A Wind of Change (A Shade of Vampire #17)(13)

“No.” The thought of my father in a Texas jail and my mother stuck in our apartment with my autistic brother suddenly made the food in my mouth tasteless. I worried about how my mother was even going to sort out basic things like groceries.

“Do you live in Cairo full-time?” I asked Hassan, eager to change the subject.

“Yes.”

“Where are you from originally?”

“Born and raised in Cairo,” he replied proudly. “Were you born in the United States?”

“Yes. Though my mother was born in Egypt.”

Our conversation trailed off and we went back to listening to my grandfather and Yusuf’s discussion.

Lalia and Dafne were busy eating. They’d worked up a good appetite from all the swimming they’d done earlier. I caught myself wondering whether Lalia would even have room for any dessert, then reminded myself that she always had room for dessert.

Once we’d finished, the waitress took away our dinner plates and we ordered dessert. Lalia requested the obvious, while the rest of us opted for ice cream. Hassan chose the same flavor as me—mango.

Once we’d finished, Yusuf insisted on paying the check. Then we all retreated to the sitting area outside on the veranda and admired the view of the desert. Lalia and Dafne both looked drowsy by now as they slumped back in a sofa. I stretched out my legs next to them, yawning and looking up at the starry night sky and then straight ahead at the endless mass of dunes. A cool breeze wafted over us.

As my grandfather and Yusuf immersed themselves in conversation once again, Hassan gestured with his head toward the dunes. “Shall we take a short walk?” he asked.

I felt so full, I wasn’t really in the mood for a walk, but the desert did look beautiful in the moonlight.

“Grandpa,” I said, standing up and interrupting his conversation. “Hassan and I are going to go for a short walk. We won’t go far.”

“Okay,” he said. “But be careful.”

Neither Lalia nor Dafne made any move to come with us. They were too full. So Hassan and I left the sitting area together and descended the veranda steps. Grains of sand filled my shoes as soon as we reached the bottom. We walked slowly forward. Now that we were away from the shelter of the veranda, the breeze was stronger.

“Watch out for snakes,” Hassan said suddenly.

I jolted back. “Snakes?”

“Yes. Cobras. They tend to come out at night.” He reached for my hand and pulled me closer to him.

Oh. Nice move. I rolled my eyes.

We remained close to the streetlights that bordered the desert as we ventured further along the sand.

“Have you gone with your father on a lot of digs?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Will you be there tomorrow also?”

“Oh, certainly,” he said, smiling.

“I’ve never stayed the night in a desert before. Do you have any advice about what I should pack?”

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Not really. The camp is well-stocked. Plenty of water and even toilet accessories. You’ll find packets of toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, shampoo… pretty much everything a man or woman could need. The tents are also very comfortable—and spacious. The toilets are a little walk away, however—the only real inconvenient thing about the experience.”

“I see.”

Hassan averted his eyes away from me again, and stopped in his tracks.

“You see something over there?” he said, squinting as he stared into the distance.

I followed his gaze. I walked closer, straining to see. If my eyes weren’t mistaken, they were tanks. And there was a crowd of people surrounding them.

“They’re tanks, aren’t they?” he said.

“Looks like it,” I replied. “I guess they’re from the army?”

“I guess so. They just seem to be standing around and talking. Shall we move closer and see?”

I looked back toward the restaurant, now quite far behind us, and then back at the tanks. They weren’t all that much further. I shrugged. “Okay.”

As we moved closer, I heard voices more clearly. I’d been expecting to hear Arabic, but to my surprise, it sounded like the crowd of men were American. Before we were close enough to make sense of what they were saying, two of the men left the crowd and approached us. They wore dark beige uniforms and thick belts around their waists held an array of odd objects. Each carried a boxlike device with a red flashing light, a sharp spear-like weapon carved from wood and a silver gun with an odd bulbous barrel.

“Can we help you?” one of the men asked, his voice gruff.

Hassan looked taken aback. “We were curious as to what you’re doing out here.”

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself about.”

There wasn’t anything Hassan or I could think of to respond to that. I looked past the men toward the crowd behind them, now all silent and looking us over, before we backed away and took our leave.

“Americans,” Hassan muttered once we were out of earshot. “Odd.” He was quiet for the next minute as he pondered it over, then shrugged it off and pointed back to the restaurant. “Shall we return? They might be starting to worry.”

I agreed that was a good idea. I was still feeling nervous about cobras.