So...I've gotten absolutely no feedback over the last two or three chapters...anybody out there? I'd love some input, or critiques. Please.

-XXX-

Closing her eyes and drawing focus, Leora blew out a hurried reply to her uncle's query. Once, twice, over again until she could hear that he was getting closer.

All the while, Horace's mummy stared down at her, confused. That was, until he heard the shuffle of the Egyptologist's boots in the hall. He quickly made the connection. Someone was coming.

Turning back to the girl huddling on the floor, he seized her wrists, dragging her up. "I'll find you," he swore quietly. "And I shan't be in this form again."

With that, he released her and slipped away. Her electric lamp's beam frantically sought him, but the room was bare. Empty. She hadn't the faintest idea where he might've gone, either.

Horace stumbled in several seconds later, bleary-eyed and dressed in his mint-striped pajamas. Leora rushed to him, hitting his chest hard, sinking into his embrace with a tender sob. He couldn't get a word out of her on their walk back. She could only cry, clinging to him as they stumbled together through the sand. When they reached the tent, and she'd had two cups of water (and a small shot of the sherry he kept in a flask in his velvet bathrobe, but that was when Madam's back was turned), the young lady managed some short tale of needing fresh air, walking to the ruins, going into the mummy's room, and being frightened by a combination of several factors (a few unfamiliar noises, the mummy's face, etc). In her fright, she left the room, then heard glass breaking. Tomb robbers, she told them, shaking slightly. Someone there, who shouldn'tve been.

She spoke nothing of the mummy coming to life, the startling one-sided conversation, nor of the papyrus.

She received no scolding from him. He was too focused on safety-that of hers, and his mummy's. Leora in no way blamed him

Once Horace left to examine his pride and joy, Madam began to do what she did best: fuss.

Tea was given, along with an extra blanket, some sweets, and then Leora was sent off to her cot with the strictest instructions to sleep. "Running about the desert," Madam sniffed as she spooned out French-formula sleeping aid (Leora was wary about it, but said nothing as she was not in a state to be testing the governess's nerves) "In the middle of the night. Not something Proper Young Ladies ought to be doing."

For once, Leora agreed.

She fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming of mice and gold-skinned men.

-XXX-

The next morn, as she and Madam dined on their usual breakfast of strawberries and toast, Horace visited their tent. Hat in his hands, and followed by two of his men, he stood somberly in the crisp morning light. Leora had to shield her eyes from the sun, which was magnified by the white desert sand. It took her a moment to grasp the gravity of her uncle's expression.

"This morning," he began, voice quavering. "We found Malik and Rashin in their tents…dead."

He said it so simply. No preamble, as was usually the case when it came to Horace. Madam stood abruptly, her eyes the size of saucers.

"The thieves?" she asked in a hushed tone.

Transfixed, Leora held her toast aloft, halfway between her mouth and the plate. She was caught in a daze. Listening partially, but also thinking very hard on last night's events. She had hoped it had merely been a dream. Then Madam mentioned something about electric lamps. And she had remembered.

Had she gotten someone killed?

Horace hesitated, looking to his niece. She appeared adequately shocked, so he gestured for the governess to follow him outside. Once there, he spoke quietly.

"Some…virus, or pathogen of some sort we're entirely unfamiliar with. It's as though every drop of moisture in their bodies has been removed…so curious. They didn't appear injured in any other form. But I've had the bodies packed up, and all of their things sanitized. The tents, cots, and linens have been burned." Horace swallowed. "I don't know what this means. They looked like…well, they looked like mummies."

Madam stared. "You're joking, Horace."

"No, no, I swear it. Perfectly preserved, dry to the bone. I don't know what to think of it! And if it is a disease…but it's unlikely. They've been properly packed." He adopted a business-like tone. "We shan't fear it. Probably nothing more than…er…severe dehydration, paired with….with…I haven't the faintest idea. But this could still be connected to the thieves. We'll need everyone to stay close."

