping to a crouch and pivoting to sweep Tzolis' legs out from under him. The youth hit the stony ground head-and-shoulders first and lay still. Continuing his spin, Nick came back up to his feet in time to face Papis' next effort. This was another attempted haymaker that was both well telegraphed and easily avoided. This time, though, as Papis stumbled, Nick kicked out at him to make sure that this time, the bald man sprawled and got a mouthful of dirt for his troubles. That left the last member of the crew. The man Nick hadn't been able to identify. He'd hung back, content to let Papis and Tzolis try first. He'd also taken the chance to draw a knife. Nick's gaze flicked from the knife and back to his opponent's face. “Leave.” “Not without the girl,” came the answer. The man lunged forward, knife held out like a short stabbing sword. Nick turned to the side, letting the knife glide safely by, and then chopped down on the man's wrist. Involuntary reflex made the knife drop to the floor, while the man yowled with a mix of surprise and pain, even as his lunge took him beyond his point of balance and he too earned a mouthful of grass. That left Nick facing Papis, who'd regained his feet. “Leave.” “Oh, I don't think so.” Papis grinned malevolently and looked just beyond Nick. Nick had a brief moment to realise he'd been manoeuvred so the SUV was at his back and then he felt the sting of the sniper's bullet as it hit him between the shoulder blades almost before he heard the gun's retort. There was a moment of pain. A moment of knowing what was going to happen. Then the ground was rushing up to meet a body that was steadfastly refusing to obey the commands he was trying to give it. The last thing he saw was Papis' boot as the bald man loomed over him. There was a small scratch as a syringe was jabbed into his neck, then the world blurred and faded out.

––––––––

Ayana clasped her hands to her mouth to stop a scream from escaping. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but if she'd had any doubt it was bad, they were wiped away when she heard one of the attackers order the cottage searched. They'd taken Nick out of the equation. That meant she was on her own now, and to survive she was going to have to be both silent and lucky. Far luckier than she'd been so far. The cottage door opened below, sending a frisson of fear and adrenaline through her. How thorough would he be? She made a conscious effort to try and still any trembling and to try and force her breathing to be slow and easy so as to not make a sound. She heard someone enter. She estimated they'd come to a halt just about in the same place she'd done the night before. She could picture the scene: a look left, studying the kitchen for potential hiding places, then a look right at the couch and bookshelves. A moment later and she heard heavy footfalls, heading towards the kitchen—she guessed the searcher was a man—then the hinge on the shower room door screamed as he yanked it open. Obviously finding nothing there, she heard him turn and as the shower room door slammed, she heard him reach the couch. Muffled sounds followed, then the distinctive sound of fabric being torn. Ayana guessed he was checking in case she was actually hiding in the couch. There was an angry snarl and the next thing she heard was feet and hands on the mezzanine ladder. Ayana hastily drew the blanket up over herself to disguise her presence further. Just a pile of old bedding, she thought. Nothing exciting in here. She heard the mezzanine creak, heard a head smack against the low ceiling and then heard him swear, volubly, in an unfamiliar language. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble up and ruthlessly Ayana swallowed it back. Later. You can laugh, later. Right now, just be bedding. Quiet. Dusty. Forgotten. The mezzanine creaked again. Scuffed footsteps suggested he was making his

way towards the chimney area. There was a pause. Then a click and the opened. Ayana froze. Nothing to see. Just blankets. Sheets. A cushion or two. “Well?” a voice, the group's leader, called out from the doorway. “Nothing here,” came the response. “Just moth-eaten blankets.” “You sure?” “See for yourself. She's not here. The Medjai must have stashed her somewhere else.” There were more footsteps. The ladder rungs slapped angrily as someone else climbed. The mezzanine creaked disturbingly. Through a tiny hole in the blanket, Ayana could see the two men. One she didn't recognise. The other was the bald man she'd been so afraid of at the start of term. She held her breath. Felt sure one of them would reach in and poke the pile and find her. But neither did. Instead, the bald man swore, this time in English. “Come on. We'll get the truth out of him, one way or another.” Then both of them started to back away. She heard first one, then the other descend the ladder. Heard them cross the floor and walk out. A minute or two later, she heard their vehicle start up and drive away. And then... silence. One minute. Two minutes. Three. Still nothing. No. Slightly more than nothing: she could hear the faint sound of birdsong. That almost certainly meant she was alone now. Stiffly, Ayana crawled out of her hiding place. She wanted to feel relieved they hadn't found her, but the strangeness of the whole encounter left her confused, and the fate their last words promised Nick left little room for anything remotely approaching relief.

She took a moment to nurse a little feeling back into feet that had gone numb before descending the ladder and hobbling out of the cottage. There was no sign of the attackers. Or Nick. In fact, the only sign that anyone else had been there at all was a large, drying bloodstain and it didn't take much imagination to guess whose blood it was. They'd taken Nick. What was she supposed to do? For a moment, she was frozen. Then she felt the scarab warm in her grasp. It was the only warning she had before things got both worse and much weirder. She felt hands on her, tugging her this way and that. She screamed but if it made a sound she didn't hear it. Instead she found herself somewhere else. At first, she found herself surrounded by fog and darkness, but as that gradually cleared, she realised she knew exactly where she was: not from her own experiences, but from the dreams. This was the temple Nakht-ankh had been studying at as a young boy. Unlike the dream, she found it empty of all people. Silent. A ghost place, but not a ruin, to judge by the bright paintwork and freshly blooming lilies on the ponds. She shivered. There was a distinct sound of footsteps behind her and something bunted the back of her leg. Ayana yelped and span, only to find herself looking at a large powerfully built cat. Its spotty markings and size made Ayana think this was a leopard. It chose that moment to open its mouth in something that was half-snarl, half-yawn and entirely too many teeth. She backed up a pace. The leopard glared at her, then turned and started to walk back the way it had come. It went a couple of paces and then looked back, a clear hint about what it wanted Ayana to do. Tentatively, Ayana stepped forwards. This movement seemed to satisfy the leopard because it turned back and started to trot away and she found herself having to hurry just to keep up.

“Slow down; some of us only have two legs,” she muttered. Disconcertingly, the leopard paused and favoured her with a look of pure disgust before continuing, albeit at a slower pace. Ayana followed the leopard's path through the temple, through courtyards and colonnaded walkways until they finally reached the central shrine. This was an entirely enclosed space, lit by smoky torches that cast a guttering light which rendered her feline guide almost invisible. And standing before the central altar was a figure. Female, Ayana thought, but indistinct. “You have come.” The voice was something Ayana both heard and felt deeply within her bones. Terrifying and comforting in the same measure. “There is much to speak of; time is short.” The figure stepped forwards and held out a hand. “Come, child.” Hesitantly, Ayana reached out, but the moment her hand touched the figure's outstretched one was like a thousand bolts of lightning striking at once. The on-rush of images, of memory, was dizzying and intense to the point of pain and beyond it and Ayana could make sense of none of it. It was simply a confusing jumble, half seen. And then it was over. The hand withdrew and Ayana dropped to her knees, gasping and blinking back tears. One thing was clear. “You—you are Neith,” she whispered. The figure froze for a moment. Then the head nodded once. “Why me?” “All will become clear, Tiye, daughter of Seshat, granddaughter of Thoth. For now, it is enough simply that you know.” Neith stepped back into the shadows, placing a caressing hand atop the leopard's head. “Go forth and regain your Self.” And once more the world shifted around Ayana. Consciousness came back to Nick in a rush of pain and confusion. From what he

could feel, he was tied to a chair, the bindings tight enough to cause pain. The last thing he recalled was the distant retort of a sniper's rifle which had put an end to his fight with Papis and friends, so the fact that he was imprisoned was not a surprise. The surprise was the ambient noise and vibrations: his prison was in an aircraft levelling off after take-off. Opening his eyes, he found he was contained in a dimly lit metal box. The lighting suggested a daylight flight, but that didn't really tell him much. It might be the same day as the fight, it might be three days later, if his captors had been dosing him with TTX. He grimaced. Over the rumble of the plane's engines, he heard the rattle of keys and then the door of his cage—a cargo container, from the looks of things—opened and in stepped the last man he was expecting to see: Ayana's stepfather, Robin van der Merwe. “Good to see you're awake.” Robin smiled an insincere smirk. “I trust you're comfortable?” Nick just stared at the other man and said nothing. “I expect you're thinking this is the part where I gloat and tell you all my plans.” The smirk faded. “Sorry to disappoint, Medjai. I have more pressing concerns: where's the girl?” Nick said nothing. Oddly, that made Robin chuckle. “Ah, going to go the stoic route. I know how this is played and it's a game you will lose, I promise you that. You know,” he added conversationally, “I heard rumours you were done with this.” Nick just watched the other man as Robin began to pace. “After Athens, and then your little orphanage—such a relief to know none of those innocents were killed, you know.” Despite a determination to give nothing to his captor, Nick felt a surge of anger at the taunt. Robin smirked again. “Oh yes; I know all about that. I make it a practice to learn

everything about my opponents. Their weaknesses. Their failures. And you did fail, big time, in Athens. I had hoped that might have been enough to take you off the board, but here you are. Under other circumstances, I might be impressed with your tenacity, but you have been just enough of a nuisance: where is the girl?” “Your goons couldn't find her?” Robin's smirk turned to a scowl. “She wasn't at the cottage, so where is she?” At that, Nick managed a smirk of his own. “I don't know.” “Lie if it suits you.” Robin shrugged almost negligently. “One way or another, you'll talk.” The dark-haired man turned and started to head out of the cell door. As he went, he said, “He's all yours.” And then he was gone, and in his place was Kari. Though she looked much as she'd done the night they'd last spoken, Nick knew this wasn't his old friend come to rescue him. If Robin's words hadn't been enough of a clue, the metal collar around her neck told the tale. Robin's taunt about knowing his opponents' weaknesses came back to Nick and he cursed silently. That collar was Kari's biggest weakness. She'd barely coped with her first encounter with it, when all she'd betrayed had been her own honour. How was she going to feel when she knew what had happened this time? “You do not have to do this,” he warned as Kari tugged the container door shut behind her. “Oh, but I do, Medjai.” Kari's smile was sickly, her voice a purr. “I owe you for caging me and I'm going to enjoy making a down payment.” Without warning she drove her fist into his stomach, making him retch. “And when I'm done, you'll be begging to tell me what I want to know.”

Chapter 17

This time the sensation was less of a tug and more as if she were tumbling and tumbling through space and time, until she came to land with a breath-taking thud in a grassy meadow on the shores of a great blue-grey river. She lay for a moment, winded and with her head still stuffed far too full with whatever Neith had done to her. A shadow fell over her. Squinting up, she saw the outline of another figure. This one was definitely female, though, from her expression, she looked somewhat bemused. “Arrivals here are not normally so... violent.” “I had help.” The woman standing over her offered Ayana a hand up. Tentatively, she accepted it and was gratified when nothing happened beyond regaining her feet. Once she was standing, Ayana could take a better look at her new companion. Tall and dressed in a simple linen dress belted in at the waist, the woman looked reminiscent of an Egyptian goddess, but instead of an elaborate hairstyle she was wearing her long straight hair loose about her shoulders. It was a familiar look. Ayana knew without needing to ask that this was her mother. For a moment, she froze. Deeply buried resentment made her want to turn away. Curiosity and a sudden, new feeling of nausea made her stay. The woman, for her part, offered a hesitant, nervous smile. “I didn't think this day would ever come.” Her smile faded a little. “I almost hoped it wouldn't.” That finally shook Ayana's tongue loose. “What do you mean? You—you're my mother, right?” The woman wrinkled her nose. “I gave birth to you, but I lost any right to claim that title and I know that.” She hesitated a beat. “You should call me Seshat.” The lineage that Neith had given Ayana came back to her and her head swam. “I'm Thoth's granddaughter?”

That made Seshat smile a little. “Heir to his wisdom, indeed.” She gestured in the direction of a small stand of palm trees. Ayana took the hint and they started to walk in that direction. “So why would you not want me here? Wherever here is,” she added. Though a moment later, the answer to that part came to her, even as Seshat was saying, “This is the land of truth and the source of dreams. The place where we dwell and where magic holds sway. You call it the Elsehere.” Seshat paused for a moment, a frown creasing her face. “As for not wanting this: I have wanted to meet you for so long. But a meeting here, like this, means that the sacrifices we made have failed to keep you safe.” Ayana thought about that for a few moments. “You mean the only reason I'm here, now, is because someone's after me.” “Not just 'someone'.” Seshat grimaced. “Your father.” Ayana wasn't sure if it was the transition from bright sunlight to shade that made her feel dizzy, or the revelation. “Do I want to know this?” Seshat smiled faintly as she took a seat at the base of one of the trees. “Perhaps not, but I fear it is something you need to know. So, sit, and I'll tell you the story.” Ayana took up a position just opposite Seshat. “I think I know some of it.” “I'm sure you do; Joelle always promised she would tell you. But,” Seshat sighed, “she didn't, couldn't, know the whole of it.” Silently, Ayana nodded. Seshat took a moment to compose her thoughts and then said, “Though your father never told me, I knew he was one of us. Those of us who were once known as gods do not have children easily. This is not a bad thing—we are immortal beings, after all—but it did mean that I was... surprised. At first I was pleased, but then I realised your father desired you not because you were his daughter but for what you represented: the possibility that he could use you as a key. Someone with powers that he could tap to achieve his ends.”

