What the River Knows (Secrets of the Nile #1)

by Isabel Ibañez

That was the trouble with most magic-touched things. Any traces of the original spell cast were faint, fading slowly anytime it passed hands.

Old world magic had transferred onto me. It was rare, but possible as long as the object hadn’t been handled too many times by different people.

They’d chosen Egypt, had given themselves heart, body, and soul.

Mamá called it stubbornness, my tutors thought it a flaw. But I named it what it was: persistence.

“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?”

“Put on something frilly and decent and come down for dinner.” First, he tried to send me away from Egypt. Now he was ordering me to dinner. “Stop trying to tell me what to do.” He walked around the bed and stood in front of me, a mischievous glint hidden in the deep well of his blue gaze. The subtle scent of smoky liquor on his breath swirled between us.

“Would you rather I flirt with you?”

Everyone deserved a living wage. No human ought to be treated as if their work didn’t matter, or their choices, or their dreams.

Mr. Hayes said, and then he turned to her and spoke quickly in French. It sounded like he was reciting poetry, and I was ashamed of myself for thinking it.

“You’re despicable.” Mr. Hayes laughed, and I slammed the door in his face. After a second, I opened the door again and snatched the paper from his grip, simply to annoy him. He laughed harder as I slammed the door for the second time.

But first I had to figure out a way to dodge Mr. Hayes and his infuriating winks. Behind his easy smiles, I sensed he paid particular attention to his surroundings, belying an intuitive and perceptive ability to read people. And as he took care to mention, he’d noted my ability to worm my way out of hairy situations.

Mr. Hayes was running after us. He nimbly dodged donkeys and carts, skirted around people crossing the street. When he cleared a tall stack of crates, I let out an impressed whistle despite myself. The man could hustle. It seemed no obstacle stood a chance against Mr. Hayes, even willful donkeys and stray dogs yipping at his heels. Miércoles.

Mr. Hayes met my gaze after a near collision with a vendor selling fruit. He shouted something at me, but I couldn’t make out the words. I blew a kiss at him and laughed when he shot me a rude gesture.

The door flew open and a panting Mr. Hayes stood at the threshold. “You are”—he huffed—“more trouble”—another breath—“than you’re worth!”

Mr. Hayes climbed inside and sat on the bench opposite from me. Sweat glistened across his brow.

Our transport pushed forward at a slow crawl. I swiftly glanced at the door, considered my options, and then rose from the seat. “Don’t you get out of a moving carriage,” Mr. Hayes snarled. “Sit down.” I pushed the door open, managing to take a hold of my purse, and scrambled out, tripping over my skirts, my arms windmilling to keep balance on the dirt road. Behind me, Mr. Hayes said, “Bloody hell.”

I heard, rather than saw, Mr. Hayes jump out, landing neatly by me. A strong, tanned hand steadied me before I toppled sideways on my accursedly long skirt. He held on to my arm as I rearranged my dress, dusting the hem to rid it of any dirt that had blown onto it from my near scrape.

“I’m going to the bazaar. If you want to make sure I stay safe, then come along. But don’t bother trying to take me back.” I poked him in his very broad chest. “I can be incredibly loud and annoying when I want to be.”

Grief was like a memory keeper. It showed me moments I’d forgotten, and I was grateful, even as my stomach hollowed out. I never wanted to forget them, no matter how painful it was to remember.

He blocked my path and folded his arms across his broad chest. And then waited. “Remove yourself from my way,” I said through gritted teeth. “You’re going to have to trust me,” he said with a coaxing smile. I narrowed my gaze. “Do you want to see Khan el-Khalili, or don’t you?” Some of his anger had melted off him, and amusement curled at the edge of his mouth, a secret waiting to be told. His easy manner only inflamed my distrust. I felt as if he were handling me again. Accommodating me only until an opportunity presented itself. My guard remained. “Of course I do.” Mr. Hayes tilted his head toward a street we hadn’t traversed. “Then follow me.”

“How far is it?” “Not far,” he said with a quick look in my direction. “You’ll love it.” The street became smaller and with every step, Mr. Hayes seemed to shed the layer of aristocracy that clung to him like a well-tailored cloak. His movements became looser, his long limbs more relaxed. We crossed into a slender lane, lined with what seemed like hundreds of shops. High and narrow houses sat above the little storefronts, the upper stories projecting outward and peppered with windows bracketed by wooden shutters carved in delicate latticework. “Oh,” I breathed. Mr. Hayes smirked. “Told you.”

I made him stop every few feet, first to buy lemonade from a seller carrying a tin jar. He filled a brass cup to the brim and handed it to me. The first taste of the tart liquid exploded on my tongue. I immediately bought one for Mr. Hayes. He lifted his brow questioningly. “For taking me here,” I explained. “Gracias.” “Now your manners are polite.” “I’m always polite.”

Everyone knew Mr. Hayes, and as he passed, shoppers, vendors, and even children shouted greetings. I silently stood off to the side as some of them rushed up to him. He emptied his pockets, handing out piastres and candy. In this part of the city, he was someone else entirely.

