The Pharaoh's Mistress Read online

  I watch Hany go. The scent of his sweet young blood makes my mouth water.

  “Perhaps you ought to have a vodka?” Michael’s voice is soothing with its calm confessional hum. He was a priest once. He would have been a good one too. A rare thing indeed.

  “It’s been a few days now since you’ve… well…” He takes his glasses off to clean them. An action to avoid eye contact with me, something he does increasingly.

  “Since I’ve fed you mean?” I snap the words. It’s been almost a week since we fled Amynta’s clutches in Greece, when I drained one of her minions until he was blue. The hunger is returning, but I have not lost control. Not yet.

  “Yes. So would you like some?”

  “Would you like some?”

  He stares at me a moment before getting to his feet and the glow of gold in his hair from the lamp is extinguished like a vanquished flame. “I’ll have a glass of red with dinner.”

  He sits at the table and lifts the silver warmer. The aroma of charred meat with Middle-Eastern spices fills the room. Cinnamon and other spices foul the air and I turn from the stench and step to the minibar. It’s been restocked since last night. My instincts are resisting still, but Michael is right, my hunger will awaken with time. The ancient texts we’ve read have told us this, and my own limited experience has validated it. A vampire such as I can last a week, perhaps two, without needing to feed, but I’ve never really tested the theory. In Paris, I fed on pigs’ blood. Every day I would visit Jardin de Lotus, the Chinese restaurant where Liu or Shen would provide me with sustenance, but nothing sates the hunger like human blood. Though the crippling guilt it brings is hard to bear. My last victim was different. He deserved exactly what he got. I open the small bottle of vodka and drink its contents in one gulp.

  “Perhaps I should get you a large bottle,” Michael says after swallowing a mouthful of food. “I’ll do that on my way back.”

  “You’re going out?”

  He sips his wine and nods. “Back to the library. Their section on the occult is extensive to say the least. And to think the greatest library the world has ever seen once stood in this very city. I could spend days, weeks even—”

  “We don’t have days.” I chuck the empty vodka bottle in the bin. “Amynta comes for us. I feel her.”

  Michael frowns. “You do?”

  “I feel something. Like a scent, or a push. No, more like a pull. It must be her. She is coming, I know it.”

  Michael sips his wine once more. “Perhaps it’s mutual.”

  “Mutual?”

  “In her castle, she told me she could sniff out a vampire. Perhaps the vampire can sniff her out too.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. All this lore, it grows confusing.”

  “There’s something else I must tell you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been dreaming.”

  Michael’s eyebrows rise. “Like human dreams?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Michael frowns once more as he adjusts his glasses. “What were they about?”

  I grab a wine glass from the cupboard and pour some of Michael’s red. The crimson liquid reminds me of something. Something from the dream, I’m sure of it. Blood? A young girl’s blood? “I… I find it difficult to recall. The dreams vanish the moment I wake.”

  “That is like a human dream.”

  I swallow a mouthful of wine and press my lips together as a memory of pain in my forearm flashes along my skin.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just can’t put the pieces together.”

  “The books… there’s one that has some detail on sleep.”

  “The Foliss.” I had only to read a passage once for it to lodge in my memory. “Well, both it and the one on vampiric infestation, they say the same thing about sleep. The vampire doesn’t truly sleep. It’s more like a stasis, like death.”

  Michael shifts on his chair and pats the hair that sticks up at the back of his head. He’s uncomfortable, but he does a good job of pretending to be calm. He’s curious too. He isn’t entirely normal himself. He’s seen things so frightening most people would die from shock. Still, he’s never dealt with vampires. Not before me.

  “You’re sure it was a dream?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I know.” I can’t exactly read Michael’s thoughts but the impressions they make are clear enough, as are his emotions. His desire still spikes every time he looks at me, but he keeps it under control. Can I do the same?

  “Perhaps Amynta is trying to contact you through your sleep.”

  “Not very effective if I can’t remember the message.”

