Crescent Moon (6 page)

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, which drew his
brows together, because he refused to laugh. He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled
up his shirtsleeves, and then reached for the shampoo bottle. Somehow, he knew
she was accustomed to people attending her—washing her hair, scrubbing her
back, brushing her hair. Because she sure hadn’t blinked an eye when she’d
dropped his jacket and asked to bathe, her gaze so expectant he knew she
expected him to jump to fulfill her wish.

And hadn’t he? He curled his fingers twice.

She rose from the water, her neck bent back and her chest rising
around a deep inhalation. “The water smells so good,” she said, smiling
slightly as she turned her head his way.

“It stinks of chlorine.”

“It’s so fresh …” But she crimped her lips, perhaps
sensing he was losing his patience with her act.

He upended the shampoo bottom and squirted a dollop of soap
in the center of his palm. “If you turn around, I’ll wash your hair.”

“You are not my servant,” she said softly.

“You just think o’ that? I’m a cop, Khepri. A damn
detective, and I just did somethin’ fuckin’ crazy bringin’ you to my home.”

“You followed your destiny,” she whispered.

“My destiny?” He snorted. He’d followed his dick. “Turn
around. I’ll wash your hair. It’ll be faster if I do it.”

Moisture filled her eyes.

He ignored it, swirling a downturned finger to tell her to
turn. As he worked suds into her long hair, he lingered over the task, his
chest filling with a strange contentment.

Juste was confused—by his actions as much as by hers. These
last few hours, she’d lifted a little of his burden. He hadn’t thought once
about Bobby and the botched operation, about his career-limiting dive across
the desk, or about his questionable future as a New Orleans PD detective.

For that reason alone, he owed her. Luxuriating in the
moment, he dug his fingers into her scalp. A beautiful woman sat in his bathtub
and his fingers were working up a lather. Sometimes, that’s all a man could ask
for.

Khepri rubbed the towel against her wet hair as she looked into the reflective glass. She stared at her own reflection, so clear in her warrior’s perfect mirror that she could see every pore of her skin. Now she knew exactly what Justin Henry Boucher had seen when he’d been washing her.

Despite the millennia she’d slept, she was still beautiful. Her features were even, nothing overlarge or too small, although her mouth was plump. Had he liked her face and her golden skin? He’d managed to touch her most everywhere as he’d patiently washed her hair, and then when she’d passed him the soft washcloth, smoothing it over her back and shoulders, her calves and thighs, only demurring from rubbing her breasts and between her legs.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have teased him with her passively couched demands. She assumed he was trying to remain a gentleman—holding onto a little reserve in her presence. Justin Henry Boucher seemed irritated by her, or by the fact of his obvious attraction. Something impossible not to notice as he’d sat on the stool topped by a down-turned lid with his legs spread. Her own heart had beat a rapid tattoo at the rising evidence of his desire as he’d growled and grunted, trying to keep his roving hands moving rather than lingering—to wash her, not seek his own pleasure—although they had both found that.

A smile stretched her mouth and she leaned closer to examine her white teeth. He’d left her a toothbrush but hadn’t bothered to show her how to use it, his hasty departure displaying the end of his patience, or perhaps his self-control. She would ask him to demonstrate the use later, although she had images in her mind of up and down motions and foaming, sweet paste. But having Justin Henry Boucher show her would make the experience something special.

She liked saying his three names. Liked the lyrical cadence of his names, which reminded her of the musical lilting of his rasping speech. Her insides melted when he grumbled and growled, but grew slick and warm when his voice dropped and he purred—as he’d done when he’d washed her hair. In her lifetime, she’d been bathed hundreds of times, but had never experienced so much pleasure.

Her bones had nearly softened. She’d fought hard not to rub against his hands like a kitten when he’d dug thick fingers into her scalp. True sensual torture had stolen her breath when he’d scrubbed a nubby cloth over her back to take away the last remnants of the resin sticking to her skin. He’d insisted because she hadn’t seen it and couldn’t reach it. And yet, when his hand had smoothed over the top of her shoulder and she’d bent back her head to give him access to her neck, and more if he would take it, he’d dropped the cloth in the water and left her to finish on her own.

When he’d stopped, she’d been disappointed, but she was now grateful for the reprieve. The sensual pull of the threads binding them together was tightening. He was fighting the spell cast by attraction and desire. So should she. Even if Amun was responsible for putting Justin in her path, she had an obligation to resist. Although she no longer had a temple, she should still take her vows seriously. Amun had protected her. He loved her. She sensed it as surely as she lived and breathed.

