Visions of Fire and Ice (The Petiri) (7 page)

“Yes, I do.”

The sound of words seeped into his fuddled brain, and he turned to her, puzzled. “Excuse me?”

“You asked if I liked Egypt. My answer is yes. It’s beautiful. I can’t wait to get to the museum.”

“You like history?”

“I do. I’ve dreamed of Egypt all my life, and I can’t wait to see the objects of my obsession,” she said with an impish grin.

He quirked his mouth into a semblance of a smile to hide the grinding of his teeth.
Can I be your object of obsession?
No, he did not just have that thought. He couldn’t. He wasn’t the flirting type. “And what is it about Egypt that obsesses you?”

She smiled, her eyes glittering with excitement, then turned to the window. “This,” she said, motioning toward the city. “Everything. Ancient history, current culture. A mixture of two different worlds colliding in the city. Think about it, Ramose,” her body radiated with energy, “thousands of years before the American continent was discovered by Europeans, Egyptian society had built itself into its own superpower. Then, in the blink of an eye, it disappeared. The writings, the art, everything, lost beneath the desert sands. Why? How could an entire people allow such destruction of their history?”

This time when he smiled, he meant it. “I am not so sure it was their choice. The Romans were just the end. Though it is true, it is rare an entire people are lost, even their method of written language. It is a pleasure to know it is now recovered. You mentioned their art. I see you like ancient jewelry as well.”

Her eyes never left the sights on the other side of her car window. “What makes you say that?”

It was now or never. “Your arm bracelet.”

She turned to face him, her face puzzled. “Ancient? What makes you think it’s ancient?”

He arched a disbelieving brow. She was playing coy. She had to be. “You don’t know?”

She shook her head, now seeming oblivious to the sights and sounds which had held her enthralled just moments before.

Ramose sighed. “The bracelet you wear is a symbol of an old people of the sands. It’s called a
Napshua
and is probably several thousand years old.”

Her hand shot to her arm, and he wondered if she was trying to protect it. He could understand that. The
Napshua
was more than a hunk of metal. Her fingers traced the tail of the golden serpent trailing down her arm, her eyes far away in thought. The sight of her fingers delicately caressing the asp’s body sent another wave of desire through him.

“What people?”

Ramose hesitated. He couldn’t give her too much information, or he’d find himself in a bind. No matter how attracted he was to this female, he still couldn’t trust her. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

“They have no name. They have lived in the desert since ancient times, keeping separate from most of the world. They prefer their solitude.” Everything he told her was true.

She narrowed her eyes. “Nomads?”

He nodded. That was as good as any description, he supposed.

“And you think this arm bracelet is from them? Why?”

He shrugged. “The design. The color. The way the metal sparkles. It’s different from....” He’d almost blown it.

“From what?”

“From anything.”

Frowning, Tamara nodded, but he saw anger and mistrust flash in her eyes. He needed to be more careful. He did not wish to alienate her before he got his answers.

She pursed her lips and turned back to the window.

“How did you come by it?”

Chewing her lip, she turned back to him. “It’s a family heirloom.”

The car pulled into the Antiquities Museum parking lot and pulled to a stop.

* * * *

Tamara waited for Ramose to open the door, enjoying the vision of smooth, fluid grace in every move.

“Shall we?” He offered her his hand and helped her from the car.

At first, his fingers were cool in contrast to the warm air surrounding them. Cold even. A cold her internal heat yearned for. Yet as she absorbed his touch, his fingers warmed, their heat warming her flesh.
Odd
.

Hands linked, they walked into the compound. Guards patrolled along black iron gates, ever watchful for terrorists or pickpockets. Once a palace, the neoclassical design stood the test of time. The architecture was all sharpness, the corners, the shape of the building, but the salmon-colored bricks were softened by the arched first floor windows. Two tall palms stood sentry on either side of the doors, guarding the entrance to Egypt’s most protected artifacts.

“What are those?” Tamara nodded to the rectangular concrete fountain filled with plants.

“That’s papyrus, and the flat ones are lotus plants. They are symbolic of lower and upper Egypt.”

