must cross. The Egyptians believed the sun died on the western banks of the Nile every day, so to journey from its eastern bank to the west is to leave the world of the living behind.”
And that was the journey Alex would have to make.
The “river” bisecting the temple was symbolic, hewn of stone mined from the ancient
limestone tunnels beneath Tura, hieroglyphs from the Book of Emerging Forth into Night
carved into the sides and base of the channel.
Alex hesitated. Was this the crossroads? Was this the last foolish thing she would do?
And who would be there to greet her in the beyond? Hellie. Maybe Darlington. Len and
Betcha, their skulls crushed in, that cartoonish look of surprise still stuck on Len’s face. Or maybe they’d be made whole somewhere on that other shore. If she died, would she be able to cross back through the Veil and spend an eternity flitting around campus? Would
she end up back home, doomed to haunt some dump in Van Nuys? So make it back. Make
it back or leave Dawes holding her dead body and Salome Nils to share the blame. The last thought wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
“All I have to do is drown?”
“That’s all,” said Dawes without a hint of a smile.
Alex unbuttoned her coat and drew off her sweater, while Dawes shed her parka,
drawing two slender green reeds from her pockets. “Where is he?” she whispered.
“The Bridegroom? Right behind you.” Dawes flinched. “Kidding. He’s by the altar, doing his brooding thing.” The Bridegroom’s scowl deepened.
“Have him stand opposite you on the western shore.”
“He can hear you fine, Dawes.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Dawes made an awkward gesture and the Bridegoom drifted to the other side of the stream. It was narrow enough that he crossed it with a single long step. “Now you both kneel.”
Alex wasn’t sure if the Bridegroom would be so quick to follow instructions, but he did. They knelt. He seemed to want this little talk as much as Alex did.
She could feel the cold of the floor through her jeans. She realized she was wearing a
white T-shirt and it was going to get soaked. You’re about to die, she scolded herself.
Maybe now isn’t the time to worry about giving a ghost a look at your boobs.
“Put your hands behind your back,” said Dawes.
“Why?”
Dawes held up the reeds and recited: “Let his wrists be bound with stalks of papyrus.”
Alex put her hands behind her back. It was like getting arrested. She half-expected Dawes to slide a zip tie around her wrists. Instead, she felt Dawes drop something into her
left pocket.
“It’s a carob pod. When you want to come back, put it in your mouth and bite down.
Ready?”
“Go slow,” said Alex.
Alex bent forward. It was awkward with her hands behind her back. Dawes braced her
head and neck and helped her fall forward. Alex hovered for a moment above the surface,
raised her eyes, met the Bridegroom’s gaze. “Do it,” she said. She took a deep breath and
tried not to panic as Dawes shoved her head underwater.
Silence filled her ears. She opened her eyes but could see nothing but black stone. She
waited, breath leaking from her in reluctant bubbles as her chest tightened.
Her lungs ached. She couldn’t do this, not this way. They’d have to come up with something else.
She tried to push up, but Dawes’s fingers were claws on the back of Alex’s skull. It was
impossible to break her grip in this position. Dawes’s knee pressed into her back. Her fingers felt like spikes digging into Alex’s scalp.
The pressure in Alex’s chest was unbearable. Panic came at her like a dog slipped free
of its leash, and she knew she’d made a very bad mistake. Dawes had been working with
Book and Snake. Or Skull and Bones. Or Sandow. Or whoever wanted her gone. Dawes
was finishing what the gluma had started. Dawes was punishing her for what had
happened to Darlington. She’d known the truth of what had gone down that night at Rosenfeld all along, and this was her revenge on Alex for stealing away her golden boy.