Author's Note: Just a few quick comments, then I'll get to the reviewers.
First, during Anck's meeting with Imhotep in this chapter, she initially
speaks to him in Spanish. I have the translation in that section, but here
it is anyhow: 'Yo compro libros para mis clases.' 'I'm buying/I buy books
for my classes.' Secondly, Evy and Celia both refer to an incident
involving Celia's Hungarian friend Margit. I did NOT make that up. The
incident in question actually happened to a friend of mine while she was on
her way to the United States.
Reviewers:
Kelekona8: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
Brunette: Te gusta? Ahh, muy, muy bien! Estoy muy contenta! Negatory? I haven't heard that since we gave up our CB in the late eighties! And I'm also a LOTR fan. I like to drive my family crazy by imitating Gollum/Smeagol.
Sailor Elf: (snickering) I'm sure it won't surprise you to find out that I really enjoyed writing that section, Celia standing up to Rick like that. And you only think he's crazy sometimes?????? I almost always think he's crazy!
Terreis: I couldn't resist that line of Alex's from TMR. It was too good to pass up. Sorry about the delayed update, but I had that assignment last week (which involved getting up at four am and working for ten hours). On the plus side, it only took me about two days to write this. I'm still figuring out where the heck that whole conversation between Anck and Imhotep came from. But they both yelled at me every time I even thought about changing it, and would you want Imhotep mad at you? Do the words, 'I think not' ring any bells?
Onto the story!
Part Six
Blessedly, there were no more confrontations the rest of the day for any of the three roommates. They went their separate ways after breakfast, promising to meet back at the food court for lunch at twelve thirty. Evy had classes at ten and eleven, while Anck had a class at nine thirty and another at eleven. Celia, on the other hand, had no more classes until one pm. For which she was very grateful, since her legs were still shaking from her confrontation with Rick O'Connell. She still couldn't believe she did that. Galen would kick her butt if he knew!
Which, of course, was why she had no intention of telling him. That was 'need to know' basis. Celia returned alone to their room, breathing a sigh of relief. They were in such a hurry to get out this morning, Celia couldn't remember if she locked it or not. The lone girl nudged the door shut with her hip and put her belongings on her bed. Since it was just her right now, she could afford to be sloppy. Celia went over to her computer and turned it on. It was a new thing, having modems in the rooms of the dorms, but she was glad of it.
She quickly logged in to check her mail, not really paying attention to her buddy list. So Celia was more than a little surprised when her computer froze momentarily, then a small box appeared in the upper left hand corner of the screen. However, the surprise changed immediately to delight when she saw whom was IMMing her. She clicked okay, and read, 'hello, Cecelia! I am glad I caught you today! : )'
Celia laughed softly and typed back, 'Yes, you caught me. Funny, too, 'cause as always, your timing is terrific.' A pause here, as Celia shook her hair out of her eyes. Maybe she should think about having this mop-top cut. Later. When she had more money and more time. Celia continued typing, 'Something happened today, Margit, and I need to talk to someone about it. Someone who isn't here.' She hit 'send.' Margit, like herself, typed quickly.
And within about thirty seconds came her reply, 'Then tell me, my friend. You know I will listen. BTW, is your English roommate there?' Celia bit her lower lip to keep from laughing aloud and possibly draw the ire of the students still sleeping in the dormitory. Margit typed next, 'You know, I believe she is uncomfortable with talking to me when I call you on the phone. Did you tell her about our unpleasant experience in Heathrow?'
'No, Evy isn't here right now. . .she has a class in fifteen minutes, and since this is the first day, she wanted to be there in plenty of time. And yes, I did tell her about that. {{{{blushing}}}} It was during an argument, so I wasn't particularly nice about it,' Celia answered. She blushed again. . .especially when Margit sent back a single, 'OHHHHHHH!!!!' Attending college in the United States was definitely affecting her friend's slang vocabulary.
'She must have made you very angry indeed, Cecelia!' Margit typed back. Well, yes, she did, actually. Margit continued after a moment, 'You know, in all the time I have known you, I have never known you to lose your temper. You have been impatient on occasion, and stubborn more than once, but you have never lost your temper. Not even in London. After you were here last Christmas, Mother asked me if you were ever anything *but* polite.'
Celia laughed softly, answering, 'Oh yes. Quite often. In fact, you should have been here today, Margit. I lost my temper. Again. This time with a man named 'Rick O'Connell.' Do you remember when I told you about Beni Gabor, our janitor? The immigrant who got so excited when I used some of the Magyar I learned from you? Well, it seems that Beni and Mr. O'Connell have a *past,* which came back to haunt Beni today.'
'Oh no. Tell me everything, Cecelia. First and most importantly, are you all right? Secondly, were you in your angel of vengeance mode? And thirdly, have you met any attractive males yet? You know some of my cousins were quite intrigued by you,' Margit typed. Celia rolled her eyes. This was actually nothing new for them. Margit was one of the few people who knew about the catastrophe with Neil Grady, and since that day, she polled her male cousins to find out their opinion of her American pen pal.
It was actually amusing, because her male cousins declared they all liked Celia, and would hop the first plane to the United States to avenge her honor. Amusing, touching, and terrifying. It didn't register that a little nothing like her would warrant such declarations, but Margit and her family considered Celia one of theirs. . .and they were fiercely loyal. The American girl answered, 'To answer your questions in order. . .I'm fine. Yes, I suppose you could say I swept in like an avenging angel, at least, that's what Beni would call it.'
She paused, debating about whether or not she should tell Margit about Ardeth Bey. She told Margit almost everything, because she was so far away. Half the time, Celia worried that if she told someone something. . .it would either end up getting back to them, or something else bad would happen. But Margit was safely in Texas. Besides, while she was single now, she had a boyfriend in the past, and she was better able to advise Celia. Anck could as well, but there was the added complication. Her friend was overwhelmingly protective of her. Margit was more supportive than protective, because of the distance between them.
'I met a guy today. Not sure how old he is, you know how pathetic I am at telling ages. But he's a teaching assistant, and Margit. . .he is beautiful. The most handsome man I've ever seen, and he's beautiful,' Celia answered. Margit responded with just one word. 'TELL!' Celia laughed aloud. . .should have seen that coming! The American girl typed, 'Well, he's probably a foot taller than I am. Long black hair, dark eyes. . .the color of dark chocolate.'
Celia concentrated, drawing his face into her mind, then went on, 'His name is Ardeth Bey, and he's from Egypt. He. . .you remember when I told you about Rick O'Connell, the guy who attacked my friend Beni? Well, Ardeth is that guy's stepbrother or something. We were never clear on those details. And I wasn't really paying attention to that, if you know what I mean.' Celia bit her lip. In for a penny, in for a pound. She would tell Margit everything.
. . .
As Celia Ferguson told her friend Margit about the young man she met that morning, Evelyn Carnahan was doing her level best to remain focused on her class. However, two things complicated that. One, the fact that her new instructor was droning on and on about nothing in particular. She didn't mind getting to know her instructor as the weeks passed, but that did not mean she wished to know his (or her) life story in the first class!
And the second thing. . .the second thing was that kiss. When O'Connell kissed her. In the food court. Right in front of his brother. Who was quite handsome himself, but for some reason, seeing him didn't turn her knees to water. No. . .no, he turned Celia's knees to water, and that was quite the shocker in and of itself. Evy started to wonder if she even liked boys. Hmmm. Maybe that was the difference. She didn't like boys, but she did like men, and Ardeth Bey was a *man.* Not a boy, not a guy, but a *man.*
And unfortunately, that line of thought drew her right back to O'Connell. It aggravated her really. Every time she closed her eyes (and even when she didn't), she could feel his lips pressed against hers. Could feel. . .oooooooooh! Oh for heaven's sake, it wasn't *that* good of a kiss! Evy jerked her head up and looked around, suddenly fearful that she spoke the words aloud. She didn't. Everyone else was still trying to stay awake through the lecture.
And a quick glance over at the instructor told her that he wasn't even paying attention to the class. Oh well. If he wasn't paying attention, neither would she. Evy was mulish in that respect. . .and since he wouldn't give them the respect of lecturing in an audible tone of voice, to say nothing of showing respect for the class he was teaching, she wouldn't give him the respect of her attention. Evy gulped, realizing she sounded just like Anck in that moment. Frightening. Truly, that was a frightening thought.
To distract herself from her boredom, her chagrin at thinking like Anck, and her own topsy-turvy feelings about O'Connell, she thought instead about her other roommate. Never, in a thousand years, would she have dreamed that a man like Ardeth Bey could attract Celia. They were polar opposites at first glance. He was tall, maybe an inch shorter than O'Connell, and Celia was the smallest out of the three of them.
She was a daughter of privilege, but from the impression she got of him, he was a child of royalty among his people. Just the way he carried himself. Not that Evy ever saw the Queen or the Queen Mother up close. She, her parents, and Jonathan were in Egypt entirely too often. But Evy did come from old English money, and she did know the aristocracy. Ardeth Bey was very young, no more than twenty-five, if that. But he carried himself with more dignity and nobility than most young men his age. No. . .he was no commoner. He was special.
Evy reflected a bit wryly that her American roommate would have kicked her arse, if Celia heard her say such a thing. Celia firmly believed that all people were special. Everyone had a story, Evy often heard her American friend say. She was the daughter of privilege, but her grandparents were common people, and she was fiercely proud of them both. Her grandfather was what was commonly called a roughneck, an Oklahoman who worked on the oil wells (Evy never knew there were oil and gas wells in Oklahoma!). Her grandmother was raised among the Indians of British Columbia after the deaths of her parents at sea.
It caused Celia's father no end of embarrassment, he a successful businessman, that his wife's parents were so poor. Struggling to describe her father's interaction with her maternal grandparents, Celia once told Evy to imagine Billy Zane's character in Titanic whenever he was around Leonardo di Caprio's character. It was an apt description, she added, because in his own twisted way, Cal actually loved Rose. As much as he was capable of loving anyone. Which didn't mean, Celia muttered with a cross look, that she would want Cal for her own man.
Of course she didn't. Celia would have killed him within a month, especially the first time he patronized her. And that brought her to what lay beneath, for both her roommate and Ardeth Bey. There was great ferocity in Ardeth Bey. She could see it in his eyes, in his tense carriage during the confrontation about Beni Gabor. Evy knew few soldiers in her life, but she imagined that a warrior would behave something like Ardeth.
She had no trouble at all picturing him in swirling black robes, with a sword in his hand. Wait a minute. . .he was Egyptian. That should be a scimitar. Much better. And yet, the image that kept coming to her mind was Ardeth in full battle dress, standing protectively in front of Ceci Gabor. And that was where the dichotomy came in. As fierce as Ardeth Bey was, a warrior angel like Michael. . .there was such gentleness in him.
She remembered glancing away from the confrontation between her roommate and Rick O'Connell (there was that man's name again!), to see little Ceci Gabor standing behind Ardeth, her little arms wrapped around his legs. And Ardeth had one large hand on Ceci's dark head, long slim fingers gently splayed over the silky hair. Such gentleness there. . .and Evy wished with all her heart she felt that spark with Ardeth, the spark she felt when O'Connell kissed her.
But that spark wasn't there, not for her, and her roommate did feel that spark. Two very good reasons why Evy would not act on her wish. After all, sometimes, a spark could be cultivated over time. But as much as she appreciated the dichotomy presented by Ardeth Bey, she felt no desire to weave her fingers through his long black hair, or tip her head back to allow him greater access to her throat. When she thought of Ardeth with any woman, it was her roommate she saw standing at his side.