She nodded. The tall weedy papyrus looked nothing like what she’d expected. Before laying eyes on a single artifact, she was already impressed.

She couldn’t help but hold her breath when they passed through the museum doors then let it out slowly. History called to her, warm and comforting. Awe inspiring.

Ramose guided her to the right, toward the statues and artifacts of times long past. The main hall was filled with large, impressive statues, the smaller rooms heavily laden with works of art and items such as death masks.

They walked and talked. While Ramose described each piece with an easy familiarity, his green eyes sparkled with excitement.

Chapter Nine

So far, Ramose had enjoyed showing his world to Tamara. He loved watching her joy and awe as she studied each item within the museum. Blue and gold eyes sparkled as though imagining herself living in those ancient times. But he wasn’t here to enjoy himself. He was here to learn something, and the only thing he’d managed to learn was how much she attracted him. Sexual frustration aside, he still hadn’t so much as made an hourglass sand’s progress about the
Napshua
. All he’d gotten from her was it was a family heirloom. It didn’t take a god to make that leap before she’d told him of its origin. He’d spent enough time with her to know she wasn’t a thief, but that didn’t mean he could back off from his mission.

He forced himself to concentrate on the conversation, the antiquities and their histories. But it grew increasingly more difficult with each moment that passed. Her scent kept him on the knife’s edge of desire while his mind struggled with the problem of the
Napshua
. If it fell into the wrong hands and was analyzed, it could mean the death of his people. He needed to get it back. And without her running to the Egyptian police and pressing charges.

“She looks so happy.” Tamara peered at the death mask of Yuya, mother of Queen Tye. “All the other death masks are so serious, yet this one smiles so peacefully.”

“Indeed,” he said, forcing his thoughts back to history. “Of all royalty, she was probably the most pleasant. She was always smiling.”

Tamara turned to him, her brow puzzled. “You sound as if you knew her.”

“I did.”
Damn
. He couldn’t keep slipping like this with her. “Through the records. Most of these people,” he motioned to the masks and artifacts, “are like family to me. Each item tells me something about their lives.”

“Really?” Her voice was skeptical. “You don’t sound like any historian or archeologist I’ve ever seen, on TV or in person. It’s as though you take everything here personally.” She studied him for a moment longer, before turning to leave the room. Her heels clicked on the floor with each step as she headed down the hall, leaving him alone in her wake.

Ramose cursed himself inwardly. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to make a mistake from which he could not recover. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he followed her, reminding himself to keep quiet.

They moved on until they approached the King Tutankhamen display. Dread pulled at his stomach, and his steps dragged. He hated this room. Even when his job brought him here, it took all he had to enter. Today was no different. Perhaps even worse. He’d dreamed of that fateful day just last evening. Of the day he’d let down the boy he loved. The day he’d let down his sister.

He glanced at Tamara. Excitement burned in her eyes. There was no way he could steer her away from the exhibit. He hated how popular the boy king’s funerary was, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. She would, of course, wish to see everything she could of his life. Everyone who came to Egypt did.
Damned grave robbers
. Maybe he could remove the rest of the audience, and it wouldn’t be so difficult to see her as the tourist when alone.

“Wait here.”

* * * *

Tamara waited while Ramose approached the guard at the entrance. The man nodded as Ramose whispered in his ear then went inside the exhibit room and spoke to the patrons. One by one, they trickled out, and the guard positioned a CLOSED sign in the doorway. One particular man, a middle-aged Egyptian from what she could see, stared at them accusingly as they were pushed out the door.

She arched a questioning brow to Ramose.

With a tight smile, he took her hand and guided her into the now empty room, pulling the door closed behind them.

“You had everyone else leave?”

The smile on his face looked perfectly natural, but Tamara could tell it was forced. Maybe it was the flicker in his aura, but she could almost feel his discomfort.

He shrugged. “Just a perk of helping with security. I wished you to see this in peace, without having to fight the crowds.”

“You don’t like tourists much.” A frown covered his face, and she laughed. “That’s it, isn’t it? And here I am a tourist!”

He smiled, raised his hands, palms up, a sign of acquiescence and defeat at her observation. Tension drained from his body. “I don’t dislike all tourists.”

The smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes. They remained hard-edged. Maybe even haunted.

For years, she’d learned to pay attention to her feelings, and one thing was sure: Ramose was hiding something. And whatever secret he was keeping, it was big. Not that it mattered. He was just a man. One she’d never met before yesterday, despite her dreams. His secrets were none of her business.

Though she still didn’t know why he volunteered to bring her to the museum. Yes, he desired her. She didn’t need the bright hues of his aura to tell her that. It was evident in the way he held himself, in the sudden gasp in the car before they arrived here. Yet he made no effort to woo her. He didn’t try to kiss her. Except for the single moment the night before, when she’d been sure he was going to press his lips to hers, he’d kept his distance. He’d even stopped holding her hand as soon as he could.

Holding back a sigh of frustration, Tamara turned her attention to the displays. The flash of Tutankhamen’s gold sparkled even in the muted artificial light. State of the art display cases lined the room filled with hundreds of artifacts. Here lay the pieces that once were buried deep within a tomb, wrapped together with the body of a boy king.

The central focus of the room was on a pedestal. Encased in protective bulletproof glass stood the one piece known by millions of people. King Tutankhamen’s death mask. She’d seen photographs, but none did it justice. Gone was the cold unyielding glare from the cameras, replaced with a soft luster of gold. It called and compelled her to feel its warmth and softness. The royal headdress bore an asp and a vulture.

Ramose must have noted her examination for he said, “That asp is Wadjet’s symbol on his nemes.” He nodded to the headdress. “She was the symbol of Lower Egypt. The other is Nekbhet, her sister and symbol of Upper Egypt.”

Tamara nodded and peered closer at the asp. It wasn’t much different from the one on her arm, though her arm bracelet, or
Napshua
as Ramose had called it, was of a much finer craftsmanship. Her gaze trailed over the headdress, the blue paste glass shone in the light. Her gaze moved lower to the collar, filled with gold, turquoise, lapis lazuli, and more. The stones glittered in the soft light like stars in the sky.

“Wasn’t Wadjet the protector of Ra?”

He nodded. “Yes, she was known as the Eye of Ra, or the Eye of Horus. She protected him from the demons in the underworld, using the power of fire.”

Fire
. Just like she had. Tamara did her best to not react; instead, she looked deeper into the mask’s face. The dark eyeliner around his eyes and his brow only served to enhance the youthful beauty. A boy king struck down before his life truly began.

“I would have to say,” she said, breathlessly, “no picture does this justice.”

With short, slow steps, she circled the mask’s display case. Energy emanated from the piece in almost imperceptible waves. It pulled at her, drew her closer. She was surprised to find tears stinging her eyes.

“The work is exquisite and so different than anything else in the museum. The metal looks poured rather than molded or pounded like the others. I wonder why it’s so different.” She continued to whisper. Her fingers itched to touch it, and she clasped her hands behind her back in an effort to avoid prints on the glass.

“It is said the mask was created quickly and that it looks nothing like him. That is why they say it is so smooth. They did not have time to recreate his true image.”

She barely glanced at him as she walked to the coffin. “That may be,” she said, “but the work is still exquisite, the detail so clear. Artisans don’t do this type of work unless they care.” She shook her head, unable to imagine the true level of work a piece like this would take. “I’ve seen new computerized images of what he looked like, and it’s true, it doesn’t look much like him, or at least what our computers think he looked like.” Tamara sighed, her eyes trailing across the artifacts around the room. “But his innocence,
that
it captures. Maybe, due to time constraints, it wasn’t his face they worked to capture, but his spirit.”

Tamara studied Ramose from the corner of her eye. His aura swirled and changed colors. Shades of muddied and murky blue washed across his chest, like a shield protecting his heart. Sadness. It was odd to see someone care so much about a boy who’d died so long ago. Then, again, she had tears stinging her own eyes, so maybe it was simply that. A respect for a boy who’d suffered. Ramose seemed almost vulnerable and lost in thought as he stared at the golden death mask. He looked a million miles away. Or was it four thousand years away?