Revealed

been blue. Her song faltered.

“No,” Neferet had insisted. “Keep singing. It is a lovely song.” The old woman’s expression had tightened, but she’d continued:

Through the hand of the dead he is free

Terrible beauty, monstrous sight

Ruled again they shall be

Women shall kneel to his dark might

Kalona’s song sounds sweet

As we slaughter with cold heat.

Kalona! The name of the god had pierced Neferet. “Sing it again, old woman,” she had commanded.

“I have finished. I go.”

The old woman began to rise, but Neferet had moved swiftly to stop her. It had been too easy to take the hatchet from the crone—too easy to press it to her throat.

“Do as I command or I will slit your throat and leave you here for the birds to pick your ancient bones clean.”

The old woman had closed her eyes; drawn a deep, shaky breath; and then began to sing, over and over, until Neferet was certain she had the song memorized. Only then did she allow the woman to stop. Only then did she probe within the crone’s mind.

“You think of yourself as a Ghigua. What is that?” Neferet had asked.

The old woman’s eyes had widened. She hadn’t answered Neferet, but her mind had suddenly been washed in panic and strange words: Ane li sgi, demon, Tsi Sgili, soul-eater, man- killer. That tide of words had been carried to Neferet on a wave of dread and terror.

“You’re very frightened of me.” Neferet had smiled and sat closer to the old woman, resting the hatchet in the small space between them.

“You hear what is in my mind,” said the woman.

“I hear more than that,” Neferet said. “Your song—I believe I understand what it means.”

“I sing this song each new moon as a warning.”

“Certainly, to some it would be a warning. To me it is a promise.” Neferet had probed the old woman’s mind further. “You do not fear me because I am vampyre.”

“I have no fear of vampyres.”

“Yet you fear me,” Neferet had said. “And you sing of my lover. Let me see, how did that song go— The mark strikes true; Queen Tsi Sgili will devise. Tell me, old woman, who and what is Queen Tsi Sgili?”

You are, demon! Delighter in pain! Feeder from death!

The condemnation echoed from the old woman’s mind to Neferet, but the crone said only, “I have spoken enough for one night. Now I will say no more.” Then she had pressed her thin, wrinkled lips into a stubborn line.

Neferet had smiled silkily at her. “Ah, but I do not need you to speak in words. Your mind is shouting quite loudly enough. I can glean all I need without you uttering a syllable, old woman.”

But Neferet hadn’t had time to rape the woman’s mind as she had intended. With an ear-piercing war cry, the crone had snatched up the hatchet and sliced it across her own throat, opening her carotid artery.

“No!” Neferet had screamed, pressing her palm against the old woman’s flesh, trying to prolong her last minutes as she probed her mind, seeking answers from fading images and half-formed thoughts.

In her den Neferet’s body twitched and quivered in response to the memory. The old woman had sacrificed herself for nothing. Her dying mind had held information enough for Neferet to begin two things—her quest to release Kalona, and her transformation from unfulfilled High Priestess to an immortal goddess, Queen Tsi Sgili.

Zoey

I loved sixth hour. Not only was Lenobia the coolest professor ever, but it was a class where I got to ride a horse! I have no clue how that could be more perfect. Today it seemed like Lenobia knew we needed to get rid of some stress. When class began we entered the arena to find big black steel barrels set up in a triangle formation.

Lenobia galloped up on Mujaji. The black mare slid to a stop in front of us.

“So, fledglings, does anyone know why those barrels are out there?”

My hand shot up.

“Zoey?”

“They’re for barrel racing.”

“They are,” she said. “Have you raced barrels before, Zoey?”

I smiled, a little nervously. “Well, sorta. My grandma’s horse, Mouse, was a retired barrel racer. Grandma used to set up barrels for him. Even when he was really old he’d perk up and race around them like he was a colt again. Basically I just hung on and let him do all the work, but it was fun.”

Lenobia smiled. “That’s a lovely story, and a special memory, Zoey. Treasure it.”

“I will. I do.”

“So, has anyone else had experience with barrel racing?”

The other five kids shook their heads and squirmed.

Lenobia frowned, and grumbled, more to herself than to us, “It’s always so disheartening to be in the middle of Oklahoma and be surrounded by young people who know nothing of horses.” Then she raised her voice and continued, “No matter. I have devised a very large, very simple, very obvious example for you to follow.” She clucked at Mujaji and the mare moved aside so that Travis, riding his big Percheron mare, Bonnie, could trot into the arena.

He pulled the mare up in front of Lenobia and tipped his hat to her. “Ma’am, I didn’t just hear you call my mare big and simple, did I?”

She caressed Bonnie’s muzzle and kissed her softly before answering him. “I would never call this magnificent creature big and simple—I was speaking of you, sir.” Her eyes sparkled at the tall, handsome cowboy.

“Well that’s fine, ma’am,” he said. “Glad to know I’m appreciated.”

Lenobia’s laughter sounded girlish and I thought I’d never seen her look so beautiful. “Just take Bonnie around the barrels for the kids.” She swatted playfully at Travis’s boot.

Yep, she was definitely in love.

“All right, my girl, let’s show these fledglings you don’t have to be a quarter horse to barrel race!” He pulled Bonnie around to a starting position, and then gave her a big kick and smacked her on her very large butt with his hat. The Percheron mare almost sorta took off.

Lenobia explained what Bonnie was doing—how she was following a cloverleaf pattern—in exaggerated time. But still, when the giant mare came charging down the center with Travis whooping, and the arena floor seeming to shake, we all cheered and clapped.

And that was just the beginning of the fun. For almost an hour we took turns running the barrels with our chosen horses. Persephone was “my” mare. I adored every inch of her beautiful roan hide. She could move, too! Persephone totally knew how to run a cloverleaf. As Stevie Rae would’ve said, all I had to do was to make like a tick and stick tight to her.

For that time—for those fifty-something minutes—I forgot about Neferet and Stark and Aurox and Heath and the Change and Old Magick. For a little while I was a girl again, laughing and riding a horse, and loving life.

It was over too soon. Usually grooming Persephone helped to quiet my mind. Today it had the opposite affect. Maybe it was because I hadn’t thought at all while I’d been riding her, but as I swiped her off and worked through her mane with the currycomb, my problems roared.

Worrying about what Neferet was up to should have been my biggest problem, followed by trying to figure out how my Seer Stone and Old Magick were working—or not working—but what kept circling around and around in my mind was the Heath/Aurox/Stark situation.

Holy crap, I’d licked blood from the kid’s finger.

What the hell was I going to do?