Temptation was a test; she was sure of that fact. Dark, curly brown hair, midnight blue eyes, and a rugged physique created a devastating package, but she was made of sterner stuff. Her head would not be turned away from her mission.

Khepri shook her head, smiling ruefully at her reflection. For a woman who had known little about desire in her life, her afterlife was rife with breath-stealing possibilities. Her blood thrummed a little faster.

Instinctively, not because she’d seen any sign or heard any whispers of advice, she knew she’d awoken in a distant future. One moment her eyes closed as she’d suffocated to death. The next, she roused from the deepest sleep due to the man who now paced restlessly outside the bathroom door. If he’d walked away at the moment she’d come whimpering back to life, she would have died, suffocated a second time, but he’d heard her frightened, breathless murmurs and worked feverishly to free her.

He’d saved her. Now she was his responsibility. Amun had chosen this man, provided him the opportunity, guided his movements so he would find her. But knowing he was meant to serve her now, and getting the man to believe it … Well, she might have to use the gifts she’d considered blessings to convince him.

He certainly seemed enamored of her womanly form—a fact she would use while making sure her own attraction remained under her control. Her first steps should be calculated. Before she set out on her quest, she had much to learn about this new world. She alone understood the peril the city faced.

New Orleans. The words tasted like something cloyingly sweet when spoken. A rich delicacy that clung to one’s tongue long after the last bite. She rather liked what she had seen of the city from the passenger side of his conveyance. Justin’s car.
Justin Henry Boucher.
More sweet, succulent words. Just a hint of spice. They tickled the tip of her tongue when she repeated them out loud. Were his names another sort of spell?

Khepri wrinkled her nose at her reflection. What was her husband thinking to send someone so palatable, so pleasing, to look upon to be her guide in this new, brazen world? Was this another temptation? Or a reward? She wished she could remember the time after she’d fallen into darkness to know whether she deserved a test of her moral fiber, or whether she’d already earned a sweet reprieve. But when she closed her eyes, there was nothing. Not a wisp of distant memory. Just a deep, dark void that frightened her more than she would let herself consider for very long.

The mirror fogged, and she used her towel to wipe it clean, not through looking at her reflection. Without kohl to line her eyes or crushed berries to redden her mouth, her face seemed bare. She used the comb she found in a drawer and untangled her hair, and then dressed in the ugly clothing he’d left in a pile on the counter. Long pants, gathered at the ankle, and with a drawstring to cinch at her waist. The joining of the fabric between her legs fell well beneath her sex, annoying her, so she rolled the banded waist to pull up the garment. The overshirt was large and reached to mid-thigh, but was soft and a pretty sky blue.

She grinned, remembering how he’d repeatedly grumbled when she’d forgotten her modesty. How much of that had been discomfort, and how much his own attraction? He likely thought that covering her in ugly clothing would lessen her appeal.

The neckline of the large shirt shifted, baring a shoulder, and she left it like that as she let herself out of the bathing room.

Justin had stopped his pacing and was in the room nearer the outside door. He held a small object to his ear and was speaking into it. Rather than staring hard and wondering at its use, as she had so many things since she’d awakened, her mind found the object on an internal script, named it, and she knew instantly its label—a cellphone—and what it was used for. He was speaking to some unseen person far away.

“Denise, thanks. I’m not sure what size, but she’s … narrower than you. Like a model, one that needs a sandwich or three.” His gaze landed on Khepri. “And she’s average height. Maybe five foot five.”

Average height? Khepri snorted and squared her shoulders. In her time, she’d been quite tall and considered willowy. Did Justin like a larger woman? The thought pricked her pride.

Choosing to ignore the man as he finished his conversation, she strode toward the table and the bag she’d abandoned that held all her worldly treasures. The fabric of the bag was nearly transparent and crackled when she lifted it. Turning it over, she emptied the contents onto the table’s surface. The amulets thudded against the tabletop. She reached into the bag to dislodge the stiff linen wrappings.

She tossed the bag aside and crushed a handful of linen in her fist. The fabric was hard, coarse, filthy. Her wizened body had rested inside this horrible cocoon. With a shudder, she remembered the panic she’d felt the moment she’d awoken and realized her predicament.

Closing her eyes, she saw the vizier, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he’d hovered over her, telling her why he’d set on murdering her. From deep inside, panic rose, causing her breaths to shorten as though her ribs were still constricted by linen bands.

