Thanks to Natters, Deana, Adrienne, Dylan, and Asilin :) Decided to post two chapters today :) Woo hoo :)
3. Old Habits Die Hard
Over twenty years now had passed since Imhotep had first come to New Verona. He'd spent his youth just north of Alexandria, living with his aunt and uncle on the family farm. That was to say, they'd tolerated him until the day he turned eighteen, upon which they had written him a check and told him never to set foot on their property again. Young Imhotep had been glad to go, for the restrictions they'd placed on him had been tedious at best and insufferable at worst. That was, indeed, the root cause of the clash between him and his family members, and as a teenager Imhotep had had that unavoidable tendency to, well...be a teenager.
It wasn't his fault that the police saw it as criminal mischief, right?
The money had run out a year later, and Imhotep had been taken under the wing of a local priest who saw something else in the young boy that had apparently gone unnoticed 'til then. Imhotep had entered the priesthood on his twentieth birthday, and had never looked back. He found it surprisingly easy to pledge his life to the mythical gods and goddesses that his people worshipped. Though they did it blindly, Imhotep prided himself on knowledge and understanding, and took care to research any point he made before passing it on to the populace.
Five years later he'd been transferred to the main temple at New Verona to assist the high priest there. Unbeknownst to all but a close few, the man was dying, and passed away a few months after Imhotep's arrival. In the flurry of grief which had followed, for the priest had been much loved, Imhotep had somehow become confidant to the heads of the two most powerful families in New Verona. He was unsure which one he had met first, but had sworn from the very beginning not to play favorite to either one. Except for few slips here and there, Imhotep was fairly sure his pledge had remained unbroken over the two decades that had followed.
Jonathan Montague had still been young when Imhotep had come to the capital, but over the years his youthful tendencies had not eased in the slightest. Twenty years ago, he had just been beginning his first term as prime minister, and his first act in the office had been to abolish term limits. He had a sort of likableness about him that belied his darker sides, but was generally reasonable and a fair leader when his own purposes allowed it. He was on his second wife when Imhotep made the acquaintance of the family. Imhotep could honestly not remember her name, and he wasn't sure Jonathan did, either. At the time little Richard Montague had been four years old, and while not advanced in years, he was certainly experienced in trouble-making. In some of his less charming traits Imhotep had recognized himself as a lad, and had made sure to keep a close eye on the boy throughout the years.
Then there was Seti Capulet, middle-aged and balding, exasperating and capricious, commanding respect for no other reason than that he was king. Imhotep tolerated the man but had never really taken a liking to him, though the two kept up all appearances of being good friends. His beautiful wife, Anck, and their tiny daughter Evelyn, born a few months later, were much more pleasant to be around, and Imhotep had grown close to them, as well. It had made Anck's recent death all the more heartbreaking, and Imhotep was impatient for Evelyn to come home from college so he could be sure she was all right. She had been as close to her mother as could have almost anyone, even after four years away from home.
"Father Imhotep?"
Imhotep looked up from his papers to find that the youngest Montague stood in the doorway. "Have a nice night in jail?" asked Imhotep, turning his attention back to his desk. "How's your hangover?"
"I'm sorry, I--"
"I don't want to hear it." Imhotep threw his pen down on the desk and sat back. "Why can't you go home? Is it your father again? What, is he asking you to quit drinking? Maybe get a job? Be responsible for once in your life?"
Rick's jaw was set and he stared straight ahead. "Done with the lecture yet?"
"Depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you heard me the first time."
"I hear you. It's just a matter of whether I listen."
Imhotep couldn't help smiling as he stood. "You're impossible. Unfortunately, I have known you since you were four, and if I really wanted to I could blackmail the hell out of you."
"You must be in a good mood, you never swear."
"Walk with me." Imhotep gestured for Rick to follow him down the corridor that lined the outer edge of the temple. "How's Rosaline?"
"Why don't you ask Daniel Mundy, I hear they're quite close these days."
"Somewhere out there, Rick, is a girl who you probably don't deserve. And someday, you're going to find that you can't live without her."
It took Rick a moment to reply, for a different woman, one considerably more beautiful than Rosaline, had appeared in his head, and he found it annoyingly difficult to get it out again. She had beautiful long brown hair and swirling green eyes, and her smile seemed affixed in his memory banks for all time. "Have you ever been in love?"
Imhotep also took a while to reply. "Yes."
"Are you still?"
The priest stopped at the open gate at the main temple wall. "I will love her until the day I die."
Beep beep! came a horn from the street, and the men looked to see a white sports car idled as impatiently as cars can at the curb. "I'd better go," said Rick. "I just wanted to check in."
"Be careful."
"Always." Rick skipped down the steps to the car with spirits considerably lightened, as chats with the priest usually ended. If he tried hard, he could even ignore the pounding headache which had accompanied him since last night. "What are you doing here?" Rick asked as he climbed into the back.
"We have a little problem," said Ardeth, not moving away from the curb. "There's been a...confrontation."
"A confrontation?"
"Well..." Ardeth looked over to Izzy, who occupied the passenger seat. "Would you call it a confrontation?"
Izzy contemplated it for a moment, then said, "No. I'd call it a war."
Rick closed his eyes. The headache was returning. "What...happened?"
Ardeth put the car in drive and pulled away from the temple. "Totally unprovoked. Bastards came out of left field."
"Just tell me."
Izzy decided to fill Rick in where Ardeth seemed at a loss for explanations. "Lock's little gang decided it would be a fun time to run our guys' car off the road. The Mustang, the red one that Henderson's been working on for years."
"Who else was in the car?"
"Burns and Daniels, who else? Lock and his boys pulled up beside them, words were exchanged, Daniels fired a shot, and they subsequently found themselves in a ditch."
"Was everyone okay?"
Izzy paused. "Define 'okay.'"
"Daniels shot someone, didn't he?"
"You know that whiny little piece of...I mean, uh, Spivey? He's in intensive care. Lock has promised retribution. Police showed up immediately, or our guys'd be dead for sure."
"What'd the police say?"
"Let Daniels off with a warning, unless Spivey dies. Chief-Holier-Than-Thou said--"
Ardeth shot Izzy a warning look, and Izzy quickly got the message. "Uh, I mean, Ardeth's uncle, he said any more problems and the instigating side is going to jail."
"He always says that."
"He's serious this time. I'm telling you, man, Lock is out for blood."
Ardeth cleared his throat theatrically. "If I may...I have a suggestion."
"I don't think I want to hear it," said Izzy. "This time one of your stunts could get us killed."
"It's not a stunt. It's an shrewd business decision."
"All right, all right, let's hear it."
With the full attention of his passengers, Ardeth forged ahead with his plan. "So the Capulets are holding a masque tonight, are they not?"
"I don't like the sound of this."
"I say we go to the masque. No one will recognize us; we'll be disguised. It's the perfect way to provoke Lock without actually getting in trouble for it. Lock will know it, but the police won't be able to prove we were there, how could we get tickets?"
"How could we get tickets?"
Ardeth gestured grandly with his left hand. "In the glove compartment, my friend, you will find five passes to the annual Capulet ball, courtesy of my uncle. Only he doesn't know he gave them to me."
"No," said Rick, as firmly as he could. "That's suicide. We are not going. We're not."
Ardeth caught his friend's eye in the rear-view mirror. "The girl from the Capulet limo. I'd wager she'll be there."
Rick didn't hesitate. Reaching for the glove compartment, he said, "Give me my damn ticket."
~*~*~*~
