Witch Risen: A Paranormal Adventure (Bad Tom Series Book 2) (6 page)

That won't work for me. I need to get back into Eunice's place before she returns home. I can't sit around being Cat. I make a loud yowl of complaint.

"I can knock you out completely if you can't follow instructions." He looks over at my host. "Robert?"

Robert looks thoughtful, but I draw the vet's attention back by patting him with my good front paw. When he looks down at me, I draw the bad one into my chest protectively, roll my head over in a way that traps an ear against the table and thrusts Cat's nose upward, and close my eyes. Despite being the only thing I could think of to communicate, I bet that move looks oh-my-god-look-how-sweet-he-is adorable. At least we're all men here and nobody gets all gooey about it.

"Good. A series of cat naps is just the thing."

Cat's all for the naps. I'm stuck. I can't risk his life for my impatience.

If people want me to pay attention, how could anyone think it's a good idea to make Cat comfy on a chair covered with fringed pillows? And it's that good fringe too, the long, thick stuff you find on old fabrics. I try to pay attention while the coven plans, but Cat's attention is elsewhere. There's all that swingy movement to be had with a bat and a smack and a little twitch of the unbandaged claw.

My understanding of the meeting is all just "we need to decide if we should"…swap, swip, swish…"but we don't know"…fweep, fwap, shake…"well, a cleansing never really goes amiss"…flop, roll, grab…

Natalie's voice rises above the quieter ones. "Bats on a biscuit! Someone
please
do something about that cat."

That gets my attention. From my upside down position, I look over and she's glaring meaningfully at Gillian. Like I'm anyone's responsibility but my own.

I don't mind taking my new seat constrained against Gillian's shoulder. It's much easier to follow things now. Too bad the meeting's breaking up.

I'm going to need to read someone's notes just in case there's a quiz later.

As everyone gets up to leave, Gillian calls to Darrin, "Could you stay a bit longer? I've a favor to ask."

"Of course." He ambles over. I've got my own chair now that Cat no longer needs to be on lock down. Gillian slides a pen and piece of paper his way.

She says, "You recall we discussed how we're going to cover ourselves if Eunice discovers Tom has been working in the shop and many of us would have seen him?"

"Absolutely, the fake Tom quitting in a huff because the shop is closed? It's a great plan."

"Have you ever given Eunice anything in writing?"

"Can't say as I have…oh, I see. You need someone to write the letter!"

"Yes, someone with a masculine hand. I expect she's had letters from both Tom and Robert and could obviously recognize their writing."

"Happy to, happy to. What would you like me to say?" He picks up the pen and poises it over the paper.

"Just that you're resigning from the position because you're tired of expecting to work and finding the shop closed instead. Also that you've left your name tag and dropped your keys through the letter flap on your way out. Something like that. Then sign it 'Tom Collins' to match the name tag we've prepared."

Darrin busies himself with the letter, and Gillian looks it over when he's done.

"That's perfect. What do you think of yourself, then?" She pulls out a plastic photo name tag and hands it to him.

"Well, well, you did a nice job with that. They do look a lot alike, don't they? Just enough that if someone describes our Tom, the description would also fit this young man."

I poke my head up and take a gander at the guy in the picture. Kind of squinty. Big nose. I don't see the resemblance. He's nowhere near as good-looking as I am.

They make their goodbyes, then Gillian takes her copies of the shop keys out of her bag and places them and the name tag into a pocket. She chucks me under the chin before she leaves. "Well, that's ready to go. I'm on my way to the shop, so wish me luck."

I would wish her luck, or at least walk her to the door, but Cat suddenly remembers that there's fringe just a quick leap away.

The next morning, Darrin stops by and checks his handiwork. He gives Cat a clean bill of health with a warning to take it easy until the paw is fully healed, so I shift immediately.

As soon as I'm able, I grab the jeans and shirt Robert laid out for me and get Darrin moving toward the door. "Thanks, doc, really. I owe you," I say, as I steer him along toward the front door with a friendly hand on the back. He snags his bag as he goes.

"Watching you transform is mesmerizing."

"Yeah, yeah, mesmerizing. In a totally not-at-all-weird, we're-all-manly-men kind of way, right? Thanks again." I close the door in his face before he has a chance to burst into song about my painful transformation habit.

I turn and rush back to the study where Robert has his head buried in a book.

"Fill me in. Right now. What did you guys plan while I was suffering from cat brain? I know about the fake Tom, but what else?"

He holds up a finger and continues reading for a moment, then places an embossed leather bookmark and closes the book. "You didn't hear the entire thing?"

"Somebody
put a cat on a chair full of fringed pillows. How much do you think I heard?"

Robert smiles at that. "I see. Then, yes, let's talk."

He leans back and holds his interlaced hands against his mouth for a moment before he begins. "Natalie is going to put Eunice to sleep in hopes that Cassie will then be in control again."

"She can do that?"

"She thinks so. And I believe she can." He inclines his head toward me, "Keep this between you and me, if you could, but I've always thought Natalie was an extremely accomplished caster. Despite our differences through the years, I admire her abilities. She's really quite a witch."

"I definitely won't pass that on. Because how long would we have to listen to her brag on and on about being a master caster after that, do you think?"

Robert returns my grin. "Two, three years, maybe?"

"In that range," I agree. "But she can just put her to sleep, and we'll have Cassie back? Just like that?"

His grin fades. He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Tom. It's not that simple. Natalie wants to talk to Cassie, but she can't keep Eunice asleep forever. It won't be very long. Maybe half an hour, maybe minutes. There aren't that many coven members we know we can trust, and the fewer people involved, the less oomph behind the spell."

