Chapter 11

The vision misted, and once again the ancient mummified body lay in front of her. Somehow it had moved closer. So close, she could have reached out and touched the bandaged limbs. Lizzie screamed, but no sound came out. The dark eyes blazed with anger so profound she could almost taste it. The queen slowly raised herself into a sitting position. Only her face showed signs of life. Her torso, arms, and legs remained bound with bandages, black and gray with age and embalming fluids. But that face. Its eyes, heavily rimmed with kohl, the skin, olive and smooth. High cheekbones and a slightly hooked nose gave her a unique, if not classical, beauty. Full, red, sensual lips—those of a woman who could have captivated any man she chose.

Her gaze locked onto Lizzie’s eyes and held her in a trance. She lifted one arm with apparent ease, her fingers pointing toward the frightened young woman. Lizzie felt an irresistible force tugging at her, dragging her. Her back bent, her face inched closer to the queen’s.

Cleopatra’s eyes hypnotized her until all she could see was one magnificent iris. Deepest violet. Drawing her into itself. She fought to break away but the power was too strong. Somewhere nearby, she heard a man’s laugh. It could only be Quintillus. This must be what he wanted. This, the experiment he intended her to be a part of. With all her strength, she fought back. Her formless body screamed in pain. Her mind filled with images of beasts and demons, scaly arms, legs, bodies. Over all the chaos, the god Set wielded his staff, threw back his head, and roared.

* * * *

Lizzie emerged from unconsciousness on the floor of the cave. It took her a minute to realize where she lay. Then she remembered. Thankfully, the bonds which had held her so tightly were gone, and she willed her numb feet to bear her weight. No sign of Quintillus or of the statuette. The cave was entirely empty. She had no idea how long she had been there but, limping to the entrance, the bright sunlight made her blink and her eyes tear up.

She picked her way back along the beach, pausing briefly at the cave where Herr Ziegler had been killed. She hesitated, but didn’t go in, and resumed her journey back to the hotel. All the while, she wondered. Had what she experienced been real? Whatever Dr. Quintillus had given her to drink must have drugged her, and she couldn’t know what else might have happened while she lay there, tortured by impossible visions.

Back at the hotel, she made straight for her room. She opened her trunk and piled her things back into it. Anything she had left at camp would just have to stay there. Lizzie worked fast and was putting the key into her purse when a loud rapping sounded at her door.

Dr. Quintillus? But what could he do in broad daylight in a hotel corridor? As long as she didn’t let him in. She took a deep breath and opened the door a crack, ready to slam it shut if need be. Abbas stood there, a serious expression on his face. She hesitated a moment and then let him in.

“Miss Charters, I am instructed to take you to Dr. Quintillus immediately.” He couldn’t miss seeing the trunk and the empty wardrobe with its open doors. He raised his eyebrows.

“As you can see, Abbas, I have decided to return to England immediately. I cannot remain here any longer.”

“But Dr. Quintillus—”

“Dr. Quintillus is the reason I have to leave. If I stay, I’m certain something terrible is going to happen to me. If it hasn’t already.”

Abbas looked at her questioningly, but Lizzie wasn’t prepared to debate with him. “Thank you for all you did for me during my illness, Abbas. I’m sorry to have to do this, but I must ask you to leave. Now.”

Abbas sighed deeply. “I too am sad I have to do this, Miss Charters.” She didn’t see the blow coming. Everything went dark.

* * * *

She was tossed and turned from side to side, and Lizzie’s head throbbed. She struggled to open her eyes and pain shot through her head from the bright sunlight.

“Ah. Miss Charters. I trust you are not in too much discomfort.”

Lizzie struggled to sit up and glared at Abbas, whose expression of concern doubled when he saw her face.

“Why did you do that? I thought we were friends.”

“I hope we can still be, but Dr. Quintillus insisted, and you should know that when he orders, you obey.”

“Where are you taking me? Taposiris Magna?”

Abbas shook his head. “No. Somewhere nearby, but not there. Not anymore. I am not permitted to tell you.”

“What does he intend to do to me?”

“I am not so far in the doctor’s confidence that he tells me such things.”

“I believe he intends to kill me in order to bring Cleopatra back to life.”

