The Witching Hour

The words on the page blurred when I squinted at them for what seemed to be the thousandth time that day. Even with bright sunlight filtering through the window, my eyes were refusing to focus on the lines of hieroglyphs I had been hoping to finish translating. It was not as though I absolutely needed to complete the translation, since I was sure that my work would only be rejected due to my lack of experience. If I dwelled on that fact for very long, however, I would probably end up dead drunk in the Winter Palace, which would never do. It would fit the reputation I had mysteriously gained over the years for being a little too ... opinionated, and if I knew anything about reputations, usually they were completely false, born from mere rumour. But of course, rumour could too easily become truth.

With a bitter sigh, I pushed away the muddled paper I'd been scribbling on and rose, itching to do something that didn't involve sitting uselessly behind a desk. My dream to become a real archaeologist had not yet been fulfilled, but I had not quite given up. Each day since the tomb's opening, I had ventured down to its dusty entrance to watch the seemingly endless stream of workers going in and out of the tomb carrying various tools and baskets full of sand. Once or twice I saw Mr. Carter emerge from the depths, talking excitedly to one of his colleagues. No one appeared to notice my presence; I suppose they took me for a curious tourist.

Since the opening of the tomb, nothing untoward had occurred to explain the strange wind that had come up. Nor had anything occurred to prove to me that I had not merely been hallucinating. With the heat that day, I wouldn't be extremely surprised if I had been. Either that or something magical had been nearby, my own abilities alerting me to its presence. The Ancient Egyptians were known to use magic, especially in the sealing of tombs to protect the pharaoh's soul on its journey to the afterlife. The tomb of Tutankhamun was nearly intact, having been resealed by the priests, who would have, of course, made sure that the spells on the tomb were in working order.

But all that was merely conjecture. The magic of the Ancient Egyptians had been long forgotten. Hell, their language had only been rediscovered in the last one hundred years! It was one thing to learn an ancient language, but quite another to learn their magic as well.

I pushed back my chair, still rubbing my eyes. There could be no harm in me taking a long walk through Luxor and treat myself to dinner at one place or another. It wasn't like Cairo, where a person could nip into the grand market and eat one's fill on however much one could discreetly grab from the stalls. No, Luxor was still quite small when compared to the capital up the river. Either I would be caught and my hand promptly chopped off or I'd been seen by some scandalised acquaintance of mine. Knowing my luck, I'd been seen by a prospective employer, not that it was likely they'd have given me a job in the first place.

Grabbing my wand from its place in my desk drawer, I shoved the papers on my desk into decently organised piles and left to change. I couldn't exactly walk into the Winter Palace wearing an eccentric mix of native and European clothing. I might as well wear an overly-revealing scarlet dress. The question of which would be more gossip-provoking came to mind. It would certainly be an interesting experiment ... but not that night. All I wanted was a quiet evening walk through Luxor proper and perhaps the temple ruins as well. Such a walk would clear my mind and hopefully put an end to my melancholy. In the end, I decided on a simple white shirt and calf-length fawn skirt. It was as plain and modest as my wardrobe would allow me. A quick spell repaired the moth-eaten hem of the skirt, then I was ready to head into the wide world. Well, perhaps not with such enthusiasm. Taking a walk would be preferable to sitting inside all day long, making myself go blind over my books and alternately suffering bouts of self-pity, but it would not be something I would particularly enjoy.

After a walk down a dusty road and a harrowing ferry ride across the Nile, I managed to arrive on the East Bank none the worse for wear. The village ferry was usually less crowded than the tourist ones, but unfortunately, it did not receive the same degree of upkeep. I was never a fan of boats, even less so after my sojourn in Egypt. Sneaking behind a well-placed palm tree, I dusted off my clothes, making me presentable enough for entry to the Winter Palace, as tempted as they may be to send me through the servant's entrance. Come to think of it, that would have been a better choice. At least then I would not have run into the most annoying Smythe.

