The Book of the Dead (18 page)

One piece in particular caught her attention: a beaded necklace. She picked it up, the stark light from the overhead lamps illuminating its striking colors – beautiful shades of yellow and red – reminding her of the cat’s eye marbles she’d played with as a child.

Appropriate for the goddess of cats.

Dangling from the center, giving the necklace weight, was a golden disk etched with hieroglyphs – curved lines around an open eye. The pupil seemed elongated, almost elliptical.

“Put it on.”

The voice echoed through Elizabeth’s brain like a gunshot. She flinched and turned her head, wondering which of her peers had made the suggestion, but there was no one else in the room. At least, no one living.

Nobody here but us mummies.

Elizabeth frowned. Her gaze returned to the golden disk in her hands, to the pictographs. There was no denying the craftsmanship. It looked and felt... regal.

And then, Elizabeth saw herself wearing it. She stroked her neck and ran her fingers down to the edge of her V-neck collar, imagining what it would be like. The beads, the gold, they were as beautiful now as the day they were forged. She studied the hieroglyphs, curious of their meaning.

I shouldn’t do this
, she thought.
If someone sees me...

“No one is watching.”
The stranger’s voice again, and this time she knew that it was only in her head.
“No one will see.

“Put it on.”

Elizabeth paused. She lowered her hand a bit, ready to set the necklace back on the table where it belonged. She looked around the room again. The voice was right. No one would see her. No one would say a thing.

Can’t say a thing, remember. Can’t ruin your life.

What harm would there be in trying this on? No harm at all. None.

“So, put it on.”

Elizabeth lifted the necklace up over her head and let it rest on her shoulders. She adjusted it, moving the heavy disk so that it covered her heart. And once it was on, Elizabeth felt strangely different; she stood erect, her chin held high.

“It suits you.”
The voice again, but this time it was no longer confined to her skull. It came from behind her.

Elizabeth spun around.

A beautiful, half-naked woman stood in the opposite corner of the room. Blue straps crisscrossed between her bare breasts, holding up a skin-tight red garment that clung to her, covering her stomach, hips and legs. There were gold details in the fabric – stripes, bands and scales, and along the hem, a strip of hieroglyphs.

Jeweled rings adorned the woman’s fingers, and her forearms were embraced by a dozen or more golden hoops. Around her biceps, she wore thicker manacles, gold with a strip of blue through the center. A long beaded headdress – again, blue with bands of gold – cascaded down her back and flowed over her shoulders. And poking up through the beads on either side of her head were large, triangular ears.

Cat’s ears.

The woman’s entire face was that of a cat. At first, Elizabeth thought it was only make-up, a face-painting design she’d seen at countless carnivals, but when she blinked and looked closer, Elizabeth knew the fur was real. It was short, beige all over, but white around the woman’s mouth; black “tear marks” ran from the corners of her high-set, slanted eyes down the sides of her nose to a pair of glossy black lips. And when those lips parted, Elizabeth heard a sultry, breathy voice punctuated by purrs.

“Are you content, child?”
the woman asked, then shook her feline head.
“No. You are not content at all. How can you be, when you are a slave?”

At the sound of her voice, every mummified cat on the table began to stir. Their long, withered tails swished through the air and they rolled over onto bandaged legs. Their leathery faces turned toward her, every vacant socket in their tiny skulls focused on her piercing eyes. She reached down to pet them, running her long, dainty fingers across their arched, emaciated spines.
“It is easy to see why the dog is man’s best friend, while we prefer the company of cats.”

She looked up, stared directly into Elizabeth’s eyes, and Elizabeth pressed herself against the lip of the table, her breath caught in her throat.

“Dogs are obedient,”
the cat-woman went on to say,
“submissive. They do what their masters tell them to do, and they do it without question. The masters order; they obey.”

Her gaze returned to the mummified creatures swarming around her, clawing at each other for a turn in line, each longing for her touch.