  “Perhaps it’s all she has. Or it could be Brother Gerold.”

  The monk’s name brings a scowl. He was the first to put me in silver, and while I thanked him at the time, I’ve since grown rather weary of strangers attempting to imprison me.

  “Brother Gerold had certain… talents that could potentially seed such a vision in a person’s mind.”

  I scoff. “You make him sound like a sorcerer or something.”

  Michael looks away, his cheeks blushing. “No, not sorcerer. He does have some skill nonetheless.”

  “I’ll not go back to him.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you do. I was simply postulating—”

  “I’ve told you, we must move further east.”

  Michael snaps his attention to me. “You keep saying that. Why?”

  I take another sip of wine. “I don’t know. It is a feeling, that is all.”

  “A feeling?”

  “A strong feeling. Like my body is being pulled by some strange force. I can’t explain it. All I know is I must go further into the desert.”

  “Where? Cairo, or further inland?”

  I consider his question and search for an answer. But the truth is I’ve no notion of where I must go. I only know we have not yet arrived at the right destination. The place, wherever it is, awaits me.

  “Emma—” the way he says my name, so softly, always makes part of me melt away. But the sharp ring of his phone interrupts the pleasant feeling.

  “Georgette?” Michael says into the phone. “What?” A strong sense of panic overrides all other emotions. I extend my hearing, hardly thinking to do so.

  Georgette’s voice is quick and panicked. “I’ve been attacked—”

  I freeze as anger and urgency combine to make me want to smash the glass in my hand against the wall. “Who?” I sneer, and Michael shakes his head slowly as he tells Georgette to calm down.

  “Shleck?” His eyes widen, and I jolt my chin up. Schleck was the detective in charge of the investigation into my so-called disappearance.

  “She knows,” Georgette says. “I am coming to meet you, Michael. I’ll be in Cairo in two days.”

  “Georgette, it’s too dangerous.”

  “I am already in danger, Michael. Perhaps more so here in Paris than anywhere else. No, I will come. I’ll contact you when I arrive. Goodbye, Michael.”

  “Georgette! Stay safe.”

  Chapter 3

  Excerpt from Dark Ones, by Faustus Gavius

  … One such hypothesis holds that these blood rituals were a common custom practiced by nomadic tribes in the ancient world. The primordial clans who traversed the once thick cedar forests of northern Mesopotamia were inclined to collect a sample of blood from each child on turning seven summers old. The blood, taken by spiritual leaders, was stored in clay phials to be administered in the event of illness borne of nefariousness, specifically of the spiritual kind. It was believed the blood of the pure held the power to cure any spiritual malady that may accost the individual, or the tribe, at any time.

  Michael closed the old book and studied its cover once more. The cloth binding remained remarkably intact given its age. The title had worn, but held at a certain angle the words ‘Dark Ones’ were readily discernible. He opened the book and returned to the passage, allowing his gaze to
linger over certain terms. “Blood ritual,” he whispered, translating the Latin in his mind before looking up at the lofty ceiling of the reading room.

  This text was significant and all too reminiscent of Emma’s dream. The parts she could remember at least. The tall cedars. An ancient people. Something about collecting blood from a child.

  “Surely no coincidence,” he whispered again, and his fingers tingled ever so slightly.

  No coincidence either that he’d received a call from Henri, the rare book trader in Paris, to tell him of this particular text by Gavius. A copy of which resided in the modern Bibliotheca Alexandrina. “It was penned by one of them,” Henri had told him with gravity. It didn’t take Michael long to surmise what Henri had meant by that clandestine comment. Gavius was a vampire.

  The library’s loud buzzer broke Michael’s train of thought and he glanced at his phone. Closing time. Pressing his lips together he patted his coat pocket where the silver tipped stake rested. He briefly considered concealing the old book there too, but he placed it on the desk. Alexandria, like the rest of Egypt, had suffered enough thievery from foreigners. Instead he took quick pictures of several pages with his phone. He’d read them later. Gavius had more to tell him. Perhaps they could stay one more day in Alexandria and he could return to the library to read more tomorrow. Emma wouldn’t agree though, she’d already said they’d lingered here too long. He flicked through the pages and snapped more pictures.

