Page 76 of Ex Marks the Spot

Luxor Temple is truly something to behold.

As we move through the ruins, we get what Boyd calls the “ten-cent tour,” which is more like a rundown of facts he’s learned from years of doing school projects on Egypt. Court’s even able to add a few courtesy of his time as a substitute. The best I could do was reciting a few of my favorite lines fromThe Mummy, and Treva just kept reminding us to stay on task and look for the clue box.

We eventually find it nestled in the Sanctuary. Boyd’s disappointment at having to leave the temple is short-lived when he sees where we’re going next.

Take a water taxi to the West Bank, then make your way to QV66.

“Holy shit,” Boyd whispers when we reconvene after reading the clue for the cameras.

“What’s QV66?” I ask.

He glances at the clue again, and this is when I notice his hands are literally shaking. “The tomb of Queen Nefertari. Remember the statues of Ramses II at the entrance to the temple?”

I nod.

“This is his wife. Her tomb is known as the Sistine Chapel of Ancient Egypt.”

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

The Valley of the Queens is incredibly, astonishingly...beige. Fifty shades of it, as if antiquity knew to save all of Egypt’s colors for what lies below the surface.

I’m buzzing by the time we jog up the dirt path toward Queen Nefertari’s tomb, partly because of what I’m about to see, but mostly from the circles Court traced on the back of my neck with his thumb on the drive out here.

It reminded me of our ride to the airport in Dallas on day one—how wonderful and awful it’d felt being crammed in the back seat together. How I’d analyzed every touch, wondering whether it was intentional. How difficult it’d been to maintain a façade of imperviousness.

For the record, that last one is still a challenge because now those touchesareintentional and I’m freshly and acutely aware of how skilled his hands are. I spent the final minutes of this morning’s drive staring at the sea of beige outside and trying not to look like I was praying we’d have a hotel room tonight.

Which I totally was.

“Is this it?” Court asks when we reach the tomb.

“Boyd said it wouldn’t look like much.”

“I wonder if they beat us here.”

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

The small, dome-shaped entrance is as underwhelming as everything else in the valley, and the plain metal door at the bottom of the staircase looks more like an entrance to an underground club in New York City than an ancient burial site.

But the threshold is where the similarities end.

Actually, threshold isn’t even the right word. This is a portal into Egypt more than three thousand years ago.

I gasp when I reach the bottom step and get my first glimpse of the floor-to-ceiling artwork celebrating Nefertari’s life and her journey to the world beyond.

“How is this even real?” I whisper.

Court’s hands come around my hips, ushering me the rest of the way into the chamber to make room for the crew. “I’m wondering the same thing.”

Together we move into the adjacent room, where we find two-dimensional depictions of gods and goddesses and offerings and livestock, each with a table of food. I curl my fingers into my palms to keep from reaching out and touching the walls. It’s no wonder Boyd practically wept earlier, or that people dedicate their lives to the study of ancient Egypt.

“I think this is a good time for one of your five-second appreciation breaks,” I say.

Court breathes out a laugh as he marvels at our surroundings. “We’re gonna need a lot longer than that.”

Everything in the tomb—each image, each color, each design—is steeped in symbolism and has been carefully placed by skilled artists to create a storybook on stone. The Sistine Chapel comparison makes sense now. Even theceiling—ohmygod the ceiling. I pause halfway down the next staircase to take in the sea of tiny yellow stars painted on a backdrop of deep blue.

“Reminds me of your bedroom,” Court says behind me. “Except that we can’t make any wishes on these.”

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