Omens Bite, page 23
“No! There are many things that are right. Come, observe the rest of Hathor’s gifts.”
Khenti motioned for her to follow him to a golden plate that hung on one of the walls of the chamber. It was obviously supposed to represent the sun shining over a mural of a wide river. Khenti moved aside so Mercy could stand in front of the plate. She stared, not recognizing herself for a moment. And then she laughed with joy.
“Ohmygoddess! She did my makeup!” Heavy kohl framed her eyes and made them look bigger, highlighting their color, which the goddess had matched perfectly with the dress. Her lips were stained the blush of her cheeks. Golden scarab beetles dangled from her ears. “I feel kinda like Cinderella at the ball.”
“Is that a good thing to be?” asked Khenti.
She grinned at him. “I’ll tell you at midnight. Oh, crap! My phone!” Mercy looked around frantically and then felt a thump against her thigh. Her magnificent linen dress just happened to have a deep pocket, inside which was her phone. “Whew! Hathor doesn’t miss anything, does she?”
“Not usually,” said Khenti. “Now, I have only one thing left to do, and then we may leave this chamber.”
Khenti returned to the rear area of the room where the glowing orb still swirled opal and mother of pearl. Resting against the wall beside it was his long, razor-tipped spear, which he retrieved. He lifted the spear high and then spoke a single word, “PROTECT!,” that battered Mercy’s ears so that she cringed and stepped back as he brought the spear down on the marble floor. There was a thunderous boom! Khenti stepped back beside Mercy. His spear was stuck in the floor. It shuddered and then a sound like the wings of a flock of birds filled the chamber as the spear multiplied until it formed an intimidating wall that stood between them and the entry to Mercy’s world.
“Now we may go.” Khenti paused and added, “I apologize, Green Witch. I did not ask if you needed to perform a protective spell to watch the gates while you are not in your world.”
Mercy’s face flushed hot. She hadn’t even thought about the gates! Then she mentally shook herself and met Khenti’s dark eyes. “I don’t need to worry about the gates. My sister keeps telling me that she can take care of them by herself—so this weekend they’re all hers.”
Khenti smiled. “Then, come. Allow me to show you my world.” He offered her his arm.
Mercy took his arm. “I’m all yours! At least until Monday.”
Twenty-six
“Why the hell are you going to the Booster Club’s BBQ? You’re not even on the team.” Kirk’s dad’s sarcastic words echoed in his mind as he parked his Jeep at Goode Lake.
It hadn’t mattered that Kirk had corrected him. He was definitely still on the team. Sure, he couldn’t play. Yet. And of course that bitch had gotten him in so much trouble that he had fucking detention until school was out at the end of the month. But Coach hadn’t said shit to him about not being on the team. Kirk Whitfield was still a Mustang.
“Dad, I’m going to the BBQ. I’m the team captain. I gotta be there.”
His dad, already well into what he liked to call his Sunday case of beer, slurred a laugh. “Whether Coach Jamison has given you the bad news yet or not, boy, you’re no damn captain. But go ahead. Go out there. Just stop with that witch crap you keep trying to shovel on everyone. You already look like a big enough fool. When you gonna learn that if you have to teach a broad a lesson you do it without leaving any marks and you sure as hell don’t break your hand in the process?”
Kirk hadn’t said anything. There wasn’t a damn thing he could say. He hadn’t really expected his dad to believe him. The only thing his dad believed in was touchdowns and applause—and reliving through his son what he and Springsteen liked to call their glory days.
Kirk stepped on the emergency brake, opened the glove box, took out the bottle of pills he’d stashed there, and popped a quick Percocet. He swallowed it dry, ran his good hand through his hair, and then got out of the Jeep and followed the sounds of laughter and shouts to the picnic area—the same place they’d had the birthday party not long ago for the Goode bitches. Kirk’s teeth ground together. He’d give anything to be able to go back to that night and break up with Mercy then and there.
“Whitfield! Get over here!” His buddy Derek’s voice boomed across the picnic grounds and heads turned to gawk at Kirk as he headed to the volleyball net where the team and the varsity cheerleaders were dividing up to play.
