He reached within his costume, then opened his palm.
Two pieces of jewelry were nestled there. One a ring, the other a long chain upon which hung a pendant. A stone was set within each—none other than a crimson scarab.
“You recognize these?” He smiled indulgently. “I knew you’d have yours with you. How could you not?”
He placed the pendant around his neck, then held up the ring—a simple band of gold with a claw setting, into which the scarab had been placed.
Onora’s mind raced. It had not been her imagination that someone had entered her room. They’d been searching among her things!
To her horror, Seton lifted her left hand. She thought he’d pass some comment, for she’d forgotten to replace her engagement ring, but he saidnaught at all, sliding the scarab ring where the solitaire diamond had been. He then lowered his lips, lightly kissing the stone.
“A new high priestess, and a fitting consort for myself. Together we shall lead the faithful, and the goddess shall reward us!”
Has he lost his senses?
Is he really suggesting…?
He turned her about, and she saw that the others had drawn close. She looked from face to face—the Misses Feathermount, the Doctor, the Colonel, the Reverend and his wife, the Auvrays, Herr Müller, and the other, unknown woman. Was that…Maria?
They stood within a half-circle, their focus entirely upon her. She saw now that each wore a scarab—some about their neck, others as brooches, some upon a cuff about their wrist.
An icy fear gripped Onora’s heart.
“The time has come!” Seton’s declaration rang out. “We are the twelve!”
CHAPTER 20
Onora was borne aloft, lifted by many hands. There were whoops of excitement, laughter, and the accompaniment of cymbals and drum. Her body did not feel connected to her mind, nor her mind connected to much at all.
Above her were the stars, filling her vision on all sides, then the world tilted and she had the sensation of descending.
Down, down, into the Underworld, to the place where sinners go, and if your heart is heavy, you’ll be eaten by the demon Ammut.
Is that what I deserve?
She was so confused; she didn’t know whether her heart was good or wicked anymore.
For a moment the stars were blotted out, then they appeared again. The rocking motion of being carried was making her sleepy, despite the hullabaloo of those surrounding her.
She might have closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, there was no sky at all. They were inside somewhere, and the voices now echoed. It was almost entirely dark, but she made out the shape of a column, rising tall above her.
And then it went very quiet.
She imagined she was in Christ Church Cathedral, back in Oxford, and the Sanctus bell was being rung from the altar.
No, that can’t be right, for wasn’t I in the garden not long ago?
She was passing beneath an archway, into what felt like a smaller space, where the air was denser, cloyingly scented.
Smoked wood and cinnamon…and amber?
The voices rose and fell in unison: “Hail to thee, Qadesh. We are your servants. Hail, mighty Qadesh. We answer your call.”
Over and over, the chant continued, punctuated by the rhythmic beat of a drum.
Mine at last!
The triumphant words threaded through Onora’s mind, and she knew from where they hailed—not her own consciousness, but that of the statue, of the goddess herself.
