Curse of the Egyptian Goddess Read online

  Curse of the Egyptian Goddess

  An Urban Fantasy Novella

  By Lisa Rayns

  Copyright © 2011 by Lisa Rayns

  http://www.lisarayns.com

  Also available in print.

  ISBN-13 # 978-1466486089

  ISBN-10 # 1466486082

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Acknowledgements

  First, I would like to thank my family and friends for all their support with my writing dream. Their faith in me has been inspiring. Next, I’d like to thank my wonderful writing group and critique partners for providing a constant flow of motivation and feedback.

  Chapter 1

  Consciously, I allowed the pinkish sunrays to reach my pupils. After several blinks, fuzzy images appeared and confused my relaxed state of mind: a windshield with one tiny crack on the driver’s side–my blue sedan. Without moving, I let my eyes wander. My purse sat beside me on the seat. Out the windows I saw an empty parking lot and a white, brick building. I was parked beside the bar. I never left.

  Had I been that drunk?

  As I reached into my purse for the car keys, pain jolted through my muscles like lightning. Suddenly, I knew my problem wasn’t alcohol. Panic registered behind my eyes, and I struggled to fit the key into the ignition. When it finally slid in, the tires squealed as the car took off by command of my shaking foot. My whole body shook. Home was the only thought I allowed in my head.

  The early morning traffic was light, and I didn’t live far, but the aches intensified with every mile. When I finally reached my parking spot, I threw open the door and jumped out of the car. My legs didn’t support me. I crumpled to the ground. Aches turned into screaming streams of pain as my body hit the concrete in a fetal position. My legs felt like putty, and I couldn’t seem to move them. Gritting my teeth, I tried to fill my lungs with the much needed oxygen.

  “Emma?” a familiar voice called out to me from across the street. “Are you all right? I saw you fall.”

  My shaking fingers fumbled to tuck my necklace inside my shirt and zip up my lightweight jacket before he arrived. Once safe, I slowly raised my head to my neighbor and forced a reassuring smile. “Hi Dave.” My voice sounded raspier than normal.

  The oil stains on his jeans and gray T-shirt told me what he was doing up so early. He leaned down and pulled me up with his muscular arms.

  “Thanks. I seem to have had a little too much to drink.” Once on my feet, I felt a twinge of hope…until he let go. I fell back into the seat of my car, realizing that I was unable to stand on my own. “Um…” I looked at him dumbfounded, then at my apartment building. The gray, three-story building stared back at me, teasing me. I was so close. “Would you mind helping me inside?” I asked, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

  “Sure.” He carefully lifted me to a standing position and encircled his arm around my waist to help me walk. When he realized my legs were doing more to trip me than to help us along, he scooped me up and carried me like a small child.

  His flowing blond hair tickled my face as I concentrated on trying to hold in the pain and stop shaking. Once inside my first floor apartment, he set me down on the sofa. He wasn’t even out of breath from the ordeal, but concern shadowed his face.

  “Look, do you want me to call a doctor? Or an ambulance? I could drive you. You don’t look very good, and you’re shaking all over.”

  “No, thanks though.” I raised my hand and fought for the energy to wave it off like it was no big deal. “I’m fine, just a little…or maybe way too much to drink, that’s all. I’ll be fine once I get some sleep.”

  “Well, if you’re sure that’s all it is.” A wave of sympathy flooded his face. “I’ve been known to crawl home a time or two myself,” he said, adding a wink.

  I smiled, grateful to be in my apartment and thankful the ache ceased when I wasn’t moving.

  David Allvy was one of the few people I felt comfortable around. After complimenting his ’68 Firebird one time last year, he took me in and called me a friend. His love for his car, coupled with the time he spent in his garage accounted for his recent divorce from wife number two. We had a neighborly relationship, but most often I thought of him as a long lost uncle. Except he was safer than any relative of mine. He was handsome, muscular, and five years older than me, but more importantly, he hadn’t been affected by my curse.

  “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

  “What?” My head jerked upward, causing a new ripple of pain to shoot through my upper body. I muffled my whimper with a fake cough.

  His hands darted up in a quick surrender. “I mean, would you be more comfortable sleeping it off in there?”

  Relief flooded me as I let myself relax. “Oh. No, thanks, really. You’ve already done enough for me today. I owe you one.”

  “All right.” He pulled an afghan off the back of the sofa and laid it over my body. “At least you won’t get run over in here.”

  “That is a plus. No birds will shit on me either.”

  He chuckled before he headed toward the door. “Call me if you need me, and I’m glad you made it home.”

  “Thanks.” I managed one last smile to placate him.

  When he left, my anxiety eased, and I tried to calm down with happy thoughts of being home. I looked around my small one bedroom apartment that only held the bare necessities: Brown sofa, white table, small black television on a stand.

  Home wasn’t really home anymore.

  I’d always lived in Madison, Wisconsin. Whenever my family wasn’t traveling, it was where we hung up our shovels. Up until two years ago I lived in the same large estate I’d grown up in, but when my dad died, I moved out. The house still waited for me, but I couldn’t bring myself to enter it. After all, it was my fault that my whole family was dead.

