21
ANDREAS wasn’t surprised to wake up and find Nico gone. Demitri was already up, showered, and immaculately dressed by the time Andreas wandered out to look for coffee.
“Are you going to just let him go?” Andreas asked. He stretched, letting the morning sunlight warm his body through the windows.
“Do you have any suggestions as to where to start looking for him?”
“Not really.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Andreas gulped the coffee Demitri handed him and scowled at the smoggy morning. “I’m not going to sit here while Nico gets obliterated by Hera.”
“I don’t suggest we do.” Demitri set his cup down with economical movements. Demitri’s hair was pulled into his neat, short ponytail, his expensive Italian suit precisely tailored for his frame. Andreas felt scruffy in jeans with bare torso, his hair a mess, and he didn’t care.
“What do you suggest then?” he grumbled.
“Nico’s running on adrenaline and emotion. If you and I use our brains, we can figure this out and help him.”
“You’re optimistic.”
“He’s hurting.” Demitri arranged the empty coffee cups carefully on a tray. “And I saw you both with Patricia even if I didn’t meet her. She wasn’t looking at you or any other man; she only had eyes for Nico. He needs someone like that.”
“Nico’s a demigod. Patricia’s a mortal. How is that going to work?”
“We’ll make it work. And even if they can have only a fleeting time together, don’t you think it’s worth it?”
Andreas thought about Rebecca, how she could move from shy smile to steely determination back to shy smile in seconds. She was two women: the brainy scholar who’d made her name as one of the top archaeologists of the day and the hesitant young woman who’d never realized she was sexy.
“Yes,” Andreas said slowly. “I think it would be worth it.” He studied Demitri a moment, taking in the man’s dark eyes and tanned skin, remembering when Demitri had been a wild hellion running all over the world beside Andreas and Nico. “When did you become the matchmaker?”
Demitri shrugged. “When I realized Nico had a chance to be free and happy.”
“I’m free, if you noticed. Are you happy for me?”
“Well, of course.” Demitri straightened his tie a fraction. “But do you know what to do with the happiness you’ve been handed?”
Andreas thought about Rebecca again, how his longing for her hadn’t abated, even though his slave chain was gone. This was real.
“I’ll figure it out,” he promised.
NICO lay facedown with his wings over him, trying to be as still as he possibly could.
The shot had taken off a chunk of wing feathers, enough to knock him out of the sky. He’d spiraled down to this clump of rocks and crawled behind them, hurt and out of breath. Out in the desert, he heard men shouting to one another, searching for him.
He wished he had the power to make himself invisible, but he was only a half god, with limited magic. He couldn’t retract his wings with part of one damaged, even though it would be almost as awkward to explain to whoever hunted him why he was lying in the middle of nowhere without a shirt. His full-back tattoo would cause comment as well.
All he could do was huddle in stillness in the middle of the rocks and hope they didn’t see him.
To quiet himself, he thought about Patricia. He imagined himself carefully licking her leg all the way up to her quim, then kneeling back and slowly spreading her legs.
She’d laugh down at him, her blue green eyes shining in anticipation, her hair a riot of curls on the pillow. She’d touch her clit like he’d taught her to and spread the lips of her quim. She’d be glistening with moisture and wanting his mouth. And his cock.
That organ inflated as soon as his thoughts spun. His heart throbbed with worry for Patricia, and his cock throbbed with need for her.
The men spoke in Arabic, coming closer. Nico lay utterly still, the warmth that flooded him thinking of sex with Patricia relaxing his limbs.
“I’m telling you, it was the biggest bird I ever saw. A black swan, maybe.”
“Sure, little brother. Like the huge fish you caught last month that none of us ever saw.”
“I told you, some cats ate it.”
“You tell good tales, Ahmed. Very entertaining.”
The first man, Ahmed, trailed off into disgruntled murmuring. They were three feet from his hiding place, their pace not slowing. With any luck they’d tramp on by, unable to see Nico in the early light.
The two men walked past, the second one admonishing the first to hurry up so they could go home and have their coffee. Their footsteps had almost faded, when suddenly the younger man cried out.
“There. You see?”
Nico hid a groan as they dashed back to where he lay, wings spread over his body. He raised his head to see a rifle barrel pointed right in his eyes, and behind the rifle, an astonished Egyptian face.
“Hello,” he said in careful Arabic. “Do you think you’d have enough coffee for me, too?”
PATRICIA wondered if she imagined the light. She waved her hand in front of her face and saw nothing, so she decided it was her imagination.
When she saw Nico again, what would she tell him? That she loved him, first. If the test was finding her, and he did and got free, would he still want her? Andreas had been quick enough to disappear, leaving Rebecca heartbroken. She was a resilient young woman, but Patricia had seen her pain.
Would Nico be a carefree demigod again, happy to be rid of Patricia?
She thought of his upright body, broad shoulders, fine torso, the black spread of his wings. She thought of him naked, with his cock standing straight out from a thatch of black hair, his own feathers caressing himself.
He was a beautiful man—no, demigod—and she was in love with him.
The light was definitely there. It was a faint flicker on the edge of her vision, back where she’d found the tiled basin of water. She rose from the dirt and moved toward it, going slowly in case it was Hera waiting for her with a sword of doom or something.