Entering the restaurant awarded me with a number of strange glances that were entirely unwarranted. What was wrong with a single young Englishwoman wanting a nice meal? I sat down and placed an order, glaring right back at a rather plump woman wearing a dress that would have been in fashion perhaps twenty years before. When she sniffed and looked away, I smiled to myself, then focussed my attention on my teacup. I couldn't help but wonder sometimes if the fact that I was a witch was evident to everyone, including muggles. That could explain why some of the society here had immediately taken offense to my presence, but then again, so could have my choice of taking rooms in the village instead of at an European establishment. I wasn't about to let the world know that I had no money.

My eyes widened suddenly and I reached into my pocket, praying that I indeed had enough for dinner, or just enough for the cup of tea I was drinking. One, two, three ... no, it wasn't quite enough. I was short a few shillings.

"Merde," I muttered under my breath, trying to ignore the low growl emanating from my stomach. If there was one piece of advice I took from my mother, it was to only swear in French or, even better, in an unrecognizable language.

"Now that's not a very lady-like thing to say," an amused voice said from beside me. "It's not a wonder that lady in the old dress over there is looking at you in such a way."

"Blast," I said, quietly enough so that only he would hear. "What the bloody hell are you doing in here?"

There was a flash of off-white as he grinned. "Mind if I join you, Miss Blakeney? My treat."

I bit back the scathing reply my mind was planning and chose to listen to the complaints of my stomach. It would be difficult to keep from biting his head off during this conversation. Too bad I hadn't brought my wand with me.

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Smythe. Please, sit down."

Of course by the time that I'd said that, he was already sitting across from me.

"Now," he said lightly. "In answer to your question, I came here to catch up with Luxor's social scene. I suppose that you're doing the same?"

My smile was so forced that I felt as though it had been drawn upon my face by that Spanish artist Picasso. "You can suppose what you like of me, Mr. Smythe, everyone else seems to enjoy that pastime."

"Tut, tut. Bitter, are we?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I snorted loudly, making the frumpy woman across the room look even more discomfited.

"Indeed I am, and if you knew me better, you might figure out the reason why."

He winked. "I wouldn't mind knowing you better, Miss Blakeney. It's not everyday that a man like me meets a woman like you."

Choking on the tea biscuit I'd been promptly devouring, I tried as best I could to take control of my growing annoyance with the person I was sharing a table with. If he had not been paying for the meal, I'd have up and left as soon as he showed his face.

It took a couple extra sips of tea to get my throat back under control.

"I can tell you one thing, Mr. Smythe, and that is if you knew me better, you honestly wouldn't like what you saw."

His dark eyes flared with interest. "And just for that reason, I'd take the chance," he said with what seemed to be a natural cockiness. "I've always loved a girl with mystery."

Oh for Merlin's sake! He took every word I said and turned it around to benefit himself. I'd never win when it came to arguing with him. It was like he was running circles around my mind, and I could not let that continue. I was a Black, after all. So I ignored his last comment and instead signalled for the waiter, unable to contain my hunger any longer.

Once the food arrived, he asked, "Have you been to the tomb since the opening?"

"I go when I hear about the removal of a significant object," I replied between bites of chicken and peas. Damned if I'd tell him that I went everyday, filled with childish hope. With my luck, he'd already been inside the tomb and was only waiting to gloat.

"Me neither. I'm not really the type that they'd offer an invitation to."

So perhaps I wasn't right all the time. I didn't think that anyone was keeping track of such things anyway.

"Most of the people in Luxor now are in the same boat," he continued. "What I'd do to get into that tomb. From what I saw of you at the opening, Miss Blakeney, I'd say that you feel the same way."

I slammed my fork down on the table, causing the whole thing to shake rather precariously.

"How dare you think you can guess my thoughts, Mr. Smythe," I spat furiously. "First you barge in here and ruin my peaceful meal, then you go ahead and antagonise me while I'm trying to eat! There's only so much I can take -" I broke off, trapping the words on my tongue.