“But cats,”
she said,
“cats have a mind of their own. Trying to order a cat about is like trying to tell the sun not to rise, or the wind to blow in a different direction. Cats yield to no one. They have no master.”

The cat headed-woman glided across the room, her stride as smooth and silky as the garment she wore.

“Do you know who I am, Elizabeth?”

My name,
Elizabeth thought.
This thing knows my name. How does it know my name?

“Come now, girl, you summoned me. Surely you can speak my name?”

And, of course, Elizabeth did know her name. She’d known almost immediately, but she hadn’t been able to believe it. She
still
didn’t believe it. “Bast?”

“Yes, child.”
The goddess nodded, her black lips curling into a pleasant grin. She moved away from the tables, closer to Elizabeth.

One of the dead cats turned and leapt onto the floor to follow, but on impact, its brittle forelegs snapped off in a cloud of dust.

“You are such a beautiful girl, Elizabeth. More beautiful than you know. More powerful than you know.”

Elizabeth shook her head, denying it, denying everything. She was still at home, still curled up in her sweaty sheets, with the stench of plastic in her nose and tears crusting in the corners of her eyes.

“I am a goddess,”
Bast announced, her sultry voice changing, deepening until it boomed like thunder.
“If I say you are powerful, then it is so.”

“Fine!” Elizabeth winced. She cringed back against the table, gripping the edge until her knuckles turned white. “I’m powerful. I’m Wonder Woman. Just, please... I... I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“No,”
Bast agreed,
“but you have been wronged.”
The goddess grew closer still, and now Elizabeth could smell her perfume, an intoxicating cocktail of lily, henna, and cinnamon.
“Yes. I can see it in your eyes, child: your whole sad, sordid history...a life full of pain, full of self-loathing and anxiety, so much anxiety. You really are frightened of your own shadow, are you not?”

Elizabeth said nothing. She frowned and turned away, watching the re-animated cats as they lined the edge of the other tables. Their shriveled, bandaged tails fanned the air; their naked fangs glowed in the lamplight.

“Look at me!”
Bast roared.

Elizabeth looked up with a start. The goddess now towered over her, staring down at her with the bright, predatory eyes of a lioness.

“I have helped many others like you over the centuries,”
Bast told her.
“Countless poor souls, slaves to their own fear, the weak and the wounded, I have set them free.”

The goddess combed Elizabeth’s hair with her ringed fingers.

“I can help you, too, child. If you desire it, I can give you the self-confidence you lack. I can give you the power you need.”

Elizabeth’s scalp tingled at Bast’s touch. Her hair came alive, twisting and snaking around the goddess’ hand; dead cells brought to life anew. Just like the cats.

“All you have to do is ask.”
Bast moved her hand down Elizabeth’s cheek; tingling warmth radiated from her fingers, invigorating Elizabeth’s entire body.
“You do want it, don’t you, child?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth heard herself saying. She closed her eyes, enraptured by the goddess’ touch, by the sweet smell of her perfume, by the soothing sound of her purr, and most of all, by all her promises. “I’m tired of being
afraid
. I want it! I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything! Please... give it to me!”

“Miss Wilson!”

Elizabeth’s eyes sprang open. Bast was gone, and in her place stood Professor Marsters. The legless, mummified cat now lay motionless on the tiled floor at his feet.

He looked up at her, at the beaded necklace she still wore, unable to hide his anger. “What the hell is going on in here?”

Elizabeth took off the necklace and set it back on the table, smoothing her hair with her hand. “I was just...”

“May I have a word with you in my office?”

Elizabeth knew it was an order, not a request. And like a faithful dog, she obeyed.

When the door closed, Marsters wasted no time in cutting to the chase. “I’m recommending Mr. Adams for the Shelby Labs position.”

Elizabeth felt as if she’d just been punched in the stomach. “You’re what?”

“It’s simple, really, Miss Wilson. You’ve both applied for the same position, and I feel he is the more qualified candidate.”

“
Adams
?” Her eyes narrowed. “And what did you do with
him
in the bedroom?”