“So you ran,” Ayana deduced. “You told mum, Joelle, that it had been an abusive relationship.” “Because it was. For all that I am supposed to be a goddess of knowledge, I am as unwise in matters of the heart as anyone else.” Seshat shrugged a little, her expression distant. “And yet, I see you now and I know that I cannot regret it. You've become an impressive young woman.” Ayana wasn't sure how to respond to that. “So yes. I ran. I tried to hide you by leaving you with Joelle and when that didn't work, Isis and I performed a ceremony upon you to bind up your powers.” “When—” Ayana stopped. “The accident. The scarab.” Becky's theory. “It—it's part of me, isn't it?” Seshat nodded, her expression pained. “If I'd known the consequences to you, I would have tried a different route, but we are not truly omnipotent.” She sighed. “But it worked. Your father couldn't use you and it kept you safe for a while longer.” “But not now?” “No.” “What changed?” Seshat bit her lip. “I do not, precisely, know, but it seems at some point, in the past year, he learned of the ceremony we performed and learned that all he required was the scarab. He could do nothing while you still lived at home, but your move to university gave him the space to act.” “So he's been trying to have me killed to take it,” Ayana completed. Things were making a horrible kind of sense. “And when that's failed—” “He has kidnapped both the Medjai and the Berserker,” said Seshat with a nod. “I have to do something.” “Which is what he wants you to do.”

Ayana scowled. “Are you saying I should just leave them? They are—they're my friends.” And while her feelings towards both Nick and Caroline were complicated, friend was the only term she could use. Oddly, Seshat smiled at that. “I am not saying that. You are correct that you need to act, but it needs to be the right act. The Warden and the Guardian are on their way to you. They will aide you.” She hesitated a moment. “But you will not truly be safe until it is not possible for your father to use your powers.” That made sense. “So how do we do that?” Seshat looked grave. “Are you sure? Once done, it cannot be undone and your life will change.” That thought sent a stab of fear through the pit of Ayana's stomach, which she ruthlessly forced aside. “I'm sure. I feel like I've already lost so much because of this and you said that this is the only way for me to be safe.” Seshat, her expression still grave, nodded. “You have the scarab?” For answer, Ayana uncurled her right fist and revealed the golden talisman, nestled in her gloved hand. Seshat nodded again. “Take off your left glove.” Ayana slowly peeled off the glove and stretched out her left hand, palm up, revealing the livid scar. Seshat cringed a little at the sight. “I am so sorry for what was done to you so young.” “I'm not sure you had a choice,” Ayana itted quietly, the words and the lack of bitterness surprising her. “Perhaps.” Seshat moved to kneel in front of Ayana and picked up the scarab. “I cannot promise this won't hurt.” Ayana nodded. Seshat murmured a soft incantation in a language that was faintly familiar to Ayana's ears. The scarab began to glow with a soft, golden light. Another

incantation was murmured and then Seshat positioned the scarab above the scar. “One final chance to back out.” “I have to do this.” “So be it.” And with that, Seshat pressed the scarab down into the scar. There was a long, stretched out second where nothing happened. Then the golden talisman melted into the scar and disappeared, leaving a whole, unblemished palm. Ayana had a brief moment to marvel at that and then she found herself falling into a void. Voices, millions of them, spoke to her in languages she understood but couldn't name. Ideas. Concepts. She saw stars open up before her. Constellations. Planets. She was flying and falling and seeing everything and nothing. She was no longer tied to the physical plane but soaring free as a thought. A scene formed below her. Rubble and shattered buildings. Shouting and smoke. A man and a woman furtively picking their way through. The man was tall and broad-shouldered. The Soldier. His companion was all sharp edges and spikes. The Seeker. Both of them dressed in combat fatigues with the Russian flag on the shoulder; both of them looked worried. Then they found what they were looking for—the Seeker living up to her tag. The object proved to be less a what and more a who: Nick. But not Nick as Ayana knew him. His hair was longer, more raggedly cut. Unshaven. Clothing torn and bloodied. Face down in the dirt, legs trapped beneath the rubble. With him, a child. Tear-stained. Bruised. Alive. The Seeker muttered about miracles. The Soldier ordered her to get the child away and to safety. Ayana half expected the Seeker to demur, but she didn't. As soon as the child was away, The Soldier started to free Nick. Working quickly even as a new round of shelling began. The scene faded away before Nick was freed. Ayana tried to will it back but the power of the scarab had other ideas. A new scene formed. The great square in Cairo. The young girl she'd been skipping happily along ahead of Joelle and Robin. This was something Ayana very much didn't wish to see, but was powerless to stop. She saw her younger-self come to a halt at a

particular street vendor's stall. Saw the vendor, Seshat, smile in welcome. Saw the smile freeze. Saw time freeze. Ayana watched on as Seshat and Isis together performed the ceremony to bind her younger self's powers, not there on a Cairo street corner, but in a grand temple hall filled with statues. Then they were back on that street corner and there was the bus and it all faded to black again. Another scene, another version of Nick. Much shorter hair. The leather jacket and jeans were familiar. So was the setting. Athens. Though not the tourist bits; this was Piraeus—the container port. It was late at night. Nick was with a woman, walking through the maze of containers stacked up. The woman was leading. She had a torch she was using to highlight container numbers. They reached a particular container and the woman indicated this was the one they were looking for. Nick started to look at the lock, clearly intending to pick it open. Movement behind them drew Ayana's attention. Four men. Dressed in black. All armed. All horribly familiar. Ayana made to scream a warning, but no sound came, although there must have been a noise from the men themselves. Nick turned, saw them and made to shield the woman as they opened fire. It wasn't enough. Neither Nick nor the woman stood a chance, but the scene didn't fade when they fell. Instead it continued. The gunmen came to check both bodies. Though he had hair in this time, she recognised their leader as the bald man who was after her. Familiarity not coincidental. And still no fade to black. Time ticked on. The sky lightened. Nick came round. Found the woman's body beside him. Ayana felt her heart break as she saw him realise what had happened. Then there were voices. The early shift arriving. He ran. The scene finally faded as he dived off the quayside into the harbour. More of her own memory next. This time earlier. Joelle, all smiles, introducing her new partner to her small daughter. Ayana saw her toddler-self recoil away in fear. Saw the brief scowl on Robin's face before he played it off as just normal childish behaviour. But it wasn't. Flash forward. Back to Cairo. This time the focus of what she saw was not her own actions, but Robin's. A pace or two behind Joelle, muttering sotto voce and

making a set of gestures with his hands. She saw the faintest of silvery mists appear about his hands and then shoot off, striking a ing tour bus on the tire. A blow out. The bus lost control. Joelle screaming. Robin smiling. Fade to black then fade to sand. A desert setting. Another Nick. Dressed in army uniform, with a man in Air Force blue. Both crouching in the shadow of a building. Up ahead, guards in a very different uniform with lightning flashes on their collars. Beyond, a fuel dump. The airman looked familiar but she couldn't place him. This time Nick led the way. Around the back, behind the target compound and in through a narrow split in the fence. The airman wasn't quite as adept, but he kept pace with Nick, did what he did. Nick started to lay his charges while the airman kept watch. As they worked their way behind the warehouse, they heard voices. The airman spoke no German, but Nick understood. Looked alarmed. Ordered the airman out of the compound with instructions to find a means of getting out of the town and, hopefully, carrying a warning to the allies of a major offensive. She thought the airman would balk at the order, but he didn't. He obeyed. Nick waited long moments, counting seconds until he was sure the airman was out of range, then ignited the explosives turning sabotage to a suicide mission. Not a fuel dump: experimental weapons intended for testing on unsuspecting allied troops. Flash forward. Night in the desert. Two figures coming up on Nick's mangled body. One Ayana recognised: the airman. The other, she didn't. He was tall and dark-skinned, wearing yet another different uniform. This one she couldn't even begin to identify, though since the airman was with him, she guessed they were on the same side. That thought was borne out a moment later when the tall man crouched beside Nick, shaking his head. A moment of discussion followed, then the tall man lifted Nick like he weighed nothing. He and the airman hurried away from the scene. Ayana followed them for a while, until the pair reached transport: a motorbike and a Jeep. The airman promised to say nothing to command about this little interlude, then took the motorbike and headed off towards the safety of the allied lines. The tall man, an Australian by his accent, laid Nick's body in the back of the Jeep and then took

off himself, driving deep into the desert. The scene faded out before Nick regained consciousness or the Australian reached his destination, and once more Ayana tried to force it back. She needed to know, needed to see, what happened next but the scarab's power swept her on. To a hospital room. Sterile and hot. Itchy bandages, tubes, wires. For a moment, Ayana was confused. Then she saw Robin standing over the body in the bed and realised it was her younger self in the middle of all that chaos. Robin's hand was poised above her head. Not to kill but to steal. Ayana wasn't sure how she knew the difference. She saw his face contort with unbridled rage when he realised what he wanted was beyond his reach. She felt a flash of pure and unadulterated terror as his hand moved towards one of the controls to the machinery keeping her alive. A doctor arrived, and Robin's hand jerked back, thwarted again. Back to blackness. Then a new scene. Nick, again. Back to the ragged haircut of the more recent past, although he was now clean-shaven again. Dressed in loose khaki tros and a white shirt. He was pacing a hotel room overlooking a busy thoroughfare. The Seeker entered. She was dressed differently now, too. Jeans and a blouse— like any other young woman. She had a port in her hand. Papers. She handed them to Nick, then squeezed his shoulder. That earned her a faint smile, but he looked defeated. Lost. Ayana's heart broke for him once more. Back to blackness. Ayana felt scoured hollow by these flashes and the emotions they evoked. Hard enough to watch her own past, but seeing Nick's too... surely Neith's gift at play there. But why? The blackness lifted. Once more she saw Nick but this, she knew, was now— what she was seeing was his present rather than his past. Strapped to a chair. Bloody and bruised. Looming over him, a woman. Painfully familiar and yet utterly different. Ayana watched in horror as Caroline drove a fist hard into Nick's stomach. He retched and spat blood. The expression on her face was one of apparent delight at the suffering she'd caused and yet, though her lips were smiling, it didn't carry up into her eyes. They simply ed as dead. There was something very wrong. And then she spotted it. A collar made of a metal that glowed with a sickly green light, tightly fitted around Caroline's neck.

