Til Darkness Falls Page 2

  “BASTARD! Son of a diseased whore! How dare he betray me?!” The clatter of expensive trinkets hitting the stone floor filled the room as Hebeny cleared her dressing table with a violent swipe of her bangle-laden arm. “Am I not the daughter of the mighty Sheshonq? And he would set me aside for some unclean Nubian filth on the very eve of our wedding?!”

  Trella winced as the lines around her lady’s mouth deepened, making her look far older than her seventeen years. She had been forced to be the bearer of the unwelcome tidings, and now she waited silently for her mistress’s heated tirade to run its course, having learned that was always the most prudent course. What would inevitably follow, she knew from experience, would be far worse. Indeed, silence soon fell, and Hebeny sat quietly for a long moment, black eyes, lined extravagantly with kohl, flashing with hatred as she gazed upon the cruelly beautiful reflection looking back at her from a sheet of beaten metal. A shudder racked the slave woman’s frail body when the girl favored her with a gaze colder than the Gulf of Sidra’s treacherous currents.

  “Trella, my love, you have confirmed my suspicions about my betrothed, and it grieves me.” Hebeny’s tone dripped with malice, belying her expression of regret. “But I cannot allow such perfidy to go unpunished, not even by a man as unblemished as Prince Rahotep.”

  Trella felt a moment’s compassion for the poor man who was to wed her harridan of a mistress. She longed to look away as Hebeny’s glance became pregnant with meaning.

  “You know what to do,” the girl said in a voice devoid of emotion.

  The old woman wished with all her heart that she possessed the courage to deny her lady’s maleficent will. Faced with her own cowardice, she merely nodded and slunk off to obey her mistress’s command.

  Hebeny watched her go, waiting until the door shut completely behind her before moving towards it and sliding the lock into place. Confident that she would remain undisturbed, Hebeny strode purposefully towards the darkest corner of her bedchamber. There, on an ornately carved, round wooden table, sat a small altar formed of onyx. The black stone repelled the eye, swallowing all light so that it seemed obscured from view. It was covered with a fine layer of dust, as none of the slaves would go near it even to clean it, fearing that it bore the evil eye and that it might curse them.

  Closing her eyes, Hebeny raised her hands towards the altar, palms outward in perfunctory reverence. Head lifted proudly in reckless defiance, she whispered the forbidden words she had been taught in the secret underground temples of her homeland. The ancient language flowed effortlessly from her tongue, the incantation building in volume slowly as it gained in strength. The words of the caustic spell were sharp enough to pierce through living flesh. The room filled with dark power, weighing down the very air with malevolence until it seemed as though Hebeny would be unable to withstand the forces she had summoned.

  The onyx began to glow, growing ever more luminescent as the incantation reached a fevered pitch. A gray pallor leached the color from Hebeny’s tawny skin, and sweat gleamed upon her face, reflecting the stone’s dark light. Her body began to sway back and forth, black hair tumbling down her back as her head fell backwards in a parody of ecstasy. Her shouts filled the room until the very stones resonated with the power of her words. The air grew hot, burning her throat and stifling her breath, but the young sorceress persevered through sheer force of will, her endurance bolstered by the depths of her rage and wounded pride. As her mortal flesh threatened to succumb to the spectral fires that singed her hair and blackened her skin, she abruptly ended her casting with a demanding cry.

  “Come now before me, Lord Set, bringer of chaos! Hear your loyal servant’s plea, oh vengeful One, and smite my enemies beneath your merciless heel.” The prayer rolled easily from her lips, learned when she was but a child in the hidden temples on the Libya-Egypt border. Her father had long had plans for his only daughter and Psusennes II’s son, but he would not see her go unprotected into a foreign land. Now a powerful priestess of Set, she called the fearsome god to her aid without hesitation or regret.

