Curse of the Egyptian Goddess (3 page)

I had been packed and anxious for a week, but my father passed that morning. After his funeral, aunts and uncles who’d visited just started dying like even being around me caused death. I realized too late that relatives only needed to touch me, and not my necklace, to become victims. A few were considered heart attacks, but each body bore a dark bruise around the neck that showed through the funeral parlor makeup. I attended funeral after funeral until eventually, every relative was deceased. It took only two weeks to bury my entire bloodline.

By then I wanted more than anything to run away, but I knew I’d missed my chance. Even if Calvin remembered and had gone to our designated meeting place, he wouldn’t have waited that long.

One fake ID later, alcohol became my best friend.

After I departed from the airport, I took a cab from motel to motel, hotel to hotel, asking for Calvin Konrad’s room. It was a long shot but without a recent picture, I had no other way to find him in the large city. Stop number thirty turned out to be the lucky one. The owner of the rundown place on the outskirts of Cairo told me I’d missed him by a week. After a small bribe, he also told me Calvin had gotten a message from a man named Norman Clastrik.

Fifteen minutes later, I knocked on Mr. Clastrik’s door. Without shade, the small townhouse entrance heated to ninety degrees before he answered. As hot as it was, his sweater-vest and long pants did nothing to hide the goose bumps that formed on his arms when he stepped into the doorway. His eyes were glued to the gold chain around my neck.

“Hi,” I said, momentarily refreshed by the cool air that poured out of his door. “I was told you left a message for Calvin Konrad last week.”

His curly red hair jiggled as he shook my hand anxiously. “You’re Calvin’s friend, aren’t you?”

I nodded, feeling encouraged by Calvin’s mention of me. “Can you tell me where he might be?”

“Oh.” He straightened, but remained in the doorway like he had no intention of letting me inside his cool house. “My specialty lies in artifacts, of course, but I sent him to another Egyptologist who specializes in curses.”

I waited for him to continue but he seemed in a trance, still staring at my neck.

“Can you tell me his name?” I urged.

He finally pulled his eyes upward and smiled. “I’m sorry. Of course. It’s just that…could I take a picture of it before you leave? I assure you I won’t touch it, but I would like to study it if you don’t mind.”

When I shrugged, he slammed the door only to return a moment later with a camera. He photographed the necklace and then pointed out another house two blocks down where the “curse man” lived. He took my name and number and promised to call me if he discovered anything that might help. After thanking him, I walked the two blocks to the other house.

The second Egyptologist regarded me warily from behind thick, wired glasses. He stood unspeaking for minutes as he eyed the golden chain. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead, and his dark hair and beard pulled downward in a frown. He stared at my outstretched hand like I was diseased.

Maybe I was.

“Norman Clastrik said he sent Calvin Konrad here,” I said slowly, hoping he wouldn’t slam the door in my face. “Do you know where I might find him?”

His Egyptian accent was thick, and his deep voice sent chills down my spine. “To break a curse, you must return to the source.”

He did slam the door in my face after that, but at least I knew where to find Calvin–Siwa, Egypt.

****

On the bus, I tried to imagine Calvin’s mindset. He was searching for a way to break the curse, but why now after so many years? Was his curse getting worse as well? Or did he sense that I needed help? Regardless of the why, the idea excited me, and I hoped he had the answer by the time I found him.

If we broke the curse, at least I could go to jail without killing anyone. I knew that once I was convicted, the police would try to take my necklace and that held two particular problems: One, the person who touched it would die, and two, it would reappear around my neck. I could take the necklace off, swing it around, and play with it in my hands, but the minute the necklace lost contact with my skin, it disappeared and reappeared around my neck. I’d tried to remove it several times in the last ten years without success.

I got off the bus in Siwa one week after Calvin, but once there, his trail disappeared completely. No one had heard of him. 

The city, home to Cleopatra’s Bath, a large body of water called the Oasis, and the oracle temple to Amun-Ra, looked just like I remembered. Watched over by the Mountain of the Dead, mud brick buildings and scattered impressive ruins created an endless sea of different shades of brown. It was relatively dirty, old, and comfortable. Natives stared for a moment but then moved on, just the same as they had ten years ago. Women wore cloth draped over their heads and small children giggled and waved.

I rented a hut at an eco-lodge on the outskirts of town because it reminded me of the place Calvin had picked in Cairo. They also let me pay cash so there was no real record of my being in Egypt once I got off the plane. The idea made me wonder about Calvin. Maybe he didn’t want to be found either. Could he be running from the police like me?

I sighed heavily, irritated at the thought. “I’m not really running,” I told myself. “I’m just avoiding them for a while until I find Calvin and break the curse.” My self-assurance failed to ease the guilt I felt for breaking the law.

Cracking open the bottle of vodka I’d picked up during the day, I blew out the lantern and curled up on the hut’s mattress. I drank straight from the bottle and imagined how my life would have turned out if I’d never been cursed.
I would be married with kids, and I’d have a great job.
I had always wanted to follow in my mom’s footsteps and teach children about the wonders of Egypt.

My mother had given up her chosen career as an Egyptian historian to homeschool me. She taught me how to read hieroglyphics and speak Egyptian Arabic. Whenever I’d fuss about all the work, she’d simply claim “the past is an eye to the future,” and then she’d tell me another myth or story until I was interested again.

She had hundreds of stories, collected from her years of research. Most encompassed pharaohs or gods like Ra, Osiris, and Seth, but she always said Seshat was her favorite. Seshat, the goddess of written words, didn’t have any stories of her own but she recorded them all, and my mother thought of her as a historian, like herself. I remembered trying to write Seshat her own story, to honor my mother after she died, but it had been so long ago that I barely remembered it.