Arms slipped around her middle. Khepri was pulled back against a hard chest.

Without speaking, she turned and wrapped her arms around Justin, her rescuer. How could she explain his role in all of this in a way that he would understand and believe?

Neither spoke. Both barely breathed. Their heartbeats hammered together, and then took up the same beat. At the rhythmic sound, she sighed and snuggled closer to his strong, broad chest.

A knock sounded on the outside door.

Justin stiffened against her and gently put her aside as he walked toward the door. If possible, his back straightened even more as he stood to one side, allowing another man to enter. A younger man with medium-length brown hair and green eyes whose gaze darted around the room until it landed on her and held.

Khepri noted the red blotches centered on the younger man’s cheeks, the thinning of his lips, the curling of his hands. The stranger was angry.

“I am Khepri,” she said softly. “Amun’s wife.” She added the last, although she knew he didn’t have a clue what significance that name held.

His head bobbed sharply. “Khepri.” His gaze raked her features. “Where exactly are you from, Miz Khepri?”

“My home was located near Thebes.”

“Egyptian, and from near where the exhibit was uncovered,” he said, not to her but to Justin, because his head swiveled slowly toward her rescuer.

Justin’s expression could have been chiseled from quarry rock.

“Imagine my surprise when the camera tech showed me new feed,” the younger man said, his words tight and brittle. “Especially of the door beside the cargo area—and you leadin’ a naked woman from a fuckin’ crime scene.”

“The others know?” Justin asked, his voice rough as gravel.

“Only Sammy, and I told him to keep it to himself. Seems he considers you some kinda hero.” His gaze narrowed and locked with Justin’s. “Tell me I haven’t managed to fuck over my career coverin’ your ass.”

Justin grunted and turned his head, his gaze finding hers. A crease formed between his eyebrows. “I know this looks bad, but everything about this case stinks.”

“Robbery of ancient junk not up to your standards?”

Justin huffed out a breath and his gaze went to the floor. “I know I’ve been an ass.”

“Yeah, you have. But you lost a partner, so I cut you some slack.”

Justin’s jaw tightened, and he raised his head, his expression cleared of anger. A look that approached a plea lay naked on his face. “I didn’t want her grilled and booked.”

The younger man’s anger drained away, his shoulders slumping. “Gonna introduce us?”

“She just did. Her name’s Khepri, and she’s some kind of nun. The wife of a god.” Justin’s face swung toward her. “Khepri, this is my partner, Michael Prejean. And yes, he has three names too, but I don’t know the middle one.”

“Michael … is lovely.” She approached him, lifting her hand when he lifted his, because that was the custom here. She endured his scrutiny as she slowly pulled away her hand. No jolt of lightning had occurred when they touched. Not even a faint ripple of awareness. She smiled. “It is very nice to meet Justin’s … partner.”

Michael cleared his throat. He tilted his head to speak over his shoulder without breaking his stare. “So
partner
, you better fill me in.”

“Might take a while. I’ll get you a beer.”

As the two men sauntered toward another room, Khepri pondered their relationship, wondering at the hint of hostility simmering between them. They worked together, called each other partner, and yet, they were not.

Justin was older, with an air of cynicism and suspicion surrounding him. This she recognized, but she knew he harbored no deep distrust of her, although she was sure that was his habit. He’d followed his instincts when dealing with her. At some point, he might decide instinct should not erase habit—something for which she must be prepared.

Michael wasn’t very hard to read either. He held his partner in some awe. He wanted to trust him, wanted to follow his lead, but Justin kept him away. Khepri almost felt sorry for Michael, but she knew the younger man was adept at turning situations to his own benefit and would one day grow tired of Justin’s rebuffs. She hoped they both soon realized they needed each other. In her quest, she would need them both. This she knew without using any oracular power. In a world without magic, she needed two men, two warriors, with their feet planted solidly on the earth.

Khepri strode back to the table. Best to get started and learn what she could from her wrappings. If a spell had been used, perhaps the translation would give her a hint of where to begin her search for the demon pharaoh.

Picking up an amulet, she held it on her open palm, examining the dark hematite figure of a funerary headrest, its bell curve supported on a pedestal. In an instant, she understood its meaning. Like an
ushabti
in the afterlife, the headrest ornament was meant to grow and support her head in rest. It also embodied a spell to keep her head attached to her body—a not-so-subtle plea for her to remain intact so that she could do future battle. She wrapped her hand around the cool stone and closed her eyes, but received no pulse or jagged ripple of energy. Its energy had been spent helping her get here. Now, the amulet was useless.