  Hebeny stood unflinching as a strong wind whipped through her room, the air laden with scouring gusts of desert sand though her windows were tightly closed. All light fled as the wind extinguished every candle, leaving only the ghostly glow seeping from the small altar of stone. The wisp of light rose as smoke from the onyx, undisturbed by the gritty maelstrom. Suddenly, the shapeless fog curled in on itself, twisting into a tight coil until it coalesced into a bright sphere in the center of the room. Stretching and deforming with obscene undulations, the light morphed into the form of a human body. An abrupt flash stole Hebeny’s vision, but when her eyesight returned, it was met by the image of a viciously beautiful man. He stood where the light had been, his tall frame radiating the arrogance of unchecked power. Long hair tinged with the dark red of spilled blood fell down his back, and deep, ruby eyes promised an eternity of torment. His shoulders were broad, his carriage regal beyond that claimed by any earthly pharaoh. Chiseled muscles rippled beneath his blackened skin as he shifted and glanced towards the young girl staring up at him with a haughty gaze.

  Hebeny’s heart beat faster at the sight of him despite the hint of fear that shivered deliciously through her from head to toe. She bowed her head in insincere modesty as the god looked down at her. He chuckled briefly before the deep rumble of his voice caressed her ears.

  “This posture of humility does not become you, little witch. Come now, lift your head and tell me what is it you would have of me. Your aura fair pulses with hatred, and the desire for revenge stains your very soul.”

  Hebeny glared up at the god, her dark gaze refusing to shy from his awesome presence. “My betrothed has betrayed me with a gods-spurned boy,” she snarled, “flaunting his perversion in my face and naming me fool. I care not that he be a future pharaoh. I will not be mocked by one such as him!”

  The god smiled as her voice rose to an enraged shout, amused by her puny ire. “But you do not love this prince, so what do you care with whom he slakes his lusts?” His tone dripped with mock confusion. “If this boy brings him happiness—”

  “I will not be made to endure second place to some lowborn cur!” She spat upon the floor as though to cleanse the filth of Rahotep’s perfidy from her mouth.

  “And how am I to soothe your injured pride? Why have you summoned me?” the god taunted. He already knew what she wanted but nonetheless greatly anticipated hearing her request. Endlessly fascinating was the human capacity for petty spite, and the cruelty concentrated in this tiny girl captivated him more than most.

  “Soon the boy will be dead, and I guarantee it will be done in such a way that the prince’s depraved heart will be utterly destroyed. I ask only this of you, mighty Set: damn the slave’s soul to eternal torment such that he will know the penalty for humiliating me. Once he is gone, I shall comfort what remains of my darling prince, showering him with every earthly pleasure until his will is enslaved to my own. And when he has at last reached the peak of happiness, I will tell him of his wretched lover’s fate. Then, I shall kill him myself so that he might experience the endless delight of your tender mercies, my lord.”

  Hebeny fixed her haughty gaze unwaveringly on the god, never doubting that her wish would be granted. Her jaw fell agape and she flinched in shock when her callous demand was met with mocking laughter.

  “Compared to the scorpion’s sting, you would not be embarrassed by the judgment.” Set’s mocking chuckle was like the rumble of quiet thunder. “But I am sorry, my pet. I cannot meet your request. Damn them though I might, their souls will simply meet again during the next cycle of their existence.”

  “Then tear their souls asunder!” she screamed, her slippered foot stamping on the stone floor in frustration. “If their love be true and not some base convenience, make them suffer the damnation of eternal loneliness. Let them be kept apart even throughout all the ages of the world.”

  Set laughed, the walls shaking with the force o
f his mirth. “This is no small task you set for me, girl. The prince and his lover are bound by Shai, the guardian of Fate, and none, not even I, may thwart him. Even if you were to kill them in this life, their spirits will be reborn to this world time and again, and in no life shall they be kept from each other. No, I am afraid this is an impossible request.”

  Hebeny glared at him, refusing to accept such a summary refusal. “Then tell me, oh mighty Set,” she grated, any hint of respect fleeing before her ire, “how might I see my desire fulfilled?” The god favored her with a slow smile that was terrible and beautiful to behold. For the first time in her life, Hebeny felt the chill of true dread.