  Michael’s shoes echoed on the polished concrete floor as he exited the library’s reading room with the few others, mostly university students by the look of them. Outside, the night-time cool of the ancient city hit him like a wave. At this time of year the desert turned to ice once the sun descended, and its cool seeped into the cities. He glanced back at the concrete walls and glass panels of the modern library’s entrance and made the mental comparison with the famed ancient Library of Alexandria with its lofty height and marble colonnades. It had housed more books than any other in the known world. It had burned to the ground, but some scrolls would have survived. If only their whereabouts were known. Books were the key to knowledge, Michael’s father had always told him, and so far on this strange journey, books had told him more than people.

  Michael had been tasked with finding Emma by her father, the earl, and her sister, Susan. Emma had been missing for over a year, and he’d found her sure enough, but she was now irrevocably changed. Reuniting Emma with her family would be dangerous in the extreme, and he struggled to think of what to tell them. Whenever he pressed her about it she shrugged the problem off as though it were of no consequence. Said her father never really cared about her anyway. And her sister was too self-absorbed to mind what happened to her. The few times he’d brought them up had revealed Emma’s growing acrimony toward her father and sister. A part of Michael considered that a good thing. He’d read enough about vampires to know they stalked people they’d been close to in the past, and ultimately destroyed them in the quest to gain back old familiarity.

  Another part of Michael was glad. If he were to be truthful, he had Emma all to himself. She filled that place, deep within, once occupied by his ex-wife, Judith. It was a part he’d had a lot of practice in ignoring. Love and lust had only resulted in misery for Michael. Now he knew it would also lead to danger if he allowed it to dominate. Acknowledging that desire was one thing, acting on it, something else entirely. He took a sharp breath and raked his fingers through his hair before quickening his step along the Alexandrian streets.

  It wasn’t long before he reached the port. The streets bustled with tourists seeking the thrill of Alexandria’s nightlife. Restaurants were still busy, and bars and clubs were just opening, pumping out thumping music that mingled in a discordant clamour in the chilly air. A breeze blew in from the harbour, cold and damp, and brought some welcome freshness to Michael’s mind, despite the stench of rotting fish and boat fuel.

  He buttoned his coat and paused his step to study the inky water of the harbour and imagine the great city in ancient times when it was one of the most powerful strongholds in the world, second only to Rome. If he had time he would explore the Citadel that stood like a gateway to the Middle Ages, on the westernmost point of the harbour. Spotlights highlighted it in such a way it could be seen from all over the Eastern Harbour. It appeared so flawless, the towers and turrets so defined against the black sky, as though merely stepping through it would take one back through the centuries. He forced his gaze away. There was no time for such fancies. They had to move east, though where precisely remained an enigma. At least they had one destination in mind, for now – Cairo and Georgette.

  Michael’s stomach clenched whenever he thought of Georgette. She had a dangerous curiosity for all things supernatural. He didn’t doubt she’d continued searching for information despite Michael’s pleas that she put a stop to it. And now danger had found her. Michael blamed himself, of course. He should have refused to allow Georgette to help him, but without her, he may not have found Emma.

  Then again, perhaps it was best Georgette stay close. He could protect her, or Emma would. If it were true Schleck was somehow involved in this strange business, Paris would no longer be safe for those who knew anything of vampires. He’d seen the warning in the Foliss Abesse and other sources. Vampires do not want to be found and will seek out and destroy all those with knowledge of their existence. He had to protect Georgette from a bloody end.

  “And so, we shall go east,” Michael uttered. He started thinking through a plan for leaving. They still had the motorbike they’d stolen from Amynta, hidden behind the pomegranate in the guesthouse’s small garden. It needed fuel though. Michael frowned; he should have paid more attention to leaving. What if they had to escape in a hurry? The bike was empty. Perhaps Hany could get them fuel. The lad had helped with a couple of other things and had promised them a new set of clothes by the morning. Something Michael would be thankful for, he could still smell the blood on his shirt, not to mention the stale odour of clothes well past their wash-by date.

