The blue glow through the cavern casts eerie shadows over not only the piles of treasure, but my brother’s face. I toss the light-thrower to Cynnie and block his path to her. “We have to,” I tell her even though I agree that stealing something from this place feels wrong, key or not. “There’s no other way.”
Nik chuckles, the sound so much like our father I cringe. What happened to him? When did he turn into a monster? Before I was shipped off we were tight. Sure, he was the shitty older brother, but he looked out for me, shielded me and Emalee from our father’s fitful rages—our parent’s fights. At heart he was good and now he’s nothing but wrong.
“Why thank you, little brother. Finding this place was excruciatingly difficult. You and the traitor did the hard work for me.”
I square up, bringing my blade out in front. “Don’t think we’re letting you take it, Nikias.” His name curls around my tongue like a bad taste.
“Cynnie . . .” Hopefully she’ll pick up on the warning in my tone. “Find it.”
Nik’s attention moves over my shoulder and his hand tightens around the gleaming short sword in his fist. “How’s life working out for you, traitor? The guilt of betraying your own people eating you up yet?”
“Shut up,” Cynnie snaps.
With that gloating smile on his face, I hope she can’t see him. She should have kept quiet and not given him the satisfaction of seeing he got under her skin.
The sounds of movement, the ring of metal clinking against metal and shuffle of heavy items comes from behind me. Good, she’s searching. Find it fast, Cynnie.
Nik takes a step toward me. I raise my blade.
“Are you going to try and stop me?” he says.
No trying about it. “I am stopping you.”
He darts around to my left and I block his way past.
Metal clinking and the clunk of pottery lids opening and closing means Cynnie has sped up her search. I make sure she’s all right and Nik slams into my side. His shoulder jars against mine, shoving me against the sarcophagus in the center of the tomb. Pain shoots through my back. For a second, I can’t move as it radiates to my chest, but I have to find this thing before he does. This isn’t one of our childhood games. The winner won’t be beating on the loser. The stakes are far higher.
I push off the stone.
And Nik’s already shoving his weight against the lid of the ancient coffin. It’s not moving. He’ll never get it to budge, but his efforts might just buy us some time. I peer around the chamber to look for anything remotely resembling a sword. Way too many objects fit the bill. It’s near impossible to figure it out.
Cynnie continues rifling through the piles on the ground. Tossing objects to the side. Thing is, the cloak looks like jewelry—this sword could look like just about anything. Keeping my blade handy and one eye on Nik who’s preoccupied with grunting and shoving against the impossibly heavy stone lid, I spot a bunch of weapons propped against the wall. Making straight for them, I snatch up a sword and heft it between my hands. It’s heavy and rust covers a whole side of the blade. Not this one; time wouldn’t mar a key. I toss it aside and pick out a javelin or maybe it’s some kind of spear. The wood’s light and I run my hands over it, nothing special about this one either. If only I had the tech detector this would be so much quicker. Damn Frank and his meager tech supplies. I’d kill to get my hands on the stuff I’m used to relying on.
Nik grunts. I hazard a look in his direction and the lid’s actually moving. That grand coffin couldn’t belong to Philip. Maybe Alexander is buried here, too, or someone more important than both of them, but who the hell is more important than Alexander the Great? Shit, Nik could be right. I rush to the side of the stone structure just as Nik grunts again and stone grates against stone.
I lay my sword with you, Father.
If this is Philip II’s real resting place then the sword is in there. A gap about an inch wide calls my attention to where Nik’s fingers work hard to dig into it, but he can’t get his wrist through. He lets out a frustrated groan, then his palms plant against the lid and he shoves.
Damn it, he’s right.
I slap my hands onto the stone and pulling strength from deep within me, I push. The lid grinds forward increasing the gap by two inches. Nik’s eyes narrow in a way that’s part question, part challenge. We both shove again at the exact same time. It gives a few more inches. Nik thrusts his hand into the gap. The light-thrower in his fist illuminates another coffin inside of this one. Smaller and shaped like a body, an image of that Wadjet thing rests over the chest. Only this one is slightly different. Two serpents twine their way up the sword with a shield overhead.
This is the right place.
The key’s here.
A pharaoh-like staff rests by the body.
Several knots distort the wood’s crooked length. One end tapers off to a point while the other forms a T shaped handle. The light thrower’s glow shimmers over the staff giving it the look of metal and, I’ll be damned, this is the key.
Hand extended, I make a flying dive for the staff just about winding myself when my stomach slams into the side of the sarcophagus. My hand closes around the cool metal-wood. I buck against the coffin to lift myself up. I’ve got to get this thing out before he realizes. The staff won’t move. I yank it toward me, but it won’t budge from its spot. Heart pounding against my ribs and inhaling with a mighty heave, I’m thrown backward. My shoulders slam against the hard ground. Nik’s foot planted against my chest holds me down. Both my hands grip the staff that is the sword.
Where the hell is Cynnie? I need help.
Nik’s glare bores into mine, angry and gloating. Bastard thinks he’s won. I swing the staff around and whack it into the back of his knees. He buckles, pitching forward, his knee slamming into my chest forcing all the air out of me. For a second I can’t breathe through the searing pain in my lungs. Gasping for breath, I slide my hands along the staff and my palm slips over a raised knot. I slam the weapon into his back at the same time I buck him off me. I spring to my feet. Cynnie’s got an actual sword poised and ready to fight.
“Get us out of here,” I yell.
Cynnie raises her borrowed sword over Nik, but doesn’t strike, just stares at him. Nik spots her hesitation and jumps to his feet. His filthy hands close around the other end of the staff.
I yank it back. The end slams into the sarcophagus.
A humming zap cuts through the chamber and cool liquid swamps my feet.
“Founding fathers!” Nik’s mouth drops.
The sword slips from Cynnie’s hands. In a fluid movement, Nik scoops the weapon from the ground to slam the hilt into Cynnie’s chin and she flies backward. Landing flat on her rear with a crack. Asswipe. Anger blazes through me and sharpens my vision to zero in on my brother. I swing the staff around, still holding it by the wrong end. I’ll knock his damn head off his shoulders. He swoops in from the left and his sword connects with the key.
On impact, the blade melts like ice turned to water.
Nik curses again and the F-bomb slips out of my mouth too. His glower crashes into mine and his mouth twists into a mocking smile. My hands tighten around the staff and I catch a glimpse of Cynnie, still laid out flat like a frickin’ boxer down for the count.
“She looked hot last time I saw her you know. Glowing, even. Her new guy must give her something you couldn’t.”
What the hell? He saw Mae. And not alone, but with Will, it had to be Will. She was with him. Even though I knew this would happen, and suspected they were already together before I left, my gut twists in a way that makes me want to hurt someone. Something. Myself, for being so damned stupid.
Nik smiles that self-satisfied, arrogant grin. I lunge at him. About time I wiped that frickin’ smirk right off his face.
“He was protective too. Jumped right in front of her like he didn’t give a damn about anything but her. Girls love that shit.”
Aiming right for the soft flesh of his side—I won’t miss, my aim’s perfect—I swing the staff through the air with so much force behind it my feet skid in the dirt. His hand comes out of nowhere and the staff slams into his palm with a crack.
“She sure looked happy.” Nik shakes his head.
The bastard is definitely the target of my fury. When the staff won’t budge, my hand balls into a tight fist and I throw a punch at his jaw.
It connects with nothing. He’s gone.
And so is the key.