Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(62)

I had used the Marquis’s soul. I had touched it. I had even savored the feeling as I used up bits of that soul. As the fingers had begun to unfurl once more.

Oh God. Nausea rose in my chest. I never wanted to touch the fist again. I wanted to fling it away and pretend I had never seen it.

But the jackal’s voice blasted in my skull.

If you drop the clappers, then you are no longer Pharaoh. You will lose control over the Old Man.

I paused . . . and I grasped the clappers more tightly.

But Joseph stalked toward me, a furious Daniel at his heels. “Why did you not tell me of these artifacts?” he demanded. “How long have you carried them? It is one thing to lie about your magic, but to hide something that belonged to Madame Marineaux—”

“Enough,” Oliver interrupted, appearing at my side. “Eleanor did what needed doing. You wish to stop Marcus, and she has led you to that.”

Joseph’s lips parted, but I spoke first. “Please. We can argue over this later, but not here. And not now. First”—I pointed at the Old Man—“he must finish his tale.”

Joseph’s nostrils flared, but he remained silent. Daniel would not even look at me.

The Old Man’s lips twisted into a smile. “It all began some three thousand years ago. There was a foolish Annunaki named Hathor. Because she doted on an even more foolish mortal, she created a gift for her human lover: an enormous serpent with wings of gold called the Black Pullet. This creature would not only guard Hathor’s lover, but it would grant him an immortal life and endless wealth. Yet as I said”—the Old Man lifted a hunched shoulder—“her mortal was a foolish man. As king of the Hittites, he cared only for gathering more land. He hoped to use the Black Pullet to conquer Egypt.

“So he asked Hathor to craft two sets of clappers. One pair would go to the Egyptian pharaoh; one would go to the Egyptian queen. And these clappers were beautiful—they begged to be touched. They also sucked away the wielder’s soul with each caress, and through this the Hittite king could use the clappers to kill the pharaoh and his queen. Then the Hittite king would lay waste to Egypt with the Black Pullet at his side.

“But the Egyptian queen was clever. She realized the power of the clappers and had her necromancer tweak the magic. The clappers could still take the soul of whoever held them, but they also gave the queen power over the Black Pullet. She let the pharaoh’s clappers kill him, and then when the Pullet arrived to destroy Egypt, she used her own clappers to control it.

“And because her necromancer was so adept, she became the new master of the Black Pullet and crushed the Hittite king.”

“You.” I frowned. “You were that necromancer, weren’t you?”

“Of course.” The Old Man grinned, a wicked mask of shadows. “But for all my powers—even after I claimed the Pullet’s gift of a demon soul—I could not kill the creature. Only another Annunaki can claim the creature’s life. So I mummified it, exactly as I would any other being that wished to return to life one day. I removed its organs and bound its soul in eternal sleep.”

“Where are the organs now?” Joseph asked. “If they are destroyed, then the Pullet cannot be raised.”

The Old Man motioned to the empty chest. “Its organs used to rest here, but they were removed long ago. They now reside in the Valley of the Kings. A different pharaoh tried to bring the Pullet to life, but if you wish to raise the creature, you must have two human souls. The clappers must be filled, and both fists must be closed.” He shrugged dismissively. “Right now you only have a single fist partially closed.”

“We do not,” Joseph growled, “intend to summon it. Eleanor told you; we wish to destroy it.”

“And I told you.” The Old Man sneered. “Only an Annunaki has the power to judge and kill the Pullet. Yet I can feel it. Someone here does wish to raise it. This person will travel to the Valley of the Kings today.”

I opened my mouth to protest—but then a wave of static shivered over me. It prickled deep within my ears and laid over my tongue.

Run.

I blinked.

RUN.

Terror shocked through me. I dropped to the floor, and the clappers skittered from my hands. . . .

A pistol shot cracked—explosive in the small chamber. Blood burst from the Old Man’s throat. He fell, and I crawled behind the nearest pedestal.

Then a rich Creole voice sang out, “I am the one bound for the Valley of the Kings. Mersi for telling me where to go.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

My blood ran cold. My lungs choked off.

Marcus was here, and he had shot the only person who knew how to destroy the Black Pullet.

And now the Old Man was dying. His demon soul could not keep the blood from pooling on the floor—this was an injury too vast.

The jackal shrieked in my brain. RUN!

But I couldn’t run. I had nowhere to go. Marcus was striding toward us, his eyes as bright as torches in the darkness.

And even if I could run, I wouldn’t. Marcus was alone. No army, no escape. Now was my chance to destroy him.

Joseph and Daniel crouched behind the pedestal opposite me, Oliver behind another nearby. I locked eyes with my demon. Stop Marcus, I thought. Sum veritas.

Blue light flashed around his pupils—then from his fingertips. Marcus’s pistol fired, but not before Oliver’s magic slammed into him.