The governess nodded slowly, though she looked positively horrified. "Very well, then. We shall…we shall stay indoors, for today."

"Right." The Egyptologist clapped his hands. "Exactly. Carry on, then, Madam."

Leora had, naturally, heard every word.

"Pathogen?" Her mind flashed back to the mummy's words before he left her.

"I shall find you…and I shan't be in this form again."

What did that mean, exactly? How was he going to set about changing himself? How does one recover from a resurrection?-for that is what occurred, she was fairly certain of it. She shook her head. Too many questions, and no way of answering them.

When her uncle and governess returned, Leora made an inquiry (with just the right amount of faint sorrow) after her uncle's mummy. Perhaps, in some way, he might've gone back to his sarcophagus. Rather like a vampire, but possible.

Horace's expression turned graver. "My dear, my specimen has left us. Those fiends you encountered last night have taken him from me. But no fear, my girl, no fear. We've put men on it. There is no reason to believe they've left, either. Still camping in the city, you see. We'll find him."

She was not reassured.

Not only had two men been killed, but now goodness-knows how many were out there searching for the supernatural corpse. Besides that, they were under the impression that they were looking for bandits, not some mummy with untold powers.

-XXX-

Over the next three days, two other men died equally mysterious deaths.

For the remainder of the week, she and Madam stayed in their tent. They were not allowed to watch any digs, couldn't take a single walk, nor could they dine with the gentlemen. This was disappointing. Leora turned to the books she'd brought, flipping through several covers, browsing the pages carelessly. Sleep was always an option, but ever when exhausted, she found the practice difficult. She was restless. Uneasy. Between tiredness and boredom, Leora was at a loss. She soon developed cabin fever.

She could not sit around as others were in danger. Not when she had some part in their injury. Normally meek and mild, Leora felt a fire in her blood unmatched by any of her previous passions of reading or painting. Not quite anger, but, rather, an attraction to making right. She needed to solve this. Solve it before anyone else was hurt.

Or she might never be able to forgive herself.

Exactly one week after her encounter, Leora found her out. Some of Madam's sleep aid, slipped into her evening cup of tea might very well be her ticket out of their stuffy little tent. It sat on DuBois's vanity, beside her powder poof, in its red little bottle. A few drops, and the Rainier would be free for the evening.

Dinner was a quiet affair that night. Exactly as it had been all week. Madam read aloud afterwards. Leora crochet for an hour or so, until her hands were stiff. Then she set aside her work for bed.

It did not take much to convince the governess of her own weariness, or that her charge intended on staying in. Leora had fueled the idea of her own extreme fear of the "thieves," and had easily persuaded the woman of her charge's aversion to leaving without supervision. It took even less persuasion to convince the woman to have a nightcap of chamomile tea. The governess faded to sleep almost as soon as she drained her teacup. As soon as Leora could hear the measured breaths of the sleeping person across the room, she slipped from bed, pulling on a pair of trousers and buttoning a blouse. She wore a light jacket- - - desert nights were considerably chilly-and, in lieu of her oxfords, the proper boots Horace had gifted her with on announcing his expedition, the very same one they were on now.

The electric lantern went into her pocket once more. With little hesitation she left, looking back only once to ensure Madam was asleep.

She believed he might still be in the ruins. He'd promised to find her-well, she was not going to give him the chance. Not by a long shot. No, Leora was determined to find him and put an end to this-if only she could figure the "how" part of the equation.

Over the course of the week, she'd had quite a bit of time for thinking, and had figured she'd simply end him the way he'd began; through the scrolls.

They might still be in the vestibule, where she'd dropped them. Horace had said nothing about them when he visited her over the week. Perhaps he'd missed them.

Whatever caused her to fluently read the spell (for it must be a spell) that woke the mummy might be what could take him back down. If she was lucky it would work. If not, well…Leora didn't have any sort of back-up plan. Close her eyes and hope he didn't put an end to her. It seemed as though he had some sort of connection to her. Hopefully that would prevent doom falling upon her. Hopefully.

