Page 81 of Anatomy of the Immortal Species

Amelia understood his concern, but they had taken precautions. “We’ll have enough time with the mummy to perform the procedure.”

“My issue isn’t with the procedure. I’m worried about what happens after.”

“What happens after?”

“I don’t know… An entire tribe of vampires is guarding corpses that nobody really cares about. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

“Isn’t it a sacred place? It’s only natural to protect it.”

Zacharia squinted. “Protect it from who? Most creatures are atheists. They don’t care about these mummies. And those who truly worship them wouldn’t dare defile them. There must be another reason the Beduin tribe protects the temple so zealously.”

Amelia frowned. “And what do you think that reason is?”

“They’re protecting something inside, and it’s not the mummies.”

A chill ran down her spine. “Even if that’s true, we’re not here for that. There shouldn’t be any issues.”

“Right. I just wanted to warn you. Don’t be upset if I’m a little too vigilant. Mikhail’s not around to lead us, but I’ve sworn to serve him until the day I die. You’re important to him. So, I’llguard you with my life, whether you like it or not.”

Her heart fluttered at his words. She quickly reminded herself that Mikhail cared about her because she was the Oracle. There was no other reason.

***

“You coming?” Helena’s muffled voice called from inside.

Amelia leaned against the wall for support and descended. She’d gone down about ten almost vertical steps when the hallway opened into a spacious cave. The ceiling hung low, and had a round opening in the middle, allowing the afternoon sun to stream in and fill the cavern with light. Strange how they hadn’t seen the cave from above… Amelia observed the walls, with their various rock formations in different shapes and sizes.

Stalactites hung from the ceiling around the opening, and iron rails began just beneath it, leading deeper into the cave. A strange console with handles and a button was set into the lower part of a nearby wall.

Helena studied the map. “This is the place that—”

A strange rumbling filled the hall, followed by the sound of rocks grinding against each other, then silence.

“I think the entrance closed up,” Alex whispered, eyes wide.

“Welcome to the Temple of the Dead Immortals.”

Amelia searched for the source of the voice. By the entrance was a man who hadn’t been there a moment ago. He had an oblong face, a bald head, and the palest skin a living being could have – just seconds before being declared dead. His brown sleeveless robe reached his bony knees, and leather sandals wrapped around his chalk-white feet.

He approached them and Amelia thought he must be at least six foot nine.

“My name is Vlas Beduin. It is apleasureto welcome you to our sacred home.” Despite his words, his even tone gave no indication of any pleasure. His black eyes scanned each of themwithout lingering longer than necessary.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Vlas Beduin! My name is Eleonora Davidoff, heir to the famous bloodline of Sergei Davidoff,” Helena recited her rehearsed speech. When Vlas stared back with an impassive face, Helena pointed to Vladislav. “This is my husband, Vladislav Davidoff. As you can imagine, the glory of my bloodline tempted him to take my family name instead of me taking his.” Vlas Beduin nodded. “We’ve brought our daughter, Melissa Davidoff”—the nymph gestured to Amelia, then to Zacharia—“accompanied by her fiancé, Haraldin.”

Amelia managed a half-smile, while Zacharia just stood there with his arms crossed.

Vlas Beduin scrutinised him. “Haraldin? Interesting name.”

Helena redirected the conversation back to her. “And, of course, our loyal domestic helpers, Ingrid and her father, Han, who are like family and deserve to pay their respects to Grandfather as well, especially on the five hundredth anniversary of his death.”

Alex bowed, and Viktor inclined his chin.

A smile appeared on Vlas Beduin’s face – wide enough to seem welcoming. “We, the Beduin tribe, are always happy to meet those who wish to feel the energy of our ancestors. Sergei Davidoff’s sarcophagus is in the middle hall, slot fifteen.”

He moved to the strange console and pulled a lever. A rumble erupted at the bottom of the cave, growing louder until a metal construction of three empty wagons appeared along the rails, each the size of a golf cart. The train was old and rusty, with patches where the paint had peeled away.

Vlas Beduin gestured for them to board. After a brief exchange of glances, they took their places in the carts. “When you’re done, pull the lever by the wall to come back here.”