Maybe because there was a similar dichotomy she saw in Celia. Fierce and gentle at the same time, warrior and angel at the same time. Although angel was pushing it, even with Celia. She was gentle, but she wasn't an angel. Not perfect. Not even close. And, Evy realized with a start, she would hate Celia with a passion if she *was* perfect. So, yes. But the gentleness remained, so where Ardeth was a warrior angel, Celia was an angel-warrior.
Or perhaps, healer-warrior? Celia would like that. The three girls went downstairs to the common room, since it had cable, and watched Showtime Beyond on Sunday nights. At ten pm, there was a sword and sorcery series, based on the Sir Walter Scott classic, 'Ivanhoe.' Celia, who was into science fiction and fantasy, commented that it was an alternate or parallel universe to our own. Rather than get a long, drawn-out explanation that would no doubt give Evy a headache, the English girl agreed.
And after the first few episodes, she came to like it as a guilty pleasure. There was a character on there, who in some ways reminded Evy of Celia. Celia as she might be in another ten years, with a little (all right, a LOT) more self-confidence. Rebecca the healer, here a flame- haired beauty with tight leather trousers and a bodice to match. . .and she could, in Celia's enthusiastic words, kick some serious ass.
Yes, that would work. Evy was a serious Egyptologist, and as such, she didn't believe in fairy tales and hokum. Both Anck and Celia did believe in magick, however, and that alone upset Evy's rational world. That two reasonable (mostly), rational (by and large), intelligent women could believe in magick. . .how was that possible? In Evy's world, only the uneducated and the simple believed in magick. However, her two roommates quickly turned that neat, orderly world upside down, and Evy still hadn't forgiven them for that yet.
Given that, how *could* she forgive O'Connell? Ooooh. . .drat it all! She spent the better half of the fifty minute class trying to avoid him, and yet, she still found her thoughts drawn back to that damn kiss! A quick glance at her watch told her that she only kept that beastly American out of her mind for ten minutes. And she had another thirty left in the class. Evy resisted the temptation to bash her head into her desk.
*All right, Evelyn Monifa,* she thought, sternly using her middle name to chastise herself, *let's think about this rationally, shall we? There is no reason in the world for you to be attracted to him. He's rude, and. . .rude. . .and rude. . .* A little voice in the back of her head, which sounded suspiciously like her brother's voice, added, *Now, now, now, be honest with yourself, Evy dear! You think he's handsome, and his kisses turn your knees to water, you mustn't forget that. That's the real reason you're angry with him.*
Triumphantly, Evy thought, *AH! He told me that he kissed me because it seemed like a good idea at the time. That proves I shouldn't be attracted to him. I'm just another girl to him, a warm body to foist his kisses upon. If I had an ounce of sense, I would be attracted to his handsome brother, who seems like a gentleman.* However, here again, her brother's voice inside her head trumped her.
*Yes, and you would betray one of your best friends in the process. Don't be so tiresome, Evy! Your best friend and roommate is an American, so is it such a jump to fall in love with one?* Evy's mouth fell open with that bit of slander. She was not in love with Rick O'Connell, she was not even attracted to him, and she was heartily offended that anyone could even think she was attracted to such a rude scoundrel!
Evy forgot one of her mother's favorite lines in her favorite Shakespeare play, Hamlet. It was one her mother often quoted, always with a mischievous smile. 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much!"
. . .
The third member of the trio found herself out of class once more at ten am. Like her eight am class, the professor had his teaching assistant take his place. Unlike her eight am class, this class was part of her general education requirement. . .it was a Literature class. British Literature from 1600-1950, to be exact. The teaching assistant passed out the syllabus, answered a few questions about the required reading, and Anck discovered this kid wasn't nearly as organized as Ardeth. Hmm. This wasn't good.
On the other hand, class was dismissed at ten am, and that *was* a good thing. Rather than return to her room, Anck decided to head over to the bookstore and pick up the books she needed so far. Really, 'bookstore' was something of a misnomer. It was actually a combination of bookstore and gift store. There were the books for the classes at the back of the store, and books for pleasure reading in another section of the store. The rest of the store had snacks, gifts for all members of the family, and school spirit items.
She found her books easily, especially her books for her eight am. Since most of the class names were so long, Anck and her roommates were in the habit of referring to the classes by times, rather than by the names. Classes that were held on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were generally an hour (or fifty minutes) long. Classes held on Tuesdays and Thursdays were usually an hour and a half, since they only met two days a week. Night classes were in a class by themselves, no pun intended. Both Anck and Celia took as many night classes as they possibly could. . .however, being sophomores often acted against them in this case.
Anck was deciding whether or not she should buy her Lit books today or not, when a man's voice asked with some surprise, "What are *you* doing here?" She whipped around to find a man standing behind her. Not just a man, Anck realized as her legs wobbled precariously under her, but a *very* handsome man. He was taller than she was, always a positive sign, with golden skin. His hair was very short, and dark, and his eyes were a dark brown.
Was he from the Mediterranean area? It seemed likely, since he had a slight accent that didn't sound Spanish or Latin American. And he seemed to think he knew her, but Anck would have never forgotten a man who looked like this. She answered, "Yo compro libros para mis classes."* As usual, when she was feeling uncertain of herself, Anck spoke in Spanish, and she silently cursed herself for it.
But the man looked embarrassed. . .she could actually see the tips of his ears turning red, and he answered, "I am terribly sorry. I mistook you for someone else. My apologies. You are a student here?" Under normal circumstances, Anck would have fired back a smart-ass remark, but not only was she still in awe of this man, but she remembered she spoke in Spanish, instead of English. And she had no way of knowing if he spoke Spanish.
She replied, feeling her own face grow hot with embarrassment, "Yes, I am. I am sorry. I answered you in Spanish. . .I am a student, and I am buying books for my classes." There, that should clear up any confusion. Now the man looked even more embarrassed, and to spare them both further embarrassment, Anck decided to introduce herself. She shifted her books in her arms, holding out a free hand, and said, "I'm Anck-su-namun Cortez."
"I am. . .I am Dr Emmett Tepper, a visiting lecturer. Anck-su-namun. Wife to King Tutenkamun. Are you Egyptian yourself, Miss Cortez?" the man asked. Visiting lecturer? As in professor? Ohhhhh. . .mierda! He was so hands-off! Or. . .maybe not. He was a visiting lecturer. Anck scolded herself. She just met the man, for crying out loud! Didn't even know if he had a genuine working brain to go with that very handsome face.
Well, he obviously had a brain, since he was a visiting lecturer and a college professor. But right now, it was unclear whether or not he had common sense. As Anck got older, she found that was becoming as important to her as someone who had book smarts. She replied, "No, I'm from Guatemala. My mother read a novel about King Tut and his queen, Ankhsenemun, while she was pregnant with me. She was utterly captivated by the story, and decided to name me after the queen. . .but first she modified the spelling."
A somewhat bemused smile appeared on the man's face, on Emmett Tepper's face, and he asked, "Well, how exactly did she do that?" Anck turned bright red. She knew what he was asking, of course. Sounds and letters changed from language to language. In Spanish, 'j' was pronounced as an 'h.' There was no 'k,' only a 'c.' There was no 'j' sound, only a 'g' sound, and that was only in certain instances. Anck tried to avoid these situations, because she was never sure if she was explaining it right. . .thinking in English became wearying after a while, and if she tried to translate from Spanish into English, she really found herself topsy-turvy. Her English was fluent, but it was still her second language.
Trying to remember what her mother told her when Anck asked, she replied, "Well, she hyphenated it, into the three main syllables. Anck, hyphen, su, hyphen, namun. Si, that has two syllables, but it would look very silly if it was separated. Mama did not like the way it looked when she wrote out 'Anc-su-namun,' so she added in the 'k,' even though we usually do not use that letter in our language."
Anck added that 'usually,' because one thing she learned over the course of her life. . .the Spanish she spoke in Guatemala was somewhat different than the Spanish they spoke in Mexico. And it was different than the Spanish they spoke in Spain. During her time in the States, she learned that most high schools and colleges taught Castilian Spanish. It made sense, really. There were differences, after all, between English English, American English, and Australian English. Something she sometimes forgot.
Madre de Dios. . .she was rambling! Anck turned even redder, though she didn't think that was possible. And Emmett Tepper seemed amused and even. . .enchanted. Anck Cortez was not a girl who was unused to the admiring glances of men. That began when she was thirteen and fourteen, when she first began developing. But this was different. Never before did a man's admiring smile turn her blood to lava.
Nor did it cause other parts of her body to react in tandem, a thousand little explosions happening at once. Anck resolved not to think about that, because if she did, she couldn't concentrate. The man finally said, "I believe I like your mother's spelling better as well. It is much easier to pronounce, gives a person boundaries. Those are important, would you not agree? Boundaries. . .lines to designate what is permissible and what is not."
Anck swallowed hard, and replied, "That would depend. Sometimes it is good. Sometimes it is bad. One person may have different boundaries than another. I see it in my dormitory, in my hall, in my own room. I have two roommates. Some things are permissible with one that is not permissible with the other. We are three very different women from very different backgrounds with very different experiences."
Mierda, where the hell did that come from? But Emmett Tepper merely raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Anck continued, "I am studying to be a sociologist. I am being trained to look at people in social settings, in relationship to others. Mother, sister, daughter, wife. Aunt, niece, granddaughter, friend, lover." Now Anck's cheeks really flamed, but she gamely continued, "My two roommates are both being trained as Egyptologists. One will likely work in the field and catalogue artifacts. . .the other will probably work in the field and teach."
She had no idea what she was saying now. Emmett Tepper, however, seemed to be a different matter altogether. He smiled, his dark eyes dancing with laughter, and replied, "And so, your different fields require different things. Your personalities, in turn, require different ways of studying. One girl may require music to focus her attention on her studies. . .another may not care. . .while a third requires silence. Boundaries are not the difficult thing. That is easy. . .it is the consequences of crossing those boundaries which are what is most difficult. Are you familiar with the term 'honor among thieves,' Miss Cortez?"
"Si. Just as I am familiar with what happens to a child molester or a child abuser in a jail. There are boundaries and lines within any organization, and prison is no different. The wardens and the guards must keep the child abusers from the rest of the population. . .because there is an unwritten rule. Child molesters, child abusers, are the lowest form of life. Yes, Mr. Tepper, I am familiar with the term," Anck replied.
Unexpectedly, he laughed and replied, "That was not quite what I had in mind, but that's actually better. So, there are different levels within the boundaries. Would you consider, personally, a child abuser or a child molester, to be the lowest form of life on the planet? Where does a thief rank in that hierarchy. . .where does a killer fit?" The conversation just took another strange turn, and Anck had the feeling she was being tested.
"Anyone who harms a child is fair game for whatever justice is dispensed. I am not a mother, nor will I ever be a mother. But a child is small and helpless, unable to defend himself or herself. Adults are larger, stronger. There are so many ways an adult can hurt a child. I have no sympathy, no respect for someone who would harm a child. I consider them no longer human," Anck replied.
She paused, not looking away from her companion, "And the others. . .it depends on the situation. Are there mitigating circumstances? Is the killer defending his own life, the life of someone important to him? Or is he killing just because he wants to, because he can? Same with the thief. . .is he stealing because he requires food or medicine, or because he's taking the easy way out?" Anck knew there was a middle ground, but she was still uncomfortable with fields of gray.