  Twelve hours after I laid my head on the arm of the sofa, I awoke to the sound of a blender in the upstairs apartment. Darkness loomed outside the small living room window. I raised my eyes enough to see the green illuminated clock on the microwave. Seven o’clock pm.

  A slight panic ran through me when I remembered what I was doing on the sofa. Thoughts rushed into my head, and I couldn’t hold any back. Did it really happen? Or maybe I did just drink and dance too much. Maybe I dreamt it. My heart fluttered briefly as more thoughts entered my mind. Should I call Chad? He was with me, wait, no he wasn’t. He left the bar before me, and he wasn’t there when it happened.

  Frustrated with my own questions, I slowly made my way to the kitchen. Though the aches and pains were still intense, they were better than they’d been before I slept, and I found that I could stand and walk with little effort. After taking four Ibuprofen and gulping down what seemed like a gallon of water, I grabbed an extra pack of smokes and a picture frame out of my bedroom.

  Once in the bathroom, I turned the water on and stared at my pale white face in the mirror. I looked like the living dead. My normally pink lips bore no noticeable color, and my eyes were a lighter shade of green than I’d ever seen them. My long black hair was matted and stuck together in clumps as though it had been wet before I’d passed out. Dark circles beneath my eyes stuck out like portals to Hell.

  Closing my eyes, I undressed and eased into the tub. The hot, stinging water felt like healing wat
ers. I enjoyed the sensation for a few minutes before I opened my eyes and scanned my naked body–bruised from my knee caps up.

  “I guess it really happened,” I mumbled.

  It’d happened before and I knew it would happen again, but before last night its timing had been more predictable, occurring only during the full or new moon. It was hard to explain. I called it my curse.

  I sank back in the tub and surrendered to the haunting memories.

  Ever since I’d put on the golden, snake necklace, I’d been attacked twice a month during the moon cycles. The attacks were made by a large, invisible snake that squeezed the life out of me until I passed out. I could feel its bumpy smooth skin under my fingers, I could dig my nails into its cool innards, but I couldn’t ever seem to hurt it. After ten years with the curse, I knew the damn thing didn’t want to kill me. Its goal was to make me suffer.

  As bad as the attacks were, I would gladly take them if they were my only punishment. But my curse didn’t stop there. It extended to every part of my life, causing bad luck for me and everyone I was close to.

  I coped with alcohol and nicotine–lots of alcohol and nicotine.

  Lighting a cigarette, I grabbed the 5x7 I’d brought from of my room. The ten year old picture had been taken next to my father’s dig in Egypt. I was wearing a yellow dress and holding a red flower. A little boy in a striped shirt had his arm around me. The hint of turquoise in his blue eyes made them unforgettable but that was where our differences ended. We both had dark hair, we were both ten, and we were both cursed.

  A pounding on my door pulled me out of thoughts, and I struggled to get out of the tub.

  “Just a minute,” I called loudly and then tossed my cigarette into the toilet. I quickly pulled on my full length robe; dreary pink and worn, but it covered all the bruises. Stumbling toward the door, I imagined finding Chad on the other side.

  Chad was my casual boyfriend but he always tried for more. He thought he could win me over by showing up unannounced at all hours of the night, thereby proving he was spontaneous and fun. He didn’t understand the real reason I wouldn’t get close to him–I didn’t want to hurt him.

  A shiny gold badge stared at me when I opened the door. “Detective Cade, Madison Police Department.”

  Fear wrapped around me like my cursed snake, making me shudder. “Can I help you?” I asked nervously.

  “Yes, you can,” the uppity detective said, slamming the badge into his white shirt pocket. His dark blue suit was as crumpled as his mood, and his brown eyes glared at me like venomous fangs. “Are you Emma Patrix?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.” His harsh tone made the request sound more like a command.

  “Okay.” I eyed the serious faces of the two uniformed policewomen standing behind the detective. “Did something happen?”

  He ignored my question. “You’re dating Chad Landchester. Is that right?”

  “Yes, casually. Why?”

  “Casually?” he mocked. “Is that why you were seen slapping him in the Captain’s Bar last night?”

  “I didn’t slap him,” I insisted, feeling like my life depended on clearing up the misunderstanding. “I merely brushed his hand away because…I don’t like people touching my necklace. Is this a joke? Are you trying to tell me he’s pressing charges?”

  The detective shook his head gravely. “I can assure you, this is not a joke. How long had you two been dating?”

  “Had? Had been dating?” I asked, my voice straining to a squeal. My heart sped up and black dots formed in front of my eyes. “What are you saying? Is he all right? Tell me what’s going on!”

  Mr. Cade raised his hand and looked up at the ceiling unsympathetically. “Calm down, miss, I only have one more question.”

  I calmed slightly, hoping he’d misspoke but internally I was praying a million prayers that Chad was suing me and pressing charges for the smack of his hand.

  “Ms. Patrix, where were you last night between two and six a.m.?”

  With his question, I knew I wasn’t being sued and suddenly I couldn’t breathe. Clutching my robe around my throat, I bent over to catch my breath. The room started to spin and I collapsed onto the floor.

