Fortune thought frantically. Bugsy and Lohengrin were peering though the storefront.
Isra shook her shaggy head.
He remembered her saying the name, but it still meant nothing to him.
Still nothing.
The single word was hard, final. She hesitated a moment, then almost plaintively said,
Fortune swallowed his anger. Isra had the upper hand at the moment, but he’d managed to retrieve his body before. He could do it again. If he could just figure out how.
Isra lifted a paw. Lohengrin’s sword had flickered into his hand. He and Bugsy looked at each other. “What do you think?” the German ace asked in accented English. “This time, she is not attacking. That is good, ja?”
“Ja,” Bugsy replied, “I think that it might be all right. John, is that you? Are you…are you all right?” Isra nodded her leonine head.
Fortune asked. “John?” Bugsy was saying. “Can you…ah…change back? If you want to…I sent out a few hundred wasps to find you after you busted out of Peregrine’s house.” He paused momentarily. “Ummm. Sorry about the house and all, but it wasn’t us. It was the lion.” He stopped for a moment, as if realizing how lame that sounded. “She breathes fire. Uh…you breathe fire. Really. You probably know that, though.”
“John,” Lohengrin said. “I am sorry too.”
“Anyway,” Bugsy said quickly. “I’m sorry it took us so long to find you. Trying to rent a car in the middle of the night is a real bitch, and you were really moving there for awhile. My wasps could hardly keep up…uh…but the question is, where should we take you? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Isra shook her head angrily, a low grumble sounding deep in her broad chest.
“We could call your mother,” Lohengrin offered.
“No,” Bugsy said, “no, not his mother. Simoon’s mother. Isis. She was the one who wanted him to have the amulet. Let’s take him to her. Maybe she can…fix him or something.”
“Is she a doctor?” Lohengrin asked.
“No, I think she’s a god.”
At last, some things were starting to come together.
The lioness paced through the store and pushed through the remains of the door, shoving it completely off its hinges. She padded past Bugsy and Lohengrin, who turned to keep her in sight at all times. Fortunately, the rental car was a convertible. Isra—or Sekhmet, or whatever the hell she should be called—leaped lightly into the back and settled herself regally across the seat. She pretty much filled it.
Lohengrin’s sword disappeared. “I think she wants to go to Isis,” he said. He slid into the driver’s seat. Bugsy took shotgun. “Great,” he announced. “Road trip.”
The sun had been up for some time when they hit the Strip.
They could see the black glass pyramid of the Luxor towering in the clear morning sky a mile down the street to their right. John Fortune could read the utter amazement in Isra’s mind as they moved past hotels and casinos, though her leonine features showed nothing but regal inscrutability. Despite the early hour the street was thick with traffic, and the sidewalks were crowded with pedestrians. Las Vegas is truly the city that never sleeps.
It was difficult to say who was more astounded—Isra, or the crowd on the sidewalks—as the rental convertible slowly cruised down the Strip. Fragments of excited conversation from the onlookers came to them:
“Holy crap, look at the size of that lion!”
“Is it real?”
“Of course it’s real! Whaddya think this is, Disneyland or something?”
“It’s too big to be real! And it’s glowing!”
“Is it dangerous?”
“It’s probably a publicity stunt.”
“That blond guy driving must be Siegfried.”
“Nah. He has tigers.”
“And look! There’s Ralph! Looking good, Ralph!”
“I had no idea he was so young.”
“Wave to the camera, Ralph!”
Bugsy waved enthusiastically, while the big German remained dignified as he drove sedately to the Luxor, muttering, “I am not Siegfried. I am Lohengrin.”
Fortune could feel Isra’s growing excitement as they pulled into the Luxor’s parking lot, passing a giant sphinx, a serene reflecting pool, and rows of obelisks. They stopped in front of the main entrance to the hotel, but none of the valets dared approach. Sekhmet was snorting fire in her excitement, much to the excited approval of the crowd that had gathered to gawk.
The show was only starting. The lioness leaped out of the back of the convertible and padded lightly, eagerly, back and forth, very much as if it was feeding time at the zoo. Fortune said, desperately hoping for some kind of help to arrive.
It soon did. Half a dozen of the Living Gods filed out of the main entrance to the hotel casino, accompanied by a retinue of fan-bearers, jugglers, acrobats, and other retainers. Led by the beautiful Isis, attended by fan-bearers holding ostrich feathers over her head, by a fat-bellied dwarf whose name Fortune didn’t know, by jokers with the heads of a dog and a hawk. Bringing up the rear, accompanied by their own servants, were two old familiar figures—Thoth, the ibis-headed spokesman of the Living Gods, and ancient Osiris, he who had perished and then come back to life, supposedly. As usual, a cryptic smile wreathed his tight-lipped mouth.
Isis—beautiful, voluptuous, and wearing a gown that was more diaphanous than modest—was receiving most of the attention from the gathered onlookers. Especially when she bowed low gracefully and said, “Hail, Lady Sekhmet! Your coming was foretold by far-seeing Osiris! Long have we awaited your arrival! Enter our abode!”