Someone had awoken the Berserker and chained her to do their bidding. But who was the one holding the other end of that chain? As the scene faded away, Ayana was fairly sure she knew. Everything went black and then faded to white. Flickering light. Palm fronds shifting above in a light breeze. Ayana swallowed a few times. Her throat felt raw and she could feel wetness drying on her face but she was back, in her own body. She blinked a couple of times and took stock. From sitting beneath the palm trees, she was lying now, looking straight up at blue sky between the fingers of the palm leaves. Seshat was to her left. Disconcertingly, Ayana realised she could feel Seshat's presence there without so much as looking. She looked anyway and saw the tracks of tears on the goddess' face, though she dashed them away the moment she knew Ayana was looking. “You are... back?” Seshat asked. “I think so.” Ayana swallowed again. “That was... unpleasant.” She slowly rolled onto her side and pushed herself back up to sitting. She felt stiff—how long had she been lying there?—but also energised. Knowledge was power and she could access an ocean of knowledge. All she had to do was think. She thought now, about the flashes of memory she'd seen. “Robin van der Merwe isn't just my stepfather, is he?” Seshat shook her head. “It would seem not. I knew him by a different name and face, otherwise I would have told Joelle to run far and fast.” Ayana nodded. “Is he one of the ones who wish to free Cronos?” Seshat shook her head again. “He uses them, but his goal is not to free Cronos. He wants to supplant him.” Her expression was grim. “Face him carefully.” Ayana nodded. “I will.” There was a flash of light and Ayana found herself back at the cottage. Some time had ed. The sun was nearing its zenith and the bloodstain was dry and near enough invisible now. Those changes matched the ones that happened

within her. She had the knowledge to take on the world and rule, if she chose. She shook her head. If she went down that road, someone would stop her. Maybe it would be a Hand she didn't know, or maybe it would be Nick and she knew in the depths of her soul she couldn't do that to him. From the pieces she'd seen, he'd lost enough. More than enough. The vehemence of that feeling surprised her. So too did the onset of a stabbing pain in her midsection. For a moment, she was confused. Then a wave of hot fear that was distinctly not her own crashed over her, followed by more pain lancing through her midsection. She found herself doubled over, vomiting up her last meal. When the haze of pain cleared, she realised she was looking at a pair of feet. Somewhere above her she could hear a female voice uttering curses in Tamil of a vehemence that would make a Tamil sailor blush. A distant corner of Ayana's mind was surprised that she not only recognised the language but understood the curses. The rest of her tried to pull herself together enough to regain her feet. The voice switched to accented English: “This does not look promising.” Ayana swallowed a couple of times. “It's not.” Shakily, she finally regained her feet and realised the woman was holding out a bottle of water, which Ayana accepted gratefully. She took a sip and swilled it around her mouth before spitting out, distantly grateful that she hadn't made it as far as the cottage door. At least she didn't have to clean up, although, as another wave of pain overtook her, such practicalities seemed a distant concern. The woman was suddenly beside her, hands on her back, rubbing soothing circles. “Breathe through it.” The impression that touch brought was of drumming and incense and was startling enough that it helped Ayana to follow the advice. The pain lessened until she could focus on the woman once more. “You're the Guardian,” she murmured. “Call me Sita,” said the woman, offering a smile, though there was a hint of surprise to the expression.

Abruptly, all vestiges of pain died and Ayana staggered from their sudden end. That, she judged, was bad sign. “What has happened?” Sita asked. “It's a long story,” Ayana answered wearily.

Chapter 18

With the pain gone Ayana took the opportunity to really look at Sita. Diminutive, even to Ayana, with a wiry sort of build that suggested a great deal of strength. Her long black hair was braided and hung almost carelessly over one shoulder, framing a face that was well set with laughter lines: though she wasn't smiling at that moment, Ayana had the sense that Sita smiled a lot. The most incongruous part to Sita's appearance, however, was her mode of dress: the jeans and leather jacket were perfectly normal; the handle of a sword, very apparent over left shoulder, was not. Sita grinned knowingly. “No-one expects a small woman with a sword.” Ayana mustered a faint, if slightly embarrassed, smile in response. “Sorry. I don't know why I'm surprised by anything at this point.” She gestured to the cottage. “Maybe we should go inside.” Sita didn't disagree and her next question waited until they had both crossed the cottage's threshold. “Where is Nicholas?” “I don't know.” Ayana dropped gracelessly into a convenient chair. “They took him.” And as much as she tried to state that as matter of fact, her voice still betrayed her fears. The image of Caroline tormenting him and the memory of the pain were too fresh in her mind. Sita took up the other seat. “Start from the beginning: when I spoke to him, Nicholas knew little of what was going on, but it would seem as if you now know much more.” Ayana laughed hollowly and slumped forwards to prop her head in her hands. “You could say that.” “Tell me.” Ayana opened her mouth to do so, then hesitated as she heard a faint chiming. It was reminiscent of the shriek of alarm from the house wards in Cambridge but

far less harsh or urgent. She frowned. “What is wrong?” Sita asked. “I think there's someone coming,” Ayana answered. But who? Was it Bald and his friends returning for a second look? Couldn't be. Their original arrival hadn't set off the wards—which made sense, if they had Caroline's knowledge of this cottage. So this was someone different. But who? With barely a moment's thought, she closed her eyes and stretched out with senses that suddenly seemed limitless. It took a couple of tries before she found the approaching vehicle, still too far away to hear and yet she could feel it coming. At the wheel a presence that was all warm earth and welcoming. This had to be the Warden, Jonno. A second ward sounded, drawing her back into her body again. She reopened her eyes and sat up to find Sita staring at her in confusion. “I think it's Nick's other call.” Sita eyed her. “And you would know this, how?” It was a question Ayana decided to ignore for now. Instead, as the sound of the approaching vehicle became audible in the cottage, she stood up and exited in time to see a beaten-up Land Rover crest the hill. It pulled to a stop just inside the cottage's yard and its driver bounced out. Though Ayana knew she'd never met him before, she recognised him instantly as the tall man who'd rescued Nick in the desert. She also recognised that was practically vibrating with barely suppressed anxiety, which she took to be an incredibly bad sign. “Where is he?” “They took him,” Ayana replied, pleased that at least this time the words came out firmly. “And you let them?” he yelled, rounding on Sita. Sita held her hands up. “I only arrived half an hour ago. Too late to help. Just like you, Jonno.”

Jonno didn't look remotely mollified by that answer. Instead, he rounded back to Ayana. “He had me dig into your family. He thought there was something ooky —” “And he was right,” said Ayana, bridling at the tone. “Believe me, if I could have chosen my biological family, I wouldn't have chosen this one.” “Bloody hell,” he muttered. He swallowed, shook his head and sighed. “I've spent half the last week or more digging through records. I might be a little grouchy.” “A little?” Sita snorted. “I have seen saltwater crocodiles with a better attitude.” He winced and stuck out a hand. “I'm Jonno.” Ayana tentatively accepted his hand and received an impression of broad open spaces and big skies with unfamiliar stars. “Ayana... but you knew that.” Jonno had the grace to look sheepish. He rubbed the back of his head and shrugged a little. “Yeah, so.” He turned to Sita. “And since when do you know any salties?” “Since associating with you,” she retorted, though a twinkle in her eyes softened the otherwise sharp remark. “Now, you mentioned research. Into what?” Jonno's expression turned grim. “Everyone's favourite cultists are active again. Seems they've got themselves a messiah who's promising the earth.” Jonno looked to Ayana. “Your stepfather.” Then what Ayana had said caught up with him. “Wait, he's actually your father? Boy, your Christmas dinner table must be interesting.” Ayana snorted. “It would have been if he'd actually told me, but he didn't.” “Nick didn't know, did he?” “I didn't know until an hour ago.” Sita cleared her throat. “Perhaps one of you would care to enlighten me?” Ayana ran her fingers through her hair. “There's still pieces I'm missing.”

“Then let me,” said Jonno. “Go right ahead.” She could feel the first stirrings of pain beginning to needle her midsection again and she braced an arm across her stomach as if that might help. “Short form is, our girl here's the daughter of a committed Cronos cultist, Robin van der Merwe, who might or might not be a rogue power himself. Not too sure who her, your, mother is; couldn't peg that from what I could find.” “Seshat, apparently,” Ayana supplied, grimacing as the pain in her stomach increased. “Found that out an hour ago, too. I think.” Jonno nodded. “Right. So... hey, are you okay there?” Ayana grimaced, opened her mouth to answer and instead found herself crying out in pain as her right hand began to throb as if struck a heavy blow. “I am not entirely sure,” she heard Sita say, “but if I were to guess, someone is torturing Nicholas.” “Well, yeah, but why—” Jonno stopped. “Oh, bloody hell!” Ayana looked up, blinking back tears of pain. “What?” “Why—how—Nick's not stupid enough to—” Sita cleared her throat. “Jonno is there a whole question in there or are you just going to splutter?” Jonno scowled. “You and Nick. Bonded. Who's flaming stupid idea was that?” “Not mine,” Ayana retorted, grateful that the pain in her hand had dulled a little. “Or Nick's. It's something to do with Neith.” Jonno's scowl morphed into a look of wide-eyed surprise. “Why?” Before she could say anything, he shook his head. “No, forget I asked. The Elder powers never give a straight answer.” He ran a hand over his head. “So do you know where they've taken Nick?”

Ayana wanted to answer Jonno's question, but the pain in her midsection and hand was now ed by a headache that made it hard to string two coherent thoughts together. She must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing she knew, she was on her knees, on the ground, Sita once more attempting to soothe her while Jonno muttered imprecations. The pain had ceased once more, which she took to be a sign that Nick was probably unconscious. “All right. We can't trace him here, we go to Naxos,” said Jonno, as Ayana managed to get back to her feet. “Naxos?” Ayana swivelled her gaze from Sita to Jonno and back again. Had she been unconscious for longer than she'd thought? What had she missed? “Why?” “Because it's where your dad needs to be to get what he wants,” said Jonno. From Sita's expression, Ayana realised she hadn't actually missed much. Jonno's statement was as much of a non-sequitur as it had appeared. “And how do we get there?” Oddly, that made both Sita and Jonno smirk, although it was the Tamil woman who answered, “Did you not notice I did not arrive by vehicle?” Ayana gave her a particularly withering glare. “I was a little busy when you arrived.” Sita actually chuckled. From her pocket she took out a piece of green stone that had been worked into the shape of an arrow head. “Hekate's key!” Ayana wasn't sure what surprised her more; that she recognised it or that she'd actually said the words aloud. For Sita's part, she merely grinned mischievously. “You called me Guardian; now you know of what.” And with that, she used the key to sketch a large rectangle in the air and muttered a couple of words in Tamil. A moment later and a hole appeared in the air, linking Yorkshire with Naxos. Ayana stared for a moment. It was one thing knowing that Hekate's key made such portals possible. It was entirely different seeing such a powerful device demonstrated. She shook her head. “I really need to stop being surprised.”

Jonno tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, kiddo, you have no idea.” Sita chuckled again and gestured. “After you.” Stepping through the portal was a disconcerting experience. One minute, Ayana was in a chilly Yorkshire, the next, she was standing on an island in the Aegean Sea with the subsequent temperature increase. “Really?” said Jonno sourly. “Here?” Jonno's words called Ayana's attention away from her observations and towards the details of their new location: the scrubby woodland just outside an impressive set of ruins. Sita smirked as the portal closed behind her. “It was this or a hotel roof top. How would you have liked to explain that?” Jonno shot her a jaundiced glare. “I'd have figured something out.” Ayana's gaze swivelled from one to the other and back. “And that all means...?” she prompted. “I hate Greek temples,” said Jonno as Sita said, “I needed to pick a location without people for us to arrive. At this time of year, the Temple of Dionysus is closed to visitors so it seemed a good choice.” “Oh.” Ayana vaguely wished she hadn't asked. “So why are we in Naxos?” Sita continued, rounding on Jonno. “Because it's the closest island to where they're going,” said Jonno. “There's only a few shrines they can use for the ritual and the one on Keros is the best shot.” “What if you're wrong?” Ayana asked. “Where are the others and why is this one such a good choice?” “This one's good because the whole island's deserted. No-one there to accidentally catch a looksee,” said Jonno with a shrug. “The rest don't offer that. Hell, one of 'em is under eight feet of water so that's off the list before you start.”

“They initiated a shootout in central Cambridge,” said Ayana dryly. “They aren't going for subtle.” “A good point,” said Sita. “What makes you so sure it is this shrine, Jonno? You usually hedge your bets a little more.” Jonno ran his fingers through his hair in agitated fashion. “Look, I've been tracking the cult's activity since things started ramping up again, about twenty years ago. The other shrines, the cult's visited and then left alone. Even the one underwater. This one, they keep coming back to. And in the last six months, their activity here's been off the charts. It's like they've been trying to figure out which one was right and now they know.” Sita didn't look entirely mollified by this. “The right one?” she echoed. “I understand this appears to be the place they are interested in, but what makes this place so special?” “Because the best place to undo a binding is where the binding first took place.” Jonno's words spilled out angrily and hot. Sita drew in a sharp breath. “I thought that location had been lost to time and history.” Ayana's jaw dropped open in surprise as she realised she'd seen Jonno even before his rescue of Nick. He'd been in the stream of information Neith had forced into her head. It hadn't solely been Nick's history, or her own. “He knows because he was there.” Sita lifted an eyebrow, ing surprise. “Really? You were one of the original ten?” Jonno, for his part, looked mutinously self-conscious. “I don't like to talk about it, right?” “But that would mean...” Sita trailed off, clearly unable to voice the implications. Jonno might have had more to say, but at that moment, voices floated up the hill towards their position, bringing the reality of their location back. “I thought you said this wasn't open,” said Ayana.

