Mal wasn’t buying it. But trying to figure out the
motivations of an Egyptian god who’d been around for
millennia, who was versed in every possible twist and
treacherous move, was an endeavor doomed to failure.
“Mal—”
“You trespass sacred grounds,” the sentry hissed.
“Get lost, Dae.” Mal stepped forward, shouldering his
brother aside, but Dagan grabbed his forearm, fingers
closing like a vise, his gray eyes glittering in the odd
greenish light. There was concern there, and affection.
Damn. It was the affection that hit Mal where he lived.
“There are things you don’t know, and I don’t have
time to tell you everything.” Dagan leaned in close and
spoke so low that Mal had to strain to catch the words.
“But I’ll give you the abbreviated version. I’ve spent two
days following up a lead that led me to a shitload of questions. Apparently, there was a witness. Frank Marin.
Alastor’s all over that, but it looks like the Daughters of
Aset got to him first and he’s gone to ground.”
“Like a worm.” Mal crossed his arms, imitating
Dagan’s implacable posture.
“Exactly like.” Slinging an arm across Mal’s shoulders, Dagan glanced at the silent sentry and shifted
even closer. “Xaphan’s concubines know something.
They’ve been stirring up shit. Asking questions. Stepping over territorial lines. I need you to go talk to them.
You’ll do better with them than I will.”
That was an inarguable fact. Dagan wasn’t exactly
136
SINS OF THE HEART
known for his easygoing way with the ladies. Drop him
in a pit for a match with a hellhound. Leave him in a
room with a pile of ancient scrolls. Send him out to