The onlookers burst into applause as the lioness returned Isis’s bow, as elegantly as four legs would allow her, and followed the colorful procession into the Luxor’s lobby. Bugsy and Lohengrin, exchanging glances, took up the rear. They were a traffic-stopper as they paced slowly, ceremoniously through the cavernous atrium and halted before the elevators. Not only was Isra reluctant to enter them, it seemed that she was too big to get into one even if she’d wanted to. Fortune urged.
Isra snarled and some of the onlooking tourists glanced about nervously.
Fortune said.
Perhaps the word “cages” did it, or maybe just the mere thought of confinement again. Whatever made Isra relinquish control, there was an unexpected, instantaneous transfiguration, and Fortune found himself standing naked in front of the elevator banks.
Fortunately, the fan-bearers acted with instantaneous aplomb and covered him—almost entirely—before the cameras in the hands of onlooking tourists could go off. All the important figures piled into the elevator, leaving their retinue to entertain the assembled crowd and deliver a spiel about the Pageant of the Living Gods, six days a week, with matinees on Wednesdays and Saturdays.
It was a tight fit inside the elevator, but with John Fortune back as John Fortune and not a monstrous lioness, they made it. Osiris punched the button and they scooted upward to the private penthouse of the Living Gods in the heart of the Luxor pyramid.
“We must have something around here that would fit you,” Isis said, as they entered the living area of a spacious suite. She rattled off some sentences in Arabic to the dog-faced god, who looked to be abo
ut Fortune’s size. “Go with Anubis. He can lend some clothes that should fit. When you return, we’ll have refreshments.”
“And answers for my questions?” Fortune asked.
Isis smiled. “Of course.”
Feeling like an idiot, Fortune borrowed the ostrich-feather fans from their bearers and followed Anubis, who seemed friendly enough (if John could accurately read his grinning canine features) but had little English. Fortune was glad to score jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.
By the time he returned, drinks and snacks had been laid out. Bugsy and Lohengrin were conspicuous by their absence. Only three senior members of the group—Thoth, Osiris, and Isis—were awaiting him.
“Don’t worry about your friends.” Thoth hadn’t changed since the last time John had seen him. His features were birdlike, with a long, sharp beak that gave his words an odd clacking cadence. “We have set them up in their own suite where they can refresh themselves and relax. Much of what we have to say here should stay among family.”
“I’m flattered that you think of me in those terms.” Fortune balanced a plate of pastries dripping with honey in one hand and a tiny cup of coffee loaded to the top with sugar in the other. “I’ve done nothing to deserve it.”
Osiris, who had little English, spoke a rapid stream of Arabic. Like Thoth, he was also little changed since Fortune’s last trip to Vegas. He was brown-skinned and thin, lean to the point of emaciation, with a bald head, dark chin beard, and dark, vibrant eyes. He looked like an antediluvian rock star who ate too little and spent way too much time in the sun. Thoth translated his words into precise English, unaccented but for his strange lisp. “We need Sekhmet now more than we ever have. She was meant to be the greatest among our people, our champion and shield against those who would destroy us—but, as you well know, things do not always work out as they should.”
Isis took up the story. “Isra was born in Alexandria, of a family who had for generations worked the docks. The gods certainly work in mysterious ways. Yes, they gave her great powers. But her body, ill-nourished, worn out by childbirth and a life of hard work, could not contain the tremendous energies needed to fuel them. She was forced to…to change, in yet another way. To shrivel onto herself, to go into a deep sleep—until one would come whose body could be her vessel.”
“You.” Thoth nodded his head like a bird pecking for bugs. “You, who should have been an ace, you whose heritage was stripped from you. We beg you, please, to let Sekhmet live through you.”
Fortune swallowed a honeyed date, choking. “As a parasite in my body?”
Thoth shrugged. “Surely, more of a symbiote. She does nothing to harm you.”
“But I don’t want her inside me, controlling me. Why can’t she share your body? Or yours, or his?”
Isis looked sad. “If we could, we would serve her. But we lack your strength.”
Osiris nodded vigorously as Thoth translated his words again. “Surely,” Osiris said, “you have seen the news out of Egypt.”
“Some,” Fortune said. “I’ve been busy.”
“Of course,” Osiris continued. “The whole world has been busy while hundreds of our people have been killed. And without Sekhmet to protect them, it will only get worse. Hundreds of thousands of innocents—men, women, and children—all will die. The Living Gods themselves will pass from this world, starting a new dark age that will cast its shadow across the globe. Sekhmet must return to Egypt.”
“Why can’t she return in your head?” Fortune snapped. “I have my own life—a job. Friends. I’m supposed to go back to college in the fall.”
Isis looked significantly at Thoth and Osiris. “We understand. You are tired. Much strangeness has been thrust upon you. We should talk later, when you have had a chance to rest.”
“Yeah,” Fortune said. “That’s a good idea. I’m really tired. I should call my mom. Let her know that I’m all right. Something will work out, I’m sure of it.”
“Yes.” Thoth didn’t look at him.
“I’ll call Anubis,” Isis said. “He’ll take you to the room we’ve arranged for you.”
“Thanks.” Somehow John couldn’t meet her eyes.