  Chad was dead. I’d killed him too.

  Chapter 2

  The two policewomen helped me to my feet but my heart remained broken on the floor. I hadn’t let myself get attached to Chad, I hadn’t even slept with him in hopes that I could save his life but now that he was dead, I missed him like he was my best friend. Honestly, he was one of my only friends. He and David were the only ones I trusted because they were both healthy, strong, and neither one of them believed in curses. I thought he would survive. I thought if I kept him close yet at a distance, he would survive.

  But last night he tried to touch my necklace. I thought I’d smacked his hand away before his flesh connected but apparently not. Anyone who’d touched it before died a horrible death within days. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. My eyes blurred as my mind flew back to that painful memory.

  My mother was so beautiful ten years ago, even modestly dressed in one of her favorite soft cotton dresses. An Egyptian, born and raised, she fell in love with my father on sight. She used to tell me stories about star-crossed lovers, always adding “like your dad and I” to the sentence. Her face always glowed with happiness and kindness while she waited patiently for him to return from a long day at the dig site. She loved being a wife and a mother too.

  She liked to fix my hair and dress us alike. She took me everywhere, and she read a story to me every night at bedtime, even after I’d grown too old. I didn’t mind. I loved falling asleep to the sound of her soft voice.

  My mother noticed my necklace the day after I’d found it. She held it gently in her hand. “Oh, that’s…um…beautiful, sweetie. You didn’t get this from the dig, did you?”

  I lied, of course. Even if I had dug it up myself, it was still considered property of the excavation. “We bought them in town. Calvin has one too. His has a cat on it.”

  Three days later, I found my mother’s body, eyes bulging with a dark bruise around her neck.

  “I’m sorry ma’am. We’re going to need you to come downtown.”

  The sound of the detective’s hard voice broke my trance and ended the haunting vision. I turned to look at him but moisture in my eyes made the image appear fogged.

  “Oh, shit.” The woman beside me raised my arm a little and pulled back my sleeve. “You better look at this, detective.”

  Finally focusing when the man moved closer to me, I flinched away like he might strike me.

  “How did this happen?” he bellowed. “Did you get those bruises when you were fighting with Chad?”

  Unable to find the strength to retaliate, I started sobbing stupidly. Physically exhausted from the snake attack and mentally drained from finding out Chad was dead and then remembering my mother’s death, I just had nothing left to say. I was ready to crawl into a cell and let them throw away the key so I couldn’t hurt anyone else.

  The second policewoman poked and prodded around my robe, trying to see how far the bruises went up. When she reached for my neck, I reeled in my tears and slapped her hand instinctively. “Don’t touch it!”

  “All right, ma’am,” she said, pulling her hands away, “but we need to know the full situation here. Would you mind showing me in the bedroom, away from the detective?”

  I nodded, only because I knew she wouldn’t take me to jail if I showed her. I would be taken to the hospital, like I had been every other time someone caught a glimpse of the dark bruising–another reason I kept my distance from most people. The doctors stood around and scratched their heads, wondering how I’d gotten so bruised without having any broken bones. They gave me morphine, observed me, and then sent me home a couple of days later with a huge bill. I didn’t mind the morphine.

  The cop followed me when I stumbled into the bedroom, and she e
ven kept a somber face when I opened my robe. Only her voice gave away her shock, “How did this happen?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Her face softened only slightly. “If you don’t, it’s not going to be good for you.”

  I shrugged, then cringed when pain shot through my body. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

  “All right,” she said, casting off any sympathy that had accumulated. “We’re going to take you to the hospital now, but we’re going to need pictures of the bruising. If this goes to court, it may help you or it may ruin you, but my job here is to collect the evidence.”

  “This isn’t evidence,” I insisted, pulling my robe closed. “Am I going to be charged?”

  She shook her head carelessly. “It’s too soon to say.”

  “Fine,” I grumbled, averting my eyes. “Can I get dressed now?”

  When she nodded and left the room, I used my precious time to formulate a quick plan of escape. I had to find Calvin. I needed him. I wasn’t prepared to deal with a murder wrap, and he was the only person who would understand my situation. He’d always found a way to get us out of trouble as kids, and I was sure he’d know what to do. But even if he didn’t, I desperately wanted him near me right now.

  I grabbed the picture of us and threw it into a backpack with an extra change of clothing. I hadn’t seen Calvin since days after the photo was taken, and I knew he wouldn’t look the same, but the picture comforted me somehow. Just having it along made me feel closer to him and gave me a sense of hope.

  After a quick phone call to a private investigator, I returned to the police who had invaded my home. They allowed me to grab my purse out my car before they shoved me into the back of the squad car. At least they didn’t put handcuffs on me, but that was hardly consoling when my neighbors gawked out their windows curiously.

  The hospital tests, police photos, and questions I couldn’t answer continued until morning. Luckily, they didn’t have enough evidence to charge me yet, so they didn’t leave a cop outside my door. Mr. Cade, however, handed me a stern warning before he departed for the day: “And don’t leave town, Miss Patrix.”