I search the crowd for the man who the voice belongs to. Past the long rows of wooden tables and benches, where nameless faces look on, is a much smaller table. There, sit around half a dozen—
“Cec?” I can’t stop myself from uttering it aloud.
Yet, the humiliation I should feel from my outburst doesn’t come. Only anger. Why the hell is Cec sitting directly beside the man who called on Bes? And who, given the size of his chair compared to the others’, holds himself up as the head of thisorganization. The man I’ve come to know as their Uncle Arturo. The only explanation I can think of is that Cec chose not to divulge how large his role is here.
Cec has the good sense to appear sheepish, maintaining his milky gaze on his tightly-folded hands on the table.
As much as his omittance enrages me, I tell myself it wasn’t born out of malice. Bes and Cec withheld a lot from me under the guise of a supposed blood oath; this was merely one of their many secrets.Doesn’t mean I’m not going to give him and Bes shit for it later.
Knowing most of the people in this room are still watching my every move, I do my damnedest to leach the surprise and betrayal from my expression.
That’s when I hear the whispers.
“Is that Bes?”
“Bes is back.”
“I can’t believe it’s Bes.”
My attention turns to him. His cheeks are flushed, his attention focused on his shoes.
It’s not me they’re interested in—it’s Bes.So much for my supernatural powers of observance.
I speak soft enough that only he can hear me. “They’re acting like it’s the second coming and you’re Jesus Christ. Should I be worried about the Apocalypse? Is Cec the Antichrist?”
The slight rosy tinge gradually disappears from his skin and a smile tugs at his lips. “It’s not the Apocalypse. Although Cec could easily be the Antichrist.” He glances over at me. “My coming back here is more like the return of the prodigal son than the son of God.”
“So youdoknow the bible.”
He grimaces. “It’s required reading here, unfortunately.”
I cast my gaze on the man who initially called Bes’s name, keeping my voice low. “Then, tell me, is this place more Old Testament or New.”
Bes grins out of the corner of my eye. “A bit of both.”
Nonna would’ve fit right in here.Then again, perhaps she did.
Bes steps forward and offers one word in greeting. “Ansaldo.”
The man—Ansaldo, not Arturo—shifts his attention to me. “This must be the infamous Amelia Hawkins.”
I clear my throat. “Mel, sir.”
I wonder if I should bow or curtsy or the like. If I didn’t know what year it was, I’d think we’ve been transported back in time to medieval Europe, where everyone called the King ‘your grace’ and the other noblepersons ‘my lord’ or ‘my lady’.
Lucky for me, and all women, we’ve evolved since then.
“Should I call you Ansaldo, or Arturo?”
He grimaces. “Arturo is my name out in the real world; Ansaldo is only spoken within these walls.”
One small riddle solved, at least.
“Well,Ansaldo, I’d like to inquire why the hell I’ve been dragged partway across the world to be brought here on your orders, with an amulet that your people—and everyone else who wants it—claim contains magic?”
He opens his mouth to speak but I continue on.
“And, given all the pain and suffering I endured to get it here, I demand to see everything you have on the Amulet of Amun and how it works.”