Osiris stopped him as he stood to leave, taking his hand with a devil-may-care glint in his old, glittery eyes, and barked a few sentences in Arabic.
“What did he say?” Fortune asked Thoth.
“He said,” Thoth replied, “that he is not worried. That he knows that you will do the right thing in the end. In visions he has seen you leading a great and powerful army, bloodied but unbeaten, your heart’s desire at your side.”
Anubis was waiting, like a grinning puppy. He had the eyes of a puppy, eager and trusting. Fortune couldn’t look at him either. They left the Living Gods’ quarters and Anubis led him down a corridor to his room, bowed down low to him, and left.
Fortune settled into the comfy chair. He had to call his mother, but later. There was still too much on his mind. He turned on the TV, turned down the sound, and dialed room service to order more food. The channel was CNN. He watched the news flicker by silently as he put in his order for steak sandwiches, fries, and a couple of milkshakes. He couldn’t decide between chocolate and strawberry, so he ordered both as he watched President Kennedy and his hot actress wife receive foreign dignitaries at the White House. When a story about Egypt came on, John turned up the sound.
It was terrible. A bunch of fanatics calling themselves Ikhlas al-Din were killing jokers in Cairo—women and children as well as men. Fortune stared at the horrific images on the screen. He couldn’t believe that no one was protecting these people. That the authorities were allowing this to happen. Something had to be done.
Someone…someone had to do something.
He turned off the television, unable to watch any more. The words Lohengrin had spoken before they’d burned down his mother’s house came back to him. “You must find your destiny,” the German had said. “If God has need of you, and this is the path your honor demands, you must go.” John got up out of the chair and paced around the room. He didn’t know if God needed him, but there was sure as hell a bunch of poor devils in Egypt who did.
The doorbell rang and Fortune called out, “Yeah?”
The door opened. It was his food. A smiling bellboy wheeled it in with a flourish.
“Thanks,” Fortune muttered. He signed for it, and when the bellboy noticed the size of the tip he smiled even further.
“Thank you, sir.”
Fortune didn’t even notice that he left. He took the cover off the dish on the cart. The steak sandwiches and fries looked great and smelled even better, but suddenly his appetite had disappeared. He wanted to do something, but all he could do was pace.
He thought of Kate. How he had spoken about wanting to make a difference. He did. He did want to help people. What he went through to try to regain his ace …
And now. Here was another opportunity.
Most people never got one in their entire lives. So far, he’d had two.
He could take it, or he could go back to being Captain Cruller for the rest of his life.
He flopped down into the comfy chair. He had to think. Kate …
His heart’s desire?
When he closed his eyes, exhaustion took him. Fortune fell asleep.
He woke in the shower.
He didn’t remember getting into bed, sleeping, getting out of bed, undressing, and going into the bathroom. That bothered him.
But then a lot of things had been bothering him lately, and he still felt enough residual weariness to suspect that he hadn’t slept well at all. Given the events of the last couple of days, that was hardly surprising.
He felt for Isra’s presence in his mind, and found her, silent, curled up like a kitten in a dark corner. He still wasn’t sure what to think of her, of what her presence in his life offered him, for good and bad. He pondered as he washed his hair, soap-slick fingers slipping over the amulet that weighed like a stone against hi
s forehead. He was getting into deep waters. Maybe deep enough to close over his head and drown him. John had no illusions about himself. He liked to think that he was reasonably bright, but he knew he was terribly inexperienced in the ways of the world. He had been sheltered and protected all his life, and he suspected that, by nature, he was a little more trusting—all right, naive—than most. He pondered this as he dried himself off, and went back into the bedroom to dress in his borrowed clothing.
But if he could believe in Isra, if he could trust her, she offered him the type of life that he had once tasted, and lost. Not that he regretted the loss of his ace. Not much, anyway. He could have done good with it, but clearly it was out of control. Whether his ace had been inherently unstable or something in Fortune himself had been tacking—training, focus, willpower—he knew that his father had sacrificed his life to save him, and perhaps save the entire world as well.
But that stage of his life was over. Isra was offering him entry onto a new stage. If he could believe her. If he could trust her.
The phone rang. He had a sudden premonition.
“John?”
“Hello, Mom.” He didn’t ask her how she’d managed to track him down. Peregrine had her ways. And her detectives. “Sorry, I meant to call you last night—I mean, last morning, but I guess I fell asleep.”
“Thank God you’re all right.” Peregrine sounded relieved. That was good. “You are all right?”
“Sure, Mom.”
“That’s good.” Solicitous. “Now I won’t feel so bad about killing you.” Not so solicitous.
“Uh—”
“Do you know how worried I’ve been?”
“Yeah, uh—”
“Do you know that you and your idiotic friends burned my house down?”
“Yeah, uh, I’m really sorry—”
“My Emmys melted!”
“Mom,” Fortune said quickly, “I’m, really, really sorry about that. But it couldn’t be helped. It was the lion. She breathes fire, and Lohengrin frightened her—”
“The lion.” Ice cold. This was not good. “I see. I hear, also, that that amulet, that thing, is in your head. I should have thrown it away years ago!”