CHAPTER ONE
Save me from that god who steals souls,
Who laps up corruption, who lives on what is
putrid,
Who is in charge of darkness, who lives in gloom,
Of whom those who are among the languid ones
are afraid.
Who is he? He is Seth.
He is Sutekh.
—The Egyptian Book of the Dead, Chapter 17
Chicago, Illinois, eleven years ago
IN THE FAR CORNER OF A ROOM in the basement of an
abandoned factory, a woman huddled on a filthy mattress. Her wrists and ankles were bound by yellow nylon
rope. Her head was bowed, dark, glossy ringlets falling
forward to obscure her face. The harsh glare of the
naked overhead bulb accented the curved line of her
back.
Terror had a way of making mortals scream.
Dagan Krayl wondered why this one wasn’t.
He shifted to get a better view through the half-inch
crack in the door. Small, bare room. Concrete floor.
Particleboard walls. No windows.
12
SINS OF THE HEART
There were stains on the mattress. Old stains,
reddish-brown, dark and stiff. Someone’s blood.
Not hers.
Not yet.
But whoever had left her here would be back. So she
had reason enough to be terrified. Reason enough to