  “If you would see your revenge done, then you, not chance, must be the author of their misery. It is within my power to set you at their heels throughout time immemorial. You will be able to follow them throughout the incarnations of their lives and thwart their love by your own cleverness.”

  An eternity to seek her revenge! The heady possibility of Set’s proposal astounded her, and her face brightened with malicious glee at his words. She opened her mouth to accept when he continued.

  “But know that as Rahotep and his sweet Tiye properly greet each life with innocent souls, you will retain all memory and knowledge of every life you might live.” He watched her with a steady, knowing gaze as she paled. “The human mind was not meant to bear the terrible weight of the ages, but if you are committed to this path, this will be your test.”

  The sobering warning lay heavily on her. To never know the blessings of true reincarnation? It went against every tenet and precept she had ever been taught. How would it be to be a mere babe with years, even centuries worth of memories to endure? Could she truly withstand such a burden?

  As doubt swirled darkly in her thoughts, sapping her will, a vision of her handsome prince and his accursed slave flashed before her eyes. She had once caught a glimpse of the boy as he trailed in his master’s wake, and the devotion that had shone upon his face had shaken her to the core. The boy’s feelings for his master were unmistakable, but she refused to call their degenerate affection love. Irrational hate filled her, searing away all foreboding. Hebeny raised her black eyes and met the amused regard of the god standing patiently before her, determination stamped upon her delicate features.

  Set read the answer on her face and chuckled. She truly was a treasure, one he would be sure to cherish when the chance came. “Then it shall be. You will be the agent of your own success, and it will be measured thus: Rahotep and Tiye will meet and love in the ages to come as they have in this life. If, however, you can turn their love to hate and set them against each other, even unto death, then you will carry on and may join them in their next life as the guardian of their destruction.

  “But,” he continued, his voice vibrant with perverse delight, “if you fail to defeat their love, which the very stars have proclaimed, and one of them ends your life while protecting the other, the cycle of your own existence will be forever sundered. You will not be reborn or take your final place in Anubis’s kingdom. Rather, you must submit yourself to me and walk in the burning desert of madness for all eternity. Neither rest nor respite will you find, only the harsh embrace of chaos’s sand and the scorpion’s terrible sting. And worst of all, you will know that Rahotep and Tiye will be together forevermore, finding and loving each other throughout all the lives they may yet live.

  “Now, my girl, do you agree to my terms?” Set gazed softly at Hebeny’s ashen face, waiting for the inevitable moment when her fierce pride would overcome any notion of sense or self. Indeed, she did not long contemplate her latent ruin. With all the desperate recklessness and certainty of youth, Hebeny tossed her head, flinging back long, black hair as she met his gaze with arrogant defiance.

  “I accept. They will know only despair, I swear it, and I will honor you with their pain.”

  Set only smiled before disappearing without further discourse. Hebeny had but a moment to ponder the deal she had struck before her musings were broken by the sound of angry shouts.

  Chapter 1

  “WE ARE of one body and share one soul.” His tone was steady, belying his pain as the sharp blade of his sword buried itself deeply within his lover’s belly. The beautiful boy collapsed against him, blood covering their white garments with a vivid, ghastly red. It was a long moment before he realized that the pain spreading through him was not merely from grief.

  Blood spread beneath their feet as the failing beats of their hearts added to the steaming pool. He looked into his lover’s eyes and saw only sorrow and devastating regret.

  Forgive me.

  His heart heard the words that the boy could not speak. He glanced down, but only the dagger’s hilt could be seen, the length of it buried deep in his chest. He looked up at his lover once more, his strength failing as he graced the boy with a gentle smile.

  “Mery,” the boy gasped, his final breath cooling the blood that bubbled from his lips.

  They both fell to the ground, their fall marked by a cry of horror. And somewhere out in the howling desert could be heard the malevolent laughter of a delighted god….

  “GET your shit together, Macon, or you’ll be spending the rest of your career finding lost pets, Detective.”

  Mumbling an echo of the captain’s warning to himself, Brian stared down moodily at his glass. Not that he could bring himself to care that his career was spiraling down the toilet. He was only thirty-three, but he was already feeling burned out. All the shiny idealism that had carried him through the police academy at the top of his class was long buried in the dirt and muck of too many bodies and not enough justice.

