Page 102

“Anubis,” he said.

We stared in awed silence until Whit spoke, destroying the moment.

“I have to get Abdullah and Ricardo.”

Any elation I felt vanished in the next breath. Dios, what had I done? The room seemed to press close around me, squeezing me like an iron fist. The word ripped out of me, vehement and loud. It reverberated in the small space. “No!”

He gaped at me. “No? What do you meanno?”

I had made a terrible mistake. This shouldn’t be happening, least of all with Whitford Hayes. The enormity of what I’d done crawled against myskin. My mother would be horrified by this development. The sense of failure tasted sour in my mouth. “Please, can we pretend we never found her?”

“Have you lost your senses? They’ve been searching for Cleopatra for years, Olivera. Do you really want to take that from them?”

“Fine, but only Abdullah. I don’t trust my uncle.”

His jaw slackened. “You don’t trustRicardo?”

I shook my head.

“What the bloody hell is going on? Is this because of who you had in your room last night?”

“No.”

Whit glared at me. “I’m not going to let it go.”

Panic pricked my body from my head down to my feet. I’d ruined my mother’s plans, her wish to keep Ricardo from dismantling and destroying Cleopatra’s final resting place.

“I can’t explain,” I whispered. “Please give me more time—”

“To dowhat,exactly?”

Footsteps sounded from the staircase hidden within the column. We both froze. “Whit,” I said in a panicked whisper. “Someone’s coming.”

Whit rushed back to the entrance of the antechamber with me at his heels. He stopped so abruptly I crashed into him, and he reached out to steady me. When I tried to step around him, he swung an arm to block me. He kept us inside the treasury, but still within sight of the staircase. Whit pulled out his revolver, keeping it trained on the last step. I moved the candle farther into the adjoining room. Darkness engulfed the antechamber.

“Smart,” he said in a hushed voice.

Someone descended, the sound of harsh breathing growing louder and louder. I locked my breath inside my chest, afraid to make any noise. A small glow of blue light appeared, slowly crawling forward, corresponding with the soft scuffle of shoes against stone. Scuffed leather boots appeared first. Then long legs encased in loose trousers, stained with dirt and grime, and then a slim waist, and at last a grizzled, weathered face, at once familiar and dangerous, followed.

Tío Ricardo.

I’d led him straight to Cleopatra. My mother would be devastated,horrified. His knees bent and he staggered backward as he gazed into the antechamber. He barely held on to the guttering torch in his hand.

“Dios,” he murmured. But then he straightened and in a panicked voice said, “Inez!”

I stepped around Whit, the light following my movement. I was shaking, remembering that I had a role to play. “I’m here, Tío.”

My uncle swerved in the direction of my voice, squinting. Whit’s arm brushed against mine as he holstered his revolver. Upon seeing me, my uncle stepped forward, and then abruptly stopped at the sight of Whit at my elbow. Tío Ricardo’s dark brows slammed together.

“Explain,” he said in a hard voice.

Whit inhaled, opened his mouth—but I was faster, immediately turning the tables on him.

“Were you spying on us?” I demanded.

Whit slapped his hand over his eyes, groaning.

“Spying on you?” Tío Ricardo asked in a voice edged in ice. “No, I was not spying on you. What the hell is going on here? How long have you been down here?”