The man smiled at her, answering, "And thus, we come back to boundaries and lines. It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Anck-su- namun Cortez." He inclined his head to her, just as Ardeth Bey to Celia that morning, then quietly walked away. Anck was staring after him for what seemed like an eternity. By the time her brain accepted he was gone, she lost the nerve to run after him and ask him. . .something. Evy seemed rattled by Rick O'Connell. Celia was very rattled by Ardeth Bey. And now Anck. . . It was turning into quite a day for the three girls.
. . .
Now that was enjoyable! Imhotep hadn't enjoyed himself so much since the last time he matched wits with Suleiman Bey. . .and to think, he originally mistook that lovely girl for Lock-nah's girlfriend. He saw her around a few times. She was like a groupie, or a camp follower, in the days of the ancients, following them from place to place. Imhotep didn't know her name, but perhaps he should find out.
Imhotep turned his attention back to Anck-su-namun Cortez. After he got over his original embarrassment, he was charmed to learn she was actually from Guatemala, and she was a student here. Perhaps that should have warned off Imhotep, as involvement with a student amounted to playing with fire, but Imhotep *liked* playing with fire. Otherwise, he wouldn't have clashed with the Med-jai so often.
And she was beautiful. Long dark hair fell lightly to her shoulders. That was one difference between her and Lock-nah's woman. Both had dark hair. . .but this young woman, Anck-su-namun, had black hair, rather than dark brown. Both had brown eyes. Both had the same, exotic cat-like features. But did Lock-nah's woman (she must have a name, of course) have the same quick intelligence that enchanted him so during his conversation with Anck-su-namun Cortez?
Well, it hardly mattered. She was Lock-nah's woman, and Lock-nah didn't share. Neither, for that matter, did Imhotep. He never shared anything but money. He didn't share women. Not unless they wanted to be shared, in which case. . .well, Imhotep could be quite generous, and quite accommodating. But there were limits. And he wasn't so sure he wanted a woman other than Anck-su-namun Cortez.
What was it about her that took his breath away? She was beautiful and bright, of course. That went without saying. She was terribly young, and yet, she seemed much older to him. He wondered if she was trying to impress him, then laughed. *Such arrogance,* he told himself, *thinking a young, beautiful woman would *try* to impress anyone? What need did she have to impress people?*
*Demonstrate that she is much more than a pretty face, as the saying goes. Prove her intelligence, prove her wit. Prove that she has a heart, as well as pleasing features. It is arrogance of a greater sort that would have you believe a woman with her appearance would see herself as you do.* That was Imhotep's conscience speaking, and as ever, it was a bloody annoying thing. Still, it kept him out of trouble. Most of the time.
And, he was grateful to it. His conscience kept him from striking out at the Med-jai as they mourned for Suleiman Bey. Jacques wanted him to do just that. Wanted to take the fight to the Med-jai, and wipe them out. Imhotep said 'no.' Jacques was excellent at his job, and he was deeply loyal. But he had no sense of how the game was played. Imhotep told him that. He also told his security chief that he had no wish to destroy the Med-jai, for who would then provide him with such sport? Who else would be his greatest opponents and very dearest of enemies? Jacques had no answer for him, and thus, backed down.
Imhotep was glad that he listened to his voice of conscience, to his voice of reason. Glad that Jacques didn't push the issue. Andreas Bey had none of his father's finesse. . .he blundered about like a bull in a china shop. But his younger brother showed some of his father's talent for the game. He had infinitely more sense, and a better style. And though he was very young, he also had substance. A rarity, to find both style and substance in someone so young. Imhotep enjoyed his skirmishes with Ardeth for that reason.
There was something of the young chieftain in Anck-su-namun, though Imhotep wasn't entirely sure what that something was. Imhotep knew the boy was on campus. Of course he knew that, he wasn't stupid after all. And Ardeth knew he knew, but he was biding his time. Good lad. Just what his father would have done. So now they played a waiting game, and in the meantime, Imhotep was quite fascinated with the lovely Anck-su-namun.
He was charmed by everything about her. He had to be, for he could not stop thinking about her. Imhotep smiled, remembering her expository about the Spanish language, and how her mother changed the spelling of her name from the original Egyptian. Of course, that wasn't entirely true. . .her name would have been written in hieroglyphs, not in the alphabet as they knew it now. But it was the principle of the thing, of course.
How would she be among other women? Would she move stealthily through the throngs of people, never even looking at other women? No, that didn't feel right. He didn't know why he felt that way, but Imhotep couldn't account for most of his decisions. Not rationally, not logically. He went with his instincts when it came to important decisions, and his instincts rarely steered him wrong. His instincts were now telling him that Anck-su-namun Cortez was far more complex than he might have thought.
Which was fine. Imhotep liked complex women. They were like a puzzle box, and Imhotep couldn't stay away from puzzles. He liked knowing how the pieces fit together, what joined them together, and he liked finding missing pieces. In a twisted sort of way, his career as a jewel thief grew out of his frustrated desire to become a detective. When he was a child, he dreamed only of being a police officer, but that dream died away to nothing in the reality of his world. He was needed to do other things.
But like a detective, like a police officer, he fit the missing pieces of the puzzle together, until he had the entire picture. Perhaps that was why he respected Suleiman and Ardeth Bey. Because they were what he once wished to be, and the two men, both father and son, represented the reasons *why* he wanted to be a police officer when he was a child. They were strong and smart, they were tenacious.
They were, in many ways, mirror reflections of himself. His opposites. And Imhotep wondered if either of them respected him as much as he respected them. The question startled him, for he never wondered about such a thing in the past. A bit irritated with himself. . .next he would be wondering why he stole! Or perhaps not. That was easy to answer. He was good at it, and he enjoyed it. Besides, he never stole from poor people. Only rich. He did have *some* standards, after all.
But the line of thought greatly disturbed Imhotep, and he much preferred to think about Anck-su-namun. Did she have a pet name, he wondered, something that those who loved her most called her? She would likely have a nickname soon, if she didn't already. She probably did, though. He would lay money on it. And speaking of money. . .he double- checked his wallet, to make sure he had enough of the green material to pay for his purchases. He did, indeed. . .and he had to return to his office. Make a few calls.
One of those calls would be to his men in Egypt, watching the Med- jai. He wanted to make sure they understood they were to watch only. Take no action, because if they did, and if one of those two little girls were harmed further, Imhotep would personally kill whoever gave the order to strike. They were of no blood relation to Suleiman Bey, but they were the children of his widow. They would be protected this time around. If nothing else, Anck-su-namun Cortez was right about that.
. . .
Celia took a quick break from her conversation with Margit to go to the bathroom, and when she came back, she set her alarm. She didn't want to miss lunch with Evy and Anck. Once she set the alarm, Celia returned her attention to Margit. Her friend, not surprisingly, was quite interested in what she had to say about Ardeth. She wanted to know everything about him, everything that Celia knew at this point, and made Celia repeat, word for word, what he said.
'Well. He sounds quite wonderful, but I need to meet him before I can give him my blessing. How would you feel if I flew out to Chicago for Homecoming? There is someone here I wish to avoid, and that would be the perfect opportunity,' Margit suggested. Celia raised her eyebrows. That wasn't like Margit. In some ways, she was a lot like Anck. . .she believed in facing her problems head-on.
Then again, Celia also preferred to face her problems head on, but there were a time when that wasn't possible. Neil Grady sprung immediately to mind, and Celia typed, 'Sure, that's fine. I'll ask the girls if you can bunk with us. We have spare blankets and spare pillows. Margit, what if I'm making something out of nothing? What if I'm just imagining things where he's concerned? I mean, he's really, really, *really* hot!'
'Please, do ask your roommates if they will be comfortable with my presence. I do not foresee a problem with Anck-su-namun, but Evelyn is another story entirely,' Margit answered. Then she added, and Celia could almost hear the scolding in her voice, 'And do not be so foolish, Cecelia! Neil Grady was not a fully-grown man in spirit, but I believe Ardeth Bey is. So he is 'hot.' That does not make him stupid or superficial. You are a beautiful soul, with a body that is a work in process. I think that is the right term.'
Celia nearly spit out her Coke at that comment. Once she could swallow properly, and was no longer afraid she would spew Coke onto the monitor, she typed, 'Close. Very close. Work in progress, though I think 'work in process' will work just as well. I know. I know I'm being stupid, and I know he's not that jackass Grady. I'm just. . .well, I'm being stupid, and I'm scared. What if I screw this up somehow?'
This time, it took a minute before Margit answered, and when she did, it was to say, 'My dear, dear friend. You will not 'screw' this up. You will continue being yourself, when you remember to keep your brain unfrozen. And Anck will be there to help you. In the meantime, talk to your roommates, and make sure they will be all right with my visit. I do not wish to cause another argument between you and Evelyn, and while I know I did not cause the argument, I know I played into it somehow.'
'You don't cause arguments between us. . .we do that quite well on our own. But I will talk to them. I. . .I'm telling them both about Grady tonight. While we. . .during the confrontation, the one I told you about. . .somehow, Anck figured out that something happened this summer. I just hope she doesn't lose respect for me when she finds out exactly what did happen between me and Grady. This summer was not one of my more shining moments, in terms of my intelligence,' Celia answered.
This time, she was gifted with an entire screen full of Hungarian cusswords, of which she only knew one third. That was enough, though. More than enough. At last, Margit fired back, 'Cecelia Anne Ferguson. If you *ever* say something that idiotic again, I will knock you clear into the next millennium, and I *know* I have that one right, because my roommate said that is a piece of slang that no one can get wrong.'
Celia immediately began typing her response, but had to clear that out when Margit continued, obviously still highly perturbed with Celia, 'That was not your fault. Yes, you made mistakes. But you are a nineteen year old girl, still learning the do's and the do not's of business. He is a. . .he is supposed to be a grown man. He behaved like an immature, childish brat, and he paid the price. If he cannot handle that, it is *his* problem, not yours.'
Celia wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that at first. She thought back to the last days at the warehouse, then typed, 'I. . .sorta know that. But. . .Margit. What if. . .what if he decides to *make* it my problem?' That was part of what haunted her. He swore to her, in their last confrontation, on her last day, that this wasn't over. That he would make her pay for what she did to him, for turning the others in the warehouse against him. It didn't matter that she never told anyone, that people figured it out on their own. He blamed *her.*
There was an even longer silence this time, then Margit asked slowly, almost hesitantly, 'Are you afraid he might show up on campus, Celia? Is that what you mean by making it your problem?' Even though Margit couldn't see her, Celia nodded. Yes. That worried her. It worried her a lot. And Margit didn't need any written confirmation. She went on, 'You have Evelyn and Anck-su-namun watching your back. You have campus security. If he is foolish enough to show up on campus. . .'
'He is. He is foolish enough to do just that, and foolish enough to expect people to take his side. He already blames me for the rest of the warehouse turning against him. I'm not worried as much for myself, Margit, but what if he hurts Evy or Anck?' Celia asked. Her blood ran cold with that thought, and she quietly vowed to open the biggest can of whoop-ass she could find if Neil Grady ever harmed the people she cared about.
There was another long silence, then Margit typed, 'If this worries you so much, go to campus security tomorrow. If you can, take a picture or a description of Neil Grady. Tell security what you just told me, and tell them where you live. It's not perfect, but we live in an imperfect world. Do what you can to protect yourself and your roommates. . .do what you can, do whatever you must. And I will light a candle for you.'
Celia was on the point of answering her, when the door slowly opened. Evy walked in, waving with a faint smile. Celia waved back, glancing at the clock. It was almost noon. Where the hell had she been? Instead of asking, the American told her roommate, "I'm talking to Margit right now. She wants to come visit at Homecoming, wanted to know if she could crash with us. That gonna be a problem?"
