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For Rebecca Ross, who fell in love with Egypt as I wrote the first draft, who cheered me on, even as I reached dead ends, and who swooned when Whit first walked across the page
That was the trouble with most magic-touched things. Any traces of the original spell cast were faint, fading slowly anytime it passed hands. But that didn’t stop my father from collecting as many magically tainted objects as he could.
I did love my dresses, but did they have to be so delicate?
“Miscreants, the both of them. Neither could identify a salad fork.”
“There’s nothing wrong with having options.”
Traveling alone was an education.
“Listen, as pretty as you are, I’m not your friend, I’m not your guard, and I’m certainly not your babysitter. How much trouble are you going to cause me?”
“I really can’t say,” I said honestly. “It might be a great deal.”
“Your letter left me unsatisfied.” His dark brows rose. “¿Perdón?” “I spoke quite clearly.
Damn girl
“You’re looking for Cleopatra’s tomb.”
“And here in Egypt, the remnants of magical energy manifested in curious weather patterns—famines, desert storms, and so on—but we have also found that some items, pot shards and the odd sandal, also have the hallmarks of old-world magic. What was incredibly interesting was that the magic felt the same between various things found in the same location.”
I pressed on, deciding not to mention that I had also been seeing some of her memories. They felt like … diary entries. A window into her soul that was too private to say aloud.
“Have you not heard of the bar at Shepheard’s? It’s legendary. The best of humanity gathered round to gossip, deal, manipulate, and inebriate.” Mr. Hayes let out a little cynical chuckle. “My kind of people.”
“I dislike your mandates.” “I know. Why do you think I do it?”
At one point, he reached behind me and took hold of my hand. I looked down, stunned at the gesture. His calloused palm engulfed mine. It struck me that in the midst of such delightful pandemonium, he was a steady and calming presence.
I like to draw people who interest me.”
“So, you find me interesting.”
“Did you know you ask a question when you wish to avoid a subject?” “Do I?”
“Why, do you want to take me in?”
“Did you swim all the way here, Olivera?” “Hilarious.” “It’s a pretty day for it, isn’t it?”
“I thought you had scruples.” Without skipping a beat, he said dryly, “I only know how to spell the word.”
“Why are we always finding ourselves in dark, enclosed places, Olivera?” Whit muttered. “The thrill of adventure?”