For one thing, he hadn’t tried to flirt with me. For another, he wasn’t ordering me around. But it was more than that. He seemed lighter, and the hard edge in his eyes had softened. And instead of trying to trick me, he had led me exactly where I wanted to go.

stepped closer to him, and he stiffened at my deliberate approach. “You’re not fooling me. Not even for a minute.” Mr. Hayes straightened away from me, and his demeanor changed with every subtle correction. Retreating behind the wall he used to keep the demons at bay. His tanned hand reached for his flask and pulled a long sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, darling,” he drawled. A smirk pulled at his mouth, his blue gaze became several degrees cooler.

The hard line of his jaw softened. “It’s unlikely you’ll find another like it.” He pulled at his lower lip, brow furrowed. It cleared when a thought struck him. “Follow me, there might be something else.”

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.

Mr. Hayes studied me from across the carriage. “You don’t do that often.” “What?” “Smile.”

“Why don’t you just sit there and look pretty and admire the surroundings?” I waited a beat, heart fluttering in my chest like a wayward butterfly. “You think I look pretty?” Mr. Hayes regarded me lazily, his eyes hooded. “You know you do, Señorita Olivera.” He said it so breezily, a compliment for all women everywhere. I wondered how he’d feel if someone gave it back to him. “Well, you quite turn my head. You’re so handsome.” His expression turned to one of profound wariness, as if I were a coiled snake about to pounce. “Thank you.” “Truly,” I said, fluttering my hand in front of my face. “I have heart palpitations.” He kicked my bench. “Stop that.” I fluttered my eyelashes, the picture of wide-eyed sweetness. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for? I’m returning your flirtation.”

“There are no pictures of you in here.” “What for? I like to draw people who interest me.” He stilled and I realized what I’d said. Frantically, I tried to think of a way to take the words back, but nothing came to mind. A slow realization trickled through my mind, moving like honey. I’d spoken the truth, and whether I liked it or not, Mr. Hayes did interest me. For all the things he didn’t say, the thoughts he kept hidden behind a quicksilver grin. Despite myself, my attention was frequently caught by his muscled forearms, and the blunt fingers edged around a strong palm. His bottom lip drew my notice, squared off and cut with immaculate precision.

“So, you find me interesting.” I said nothing, curious to see what game he’d play. He was always playing one. “What is it exactly that interests you?” A wicked gleam lit his eyes. He leaned forward, curling over the table, taking up too much space to ignore. His nearness quickened my pulse. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

I gestured for him to continue, but our food arrived, and Mr. Hayes busied himself by plucking one of the croissants and putting it on his plate. With little fanfare, he bit into it and moaned. “This is the first thing you have to try.”

I shook my head. “I was angry and unable to think beyond that. The way he took it from me, the arrogance, quite literally made me see red. You should have heard the way he made me out to be hysterical. Someone to be dismissed.” His lips flattened to a pale slash. “Bastard.”

Slowly, he was becoming someone I could call a friend.

He rolled his eyes and continued. “Cleopatra commanded a fleet, battled insurrections, controlled Egypt’s vast wealth, and survived famines. All that and history likes to portray her as a mere slip of a woman, a saucy vixen luring men to their downfalls. It’s a shame Romans never bothered to understand her. They were guilty of so much worse. Waging war, plundering what they found, and ruling without compromise.”

“And be a man without country? Family?” He stilled and then fixed me with a flirty grin. “Why, do you want to take me in?”

Then he drew away, opened the door, and stepped out. He turned and helped me out of the brougham, his hand holding mine for a beat too long.

He stuck out his hand. “Well, Señorita Olivera, it’s been a delight to squire your loveliness all around Cairo.” I took his palm, his callouses rough against my skin, but I didn’t mind. “Someday, your compliments are going to get you in trouble.” “Not today,” he said with a slight smile. I returned his smile, despite myself. A peculiar expression swept across his face. Impossible to decipher.

His eyes darkened, and then he swooped down and brushed his mouth against my cheek.

“Still don’t trust me?” I ought to be annoyed, but I had to keep my lips from stretching into a grin. His own lips twitched and I suspected he, too, was fighting a grin. “Not even a little bit.”

My fingers touched the spot he had kissed. I stared at nothing in particular for several astonishing moments, the chatter surrounding me falling into a hush.

I remembered, instead, her wary expression as we stood out on the terrace, the sounds of the city rising around us like a billowing crowd. She didn’t even come up to my shoulders, and to meet my gaze at all she had to raise her chin and tip her head back almost fully.

Dark curls framed her face, and a smattering of freckles peppered the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her eyelids. I’d looked down into her changing eyes, green then brown then gold, eyes that held alchemical magic, and had one crystallized thought in mind. Oh, shit.

It was absurdity that had made me lean down to kiss her. It was annoying to still feel the soft curve of her cheek, to remember ...

I wanted to explore every inch of this version of Cairo. This was an Egyptian night.

“I’m not a strong swimmer,” I said, unable to keep the panic out of my voice. In an instant, his genial expression turned murderous. “What did you say?” “I wasn’t planning on getting in the river.” “Bloody hell.”

“We are going to have words,” Mr. Hayes said in a grim voice, preparing to launch himself over the railing. “Several of them.” “Looking forward to it,” I said and then spat out more of the river.

A blur of movement came from somewhere next to me, a large body crashing into the river near me. Mr. Hayes came up, shook his head, his hair dark brown and wet, plastered across his face. He reached me in one breath and gripped my hand.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said calmly.

Weeds and long stems of grass reached around us, threatening to ensnare us in the deep. Mr. Hayes’s rough palm engulfed mine, his large shape curled around me. An unshakeable tether against the current.