Replacing it along the edge of the table, she reached for the next small amulet, a ring depicting the
wedjat
eye of Horus. Carved entirely in turquoise, its shape was an eye replacing the body of a falcon and with its brow a wing. The
wedjat
eye was a symbol of regeneration, for Horus’s eye had been plucked from his head by a rival for the throne, but then later returned, thus healing and restoring his sight. The loss and regeneration of Horus’s eye symbolized the phases of the moon and held powerful magic. She curled her fingers around the object. The stone warmed and shivered. Taking that as a sign, she slipped the ring onto her middle finger.

Footsteps approached, but she didn’t turn to the sound.

A hand reached past her, a finger trailing a line of rosined fabric.

“Juste says you were wrapped in this,” Michael said softly. “That you could have suffocated. Mind tellin’ me how you managed to be wrapped like a mummy but lived long enough for him to cut you free?”

Her mouth curved softly, and she angled her head to meet his gaze. “Would you believe I was reborn after being mummified centuries ago so that your partner could save me just in time?”

Eyebrow arched, Michael grunted. “I have a hard enough time believin’ Jesus rose from the dead, and I been hearin’ that story all my life.” His gaze narrowed, studying her.

Khepri held still, letting him sink into her unshielded gaze.
I speak the truth. Some part of you knows this.

He grunted again and then moved, jerking his head toward Justin. “I can see why you didn’t want her booked. Girl needs a keeper.”

Her smile deepened. “Do you have no magic in this world that you automatically think I’m telling a story?”

“Only magic I’ve ever found was in Jean Lafitte’s at the bottom of a bottle of absinthe. Thought I met his ghost one time.”

Khepri arched a brow. “If you believe in ghosts, then you must believe in the unseen world. Let your cynicism stretch just a little farther. We have much to do, Michael Prejean. We have to stop the evil set to rise.”

Michael pointed a finger and tapped her turquoise ring. “That’s evidence.”

She glanced down and curled her fingers. If he tried to take it, she would fight him. “It is indeed … evidence. But I imagine we have different interpretations.”

His dark, thick brows drew together. “What is it anyway?”

“The
wedjat
eye. The god Horus’s plucked eye.”

“A little gruesome, isn’t it?”

“And you have no gruesome symbols in your beliefs?”

Across the room, Justin cleared his throat. “The sacred heart …” he drawled.

Michael grimaced. “My grandma kept a picture of a sacred heart on her dining room wall. Told her once it was gross, and she rapped my knuckles with a spoon for bein’ disrespectful.”

Khepri tapped the amulet. “Because his eye was returned and healed, restoring his sight, this symbol holds special magic. It represents rebirth.”

“And that’s why you think we should believe you woke up reborn?”

“That truth is only a small part of the magic the vizier worked.” She tapped the headrest amulet, her ring, and a golden ankh symbol. “All represent eternal life, or at least a return to life.” She pointed to the dingy linen wrappings. “And he painted a spell onto the wrappings. Once I read it, I might have an idea where to begin my search for the nameless one.”

Michael’s gaze sharpened. “The curator at the museum said something about someone who didn’t have a name.”

Khepri gave him a tight smile. “He had a name. A powerful one. But it’s best to never say it aloud. Giving breath and voice to a name gives its wearer power.”

Michael glanced at Justin. “Don’t you have a picture—”

Frowning, Justin gave a sharp shake of his head.

Khepri wondered at the sudden crimping of Justin’s mouth. “I can read the painting. I just need to lay out the pieces in the correct order.”

Michael gave her a doubtful smile. “While you do that, how ‘bout he and I have a little talk. ‘Sides, I need a cigarette.”

Already spreading the cut bunches of linen, she nodded vaguely. As the door leading outside closed behind the men, she found a curved shape and recognized the head. When she picked it up, she felt something thin and hard inside it and pulled free the golden headband the vizier had placed upon her head. A rendering of an ibis sat in the center. She placed the band in line with the amulets and returned to her wrappings, finding narrow cylinders for her arms and larger ones for her legs.

After a while, she stood back, the remnants of the frayed and cut fabric laid out on the table, forming a truly gruesome sight—the shape unmistakably human, and hers. Her mouth grew dry. These scraps had been her only clothing for a longer number of years than she could count. The symbols covering the fabric were darkened with age and smudged around the edges, but easily decipherable.

