Page 34 of Barbi and the Villain

Another ray of light makes its way into the cell, and I spot the stone. It’s a ruby ring, I think. Before the light can go out again, I move swiftly and grab onto it.

But just as it gets dark in the cell once more, a cry is wrenched from my lips when I realize that it’s not just a ring.

It’s attached to a hand.

A mummified hand.

“Holy Mother of God!” I cry out, falling on my ass.

I gulp down as the first wave of shock passes.

“It’s okay, Barbi. It’s just a dead guy. He can’t do anything to you. In fact, maybe he’ll be happy to know his ring helped you avoid the same fate as him.” I try to give myself a pep talk. “It’s not stealing if they’re dead, right? I’m not committing a felony. I’m just…surviving. Yes, that’s right. I’m doing this for my PomPom. If the dead guy will be mad at me for stealing his ring, he should at least consider it’s for a good cause. I’m saving my dog. And who hates dogs? No one!”

I nod to myself, satisfied with my line of thinking.

“It’s for PomPom. Who can say no to my PomPom?”

Getting on my hands and knees, I once more slowly get closer.

“Sorry, dead guy. I promise I’ll write you a dedication in my pink notebook for special people,” I say as I pat his mummified arm in my search for his hand. He’s still clothed, though the material is tattered. To my surprise, though, he doesn’t smell like a dead person—not that I’m an expert in what dead people smell like, but I’ve seen a few since coming to Akkaya.

“I have two notebooks, you see. A pink one for the good people that I like, and a black one for the bad people. Oh my.” I gasp. “That reminds me. When I get home, I need to transfer stupid Jocelyn and psycho Damien’s names from the pink one to the black one. They’re worse than bad, actually. Maybe I should start a new notebook just for them,” I muse to myself.

I find the end of the sleeve and slowly touch the mummified hand, afraid I might break it if I’m too rough.

“Don’t worry. I won’t desecrate your body. I’m just borrowing your ring. I promise you, PomPom and I will be forever grateful,” I tell him as I find the ring and slowly pull it off his finger.

“Will you stop yapping about, female? You are ruining my restful sleep.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”

My eyes widen as my brain slowly processes what I heard.

A voice. A deep, manly voice. Talking to me.

A voice coming from the mummy. As in, the mummy is talking to me!

“Ahhhhhhh!” I scream, falling backward.

The sound of a rip follows the echo of my scream.

My fingers close around the ring, but to my renewed horror, it’s not just the ring. It’s attached to something. A finger. The mummy’s finger.

Oh my God! I just broke a mummy’s finger.

Another scream pierces the air until my throat is too sore to make another sound. My chest rises and falls, my breath ragged as I stare at the dark spot where the mummy is—the talking mummy.

“Can I have my finger back now?” he asks in a dry, bored tone.

For the first time since arriving in Akkaya, I’ve had enough.

My eyes roll in the back of my head and I slump to the floor.

7

“Good. You are finally awake,” a manly voice drawls. It’s deep and lyrical, and quite pleasant.

“Five more minutes,” I grumble.

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