"Erm. . .no. Of course not. That will be fine. How is Margit? Has she had any. . .trouble. . .lately?" Evy asked, struggling to ask the question she always asked. Celia rolled her eyes. Usually, she just said 'no,' and let it go, but she was afraid if she didn't put a stop to this now, things would get. . .interesting during Homecoming, and she really didn't need any tension among her roommates during that time period.
"If you're asking, has she encountered any more Englishwomen who think Hungary is in Africa, the answer is 'no.' She knows you're not comfortable with her, Evy, and that will make her uncomfortable," Celia replied. Evy set her books down and pulled up another chair beside Celia's. The American turned her attention back to Margit, who sent her two IM's in the last two minutes and typed, 'Sorry. Evy just got back from class.'
'Everything okay? I would guess you asked about Homecoming, and are dealing with that fallout,' Margit surmised. Celia glanced at Evy out of the corner of her eye, and saw Evy turning redder. Margit continued, 'I should go. I have my first class in fifteen minutes, and I really should go. I will call you on Friday night, and please tell Evelyn I do not hold that ignorant woman against her.'
Celia opted not to tell Margit that Evy was sitting right there. Instead, she typed, 'I'll look forward to your call, then, and we can work out the details of your visit. I'll try to pick you up at O'Hare, but if I can't get away, I know Galen would be more than happy to pick you up.' She paused for a minute, glanced at Evy. Her roommate looked interested in spite of herself, then added a pair of virtual waggling eyebrows before sending the message.
Margit's answer was short, succinct, and totally in-line with her personality. She just sent one word, 'CECELIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!' Celia threw herself back into her chair, laughing hysterically. She could just *see* Margit's expression. Oh, but it was so much fun! Margit liked Galen, Galen liked Margit. There was the minor problem. . . Galen was ten years older than Margit, but she was of legal age in both countries.
Besides. If Margit could play matchmaker for her, then she could certainly return the favor. At the very least, she and Galen could spend more time together, get to know each other. Decide if they were what they really wanted.
Margit would be in the United States for another two and a half years, studying at the University of Texas. And Galen was often flying around the country for medical conferences. Surely at least one of them would take him to Texas? Maybe she should let them work it out on their own, but it was soooo tempting! Most of Galen's girlfriends, once she got to know them, made Abby on 'ER' look as solid as a rock. Celia's theory was that Galen was attracted to needy women. . .she just couldn't figure out why.
He needed a good woman, a strong woman, and Margit *was* strong. She was both strong and good. Of course, there was always the matter of Margit's eventual return to Hungary. Hmm. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. All right. She would back down. For now. On the other hand, if they got together on their own. . .well, she certainly would do anything within her power to help them out!
. . .
After leaving the Class that Never Ends, Evy went to the library for a while. She and Celia both enjoyed spending time there. It was restful, and since she failed to banish Rick O'Connell from her mind in class, she hoped she would have better luck finding that peace in the library. She could always find something in the library to distract her. Go through the microfiche and microfilm, read clippings from the early newspapers.
Evy went to her favorite machine and dropped the five or so canisters beside it. There was a soothing quality to the motions required to feed the fiche into the machine, and Evy began to relax. She sighed, slipping into the chair, and settled into read about days gone by. She loved reading old advertisements from the 1920's and the 1930's. And if there were papers from small towns, they were even more fun to read.
She actually had Celia to thank for this particular pastime. Evy's smile dimmed a little. Celia showed her how to research, using these papers and this technique, as a way of making amends for their argument. Which was just as much Evy's fault as it was Celia's. She had an unfortunate habit of shooting off her mouth, and coming off as condescending when she was trying to calm someone down. Patronizing Celia was the perfect way to set her off, and Evy opening her big gob only made things worse.
So, to make amends for that argument, Celia taught her about these. Her grandmother taught her, Evy learned, while she was teaching Celia about family history. They were used for census records, as well as for old newspaper articles. Celia often used them for research papers, for the distant past and far more recent events. Evy was happily reading about events which happened long before her parents were even born, when a distinct *thud* drew her attention.
All right, so maybe 'thud' was an inappropriate term. . .it was more a clatter, and Evy jumped a foot. She swiveled around to face the source of the noise. Oooooh. . .she might have known! It was that annoying American, Rick O'Connell! He offered a patently insincere smile and said, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Evy just glared at him, glancing down at the newspapers he was using. Local papers. Hmm. Interesting.
She answered with a slight tilt to her head, "The only thing that scares me, Mr. O'Connell, are your manners!" She turned back to face her own work. Obviously, Mr. O'Connell was unaware of the various parts of the machine, or he would have realized she could see his reflection in the somewhat dirty visor on the top of the machine, which shielded the eyes of the user from other machines. And thus, she saw him stick his tongue out at her.
Juvenile. Truly juvenile. Evy barely held back a sniff and concentrated on the print in front of her. Right now, she was reading about the controversy that broke out in the 1920's over women bobbing their hair. Imagine that! She shook her head in amazement, which turned to a cringe as she heard racket behind her, along with swearing in an American accent. Mr. O'Connell definitely had no experience with these machines. . .it seemed he didn't know how to thread the film through the machine.
Evy smirked to herself. Her enjoyment of the situation lasted all of five minutes, because the man's muttering and cursing grew more intense. Evy huffed a sigh, blowing her hair out of her eyes. Oh, all right! She pushed her seat back and marched around to the man behind her. Evy slapped his hands away from the machine, properly threading it. . .and even worse, he had the canister on backward!!!!!!! O'Connell was actually looked embarrassed as he murmured a 'thank you,' and Evy nodded curtly before marching back to her own station.
She was hoping for peace and quiet. However, of course, she didn't get it, for as soon as she sat down, O'Connell asked almost casually, "You know, if you know so much about these machines, and I know you're in that Egyptian class, maybe you know something about an artifact called the Book of Amun-Ra, said to be made of gold." Evy stilled in her chair before swiveling to face him. O'Connell glanced away from his own work at the motion. Did he just say the Book of Amun-Ra???
"Why yes! It's a very ancient, and very famous book, with the spells and incantations of the Old Kingdom in Egypt. No one knows where it is, or even if it truly exists. Why, are you researching the Book of Amun-Ra? Why? Your stepbrother is from Egypt, why don't you ask him about it?" Evy asked. Then something else occurred to her and she added, "Made of gold? You *do* know your history!"
"I know my treasure," O'Connell corrected, pulling out a notebook and writing down whatever he found. That effectively silenced Evy, for she actually thought she might be able to have an intelligent conversation with this man. Her reluctant companion continued, "And I don't ask my brother, because he's got other things to worry about, including several nubile young females who have taken a liking to him. Speaking of which, why don't you tell me a little about your roommates, since they seem to act like human beings, instead of female vampires?"
The change in subject startled Evy, and she stuttered, "My roommates? You want to talk about my roommates?" O'Connell merely lifted his eyebrows at her, and Evy continued, "Well, I suppose you do want to know about them, since you asked. But why do you want to know about them?" Could it be that he was attracted to Anck? Males often were. Anck had no problem with the fact that men found her sexy, though she did wish some of them were as interested in her mind as they were in her body.
"Well, your roommate. . .the little one. . .is kinda annoying to me for taking up for my little buddy Beni. But I think my stepbrother likes her. I guess I just want to make sure she's good enough for him. And the other one. . .hell, she's dangerous no matter how you look at her! I kept getting the feeling that if I even looked at your little roommate the wrong way, she would have cut me into pieces," O'Connell replied.
Evy answered indignantly, "Good enough! I'll have you know, Celia is from one of the finest families in Chicago!" Okay, that wasn't entirely truthful. She certainly came from one of the richest, but she wasn't old money, and Evy wasn't particularly impressed with her parents. She liked Galen, from the few times she met him. But O'Connell annoyed her by questioning whether or not Celia was good enough for his brother.
And O'Connell was singularly unimpressed. He retorted, twirling his finger in the air just to show how unimpressed he was with that reply, "Yea for her. I don't much care if she's the daughter of royalty, sister. I wanna know if *she* is good enough for my brother. Not her family. Her. Will she take care of him, will she be good to him? You know, the important stuff. Not how rich her family is."
"If she decides someone is worth her trust and loyalty. . .well, you've seen my roommate in action. You tell me," Evy retorted. O'Connell was on the verge of doing just that, when she added, "And for your information, her name is 'Celia.' Or, to be more formal, 'Cecelia Anne Ferguson.' Not, 'your little roommate.' And the question then becomes, is your brother good enough for my roommate? Anck and I won't allow just anyone to date Celia, after all." She arched a brow at her dumbfounded companion.
And when no answer was forthcoming, she turned her back on O'Connell with an audible sniff. She was no longer in the mood to read about times gone by, in the words of the people who lived them. So, she began to rewind the film until it was all back on the original spindle, then removed it, and took down the machine. She retrieved her belongings, put the used and unused microfilm in the proper receptacles, then left the library to return to the dorm.
The nerve of that man, questioning whether or not someone as loyal and passionate as Celia was good enough for his brother! Why, the nerve of him! Evy was positively incensed and her most recent confrontation with O'Connell only served to remind her why she didn't like him. Besides. . .when she was angry with him, she could ignore the way her body reacted to seeing him. At least, she could forget until she was away from him, and she started replaying the events in her mind. That was when she winced at how arrogant she sounded. Ooooh, she *hated* when she did that! It always got her into so much trouble!
Things became worse instead of better when she arrived back at the dormitory, and Celia was at her computer, IMMing with her Hungarian friend. Something that never failed to embarrass her. . .and for once, Celia didn't try to salvage Evy's wounded pride by not referring to the embarrassing incident. Instead, when Evy asked delicately if Margit had any unpleasant situations to deal with lately, her roommate said with some exasperation, "If you're asking, has she encountered any more Englishwomen who think Hungary is in Africa, the answer is 'no.' She knows you're not comfortable with her, Evy, and that will make her uncomfortable."
Evy winced, but knew her roommate was right. It was embarrassing, yes, that one of her countrywomen demonstrated ignorance of a European country, especially after Evy just bragged that no British subject was so unaware of European geography. However, she wasn't responsible for the incident, nor was her roommate, and nor was Margit. The English girl set her books down and pulled up another chair beside Celia's. Her roommate had two IM's waiting for her, and Celia typed, 'Sorry. Evy just got back from class.'
'Everything okay? I would guess you asked about Homecoming, and are dealing with that fallout,' Margit asked. Evy turned bright red. She never realized how intuitive Margit was. Another IM popped up on the screen. Now Margit was saying, 'I should go. I have my first class in fifteen minutes, and I really should go. I will call you on Friday night, and please tell Evelyn I do not hold that ignorant woman against her.'
Well, that certainly was pleasant to know. . .and would make Homecoming far less tense. Evy noticed that Celia said nothing to Margit about Evy's presence beside her. Her roommate typed back, 'I'll look forward to your call, then, and we can work out the details of your visit. I'll try to pick you up at O'Hare, but if I can't get away, I know Galen would be more than happy to pick you up.' She gave a low, evil laugh, then 'waggled' her brows online.
Evy laughed aloud, not just at her roommate's evil streak, but also at Margit's reaction. It was only one word: 'CECELIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!' Celia laughed helplessly and Evy shook her head. Evil, evil girl. Apparently, there was some. . .fondness. . .between Margit and Celia's older brother Galen. Not that Celia ever told her about it, but Evy could read between the lines when she noticed something other than books.
Now that her conversation with Margit was concluded, Celia turned to Evy and fixed her with a 'big sister' look, saying, "Now. Tell me why you look so annoyed, and why you're back from class so soon." And just that quickly, the whole embarrassing situation with the 'Hungary in Africa' comment was forgotten. Evy took a deep breath, glanced at the clock. They had a while before they met Anck for lunch. And then she told Celia about encountering O'Connell at the library. That annoying, annoying man!
