It struck the man in the back and he arched as the sword pierced him, his gun firing in a useless arc at the ceiling as he fell.
A gesture and her sword flew back to her.
Ky couldn’t process that at the moment.
He saw the man come running towards them, saw Raissa throw her sword and the man fall.
So did his weapon.
“Tareq, I’ll cover you,” he shouted as he dove for the gun.
He snatched up the man’s weapon even as the dying man dropped it, falling to his knees.
Then it was in Ky’s hands.
Rolling over onto his shoulders as he slid on the highly polished marble of the floor, he fired off a short burst square into the chest of another of their assailants―the broadest target he could be sure to hit as he slid. There was more punch to this gun than the one that had shot Raissa. His target flew back and went down even as Ky scrambled for cover against the inevitable backlash of gunfire.
Moving fast, Tareq caught another of the men around the throat, grabbed his head and twisted it sharply, breaking the other’s neck instantly. He caught the man’s weapon as the dead man dropped, found cover again as he shouldered the rifle.
He shifted it to single-shot and picked his targets.
Raissa took another bullet, pain on her fine features even as she turned to look at the man who had done it, her long beautiful hair swirling around her with every turn of her head.
That one took one look at the expression on her face, in her eyes, at the pitiless look in them, dropped his gun and ran.
In spite of it all Ky was startled to realize that she still looked astonishingly beautiful, she was like a fierce warrior goddess, ethereal and otherworldly. Her golden hair gleamed brilliantly in the fading light of the sun, haloing her face, her fine features as still as marble. Her blue eyes blazed brilliantly. Flickers of red sparks flashed in them like embers in a hot fire. Her pretty lips were parted, blood still on them from when she’d coughed after the impact of the first bullets.
She was wearing the pretty pale blue sundress he’d bought her in the gift shop at the hotel. It seemed surreal. The hem fluttered around her shapely legs.
Now the dress was patterned with gunshots, spattered and blood-stained.
One of the men stepped out from behind a statue and leveled his gun at her head as she turned to face him.
Ky found he couldn’t watch one of them put a bullet in her head and stay sane.
He snapped off two quick shots and the man fell even as Raissa looked at him.
She smiled brilliantly, the gratitude in her eyes shocking, her expression suddenly and startlingly soft and warm. Her head inclined a little, a gesture of thanks. There was a sweetness in that look that shook him to his core.
Another bullet struck her. Ky saw her jolt with the impact.
Her expression shuttered, went cold.
Raissa turned.
This wasn’t done, she had to finish it. It was her duty, it was for this she’d served the Gods for nearly four thousand years, to preserve, defend and protect. It was for this she’d given up everything. It was who and what she was.
She went after the others.
Seeing her coming with her swords held down and back like the wings of an avenging angel, her face still, her expression unforgiving and unrelenting, they opened fire on her. As she intended. She was already moving, spinning away from the spray of bullets, running, drawing their fire away, away from the statues…away from Ky, Tareq and the others.
Giving Ky and Tareq targets.
A glance at Tareq.
There was no need to speak. He understood instantly, nodded and took advantage of the distraction, opening fire in return.
As did Ky.
He turned to duck his head around the base of the statue, trying to see Ryan and Komi.
In response to that look Ryan said, “Fuck this shit, boss.”
To him Raissa looked like something out of his favorite actions movies, except that this shit was real. And he was damned if he was going to die here like this.
One of the attackers came stumbling toward him from one of Raissa’s kicks, arms flailing as he staggered backward.
“Fuck this shit,” he repeated, and snagged the gun as the man released it.
Raissa’s kick had been perfectly placed, just below the breastbone.
The man coughed, a great gout of blood spurted out of his mouth.
Ryan put him out of his misery, saved him from a long miserable death and shot him.
Keeping within the cover of the base of the statue, he picked his shots. Damned if he was going to wait until they shot him. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on but for the moment he would just go with it.
