In my mind’s eye, I see all the things I thought I’d moved past:
I see Claude, the shock written across his traitor-face when I shot him, the blood spurting between his fingers from the fatal wound, the moment scarred deeply into my memory.
I see Bes, firing a bullet directly into Klaus’s skull with what I can only describe as a vengeful purpose.
I see myself shooting one of the OVRA soldiers in the Port of Messina, and Ailsa falling to her death anyway, blood blooming around her. The secrets she took to her grave must’ve been about the order.
I see all the people in the underground club, dancing and laughing in one moment, then being murdered in the next. Innocent bystanders in the wrong place at the wrong time, who I can’t help thinking wouldn’t have been in harm’s way had the three of us not been there.
I see the flash of blonde hair I convinced myself was Ingrid come to make good on her promise to kill me the next time we met. A chill scrapes up my spine at the thought of her following our every move, of having not killed her when I had the chance, even though doing so would’ve broken me.
I see the Blackshirt, the one who tried to attack Bes, the one who I had no choice but to stab in the throat… the one I should feel more remorse for but don’t.
I see the second Blackshirt—or perhaps he was one of the God Men—lunge toward me, and Bes leaping in front of me, only to be stabbed himself.
Knowing all of it—every single moment—was necessary for our survival doesn’t help. Not really. Not when it could’ve been avoided by my not coming to Egypt in the first place.
But, if I hadn’t taken action at the club or in the desert when I did,Beswould be dead instead of them. And I couldn’t live with myself if I’d been given the chance to do something to save him and was too cowardly to act on it.
Besides, they were all willing foot soldiers for violent fascists, and I’ve learned I can’t abide by their tactics. Whether they were simply following orders or not.
Like Bes and Cec were when they lied to me.
I do feel, though, as if a piece of my soul gets carved away each time someone—no matter how evil they are—dies by my hand.
Dunking my head under the surface, I scrub the soap from my hair, coming up for air to add more hot water to the tub so I can soak for a while longer. I sigh, sinking lower into the bath.
Before I realize what’s happening, tears slice unabated down my cheeks, hotter than any bath water. I didn’t even feel them start to build behind my eyes, but now I can’t seem to stop them—burning, aching. My heart feels as if it’s being ripped apart inside my chest by sharp nails and callous hands. A sob tears from my throat.
Nonna once told me that, sometimes, when things get to be too much, we need a good cry. It’s the only way to purge whatever feelings are poisoning us. And we should never feel any shame in it.
Remembering her words allows me to breathe a little easier; knowing she’s not there to say them to me only makes me cry harder.
Nonna…I’m not sure how, but I’ll get Ansaldo to tell me about her. I need to know how deeply she’s involved. Does she even know about the Order of Cavendi? Did she mean for things to go wrong at the Temple of Seti I? Was I always meant to come here? And if so, who knew of the manipulation?
If not—if my being here was only in case something went wrong in Egypt—then does she truly think Arturo can protect me? Why let me go at all if this expedition was dangerous enough to require such an elaborate escape plan?
No one can answer your questions if you stay in this bath forever.
I sniff, my tears gradually stopping.
Stone by stone in the cooling bathwater, I repair the dam broken, taming the thoughts swirling around inside my mind. Because, even though I’m trapped in this place, I’m goddamn tired of running. All the answers to my questions lie here, at the Order of Cavendi. Besides, I have the Amulet of Amun to look after. And I have Bes and Cec.
No matter how difficult it is to believe, I’m not alone in this.
As I sit on the bed, lacing my last boot, a knock sounds at the door.
Bes. My pulse quickens.
“Hawkins?” Cec calls out through the door. “I’ve come to fetch you.”
Galling disappointment floods me. But at least I’ll get the chance to give Cec grief for hiding the truth about himself from me.
“I’m not a dog bone, Cec,” I call back. “Just give me a damn minute.”
His soft chuckle breaches the door.
I pull my wet hair back into a loose braid—if I don’t, it’ll get these annoying waves I can’t do a thing with.