“It is not,” said Sita primly. “Because it's being worked on by conservators,” Jonno realised. “We'd better get out of here before they see us and ask questions.” Ayana followed Sita and Jonno as they led the way through the undergrowth and down the hill, away from the voices and towards a small village. Jonno spent a lot of the walk apparently fiddling with his phone, but the reason for that became apparent when, not long after they arrived in the village, so too did a taxi. Half an hour later, they were ensconced in a large hotel suite overlooking Naxos harbour. Ayana shook her head. “I thought you needed to have money to get this kind of service,” she commented, dropping into a convenient armchair. “Not with Jonno around,” said Sita, though her expression suggested she was still thinking about the revelation about Jonno's past. “He is a master of technology.” Jonno shrugged. “One of us needs to be.” He moved to exhibit his phone, which was showing a hotel booking confirmation screen. “In this case, it's out of season and I just booked the room. No dramas.” Ayana giggled, less for Jonno's explanation and more for Sita's mouth dropping open in surprise at the mundane explanation. Jonno, for his part, settled back into the seat he'd claimed. “I save the skills for the stuff that really needs it.” Sita rolled her eyes and started to pace. “We need a plan. And before we can plan, we need to know what is intended.” She turned and looked at Jonno. “That means you need to tell us what you know.” “Not just me,” said Jonno, with a pointed look in Ayana's direction. “Think our girl's got some explaining to do, too.” “And she may, at that,” said Sita, “but we are starting with what you know.” Ayana watched as Jonno attempted to stare Sita down. It wasn't even a contest.

Mutinously, Jonno glared in Sita's direction, but all he said was, “What do you want to know?” “Simply put: what happened during the war with Cronos. Knowing that will provide us the background we need to make sense of the cult's current plans.” Jonno looked pained as he nodded. “You guys know the basics, yeah?” “Nick gave me the short version,” said Ayana. “Neith gave me the info dump of the century so...” She trailed off and shrugged. “The basics, yes,” Sita agreed. Jonno nodded. “Okay. So. We beat Cronos. It took a lot. Like, really, a lot. We were pretty much on our knees when he finally fell. And though we wounded him, could keep him wounded and weakened, we couldn't kill him.” Jonno paused. “See, there are ways to kill a younger god, but the elder gods. They're more than that. They—they're elemental. So he had to be bound and the only way to do that was with a blood sacrifice.” Ayana frowned. Jonno's description sounded familiar. “Is this... this sounds like something I've read.” “The binding of Loki from the Norse stories,” said Sita. Jonno stared. “I get bored and read sometimes. It happens.” She shrugged. “Tell me there are no intestines used.” Jonno smirked. “What was done to Cronos wasn't so gross, but yeah, there's a reason for that similarity.” His smirk faded. “The sacrifice was willingly given.” He sighed. “Jana, her name was. Early in the war, Cronos had taken her prisoner and he... did things. To her. We, the other Hands, rescued her but he broke her. He shattered her mind in a way there was no healing from... at least,” he added softly, “that's what she thought. I don't know if that was right.” “So she volunteered,” said Ayana softly. Jonno nodded. “The shrine that's on Keros... of course, back then, it wasn't an island. It was just a high point above the plains. That's where we took Cronos and imprisoned him, binding him up for all time.”

“Clearly not the same manner of imprisonment as the Greeks wrote of,” said Sita. Jonno snorted. “We made sure the stories lied. Safer that way.” “Because if you know how the binding's done, you can undo it,” Ayana completed. Jonno nodded. “And now your dad figures that he knows how to do just that.” Ayana flinched at the anger in his voice and opened her mouth to say something, but Sita got in first. “Jonno, play nicely.” Jonno scowled at the small woman. “How do we know she's not in on this?” “Because I'm not.” Ayana matched glares with Jonno. “He wants to use me. He tried to kill me when I was just a child—or maybe he just wanted me badly hurt so he could steal from me, I don't know. I know that's what he wants now. He wants the power I was born with to make himself more powerful. And he doesn't want to free Cronos.” “Why wouldn't he? It's kind of the mission statement of the cult,” said Jonno. “He's not really part of the cult. He's just using them. Like he used my mother and Seshat.” Ayana rubbed her temples trying to ward off another wave of pain. “There's a, a ritual that draws someone's powers out.” Sita nodded. “I have seen it done.” “Seshat said... said...” Without warning, Ayana felt the world tilt and she slid off her chair. This was much worse than the pain. Dimly she realised that Nick must have been given some sort of drug, but knowing what she was feeling wasn't her own reactions didn't help. She felt slow and dizzy and could feel nausea started to churn in the pit of her stomach again. “C'mon kid.” Hands were on her shoulders, helping her to sit up. “Fight this.” “'M trying.” Ayana swallowed hard. “They're drugged him,” she slurred. “Him. Not you. You're not drugged. You're right as rain, here in Naxos.” The

words were accompanied by a non-too-gentle shake of her shoulders. “C'mon kid. Fight.” Ayana closed her eyes against the way the room was spinning and tried to direct her thoughts. She knew that what she was feeling wasn't something being done to her and yet it felt so real where the touch of hands on her shoulders felt insubstantial and fake. How to untangle it all? Her left hand began to itch. It seemed as if the scarab healing that scar hadn't taken away all the physical reminders, but it was distinctly her own feeling, she knew that. Had felt it many times before. Normally she dismissed it from her mind as a distraction, but now she used it. Focussed on it. It helped to clear her mind just a little. Enough to let her think. She needed a wall. Something to block out what was being done to Nick and yet that wouldn't cut their connection. The image of a dusty plain started to form and between one heartbeat and the next, she was there. Before her, the foundations for a mud-brick house, with a stack of more mud-bricks to hand. She stepped into the space marked out by the foundations and found the nausea abated a fraction more. She added a second layer of bricks. Then a third. The nausea was gone. Two more layers and the last of the dizziness subsided. Three more and the wall was above her head; she could go no higher, but the pain had almost completely eased. It was a sloppy piece of building work, there were cracks and spaces between the bricks, but they allowed her to sense what was happening to Nick. Maybe later she could refine it and make it more permanent. It would do for now. Ayana reopened her eyes and found herself back in the reality of a Naxos hotel room. It was Jonno who was looming over her, hands on her shoulders, squeezing as if he were willing the pain to bring her round. Sita was hanging back, concern etched into her face. “You back?” Jonno asked and for the first time, Ayana had the sense that he was genuinely concerned for her. “Yes, I think so.”

He nodded. He gently helped her back into her seat and then stepped back. “What happened?” Sita asked. Jonno jerked a thumb in Ayana's direction. “Our girl's got skills.” He quirked a faint smile. “And this shit is all starting to make sense.” “What do you mean?” Jonno sat back down. “When Nick called me, your story didn't add up. When I found your dad, well, I kind of assumed—” “You assumed the worst,” said Sita with some asperity. “Well, yeah.” Jonno blew out a sigh and looked sheepish. “It's rare—like virtually unheard of rare—that someone's this closely tied to the cult without being cult. But you're not cult. Which is good, because you are crazy powerful, kid.” “Yes,” said Sita thoughtfully. “Powerful enough to sense details of a person more than a mile away.” Ayana winced. She'd really hoped Sita would have forgotten that detail. “Now I get the bond,” Jonno continued. “And maybe Neith's involvement, too. There's pretty much only one group of people with that level of power and most of them have had millennia to figure out to use it.” Sita frowned. “I did not think that was possible.” “Oh, it's possible, it's just rarer than hens' teeth.” Ayana looked from Sita to Jonno and back. “What?” “You're a goddess. Straight up.”

Chapter 19

Ayana swallowed. She wanted to deny Jonno's words. “I don't feel like I am,” she said softly. Jonno's expression was sympathetic. “Might not feel it, but that doesn't make it any less true.” “How can you not have known this?” Sita demanded. “I was adopted to hide me from my father,” said Ayana massaging her temples. “And when he found me anyway, Seshat and Isis bound up my powers so he couldn't use them... which was great up to sometime, I guess, this summer, when he figured out how that binding was done. Then Neith got involved. Then the shootout. Bike chase. This morning... One way or another the last couple of days have really, really sucked.” She drew in a long breath, aware she was perilously close to losing it completely. She looked up at Sita. “So, no. I didn't know and it's scary how much I don't know about myself and I'm winging it and trying not to have hysterics because the one person who was giving me straight answers is being tortured by the woman who helped me be a functioning adult.” Jonno winced. “And then I start trouncing on you.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry about that.” Sita, meanwhile, was frowning. “What do you mean about the woman torturing Nick?” For all that Sita was merely repeating her own description, Ayana couldn't help but cringe at the term. “The cult don't just have Nick. They have Caroline as well... but they've done something to her.” Jonno's expression shifted from sheepish to grim. “Them having Kari would be bad news anyway, but reckon I know what that is, and that's worse. Way worse.” Ayana opened her mouth to ask, but Jonno shook his head. “Later, okay? Let's get the rest of this figured first.”

Ayana grimaced, but accepted Jonno's answer. For a few moments there was silence between them. Sita started pacing while Jonno got to his feet and wandered over to the room's mini bar. A moment later, he returned and handed Ayana a can of sugary soda. She frowned at it. “You look like you could use it,” he said, sitting back down. “Today's shitty enough without adding low blood sugar to the mix.” Ayana supposed he had a point. As she cracked the can open, Sita said, “So what is his plan if it is not to free Cronos?” Ayana swallowed some of her drink as she thought about that question for a moment. Between the information she'd been given by Seshat and the knowledge she now had access to, she could see the answer. “He wants to rule. He doesn't want to be a god, he wants to be the god. He wanted me—my power, at least—to help him drain Cronos' powers.” She hesitated, a beat. “I'm not sure that's even possible, though.” She looked to Jonno. Jonno, for his part, wrinkled his nose. “I don't know either. Feel like if it was possible Osiris would have done it back then. But...” Jonno trailed off for a few moments. “Maybe there's a way. Maybe there isn't. The failure mode is Cronos is freed. Sucks to be your dad if that happens. Sucks for the rest of the world too. So whether it's possible's not the issue. Stopping him is.” “Agreed,” said Sita, pausing to stare out over Naxos harbour. “How do we do that? What steps do they need to take?” “The biggie is figure out where it needs to happen.” “Which they have clearly done. What else?” “Since he doesn't have your power to unmake the binding, it needs to be a blood sacrifice.” “That's presumably Nick.” Ayana swallowed to try and prevent a rising feeling of nausea.

“We bleed, same as anyone else,” Jonno agreed. “And there is a way for that to be permanent. Pretty safe bet your Robin knows what it is.” “Is that it?” Sita asked. “You need the right incantation, but for him to be attempting this, that's a given,” said Jonno with a shrug. “So there is no part of this we can prevent him from gaining: he has everything assembled.” Sita pulled a face and started pacing again. “That leaves us with stopping him as the ritual takes place... which must be when?” Jonno shook his head. “I don't it being time-sensitive. Just place.” Ayana combed through what she knew. “It needs to be done under a full moon. And that's tonight.” “And they likely have guards, as well as Kari.” said Sita. “While I doubt there is a full army, I have little doubt your father has others with him.” “He has at least three thugs,” Ayana agreed. “But probably more, based on what's happened so far this weekend.” Sita nodded. She was back at the window staring out at the harbour again. “So we are outnumbered and have no time for additional allies. I do not like this.” “You like a good scrap,” said Jonno, clearly striving for a joking tone, but his expression told Ayana his real thoughts. This would not be a good anything, Ayana decided. They needed some sort of edge. She allowed her eyes to drift shut as she thought about it, while distantly she heard Sita and Jonno bicker. Ayana wasn't terribly surprised to find herself back, encircled by the mud-brick wall she'd built. She was intrigued to note it now, somehow, had both a roof and a door: they weren't her additions, but they made sense and made it feel all the more like a sanctuary. And then, oddly, she heard footsteps outside. She felt a jolt of fear at someone else being present, then felt a rush of warmth and the familiar impression of sand and linen. She stepped towards the doorway, and out in time to see Nick finish circling the hut.

He stopped, did a double take, then jerked his thumb at the hut. “You built this?” “Yes.” She eyed the roof. “Mostly.” Nick shook his head. “How?” “I piled one brink on top of the next,” said Ayana, rolling her eyes. “I meant how, here. How are you here?” Nick ran his fingers through his hair in agitated fashion. “It shouldn't be possible. You should be—they didn't—You—” “I'm fine.” She paused. “Mostly fine. If they had me, I think they'd have let you go.” “I'm not so sure.” But there was no mistaking the relief in his expression. “So how are you here?” Ayana winced. “I think it's Neith's doing.” “What?” “We're, ah, bonded. At least that's what Jonno thinks.” Nick grimaced and muttered an indistinct curse, but he didn't look surprised. “You knew,” Ayana judged. “How?” That earned a wry smile. “I've had a long time to know my own thoughts. Someone else's sticks out. I'm fairly sure you've reacted to things I've thought rather than said and you weren't the only one dreaming someone else's life— though what I was getting was far less coherent than anything you saw.” The smile faded. “Besides, I could have been wrong. Bonds are rare. Does Jonno have a theory why?” “Because I need an anchor,” Ayana itted. “Turns out, you were right: I do have power. A lot of it.” She opened her mouth, intending to explain, but Nick was already shaking his head. “No; don't put it into words. If it's something the cult don't know, it's better I don't.”