"Before what, Miss Blakeney?" he asked innocently, as though he hadn't even noticed that I was seriously annoyed with him.

This required quick thinking.

"Well, um, before I ungraciously stalk out of here vowing never to speak to you again." The alternate of wanting to turn him into a toad was rather cliched for my tastes.

He looked as though he were about to laugh. After such a threat, he really should not have been, but it was not the best of my threats. I had not threatened a cruel and unusual death, possibly because the consequences of killing him in front of all these people would not be pleasant.

"You probably would have done that anyway, Miss Blakeney," he said cheerfully, "if it had not been for the fact that I was treating you to a meal."

Damn him! Damn him to Hades and back! I'm sure the man would even find something amusing about hell, he was that blasted cheerful! I could simply not abide to remain in the company of such a person, even if it would mean missing out on dessert.

Rising from my chair, I threw the napkin from my lap onto my now-empty plate.

"Thanks very much for the meal, Mr. Smythe," I said in what I hoped to be my most sarcastically-ungrateful voice. "If only the conversation was as pleasant."

He rose and bowed gallantly. "The pleasure was all mine, Miss Blakeney."

I decided not to swear at him under my breath. He didn't deserve the attention.

Stalking out of the room while grumbling about annoying muggles, I hardly noticed my direction until I found myself in the middle of Luxor temple. With a sigh of relief and a quick glance behind me to check that I hadn't been followed by Smythe, or anyone else for that matter, I settled down for a relaxing evening strolling through Amenhotep's colonnade and the rows of sphinxes that lined the old road to Karnak. Among the monuments of a bygone era, I was in my element. It was impossible to count how many times I had translated the worn away hieroglyphs or gazed in wonder at the sheer beauty of the site as a whole. Places like this were the reason I had chosen Egypt over anywhere else in the world.

Until the sky grew too dark to see well enough, I scribbled notes in my little book, rechecking a symbol in one place or trying to copy an inscription before it disappeared entirely from human sight. The bustle of the town continued around me, but when I started to hear the sounds of night, I knew it was long past the time I should have started the journey back to my rooms. It really wasn't a long walk to the ferry from the temple, except for the fact that I'd probably missed the last Balidi Ferry to the village. The tourist ones ran longer into the night for those who were taking a moonlight stroll through the archaeological sites.

But tourists travelled in herds, rather like sheep, and I was very much alone.

Looking about the temple ruins, I realised how very much alone I was. Although there was the constant sound of human life bubbling in the surrounding streets, I could not see anyone else in the ruins. The hairs on the back of my neck were rising as though someone was watching me, but who? It was not a feeling I particularly enjoyed.

Walking towards the entrance, I began to recognise the feeling. It was similar to the one I had experienced at the opening of the tomb. Whatever was out there watching me did not belong in this world. It must have sensed my magical ability and focussed its attention on me because I did not belong either. As far as I knew, there were no other witches or wizards closer than Cairo at the branch of Gringotts there. None of the recent tourists were of my kind; one could just tell if someone was a witch or wizard, even if they appeared in the same guise as a muggle.

Biting my lip, I continued walking down the pathway between the rows of sphinxes. My hands were beginning to tremble as I imagined spectres leaping out from behind each stone. The eyes of each statue seemed to be watching my movements. Alone, I definitely was not.

Surreptitiously, I reached into the folds of my blouse to obtain my wand, only to find that I had left it at my lodgings. I was doing that more and more often since I was hardly ever using magic. With each passing year, I was becoming more of a muggle, doing things my hand that I'd have scorned in my old life back in England. Even when I did use magic, I'd sometimes forget the words of a spell, or what wand motion to use. Either I'd have to get back into practise or I'd lose my capabilities altogether, becoming no better than a bloody Squib. And now, now when I could have used my magic, I was defenceless against whatever was there, stalking me like a cat.

But I was no mouse.