Reviewers:
Kelekona8: Hello and welcome! Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy the rest of the story!
Brunette: Te gusta? Ahh, muy, muy bien! Estoy muy contenta! Negatory? I haven't heard that since we gave up our CB in the late eighties! And I'm also a LOTR fan. I like to drive my family crazy by imitating Gollum/Smeagol.
Sailor Elf: (snickering) I'm sure it won't surprise you to find out that I really enjoyed writing that section, Celia standing up to Rick like that. And you only think he's crazy sometimes?????? I almost always think he's crazy!
Terreis: I couldn't resist that line of Alex's from TMR. It was too good to pass up. Sorry about the delayed update, but I had that assignment last week (which involved getting up at four am and working for ten hours). On the plus side, it only took me about two days to write this. I'm still figuring out where the heck that whole conversation between Anck and Imhotep came from. But they both yelled at me every time I even thought about changing it, and would you want Imhotep mad at you? Do the words, 'I think not' ring any bells?
Onto the story!
Part Six
Blessedly, there were no more confrontations the rest of the day for any of the three roommates. They went their separate ways after breakfast, promising to meet back at the food court for lunch at twelve thirty. Evy had classes at ten and eleven, while Anck had a class at nine thirty and another at eleven. Celia, on the other hand, had no more classes until one pm. For which she was very grateful, since her legs were still shaking from her confrontation with Rick O'Connell. She still couldn't believe she did that. Galen would kick her butt if he knew!
Which, of course, was why she had no intention of telling him. That was 'need to know' basis. Celia returned alone to their room, breathing a sigh of relief. They were in such a hurry to get out this morning, Celia couldn't remember if she locked it or not. The lone girl nudged the door shut with her hip and put her belongings on her bed. Since it was just her right now, she could afford to be sloppy. Celia went over to her computer and turned it on. It was a new thing, having modems in the rooms of the dorms, but she was glad of it.
She quickly logged in to check her mail, not really paying attention to her buddy list. So Celia was more than a little surprised when her computer froze momentarily, then a small box appeared in the upper left hand corner of the screen. However, the surprise changed immediately to delight when she saw whom was IMMing her. She clicked okay, and read, 'hello, Cecelia! I am glad I caught you today! : )'
Celia laughed softly and typed back, 'Yes, you caught me. Funny, too, 'cause as always, your timing is terrific.' A pause here, as Celia shook her hair out of her eyes. Maybe she should think about having this mop-top cut. Later. When she had more money and more time. Celia continued typing, 'Something happened today, Margit, and I need to talk to someone about it. Someone who isn't here.' She hit 'send.' Margit, like herself, typed quickly.
And within about thirty seconds came her reply, 'Then tell me, my friend. You know I will listen. BTW, is your English roommate there?' Celia bit her lower lip to keep from laughing aloud and possibly draw the ire of the students still sleeping in the dormitory. Margit typed next, 'You know, I believe she is uncomfortable with talking to me when I call you on the phone. Did you tell her about our unpleasant experience in Heathrow?'
'No, Evy isn't here right now. . .she has a class in fifteen minutes, and since this is the first day, she wanted to be there in plenty of time. And yes, I did tell her about that. {{{{blushing}}}} It was during an argument, so I wasn't particularly nice about it,' Celia answered. She blushed again. . .especially when Margit sent back a single, 'OHHHHHHH!!!!' Attending college in the United States was definitely affecting her friend's slang vocabulary.
'She must have made you very angry indeed, Cecelia!' Margit typed back. Well, yes, she did, actually. Margit continued after a moment, 'You know, in all the time I have known you, I have never known you to lose your temper. You have been impatient on occasion, and stubborn more than once, but you have never lost your temper. Not even in London. After you were here last Christmas, Mother asked me if you were ever anything *but* polite.'
Celia laughed softly, answering, 'Oh yes. Quite often. In fact, you should have been here today, Margit. I lost my temper. Again. This time with a man named 'Rick O'Connell.' Do you remember when I told you about Beni Gabor, our janitor? The immigrant who got so excited when I used some of the Magyar I learned from you? Well, it seems that Beni and Mr. O'Connell have a *past,* which came back to haunt Beni today.'
'Oh no. Tell me everything, Cecelia. First and most importantly, are you all right? Secondly, were you in your angel of vengeance mode? And thirdly, have you met any attractive males yet? You know some of my cousins were quite intrigued by you,' Margit typed. Celia rolled her eyes. This was actually nothing new for them. Margit was one of the few people who knew about the catastrophe with Neil Grady, and since that day, she polled her male cousins to find out their opinion of her American pen pal.
It was actually amusing, because her male cousins declared they all liked Celia, and would hop the first plane to the United States to avenge her honor. Amusing, touching, and terrifying. It didn't register that a little nothing like her would warrant such declarations, but Margit and her family considered Celia one of theirs. . .and they were fiercely loyal. The American girl answered, 'To answer your questions in order. . .I'm fine. Yes, I suppose you could say I swept in like an avenging angel, at least, that's what Beni would call it.'
She paused, debating about whether or not she should tell Margit about Ardeth Bey. She told Margit almost everything, because she was so far away. Half the time, Celia worried that if she told someone something. . .it would either end up getting back to them, or something else bad would happen. But Margit was safely in Texas. Besides, while she was single now, she had a boyfriend in the past, and she was better able to advise Celia. Anck could as well, but there was the added complication. Her friend was overwhelmingly protective of her. Margit was more supportive than protective, because of the distance between them.
'I met a guy today. Not sure how old he is, you know how pathetic I am at telling ages. But he's a teaching assistant, and Margit. . .he is beautiful. The most handsome man I've ever seen, and he's beautiful,' Celia answered. Margit responded with just one word. 'TELL!' Celia laughed aloud. . .should have seen that coming! The American girl typed, 'Well, he's probably a foot taller than I am. Long black hair, dark eyes. . .the color of dark chocolate.'
Celia concentrated, drawing his face into her mind, then went on, 'His name is Ardeth Bey, and he's from Egypt. He. . .you remember when I told you about Rick O'Connell, the guy who attacked my friend Beni? Well, Ardeth is that guy's stepbrother or something. We were never clear on those details. And I wasn't really paying attention to that, if you know what I mean.' Celia bit her lip. In for a penny, in for a pound. She would tell Margit everything.
. . .
As Celia Ferguson told her friend Margit about the young man she met that morning, Evelyn Carnahan was doing her level best to remain focused on her class. However, two things complicated that. One, the fact that her new instructor was droning on and on about nothing in particular. She didn't mind getting to know her instructor as the weeks passed, but that did not mean she wished to know his (or her) life story in the first class!
And the second thing. . .the second thing was that kiss. When O'Connell kissed her. In the food court. Right in front of his brother. Who was quite handsome himself, but for some reason, seeing him didn't turn her knees to water. No. . .no, he turned Celia's knees to water, and that was quite the shocker in and of itself. Evy started to wonder if she even liked boys. Hmmm. Maybe that was the difference. She didn't like boys, but she did like men, and Ardeth Bey was a *man.* Not a boy, not a guy, but a *man.*
And unfortunately, that line of thought drew her right back to O'Connell. It aggravated her really. Every time she closed her eyes (and even when she didn't), she could feel his lips pressed against hers. Could feel. . .oooooooooh! Oh for heaven's sake, it wasn't *that* good of a kiss! Evy jerked her head up and looked around, suddenly fearful that she spoke the words aloud. She didn't. Everyone else was still trying to stay awake through the lecture.
And a quick glance over at the instructor told her that he wasn't even paying attention to the class. Oh well. If he wasn't paying attention, neither would she. Evy was mulish in that respect. . .and since he wouldn't give them the respect of lecturing in an audible tone of voice, to say nothing of showing respect for the class he was teaching, she wouldn't give him the respect of her attention. Evy gulped, realizing she sounded just like Anck in that moment. Frightening. Truly, that was a frightening thought.
To distract herself from her boredom, her chagrin at thinking like Anck, and her own topsy-turvy feelings about O'Connell, she thought instead about her other roommate. Never, in a thousand years, would she have dreamed that a man like Ardeth Bey could attract Celia. They were polar opposites at first glance. He was tall, maybe an inch shorter than O'Connell, and Celia was the smallest out of the three of them.
She was a daughter of privilege, but from the impression she got of him, he was a child of royalty among his people. Just the way he carried himself. Not that Evy ever saw the Queen or the Queen Mother up close. She, her parents, and Jonathan were in Egypt entirely too often. But Evy did come from old English money, and she did know the aristocracy. Ardeth Bey was very young, no more than twenty-five, if that. But he carried himself with more dignity and nobility than most young men his age. No. . .he was no commoner. He was special.
Evy reflected a bit wryly that her American roommate would have kicked her arse, if Celia heard her say such a thing. Celia firmly believed that all people were special. Everyone had a story, Evy often heard her American friend say. She was the daughter of privilege, but her grandparents were common people, and she was fiercely proud of them both. Her grandfather was what was commonly called a roughneck, an Oklahoman who worked on the oil wells (Evy never knew there were oil and gas wells in Oklahoma!). Her grandmother was raised among the Indians of British Columbia after the deaths of her parents at sea.
It caused Celia's father no end of embarrassment, he a successful businessman, that his wife's parents were so poor. Struggling to describe her father's interaction with her maternal grandparents, Celia once told Evy to imagine Billy Zane's character in Titanic whenever he was around Leonardo di Caprio's character. It was an apt description, she added, because in his own twisted way, Cal actually loved Rose. As much as he was capable of loving anyone. Which didn't mean, Celia muttered with a cross look, that she would want Cal for her own man.
Of course she didn't. Celia would have killed him within a month, especially the first time he patronized her. And that brought her to what lay beneath, for both her roommate and Ardeth Bey. There was great ferocity in Ardeth Bey. She could see it in his eyes, in his tense carriage during the confrontation about Beni Gabor. Evy knew few soldiers in her life, but she imagined that a warrior would behave something like Ardeth.
She had no trouble at all picturing him in swirling black robes, with a sword in his hand. Wait a minute. . .he was Egyptian. That should be a scimitar. Much better. And yet, the image that kept coming to her mind was Ardeth in full battle dress, standing protectively in front of Ceci Gabor. And that was where the dichotomy came in. As fierce as Ardeth Bey was, a warrior angel like Michael. . .there was such gentleness in him.
She remembered glancing away from the confrontation between her roommate and Rick O'Connell (there was that man's name again!), to see little Ceci Gabor standing behind Ardeth, her little arms wrapped around his legs. And Ardeth had one large hand on Ceci's dark head, long slim fingers gently splayed over the silky hair. Such gentleness there. . .and Evy wished with all her heart she felt that spark with Ardeth, the spark she felt when O'Connell kissed her.
But that spark wasn't there, not for her, and her roommate did feel that spark. Two very good reasons why Evy would not act on her wish. After all, sometimes, a spark could be cultivated over time. But as much as she appreciated the dichotomy presented by Ardeth Bey, she felt no desire to weave her fingers through his long black hair, or tip her head back to allow him greater access to her throat. When she thought of Ardeth with any woman, it was her roommate she saw standing at his side.
Maybe because there was a similar dichotomy she saw in Celia. Fierce and gentle at the same time, warrior and angel at the same time. Although angel was pushing it, even with Celia. She was gentle, but she wasn't an angel. Not perfect. Not even close. And, Evy realized with a start, she would hate Celia with a passion if she *was* perfect. So, yes. But the gentleness remained, so where Ardeth was a warrior angel, Celia was an angel-warrior.