She shuddered at the implication, even as she braced an arm across her stomach at the memory of pain. “I'm going to get you free,” she said fiercely. “No-one is dying any time soon and no ancient chaos gods are being unleashed.” That made Nick smile despite the situation. “I have no problem with that plan.” His smile faded. “The cult might, though, and they've got help.” “Caroline.” “You know?” “More of Neith's meddling. I also know who's in charge of this shit show.” “Then you know you need to be careful.” Nick grimaced. “He's dangerous and he knows you.” That made Ayana smile. There was the edge they needed. “That's just it: he's never known me.” The desert plain flickered around her and Ayana found herself once more in the Naxos hotel room. Sita was gently shaking her shoulder as if to wake her. Seeing she'd achieved that goal, Sita stepped back. “It is time.” “We have a plan?” Ayana asked, trying to stifle a yawn. “Do what we always do in these situations,” said Jonno. “I didn't think this had happened before.” “We improvise,” said Sita crisply. “While you were asleep, Jonno and I looked at maps of the island. I know where we need to go. What we do after that will depend on what we find.” She paused. “Unless you think you can sense who's already on the island from here?” The question startled Ayana, though it was an obvious thing to ask. “Maybe?” she said. “Gotta be worth a shot,” said Jonno with a nod.

Ayana nodded. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the sense she had of Nick and tried to use that to navigate to the island and its occupants, but that sense was currently faint and far too ephemeral to follow. She grimaced and tried again, this time attempting to replicate the way she'd sensed Jonno's approach that morning, but that failed even faster. She snarled with frustration and opened her eyes again. “Either it's too far, or I'm just not very good at this.” “Or there are too many people between here and our destination,” said Sita. Jonno smiled reassuringly. “Don't beat yourself up, kid. You've been doing this less than a day. Sita?” As Ayana stiffly pushed to her feet, she was surprised to see Sita open a very tiny portal, barely an inch in diameter. “What—” “Sh!” Sita waved her to be quiet. She closed the portal and turned to face Ayana, an apologetic expression on her face. “Sorry—I was checking there was no one present. Sound will travel through even the smallest portal. We are in luck, though. It is all clear.” And so saying, she turned back and reopened the portal at a much larger size. “Jonno, you first.” Jonno nodded and stepped through. Ayana followed, with Sita bringing up the rear once more. “What do you sense now, kid?” Jonno asked, his voice soft in the growing gloom of early evening. This time Ayana didn't have to reach far to sense Nick. She knew instantly that he was just the other side of the mountain from where they were standing. For a second, she wondered about seeing if she could ask him for the information they needed. In the next heartbeat she realised that wouldn't work: from what she could feel, he was still unconscious. She grimaced. Could she reach out from Nick to the next nearest person? She tried to visualise the area immediately around Nick. What came back was much not detailed and almost like an infrared image, but it showed that there was someone standing close to Nick. She tried leaping from Nick to this new person and found herself looking at Nick through the eyes of one of his guards. She thought she'd been prepared for what

she'd see, but confirmation of Nick's unconsciousness, coupled with the blood on his clothing and the obvious bruising to his face, was still an unpleasant shock. Even though she knew the bruises would soon fade, that the cuts that had caused the blood stains had probably already healed, it was enough to disrupt her concentration and she found herself stumbling backwards, into Jonno. “You okay?” he asked. “Just...” Ayana swallowed. “Wasn't expecting what I saw.” Jonno's face was hard to see in the dusk, but Ayana thought he was wincing. “He'll be right. You know that?” Ayana snorted. “My introduction to this craziness was him getting shot. I do know that. It's just... hard.” “Do you think you can try again?” Sita asked gently. “Anything you can find out about what we are facing will help.” Bravely, Ayana nodded. “I'll try.” Again, Ayana stretched out her senses to Nick. This time, knowing the guard was close at hand, she hopped straight from Nick to the guard. Trying to ignore Nick's condition, she focussed instead on what she could see of the location. That the temple was a ruin was not a surprise. There was a recognisable altar, weathered and chipped, and in front of that something that might have once been a pool of water, although it was dry now and mostly filled by scrubby weeds and general debris. Tentatively, Ayana pushed the suggestion through to the guard that he should look a little more to his left and that gave her a view of the other people present: Bald and his two cronies, plus a fourth member of the same crew. That meant there were five guards altogether. It also seemed as if it was just the five of them, plus Nick. Was that too many? Not enough? Ayana didn't know. Then there was Caroline's whereabouts, and Robin's. Where were they? Movement out of the corner of the guard's eye alerted her to the presence of someone else. She once more nudged him to move and his gaze shifted to the far end of the temple.

Caroline. And even though she'd been expecting to see the other woman, the shock sent Ayana tumbling backwards, both mentally and then literally as she returned to Sita and Jonno with a jerk. “What was that?” Sita demanded, even as Jonno caught her before she could fall. “I...” Ayana swallowed, sorting through what had just happened. “Caroline's here.” Jonno swore softly. “Yeah, that ups the stakes.” “It is what you were expecting,” Sita pointed out. “Was hoping I'd be wrong.” Jonno shrugged. “What else can you tell us?” Ayana described what she'd seen, including as much information about the layout of the temple as she could. It didn't feel like much, but it earned a nod from Jonno. “Six on two. Not great odds.” “But not the worst, particularly if we can free Nicholas, and especially if we act now, before Robin arrives.” “Yeah.” Jonno nodded. “We move now. Figure out the rest later.” And with that said, Jonno led the way on up the hill with Sita following close behind. With little other choice, Ayana followed on, heart hammering with fear once more. Not for the first time, she questioned her sanity. Surely she should have stayed on Naxos where she'd be safe and wouldn't be a liability? What did she know about fighting beyond the scraps of self-defence Caroline had taught her over the summer? She doubted, somehow, that screaming and kicking Bald in the balls would do her much good. On the other hand, she knew that the information she'd been able to give Sita and Jonno was good, useful information and she suspected that staying on Naxos was probably only fractionally safer than being here. After all, she knew the cult was looking for her and she doubted they'd lost interest, despite having grabbed

Nick. There was also the question of where Robin was in all this. Surely he wouldn't be too far away. They neared the top of the bluff and Sita gestured for everyone to crouch. The last yard or so was travelled low and slow, until they could directly overlook the temple below. Ayana was still surprised to see with her own eyes what she'd seen with the guards. The only thing that had changed was the position of Bald—he'd moved closer to Nick, poking him presumably to see if he was conscious yet. Caroline was still at the other end of the temple, her arms folded across her chest. Ayana saw Sita and Jonno take in her position and then share a look. Jonno said softly, “Ayana, d'you think you can take a look at Kari again.” “What do you want to know?” “Is there a metal collar around her neck?” At the question, Ayana nodded. “I don't need to look to know: there is. Neith showed me it earlier.” Jonno grimaced. “That's what I was afraid of and all the more reason we need to get this done now, before Robin shows up.” “You are thinking he is powerful?” asked Sita. “Either that, or stupid. You don't provoke the Berserker unless you think you can control her and since this guy has flown below our radar until the last few months, I'm not betting on stupid.” “So we have two prisoners to free,” said Sita with decision. “It is just that one will fight back.” She studied the temple floor. “Jonno do you have your darts?” For answer, Jonno merely pulled a blow pipe from his jacket pocket and a small wooden box. “Pick a guard and take him down.” Jonno nodded. From the box he took out a small feathered object and fitted it to

one end of the pipe, took careful aim and fired at the closest guard: Bald. For long moments, nothing happened and Ayana wondered if Jonno had missed. Then Bald swayed. Just a little movement. His hand went to his head. Then he staggered. Then he fell. Ayana felt ill. “Atropine?” Jonno shrugged and put the blowpipe and his box away. “It's quick and effective.” Meanwhile below, it was as if a hornets' nest had been stirred up. The other four guards were shouting. One was trying to shake Bald awake. “They're here!” Caroline's voice sounded harsh and carried with it an odd sort of echo. “Find them!” “They never look up,” Sita muttered. And it was true. Now the guards were searching for their presence, but since none of them had seen Jonno's dart, they had no clues to go on and not one of them thought to look up. The temple itself was set in a natural cove within the rock face—Ayana thought it might have once been a cave whose roof had fallen in—with arms of cliff curving round to the left and the right and tapering down. Two of the guards started to scramble up one of those arms now. They hadn't looked up, but they'd figured out their likely location all the same.

Chapter 20

Ayana felt her heart thud against her ribs as pure terror started to flood through her. Beside her, Jonno started to move and Sita tensed. Then, between one heart beat and the next, a solution came to her. As Jonno moved to stand and Sita raised her arm to draw her sword, Ayana grabbed them both and pulled them down and in closer. “Don't,” she hissed. “Just... sit and trust me.” She felt more than saw their answering frowns but ignored both of them. Instead, she concentrated on projecting an illusion. Just a pile of rocks. Nothing to see here. Just boulders and pebbles. That's it. All we are. Boulders. Rocks. The two guards neared. Just rocks. Nothing else. And the guards walked on by, not even breaking step. Ayana let them get several paces ahead and only then relaxed. Sita's face was a study of confusion. Jonno simply nodded. Without a word, he silently got to his feet and started towards the retreating guards. After the briefest of hesitations, Sita followed. Ayana watched as the two experienced warriors crept up behind their targets and then, with a synchronisation that was bordering on the supernatural, they both leapt at their prey. Sita actually landed on the back of hers, wrapping her legs around his body and arms around his neck in a tight choke hold. Jonno simply tackled his to the ground and then applied the same hold. Within seconds, both men were unconscious and from a pocket, Jonno had pulled out some zip-ties to bind wrists and ankles with while Sita checked both men were still breathing. Ayana released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding as Sita and Jonno

returned. “We'll have to deal with them properly later,” said Jonno. “Now to deal with the other two guards. Would be good if we could get Nick free before we try to break Kari out.” He frowned. “D'you think you could use that trick of yours to sneak down into the temple?” “I... am not sure,” Ayana itted. The first time she'd done it had been accidental and while the second time far more deliberate, both had been situations where staying still had been the order of the day. “I can try.” In response, Sita produced a small, curving dagger from a sheath at her waist and handed it over. “For protection.” “I don't—” Ayana stopped herself. She'd been about to say she knew nothing of how to use a dagger, but she realised that now she did. Instead, she finished somewhat lamely, “I'm not sure I'll be much use with it.” “Strike hard at anything you can reach,” said Sita. “And try not to need it.” “Your job,” said Jonno, “is to free Nick. Let us worry about any fighting.” Oddly, the faintest of smiles crossed his face. “When we get out of this, I'm so gonna get on Kari's case for not teaching you more, though.” Ayana snorted. Sita rolled her eyes. “Let us go and be a loud distraction,” she said. “We will pull the guards away.” “Or try to,” Jonno muttered. Ayana watched as they moved away. A few moments later, she heard Jonno's distinctive drawl yell, “Hey, shit for brains—over here!” The two remaining cronies headed after the shout. “I guess that's my cue,” she murmured. She briefly considered emulating Nick's leap from the fire escape and making the illusion she projected that of a falling rock, but a glance over the edge told

her it was a thirty-foot drop and not something she would walk away from. With that rejected, she opted instead for keeping low and creeping down the path the two guards had taken up. It was fully dark now, with the moon still low enough to the east that the island's central mountains blocked most of its light, so she knew that as long as she kept her movements slow, she wouldn't be easily spotted. Another point in her favour: Caroline had now paced up towards the altar, away from the open end of the temple. Ayana smiled grimly to herself. It was only helpful for her descent. It meant the other woman was between her and Nick. Cross bridges as you reach them, she reminded herself. Not before. At the bottom of the path was a convenient pile of rubble. Ayana ducked behind it and then peered into the temple ruins. A line of column stubs, some of them two or three drums high, led up the left-hand side of the ruins. Ayana thought that she could probably use them to her advantage. In their lee, the only illusion she'd need would be simply shadow. It wouldn't get her all the way, but it would get her close. Once more keeping her movements slow, she started to move through the temple, from one pile of rubble to the next. All the while, she concentrated on projecting the idea of darkness—that there was nothing special about her patch of ground; it was just a continuation of the column rubble's shadow. She wasn't sure it was terribly successful, but for as long as Caroline didn't turn, Ayana felt safer for the attempt. As she moved, she was aware that Nick was now conscious, though still woozy. She thought about reaching out to him with her senses and decided against it. With Caroline standing over him, she didn't want to do anything that might tip her off. At the fifth column, she paused. She was now close enough to hear that Caroline was taunting Nick. “It didn't have to be this way.” “I am a Medjai.” Nick's voice was raspy and ragged, but it made Ayana feel better just for hearing it. “I protect.”

