I furrow my brow at the mention of the name. Another person who knows Arturo. He must be very prominent in the Egyptian archaeological circles.
“Not that anyone cares to hear my opinion,” I cut in, “but we should do whatever it is Arturo would want.”
Bes glances at me. “Right, then. At least this’ll give us a head start.”
But will it be enough?
“You men sure know how to show a woman a good time,” I say.
Bes wordlessly surveys the graveyard again, gripping the back of his neck.
Cec, however, doesn’t know the meaning of wordless. “We certainly do.”
Unable to delay the inevitable any longer, I climb out of the car. Yanking my suitcase from beside Cec, I sling my pack over both shoulders. My shirt sticks uncomfortably to my back, and I grimace. I hoped the night air would bring some relief from the heat, but it’s not much different than during the day.At least there’s no added warmth from the sun.
A slight chill accompanies the mildly thicker air here. The only thing I can compare it to is the lake effect on the shores of Lake Superior. When both Nonna and I are off for the summer, we drive up from Ann Arbor to stay at her friend’s cabin in the Upper Peninsula for a couple months. It’s not quite the same, though. While the humidity in Michigan is so dense at times that you feel the need to take a bath every couple hours, I find the desert heat of Egypt to be drier and a bit easier to breathe in.
The smell, however, is the most unwelcome product of this place. I’m not sure how close we parked to the Mediterranean Sea, but my empty stomach heaves at the stench of dead fish. Once I find a boat to board, I’m going to have to eat most of the rolled-up paper bag of granola in my bag to settle my insides.
Bes points straight into the black maw before us. “I propose we take a shortcut directly through the cemetery.”
I shrug. “Won’t be my first time stealing through a graveyard in the middle of the night.”
Bes shakes his head. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“It’s not a fetish, right?” Cec asks at my side. “Graveyard gallivanting? That’s definitely something.”
I shove him gently and he catches himself easily on the end of his cane, grinning like a madman.
“Even if it was, that’s none of your damn business.”
He winks a single milky eye. “I’m not hearing a no.”
I point a finger at him. “Careful, or Bes and I will leave you in the cemetery to fend for yourself.”
Chuckling, Bes approaches us. The night does something to him: I expect the darkness to obscure his features, but he comes alive in the moonlight. His jaw and cheekbones are more pronounced, his hair taking on a blue edge. And his eyes… for a moment, I swear they flicker with molten silver. But when I blink, they’re a warm brown again.
I rub at my own eyes, concerned I’m hallucinating again from my traumatic experience today.Keep it together, Hawkins. At least until you find a way out of this place.
Cec folds his hands together in front of him, as if in prayer. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, cousin?”
Bes turns his back to Cec when he’s a breath away. “Don’t tempt me.”
“How swiftly you betray me.” Cec places his hand on Bes’s shoulder while tucking his cane beneath his other arm. “Your own family.”
“Even more reason.”
Bes glances back at the car. “Thank you, Mr. Lacau—for everything.”
He salutes us. “Bonne chance, mes amis.”
Bes strides forward with Cec as his own personal shadow. All I can do is follow after them, leaving Pierre with the car. I glance back at him, a mere shadow in the dark cab. He must be waiting until we’re out of sight before he starts the engine again. If not for Pierre, we wouldn’t have made it farther than the museum driveway, perhaps the streets beyond. And Ingrid—or one of the many God Men no doubt lurking in Cairo—would’ve found us.
I shift my focus ahead, forgetting what happened in the past and focusing on what’s ahead: plotting my escape.
I’m surprised by how swiftly and effortlessly the two cousins move together, as if they’ve done this hundreds of times.They probably have. Crossing the dirt-packed edge of the grounds, they pass the white-stone houses of the dead as if in a synchronized dance. Cec must trust Bes completely. Even with my perfect eyesight, I wouldn’t be able to follow Bes the way Cec is. It’s remarkable.
I whisper to Cec earnestly, “Why do you need Bes’s help? You were perfectly capable of walking with your cane at the museum.”