Or perhaps, healer-warrior? Celia would like that. The three girls went downstairs to the common room, since it had cable, and watched Showtime Beyond on Sunday nights. At ten pm, there was a sword and sorcery series, based on the Sir Walter Scott classic, 'Ivanhoe.' Celia, who was into science fiction and fantasy, commented that it was an alternate or parallel universe to our own. Rather than get a long, drawn-out explanation that would no doubt give Evy a headache, the English girl agreed.
And after the first few episodes, she came to like it as a guilty pleasure. There was a character on there, who in some ways reminded Evy of Celia. Celia as she might be in another ten years, with a little (all right, a LOT) more self-confidence. Rebecca the healer, here a flame- haired beauty with tight leather trousers and a bodice to match. . .and she could, in Celia's enthusiastic words, kick some serious ass.
Yes, that would work. Evy was a serious Egyptologist, and as such, she didn't believe in fairy tales and hokum. Both Anck and Celia did believe in magick, however, and that alone upset Evy's rational world. That two reasonable (mostly), rational (by and large), intelligent women could believe in magick. . .how was that possible? In Evy's world, only the uneducated and the simple believed in magick. However, her two roommates quickly turned that neat, orderly world upside down, and Evy still hadn't forgiven them for that yet.
Given that, how *could* she forgive O'Connell? Ooooh. . .drat it all! She spent the better half of the fifty minute class trying to avoid him, and yet, she still found her thoughts drawn back to that damn kiss! A quick glance at her watch told her that she only kept that beastly American out of her mind for ten minutes. And she had another thirty left in the class. Evy resisted the temptation to bash her head into her desk.
*All right, Evelyn Monifa,* she thought, sternly using her middle name to chastise herself, *let's think about this rationally, shall we? There is no reason in the world for you to be attracted to him. He's rude, and. . .rude. . .and rude. . .* A little voice in the back of her head, which sounded suspiciously like her brother's voice, added, *Now, now, now, be honest with yourself, Evy dear! You think he's handsome, and his kisses turn your knees to water, you mustn't forget that. That's the real reason you're angry with him.*
Triumphantly, Evy thought, *AH! He told me that he kissed me because it seemed like a good idea at the time. That proves I shouldn't be attracted to him. I'm just another girl to him, a warm body to foist his kisses upon. If I had an ounce of sense, I would be attracted to his handsome brother, who seems like a gentleman.* However, here again, her brother's voice inside her head trumped her.
*Yes, and you would betray one of your best friends in the process. Don't be so tiresome, Evy! Your best friend and roommate is an American, so is it such a jump to fall in love with one?* Evy's mouth fell open with that bit of slander. She was not in love with Rick O'Connell, she was not even attracted to him, and she was heartily offended that anyone could even think she was attracted to such a rude scoundrel!
Evy forgot one of her mother's favorite lines in her favorite Shakespeare play, Hamlet. It was one her mother often quoted, always with a mischievous smile. 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much!"
. . .
The third member of the trio found herself out of class once more at ten am. Like her eight am class, the professor had his teaching assistant take his place. Unlike her eight am class, this class was part of her general education requirement. . .it was a Literature class. British Literature from 1600-1950, to be exact. The teaching assistant passed out the syllabus, answered a few questions about the required reading, and Anck discovered this kid wasn't nearly as organized as Ardeth. Hmm. This wasn't good.
On the other hand, class was dismissed at ten am, and that *was* a good thing. Rather than return to her room, Anck decided to head over to the bookstore and pick up the books she needed so far. Really, 'bookstore' was something of a misnomer. It was actually a combination of bookstore and gift store. There were the books for the classes at the back of the store, and books for pleasure reading in another section of the store. The rest of the store had snacks, gifts for all members of the family, and school spirit items.
She found her books easily, especially her books for her eight am. Since most of the class names were so long, Anck and her roommates were in the habit of referring to the classes by times, rather than by the names. Classes that were held on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays were generally an hour (or fifty minutes) long. Classes held on Tuesdays and Thursdays were usually an hour and a half, since they only met two days a week. Night classes were in a class by themselves, no pun intended. Both Anck and Celia took as many night classes as they possibly could. . .however, being sophomores often acted against them in this case.
Anck was deciding whether or not she should buy her Lit books today or not, when a man's voice asked with some surprise, "What are *you* doing here?" She whipped around to find a man standing behind her. Not just a man, Anck realized as her legs wobbled precariously under her, but a *very* handsome man. He was taller than she was, always a positive sign, with golden skin. His hair was very short, and dark, and his eyes were a dark brown.
Was he from the Mediterranean area? It seemed likely, since he had a slight accent that didn't sound Spanish or Latin American. And he seemed to think he knew her, but Anck would have never forgotten a man who looked like this. She answered, "Yo compro libros para mis classes."* As usual, when she was feeling uncertain of herself, Anck spoke in Spanish, and she silently cursed herself for it.
But the man looked embarrassed. . .she could actually see the tips of his ears turning red, and he answered, "I am terribly sorry. I mistook you for someone else. My apologies. You are a student here?" Under normal circumstances, Anck would have fired back a smart-ass remark, but not only was she still in awe of this man, but she remembered she spoke in Spanish, instead of English. And she had no way of knowing if he spoke Spanish.
She replied, feeling her own face grow hot with embarrassment, "Yes, I am. I am sorry. I answered you in Spanish. . .I am a student, and I am buying books for my classes." There, that should clear up any confusion. Now the man looked even more embarrassed, and to spare them both further embarrassment, Anck decided to introduce herself. She shifted her books in her arms, holding out a free hand, and said, "I'm Anck-su-namun Cortez."
"I am. . .I am Dr Emmett Tepper, a visiting lecturer. Anck-su-namun. Wife to King Tutenkamun. Are you Egyptian yourself, Miss Cortez?" the man asked. Visiting lecturer? As in professor? Ohhhhh. . .mierda! He was so hands-off! Or. . .maybe not. He was a visiting lecturer. Anck scolded herself. She just met the man, for crying out loud! Didn't even know if he had a genuine working brain to go with that very handsome face.
Well, he obviously had a brain, since he was a visiting lecturer and a college professor. But right now, it was unclear whether or not he had common sense. As Anck got older, she found that was becoming as important to her as someone who had book smarts. She replied, "No, I'm from Guatemala. My mother read a novel about King Tut and his queen, Ankhsenemun, while she was pregnant with me. She was utterly captivated by the story, and decided to name me after the queen. . .but first she modified the spelling."
A somewhat bemused smile appeared on the man's face, on Emmett Tepper's face, and he asked, "Well, how exactly did she do that?" Anck turned bright red. She knew what he was asking, of course. Sounds and letters changed from language to language. In Spanish, 'j' was pronounced as an 'h.' There was no 'k,' only a 'c.' There was no 'j' sound, only a 'g' sound, and that was only in certain instances. Anck tried to avoid these situations, because she was never sure if she was explaining it right. . .thinking in English became wearying after a while, and if she tried to translate from Spanish into English, she really found herself topsy-turvy. Her English was fluent, but it was still her second language.
Trying to remember what her mother told her when Anck asked, she replied, "Well, she hyphenated it, into the three main syllables. Anck, hyphen, su, hyphen, namun. Si, that has two syllables, but it would look very silly if it was separated. Mama did not like the way it looked when she wrote out 'Anc-su-namun,' so she added in the 'k,' even though we usually do not use that letter in our language."
Anck added that 'usually,' because one thing she learned over the course of her life. . .the Spanish she spoke in Guatemala was somewhat different than the Spanish they spoke in Mexico. And it was different than the Spanish they spoke in Spain. During her time in the States, she learned that most high schools and colleges taught Castilian Spanish. It made sense, really. There were differences, after all, between English English, American English, and Australian English. Something she sometimes forgot.
Madre de Dios. . .she was rambling! Anck turned even redder, though she didn't think that was possible. And Emmett Tepper seemed amused and even. . .enchanted. Anck Cortez was not a girl who was unused to the admiring glances of men. That began when she was thirteen and fourteen, when she first began developing. But this was different. Never before did a man's admiring smile turn her blood to lava.
Nor did it cause other parts of her body to react in tandem, a thousand little explosions happening at once. Anck resolved not to think about that, because if she did, she couldn't concentrate. The man finally said, "I believe I like your mother's spelling better as well. It is much easier to pronounce, gives a person boundaries. Those are important, would you not agree? Boundaries. . .lines to designate what is permissible and what is not."
Anck swallowed hard, and replied, "That would depend. Sometimes it is good. Sometimes it is bad. One person may have different boundaries than another. I see it in my dormitory, in my hall, in my own room. I have two roommates. Some things are permissible with one that is not permissible with the other. We are three very different women from very different backgrounds with very different experiences."
Mierda, where the hell did that come from? But Emmett Tepper merely raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Anck continued, "I am studying to be a sociologist. I am being trained to look at people in social settings, in relationship to others. Mother, sister, daughter, wife. Aunt, niece, granddaughter, friend, lover." Now Anck's cheeks really flamed, but she gamely continued, "My two roommates are both being trained as Egyptologists. One will likely work in the field and catalogue artifacts. . .the other will probably work in the field and teach."
She had no idea what she was saying now. Emmett Tepper, however, seemed to be a different matter altogether. He smiled, his dark eyes dancing with laughter, and replied, "And so, your different fields require different things. Your personalities, in turn, require different ways of studying. One girl may require music to focus her attention on her studies. . .another may not care. . .while a third requires silence. Boundaries are not the difficult thing. That is easy. . .it is the consequences of crossing those boundaries which are what is most difficult. Are you familiar with the term 'honor among thieves,' Miss Cortez?"
"Si. Just as I am familiar with what happens to a child molester or a child abuser in a jail. There are boundaries and lines within any organization, and prison is no different. The wardens and the guards must keep the child abusers from the rest of the population. . .because there is an unwritten rule. Child molesters, child abusers, are the lowest form of life. Yes, Mr. Tepper, I am familiar with the term," Anck replied.
Unexpectedly, he laughed and replied, "That was not quite what I had in mind, but that's actually better. So, there are different levels within the boundaries. Would you consider, personally, a child abuser or a child molester, to be the lowest form of life on the planet? Where does a thief rank in that hierarchy. . .where does a killer fit?" The conversation just took another strange turn, and Anck had the feeling she was being tested.
"Anyone who harms a child is fair game for whatever justice is dispensed. I am not a mother, nor will I ever be a mother. But a child is small and helpless, unable to defend himself or herself. Adults are larger, stronger. There are so many ways an adult can hurt a child. I have no sympathy, no respect for someone who would harm a child. I consider them no longer human," Anck replied.
She paused, not looking away from her companion, "And the others. . .it depends on the situation. Are there mitigating circumstances? Is the killer defending his own life, the life of someone important to him? Or is he killing just because he wants to, because he can? Same with the thief. . .is he stealing because he requires food or medicine, or because he's taking the easy way out?" Anck knew there was a middle ground, but she was still uncomfortable with fields of gray.
The man smiled at her, answering, "And thus, we come back to boundaries and lines. It has been a pleasure speaking with you, Anck-su- namun Cortez." He inclined his head to her, just as Ardeth Bey to Celia that morning, then quietly walked away. Anck was staring after him for what seemed like an eternity. By the time her brain accepted he was gone, she lost the nerve to run after him and ask him. . .something. Evy seemed rattled by Rick O'Connell. Celia was very rattled by Ardeth Bey. And now Anck. . . It was turning into quite a day for the three girls.