Abbas’s eyes grew wide. “But that is impossible.”

“Tell that to Dr. Quintillus. I’m sure he attempted something like it yesterday evening. I don’t believe he succeeded then, so perhaps he believes it will work better wherever you’re taking me.”

“I do not know any of this,” Abbas said.

The carriage sped over dusty roads. The sun beat down, its brightness dazzling. Lizzie tried to make herself as comfortable as possible. Right now, escape would be impossible. She must wait for the right moment. If that ever presented itself.

They turned off onto a narrow track with potholes so large, they sent the carriage lurching again from side to side. Tall palm trees and grasses swayed in the hot breeze and framed the path. After several minutes, they came to a halt outside a small, dazzlingly white, ruined temple.

“We are here,” Abbas said, and helped her down from the carriage.

He led her toward the entrance, which was flanked by four enormous Grecian pillars. Taking her hand, he helped her up the worn steps and into a courtyard.

Ahead of them, Quintillus stood, waiting in the area that would have been the temple’s inner sanctum. He had prepared an altar. On it, the statuette of Set stood next to a small covered bowl. A sharp dagger glinted in the sun and Lizzie hoped its purpose was purely ceremonial, but either way, determination had kicked in and she stood with her head held defiantly high. The time for weakness and naïve faith had well and truly passed. Now she faced Quintillus as he unwrapped and unrolled an ancient papyrus scroll, laid it on the altar, and secured it at each corner with stones.

A wave of apprehension threatened to crumble her newfound resolve, but Lizzie set her jaw. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her emotions. Abbas stood to one side, just out of her line of sight. She wondered what he made of all this. Surely he wouldn’t stand aside and watch while Quintillus murdered her.

“You cannot escape your destiny,” Quintillus said.

“And what is that?” She felt proud of the defiance in her voice.

“My queen will live again in you.”

“No. You tried yesterday and failed.”

He looked around. “Now we are here. In this temple dedicated to Isis.”

“Then what is that statuette of Set doing here?” She caught sight of a familiar small alabaster figure. “And Sekhmet?”

“I shall call on the collective power of the gods.”

Lizzie thought fast. Maybe she could outrun Quintillus. If she made it back to the carriage, surely the driver would help her, even if Abbas would not. Desperate thoughts, but her situation could hardly be more desperate.

Quintillus turned his back on her and began chanting. She saw her moment and took off at a speed she didn’t know she was capable of. Abbas didn’t follow her. Neither did Quintillus. She had made it maybe halfway when a strong force tugged her backward. She fought against it, pushing on, but her feet wouldn’t move forward. The force dragged her back and nothing she did could stop it.

“You see?” Quintillus said. “I have the power of the gods on my side.”

Lizzie fell, limp and exhausted, to the ground in front of him. Despite her best efforts, there seemed nothing more she could do. Abbas continued to stand silently, but he bowed his head. Waiting, it seemed, for the inevitable.

The invisible force dragged Lizzie to her feet, and Quintillus took her hand and led her to the altar. The harder she fought not to move, the more the energy pushed her. She staggered up the two steps and Quintillus spread his hands. In an instant, Lizzie lay on her back.

The sky darkened like a solar eclipse. A rushing wind hurtled toward them. The surrounding palm trees swayed and creaked. Lizzie tasted sand and salt. All the while, Quintillus chanted and her mind became confused. Disjointed.

More visions. The dead queen’s face, her magnificent eyes, all swirled up to force themselves into her consciousness. She felt a wrench and realized she had once again left her body. Weightless, floating, staring down—not at herself—but at the dead Cleopatra.

This time, she felt lighter, freed from her fears. She saw Quintillus brandish the statuette of Set in one hand and Sekhmet in the other. From somewhere she heard the growl of a lioness and the roar of the god of chaos. Surely Isis should have been here, in her temple, but the goddess of love was nowhere to be seen.

The queen stood and pointed at Quintillus. He seemed to waver for an instant, then recovered. His chants grew louder and more insistent. The wind howled and rain cascaded down on the scene Lizzie could now only witness. Above it all, she floated, suspended between space and time. The queen looked ghostly, lacking the form she had worn the previous night. Lizzie peered down at her own body, inert, peaceful. An empty vessel.

Waiting.