When I finally reached the entrance to the temple, I kept my back against the wall, glancing about to try and see if anything or anyone was about. There were some carousers further down the street, singing bawdy songs and obviously would be of more a hinder than help. Most of the houses were dark, making me wonder just how long I'd been sitting out in the temple. I was sure that I'd packed up my things just after sunset, but perhaps it'd been later than that. Either that or my journey out of the temple had taken an impossibly long time.

With whatever it was out there watching me, I really shouldn't have been surprised. Beings like the one I thought it was had strange control over the world and over time. It wanted me in this place at this particular time, and I was beginning to get worried as to the reason why.

One of the shadows to my left moved. Only slightly, but enough to put me on guard. I ducked out of the way just as a heavy-looking stick wacked at the air where my head had been a moment before. Falling upon the terribly dusty ground, I rolled away from the next attacker as he - it had to be a he - kicked out with his legs. The boots on his feet told me that I wasn't dealing with any petty thieves or beggars. These men meant business, which put me in a very difficult position. The only weapon I had was a dull pencil and my bare hands. Everyone knew that Slytherins never fight with bare hands - that was reserved for those silly Gryffindors - but it seemed as though I would have no choice at this particular moment.

So I gave the kicking man a swift kick in the knee. The resounding crack was quite stomach-turning, but at least it temporarily stopped him from trying to impale me with his extremely large foot.

Picking myself off the ground and desperately trying not to imagine what that terrible stain on my skirt was, I was pushed hard against the nearest wall, feeling my head swim as the brick came in contact with the back of my head. I felt the man pressing against me with his entire body, his breath stinking of that Russian "water of life".

He began to laugh; I could feel the movement of his stomach muscles against my own and it disgusted me beyond reproach. With one arm, he had me pinned, while the other was reaching towards the buttons on my blouse. I watched that hand come closer and closer, the feeling of dread growing with every moment. His partner was rising from the ground, swearing as he limped over to the other side of the street. The sweat was glittering on his brow in the moonlight and his breath was heavy.

One out of two wasn't so bad, after all.

Then something came to mind. I felt so foolish to have not thought of it before.

But would it work? That was the question. Even though I did have my licence, Father had never approved of using apparition in and around the house. He called it lazy. So I'd never really apparated since my test, um, quite a few years before.

While I was standing in the street being attacked, however, I called it a godsend.

A knife suddenly appeared in the hand of my attacker, who grinned menacingly as he brought it to rest against the flesh of my now-exposed collarbone. Closing my eyes, I made a mental picture of my lodgings. There was the desk, covered in papers. Then behind it was a small window. In front of the desk was my rug, not that it liked being referred to as a rug. I focussed on that colourful floor-covering, with its ornate Persian designs woven upon it.

As the knife flicked away the first button, leaving a small gash on my chest, I vanished with a loud pop! landing on the aforementioned rug and promptly falling over. It was only too bad that I hadn't gotten the opportunity to see the faces of my attacker when he found that the woman he'd been pinning to the wall was no longer there. However, that feeling didn't come until much later, after I had washed away the smell of his body and was able to block the grin on his face from my mind. Lying on the rug, I took in deep, gasping breaths as I tried to control the trembling of my muscles. That had been far too close for comfort.

"Sitt, are you alright?" asked a shy voice from the doorway.

Standing there, staring at me with wide, liquid brown eyes, was the youngest son of my landlady. I jumped up and felt my face flush with embarrassment. My day was going from bad to worse. It was definitely time to get myself to bed.

"Yes, Hasim," I replied, my voice rushing over the words. "I just tripped over my carpet."

He tilted his head and looked down at the rug with curiosity.

"Did it mean to trip you, Sitt?"

I shrugged. "It has a mind of its own." Haha, how true that statement was!

"There's an effendi to see you," he said, giving me a look filled with suspicion, as though he doubted my virtue.

"What sort of effendi?" If it was Mr. Smythe, there would be enough time to escape through the window. I was small enough to fit through the hole. I knew that from experience.

