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DIN

T he City of the Dead was like something out of a fever dream.

What had begun a long time ago as Cairo's historic cemetery had evolved into a sprawling necropolis where the living made their homes among the dead.

Mausoleums served as houses, tomb courtyards became living rooms, and ancient crypts had been converted into shops and workshops.

The juxtaposition was surreal.

Laundry lines were strung between centuries-old headstones, satellite dishes were mounted on Ottoman-era tombs, and children were playing football, the proper one, in what had once been sacred burial grounds.

Ahmed looked like he was about to pop a vein. "This place is not good for outsiders."

Din couldn't fault the guy for his succinct assessment.

The narrow alleys between the tombs created a maze that seemed purposely designed to disorient visitors.

The morning sun barely penetrated here, blocked by improvised roofs and awnings that had been constructed over the centuries.

The air was thick with dust, cooking smoke, rotting garbage, and the underlying mustiness of ancient stone.

"It's like a city within a city." Fenella's eyes darted around. "How many people live here?"

"Half a million, give or take." Kalugal consulted a hand-drawn map. "Some families have been living here for generations. They're born here, live here, die here, and are buried here. The cycle continues."

A group of children appeared from behind a crumbling wall, hands outstretched, voices raised in a chorus of pleas for money. Ahmed shooed them away with sharp words in Arabic, but they simply retreated to a safe distance and continued following their group.

"Should we give them something?" Jasmine glanced at their escort of ragamuffin children.

"No," Ahmed said firmly. "Give to one, and hundreds will come."

The security team, which Kalugal had beefed up for today's excursions, formed a protective box around them as they pressed on.

Locals watched them pass, some with curiosity, others with suspicion, a few with barely concealed hostility. Foreigners weren't welcome here, especially those who didn't give money to the begging children.

Still, Din trusted Ahmed's experience that giving them money would only make things worse.

"This way," Kalugal directed, studying his map. "The workshop should be in the older section, near the Mamluk tombs."

The architecture, if one could call it that, changed as they moved deeper into the cemetery.

The newer additions gave way to ancient structures, some dating back to the medieval period.

These tombs were more elaborate, with carved stone facades and ornate Islamic calligraphy that had survived centuries of weather and neglect.

"How does anyone find anything here?" Max grumbled, sidestepping a pile of garbage that had been dumped in front of a fifteenth-century tomb. "It's worse than the bazaar."

"That's probably why the carver likes this place," Din said. "If you wanted to hide, this would be perfect. You don't have an official address, so there is no government oversight. You're a ghost."

An elderly woman sat in the doorway of a converted mausoleum, watching them with sharp eyes as she sorted through a pile of electronic components. The incongruity of ancient stone and modern circuit boards perfectly captured the strange reality of this place.

"We need to turn left at the tomb with the blue door." Kalugal held the map up, comparing what had been hand-drawn to what was in front of their eyes.

Eventually, they found the door, but it was more by chance than by what was on the crude map.

It was a Fatimid-era tomb whose entrance had been fitted with a bright blue metal door that appeared to have been salvaged from elsewhere. Beyond it, the alley narrowed even further, forcing them to walk in single file.

"I don't like this," Max muttered. "Too confined. No escape routes."

Din silently agreed. The walls pressed in on either side, and the only way out was forward or back the way they'd come. They could easily get boxed in and robbed.

Well, not easily. They had a formidable compeller who could redirect any would-be attacker.

Ell-rom didn't seem worried, though, and Din wondered whether he was just a stoic male or if he was hiding unparalleled fighting abilities. After all, he was no ordinary hybrid. He was half god, half Kra-ell, royal on both sides.

Powerful blood circulated in his veins.

Kyra stopped, her hand going to the amber pendant at her throat. "I feel something." She closed her eyes. "We are getting closer." She opened them. "That's all I got." She turned to Jasmine. "Maybe you can find out more."

"We need to get to an intersection," Kalugal said. "It will be pointless to do it here."

As they began to move, Din was glad to see the alley widening ahead and branching off in several directions.

Jasmine declared the spot perfect for scrying, and when they stopped and gathered around her, she reached into her bag and pulled out a stick that was about a foot long. It was just a simple twig, which she must have stripped and sanded down herself.

That was what she used as a scrying rod?

Din had never seen one used outside of academic discussions about ancient divination practices, and the ones he'd seen were much more intricate, carved with symbols and other decorations.

Jasmine held the stick loosely in her hand, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the tip of the rod began to dip, pulling downward and to the left.

"Until not too long ago, I would have called it mumbo jumbo," Max muttered. "But she found Ell-rom and Morelle using this stick."

"The proof is in the pudding," Fenella said.

They chose the alley that Jasmine's stick indicated, winding deeper into the cemetery. The tombs here were even older, some partially collapsed, while others had been reinforced with modern materials in haphazard attempts at preservation. The residents were fewer, and the alleys quieter.

