Bes keeps surprising me.
Gripping the amulet beneath my shirt for comfort, I lean forward in my seat. Eyes trained on the road, he grins softly. Giddily, even. I give him a good once-over: he’s dirty and bloody and bruised, butalive. I’m honestly surprised either of us made it out of that situation with minimal injuries.
“You’re right. Well done, Bes.” I glance over at the curator. “But we wouldn’t even have the car without Mr. Lacau, or Cecilio.”
Cec taps the bottom of his cane on the car floor. “Doubly agreed on that front. But how did you two escape the God Men?”
“I was waiting for Bes outside the back of the museum,” I start to explain, belaying why I was out there by myself in the first place, “when some woman who knew my name came up to me and demanded I give her the amulet. Then Bes shoved her brother through the back doors. We tussled, but Bes got the better of his man first. He even used a fountain pen and sprayed ink in his eyes.”
Cec snorts.
“Something funny, Cecilio?” Bes asks.
“Nothing, old chap, just that you’ve proven beyond any doubt that the pen is mightier than the sword.”
Unable to help myself, I chuckle. Bes shakes his head.
Leaning back, I turn on Cec. “How did you find the old curator?”
“I take offense to that word, old,” the older man huffs. “I’ve experienced more with my one pinky finger than you have with your entire being, fille.”
“He found me,” Cec explains before I have a chance to be verbally offended. “I was hoping to flag down a taxi so that I could get to the docks before the two of you and get everything in order. Pierre pulled up instead.”
“What are you still doing in Cairo?” Bes asks Pierre, an edge to his voice I can’t place. “I thought you chose to retire so you could return home?”
“I did,” Pierre admits. “But I wanted to visit some of the city before I left for good. When I realized I left one of my journals back at my office, I came to retrieve it, hoping you would be there to let me in.” He glances back at us. “That’s when I recognized Cecilio.”
“And when the two of you heard the gunshot, you hoped Bes did the shooting, in which case we’d need a quick escape,” I deduce.
Cec glances in Bes’s direction. “She’s quick.”
I nearly laugh. “More likely you have incredibly low standards.”
“The most apt description of my cousin I’ve heard yet.”
Cec reaches forward to slap Bes’s bad arm with the back of his hand. “Don’t be rude,cousin.”
He responds by hissing and reaching over to grip his arm.
“Oh, come on, mate, I didn’t hit you that hard,” Cec chides.
One look at the spot tells me hedidhit him hard. Enough to make him bleed, at least. The bullet wound he received from Claude must’ve reopened from his tussle with Klaus, and Cec made it worse by striking him.
“Damn it to hell,” I mutter.
Bes risks a glance at it as I reach for his shirt before returning his attention to the road. “I’m fine; it’s only a flesh wound.”
“And hell is merely a steam bath,” I mutter. It’s something Nonna says whenever I make ridiculous comparisons. I never thought I’d repeat the phrase myself, but desperate times.
Noticing a slight tear in his blood-stained shirt from the fight with Klaus, I gently reach inside. Making sure to avoid touching the wound, I rip it apart, separating it from the rest of the fabric with little effort.
Bes glances down at my handiwork. “Aye, at least warn a bloke before you ruin his best shirt.”
I continue ripping the cloth into strips. “This is your best shirt? That’s unfortunate.”
I grin over at him, seeing the same expression stretch across his face.Still giddy from our narrow escape, I see.
“This is… fascinating,” Cec says, his normal brand of humor absent.
