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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The funeral chamber opened into a narrow corridor filled with priests and priestesses shrouded in white, their shaven heads gleaming in the light of the oil lamps. They mirrored the wall-paintings apart from one bit—their age. The holy crowd stared at her with rheumy eyes, their backs bent and their fingers covered in liver spots. Some of the holy men and women relied on knotted canes to keep themselves upright, others used their neighbour for support. Trueth felt her fear subside, instead a giggle rose in her throat. She was in the company of mortals after all and not a single one of this geriatric posse would be capable of harming her, at least not without risking cardiac arrest.
Trueth recognised one familiar face—the middle-aged rotund priest who had chased her through the streets of Cairo. He nodded at her and bowed. Trueth considered it wise not to antagonise that guy and bowed back. She still did not understand what Metjen saw in this place, apart from it coming across as an authentic replica of an ancient Egyptian cellar. It even smelled like one—mouldy, stuffy with a sweetish overtone she could not name. She suspected the smell was due to the incense given that this place was supposed to be a temple. That proved to be an unfortunate thought, her hands went sweaty again, but the wall of priests blocked the doorway and she had no choice but to trail along the corridor after Metjen.
As she shuffled along, the noise of her progress was echoed by the sounds her keepers made behind her. They were led by the stooped figure of a haggard man with sunken cheeks. Once, he must have stood above the others, most of which were vertically challenged to the extreme. Now, his rounded shoulders forced him to lean on his cane as he laboured onwards. Only his eyes scared her. Unlike the rest of that lot, the man did not blink myopically but glowered a vacant threat at her from under his bushy brows, a threat which reminded her of Metjen... .
The object of her musings halted abruptly in front of a doorway painted in blue and white. He gnawed his lower lip and Trueth's unease increased.
Remember what I told you!
Metjen entered. Trueth hesitated, but got shoved from behind without anyone touching her. It made her stumble across the threshold into a chamber roughly the size of the Al-Nour's living room. Only the ceiling here was lower, much lower.
Trueth!
No further invitation was necessary; she threw herself onto the floor, pinched her eyes shut and listened to the loudness of silence for a far too long time. The floor tickled her nose with an odour of overused mop. Fighting the sensation proved to be impossible and a loud sneeze exploded into the quiet of the chamber.
More silence.
You may rise to your knees.
A new voice rasped into her brain. Trueth winced and did as asked. She kept her gaze on her thighs, still clad in their dusty jeans. Her throat was so dry, it reminded her of the long hours spent in the desert. But this experience was worse. Again nothing happened for aeons while a faint buzzing pierced the quiet in the chamber and flowed right through her.