Still running, Raissa leaped, planted her feet against the wall by the doors, pushed off and up into a twisting backwards somersault in apparent defiance of gravity to come down in a crouch in the midst of their attackers. Heads lifted, turned, to follow her progress. Stunned at the speed and suddenness with which she moved, two fell as she stood and her swords flashed.
Then she was moving, spinning like a dervish, a kick driving off one assailant, her swords laying waste around her as she fought with swords and feet.
Attacked from all sides, some of their assailants spun to defend themselves as Tareq patiently dropped one after another, choosing his targets and Ky took his own.
Ky tossed his empty weapon away and snatched up one of the automatic rifles dropped by one of the fallen. He spun away from answering fire as he shouldered the gun and returned it. The gun chattered. More fell. Against the paired onslaught the few remaining were routed. The Museum doors smashed open as they hit them with their backs in full retreat, all of them shooting wildly to drive off Raissa, Ky, Tareq and the surviving security guards who had just arrived in the hall in response to the sound of gunshots.
Racing past, the security guards went in pursuit of the attackers, some covering the doors.
For a moment Raissa simply stood in the center of the room, her head slightly lowered, surrounded by the dead, none of them her own.
She was too aware of them staring at her as they came out of the cover of the statues.
Ryan and Komi, Tareq. None had so much as a scratch on them. For that she was grateful.
And Ky.
He stared at her, his dark eyes expressionless.
That pierced her, the pain sharper than that of the bullets.
Memories moved through her.
She could almost feel his lips on hers again, as she had that night, his strong body close.
For just a second, she closed her eyes in sorrow for all the lost possibilities, the spark that had been growing between them.
Gone.
Her blossoming friendships with Ryan, Komi, John, and now Tareq.
Gone, too.
And always, always, Ky…
Gone, all gone.
Like acid, grief burned in her chest.
Ryan looked from the doors through which their attackers had escaped to Raissa standing in the center of the room with blood-stained swords in her hands, her head slightly lowered.
“What the fuck!” he said, suddenly, sharply, in dismay and shock.
None of this was possible, none of it could happen, but it had. Ryan tried to make sense of it, looking from one to the other of those around him, but everyone had the same disbelieving look, everyone was trying to process it.
Even Professor Farrar.
Ky was glad Ryan had spoken.
He couldn’t find the words. He didn’t know what to think, what to believe. It was all incredible.
The one thing he couldn’t deny were the three neat bullet holes in her dress, those first ones, so neatly centered on her chest. Over her heart.
They hadn’t missed. He’d seen the impact of those bullets drive her back.
There was no blood. Not as much as there should be.
Words came.
“What the hell are you?” he demanded.
Raissa closed her eyes and her breath caught at his tone.
What. What was she. Not who.
A hundred bullets couldn’t have wounded her more than that simple phrase.
She couldn’t blame him, but it still hurt.
She couldn’t look at him although she felt his gaze on her.
Ky looked at her standing in the center of the room, her brilliant hair streaming loose over her shoulders, surrounded by the bodies of the dead. Men she’d killed. An odd sense of déjà vu passed over him, as if he’d seen her like this before. Multiple circles, burn marks, bullet holes, marked her dress where bullets had struck her. Blood stained her lips and a trickle of it ran from the corner her mouth. He knew he shouldn’t be looking at her standing there. She should be dead. By all rights she should be dead. He’d thought she was in those first few seconds, a terrible grief tearing through him at the thought. Those first bullets should have killed her almost instantly. All of them had been centered so perfectly over her heart it was like looking at a target in a shooting gallery.
Except it was real and it was Raissa.
And she hadn’t died.
She was as still and as lovely in that moment, in that place, as one of the statues that surrounded them. Slender and beautiful, her skin was like alabaster in last of the fading sunlight. Her hair rippled over her shoulders in streams of gold and those brilliant blue eyes were almost too bright. Reddish sparks flashed in the depths of them.
There were swords in her hands.
Three bullet holes were centered in her chest, as neatly placed as any marksman could wish.
