They took care of every stolen object, but the dagger remained with Marc. Layla was talking to her contacts, making sure that nothing of what they had taken from the illegal deal would once more end up in circulation.
Marc handed over the body to Steven, who was fawning over the ceremonial dagger and who spent days researching what it was. He photographed it from every angle and documented even the smallest scratch. There was by now a whole book filled with notes, sketches, ideas and the like.
"It's a whole mess of protective hieroglyphs and dedications, really," he finally told Marc, who was co-fronting and listening attentively. "But there is also a mess of other stuff and I'm not sure, but that's what turns it dark. It's like a blessing and curse wrapped in one. Good intentions for a very dark case."
Khonshu's was a furious presence, still smarting over the attack on the soul bond and on his host. Marc knew it hadn't been personal, but the moon god took it like that.
"It's neutralized," Steven told the tall entity. "We can hand it over to a museum."
"No!" Books toppled over. "It is a vessel. An empty vessel! It could be used again!" the god thundered.
"Oh. Right. Well… what shall we do with it?"
Marc shrugged. I can think of a few place where no one will find it.
"Destroy it!" Khonshu demanded.
"It's a priceless relic!" Steven argued, eyes wide. "It's one of a kind! You can't just destroy it!"
"I can and I will!" the entity snapped, wind whipping up again. "It nearly tore us apart!"
Steven blinked, then his shoulders slumped. "Oh. Yes. I… understand…"
"It could be used again! I won't tolerate such a vessel in this realm!"
Marc felt how torn Steven was over the prospect of losing the artifact, but he had had a front row seat to what the cursed dagger had tried to do.
Steven, you know it's the only thing to do.
The other nodded, fingers flitting over the intricately crafted hilt. "It's just such a waste," he mumbled. "It's beautiful work. It's an artifact out of the earliest of dynasties, maybe even before." He sighed. "But it's dangerous. The other avatars wouldn't have been so lucky, am I right?"
Khonshu inclined his head. "They would have perished. Our connection is unique. Unbreakable."
Steven sighed and wrapped the dagger in a protective cloth, then hid it in a drawer.
I'll handle it, Marc promised.
He did. The dagger was turned into nothing but a molten heap.
Layla understood and she hugged him, hugging Steven through Marc, placing a kiss against his cheek.
"It's the only thing to do."
Khonshu fervently agree. He was still agitated and Marc felt every surge, every whisper of renewed anger. He felt the same. He knew he hadn't been targeted, but he knew that other avatars had suffered from this horrible weapon. Someone had had a huge grudge against the gods or their avatars.
Maybe someone who hadn't been chosen? Steven mused. Someone who wanted to be an avatar and then killed those who became one? Maybe they hoped that it would get them chosen next?
Marc rubbed his tired eyes. "I don't want to know, Steven. Really."
His alter wasn't deterred. He felt his curiosity and it would probably launch another research mission. Marc decided to just give in and hand over the reigns, so to speak. He needed some downtime.
Khonshu's presence grew, surrounded him, gently nudged his mind.
Apparently they were on the same page.
Steven truly did channel his inner librarian for the next two days. Marc watched him, silently amused and slightly bemused, as he poured over books and magazines, requested copies of some chapters or even just a few pages, then went online and browsed through what seemed like dozens of sites on Egyptian lore.
"Egyptian belief is heavily based on spells and charms, but I've never heard of something this dark," he muttered, talking to himself and to Marc in one. "There's a lot on fertility magic. Charms, amulets, tattoos… all of that. Or rituals surrounding a burial. Magic in ancient Egypt wasn't just… tricks and illusions. Magic had created the world, sustained it daily, and magic healed when one was sick, gave when one had nothing, and assured one of eternal life after death."
No black magic.
Khonshu huffed. "It was practiced."
Steven looked up, peering over the rims of his glasses. "Well, yes, curses. Like the curse of the pharaohs or the mummy's curse." His forehead wrinkled. "Allegedly anyone who disturbs the tomb of a pharaoh will be befallen by bad luck, illness, or death."
The god tilted his head. "Not black magic. Simple protection spells in some cases."
"So the curses are real?" Excitement flooded through him and Steven shot the entity an inquisitive look.
"There are rare few, but none have been encountered by humankind so far."
"Oh. And the dagger is… black magic?"
