Page 52

“As modern as the word of Allah,” Mrs. Al-Ahmed retorted, “which I happen to have read for myself, and which does not require any such practice on the part of faithful women. Not that I can fault some of us for wishing for space to ourselves.”

She punctuated this with a pointed look at her husband, who blanched and sank down in his chair a bit.

Ellie couldn’t entirely blame her for being irritated with the poor man. She didn’t imagine that she would be terribly pleased herself if she had only one day a week with her spouse, and he turned up to it with a load of bedraggled foreigners in tow.

“Ha ha ha,” Mr. Al-Ahmed said nervously. “Very funny, ya habibti.”

Neil slumped forward in his chair, pressing his face into his hands. “This is a disaster!” He lifted his head again, wide-eyed with dismay. His glasses were still a bit crooked and his mouse-brown hair was wildly askew. “We just stomped through the burial chamber of one of the most important figures of the late Eighteenth Dynasty! Plundered artifacts! Collapsed a two-thousand-year-old looters’ tunnel—an important archaeological find in its own right, as it happens! And lost both Sayyid and I our jobs!”

Mrs. Al-Ahmed slowly turned a sharp green-eyed gaze on her husband.

“Technically we have not been formally dismissed,” Mr. Al-Ahmed pointed out a little weakly.

“At least nobody was shot,” Constance offered cheerfully. Her fashionable dress was very dirty.

“Shot?” Mrs. Al-Ahmed echoed dangerously.

“We are not entirely sure that there were gunshots,” Mr. Al-Ahmed hurriedly assured her. “Perhaps someone simply dropped a boot… or three.”

With her eyes still fixed on her husband, Mrs. Al-Ahmed slowly arched a single eloquent eyebrow.

Ellie felt a burst of guilt. None of what Neil had said was wrong. Shehadburst into his tomb, plundered an artifact, and probably lost him his job.

Never mind the gunshots.

Looking back, it was hard to see what else she could have done—not without leaving the field wide open to Professor Dawson. But that didn’t change the fact that Mr. Al-Ahmed and her brother hadn’t asked to be involved in this. Ellie had inflicted it on them without giving them any say in the matter.

She raised her chin. “The situation is my fault and my responsibility, Mrs. Al-Ahmed. I deeply regret that it brought your husband into any danger. I did not expect our circumstances to become quite so—er, complicated—but I assure you, it was prompted by a matter of the utmost seriousness and importance.”

“What matter?” Mrs. Al-Ahmed demanded flatly.

Ellie looked at Adam, a little helpless as to where to begin. He met her gaze steadily. The quiet confidence in his look bolstered her—at least enough for her to draw a breath and dive in.

“Last month, Mr. Bates and I were involved in an incident in British Honduras. One that brought to our attention a particular…quality… of certain artifacts mentioned in the historical documents and folklore of various parts of the world.”

“Quality?” Neil echoed anxiously. “What quality?”

“That they are… well…” Ellie began.

“Magic,” Adam finished for her from his place by the window. He swept a gaze over the rest of the room as though daring anyone there to object. “All that stuff in those old books you spend so much time with,” he elaborated, fixing his eyes on Neil. “Invisibility bracelets and flying boots. They’re real.” He paused. “At least, some of them are,” he hedged less comfortably.

Mr. Al-Ahmed’s expression was darkly thoughtful. His wife raised a careful, surprised eyebrow—and then turned a penetrating glance at her husband.

Neil’s expression was one of utter horror. “Are you—” he spluttered. “Have you completely lost your—”

“I’ve seen it!” Constance bounced on her ottoman with excitement. “On our roof in Cairo, Ellie’s bone lit up like a comet!”

Neil’s pale cheeks flushed. “Show me.”

“I… can’t,” Ellie replied uncomfortably. “It’s broken.”

Neil laughed, the sound a little mad. He dropped onto the sofa as though someone had cut his strings, putting his head in his hands. “Of course it is.”

Adam’s eyes narrowed on his friend—and then he sharply looked away again, as though torn between his temper and an even less comfortable emotion.

“I… may have heard of something like this,” Mr. Al-Ahmed said carefully.

“What?!” Neil gaped at his foreman with dismay.