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They had to wake up the new curator, Mr. Dailey, who blinked at them sleepily while they tried to explain. At last, when even Jonathan had fallen silent, Mr. Dailey turned to Evelyn.
"Miss Carmichael. Are these sorts of jokes your idea of professionalism? I was led to believe I was coming into a situation where the staff understood how to accomplish their tasks with a sense of decorum, and yet here I am, dragged from my bed in the middle of the night to listen to childish fairy stories. Is this some variety of … prank? Have your brother and your … fiance …" He looked Rick up and down with scorn. "Have they put you up to this?"
"No, you don't understand," Evelyn protested. "This is not a prank! These things have actually happened. There—" She groaned in frustration at the increasing irritation in the curator's face. If only they had brought Ardeth! But he was better used tracking the risen dead, and if she couldn't convince one supercilious Englishman that she was telling the truth, what kind of success could she hope to have in the man's world of adventuring? She couldn't rely on Rick's strong-arm tactics all the time.
Then again, if she hadn't lived through Hamunaptra and the days afterward, would she believe all these things were real—walking corpses, magical artifacts?
Evelyn considered that for a moment, looking at the curator's closed face and disbelieving eyes. Yes, she would have. She had always been alive to the magic of Egypt, both in the more common figurative sense and in the literal. Perhaps it was her Egyptian blood, or the years spent in boring English boarding schools dreaming of what her parents might be doing if they were alive today. But this man was as conventional as they came. It was no wonder he didn't believe.
"Never mind, Mr. Dailey," she said, patting his arm. "You're too clever for us by half, just a prank. So sorry to have awakened you. If you don't mind, I'll just take a peek in the stacks while we're here, do a bit of straightening, and then we'll be off, and you can get back to your bed."
His mouth opened in consternation, not certain how angry to be, or if he should be pleased at being included, or if he should order them all off the premises. At last he looked at Rick, standing there tall and imposing, and Jonathan, who he well knew was more than ready to talk his ear off given half a chance, and Evelyn herself, and decided a retreat was the most prudent thing.
"Why … yes. Perhaps I will just … You'll take care in the stacks?" he asked her, clearly remembering some of the stories about her past mishaps.
"Of course!"
"Yes. Of course. Well, then …"
"Good-night," Jonathan said cheerfully.
"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Rick offered.
At the mention of bugs, Mr. Dailey's eyes widened, and he hastened off.
Evelyn stifled a giggle. "That wasn't nice."
"What? That's a thing people say," he protested.
"Yes, but not usually to nice men like Mr. Dailey who are used to everything being clean."
He thought about that for a moment. "All right, you may have a point."
"Besides," Jonathan added, "that got rid of him and now we can do all that research you love so much without him looking over our shoulders."
Evelyn nodded. "True enough. Come along, then, both of you." She fixed Jonathan with a stern look. "But don't touch anything."
They looked at each other, shrugged, looked back at her, and nodded, and Evelyn couldn't help laughing. Scoundrels, both of them.
She led them to the stacks, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books as she craned her neck to see the upper shelves. The Tears of Isis … a number of legends spoke of them. There was an obscure text that would tell her what they were supposed to do, but where was it?
And then she found it … squarely in the hands of a young woman she didn't recognize.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
The other woman bristled, snapping the book shut with a force that made Evelyn wince for the fragile pages. "Who are you?"
"I am Evelyn Carnahan. I'm the librarian here."
An expression of utter panic passed over the woman's features, but she hid it almost immediately. It was only because Evelyn was so familiar with looking for those fleeting but telling expressions of guilt and panic in her brother that she noticed it in the first place. "Oh. In that case, I should introduce myself. My name is Alex Dailey."
Was it Evelyn's imagination, or was there a bit of a hesitation before the last name? She was tempted to go fetch Mr. Dailey and ask him if this woman truly was a relative, as she was implying … but he would not appreciate being awakened again so soon after returning to his bed. More, she was all but certain this Alex Dailey was lying about who she was, and imagined they would get better answers from her if they appeared to take her at face value.
So she put on an enthusiastic face and said, "Oh, are you the curator's niece? I've heard you were due to arrive."
"Have you?" The woman blinked, but if she was lying, she rallied quickly. "I was rather behind my time—I'm sure Uncle expected me several months ago."
"Travel trouble, then?" Jonathan asked, sidling over to Alex. "Such a lovely girl should have a protective travel companion."
"Which rather leaves you out, then, doesn't it, Jonathan?" Evelyn asked him, exasperated by his endless gullibility and weakness for pretty women. And Alex was quite pretty, Evelyn had to give her that. Big blue eyes, smooth braid of hair in a rich shade of nut-brown, even features—she was the very image of a charming Englishwoman.
Her brother cast her an irritated look, then turned back to Alex. "Have you seen the sights? I know a few lovely—"
"Graveyards," Rick interrupted, with a pointed look at his soon-to-be-brother-in-law.
Jonathan whitened at the reminder. "Ah. Yes. Well …"
"Oh, I adore graveyards," Alex exclaimed. "An odd taste, perhaps, but as the niece of an Egyptologist, not so surprising, I hope."