The moon was nearly full, so she had more than enough light. In the brightness, the sand almost appeared snowy white. Leora hadn't seen snow since she left England, ages and ages ago. For a while, she could pretend the sand was snow, that she was out on a quiet winter stroll, not hunting down murdering mummies. Of course, this dreaming couldn't last once she'd entered the temple.

It took her less time to find the temple house on her third visit; she had a mission. No sounds greeted her this time. She felt reasonably reassured of being alone. Wherever her uncle's mummy was tonight, it was not here. Silent, she drifted through the hall, the temple house, and into the windowless side-room that housed the sarcophagus. With light streaming in from the open temple house, she didn't need to turn on her electric right away.

The glass had been cleared away, as had the pot and the oil lamp. She still had to wonder who'd left the flower and the lamp. Where they the same person who had left behind the scrolls? Was someone scheming here, on the mummy's side?

Switching on the electric light, Leora used the light to scan the floor of the room, then all the corners. She got down on her hands and knees to thoroughly view the room, then peered into the empty coffin. Several minutes of searching confirmed her fears; nothing was to be found. She'd reached her first wall. Now, only to climb it.

She stood up from where she'd kneeled beside the coffin, taking one long breath and backing up. A flick of the switch, and the room was engulfed by darkness. Leora frowned. Hadn't it been light, earlier? Had a cloud temporarily covered the moon? She groaned internally, fumbling for the light again, when the dark shifted. It altered, becoming far smaller, a concentrated patch of dark. A shadow. That's when she turned, without really considering-

The doorway seemed tiny in comparison to his large frame. He consumed her vision, and though silent, radiated intimidation. Leora squeaked, hurrying to back up. Somehow, he always found the perfect place to corner her.

He was different. Yet she knew, without a doubt, who it was. It could be no one else. Even in the relative darkness, she could make out smooth skin, keen eyes, a fuller figure. "I'll find you…and I shan't be in this form again." Entirely had transformed completely. If she weren't so frightened she might have gone so far as to call him handsome. But she was scared out of her stocking, so no compliments were forthcoming. At least, not from her.

The mummy (though she couldn't rightly call him that anymore) descended upon her. Leora cried out again, scrambling away until the back of her knees hit the sarcophagus with a dull thud. It hurt, but she ignored the pain, too focused on staying away. But this time, he knew better, and kneeled to her level. Her wrists were soon shackled by his massive hands, her knees locked between his. And, once again, she was forced to look upwards. This time a far nicer visage presented itself to her. One with skin, smooth and tan, eyes as dark brown as hers were green, strong, dry hands. This did nothing to consol her, however, and though unhurt, Leora began to weep.

The sight of her tears had an effect on him. Cool fingers swept her cheeks, brushing away the salty drops. This only made her cry harder. A smooth murmur of unintelligible words did manage to ease the crying somewhat, as did the soft strokes being applied to her hair. Rainier still shied away from his touch, but less so upon seeing this gentler side. When she stopped shaking, the man pulled back to observe her with thoughtful eyes.

"Masika," he whispered.

There it was again. That word.

She straightened. "What is that?" She didn't expect any response, but voicing the question seemed to help.

Brow furrowed, he repeated it. A question entered his tone. "Masika?"

Over and over he said it. Each time, a question. He stared, frustration tingeing his tone, as though he were trying to get across some deep message she just wasn't comprehending.

And then it suddenly clicked. It was a name. What he thought to be her name!

"No," Leora said, gesturing to herself. "Leora. I'm Leora. I don't know who Masika is, but, eh…she's probably gone. You said so yourself, three thousand years?"

"No," he said confidently. "You are she. It is inconceivable to think otherwise. You are my wife."

-XXX-

Reviews? Please? Just drop me a "u suck," anything will do.