"We're being watched from all over," Ahmed said quietly. "I don't know if they are curious or hostile."

Din had noticed it too. Faces in windows that disappeared when he looked at them, shadows that moved just at the edge of vision. The locals were tracking their progress, probably wondering what had brought such an unusual group to this corner of their domain.

"Just keep moving," Kalugal advised.

They turned another corner and found themselves in a small courtyard surrounded by ancient tombs. Unlike the rest of the cemetery, this area had been kept relatively clean. The stones had been swept, and the worst of the decay had been repaired. It felt almost cared for.

Jasmine's rod pointed firmly toward a tomb entrance sealed with a steel door. Unlike the improvised barriers they'd seen elsewhere, this one looked professionally installed, complete with multiple locks and a security camera mounted above it.

"This is it," Kyra said with certainty. "The one we're looking for is in there."

"The good news is that we are in the right place," Max said. "The bad news is that we need to figure out how to get in without starting an international incident."

"In front of a crowd of onlookers," Din added, noting movement in his peripheral vision.

They'd attracted quite an audience along the way, but everyone was maintaining a careful distance and doing a good job of staying hidden.

Kalugal studied the door. "How about I just knock?"

"Wait," Fenella interrupted. "Look."

She pointed to a small brass plaque beside the door, so tarnished it was barely visible against the ancient stone. Arabic script had been etched into the metal, along with a symbol that looked familiar.

"That's the same mark that was on Tula's figurine," Jasmine said. "The one the Clan Mother couldn't identify."

Excitement thrummed through Din. They'd actually located Esag's workshop.

"Can I knock now?" Kalugal asked.

"With five locks and security cameras, the owner is well aware of us standing out here," Max said. "There is no need to knock."

"We could just wait," Ell-rom suggested.

"In this neighborhood?" Ahmed shook his head. "We shouldn't stay here. Word has already spread about a group of tourists with private guards, which indicates that they are wealthy. The hoodlums are assembling while we stand here, exposed."

He was right. They were attracting too much attention. But they'd come too far to leave empty-handed.

"I'm going to knock," Kalugal said. "And if no one responds, I can get us in quickly and quietly. Ahmed, have your men secure the perimeter. The rest of you, stay with me and get ready for anything."

Din did not agree with Kalugal's plan. What right did they have to break into someone's home or workplace?

"We shouldn't," he said as Kalugal knocked. "I mean, we shouldn't enter if he doesn't open the door."

Kalugal turned to him. "I will compensate him for any repairs or damages and more." He lifted his face to the security camera above the door. "You hear that? We need to come in because we are not safe out here. I'll pay for a new door and its installation."

The first lock yielded to Kalugal's strength with barely a whisper of protest. Then the second, then the third. Each one had been quality hardware, but nothing that could stop an immortal determined to enter.

The fourth lock gave way, then the fifth. Kalugal grasped the handle and looked back at them. "Move to the side. He might be in there and shoot first."

They nodded as one, weapons appearing in the hands of those who carried them. Din moved closer to Fenella, shielding her with his body.

The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing darkness beyond. No alarms sounded, no traps sprang. Just silence and the musty smell of enclosed space mixed with something else—stone dust and oil, the scent of a workshop.

Kalugal entered first, followed by the rest in a practiced formation. The entrance led to a narrow corridor that sloped downward, carved directly into the bedrock. Modern LED strips had been mounted along the walls, providing dim but adequate lighting.

"This passage isn't part of the original tomb." Din ran his hand along the wall. "This tunnel was carved much later. See the tool marks? Modern equipment."

They descended perhaps twenty feet before the corridor opened into a larger space. Kalugal found a light switch, and suddenly the room blazed with illumination.

Din's breath caught.

It was indeed a workshop, but unlike any he'd expected.

Traditional tools mixed with modern equipment—ancient chisels alongside electric grinders, weathered wooden benches next to a new ventilation system.

Shelves lined the walls, holding blocks of various stones, bottles of pigments, and reference books in multiple languages.

But it was the works in progress that drew the eye.

Figurines in various stages of completion covered every available surface.

Some were roughly carved, barely more than shaped stone.

Others were nearly finished, awaiting only final details or touches of paint.

The style was unmistakable—the same flowing lines, the same attention to proportion, the same indefinable quality that made them seem almost alive.

"Look at this," Jasmine called from across the room.

She stood before a wall covered in photographs and sketches.

Not ancient drawings, but modern photos printed on regular paper.

They showed figurines from multiple angles, some of which Din recognized from museums, while others he'd never seen before.

"He's documenting his work," Kyra said wonderingly. "Keeping track of where they end up."

Fenella moved among the sculptures like someone in a trance, her hands hovering over them but not quite touching. "The energy in here is incredible."