“Then this is your time to fail.” “You don't have her.” “Yet.” At that moment, three things happened. Caroline turned to stalk away, the moon finally cleared the island's mountains, bathing the temple complex in light, and Ayana moved started to move towards the last rubble pile. Time seemed to stand still. Close up, directly under a distinctly foreign glare, Ayana could see the collar and its sickly green glow. It might be Caroline's body, but it wasn't her mind controlling this show. On a hunch, Ayana called, “Hi Robin. I hear you missed me.” She was rewarded with a fearsome looking scowl on Caroline's face. “If you had just been a good girl, none of this would be necessary.” In those words, Ayana heard the echoes of similar remarks. Remarks that had done damage to her over the years. Wearing her down. Even Caroline's arrival on the scene hadn't stopped them, although that had mitigated their impact. “And if you'd ever even tried to be a loving father. But here we are.” Ayana was pleased her voice didn't shake. Caroline raised a hand and gestured. From deep within her bones, Ayana felt searing pain and found herself being yanked forwards until she was standing right in the middle of the temple. “You are just a child, hopelessly out of her depth.” “I am not a child,” Ayana retorted through teeth gritted against the pain. Then the pain got worse: her arms were pulled away from her sides, drawn back and then started to bend in the wrong direction. Nothing she could do seemed to have the slightest impact. Her own body was betraying her. The pressure on her elbow ts increased. And then a thought that wasn't her own forced its way to the forefront of her

mind. Be like sand. This time, Ayana knew where it had come from; knew what it was trying to communicate. Despite the pain, she smiled and relaxed. There was pressure on her arms for a moment or two more and then it was gone. What—” “Not so out of my depth, Robin.” Ayana retorted. Sticking with the sand metaphor, she twirled her right index finger, spinning up a breeze that kicked up dust and debris and sent it in Caroline's direction. That earned another scornful laugh. The debris never reached Caroline's face as it clattered against an impenetrable shield of air. “Parlour tricks.” “Perhaps.” Ayana curled her right hand around and a gust of wind pummelled the other woman from behind. As Caroline stumbled, Ayana gestured with her left hand. The ceremonial pool that had stood empty for millennia suddenly filled with water and she landed, with a splash. “I will kill you!” Before Ayana could process the threat, she found herself falling too. Pulled once more by an unseen force. She went head first into the pool and before she could regain her feet, there were hands on her back, forcing her under. Keeping her under. Trying to drown her. And this time she panicked. She struggled against her attacker. Clawing at anything she could reach. Swallowing water in the process. Everything was dimming. Her lungs burned. She struggled and tried in vain for air. And then one of her flailing hands touched the bare skin of the other woman's hands. There was a flash of light and Keros, the pool, the temple and everything else vanished. There was a short drop and Ayana found herself thudding into rock hard ground. The landing freed her from Caroline's grip even as it jarred what little breath she

had left from her lungs and she rolled away, coughing. What surprised her was that Caroline didn't immediately follow and, instead, even allowed Ayana to regain her breath and come back up to her feet. The explanation, however, was soon apparent: the collar around Caroline's neck was gone, which meant Robin's influence didn't extend to this place. Though where this place was, Ayana wasn't sure but from the expression on Caroline's face, it was somewhere she recognised. Looking around, Ayana took in the details. From the ruins of a Greek temple, they had gone many miles north and were now on the wooded shores of a narrow bay. The sides weren't steep enough to be defined as a fjord, but something about the location made Ayana think of Scandinavia all the same. Though there was snow on the trees and a rime of frost on the ground, she had the sense that this was akin to the dusty plain where she'd built that mud-brick hut. For all that it wasn't necessarily real, though, it still felt cold to be standing there in wet clothing. She shivered. “How?” Caroline's voice was soft. Awed, almost. “I don't know,” Ayana itted. Caroline turned away from the view. “You should be at college. I should be...” she trailed off. “I don't know where I should be.” A look of utter disquiet crossed her face. “I don't . What don't I ?” Ayana hesitated for a few moments, unsure of how to explain. “Robin. The Cult. They did something.” Caroline's words were more certain now, though her expression was turning pained. “They did something to me. Didn't they?” “I don't know, for sure, what happened,” said Ayana. “All I know is that you were somewhere in Egypt, looking for my mother and then you disappeared. That was three weeks ago—or maybe a little more.” Caroline nodded slowly. “Aswan. I Aswan. I was supposed to meet someone there—a friend of a friend. They didn't show. Then Robin was there. He's—” She came to a sudden halt as a new realisation crossed her mind. “You know.”

Ayana snorted. “It's been one heck of a weekend.” “How are we here?” Caroline gestured at the setting. “This is my space. You shouldn't be able to reach here.” “Apparently the rules don't seem to apply to me anymore.” “So we were together?” Ayana nodded. “Where?” “Keros.” Caroline briskly rubbed her arms. “What were we doing on Keros?” Ayana winced. “The Cult were—are—trying to free Cronos.” Caroline nodded. She opened her mouth to say something, then frowned. “Are those scratches on your neck?” Ayana put a hand up and realised, for the first time, that her neck was sore and did bear the marks of Robin's by proxy attack on her, though even as she noted that she also noted that the soreness seemed to be leaving at a disturbing rate. Had being bonded to Nick given her some of his ability to heal, or was that part of her own powers? “Did someone try to strangle you?” There was going to be no way to avoid this: “You did. Sort of.” “Me? Why? I—” Caroline paled. “He was in my head. I couldn't keep him out. I should have been able to keep him out.” Caroline turned away and started to pace. “I should... I was supposed to protect you. He shouldn't... I shouldn't...” “Stop it!” Ayana broke in. Caroline stopped, back to Ayana. “You don't understand. I made a vow.” “You haven't broken it,” Ayana retorted. “We're here, aren't we?” Caroline half turned, confusion riding high once more on her face. “What?” “We're here,” Ayana repeated. “This is your space. You said so yourself. Robin

was the one trying to drown me. You directed us here. Where I'd be safe. Where we could regroup.” Caroline opened her mouth, then closed it again, frowning. “That doesn't make sense,” she finally said. Ayana actually laughed a little at that. “That's a short history of the last week. But not this: this does make sense.” “How?” Ayana gestured to the scenery. “This place. This is not somewhere Robin wants me to be. He doesn't want you to be able to talk to me. He probably wants you to make the sacrifice that frees Cronos, because then it's your action. In one swoop, he takes you out, he takes Nick out... he's probably got plans for Jonno and Sita too. Then there's me. I don't know what he's got lined up for me but I can bet it's not something I'm going to enjoy.” Caroline blinked and turned more fully to face Ayana. “For someone who's only known about this a weekend, you seem to have a pretty good grasp of the situation.” Ayana shrugged. “I've always been a fast learner, you know that.” She paused and let a small smile cross her face. “It's also something Robin's always underestimated about me.” Caroline snorted. “You're preaching to a heavily converted choir here: I'm the one who's always pointed that out to you.” “And now I'm showing you I was paying attention.” Caroline mustered the fond/exasperated expression. “I always knew you paid attention.” She sighed. “We have to go back.” “We do. We need to finish this.” “How?” Caroline grimaced. “We go back, Robin gets back into my head and that's... well, that's probably not going to end well.” Ayana chewed on her lower lip for a few moments. Caroline was right. How to

deal with that? “Robin can't do anything if you're unconscious, right?” Frowning, Caroline nodded. “I don't know how you're going to achieve that, though. I'm not easy to knock out—you have to know that.” Ayana patted the pocket she'd tucked Sita's dagger into. “I have an idea about that.” “You also need to somehow get us back to the moment we left, otherwise Robin will know something's wrong.” “That's going to be the tricky part,” Ayana itted. Considering she wasn't entirely sure how they'd left Keros, she was even less sure about how to get them to return. But, as Caroline had said: they had to go back. Trying not to sound nervous, she said, “Give me your hand.” Caroline did. Ayana concentrated, building a picture of the Keros temple in her mind, placing herself and Caroline there in their respective positions. Layering in the details until it felt real. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, between one heartbeat and the next, they were back in Keros. Back in the pool. Except this time, Ayana wasn't panicking. She knew what she needed to do. From her pocket she pulled Sita's dagger and jammed it hard into Caroline's thigh, then yanked it free again. There was a spurt of blood and Ayana knew she'd hit the right spot when Caroline's hands released from around her neck. She surfaced in time to see Caroline fall, clutching futility at her thigh. “Bitch!” “Fast learner,” Ayana retorted, hauling herself soggily to her feet. She felt woozy from a lack of oxygen and nauseous from stabbing Caroline, but she could also see Robin's control over Caroline fading even as the other woman ed out. Ayana shuddered. Climbing out of the pool, she crossed to where Nick was lying. His expression was an interesting study, but whatever questions he had, he kept them to himself while she untied him.

“That won't keep her down for long,” he warned. “You need to get that collar off.” As soon as she finished the last of the bindings, she turned back to Caroline's unconscious body and studied the collar. From the ocean of knowledge she knew what the device was: ancient magic that enslaved and subsumed the will of the victim beneath their basest desires, anger and aggression. The mind-control Robin had used wasn't part of that magic, but a useful addition. Ayana knew she couldn't do anything about the latter, but the former... She reached out and grasped the collar. There was a sizzle as a hex on it flared. A simple one, easily ignored, as she tugged the collar open. The hex flared a second time, a flash of green and then the collar parted and the hex died. Ayana flung the broken collar away. Then winced as she caught sight of the blisters the hex had raised on her palms. “Okay?” Nick called, his voice stronger. She turned back and found he'd managed to sit up. “Think so. Can you stand?” He shrugged a little. “Maybe.” “Then we need to get out of here.” “Oh, I don't think so, darling daughter.” Ayana felt a trickle of ice water run down her spine at that voice. Turning, she saw Robin slowly walking up the centre aisle of the temple. With him, at knife point, was Joelle.

Chapter 21

Ayana swallowed hard. Standing in the middle of the temple, she felt vulnerable and terrified for Joelle. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she'd assumed Robin wouldn't involve her in this, but she could see now how naive that thought had been. Of course he was going to use Joelle. Every single move Robin had made was about control. Leverage. “Nothing? No witty retort? I'm shocked.” Robin smirked as he came to a halt in front of Ayana's position, just beyond her reach. “You know how this is going to work, I'm sure: you give me what I want, I will let you and your mother go free.” Ayana noted who was not being included in that offer. “And what is it you want? I mean, specifically. Because I was fairly certain you wanted me dead on Friday night.” Robin scowled. “A misunderstanding.” “Oh, is that what you call it?” “You were to be unharmed.” “Shooting at people's always such a good way to make sure that happens.” Ayana smiled sardonically. “And it's not as if it's the first time you've tried to have me killed or maimed, is it?” At that, Robin's sneer slipped and he actually looked shaken. “Yeah, you thought you'd got away with that, but I now. I didn't run off, I went where you directed me. 'Buy a present for your mum,' you told me.” Though Joelle said nothing, her expression ed shock. Ayana nodded. “I saw the bus. I saw you cast. You didn't care who else you hurt, just as long as I was killed.” Robin was openly scowling now.

“What I want to know is why?” “You are too much your mother.” The words seemed to surprise Robin almost as much as they surprised Ayana. As if they weren't what he'd intended to say. She opened her mouth to press for more of an answer, but Robin scowled. “Enough. No more games. No-one can help you, Ayana. Your Medjai is weaker than a new born kitten. You stabbed your supposed friend in the thigh—you know, I didn't think you had that in you. Meanwhile your other two... accomplices are being well occupied. Oh yes,” he added, smirking, “I know the Guardian and the Warden are here. So, you see, you have one choice, and one choice only. Cooperate.” The word felt heavily laden with compulsion. She really should just cooperate. Be a good girl. She would just— The sound of a big cat snarling broke the spell. For a second, Ayana thought she'd imagined it, but then she saw that Robin's gaze was darting around the clifftops while his expression carried just a hint of fear. The snarl had been real. It made her smile. She was fairly sure she knew which cat it was. Robin's gaze returned to Ayana. “No more stalling. You will cooperate.” This time, expecting the compulsion, Ayana found herself more able to resist. “I always was a disappointment to you.” Robin's lip curled up into a sneer again and he jabbed the knife into Joelle's neck, hard enough to draw a thin line of red against the glittering silver of the knife's blade. “Your last chance, Ayana. You know what I want. Give it and you and your mother go free.” “I am not nearly stupid enough to believe you,” Ayana retorted. She focussed on the knife. She had to get that away from Joelle's neck before anything more serious happened. She started to reach for it mentally, only to have her powers slam into a shield that actually made her stagger back a pace. Robin smirked. “And I am not nearly stupid enough to believe you're powerless.

