By accident rather than design, Trueth - one of the last European witches - finds herself in an ancient Egyptian civilisation. It isn't quite what she has expected - for one thing this place is as full of magic as it is lacking in decent showers.
...
Damian looked around him uneasily, his gaze roaming over the wall paintings, the hieroglyphs and the bright images of the gods populating those walls that had been spared from the overall destruction.
'There is a ritual we can try. It might speed up Trueth's recovery. Then she can help Seisi. But it's blood magic.'
***
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A rustle among the circle. 'Dark spells?' the high priest of hamster asked in a deceptively calm voice.
The witches turned their heads in unison, surprise on their faces. The landlord voiced their thoughts. 'I can hear you speak a foreign language. How come I understand you?'
Hamster smiled. 'More magic. Of the non-dark variety. Just a Tongue of Bes, a minor spell.' His smile disappeared, and he addressed Damian once more. 'As Metjen says, what is it you suggest?'
Damian scratched his head. 'I don't think it's dark magic. I just need a bit of blood. I mean, I'm not an expert on such things.'
The landlord groaned. 'This whole shebang could explode.'
'I think it already did,' Daisy said.
Damian waved his arms about, and the sleeves slipped over his hands again. 'I did memorise that one correctly. Re-enforcing feeble or failing talents sounded like something we might need.' Damian looked from Metjen to the high priest of hamster then winced as the two prophets fixed their burning gaze on him.
'What a bloody mess,' Metjen finally said. 'I guess we have no choice.' He snapped his fingers, the haze disappeared and suddenly all eyes were on Trueth and Seisi. Once more, shouts of dismay rang through the temple as the witches spotted the sad tableau.
Myrtle raced across, nearly stumbling over her long robes, then threw herself on the floor next to Trueth, embracing and rocking her in her arms. The smell of baked apple still clung to her skirts, and suddenly Trueth felt lighter. Not happy. She could never be happy as long as Seisi was under the lintel of Osiris or wherever he was. But she was no longer alone. A cold nose dug into her arm, and warm brown eyes gazed up at her. Dog was right. She had never been alone.
'Shit,' the landlord said. 'How much blood do you need?' He rolled up his sleeve.
'Just a thimble full actually,' Damian responded. 'But royal blood would be best. Not sure why and not sure where to get that from. But it said so in the grimoire.'
'Then take mine,' Khy whispered and got up from the cushion he had been resting on. He was dishevelled, tired and appeared to be very depressed. Trueth had never seen him like that.
'Are you the Prince of Egypt, then?' the ginger twins chorused, looked at each other and giggled.
'Yes, I am,' Pharaoh said. He too rolled up his sleeve, then gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. 'Get on with it, as they say in the uh, another world.'
