Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Madonna Santa!” he whispers, crossing himself briefly before flipping to another image.
He pushes the bagel he ordered away right as Phoenix’s coffee and pastry arrive. I peek at the coffee. It’s some swirly, milky-colored concoction with whipped cream on top. Whipped cream.
I’ve endured late-night coding sessions with this woman, and all I ever saw her down was entire pots of black coffee. Thick as tar, too.
The Professor puts the phone down and crosses himself again.
“So what do you think? Is it anything you’ve seen before?”
He takes a moment before answering but then finally does. “Heaven help us, but yes, I have, only once before.”
Phoenix almost leaps over the table, I can tell she’s so excited. “Where? What was it?”
“During my work with Ancient Egyptian scrolls. They spoke of an evil goddess who would enchant a man with her sexual pull. She would get him alone, mate him, and then demand his life as a sacrifice. After the mating, she’d tear his body apart. ‘Rend him limb from limb and joint from joint in a circle bathed in blood’ was how the texts described it. And then she would eat his heart.”
“Like a black widow,” I murmur.
“The heart wasn’t there,” Phoenix says. “You really think it could be her? Come back after all this time?” She sounds incredulous but also focused. “How do we find her? Stop her?”
The Professor’s mouth drops open. “You’ll do no such thing. Phoenix! Did you not see these photos? These are powers for us to observe from afar! Not interfere with.”
“Of course, of course. I just want to study her more,” Phoenix recovers quickly. “To include in my dissertation. What’s her name?”
“Ammit, the man-eater.”
“Oh, of course. I read about her in The Egyptian Book of the Dead.”
“That’s the best place to start.”
Phoenix jumps up from her seat.
“You haven’t even touched your latte,” the Professor objects.
“I hate to dash, but time’s running out on the dissertation if I want to put in this new addition,” Phoenix apologizes. “Thank you so much for your time, John Paul.”
“Of course, of course, I understand. Your devotion to your studies is what makes you such an excellent protégé.” He stands up as well and holds his hand out to me. “It was wonderful to meet you, Signore…?”
Phoenix’s eyes widen like she’s appalled at herself for never actually introducing us. Or maybe because she hoped to make an escape without him ever learning my name.
“Layden,” I say, grasping his hand in a bone-crushing handshake. To his credit, he only winces a little.
“Signore Layden,” he says before letting go and shaking his hand out. “Quite a grip you’ve got there.”
Phoenix glares at me. “Well, time to be off. I’ll see you later this week after office hours to go over my most recent revisions on my chapters?”
The Professor grins far too wide. “Wouldn’t miss it.” After Phoenix turns away, he winks at me.
I barely keep back my snarl, and it takes even more restraint not to put my hand behind Phoenix’s back in a show of protection and intention to guide her away from Fuckface.
“You really think Vlad’s gonna like you getting close to that guy?” I mutter as we finally walk away.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She turns on me, fire in her eyes.
“Nothing,” I say. “Just that we’re supposed to look married. On our honeymoon. All that. What’s he gonna say if he catches you carrying on in your professor’s office?”
“We’re not—” She cuts herself off when her voice hits another octave. “Carrying on. Jesus, why do you have to make it sound so sordid? He’s just my advisor and a man I respect.”
I scoff. Respect.
“You know what?” She spins on me. “Fuck you.”
“Me? What did I do?”
She glares at me like she wants to murder me. “You came back. I was perfectly happy here. I had a life.” She gestures so hard at the university behind her that it looks like she all but dislocates her shoulder socket. “I have friends.”
At my stare, she stomps her foot. “I have Sabra anyway. And I have a future. One that doesn’t involve blood and my grandfather determining my every move. I’m doing what I want to do.”
“Looks like it still involves blood to me.”
She gets right up in my face. “Studying it, not spilling it. Or having it spilled on my behalf. Or putting compulsions on people so they lose their fucking minds in order to please me. I was doing just fine until you called and dragged me back into all this shit.”
The pain of regret pierces, but she’s got me too frustrated to make sense of it, and all I can do is get back in her face. “Well, you started it. Maybe you should have left me alone that day in the woods. But you didn’t, did you? And actions have consequences.”