. . .
Now that was enjoyable! Imhotep hadn't enjoyed himself so much since the last time he matched wits with Suleiman Bey. . .and to think, he originally mistook that lovely girl for Lock-nah's girlfriend. He saw her around a few times. She was like a groupie, or a camp follower, in the days of the ancients, following them from place to place. Imhotep didn't know her name, but perhaps he should find out.
Imhotep turned his attention back to Anck-su-namun Cortez. After he got over his original embarrassment, he was charmed to learn she was actually from Guatemala, and she was a student here. Perhaps that should have warned off Imhotep, as involvement with a student amounted to playing with fire, but Imhotep *liked* playing with fire. Otherwise, he wouldn't have clashed with the Med-jai so often.
And she was beautiful. Long dark hair fell lightly to her shoulders. That was one difference between her and Lock-nah's woman. Both had dark hair. . .but this young woman, Anck-su-namun, had black hair, rather than dark brown. Both had brown eyes. Both had the same, exotic cat-like features. But did Lock-nah's woman (she must have a name, of course) have the same quick intelligence that enchanted him so during his conversation with Anck-su-namun Cortez?
Well, it hardly mattered. She was Lock-nah's woman, and Lock-nah didn't share. Neither, for that matter, did Imhotep. He never shared anything but money. He didn't share women. Not unless they wanted to be shared, in which case. . .well, Imhotep could be quite generous, and quite accommodating. But there were limits. And he wasn't so sure he wanted a woman other than Anck-su-namun Cortez.
What was it about her that took his breath away? She was beautiful and bright, of course. That went without saying. She was terribly young, and yet, she seemed much older to him. He wondered if she was trying to impress him, then laughed. *Such arrogance,* he told himself, *thinking a young, beautiful woman would *try* to impress anyone? What need did she have to impress people?*
*Demonstrate that she is much more than a pretty face, as the saying goes. Prove her intelligence, prove her wit. Prove that she has a heart, as well as pleasing features. It is arrogance of a greater sort that would have you believe a woman with her appearance would see herself as you do.* That was Imhotep's conscience speaking, and as ever, it was a bloody annoying thing. Still, it kept him out of trouble. Most of the time.
And, he was grateful to it. His conscience kept him from striking out at the Med-jai as they mourned for Suleiman Bey. Jacques wanted him to do just that. Wanted to take the fight to the Med-jai, and wipe them out. Imhotep said 'no.' Jacques was excellent at his job, and he was deeply loyal. But he had no sense of how the game was played. Imhotep told him that. He also told his security chief that he had no wish to destroy the Med-jai, for who would then provide him with such sport? Who else would be his greatest opponents and very dearest of enemies? Jacques had no answer for him, and thus, backed down.
Imhotep was glad that he listened to his voice of conscience, to his voice of reason. Glad that Jacques didn't push the issue. Andreas Bey had none of his father's finesse. . .he blundered about like a bull in a china shop. But his younger brother showed some of his father's talent for the game. He had infinitely more sense, and a better style. And though he was very young, he also had substance. A rarity, to find both style and substance in someone so young. Imhotep enjoyed his skirmishes with Ardeth for that reason.
There was something of the young chieftain in Anck-su-namun, though Imhotep wasn't entirely sure what that something was. Imhotep knew the boy was on campus. Of course he knew that, he wasn't stupid after all. And Ardeth knew he knew, but he was biding his time. Good lad. Just what his father would have done. So now they played a waiting game, and in the meantime, Imhotep was quite fascinated with the lovely Anck-su-namun.
He was charmed by everything about her. He had to be, for he could not stop thinking about her. Imhotep smiled, remembering her expository about the Spanish language, and how her mother changed the spelling of her name from the original Egyptian. Of course, that wasn't entirely true. . .her name would have been written in hieroglyphs, not in the alphabet as they knew it now. But it was the principle of the thing, of course.
How would she be among other women? Would she move stealthily through the throngs of people, never even looking at other women? No, that didn't feel right. He didn't know why he felt that way, but Imhotep couldn't account for most of his decisions. Not rationally, not logically. He went with his instincts when it came to important decisions, and his instincts rarely steered him wrong. His instincts were now telling him that Anck-su-namun Cortez was far more complex than he might have thought.
Which was fine. Imhotep liked complex women. They were like a puzzle box, and Imhotep couldn't stay away from puzzles. He liked knowing how the pieces fit together, what joined them together, and he liked finding missing pieces. In a twisted sort of way, his career as a jewel thief grew out of his frustrated desire to become a detective. When he was a child, he dreamed only of being a police officer, but that dream died away to nothing in the reality of his world. He was needed to do other things.
But like a detective, like a police officer, he fit the missing pieces of the puzzle together, until he had the entire picture. Perhaps that was why he respected Suleiman and Ardeth Bey. Because they were what he once wished to be, and the two men, both father and son, represented the reasons *why* he wanted to be a police officer when he was a child. They were strong and smart, they were tenacious.
They were, in many ways, mirror reflections of himself. His opposites. And Imhotep wondered if either of them respected him as much as he respected them. The question startled him, for he never wondered about such a thing in the past. A bit irritated with himself. . .next he would be wondering why he stole! Or perhaps not. That was easy to answer. He was good at it, and he enjoyed it. Besides, he never stole from poor people. Only rich. He did have *some* standards, after all.
But the line of thought greatly disturbed Imhotep, and he much preferred to think about Anck-su-namun. Did she have a pet name, he wondered, something that those who loved her most called her? She would likely have a nickname soon, if she didn't already. She probably did, though. He would lay money on it. And speaking of money. . .he double- checked his wallet, to make sure he had enough of the green material to pay for his purchases. He did, indeed. . .and he had to return to his office. Make a few calls.
One of those calls would be to his men in Egypt, watching the Med- jai. He wanted to make sure they understood they were to watch only. Take no action, because if they did, and if one of those two little girls were harmed further, Imhotep would personally kill whoever gave the order to strike. They were of no blood relation to Suleiman Bey, but they were the children of his widow. They would be protected this time around. If nothing else, Anck-su-namun Cortez was right about that.
. . .
Celia took a quick break from her conversation with Margit to go to the bathroom, and when she came back, she set her alarm. She didn't want to miss lunch with Evy and Anck. Once she set the alarm, Celia returned her attention to Margit. Her friend, not surprisingly, was quite interested in what she had to say about Ardeth. She wanted to know everything about him, everything that Celia knew at this point, and made Celia repeat, word for word, what he said.
'Well. He sounds quite wonderful, but I need to meet him before I can give him my blessing. How would you feel if I flew out to Chicago for Homecoming? There is someone here I wish to avoid, and that would be the perfect opportunity,' Margit suggested. Celia raised her eyebrows. That wasn't like Margit. In some ways, she was a lot like Anck. . .she believed in facing her problems head-on.
Then again, Celia also preferred to face her problems head on, but there were a time when that wasn't possible. Neil Grady sprung immediately to mind, and Celia typed, 'Sure, that's fine. I'll ask the girls if you can bunk with us. We have spare blankets and spare pillows. Margit, what if I'm making something out of nothing? What if I'm just imagining things where he's concerned? I mean, he's really, really, *really* hot!'
'Please, do ask your roommates if they will be comfortable with my presence. I do not foresee a problem with Anck-su-namun, but Evelyn is another story entirely,' Margit answered. Then she added, and Celia could almost hear the scolding in her voice, 'And do not be so foolish, Cecelia! Neil Grady was not a fully-grown man in spirit, but I believe Ardeth Bey is. So he is 'hot.' That does not make him stupid or superficial. You are a beautiful soul, with a body that is a work in process. I think that is the right term.'
Celia nearly spit out her Coke at that comment. Once she could swallow properly, and was no longer afraid she would spew Coke onto the monitor, she typed, 'Close. Very close. Work in progress, though I think 'work in process' will work just as well. I know. I know I'm being stupid, and I know he's not that jackass Grady. I'm just. . .well, I'm being stupid, and I'm scared. What if I screw this up somehow?'
This time, it took a minute before Margit answered, and when she did, it was to say, 'My dear, dear friend. You will not 'screw' this up. You will continue being yourself, when you remember to keep your brain unfrozen. And Anck will be there to help you. In the meantime, talk to your roommates, and make sure they will be all right with my visit. I do not wish to cause another argument between you and Evelyn, and while I know I did not cause the argument, I know I played into it somehow.'
'You don't cause arguments between us. . .we do that quite well on our own. But I will talk to them. I. . .I'm telling them both about Grady tonight. While we. . .during the confrontation, the one I told you about. . .somehow, Anck figured out that something happened this summer. I just hope she doesn't lose respect for me when she finds out exactly what did happen between me and Grady. This summer was not one of my more shining moments, in terms of my intelligence,' Celia answered.
This time, she was gifted with an entire screen full of Hungarian cusswords, of which she only knew one third. That was enough, though. More than enough. At last, Margit fired back, 'Cecelia Anne Ferguson. If you *ever* say something that idiotic again, I will knock you clear into the next millennium, and I *know* I have that one right, because my roommate said that is a piece of slang that no one can get wrong.'
Celia immediately began typing her response, but had to clear that out when Margit continued, obviously still highly perturbed with Celia, 'That was not your fault. Yes, you made mistakes. But you are a nineteen year old girl, still learning the do's and the do not's of business. He is a. . .he is supposed to be a grown man. He behaved like an immature, childish brat, and he paid the price. If he cannot handle that, it is *his* problem, not yours.'
Celia wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that at first. She thought back to the last days at the warehouse, then typed, 'I. . .sorta know that. But. . .Margit. What if. . .what if he decides to *make* it my problem?' That was part of what haunted her. He swore to her, in their last confrontation, on her last day, that this wasn't over. That he would make her pay for what she did to him, for turning the others in the warehouse against him. It didn't matter that she never told anyone, that people figured it out on their own. He blamed *her.*
There was an even longer silence this time, then Margit asked slowly, almost hesitantly, 'Are you afraid he might show up on campus, Celia? Is that what you mean by making it your problem?' Even though Margit couldn't see her, Celia nodded. Yes. That worried her. It worried her a lot. And Margit didn't need any written confirmation. She went on, 'You have Evelyn and Anck-su-namun watching your back. You have campus security. If he is foolish enough to show up on campus. . .'
'He is. He is foolish enough to do just that, and foolish enough to expect people to take his side. He already blames me for the rest of the warehouse turning against him. I'm not worried as much for myself, Margit, but what if he hurts Evy or Anck?' Celia asked. Her blood ran cold with that thought, and she quietly vowed to open the biggest can of whoop-ass she could find if Neil Grady ever harmed the people she cared about.
There was another long silence, then Margit typed, 'If this worries you so much, go to campus security tomorrow. If you can, take a picture or a description of Neil Grady. Tell security what you just told me, and tell them where you live. It's not perfect, but we live in an imperfect world. Do what you can to protect yourself and your roommates. . .do what you can, do whatever you must. And I will light a candle for you.'
Celia was on the point of answering her, when the door slowly opened. Evy walked in, waving with a faint smile. Celia waved back, glancing at the clock. It was almost noon. Where the hell had she been? Instead of asking, the American told her roommate, "I'm talking to Margit right now. She wants to come visit at Homecoming, wanted to know if she could crash with us. That gonna be a problem?"
"Erm. . .no. Of course not. That will be fine. How is Margit? Has she had any. . .trouble. . .lately?" Evy asked, struggling to ask the question she always asked. Celia rolled her eyes. Usually, she just said 'no,' and let it go, but she was afraid if she didn't put a stop to this now, things would get. . .interesting during Homecoming, and she really didn't need any tension among her roommates during that time period.
