The dais had walls, and a loud engine roared above. Heavy cables reached down through the open rooftop, pulling the steps up to become accordion-like walls. The gun pointing at my head forced me inside this alcove. I joined the statue of Sekhmet next to the altar. An unbound Amunet sat in a small motor-chamber above, piloting what had become an airship up and out of the roofless building.
The Ankh and the other male guard were nowhere to be seen.
There was a seam at the corner of two walls. I dove for it, but Hathor dragged me back onto the base of the "ship." He raised his hand, the metal of the firearm gleaming, and when it came back down, I didn't duck fast enough . . .
I had no idea how much time had passed since I'd been knocked out. I was no longer in the odd airship nor the building that had been on fire. No one would know where I was or how to find me.
To add to the situation, my wrists were bound in front of me and my ankles chained to . . .
The statue of Sekhmet.
The Ankh's intention was unpleasantly clear.
The statue loomed over me, gleaming faint gold in the dim light. As I looked up at the lion-headed goddess, I couldn't forget the image of a battered, devastated body, thudding and trembling helplessly against those golden arms.
Della Exington was dead.
And I'd been unable to save her. Not because I couldn't get there in time, but because I couldn't make myself do it. I'd been frozen and paralyzed. Weak.
I'd dragged myself out of it. But it had been too late by then. Remorse and guilt flooded me. Then deep, burning fury. Tears filled my eyes, bitter and stinging.
I had no right to call myself a Venator, a vampire hunter.
My great-great-aunt Victoria had sacrificed everything for her calling, even staking the husband she loved after he was turned UnDead.
I couldn't even ignore a bit of blood in order to save a young woman's life.
I shifted and felt the dull throb in my side. It had stopped bleeding even before Miss Holmes and I escaped from the opium chamber. But when I ran back through the building to help Amunet, it started oozing again. On a normal person, this wound would have been fatal. At the very least, debilitating. But for me, it wasn't the injury or even the pain that had caused my paralysis.
Footsteps approached and the sound brought me out of my stupor. A tall, slender figure cloaked in an enveloping black wrap appeared. This time, the Ankh was garbed in female clothing: skirts and a poke bonnet so deep it shielded his or her face.
"Miss Stoker. I'm delighted to see that you haven't bled to death."
I could reach him. Her. Grab her by the leg and yank. She had to be unsteady on those tiny hourglass heels. Though it was around my ankle, my chain was long enough to wrap around her throat, to subdue her . . .
She stepped back as if she'd read my mind. Blast it.
"Your knife-throwing skills are quite good," I said. "Traveling circus, perhaps? Was your mother the fat lady?"
The Ankh stilled, looking at me from behind the bonnet. "You'll be pleased to know your partner has agreed to bring me Sekhmet's diadem in exchange for your person."
"Mina Holmes is no fool. Once you have the diadem, then what? Who will be your next victim?"
I saw the flash of a smile and the impression of two gleaming eyes. "That is a concern, I must admit. Nonetheless, I'm certain some solution will occur to me." A low, grating laugh told me she already had one. And I wasn't going to like it.
Despite her clothing, I still couldn't settle on whether the person before me was a woman who dressed in male clothing, or a man currently garbed as a female. "And when do you plan to execute this wily plan?"
"Tonight. The timing is most auspicious, for today is the anniversary of when I first learned of the power of Sekhmet. Five years ago, I stumbled upon the artifact which sent me on this path."
If Miss Holmes were here, she'd probably try to lecture and deduce the Ankh into submission. My moment of wry humor vanished as quickly as it had come. How the blazes was I going to escape my chain before my partner arrived, and how was I going to bring the Ankh down with me?
"Very well, then," said my host. She carried something long and silver and slender and moved closer. "Now that I've ascertained your relative health, it's time to send for your friend. I intend to have a gracious welcome prepared for her."
Brilliant. Mina Holmes would walk right into that trap.
She gestured, and Hathor came toward me. I kicked and bucked. Sekhmet wavered after I yanked especially hard on the ankle chains looped around her, but the Ankh and Hathor steadied the statue before it tumbled over. Hathor swung out with a powerful hand. The blow caught me against the side of the face and, unable to brace myself, I slammed to the floor. My temple hit the ground hard, and before I could recover, Hathor grabbed me from behind. He forced me onto my knees so I couldn't kick, and held my arms immobile. One large hand covered my nose and mouth, smothering me into stillness. I gasped for breath against his sweaty, dirty hand but couldn't twist my face away.
Only then did the Ankh feel safe enough to get close to me. I let her see the triumph in my eyes.
When the Ankh bent close, something silver in her hand, my pulse jumped. Could she know my weakness? Was she going to cut me? Spill more blood?
She reached for me, my neck, and grabbed a handful of my hair. Twisting it viciously, she brought a silver object toward my face. I closed my eyes, steeling myself, waiting for the pain. My mind was clear.
You're a Venator. You're strong. Fight.
Then I heard the soft snip and a bit of my hair fell away.
Chapter 15
Miss Holmes
An Impossible Choice
Dylan arrived at my house just before eleven o'clock, carrying a heavy satchel.
Ignoring Mrs. Raskill's muttering about more comings and goings, I brought him into the parlor so he could show me the diadem. He greeted me with a smile and seemed to be moving toward me as if to offer an embrace, but caught himself at the last minute. A light stain flushed his cheeks, and he stepped back.
"You're wearing pants." The way his eyes traveled over my trouser-covered limbs made me self-conscious about the way the fabric clung to my shape. I felt indecent and exposed, and the way his blue eyes filtered over me made my cheeks heat up.
"I . . . erm . . ."
He smiled and sat down without waiting for me to do so first. "I didn't mean to embarrass you, Mina. I was just surprised. You look really hot-uh, really good in pants. In my time, girls-women-wear them all the time. It's considered completely normal."
My discomfort eased in favor of curiosity. "Is that true? Women can wear trousers in the future without it being frowned upon?"