Kirk pretended that the stares were what they used to be—envy and adoration from his town, his fans. He smiled and nodded at the parents who watched him with narrowed eyes. He was going to show them all that he wasn’t, as his drunk of a dad had said, shoveling that witch crap on people. He was telling the truth. All he had to do was to get someone to listen to him. Then he’d figure out how to prove it.
Coach Jamison stepped into his path. “Mr. Whitfield, glad you showed.”
Kirk stopped and forced an amiable smile on his face. “I wouldn’t miss it, Coach. Anything for my team.”
“Which means you’re going to go to that anger management class I recommended.”
Kirk pushed his uninjured hand into his jeans pocket to keep from balling it into a fist. “Sure, Coach,” he lied. “Soon as school’s out for the summer. Like I said—anything for my team.”
The coach stepped closer to Kirk and lowered his voice. “I’m glad, son. Hitting a woman is unacceptable behavior. How’s the hand feeling?”
Kirk lifted his splinted, bandage-swathed hand. “Doing just fine. Hardly hurts at all. Hey, Coach, I wanted to talk to you about an idea I have. I’ve been thinking that I should bulk up this summer. Really focus on lifting. I can come back in the fall a lot bigger, and could kick some serious butt on the line.”
The coach wouldn’t meet his eyes. “We’ll see, Whitfield. You just focus on healing that hand and those anger management classes. You know, son, there are a lot of things more important than football—your integrity for one.”
“I know, Coach. I totally agree with you.”
“Excellent, Whitfield, good talk. I gotta go get ready for the big cake auction. We need all the cash we can get if the team’s going to have new uniforms next season.” Jamison patted Kirk on the shoulder and walked away.
Kirk was damn glad he’d popped that Percocet. Not only did it help the throbbing, unending pain in his hand, but it took the edge off of his anger enough that he didn’t feel like he needed to grab the nearest picnic table and throw it at the coach’s clueless head.
“Whitfield! Come get in this game!” Derek shouted.
How the fuck am I supposed to play volleyball with my left hand? Kirk waved his one good hand at Derek and motioned at the table of refreshments. “Go ahead and start. Gotta get something to drink!” Without hanging around to hear Derek whine at him any more, Kirk turned his back to his friend and headed for the table where moms were pouring lemonade and handing out burgers and hot dogs. Too damn bad there’s no beer.
“Well, hello there, Kirk.” Jarod Frazier’s mom gave him a tight smile. “Would you like some lemonade and maybe something to eat? Good idea to keep your strength up so your hand can heal.”
“Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Frazier. Got any dogs left?” Kirk took the plastic cup of lemonade she offered him and made himself take a big swig of the sour crap.
Mrs. Frazier looked over her shoulder at the grill, where members of the Booster Club were flipping burgers and dogs. “Fred, are more dogs ready yet?”
A man with a gut that swallowed his belt lifted long grill tongs. “Be just a few more minutes, Evelyn!”
“I’ll get you that dog soon, Kirk.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Frazier. I’ll wait over here in the shade and drink your delicious lemonade.” He flashed his signature smile at the frumpy, middle-aged woman. But unlike usual, she didn’t respond with a blush and a giggle.
“I’ll give you a shout when it’s done” was all she said.
Kirk saluted her with his plastic cup before he backed into the shadows between two big oaks not far from the grills. He poured the disgusting lemonade on the ground and dropped the cup behind him. What the fuck is wrong with everyone? It’s like they actually think I did something wrong!
The breeze shifted and brought grill smoke to him. Kirk coughed and ducked back behind one of the oaks, out of the hot dog–smelling cloud, and gossipy mom voices drifted to him.
“He was going to hit her! The principal’s secretary, Mrs. Anthony, told me she saw the mirror. It was completely shattered.”
“It’s just awful. Well, you know his father is an abuser. It’s hardly a surprise. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“But it’s crazy, isn’t it? My Sarah told me she saw him chase that poor girl into the bathroom. And those twins just lost their mom.”
“You want to know what’s really crazy? Jana Ashley. Have you heard the insane stories she’s telling?”
“No! What?”