"If you're asking, has she encountered any more Englishwomen who think Hungary is in Africa, the answer is 'no.' She knows you're not comfortable with her, Evy, and that will make her uncomfortable," Celia replied. Evy set her books down and pulled up another chair beside Celia's. The American turned her attention back to Margit, who sent her two IM's in the last two minutes and typed, 'Sorry. Evy just got back from class.'
'Everything okay? I would guess you asked about Homecoming, and are dealing with that fallout,' Margit surmised. Celia glanced at Evy out of the corner of her eye, and saw Evy turning redder. Margit continued, 'I should go. I have my first class in fifteen minutes, and I really should go. I will call you on Friday night, and please tell Evelyn I do not hold that ignorant woman against her.'
Celia opted not to tell Margit that Evy was sitting right there. Instead, she typed, 'I'll look forward to your call, then, and we can work out the details of your visit. I'll try to pick you up at O'Hare, but if I can't get away, I know Galen would be more than happy to pick you up.' She paused for a minute, glanced at Evy. Her roommate looked interested in spite of herself, then added a pair of virtual waggling eyebrows before sending the message.
Margit's answer was short, succinct, and totally in-line with her personality. She just sent one word, 'CECELIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!' Celia threw herself back into her chair, laughing hysterically. She could just *see* Margit's expression. Oh, but it was so much fun! Margit liked Galen, Galen liked Margit. There was the minor problem. . . Galen was ten years older than Margit, but she was of legal age in both countries.
Besides. If Margit could play matchmaker for her, then she could certainly return the favor. At the very least, she and Galen could spend more time together, get to know each other. Decide if they were what they really wanted.
Margit would be in the United States for another two and a half years, studying at the University of Texas. And Galen was often flying around the country for medical conferences. Surely at least one of them would take him to Texas? Maybe she should let them work it out on their own, but it was soooo tempting! Most of Galen's girlfriends, once she got to know them, made Abby on 'ER' look as solid as a rock. Celia's theory was that Galen was attracted to needy women. . .she just couldn't figure out why.
He needed a good woman, a strong woman, and Margit *was* strong. She was both strong and good. Of course, there was always the matter of Margit's eventual return to Hungary. Hmm. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, after all. All right. She would back down. For now. On the other hand, if they got together on their own. . .well, she certainly would do anything within her power to help them out!
. . .
After leaving the Class that Never Ends, Evy went to the library for a while. She and Celia both enjoyed spending time there. It was restful, and since she failed to banish Rick O'Connell from her mind in class, she hoped she would have better luck finding that peace in the library. She could always find something in the library to distract her. Go through the microfiche and microfilm, read clippings from the early newspapers.
Evy went to her favorite machine and dropped the five or so canisters beside it. There was a soothing quality to the motions required to feed the fiche into the machine, and Evy began to relax. She sighed, slipping into the chair, and settled into read about days gone by. She loved reading old advertisements from the 1920's and the 1930's. And if there were papers from small towns, they were even more fun to read.
She actually had Celia to thank for this particular pastime. Evy's smile dimmed a little. Celia showed her how to research, using these papers and this technique, as a way of making amends for their argument. Which was just as much Evy's fault as it was Celia's. She had an unfortunate habit of shooting off her mouth, and coming off as condescending when she was trying to calm someone down. Patronizing Celia was the perfect way to set her off, and Evy opening her big gob only made things worse.
So, to make amends for that argument, Celia taught her about these. Her grandmother taught her, Evy learned, while she was teaching Celia about family history. They were used for census records, as well as for old newspaper articles. Celia often used them for research papers, for the distant past and far more recent events. Evy was happily reading about events which happened long before her parents were even born, when a distinct *thud* drew her attention.
All right, so maybe 'thud' was an inappropriate term. . .it was more a clatter, and Evy jumped a foot. She swiveled around to face the source of the noise. Oooooh. . .she might have known! It was that annoying American, Rick O'Connell! He offered a patently insincere smile and said, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Evy just glared at him, glancing down at the newspapers he was using. Local papers. Hmm. Interesting.
She answered with a slight tilt to her head, "The only thing that scares me, Mr. O'Connell, are your manners!" She turned back to face her own work. Obviously, Mr. O'Connell was unaware of the various parts of the machine, or he would have realized she could see his reflection in the somewhat dirty visor on the top of the machine, which shielded the eyes of the user from other machines. And thus, she saw him stick his tongue out at her.
Juvenile. Truly juvenile. Evy barely held back a sniff and concentrated on the print in front of her. Right now, she was reading about the controversy that broke out in the 1920's over women bobbing their hair. Imagine that! She shook her head in amazement, which turned to a cringe as she heard racket behind her, along with swearing in an American accent. Mr. O'Connell definitely had no experience with these machines. . .it seemed he didn't know how to thread the film through the machine.
Evy smirked to herself. Her enjoyment of the situation lasted all of five minutes, because the man's muttering and cursing grew more intense. Evy huffed a sigh, blowing her hair out of her eyes. Oh, all right! She pushed her seat back and marched around to the man behind her. Evy slapped his hands away from the machine, properly threading it. . .and even worse, he had the canister on backward!!!!!!! O'Connell was actually looked embarrassed as he murmured a 'thank you,' and Evy nodded curtly before marching back to her own station.
She was hoping for peace and quiet. However, of course, she didn't get it, for as soon as she sat down, O'Connell asked almost casually, "You know, if you know so much about these machines, and I know you're in that Egyptian class, maybe you know something about an artifact called the Book of Amun-Ra, said to be made of gold." Evy stilled in her chair before swiveling to face him. O'Connell glanced away from his own work at the motion. Did he just say the Book of Amun-Ra???
"Why yes! It's a very ancient, and very famous book, with the spells and incantations of the Old Kingdom in Egypt. No one knows where it is, or even if it truly exists. Why, are you researching the Book of Amun-Ra? Why? Your stepbrother is from Egypt, why don't you ask him about it?" Evy asked. Then something else occurred to her and she added, "Made of gold? You *do* know your history!"
"I know my treasure," O'Connell corrected, pulling out a notebook and writing down whatever he found. That effectively silenced Evy, for she actually thought she might be able to have an intelligent conversation with this man. Her reluctant companion continued, "And I don't ask my brother, because he's got other things to worry about, including several nubile young females who have taken a liking to him. Speaking of which, why don't you tell me a little about your roommates, since they seem to act like human beings, instead of female vampires?"
The change in subject startled Evy, and she stuttered, "My roommates? You want to talk about my roommates?" O'Connell merely lifted his eyebrows at her, and Evy continued, "Well, I suppose you do want to know about them, since you asked. But why do you want to know about them?" Could it be that he was attracted to Anck? Males often were. Anck had no problem with the fact that men found her sexy, though she did wish some of them were as interested in her mind as they were in her body.
"Well, your roommate. . .the little one. . .is kinda annoying to me for taking up for my little buddy Beni. But I think my stepbrother likes her. I guess I just want to make sure she's good enough for him. And the other one. . .hell, she's dangerous no matter how you look at her! I kept getting the feeling that if I even looked at your little roommate the wrong way, she would have cut me into pieces," O'Connell replied.
Evy answered indignantly, "Good enough! I'll have you know, Celia is from one of the finest families in Chicago!" Okay, that wasn't entirely truthful. She certainly came from one of the richest, but she wasn't old money, and Evy wasn't particularly impressed with her parents. She liked Galen, from the few times she met him. But O'Connell annoyed her by questioning whether or not Celia was good enough for his brother.
And O'Connell was singularly unimpressed. He retorted, twirling his finger in the air just to show how unimpressed he was with that reply, "Yea for her. I don't much care if she's the daughter of royalty, sister. I wanna know if *she* is good enough for my brother. Not her family. Her. Will she take care of him, will she be good to him? You know, the important stuff. Not how rich her family is."
"If she decides someone is worth her trust and loyalty. . .well, you've seen my roommate in action. You tell me," Evy retorted. O'Connell was on the verge of doing just that, when she added, "And for your information, her name is 'Celia.' Or, to be more formal, 'Cecelia Anne Ferguson.' Not, 'your little roommate.' And the question then becomes, is your brother good enough for my roommate? Anck and I won't allow just anyone to date Celia, after all." She arched a brow at her dumbfounded companion.
And when no answer was forthcoming, she turned her back on O'Connell with an audible sniff. She was no longer in the mood to read about times gone by, in the words of the people who lived them. So, she began to rewind the film until it was all back on the original spindle, then removed it, and took down the machine. She retrieved her belongings, put the used and unused microfilm in the proper receptacles, then left the library to return to the dorm.
The nerve of that man, questioning whether or not someone as loyal and passionate as Celia was good enough for his brother! Why, the nerve of him! Evy was positively incensed and her most recent confrontation with O'Connell only served to remind her why she didn't like him. Besides. . .when she was angry with him, she could ignore the way her body reacted to seeing him. At least, she could forget until she was away from him, and she started replaying the events in her mind. That was when she winced at how arrogant she sounded. Ooooh, she *hated* when she did that! It always got her into so much trouble!
Things became worse instead of better when she arrived back at the dormitory, and Celia was at her computer, IMMing with her Hungarian friend. Something that never failed to embarrass her. . .and for once, Celia didn't try to salvage Evy's wounded pride by not referring to the embarrassing incident. Instead, when Evy asked delicately if Margit had any unpleasant situations to deal with lately, her roommate said with some exasperation, "If you're asking, has she encountered any more Englishwomen who think Hungary is in Africa, the answer is 'no.' She knows you're not comfortable with her, Evy, and that will make her uncomfortable."
Evy winced, but knew her roommate was right. It was embarrassing, yes, that one of her countrywomen demonstrated ignorance of a European country, especially after Evy just bragged that no British subject was so unaware of European geography. However, she wasn't responsible for the incident, nor was her roommate, and nor was Margit. The English girl set her books down and pulled up another chair beside Celia's. Her roommate had two IM's waiting for her, and Celia typed, 'Sorry. Evy just got back from class.'
'Everything okay? I would guess you asked about Homecoming, and are dealing with that fallout,' Margit asked. Evy turned bright red. She never realized how intuitive Margit was. Another IM popped up on the screen. Now Margit was saying, 'I should go. I have my first class in fifteen minutes, and I really should go. I will call you on Friday night, and please tell Evelyn I do not hold that ignorant woman against her.'
Well, that certainly was pleasant to know. . .and would make Homecoming far less tense. Evy noticed that Celia said nothing to Margit about Evy's presence beside her. Her roommate typed back, 'I'll look forward to your call, then, and we can work out the details of your visit. I'll try to pick you up at O'Hare, but if I can't get away, I know Galen would be more than happy to pick you up.' She gave a low, evil laugh, then 'waggled' her brows online.
Evy laughed aloud, not just at her roommate's evil streak, but also at Margit's reaction. It was only one word: 'CECELIAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!' Celia laughed helplessly and Evy shook her head. Evil, evil girl. Apparently, there was some. . .fondness. . .between Margit and Celia's older brother Galen. Not that Celia ever told her about it, but Evy could read between the lines when she noticed something other than books.
Now that her conversation with Margit was concluded, Celia turned to Evy and fixed her with a 'big sister' look, saying, "Now. Tell me why you look so annoyed, and why you're back from class so soon." And just that quickly, the whole embarrassing situation with the 'Hungary in Africa' comment was forgotten. Evy took a deep breath, glanced at the clock. They had a while before they met Anck for lunch. And then she told Celia about encountering O'Connell at the library. That annoying, annoying man!