The blizzard outside shook the windows of our large brick home. My mother knitted a hat for me as she rocked back and forth in the rocking chair. I warmed my hands by the fire and looked up at her.

“Tell me the one about the cat and the snake again.”

She smiled and began without a thought. “Apep was a huge python that people called the serpent of the Nile. He represented all evil and because of that, he was the natural enemy of the sun god, Ra. But Ra couldn’t fight Apep himself. The snake only appeared in the dead of night when Ra was at his weakest, so Ra called upon his daughter, Bast, the goddess of cats. She came to Earth to hunt down Apep, and in her cat form she was able to slay the giant snake and Egypt was saved.”

“What happened after that, mommy?”

“You know what happened after that.”

“Oh, yeah. Seshat wrote it all down.”

“That’s right.”

I sat up in the darkness and slapped my hand against my forehead, not knowing or caring where I was. The dream reminded me of so many things. The necklaces were together–the cat and the snake. The curse had to have come from that story. Calvin and I were supposed to stay together. The cat could fight the snake. The cat could kill the snake. Calvin could save me!

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. My mother died right after Calvin left and without his support, my young mind blocked out so many things because I felt responsible, and it hurt too badly to remember. I tried to face things when my father died but it was so much easier just to get loaded and forget.

For the next two days, I walked around aimlessly asking the natives if they knew Calvin. No one did. It finally occurred to me that I hadn’t thought out my plan very well before I fled the United States to track him down. Now I was alone in Egypt on the night of the new moon. That meant my body would be worthless by morning.

Discouraged, I did what I was best at. I found a local bar and tried to drink my frustration away. Halfway through my sixth or seventh shot, I heard a man yell a cuss word in Arabic. The loud noise made me turn my head in time to see the man I sought.

Calvin wore brown cargo shorts and a blue polo shirt. I stared in awe for a few minutes, focusing on his unique, dark blue-turquoise eyes. His hair was still short and black as a cat, but his body had grown. He was muscular now, tall, and he wore his cheek a little scruffy, making him look like sin itself.

Damn, he has changed!

The man shouting had a thick, black mustache that curled upward on the ends. He was dressed in a police uniform. That couldn’t be good.

Finding Calvin felt like an enormous relief but seeing him again after so long, sparked a fear of rejection deep within me. He was my only hope. I prayed he’d help me out of friendship or kinship, but if nothing else, he wanted the curses lifted too. Hell, honestly I had no idea how to break his curse but my mother’s story suggested that he could break mine. Maybe if he did, both would be broken.

Either way, I desperately needed his help, but I knew I had to approach him carefully. After an argument with a police officer, he was not going to be in a good mood and he didn’t look happy.

I wasn’t in a great mood myself. Tonight’s new moon meant another dance in the darkness with an evil snake. I had a lot to look forward to, the screaming, the gasping for breath, and then the pain. But if there was ever a time I needed to put on a friendly face, this was it.

I watched him carefully slip something to the irate man as they shook hands. I stood up and smiled when he headed toward the door but all six foot, two inches of him blew right past me to the exit. His sweating brow was set with deep lines that formed a scowl.

Chapter 4

Tension burrowed deep in my gut as the smile slipped off my face. I downed my last shot, slammed the empty glass on the bar, and then I grabbed my bag and followed him out.

“Calvin,” I called, trying to catch up to his long strides. People on the busy street scattered away from us when I raised my voice to be heard. “Calvin, it’s me. Calvin, stop!”

He kept walking until I caught his arm. He stood four inches taller than me when he turned around slowly and glared down on me with his fierce, beautiful eyes. “I’m not Calvin.”

I stumbled back a step, a little surprised and a bit fearful. “Yes, you are. I’d know those eyes anywhere.”

He tipped his head back, shook it, and began walking away again.

“Calvin, wait.” I rummaged through my bag for the picture.

“I’m not interested, lady.”

Grabbing his arm, I pushed the picture toward his face. “This is you! It’s me, Calvin. Cleo Patrix” A great joke by my father. I had my name legally changed to Emma when I was eighteen. 

He took the picture and considered it for a moment before he shoved it back into my open backpack. “Stay away from me,” he growled, turning away.

I was pretty sure the man ignoring me was Calvin but when he turned, I was positive. His shirt shifted enough to reveal a gold chain that matched mine. He was my only hope to break the curse and he wouldn’t even admit to me who he was. Why was he acting so mean? Was he mad at me? Did he blame me for causing the curses? Or maybe we hadn’t been as close as I remembered. Maybe I’d imagined our connection because I wanted a friend so badly. He had forgotten me.

Desperately, I grabbed his arm again. “Please, just one conversation. That’s all I ask. Then I’ll leave. I’ll leave Egypt.”

He turned back and squared his shoulders, a menacing image with the intense look in his eye. “So talk,” he demanded.

I looked around at the people who kept pushing past us. “Can we go somewhere?”

His eyebrows rose before he grabbed my forearm in a tight grasp and began pulling me with him. “There’s an idea. Let’s go to my room.”

“Wait,” I called pulling at my sore arm that he was re-bruising. “You don’t have to manhandle me. I’ll come myself. Men don’t treat women this way.” It was a stupid thing to say. Looking around on the hectic street, I saw at least three other men dragging women in the same fashion.

“Look lady,” he said, spinning on me. “It’s been a long time and you better make this worth my while. You wanna fuck, so let’s fuck.”

“I don’t want to fuck!” I insisted even though it wasn’t the complete truth. I’d been fighting my own hormones for years and he was immune to my necklace.
And damn he looked hot.
But sex wasn’t going break the curse so I carefully pushed the thoughts aside. “Calvin, what’s wrong with you? Don’t you remember me?”