“Well, I heard from Doris Sanders that she’s saying that Satan has possessed her garage apartment.”
Kirk held his breath, straining to hear their whispery voices.
“Is she serious?”
“As a heart attack. She went on and on about blood being everywhere. Apparently, she was hysterical.”
“Well, I’ve always said she has those crazy eyes. Where is she?”
“Over there by the dock. Poor Jana. Cathy, her eyes are not crazy. We shouldn’t judge her. Or at least not until we get the full story. I know. Let’s invite her over for girls’ night.”
“Oh, good idea! We do need to hear the truth from her and then…”
Their voices faded as the wind died, but Kirk had heard everything he needed to hear. He quickly circumvented the refreshment table and headed to the dock where a lone woman was sitting in a director’s chair that had MUSTANG FOOTBALL blazed on the back of it.
Kirk walked a little past Jax’s mom before he stopped and stared out at the lake. He sighed loudly, bowed his shoulders, and swiped at his eyes.
“Kirk? Are you okay?”
Kirk jumped and turned quickly. “Oh, Mrs. Ashley! Sorry. I—uh—I didn’t see you there.”
“That’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mrs. Ashley rubbed the large gold crucifix she wore around her neck nervously between her thumb and forefinger.
“No problem. Actually, it’s funny. I was just thinking about you.”
“Me? Are you sure you don’t mean my son?”
“No, I mean you, Mrs. Ashley. I was wondering about something, but I don’t want to seem disrespectful, so I’m not real sure I can talk to you about it.”
Mrs. Ashley sat up straighter. Her dark hair was cut in a graying mom bob and she was wearing khaki capris and a GOODEVILLE MUSTANGS T-shirt, which she tugged at with the hand that wasn’t worrying her cross. “What is it, Kirk?”
“Well, I guess I’m just kinda shocked that a good Christian woman like you would let a witch live in your garage apartment.”
Mrs. Ashley’s muddy brown eyes widened. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Hunter Goode is no longer welcome in my garage or my home.”
“Whew.” Kirk blew out a long, exaggerated breath. “That’s a relief. I really don’t want you—or Jax, of course—mixed up with her. Mrs. Ashley, I just found out some stuff that freaked me out pretty badly.” He looked around to be sure no one was close to them before he continued. “I think she worships Satan.”
“Oh, Kirk! I believe you are so right. Please! Tell me everything.”
Kirk squatted next to her. “Okay, so, you know what everyone’s saying about me punching the mirror and breaking my hand? Well, that’s not what happened at all…”
Twenty-seven
The Land of the Dead was the most beautiful place Mercy had ever been—and so far they hadn’t even gone outside the never-ending temple. Just when she thought there couldn’t be anything more gorgeous than the room they’d just left, Mercy would turn a corner with Khenti and they’d come to another chamber, like the huge, domed room dedicated to the queens of Egypt, and she’d be blown away by its magnificence. Mercy felt as if she could’ve stayed in the temple forever, wandering around and gazing at wonders. Khenti even allowed her to peek into the incredible chamber where the newly dead waited to be judged. An endless line of people, who looked totally alive, stretched in a long, somber queue that snaked around a room where Mercy actually got to see the lovely ostrich goddess, Qebhet, as she tenderly brought the dead fresh water and kind words.
As she and Khenti were crossing a wide hallway made of polished golden stone a woman draped in see-through white linen whose skin was completely covered in golden scales stopped them. She nodded to Mercy before she asked Khenti, “Gate Guardian, are you not going to attend the Beautiful Feast of the Valley Festival this season?”
“Thank you for the reminder, Hatmehit. That is one of my favorite festivals. My guest, the Green Witch Mercy and I will attend.” He bowed to her.
The fish woman nodded magnanimously and turned to Mercy. “Well met, Green Witch Mercy.”
“Hello,” Mercy said. She followed Khenti’s lead and bowed. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The woman’s pouty, fishlike lips tilted up and she continued past them to disappear into one of the decorative chambers.
“Is that a fish goddess?” Mercy whispered.
