“That if I didn’t get it right this time, you were going to give me hell.”
“This isn’t Hell.”
“How can you be so sure?” Lance demanded, turning to stare down at her with wide eyes.
“It’s my job to be sure.”
“Of Hell?”
“Of what isn’t Hell.” While he was thinking about that, she turned to face the doors. Doors were doors. Fifty feet high and solid gold, two feet high at the end of a rabbit hole—it didn’t matter. If she could get them open and fit through over the threshold, she could use them. In this particular instance, getting them open might be tricky since the doorknobs were a good twenty feet above her head.
A quick glance around determined the area was unfortunately empty of a small table holding a bottle and a note that said,
“Incoming!”
Very fast.
Impossibly fast.
One moment they were barely visible in the distance. The next, they were standing barely two meters away.
On the left stood a cat-headed woman, barely covered from neck to ankles in a sheer linen shift. Her fur was pale brown with darker fur outlining golden eyes, lighter fur around the mouth, and two large pointed ears; both pierced, with a small gold ring in each.
On the right, a jackal-headed man, naked to the waist, wearing a pleated linen skirt held in place by a wide leather belt. Two small metal disks, stamped with hieroglyphs, hung from the front of the belt.
“I know where we are,” Lance offered helpfully.
“So do I.” When PhD candidates in Egyptology thought about Hell, they didn’t think about Dante. Granted, neither did Keepers, but that was mostly because they preferred not thinking about hell at all and they sure as…heck…had no intention of handing it helpful definitions.
“They aren’t dead,” Anubis growled.
Bast shot him a disdainful golden glare. “And once again I marvel at your grasp of the obvious.”
“If they aren’t dead, why are they here?”
“Since they aren’t dead, why don’t we ask
His eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t work that way.”
Claire bit her lip to keep from laughing. Apparently jackals were just as clueless about sarcasm as dogs. She’d seen Austin reduce Rottweilers to twitching bundles of confusion with only a few barbed comments about their bathroom habits. Of course, the chances were good Anubis didn’t drink out of the toilet.
As though thoughts of Austin had pulled her attention, Bast turned the full force of her golden gaze on Claire. “You’re a Keeper, but this isn’t one of the realities you Keep. Why are you here?”
Lesson number one in dealing with gods: don’t lie to them. “I’m trying to return to a
And the corollary to lesson one: keep it simple.
The cat goddess glanced over at Lance. “He holds his thoughts strongly?”
“Oh, yeah. Once he gets something into his head you can’t shift it.”
And right on cue:
“
“Lance…”
“No! It all makes perfect sense!” He gripped her shoulder with one hand and waved the other around the Hall. “She’s trying to cheat the afterlife by sending me…us…in her place.”
“When the ka is strong enough…” Bast began.
“This ka has been bound between life and death for three thousand years,” Lance interrupted. He ignored Claire’s elbow in his ribs—interrupting gods was never a smart action in her experience—and continued. “As soon as it was freed, it sucked the life out of Dr. Rebik.”
Anubis shrugged. “It happens.”
“It does?”
“Sure. Not as much as it used to, though.”
“But that’s not what happened this time,” Claire insisted. “I don’t know about Dr. Rebik and the life-sucking part…” Although, given that Meryat was staying at the guest house, she really hoped Dean was right and Lance’s lunatic theories were just that. Lunatic. She
Bast nodded, gold ring swinging as she flicked her ear. “I believe you. After three thousand years, this Meryat would have to absorb a truly powerful ka, the ka of a Keeper, say, in order to have enough strength to rip the veil between the world of the living and the world of the dead.”