  Ice tinkled against the sides of the glass as Brian gently swirled his drink. He took a sip, wincing at the slight burn that identified the whiskey as less than top shelf. Sounds of quiet conversation and the slick swish of waiters decked out in a server’s semblance of black tie passed around him unnoticed.

  As gay bars went, Blackjack’s was more upscale than most. It was a bar in the truest sense, where guys could go and enjoy a drink and a leisurely chat without the pheromone-laden noise of dance clubs. An unseen sound system was piping in classical music, and the lighting was just low enough to create an intimate atmosphere while still allowing a man to see a potential evening companion clearly. Blackjack’s was perfect for men who were fatigued by the club scene but still wanted to enjoy the openness of a sympathetic setting. Brian had occasionally gone there for more social reasons, but tonight he was there simply out of a desire to avoid anyone from work. He was pretty sure that he was the only gay man working Homicide out of the 8th Precinct.

  Feeling older than his years, Brian stared absently at nothing in particular. It wasn’t a good idea to drink on a work night, but the whiskey was a necessary medicinal—a cure for his recent lack of sleep. His dreams had been disturbing of late, as much for the content as for their repetitiveness. Images of thin, dark-skinned arms wrapping around the neck of an olive-toned man dressed in the rich apparel of some impossibly ancient time drifted across his mind. He quickly took a deeper drink to distract himself before the picture could fully take form, but it wasn’t easy to quell the feelings that lingered from the dream. Even now, hours after waking and after putting in a full shift at the station, the memory of the dream made him hard. The loving press of the taller man’s strong, toned body again his smaller companion, the caress of the boy’s seeking fingers against his lover’s skin…. Brian squirmed on his bar stool, helpless to prevent his arousal even as he fought against it.

  Brian glared down at the amber liquid as the condensation from the glass coated his long fingers with chilly wetness. He could have simply chalked the visions up to his recent spate of abstinence if it weren’t painfully clear that there was more between the dream couple than mere sex.

  “Who gives a shit?”

  He had no time for romance, imaginary or otherwise. Brian knocked back the rest of his drink and contemplated whether to get another. The b
artender noticed his empty glass and looked over at him, but Brian didn’t immediately meet the man’s gaze. He was on duty tomorrow and couldn’t afford the hangover or the teasing he would face from overindulging.

  Brian winced as he caught his reflection in the mirror lining the wall behind the row of liquor bottles. Lines of exhaustion etched the light-brown skin of his face. The green hazel eyes that gazed back at him were slightly red, as much from the whiskey as the tiredness that had become his constant companion. Cursing his irritatingly low tolerance, Brian settled for tipping a cube of ice from the glass into his mouth and sucking on it. His tongue absently chased the taste of whiskey lingering on the cold surface as the bartender took the hint and turned his attention toward a waiting customer.

  It had been a long day—hell, a long few weeks—and he was dog tired from his inability to get a decent night’s sleep. Unfortunately, he couldn’t blame everything on the high-budget porno that kept playing in his head every night. The dead body he and his partner, Angela Lovell, had investigated two days ago was the third in three weeks that hadn’t fit the usual mold of street violence. The victim had been an unimportant, low-level member of the Cosmino crime family. What was odd was the precision bullet hole that had scooped out a sizeable portion of the man’s brain. The coroner had been adamant that a run-of-the-mill handgun hadn’t caused the wound.

  Forensics had found the bullet in the wall of the victim’s apartment, just as they had with the prior victim, another low-ranking member of Cosmino. And just like its predecessor, the bullet had been frustratingly clean of any markings or distinguishing characteristics. Their lack of progress in finding any useful clues about who was hunting Cosmino mobsters had severely displeased his beautiful but bitchy captain. Not that anyone would miss the scum, but the longer the rash of hits continued, the worse the department looked. Captain Preston was a woman of ambition, and she refused to tolerate any black marks on her otherwise perfect record.