But her psychic senses still told her she was completely alone. However these things were appearing, no person brought them in.
The light had the dim quality of phosphorescence. She knew that some fungi could glow like that, but she had no idea if such a fungus could be found in Egypt—if she was still in Egypt.
She rounded the corner. The tiled basin glowed as though from within, lighting it up in luminescent blues and greens and reds.
“Great,” she said. “And I drank it.”
She peered into the basin, which, she now saw, was beautifully decorated with mosaic tile. The light was fixed at the bottom, an electric light, not glowing plant life. The water bubbled up from inside the basin, as though from a spring.
The strangeness of all this, which might have frightened Patricia weeks ago, now bounced off her. She had no idea how the room had expanded or how normal-looking things had appeared out of nowhere, but it seemed to go with the situation.
She drank more water, wondering if the light would stay. It was nice to be able to see a little bit. Patricia walked back around the corner to the food table, figuring she might as well have another orange.
The table had grown. She could see its faint outlines in the light, a low, oriental table like what had been in their hotel rooms. It was now covered with brass plates heaped with fruit, not just warm-climate fruit, like oranges and figs, but strawberries, grapes, apples, and dates.
Patricia sat down and made a nice fruit meal, not surprised that everything tasted so good. These were the juiciest oranges, the sweetest grapes, the crispest apples she’d ever had.
This is very weird,
she thought.
Or maybe it’s Hera’s way of driving me insane. Are these really apples I’m eating, or am I dreaming all this?
The juice running down her chin was real enough. What she wanted most in the world, though, was Nico there to lick it clean.
STRANGELY enough, it didn’t take Nico much effort to get his hunters to accept that he was a divine being. The two brothers, Ahmed and Faisal, lived in a small house in a village of the Dakhla oasis out in the western desert. They were farmers and lived there with their older brother, Mahmud, his wife and children, and their aging mother.
Nico was welcomed into the house and given food and drink, although it was obvious they didn’t have much to give. The brothers were convinced that Nico was an angel sent to bring them luck and divine guidance, and Ahmed took much ribbing for shooting at him.
Fortunately, except for the wing feathers, he’d missed. Human bullets couldn’t kill Nico, but he’d still bleed and hurt. Once Nico’s wings had healed enough, he drew them in, to the family’s delight, and he accepted their offer of a caftan to cover himself.
Nico spread a little magic over the house and the rest of the village to help keep the people here healthy and bring them a good crop yield. He decided to tell them about his quest, which the brothers listened to with interest.
“The divine Nico searches for his beloved lady,” Ahmed said. “I’ve never heard that story.”
“That’s because it’s still being told,” Nico said, cradling the tiny cup of Egyptian coffee they’d given him. “I don’t know what the ending is. Can you think of somewhere around here a goddess might hide a lady?”
They seemed happy to help and speculate, and the oldest brother’s three sons chimed in. The wife, mother, and daughters had taken themselves into another room on Nico’s arrival, but the wife called to her husband, and she and her mother-in-law loudly told him their opinion on the matter.
It took a long time and a lot of argument and then another meal for the family to reach a conclusion.
“There is a place,” Ahmed said. “It is out in the desert where there are no roads. The foreign archaeologists search here, there, and everywhere for sites to dig, but they always miss that.”
“Why don’t you tell them about it?” Nico asked.
Ahmed looked innocent. “It’s fun to watch them look. And it might be nothing, just some square stones in the desert.”
“I’m willing to see them,” Nico said.
Their mother and Mahmud’s wife related that they approved, and preparations were made for a journey into the desert.
Nico waited outside while they prepared, enjoying the cool breeze under the palm trees. The brothers farmed here where life-giving water bubbled from the surface of the desert. They liked it here, Ahmed said, far from the bustling crowds of Cairo and the tourist spots of Luxor and Thebes.
“A man can be his own person here,” Ahmed told Nico. “He can walk with a long stride, and he knows all his neighbors, good and bad. When I go to Cairo . . .” He shook his head. “So many people, so much noise, and I can’t breathe the air.”
Tourists did travel out here to look at the tombs and Roman temple, but for the most part, Ahmed’s village was quiet.
Mahmud had an ancient jeep, which they supplied with gas and water, and the two younger brothers and Nico piled in for their trek into the desert. It took several tries to get the jeep going, and then they were off.
Ahmed and his family were of Bedouin descent, and Ahmed drove the jeep with the same fond restlessness with which his ancestors must have ridden their horses. The sun blazed full and high, but the autumn morning was crisp, the air fresh.
The jeep shot down roads Nico could barely tell were there, Ahmed steering with reckless abandon. Gravel and sand shot up from the tires, and the vehicle tipped with each turn.
From what Nico could tell, Ahmed was driving them straight into the desert, toward the Great Sand Sea. Nico held on to the roll bar as the jeep rocketed onward, Ahmed promising Nico would thank him when they reached their destination.
Nico held out hope that the journey would prove fruitful, because before he’d left the brothers’ house, he’d seen something that startled him. In a shadowy corner, on a forgotten table, he’d seen a stone statue that looked exactly like Demitri’s statue of the stumpy-legged, lion-faced old god, Bes.