"Yes. The foulest. Twisted."
Steven leaned back and stretched. "This is crazy, crazy weird. All of it."
How? Marc prodded gently.
"Too much doesn't fit any of the other grave findings. For example, I thought this was 18th dynasty. It's… not that clear, really."
Why?
"It might be older, but it's so incredibly well-preserved and the craftsmanship is amazingly detailed. But the inscriptions make no sense. Not in any way I'm familiar with. All those hieroglyphs and sigils… It's as if someone just carved all the sigils of the gods and then some into the hilt, and random nonsense into the blade. It seems to span through the ages, through all dynasties. Like some really atrocious heirloom."
It's gone now, Marc said with dark satisfaction.
Khonshu agreed.
"Let's hope there was only this one," Steven muttered, unconsciously rubbing over the place where the knife had been rammed into Moon Knight's body.
Marc still bore a scar. It was absolutely unusual since the suit healed him perfectly, but there was a scar. A mark where the dagger had pierced the armor and launched the nightmarish battle over the health and integrity of the soul bond.
Khonshu was very far from happy about the marking on his Knight's body. He had been absolutely livid the first time Marc had seen it when he had undressed for a shower.
"I really don't want this to happen again," Steven added softly. He looked inward and found Marc's sharp gaze on him. "Try not to run into any more knives," he joked weakly.
I'll try.
"I'm serious. You always run into stuff. Literally. Spears, lances, knives, bullets… It's not healthy! I know it doesn't hurt like it should. I was on the receiving end of lances. It's… not nice. Really not nice. And they ran your through. It's… disturbing that you call that a fighting style."
It works.
Steven shot him an angry look. "Yes, it works, until it doesn't! You saw what can happen! You can't keep doing that stuff, Marc!"
Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah. Noted.
"Just… be more careful from now on?"
Khonshu tilted his head, but he didn't comment.
That might not always work.
"Give it a try? At least when it comes to ancient weapons?" Steven begged.
Okay, he replied softly. I will. I promise.
The next few jobs went off without a hitch. Despite the hail of bullets or the attempt to collapse a derelict house on the Moon Knight.
The scar stayed. It was faded, like an old wound that had healed a long time ago, but it was there.
Khonshu's displeasure about that was clear. The dark spell had prevented the moon's healing energy from doing its job.
Steven had done more research, but he was hitting a lot of dead ends. All his notes were pinned on the walls or spread out over the desk, covering every inch. Marc let him work, watching or just sliding back to give his alter room. He sometimes woke to a cramped neck and the realization that Steven had fallen asleep at the desk again.
"Ouch," he muttered, massaging the offending muscles. "Gotta stop doing this, Steven," he added with a sigh.
His alter was silent, deep inside and probably not even close to any level of consciousness. Marc leaved through the notes and found some stuff that was clearly not from any of the history book.
"What have you two been up to?"
Khonshu was suspiciously quiet and invisible.
"Geeks," Marc teased.
"He is very interested in matters that pertain to you, too." The deity was suddenly sight behind him, leaning over the seated man as Marc pushed the papers aside.
"You know I'm not a science nerd."
"You are my Knight."
"I never got a job description," he shot back.
Khonshu chuckled, low and rough. "You're doing just fine."
He turned, eyebrows up. "Just fine?"
"You still have a lot to learn, Marc Spector."
"That means you're teaching Steven Egyptian lore? Wait, no, he probably asked you a million more questions until you caved and answered."
Khonshu huffed.
Marc usually wasn't part of those Q&A sessions. Steven's voice was like a background murmur, like his favorite radio station, but he didn't listen to the words, just the sound. Khonshu's reluctance to get into his past was still there, but he easily answered everything in connection with the Egyptian dynasties. Steven had probably gone over where the dagger had been created or by whom a hundred times, involving their god, but so far, no luck.
"And you like it," Marc added with a smirk. "Teaching us."
"I teach Steven, not you."
Except that he had. Small things. Marc knew how to fight and he could utilize all the weapons at his disposal when it came to the armor, but Khonshu had pushed here or there, had given him a better awareness of the ceremonial armor, and Marc had the feeling he had somehow upgraded. Not much. He didn't have any new powers, but what he did was… better.