  Michael took a breath and forced his mind to calm. All would be well, he just had to be smart. But that link Amynta held with vampires was troublesome. He believed Emma’s claims that she could sense the slayer and he wondered at the reason why.

  He was not lacking in certain talents of the supernatural kind. He’d always seen ghosts and demons. As a boy he’d been fortunate to have a grandmother who shared his ‘gift’ as she called it. She’d taught him everything he knew, and more. If it wasn’t for her, Michael could have ended up with a psychiatric diagnosis, or dead through suicide. It was the most common fate for people like him when left to their own devices.

  But he’d learned to master his gift, and to use it. He’d trained his skills and honed them well, and now the demons were even a little afraid of him. When he performed exorcisms, he saw a glint of recognition in their beastly eyes as he forced them from their possessions. He enjoyed it too, and though he would only admit as much to himself, he was good at it.

  He let go a sharp breath. “But what am I doing now? Going around in circles?”

  Was Amynta like him? And if so, how far did her gift extend? If she was behind Emma’s visions, or dreams, that was a skill far beyond anything Michael was capable of. She called herself vampire slayer. A ridiculous term. Something straight from Hollywood, yet could it be true? Vampires were real, after all. Why not slayers?

  Whatever Amynta was, she was powerful, and she had something planned. To kill the most formidable vampire the world had known, according to Amynta. The gypsy woman. The vampire who had turned Nathaniel Chartley. Asha was her name. Amynta had revealed that much, but aside from the fact that Asha had lived as one of the Romani in sixteenth century England, they had precious little information about her.

  Michael cast his gaze again to the boats on the Eastern Harbour. Fishing boats mostly, but clusters of tourist cruisers huddled along jetties at various points. At the end of one wooden jetty a small bo
at was moored, Michael focused on it bobbing with the low waves of the bay. It sat in the shadows behind a row of stalls. Michael strode over and ducked under the chain to walk to the end of the short jetty. He looked out over the boat and the dark bay and narrowed his eyes as he whispered her name to the breeze. “Asha.”

  Using the bay as a conduit for his visioning, he relaxed his gaze and steadied his breath as he conjured an image of what she might look like from the descriptions in Nathaniel’s diary. Michael’s hands and feet tingled as his gift came to life and pictures filled his mind. Black glossy hair that fell to the waist in waves. A buxom figure. Bronzed limbs, and a deadly lust. Images flickered through his sight, or his mind, he never really knew which. And one froze. A sharp tingling buzzed in his hands as he focused. Dark, gleaming hair fell over her shoulders. A sensuous smile played on her lips, and a red pendant seemed to glow as it rested upon her breast. Perspiration beaded on Michael’s brow. His heart raced, his hands burned with fire, and already the hunger and fatigue gnawed at him. But he pushed his mind further and focused on that vial. It was filled with a deep crimson liquid. Blood? What could it mean?

  The loud hoot of an incoming ferry echoing over the water disturbed his concentration, and Michael didn’t have the energy to begin the visioning again. He took a slow breath, willed his burning hands to cool, and returned to the bustling street.

  A gelato stall came into view and Michael’s stomach rumbled. His gift always made him feel spent. He ordered a mango gelato and ate it quickly as he walked. His mind wandered back to the past when he and Judith had holidayed in the south of Italy, and an after-dinner gelato had become part of their evening routine. He shook his head with the last bite. There was no use thinking about Judith anymore. About his failure to keep her entertained so that she didn’t seek the company of another man. Emma had solved that little problem, and Judith no longer remembered him. She wouldn’t know him if she fell over him. But she was safe, and by now his ex-wife had either resolved her differences with her new husband, or she’d left him, like she’d said she would and was living once more in England.