I was going to die.
And I was at peace. This was what I was meant to do, what my family legacy required of me: bravery, strength, and sacrifice. For the good and safety of all.
I drew in a deep breath and looked at the gear-ridden, wired device. It was still where I’d placed it.
Hathor tightened another wire around my right arm, positioning it against Sekhmet’s scepter, and then Bastet brought over the false diadem. I trembled a little as she positioned the crown on my head. I mentally reviewed the steps of my plan. Me. The one who never made plans. If only Miss Holmes were here to witness my brilliance.
When the Ankh began to pull the lever, I would have a few brief seconds to lunge to the side. I’d pull the heavy statue over with me . . . down and onto the Ankh.
We’d fall into the mechanical device together, and thus entwined, the Ankh and I would together give our life forces to a Sekhmet who would never rise.
My pulse was faster now. The Ankh placed the dishes of smoking coals around the statue, and the fog rose around me like a red curtain. It was time.
Which was worse? Knowing what was to come—the searing, sharp agony? Death? Or to be ignorant of it, as Della Exington had been?
“I’m not certain whether to be offended or pleased that you began the festivities without me.”
The familiar, pompous voice carried across the chamber.
Mina!
A soft little pop of warmth spread through my chest . . . then drat! She was here. She was going to ruin everything!
“Well, well, my sweet. So you’ve graced us with your presence after all,” said the Ankh.
I shifted in my restricted position to see Mina standing in the doorway. She was holding a cloth-wrapped parcel, and . . .
Bloody hell. She’d got herself captured. And the diadem too.
Hathor’s counterpart prodded my partner into the chamber with a complicated looking weapon. Whatever it was—gun, Steam-Streamer—it looked lethal.
I met Miss Holmes’s gaze. Either she was too stubborn or too distracted to see the message I sent: Get out of here!
“Please come in, Miss Holmes. I’m delighted that you’ve arrived in time to see your friend share her life force with my beloved Sekhmet. We were just about to begin. Osiris?”
The attendant followed the implicit command by taking the parcel from Miss Holmes and ushering her into the chamber.
“I’m sorry I didn’t follow your directions,” my partner said. “I wasn’t fond of the idea of being taken by surprise or otherwise abducted while on my way to Fannery’s Square, which was, I’m certain, your original intent.”
“Pish,” said the Ankh. He sounded delighted. “But you are here, and it truly doesn’t matter how that happened. You won’t be leaving anytime soon, and Osiris would have made certain you came alone.”
At that moment, I heard a soft sound to the right behind me. As if something was sliding across the floor. Miss Holmes had a sudden coughing attack, meeting my eyes over her hand. I turned to look in that direction, on the other side of Sekhmet, but no one was there.
“Very well, then,” said the Ankh. “Where were we? Ah, yes,” he said, moving to the machine. His hand rested on the lever, which I had positioned so he stood in the perfect place for me to bring the statue down on top of him.
I craned my neck, trying to look at Mina, but she was too busy making some odd expression at me. Her eyes bugged out and her mouth was twitching.
The last thing I wanted to remember seeing before I died was Mina Holmes, silently lecturing me about the mess she’d gotten herself into.
I heard another soft, skimming sound of something going across the floor. I looked over as the Ankh began to lower the lever.
I focused, waiting for the right moment . . . waiting for the first sensation of shock. I must act before it paralyzed me.
The lever shot down and I propelled myself toward the Ankh.
Miss Holmes
A Disembodied Voice
I watched in horror as Miss Stoker jolted in pain, then all at once, she was falling—toward the Ankh.
The massive Sekhmet statue teetered ominously. I saw what was going to happen, and I screamed a warning, but it was too late. All three of them tumbled to the floor with a metallic crash that echoed through the chamber. A sizzle of power zapped from the machine, then fizzled into orange sparks.
“No!” I shouted, heedless of the firearm pushing into my back. “Evaline!”
Suddenly a loud noise filled the space. A blaring, blasting, screeching noise the likes of which I’d never heard before, but the sound of which was a relief. My plan was working! If only it weren’t too late.
Osiris whirled as the Ankh’s other servants bolted into action, confused at the distractions from every direction. As they spun around in panic, the second element of my plan was executed: a low, rolling boom! erupted from the fireplace.
In seconds, the chamber filled with heavy black smoke. I heard the sounds of footsteps and shouts, followed by a disembodied voice—“You’re surrounded! Stand where you are!”—and knew that Dylan had fulfilled the third and final element of the plan.
But, good gad, Evaline! Was I too late? What had she done? How could she think I’d appear without a plan?
I ducked away from Osiris and dashed through the thick fog toward Miss Stoker and the Sekhmet statue, terrified everything had happened too late and she was dead—crushed under the heavy weight or electrocuted.
I coughed and then remembered to pull up the mask I had around my neck, covering my nose and mouth as I crawled along the floor. How much easier it was to do so in trousers than a bundle of skirts! I touched the base of the Sekhmet statue first, then my frantic hands encountered something soft and warm.
It moved, and as I attempted to wave away the smoke, I felt the statue shuddering and shifting against my leg with someone’s effort to move it. I heard the sound of metallic clinks and clanks nearby. More shouts filled my ears, smoke stung my eyes, and I heard the sound of glass shattering. A rush of fresh air burst into the chamber.
“Stop her!” cried a voice I recognized. Evaline! Evaline was alive! She was a heap on the floor, a mass of clinking chains and struggling limbs, but she was alive.
But the Ankh was getting away! I bolted to my feet in time to see the slim, dark-clad figure stumbling toward the broken window. I stumbled after her, but tripped over something and fell hard on the ground. My palms landed on something sharp and painful. “Stop her! Dylan! She’s getting away!”
The sounds of pounding footsteps and shouts—real ones this time, not from Dylan’s useful device—came from the floor and stairs below. “Stop! Scotland Yard commands you to halt!”
I lurched toward the Ankh again. I wasn’t about to let her get away. “Oh, no, you don’t—” Someone or something slammed into me from behind, and I thwumped to the floor once more. My cut palms screamed as I struggled to remove myself from beneath the hindrance of something heavy, I watched the shape at the window.
The Ankh’s slender figure shone against the opening, now jagged with glass in the drassy moonbeams. She looked at me from across the dim, smoky chamber, and I fancied our eyes met in acknowledgment and understanding. Then, outlined by the silvery light, she gave a condescending lift of her chin in my direction. Infuriated, I started toward her again. I couldn’t let her get away. I had to find out who she was!
The door burst open behind me with a flood of light. I recognized Luckworth’s voice shouting orders. “Stop! Halt! Scotland Yard!”
At the window, the Ankh froze, an arrogant yet surprised silhouette. . . . I shouted, finally erupting unencumbered to my feet, but it was too late. My nemesis gave a flippant wave—a clear farewell—then tipped backward, tumbling out into the night.