He kept coming back to that. Couldn’t deny it.
Lifting her chin, Raissa looked up into the face of the statue of Khai as her hands clenched and unclenched on her swords, her knuckles white.
Then she turned to face them.
“I am Irisi, High Priestess of Isis and of Sekhmet,” she said, lifting her chin in acknowledgment to the empty chair behind Ky. “The one they called Nubiti, the Golden One, and Guardian of the Tomb of the Djinn.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sprays of gore spattered the statues and the floor, puddled on it, making it sticky. There were holes and chips in the priceless statues. The scent of blood, coppery, along with the tang of gunpowder and the dust of shattered stone, was so thick in the air you could taste it.
Ky looked to Tareq, whose jaw was tight as he, too, looked around, noting what had been done to his precious museum. All because of the Tomb of the Djinn.
Their eyes met briefly then looked back. At Raissa.
Or Irisi.
“Are you trying to tell us that you’re some kind of reincarnated mummy or something?” Ryan exclaimed, his tone incredulous.
He wasn’t the only one. The same expression was mirrored on all of their faces.
For a moment Ky could only stare at her in shock and disbelief…at the brilliant beautiful golden hair that streamed over her shoulders, lit by fading light of the setting sun as that gilded radiance filled the room. The warm light made her blue eyes brilliant.
He remembered how they’d glowed.
Raissa.
Irisi.
Impossible.
Packed among his things was a small figurine of a golden-haired woman standing between lions with what looked like swords at her back, her hand on a lion’s head. It had been found in the remains of an ancient temple. At the base was the cartouche for Nubiti. Carved inside it was the ran―or symbols―for Khai. The eyes of the figurine had been painted blue. Carbon dating had placed it in the right era for Irisi/Nubiti’s time period. It was the only extant carving of the priestess named Nubiti. Its existence had never been recorded or documented.
Only he knew of it.
Because he’d done the unthinkable, risked his career and kept it.
He stared at her, caught between amazement and something that felt like betrayal.
If it was true and how couldn’t it be true, he’d seen what he’d seen…?
Something wrenched inside him.
She was still so beautiful…even with blood on her clothing, on her lips.
“You’re kidding, right?” Ryan said, despite what he’d also seen.
Slowly she shook her head. “No.”
Ryan considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Cool.”
Startled, Raissa could only stare at him but it was clear he meant it.
Brought up in an era of movie special effects it was easier for him to accept the incredible than it was for the others.
It was clear Komi was still doubtful, he stared at her uncertainly, warily, trying to come to terms with what he’d seen.
Closer than anyone to these lands, to myths and legends that inhabited it, Tareq looked grim, yet still looked no less stunned than Komi did.
Or Ky.
Raissa steeled herself then turned to look at him.
The expression on his face went through her like a knife, sudden, sharp and piercing.
How could she explain what she’d done and why? Why she hadn’t told him, why she’d deceived him, because, of course, she had. How could she explain in a way that wouldn’t make him hate her even more? She thought she’d have more time, hadn’t considered this alternative. Hadn’t known it existed. She just didn’t know enough about this time.
Now there was no more time.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Her breath caught. She knew what that meant from John’s TV shows. The authorities, police.
There was even less time than she hoped.
“I have to leave,” she said, glancing out through the doors at the approaching police cars as their flashing lights lit the growing darkness and the security guards went to meet them. “They can’t find me here.”
She looked at her clothing, at the bullet holes.
“This might be a little hard to explain,” she said, gesturing at them, looking at him, hoping for some sign of forgiveness, comprehension, understanding…in his eyes. Their eyes.
Nothing.
Nor could she blame them.
She set her swords on the floor.
One thing she’d learned from John was television and the programs he downloaded with their fixation with forensics had been very educational.
TV had taught her much.
“You’ll need these…”
One of them was going to have to claim to have done her share of the fighting here, likely Tareq or Ky as they were the only ones with the skill to have done it.