“Yes.” Khenti smiled. “She is widely worshipped in the Mendes Delta. I rarely see her here, but of course she would be attending the festival—the river does play an important part in it. Are you hungry?”
“Now that you mention it, I’m starving.” Mercy took the phone out of her pocket and was shocked to see that it was Sunday afternoon. “Wait, I’ve been here for an entire day?” Quickly, she looked down at the henna sun disc and horns on her chest. None of it had faded, which made Mercy breathe a long sigh of relief.
“Time does pass differently here,” said Khenti as he led her toward an opening in the golden hallway from which warm air fragranced with jasmine caused floor-to-ceiling curtains to billow. “Sometimes slower—sometimes faster—than in the mortal worlds.”
“Worlds? Have you been to other worlds than Egypt?” Mercy breathed deeply of the perfumed breeze as they parted the curtains and left the temple to enter a courtyard filled with a riot of blooming jasmine that covered the walls, as well as an exquisite water feature that held purple lotus blooms the size of dinner plates.
“No, though I would love to.”
“It’d be great if you could visit my world, although it’s really nothing like…” Her words ran out as they moved from the fragrant courtyard to the landing at the top of a wide staircase made of creamy limestone. “Wow!” Mercy had to remind herself to close her mouth. The view that stretched before them was every bit as incredible as the endless temple. In Mercy’s mind she’d imagined ancient Egypt, or at least Khenti’s Underworld, to be sandy and hot—basically a desert. She’d been absolutely wrong.
To their right a wide river meandered lazily past the enormous temple. Both banks were lined with greenery—palms (doum!) and grasses and trees that were less familiar than the doum. Across the water colorful linen streamers waved like the wings of enormous, exotic birds. Framing the mighty river were homes built of clay stained sunset colors that ranged from sandy yellow to burnt orange. The homes all had rooftop gardens filled with flowers and more greenery. At the foot of the temple a wide limestone street was lined with open-air shops that were a cacophony of color. Flowers were everywhere! Mercy felt like a frustrated butterfly because she longed to flit between jasmine and chrysanthemum, poppy and rose, lotus and daisy—as well as many flowers she couldn’t name.
Even from their perch above it all delicious scents of baking bread lifted to mingle with spices and the sweetness of blooming flowers. Among everything were people! The women were dressed in diaphanous dresses in the same style as Mercy’s goddess-gifted clothes. Their jewelry caught the light of the brilliant sun and twinkled and winked enticingly. Their eyes were heavily lined like Mercy’s, too, though many had additional swirls and symbols painted all the way to their temples. The men wore either long, pleated skirts or shorter, more military versions in leather like Khenti. Also like her companion, they were mostly bare chested or wore open, linen vests. They, too, often lined their eyes with kohl and many wore heavily bejeweled neck collars.
When Mercy finally tore her gaze from the wonders she found Khenti watching her with a knowing smile. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“I don’t have enough words to describe how wonderful it all is. I want to go everywhere at once—look at everything at once!”
He laughed. “And you’re hungry?”
She grinned at him. “Starving! What’s for dinner?” She paused and added, “Um, I don’t eat meat. I hope that’s okay here.”
“Absolutely!” They made their way down the stairs as Khenti continued, “How does flatbread stuffed with dates, raisins, honey, and goat cheese sound to you?”
“Super yummy!”
“Then come, my favorite bakery is just down the street.” Khenti offered her his arm again. She threaded hers through his. She liked touching him. His arm was strong and warm, and even though he’d offered it to her frequently during her tour of the temple, he hadn’t tried to slip his arm around her, or stared at her boobs, or done any of the number of invasive, annoying things someone like Kirk Whitfield would continually try.
Mercy felt safe and relaxed with Khenti—and she liked both feelings.
She also liked how the people of this realm interacted with him. Everywhere they went, men and women greeted him with respectful bows, but they also smiled at Khenti and called his name. If Khenti paused to speak more than a simple hello to anyone, he introduced her like he had to the fish goddess, as Green Witch Mercy—or sometimes as my friend, the Green Witch Mercy.
She could tell by the smiles and warm hellos they turned on her that Khenti was well liked and that they were comfortable around her demi-god friend.
