Get out your popcorn, tourists beware, here comes a paranormal adventure with a historical twist, set in Egypt--and Britain.
From Chapter 29 'Darkness': 'Did I just try to dive into that goo to get at a dead guy?' Trueth asked.
Define dead,' Me...
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Clouds sailed across bright blue skies only partially hidden by the bushy palm fronds above Trueth's hammock. It swayed in the breeze, yet the movement failed to relax her.
She was so lucky to be alive, should be so happy her search for fellow magical beings had ended... .
But she was not and her anxiety was not owed to Metjen's constant sniping. At least that was not the only reason. There was something else she ought to remember, something that kept niggling at the back of her mind. The buzzing of the bees and the distant rush of the traffic made her drowsy, her worries submerged and she dozed off.
'Dinner!' A shout pierced her thoughts, she catapulted from the hammock, a fire bolt exploding from her hand. It slammed into the basin of the fountain with a resounding gong, shocking the sparrows. They flew up, shrilling with disgust.
Metjen's mother stuck her head out of the kitchen window accompanied by the smell of fried garlic. 'Oh, sorry dear, did I disturb you?'
Trueth patted earth from the seat of her shorts. The grass stains remained. 'Nothing to worry about, Mrs. Al-Nour, I intended to get up anyway.' She returned to the living room where Metjen was fiddling knobs on a wall safe previously hidden behind one of the paintings.
'Are those real?' Trueth raised her chin at the impressionist water lilies now leaning against a bookshelf brimming with gilded tomes.
Metjen opened the safe, donned a pair of cotton gloves, lifted out two objects and lovingly placed them on a white cloth spread on the table. 'What do you mean by real, woman? They're painted.'
Heat flushed Trueth's cheeks. There was the other reason for her unease. The Al-Nours outclassed her by far. Better not to engage. She counted to five, then gave up. 'My mother might be on the dole and I might have a job that pays crap, but I'm still capable of recognising a valuable masterpiece.'
'Good for you,' Metjen responded. 'I'm referring to your cognitive skills, not your employment situation.'
Trueth balled her fists and Metjen cocked an eyebrow then raised his palms in a placatory fashion. 'Peace, okay? I told you, you need to relax. I wanted to show you something few people outside our family get to see. You are fellow magical flotsam on this sea of humanity, so I wondered if you might not appreciate this.'
He gently nudged a gold ring resembling the exhibits on display at the Egyptian museum, then tapped a hairy mess interspersed with glittery bits that probably was as ancient as the jewellery, just less attractive.
'What's that thing? Cleopatra's shrunken head?'
'Wrong period, my dear,' Metjen said. 'These are from the Old Kingdom.'
'Old is an understatement. The ring is pretty that other thing—is not. Why do you keep this and the rest of all that stuff in your house? Why not in the museum?' Trueth asked. 'You mentioned the other day that historical finds belong to the Egyptian people.'