Evelyn reached out for the book. "It's rather late tonight—why don't I reshelve this, and we can all meet and take a tour in the morning?"
Alex held the book closer to herself. "I like a moonlight walk."
"I'm afraid you can't take the book out with you." Evelyn reached for it again, and Alex turned away, hugging the book to her chest.
"My uncle said it was all right." The pause before "uncle" was nearly imperceptible this time.
"Your uncle isn't the librarian," Evelyn pointed out.
"He's the curator."
"They are not the same thing. Entirely different skill sets." Although Evelyn was fairly certain she could handle the job of curator if anyone could be convinced to give it to her.
"Perhaps I should go ask him." Alex didn't move to do so, however.
Holding Alex's gaze, she said, "You know how cranky he is when awakened in the middle of the night. And we've already had to wake him once tonight. He'll have just gotten back to sleep, and won't be pleased in the least to be disturbed again because you want to break a rule and take a book from the library he's responsible for."
Alex blinked twice, rapidly, looking to Jonathan for support. "It won't do any harm."
"Yes, Evie, how could it?" he agreed, his eyes telegraphing that he was interested in the girl and didn't want Evelyn to irritate her.
Evelyn gave him a withering glare, hoping to remind him that there was much more at stake than his never-ending search for a suitably gullible woman. "Jonathan, perhaps you could show our new friend here some of the exhibits?"
"Oh, I've seen them. I'm simply fascinated by all things Egyptian," Alex gushed, but her eyes belied the girlishness of her speech, never leaving Evelyn's.
"Really? Well, I'm half Egyptian, you know," Jonathan told her. "Maybe you could let me fascinate you sometime."
Rick looked impatiently out the window. They didn't have time for this polite fencing match. Let Evelyn smooth things over later; for now they needed that book. He reached out and plucked it out of Alex's grasp, handing it to his fiance, ignoring Evelyn's roll of the eyes and Alex's startled gasp and Jonathan's "Hey!" "Jonathan," he said, "why don't you take Alex on a moonlight walk? I'm sure she'd enjoy your version of Egypt." He offered his brother-in-law-to-be an only slightly malicious grin.
"I, uh …" Jonathan glanced at Evelyn, as if for her permission, then apparently remembered that he had started this whole mess and probably wanted to be as far as possible from her sister when she had to fix what he had done. "Yes, of course. Shall we?" He held his arm out to Alex. That she didn't want to go was obvious; that she was well aware that Rick wasn't going to bother with the kind of polite dance around the truth she and Evelyn had been engaging in was equally so.
She gave in to the inevitable with a fairly good grace, Rick had to admit, taking Jonathan's arm and offering him what he clearly thought was a dazzling smile. "That would be lovely, thank you."
Only as they left the room did Rick consider that Jonathan would be putty in the girl's hands, and by then it was too late. And Evelyn already had the book open, flipping rapidly through the pages, scanning the lines in her search for answers. "Oh, this looks like it … no, no, not exactly," she murmured to herself, frowning over the page. "Maybe a bit further?" She turned another few pages, more slowly now. "Ah, this is closer. To raise the dead …" Her lips moved silently as she read down the page.
Rick restrained his curiosity for as long as he could, which wasn't long. "What does it say?"
"Patience."
"It says patience?"
Evelyn withdrew her attention from the book long enough to give him a withering glance.
"What?"
"If you'll let me read this in peace, I'll be able to tell you what we need to do faster."
"Why is it always we? Couldn't Jonathan fix his own messes every once in a while?" he asked plaintively.
This time, Evelyn didn't bother to look up from the book, even though he was sure she'd rolled her eyes. "Would you trust Jonathan to fix a broken boot heel?"
"No, but then, I get a lot of wear out of my boots."
"Will you kindly let me work?"
He sighed. "All right." To think, it had started out as such a nice night. Good friends, celebration … he should have known it wouldn't last. "Evelyn, do you think we're going to end up making a habit of this kind of thing?"
"Which kind of thing?"
"The kind of thing where we always end up in the middle of a mess with ancient curses and mummies."
She looked at him over the top of the book, quirking her eyebrow in a way he found utterly adorable. "You mean, in contrast to the type of mess you're more used to finding yourself in the middle of?"
He winced, and to his chagrin, could feel himself blushing. "I knew I was going to regret telling you about that."
Evelyn smiled, snapping the book closed. "Oh, you are indeed."
"Did you find it?"
"Yes. It says the Tears of Isis are only a myth."
"Great. Just what we needed to hear."
"Ah, but it also says that in mythology, they could only be used by a black magician, and …" Her face fell, her voice losing its triumphant tone. "And only he can reverse the spell."
"So all we have to do is find the fellow who convinced Jonathan to do the dig, talk him into reversing the spell," he patted the gun at his hip, indicating his preferred method of persuasion, "and we can go home and get ready to get married?"
"Something like that."
"Well, then. Easy as pie."
Evelyn shook her head. "Oh, I wish you hadn't said that."