He flashed a disappointed glare. “Mr. Adams’ work in the lab is exemplary. And, after what I just witnessed –”

“You unbelievable bastard.”

Marsters frowned. “Miss Wilson, really, I– ”

“I’ll call the police.”

“Because I didn’t recommend you for a job?”

“Because you
raped
me!”

Marsters chuckled at that.

“He laughs at you, at your pain.”
Bast’s voice again, ringing through Elizabeth’s head.
“He believes you are weak, a dog that can be ordered about. Show him that he is sorely mistaken, that you are strong.”

“Don’t think I won’t do it,” Elizabeth warned. “I’ll tell them what you did to me. The cops, the university... I’ll ruin your whole career!”

Marsters didn’t even blink. “And I’ll tell them that you are a spurned ex-lover, and a distraught one at that – a woman who made such an accusation only
after
I recommended someone else for a position she wanted.”

And then it hit her. “You
planned
this.”

“You give me far too much credit –”

“And you left the plastic wrap in my trash!”

“Yes,”
Bast urged.
“Do not let him win. You have the power. You are a lioness!”

Elizabeth leaned across the desk, her eyes narrow, her voice strong, stronger than it had ever been in her life. “I’m sure the wrap will have your fingerprints on it. They’ll believe me then. They’ll –”

“They’ll realize that we had a long-standing,
consensual
relationship. Nothing more.” The professor produced his iPhone and slid it across the desk to her. “After all, Miss Wilson, if a picture says a thousand words, what sort of story will a thousand pictures tell?”

She reached over and picked up his phone. There, displayed on the screen, was a photo of Elizabeth, naked, blindfolded, handcuffed to the headboard, and worst of all, smiling. The date in the lower right hand corner told her it had been taken over a year ago.

“Does that look like a woman who was raped?” Marsters asked.

No, it looks like a scared little girl.

“There are many others,” he told her with a smile. “You have to love cell phone cameras. With no flash, not even a sound, they take such quality photos. Go ahead, thumb through them.”

Elizabeth did just that, finding picture after picture of herself in one compromising position after another. The dates were all different, as were the rooms - her bedroom, his bedroom, the hotel room at a seminar in Baltimore last fall - but the overall impression was the same. Here was a woman who wanted it, wanted
him
.

Her first thought was to erase the entire folder, but Marsters knew that. He seemed to know everything.

“Those aren’t the only copies, of course. I have a duplicate file saved in a safe place, a place where no one would ever need to see them... unless, of course, they are needed in my defense.”

Hot bile rose in Elizabeth’s throat, and when she forced it down again, she nearly choked. The office walls were closing in. She felt smothered, trapped.

If he ever showed these to anyone... I’d die.

“Do not give him a chance,”
Bast whispered.
“Do not let him hurt you again. Not you. Not
anyone
.”

“Now, my dear Miss Wilson,” Marsters reached up and took the phone from her trembling hand, “the best thing for you to do is to go back to the lab, clean up your little mess, and never breathe a word of this to anyone.”

He leaned back in his chair, his smile widening. Oh, how Elizabeth wanted to rip that smile from his face. How she wished she could do that and more to him.

“If you can manage that,” the professor went on to say, “you may yet get a passing grade for the semester. Have I made myself clear?”

“Very clear.” Elizabeth backed away from the desk, anxious to put distance between her and Marsters. She hurried down the hall to the lab, to Bast.

The hallways were dark and deserted. Had someone else been there, they might have seen Professor Marsters slip from his office, might have watched as he locked the door behind him and started for his car. They might have noticed the briefcase he held in his hands, might have heard the jangle of his keys. But there was no one else to see or hear anything.

Only Elizabeth.

She stepped from the shadows, her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, the Egyptian necklace back around her neck where it belonged. “Professor?”

Marsters turned. “Miss Wilson...what are you still doing here?”

Elizabeth offered him a sly little grin in reply. “Chatting with our guests.”

“Guests?”

“The mummies, silly.” Her grin widened. “The priests and priestesses of Bast.”