The inscription began,
Khepri, ushabti to the nameless one, beloved of Amun …

It was a message for her eyes to read. Khepri’s head swam and she swayed on her feet. The man she’d screamed at silently for being a monster had left her a message with a gift tucked as securely inside the words as her body had been cloaked in linen rags. Any anger or hatred she’d harbored for him at last drained away. Her shoulders drooped. He was long gone. Dead in this world, and no doubt already judged. Since she was standing here now, she would take the final leap to believe he’d been speaking the truth about pharaoh.

Again, she read the message, committing it to memory, and then made her way to the outside door. When she opened it, two dark heads bent close in the semi-darkness as they whispered swung her way. “I must find something. Now.”

“It’s gettin’ late,” Juste said, his voice soft but firm. “Whatever you need can wait ’til mornin’.”

She held up her hand to quiet his objections. “You do not understand. The longer we wait, the harder finding him will be. He might already be resurrected. Although the king’s vizier was no doubt careful to bury his entrails elsewhere, I fear he might already be assembled. There’s no time to lose.”

Justin’s eyes narrowed.

“Entrails?” Michael whispered, leaning toward his partner.

Justin shrugged. “I been shakin’ my head a lot.”

Twin lights flared and another large conveyance, a car, came to a stop in front of Justin’s home. The door opened. A Nubian woman stepped onto the bricked path. In the lamplight, her white teeth gleamed as she flashed a smile at Justin. Then her gaze landed on Khepri. “This your mystery woman?” she asked with a point of her chin.

“That’s Khepri all right,” he drawled.

The dark woman pursed her lips and considered her.

A burst of emotion shot through Khepri. And if she weren’t the wife of a god, she might have labeled it jealousy. This woman was the first person Justin had called—an attractive woman he trusted. Khepri held still and set her expression in impassive lines.

“My cousin’s clothes might fit,” the woman said, although her voice was filled with doubt. She bent and retrieved two sacks from the back of the car. “Well, Khepri, let’s go try these on. You look a little lost in Juste’s clothes.”

The woman’s use of the shortened version of Justin’s name rankled, and Khepri stiffened. Who was this woman to her warrior? Were they lovers? The woman was quite tall, as many Nubian women had been during her own time. Once Khepri had met a slave who was as tall as she’d been broad. But with a happy disposition. This one’s face was closed. Her eyes harbored suspicions. Did she suspect that Khepri had intentions of consuming Justin’s every waking hour with her quest?

The woman ushered her to the room where Justin slept and dumped the contents of both bags on his bed. She sorted through tops, picked up a few, and held them against Khepri’s frame, muttering and shaking her head before shoving them back into the bag.

In the end, the woman found three tops, one with sleeves, the other two with wide shoulder bands to hold them up. They clung to Khepri’s breasts like a second skin when she pulled them on.

The dark woman shook her head as Khepri touched the tips of her breasts, which beaded against the softly ribbed fabric. “Not very modest, are we?” Her large mouth stretched at Khepri’s frown. “Bet you’re givin’ him fits. Said you pranced around nekkid. Had to be hard on the boy. He’s been in between girls a long time now.”

Khepri understood the gist of what the woman was saying, although some words were strange. “He complained of my immodesty, and yet he bathed me.” She wasn’t sure why she mentioned it, but liked the way the other woman’s eyes blinked and then widened.

“Mmm-mm. Bet he did bathe you. Like a baby, huh?”

“I could not reach my back,” Khepri said, spreading her hands, palms up. “And I would have allowed him to scrub the resin from my breasts too, but he was uncomfortable with my nudity.” She didn’t mention the erection she’d noted, thinking her new boldness did have its limits.

The other woman chuckled. “I have a Genie bra in this pile. Couldn’t be sure what might fit, but one of those’ll hide the nips and let the poor boy breathe a bit.”

“You call him boy,” Khepri said, frowning. Justin was no adolescent.

“We’re old friends. It’s an endearment, sweetie. My husband was his best friend.”

Khepri’s resistance to the woman melted beneath the depth of sorrow she read in the other woman’s gaze. “Your husband is dead.”

“Over a month.” She gave a soft snort. “Still can’t believe it.”

Not knowing what to say in the face of such unhappiness, Khepri lowered Juste’s leggings. “Do you have something I can wear below?”

The other woman’s brows shot up. “We’ll start with undies.”