"It's not good enough, damn it! What good is all this magic if it won't help me save her? What good is any of it?"

He stands and moves to place a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it off. "Leave me alone."

"You'll get to talk to her, Tom. It's more than I got when my wife died. I don't mean to be a downer, but I would have given anything to have just a few minutes with her to tell her one last time how I feel."

"I'm not losing her, so don't even talk like that. How can you be giving up like this?" I feel my face growing hot, my anger starting to boil.

"We're not giving up. I'm just saying…"

"And I'm just not listening." I storm to my room and shed my human body. Cat is going hunting, sore paw and all.

A well-chosen spell sends the guards at the tomb's open mouth walking away into the desert accompanied by my driver. I'll have no trouble finding my way back to Cairo in the stolen cab. By the time they come to themselves with no memory of how they'd gotten there, they'll be well on their way to death by dehydration. The sands are dangerous with no place to escape the sun and no compass to point the direction home.

I can't have them describing me after I've gone, can I? Not with what I've come to do. Grave-robbing is endemic with the political upheaval in Egypt, but no one would let me just walk away with what I plan to take.

The desert air cleaves to me in a hot embrace. It's been too long. I've waited thousands of years. I've worn hundreds of bodies, some better than this one, some worse. And yet I never stopped believing this time would come.

As I go deeper into the tomb, I need light. I blow across the girl's palm and a cool flame starts there, inches above and not burning, only illuminating. I take my time as I read the hieroglyphs along the way. Usually, there would be stories of the bravery and leadership of pharaohs, but here there is no human braggadocio to interrupt the stories of gods and goddesses. All of the paintings celebrate the power of Ba'al and his sister wives. It's promising. Very promising. But all the small openings lead to side chambers which contain only uninteresting artifacts, not the main attraction.

The passage ends, but it's clear it continues on beyond the massive stone that blocks it. The stone block cuts the story-telling in half, one arm and one leg of a figure showing at the seam with the rest behind.

It's not much of an impediment for me. I assume the diggers planned explosives for it. They won't be needed when I'm done: I hope they appreciate the favor. The government can have most of what's behind this curtain. I am here for only one thing.

The stone crumbles when I lay my hands on it. The gravel moves off down the corridor behind me with only a little effort of my will, but I make sure to leave a smooth path by which I can leave easily.

I've entered similar chambers before and found myself misled, taken in by the ones who came after, who called themselves Ba'al to impress their local tribes and claim Ba'al's strength. But there is only one Ba'al, my Ba'al, the first to be called Master.

I grew tired through the centuries of being lured to Egypt when I caught a scrap of news that turned out to lead to a pretender. It took so long to travel in those days, only to discover they'd unearthed some small, local deity, many of whom were even human. Ridiculous! Pretenders to the throne who confused the historians.

This time, no one has claimed it to be his tomb. But I saw the writing on the wall, as they say. The style of the tomb paintings and their subject matter was enough to tell me I had to see it for myself. It's only a hundred miles or so from where I last saw him. A hundred miles was a long distance in those ancient times, but it was not so far for a god.

The corridor opens into the burial chamber now. The air is poor in here, but I won't be staying long. I take frequent, deep draws of it to satisfy the needs of this body.

The sarcophagus is undisturbed. It's remarkable no tomb robber has found it. It looks exactly as it would if it had been sealed yesterday. The canopic jars that look so much like the knock-offs I lined up around the top of the shop are placed just so, the organs inside still waiting for renewed use in the afterlife.

I walk to the coffin and run my fingers across the smooth lid, reading the words as much with my fingertips as with my eyes. The painted face is the face I knew. It's him. It's Ba'al.

I lift the heavy lid with magic, although I would sacrifice these arms, this back, these legs gladly if I had to. His remains are still wrapped in decaying folds of cloth. The mummy smells of antiquity and dust. I picture him beneath the cloth as he must be now. In such a well-preserved tomb, he might even still be recognizable.

But I haven't come to admire a corpse.

I set the clay Ab Khr that I prepared so many years ago beside me on the ground. I stabilize my mind around one thought and then extend my hand toward the mummy's chest and sink it deep, tearing through the rotted cloth and dried out flesh below the rib cage. When I pull it out again, I cradle his heart in my palm, then raise it to my lips for a kiss.

I kneel to place it into the Ab Khr and close the lid, sealing it with the beeswax and herbal potion that is traditional to my people. I murmur my intent to gather his essence back from the universe. Although there can be no breeze in this underground stone chamber, a soft draft moves my hair.

I close the box and my own heart nearly bursts with joy. It wells within me like lava flowing up from the heart of a volcano. It is hot and abundant, and it will burn away anything that gets in its way.

He has been gone so long it will require strong magic to draw him back to me. It's time to go home and get back
everything
I've lost.

It should have been an exhausting flight. I barely notice, I'm so buoyed up by my precious cargo. Getting through customs with a mummy's heart should be difficult, even impossible. But for me, I'm sure it will just be an amusing stroll. And if it isn't? I have a backup plan.

I keep the Ab Khr close, hidden in a large handbag my Eunice persona would reject as something Gillian would buy. It pulls my entire silhouette down. But until Ba'al has eyes to go with his heart, it makes no difference.

I hope he'll be pleased with my choice. He would have liked Eunice better—her extreme lean body was so much like my original one. It seems unfair that I could choose a form for him that pleases me when he has no choice in mine. Of course, he can choose any body for me on his return, and I will happily let go of this one to please him. But the small amount of wealth and property I've accrued could be lost, and those things are not so easy to gain in a world that doesn't leave gifts at our altars. It's no fortune, but it's enough for us to be comfortable anywhere we choose.