Dmitri, I think this has gone on long enough.” Ayana didn't have time to wonder about the statement before rough hands were on her shoulders, overpowering her with an impression of cigarette smoke and lust and dragging her backwards. She realised with a jolt that Bald was not as dead as she'd previously assumed and that he now had custody over her. “You're mine, when we're done here,” Dmitri hissed into her ear, even as he forced her up to a position just behind the altar. She tried to fight his grip, but his much bigger bulk won out and she found herself positioned with both hands placed on the altar, in indents that might have been made just for them. “You are a Key,” said Robin. “You were made to unlock this door. No more stalling or complaining. You'll do what you were made for.” Ayana wanted to say she didn't know how, but Robin's words seemed to open up something within her. Suddenly she was seeing the night of Cronos' imprisonment, from Thoth's position, behind the altar. Hekate had been the one to create the lock spell, but it had been Thoth—her grandfather—who'd actually cast it. His knowledge had been the key. She could hear his words, his incantation; feel her own lips move as if she were saying them along with him. Could feel the ground tremble as the space around Cronos' kneeling form warped and distorted. Distantly she heard the snarl of a big cat. The sound was out of place with what she was seeing. This was wrong. The vision rippled. What was she doing? Ayana blinked. Gone was the vision of Cronos' imprisonment. Instead, lit by the still-bright moon over Keros, was an insubstantial form, growing clearer by the second.

Ayana felt the pit of her stomach drop. Cronos was almost free. Robin had what he wanted. She had failed to stop him. For a moment, the despair threatened to overwhelm her. Then came another big cat snarl. Robin's concentration slipped again as he cast his gaze around the clifftops, and in that moment Ayana saw the knife slip away from Joelle's throat. Joelle pushed Robin's arm further away from her and stamped down hard on his instep. As Robin reeled away, the leopard bounded into the temple precinct and took a flying leap at Robin. He ended up face down on the ground with the leopard sitting squarely in the middle of his back and growling. But if Robin wasn't going anywhere, Cronos was getting stronger. Although she'd stopped casting, the spell was self-sustaining. “You can't stop it!” Robin's yell was muffled but triumphant. But Ayana knew that wasn't true. There was still a chance to reverse it, she just needed the space to think and to get Dmitri's crushing weight off her shoulders. No sooner had that thought crossed her mind and she felt that weight being dragged away. She didn't need to look to know that Nick was the cause. “Do it!” he called as he hauled Dmitri back. She needed no second bidding. Closing her eyes, Ayana visualised Cronos' prison like a mediaeval dungeon with the binding spell as the dungeon's door. The damage wrought by Robin's ersatz spell manifested as cracks and weak points. Picturing it in those helped her to begin the process of repairing them, one by one. With Cronos straining at his bonds, it was hard work, but it must have begun to work because before she was even half-way done, she distantly heard a bellow of rage that was suddenly choked off and muffled. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the elder god strained against her repairs. Some of them held, some of them reopened and she grimaced. She didn't have enough strength or control to do this. Cronos was hurling himself at the door now, sensing her weakness, and then she sensed old linen and desert rain beside her, helping to shove back against Cronos' efforts. The extra force helped. One by one the weak spots were strengthened, the cracks filled and the more of them fixed, the weaker Cronos' attacks became. Finally,

the door was whole once more. Only then did she glance at Nick. “One last thing,” she said. “To be sure.” She gestured for him to step away and then started a new spell, this one overlaying plates of steel armour across the door's surface. Work that only she and Nick would know was there and that only she could remove. When she'd finished, she offered a faint smile. “Time to deal with Robin.” He smiled back. “If the leopard's left anything of him for us to deal with.” “She will; I don't think Neith wants him dead.” She briefly caught Nick's startled look before she reopened her eyes to see the temple on Keros. A few people's positions had changed. Robin was now in Caroline's custody, a rag stuffed into his mouth as an effective looking gag. Joelle was being checked over by Sita, while Dmitri, wrists zip-tied, was being marched to Robin by a Jonno who radiated cold fury. Of the leopard, there was no sign. Ayana guessed that meant the big cat had accomplished the task Neith had set before her. The last person present, Nick, was at her side, his fingers entwined with hers. “Are you okay?” Ayana glanced up at Nick. “Think so.” She glanced down at their connected hands and marvelled at how comfortable it felt. “So Dmitri's a Hand?” she asked. “Not officially,” said Nick, his tone grim. Ayana nodded. “What's going to happen next?” “To him? I don't know,” Nick itted. “Judgement from Osiris.” “And Robin?” “The same. Probably a death sentence in his case.” Despite everything that had happened, that made Ayana shudder. “I think I have a better idea.”

Nick lifted an eyebrow. “Really?” “Trust me?” At that, Nick actually cracked a smile. “I can do that.” They walked up to where Robin was being restrained. “Give me your hand,” she said. Robin's eyes blazed with anger and he clearly had no intention of doing anything. “This is your choice,” said Ayana. “Either you take my deal or I let them take you before Osiris. Something tells me he's not going to be anywhere near as lenient as I'm willing to be. Hand. Out.” This time, much as Robin scowled, he brought his hand out. “Palm up.” He rotated his hand. Ayana studied it, seeing beyond the skin and bone and through to the currents of power, watching them ebb and flow. Her own power was golden in colour, and warm. Robin's was a cool blue shade, icy and sharp. She could end his life, here and now, and for just a moment, she hesitated in her choice, then shook her head. If she went down that route she'd be no better than Robin and she would damage herself irrevocably. She raised her right hand, palm up, and mentally reached for the threads of Robin's power, just as Isis had once done to her. Robin's eyes shot open wide with fear as she finally grasped the strands and started to pull. There was a muffled sound of protest and he started to struggle against Caroline's hold even as the threads of power clung to him like spider's web around a fly. Ayana gritted her teeth and tugged harder. For several minutes she battled, and then she felt Nick once more take hold of her left hand and suddenly the strands of power started to peel away like a snake shedding its skin. As she worked, she was aware of Robin changing. All her life, she'd known him

as a tall man with dark hair and eyes, but as his power was pulled away, so his final glamours were stripped away. His hair lightened from black to brown and then finally to a dirty blond shade. His eyes morphed from being so dark as to almost be black to a shade of blue-grey. Even his build shifted and he became slender, almost cadaverously so. Somewhere, distantly, she heard Joelle utter a curse of surprise and horror. The last of the power was finally drawn out and Robin slumped forwards, unconscious or close to. Ayana ignored him. All her concentration was now on controlling a squirming ball of power that wanted to re with its owner. She fought with it, curling it around and around, ever tighter in its ball until it finally compressed down and became solid. The newly created artefact dropped into her right hand. She was surprised to realise that it was not shaped like a scarab. Instead, it was an ouroboros brooch, intricately marked up, with the snake's eyes picked out with tiny flecks of red glass. She looked from it to the man once known as Robin van der Merwe. He was conscious once more, pale and sweating, and with an expression of pure hatred on his face. “Robin van der Merwe is dead,” she hissed. “I don't care where you go from here, but if you so much as breathe in my mother's direction again, or mine, I will hunt you down and and kill you myself. Do you understand?” She watched as he tried to find some loophole. Some sign that she'd overlooked something that would allow him to act. Watched as his face fell when he realised she hadn't. Finally, he nodded. “Sita can you send him... elsewhere?” “With pleasure,” said the Tamil warrior woman with a grim smile. She turned and opened a portal—from a quick glimpse though, Ayana thought it was a bustling looking cityscape in the middle of the afternoon—and then she and Caroline propelled him through it. The portal closed and Sita dusted off her hands. “Now what?” Jonno asked.

Ayana opened her mouth to answer, only to find she was suddenly no longer on Keros. That she found herself once more in Neith's temple didn't surprise Ayana much. Nor, somehow, was she surprised to find Nick standing next to her, his fingers still entwined with hers. She glanced in his direction and smirked at the mixture of awe and confusion on his face as he looked around the once-familiar architecture. “This place seems so much smaller,” he murmured. “You were a boy when you left.” At the voice, Ayana started. To her surprise, Neith was actually waiting for them on the far side of the lily pond. The elder god's form was less indistinct out here in the fresh air but still disguised by heavy, hooded robes. This time, though, Ayana had the sense that she was smiling. Beside her was the leopard, sitting upright in a very familiar feline pose. “This wasn't—” Nick stopped. “I wasn't—” “Your mother dedicated you to me.” It didn't seem to matter to Neith that Nick hadn't asked a complete question. “You have been mine for longer than you have been Osiris' Medjai. That is why it had to be you.” “What did?” “This.” Neith spread her hands wide. “The Son of the Snake needed to be stopped. Tiye needed to become herself. You needed to once more find your purpose.” Ayana took a sidelong glance in Nick's direction. His face had paled slightly at the implied accusation. “A time of challenge approaches,” Neith continued, tucking her hands into her sleeves once more. “In all due time this shall become clear. For now, it is enough that you know. When the time is right, I will call you both.” She turned to walk away.

“Wait.” Ayana was surprised to realise she'd been the one to speak. The elder god paused. “You would question me?” And the tone conveyed just how much of a mistake that was. “Not... exactly.” Ayana swallowed. “Just... why are you intervening?” For a long moment, Neith said nothing. Then: “I intervene to keep the balance. Ma'at must be maintained.” And before either she or Nick could say anything, Neith's temple disappeared and they were back in Keros. “So now what?” Jonno was asking. “Back to Naxos?” Sita suggested. “Definitely back to Naxos.” Ayana was surprised to realise those decisive words were hers. “We need to regroup.” “Regroup?” Jonno winced. “I thought we'd won this one.” Nick smiled faintly. “Emphasis on 'this one'. Things are worse than we thought.” “Worse?” Joelle sounded faint. “What's worse than learning your husband attempted to have your daughter murdered?” “Learning he's just the tip of a very rotten iceberg,” said Caroline softly. “So... pizza and planning, then,” said Jonno with a forced brightness to his tone. “On it.”

Chapter 22

Sita gave a brisk nod and opened the portal back to the Naxos hotel room. No sooner had they arrived there than Caroline vanished into bathroom to get cleaned up. Nick, for all his protestations about chivalry, happily allowed her to go first. Sita, having deposited the party back in Naxos, portaled away to somewhere else with a casual promise to “return in a few minutes”. Jonno, meanwhile, had pulled out his phone and was busying himself ordering pizza. Judging that nothing was likely to happen in the immediate future, Ayana drew her mother into one of the bedrooms. “Mum, are you all right? He didn't hurt you?” “Hurt me? No. I'm fine. A little shaken and rather a lot confused, but... what about you? Are you... he said you stabbed someone?” Joelle uttered the words with a mixture of disbelief and fear in her expression. Ayana supposed she should have expected her mother to zero in on that fact. “It was Caroline and she's fine. I think.” “How?” Ayana dropped onto the bottom of the bed. “Mum, you might want to sit down.” “This is not filling me with comfort, Ayana,” said Joelle warily, even as she did take up a seat. “I've gathered that life is far more complicated than we necessarily know.” “That's one way to put it.” Ayana pushed her hair back from her face. “I met my biological mother.” With that ission out of the way, she launched into an abbreviated description of her weekend. By the time she finished, she realised that there were silent tears rolling down Joelle's face. “Mum?” “I am so sorry,” Joelle whispered. “So very sorry.” “It's not your fault,” Ayana replied. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms

around her mother in a tight hug. “I should have known—” “How?” Ayana released the hug and knelt beside her chair. “None of this is anything you could have predicted.” “I should have seen it, though. A mother should know.” “A god of wisdom should know,” Ayana retorted. “Seshat still fell for him.” Joelle shook her head. “I suppose so. Still, I feel guilty.” At that, Ayana smiled faintly. “The only person at fault for this mess has already had his sorry rear handed to him. First by you, then by me.” At that, Joelle mustered a faint smile of her own. “Neither of us is a damsel.” There was a moment of silence between them, then a polite cough came from the bedroom doorway. Ayana looked up to see Nick standing there, dressed in clean clothes and holding a pizza box. “You called?” “I—” Embarrassingly, Ayana heard her stomach growl and belatedly recognised that she was absolutely ravenous—and that Nick had probably picked up that fact via their connection. “Guess I did.” Joelle slowly lifted an eyebrow. “Don't think I'm not going to ask,” she warned. “I know you've only given me the highlights.” Ayana smiled faintly. “Eat first, explain later?” At that, Joelle actually mustered a laugh. “That pizza had better not have anchovies,” Ayana added. “You're in luck.” Nick opened the box. “Sita and Jonno are both vegetarians.” Ayana's hand hovered over the available slices. “Not vegan?”