"What other sort is there?" he asked querulously with a small sneer. "He looks like he comes from the same place that you do. All pale and sickly."

Smythe was dark-haired with tanned skin. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'll see him then, I suppose," I told him in what I hoped was a kind voice.

He rolled his eyes and left the room at his usual shuffling pace, probably wondering why his mother had taken on such a mad lodger. I wouldn't be surprised if they thought me some sort of afrit or otherwise inhuman creature. I certainly felt like one at the time.

As soon as he was out of sight, I leapt behind the desk and rummaged through the drawers until my hand came upon my wand. It was a rather pretty thing of mahogany, about ten inches long, which a very nice carved handle. Father had paid dearly for it, I remembered with a small frown when I saw a small dent in the wood. Then I heard approaching footsteps in the hall, so I quickly set aside thoughts about where the dent had come from and focussed more upon my appearance. The rips in my blouse were quickly repaired and the buttons were put back in place. Just when the door was opening, I slipped the wand into my hair to keep all the strands in place.

I turned back to the door and smiled. The man who appeared at the door was not at all sickly looking. Hasim was obviously biassed in what he believed to be sickly and what was not. The man who stood there staring back at me was very tall and slender - he was forced to stoop slightly in the doorframe - with reddish-blond hair that covered his head in boyish waves. His eyes were a stormy grey, and I was sure that other colours would appear at a closer inspection. He was very well-muscled and had an aura of authority and self-sufficiency that did not at all ring of Smythe's cockiness. No, this man was definitely no Mr. Smythe.

"Helen Blakeney?" he asked in a melodic voice that immediately put him in the category of the upper-class, well-educated Englishman.

I reached out my hand to fill the distance between us. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. -"

"Cadogan," he supplied with a small bow before he took my hand in his for a moment longer than necessary.

"And have you been in Egypt long, Mr. Cadogan?" Obviously, he hadn't. That much I could tell from the type of clothes he wore and the way he acted. Many social rules were not so strictly adhered to at such a distance from Britain, and people tended to wear lighter clothing, unlike this man's black woolen City suit. Such things were simply not worn in Egypt.

"I just arrived and have been enchanted by both the land and its occupants." With this last statement, he gave me a look that would have amounted to a wink had he not been so well-bred.

Grabbing some books off of a rickety chair, I invited him to sit down, but he refused with a flowery apology.

"I'm afraid that I cannot stay for long, Miss Blakeney, even though spending more time in your charming company would be agreeable." I had hardly known the man for five minutes and he was already flirting with me. There had to be a catch in this somewhere.

"May I enquire as to your business then, sir?" I asked courteously.

He stepped forward onto the rug. I looked down at it with alarm as the tassels began to squirm, then firmly placed my foot upon them. Quiet, I voiced silently. Fortunately, it chose that moment to actually listen to my commands.

"Of course, forgive me," Mr. Cadogan said. "I am in need of someone with knowledge of the area and of its history. I was referred to you as one who would suit the job better than anyone else."

I flushed brightly, only then noticing that there was still a spot of blood on my blouse. That only increased the amount of red on my cheeks.

Perhaps things were starting to look up for me. How many times does a handsome and polite man walk through one's door and offer a job that you just can't resist? But later on, after he had left, I began to wonder why he had appeared at such a strange time of day, unless of course it was in fashion to call on people just before midnight. All the same, I wasn't going to refuse him, even if he was crooked. It wouldn't be much different than my jobs in the past.

I went to bed that night ready to dream about finding priceless antiquities in unexplored tombs with Mr. Cadogan to congratulate me in any way he chose. Of course, those dreams never came, because I didn't sleep at all. The damn neighbour's tomcat had chosen that night to sit outside my window and caterwaul to all the ladies that he was in the market for a mate. I wondered how any self-respecting lady-cat would answer such a terrible noise. It rather reminded me of Smythe's forward comments earlier that evening. The very thought of that most annoying man caused me to turn over and cover my ears with the pillow, wondering how the world had let itself be overrun by fools.