He rose and stretched, then headed for the shower. Steven remained dormant throughout, even when he met up with Layla two hours later to talk about a possible lead on his latest job: reacquire illegally attained artifacts that had been part of a very exclusive, private collection. A legal collection.
He was looking forward to that.
As was Khonshu.
When the call came, Steven was in the middle of checking a list of stored ceramics against the contents of a box that should contain all those precious pieces of an old workers' camp that had been found ten years ago. The museum wanted to start displaying those shards and semi-broken cups and plates.
The sensation was one he hadn't felt before. Like a tingle down his spine. It wasn't a good feeling. More like sandpaper on skin accompanied by the sound of chalk screeching on an old board.
He put down the list, alarmed.
"What… what's that? Did you hear that? Did you feel that?"
"Hand over the body to Marc!" Khonshu ordered, suddenly standing next to him, tattered shawl whipping about.
The moon god looked just as alarmed, posture rigid, drawn up to his full height. He was radiating such tension, such danger, Steven felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand up.
"W-what?" he echoed, even as he felt Marc's presence. "What's going on?"
"Do it! Now!" the god commanded harshly, followed by a sharp mental push. "Do it!"
The change happened fluidly as Marc fronted and Steven became a rather confused and more than a little apprehensive backseat rider.
What's going on? Khonshu sounds worried… which is worrisome…
"We received a summoning," Marc said, voice hard and cold.
From whom?
"The Ennead," he answered tightly, lips a thin line.
What?!
"This isn't good," he whispered.
Khonshu was radiating something dark and foreboding. "How dare they summon me?!" he snarled.
What did we do?
"Nothing, Steven," Marc answered softly. "Nothing at all."
But… this is a summons! This is really, really serious! Creating-an-eclipse serious! Probably close to the level of turning the night sky back two thousand years!
Marc looked at his agitated alter, who was apparently close to hyperventilating. "Steven," he said quietly. "It's okay. We did nothing wrong."
In our eyes or theirs?! The anxiety was by now palpable.
Well, he had a point there.
"Just… stay back. And quiet. Please."
Steven's expression relayed what he thought of that. Marc gave him an apologetic grimace.
The last time there had been an offense, the aforementioned unscheduled eclipse. Khonshu had done it to get the attention of his fellow gods and it had worked only too well. Really way too well, because Marc hadn't been in a good place to begin with and things had deteriorated so fast, he should have gotten whiplash.
But he couldn't think of a reason now. None at all.
One of the doors in the basement suddenly cracked open as if on automatic. The portal to the Council Chamber had presented itself.
Steven's anxiousness rose.
Marc's whole bearing was one of battle-readiness, though he doubted they would have a snowball's chance to actually fight against the other gods. Even with the armor. He might just hold out a little longer, but it wasn't a guarantee.
I really don't like this, Steven mumbled.
Marc couldn't think of anything that might have called the attention of the Ennead to them again. His work as the Moon Knight was the same as always. The other gods had never cared about whatever he had been sent to do. Why would they now?
"We won't fight," Khonshu growled, looking at his avatar. "This summons is a twisted game!"
"Wonderful," Marc muttered. He looked at the moon god. "So? I'm going in alone again?"
Khonshu huffed. "You are never alone, Marc. Never."
He closed his eyes, felt that strong, unwavering presence inside him. "But no armor."
"No." That sounded rather regretful.
"And it'll be just me."
"I will be there."
"Last time didn't go so well for us."
Khonshu's magic curled around him, making him shiver. "The last time was different. The last time there was… pain… manipulation… deceit."
And a moon god with a short temper. Marc didn't have any high hopes that Khonshu would fare any better this time. He wasn't a politician and he ignored protocol most of the time. He was also someone who spoke his mind and damn the consequences.
Yeah. Not a good starting point.
"You got hopes they're just calling for tea and cookies?" he asked with an almost fatalistic edge to the very sarcastic remark.
The deity rumbled softly.
This isn't good, Steven was almost pacing in his head. The convention of the Ennead is a serious matter! They called their avatars to preside over something important. Us!
"We will see," Khonshu just said, the frown audible, as was the distrust.
Marc steeled himself as he approached the door. It opened automatically.
The invitation was clear.
Right now he wished he could wear the ceremonial armor. It felt like walking into Ammit's tomb again.
Steven gave a dark little laugh, sounding close to panicky.
"We've got this," he told his alter firmly. "We've got this…"