“No, it's real cheese,” Jonno called through. That was sufficient reassurance for Ayana as she selected a slice and started to eat. She quickly finished her first slice and started on a second, provoking amused chuckles from both Joelle and Nick, even as the trio made their way out into the main room of the suite. Jonno was back in his preferred seat, another pizza box on the table in front of him, while Sita, who had returned, had perched on the back of the sofa. Ayana guessed she was the source of Nick's change of clothes, which probably meant Caroline was similarly refreshed. Of Caroline, there was no immediate sign, although Ayana did spot that the balcony door was slightly open. She glanced up at Nick. He shrugged and she got the sense that, while he knew what was wrong, he wasn't sure how to fix it. “You are all right?” Sita enquired as Ayana took up a seat on the remaining free chair. “Fine.” Ayana paused for a moment. “Mostly just hungry.” Sita smirked a little at that. “Jonno, I told you we should have ordered another pizza.” Jonno rolled his eyes and didn't dignify Sita's comments with a response. Instead, he said, “So, while you and your mum were talking, Sita and I tidied up the loose ends.” “What loose ends?” “Dmitri—the bald guy. He's gone to face Osiris. Not too sure what the outcome of that will be,” Jonno itted. “The rest of them were local heavies he recruited, so we took them back to where they came from.” “There will not be any trouble with them,” Sita added. “itting to anything means itting they lost to me.” She grinned wolfishly. “Men like them do not it to losing, least of all to someone like me.” Ayana took the third slice of pizza from Nick's box and looked at it for a moment. “And Robin?” “Well, you already did the hard work there,” said Jonno. “All I've done is

squared his disappearance, legally speaking. His money's now yours and your mum's, and no-one's going to come looking for him, either.” Ayana narrowed her eyes, but it was Joelle who asked, “And how have you accomplished that?” “A couple of people owed me favours; a couple more are literal gods of banking and memory.” “And the worst part of that is I don't know if you're joking or not,” said Joelle. She shook her head. “It's been a very strange weekend.” Sita snorted. “Nicholas, I believe you may have a challenger for your title of best understater.” Ayana chewed on the last of her pizza, listening as the conversation flowed around her. Judging her input to not be required just then, she stood and made for the balcony door. Caroline was looking out over Naxos' harbour, though from her expression, she was seeing little of the activity below. “What's up?” Ayana asked. Caroline stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and turned her head. “You're okay?” “Mostly.” Hesitantly, Ayana asked, “How's the thigh?” Absently Caroline brushed the spot where the knife had gone in. “Fine. Not sure I'd like you to do it again, but under the circumstances...” She trailed off and shrugged, then turned back to the harbour view. “I'm sorry.” “None of this was your fault.” The older woman sighed. “It kind of actually was.” “What?” “I... didn't always stand on the right side of this fight. I was what Dmitri is. I was made into who, what, I am by someone who convinced me he was right. He wasn't. Osiris gave me a choice—the same choice Dmitri's going to be given.

Either vow to do right and atone until my sentence is up, or face my punishment.” “Gods don't grant favours—” “—they make bargains.” Caroline glanced in Ayana's direction, a crooked smile on her face. “Nick's not wrong there.” “So you made the vow—you said so. Still not seeing how this is your fault.” “This brooch. Robin's artefact.” Caroline was turning it over in her fingers now. “It's Loki's sigil. Loki's the reason Robin could get into my head. Loki's the one who made me. Loki's supposed to be dead.” Ayana was silent for a few moments. “Are you saying Robin is Loki?” Caroline shook her head. “No. Robin was clearly a shape-shifter and a silver tongue, which lines up with Loki's powers, but even Loki couldn't shift so well that I couldn't have seen it. Robin is... I'm not sure. A son of Loki, most likely. Hidden away, like you. And while he might be powerless now, it's who else is out there that worries me.” Ayana thought about Neith's words and nodded. “And there is someone else out there.” At that, Caroline's eyebrows lifted. “Do I want to know?” “Want to? Probably not.” Ayana was uncomfortably aware she was echoing Seshat's words to her from much earlier in the day. “But need to?” She sighed. “Neith said it was a time of challenge and if I've learned one thing this weekend it's that challenges are easier faced with friends.” She held out her hand to Caroline. “Ready?” There was a moment of hesitation from Caroline, then she accepted Ayana's hand. “If Neith's involved, things must be bad.” “I'm getting that impression,” Ayana agreed. She led the way back into the warmth of the room, where she noted her chair had now been occupied by Joelle, while Nick had convinced Sita to allow him a space on the couch.

“So what's this about regrouping?” Jonno asked as Ayana came to perch on the arm of her mother's seat. “Yes,” said Sita, “and where did that leopard come from?” Ayana glanced at Nick to see if he'd say anything and when he didn't, she said, “The leopard is Neith's... companion.” Sita blinked. “Neith does not become involved in that way.” “Not normally,” Nick amended. “She told us that ma'at needed to be maintained.” Sita looked blank, as did Caroline. Jonno looked confused. It was left to no lesser person than Joelle to say, “Isn't that the Egyptian concept of balance?” Ayana's eyebrows shot up. “Mum?” Joelle smiled faintly. “I have interests beyond being your mother, you know.” Nick, meanwhile, was nodding. “It's her way of saying that someone else, another of the elder gods, is meddling in the mortal world and she wants them stopped.” At that Jonno swore, then glanced in Joelle's direction as if to apologise. “Why are the elder gods suddenly involved?” Sita wondered. “They have been silent for so long.” “But it also explains something,” said Jonno. “Something that's been bugging me. How Robin, whatever his real name is, how he knew the when, where and what of Cronos' binding.” “You think this elder told him,” said Ayana. “Someone did.” “He was a shape-shifter,” Sita began. “Could he not have been present but with a different face?” Caroline shook her head. “He was powerful but he wasn't that old.” She handed

the brooch to Ayana. “Age would have granted him a bit more subtlety.” Nick snorted. “So what do we know?” Jonno asked. “Not much,” Ayana itted. “We know there's an elder god meddling, we know Neith wants them stopped. We don't know who and we don't know what the meddling is—although,” she added thoughtfully, “Robin's plot might be a guide.” “Or it might have been done as a distraction, or, hell, even a test to see what you do.” Jonno looked as if he'd just bitten into a lemon. “In other words, we know little for certain,” said Sita. “But we have plenty of scope for speculation and research.” “That about sums it up,” said Nick with a nod. “I'll get onto the others,” said Jonno. “Ana may have picked something up, or Zhong.” Joelle raised a tentative hand. “Research is something I am quite good at.” “You don't have to be involved,” said Caroline. “This isn't your fight.” “Not directly,” Joelle retorted. “But since my daughter appears to be at the centre of it—” “Mum!” “What? I may be thoroughly mortal but I am still your mother and I have a master's degree in archives and record management.” Ayana opened her mouth to reply, then recognised the look Joelle was giving her and quietly shut it again. Jonno, meanwhile, looked intrigued. “You'd really do that?” “Of course.”

“Well, I'm not gonna say no to that.” Jonno grinned. “Be good to have the help.” “I believe you have just made Jonno's year,” said Sita, amused. “And in the meantime, at least we know there's a problem to look for,” said Nick with a grimace. “It isn't much to go on, but it's what we've got.” “We'll make this work,” said Caroline. “So what're you going to do now?” Jonno asked. “Go back to college, I hope,” said Joelle with some emphasis. “Can I?” Ayana appealed. “Should I?” “Can you? Yes,” said Nick. “And yes, you should,” said Caroline. “You worked bloody hard for that place to throw it away because of... this.” She waved her hands in a vague gesture. “It's still your life.” “But,” said Sita, “it would be a good idea for you to learn a more efficient form of self-defence than relying on an ancient Egyptian Medjai.” “I can't be around all the time,” Nick itted. “I suppose not.” She looked at the brooch. “What should I do with this?” “Give it to me,” said Jonno holding out his hand. “There's somewhere I can put it where no-one else can get it. That's what you're after, right?” “Right.” Jonno smiled. “Got it covered.” Gratefully Ayana handed over the brooch. “With that settled,” said Sita, “where should I return you?” “Cambridge,” Nick suggested.

Ayana nodded. “What about you? The cottage is kind of a mess.” “Oh, send me back there,” said Jonno with a grin. “Gotta get my Land Rover and I can do a bit of clean up. Joelle, I'll be in touch later in the week.” “All right: two for Cambridge, one for Yorkshire. Kari?” Caroline sighed. “I think I'm going to stay here for a day or so, just to make sure the locals haven't noticed anything or have any problems.” “Will you be coming back to Tenby?” Joelle asked. “Maybe.” From Joelle's expression, Ayana knew her mother recognised that answer as a negative as well as she did. “And you, Joelle?” “Might as well make it Cambridge,” she said. “I think I need to have words with my daughter and her... what did you call him? An ancient Egyptian Medjai?” Despite knowing she'd done nothing wrong, Ayana gulped at that tone of voice. Clearly that would be some inquisition. On the other hand, if they were back in Cambridge when it happened, perhaps they could include Becky and get the explanations over with in one go. From being the one with questions, she was now the one with answers. Heck of a weekend. Sita, for her part, simply nodded. “All right.” She sprang off the sofa and pulled Hekate's key from her pocket. “Time to go home.” And as quickly as they'd arrived on Naxos, Ayana found herself back in a very chilly Cambridge, just outside one of the local hotels. “Half thought we'd be at the college,” Ayana itted. “I think Sita was trying to make your life easier,” said Nick. “And I'm willing to bet there's a reservation waiting for you,” he added to Joelle.

“How?” “Jonno,” said Ayana. “When in doubt, assume Jonno's the answer. I think.” Joelle snorted at that. “I'll it, some sleep would do me good. I'm not even sure I know what day it is. But,” she added, “don't think I'm letting either of you off the hook. I want a full explanation.” “I know, mum.” Ayana wrapped her arms around Joelle's neck in a gentle hug. “We'll all get some sleep and meet up tomorrow.” “I will hold you to that.” Ayana watched as her mother entered the hotel reception area and saw her, a moment later, head towards the lifts, key card in hand. Jonno definitely did good work. She turned to Nick. “What about you?” “Since I'm going to be here for the long term, I probably need to find a place closer to town.” He shrugged a bit as they started to walk in the general direction of the college. “The rest of it, I guess we figure out.” They walked for a little while in silence. Though they weren't touching now, Ayana could feel Nick's presence and could sense his anxiety. “Something wrong?” she asked. “Besides the obvious.” “Well... I do have a bit of an ission to make.” Ayana eyed him. “Another one?” At that, Nick snorted softly. “I suppose it's been a weekend full of them, but yes.” “Go on.” “The day you ran into me—” “The day I got chased by Dmitri,” Ayana cut in. “Yes, that.” Nick rubbed the back of his head in a sheepish gesture. “It, uh, wasn't your fault.”

“What wasn't?” But even as Ayana asked, she knew the answer and found herself laughing. “You mean you set out to be knocked down.” “And I may have texted Becky so's you didn't have to walk back to college alone.” “I could have guessed that bit.” Ayana shook her head, amused. “You didn't have to it to that, you know?” “If we're going to be tied to each other like this...” Nick shrugged a little, still looking slightly sheepish. “Partners should be able to trust each other.” “And that's the thing of it,” said Ayana. “I trusted you long before I knew you. Weird, huh?” Nick snorted softly and shook his head as they reached the perimeter of Newnham College's grounds. “Weirder than finding out your mother was worshipped as a deity in ancient Egypt?” Ayana considered that for a moment. “Maybe not, and I'm not even going to think about Robin and his role in all this. I don't need the headache.” At that, Nick laughed. “Ayana? Nick?” To Ayana's surprise, Becky was loitering around by the entrance, clearly waiting for someone. Then she realised, with a jolt, that Jonno's talents probably extended to being able to send texts from a phone that was, so far as Ayana knew, dead somewhere in Yorkshire. “You're back?” “We're back,” Ayana agreed. “Be gentle,” Nick warned. “It's been a rough couple of days.” Becky gave Nick a very long, pointed look. “Rough being a euphemism for what, exactly?” Then she did a double take. “What did you two do?”

Ayana sighed. “It's a really, really long story.”