Page 47 of A Shadow in the Reaping
Chapter 22
That's the fifth one. What the fuck, I write, flicking an intrepid brown scorpion away from my hip. It flies in an arc and pings against the base of the stone wall across from us then scurries away into the sand.
"You're cold. It's a big attraction for desert creatures who are about to face a day of unobstructed sun," Ashen replies.
The Reaper sits to my right, the journal between us. We're stationed on the edge of a limestone wall at the Serapeum where we can face the stepped pyramids, our feet dangling over the edge toward the tawny sand. The majority of the site lies to the Southeast, and the first lighter shades of blue color the sky in anticipation of dawn.
I get that, but still. Hard pass.
Ashen flicks another away as it runs toward my leg. "The scorpion was a symbol of the goddess Serqet. She protected the bodies and viscera of the dead. I think it's kind of fitting that they like you."
Big bag of NOPE.
I drain my white plastic cup of blood tea and Ashen refills it from the thermos as I tap my heels against the stone.
"Feeling better than this morning?" Ashen asks as we cast our gazes across the ancient stone monuments of kings and gods. From here, we can see much of Saqqara, though we don't know where we should be looking when it comes to portals to the Realm of Light.
Much better. I threw up in your shower, by the way. Sorry about that. But don't worry, I totally cleaned off your mansoap.
"Yeah, I know. I heard you. I suppose it was to be expected. And I almost believe you."
I smile and we sit in silence for a moment as my legs swivel along the wall. The stars are slowly receding, only the brightest left to glimmer above us. I think about the last time I was in Cairo, and I wonder how long it's been since angels last passed through this land. I wonder how they'd even recognize it, the city sprawling ever further into the desert.
"I'm sorry," Ashen says. His voice is quiet but it still feels startling. The wire coils tighter across my heart. I look at him with an expression that askswhat for, even though I'm not sure I want to know. "The old man was right. I knew it last night. I should have been more careful in the Shadow Realm. With you."
I'm not a fucking porcelain doll. I'm fine. Nothing happened. And I can look after myself. I have my sneaky vampire ways, you know, I write, and I give him a wink when he looks up from my note.
"Those crawlers tried to attack you. And that is not even close to the worst of what the Shadow Realm has to offer." Ashen looks away from me, his hands pressed tight across the edge of the stone as he stares at the sand below. "I know you can't see it, but you shine like a lantern in our realm. It's not just the Reapers who have their eyes on you there. I should not have taken a risk like that, taking you out at night. Giving you that much alcohol."
To be fair, you did owe me after I sniffed that dog dick. You were only upholding your end of the agreement to provide copious amounts of booze in compensation.
"Still. You don't belong there, as tempting as it is to believe otherwise."
I hold onto his words. I roll them around in my mind. Is it tempting? Is it something he wishes were true, that I could belong in their realm? I suppose he's right, it's not the best place for me, with all its creepy vibes and tripod dogs-that-aren't-dogs and the lack of tanning opportunities. That and the problematic issue of being a high-prized kill in their midst. I really got away with that one the last time. My luck probably won't last so I'd better not push it. But the Shadow Realm is notallbad. And I'm starting to believe it's not really where you are that matters. It's who you're with.
I tap my pen against my notebook, trying to work out what's worth saying and what's worth keeping hidden away. The lid of the box in my mind keeps slipping when Ashen is around. Thoughts I shouldn't have keep escaping, and they're the kind that can get you killed when you let your guard down.
When I look up he's watching me, waiting for some smartass response I'm sure. I feel the wind in that sail, just like Mr. Hassan promised. But even with it spurring me to flee, even knowing the risks, when I look at Ashen I want to try. I want to keep my eyes on the shore, my anchor down.
Do you?I write, turning my note to Ashen.
"Do I what?"
Belong there?
The journal faces him and he takes longer to read my note than two words can take to understand. He meets my eyes. A thousand thoughts seem to surface in his, like the sediment of time is washed away by an unexpected flood. He opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't have the chance to utter a word.
There's a bright flash in the distance. A pillar of light erupts from the top of the Pyramid of Userkaf, reaching into the sky. It disappears almost as quickly as it came. But by the time it's gone we're already up and running across the sand, heading to the Alley of the Sphinxes, hoping to catch a glimpse of what has only been a myth for a thousand years.
We run down the ancient causeway, slowing as we draw near to the Pyramid of Userkaf where the entrance lies on the north side, facing us. When it feels like we're close enough to see without being seen ourselves we stop, hunching next to one another behind an eroded slab of limestone.
Do you think we missed it?I write, tapping Ashen's knee with my pen.
"I don't know," he says, glancing down at my note. He meets my eyes and the flame comes alive in his pupils. His sword is drawn, but he keeps the smoke and hellfire at bay. I can tell he doesn't like this.At all.
We look back toward the entrance of the pyramid, and just as I'm starting to think we must have imagined the light, a figure emerges.
It's tall. A man. White pants and tunic, both pristine despite the desert dust. His face is obscured by a white veil that tucks beneath the high neckline of his shirt. It clings to the features of his face, almost like a slick second skin. His limbs seem just a little too long, as though they slow his movement as he walks with the immortal grace of another realm, radiating light. As he passes from the shadow of the ancient tomb the sun illuminates his wings. They shimmer, translucent. One moment they catch the light to scatter it, the next they are invisible. It's a mesmerizing display of iridescence and trickery.
