She watched a red droplet run down her wrist and tears stung her eyes.
“One of the monks. He left.”
As if he wasn’t listening, Abdullah pressed down harder. She choked back a sob.
“What is the meaning of this?” Father Marcus’s voice came from somewhere in the library.
Suddenly, the knife lifted and Abdullah stepped away. She slid to the floor and gripped her wrist, red oozing between her fingers.
“How dare you enter our library like this,” the monk continued, frowning up at the intruder. The map was still in his hands. “Armed and masked like a thief.”
Wordlessly, Abdullah towered over the smaller, frailer man, and flexed his fingers around the knife handle.
“You.” Father Marcus crossed his arms. “You can try to hide, but I know who you are.”
Certain Abdullah would plunge his weapon between the monk’s ribs, Leila’s stomach churned. Instead, he turned and grabbed the cart full of encyclopedias. With one heave, he pushed it across the floor.
Father Marcus stumbled back, too slow to avoid the cart. A crash shook the library. The monk fell into a heap, the cart landing on top of him, books tumbling onto the floor.
“What’s your problem?” Leila screamed, staring at Father Marcus’s unmoving form in horror.
Without answering, Abdullah reached down and pulled the map out from under the pile of books. He whirled on Leila and pulled her back to her feet. Shrugging one shoulder, his rifle slipped into his hand.
“Go.” He motioned at the back door with the barrel.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her gaze remained on the pile of books and black robes, a pale, unmoving hand sticking out from underneath the mound. “He needs help.”
“Move.” Abdullah pushed her shoulder, forcing her to take a step toward the door.
“You assaulted a monk,” Leila shouted, waving a hand at the mountain of encyclopedias.
“Be quiet or I’ll cut out your tongue.” Abdullah gave her another push.
She clamped her mouth shut and turned. This couldn’t be happening. Her eyes darted up to the clock over the door. Six minutes.
Abdullah yanked the door open. The stairway behind it was dark, but she felt the barrel of the gun prod her back, forcing her to step down.
The walls were built with uneven stones, the air growing colder the deeper they went. They reached the lower level, and Abdullah clicked on a flashlight and handed it to her.
“Where are we going?” She waved the light around to reveal a cellar with walls made of the same rough stones. It was filled with unmarked wooden crates and barrels, giving her no clue as to what could be inside them.
“I said shut up,” Abdullah snapped, then pushed her shoulder again.
The cobwebs thickened the farther they went, hanging from the ceiling in heavy, white sheets. The rotted smell of decay filled the air, which she desperately hoped was merely the remnants of some rats.
Goosebumps prickled at her skin. What were they doing down here? Her mind swam with scenarios, most of them ending with her dead. Except that would be a horrible idea because Abdullah would still have to go back upstairs and through the library. Someone would have heard the commotion and found Father Marcus. And there were probably only two minutes left until Xander arrived.
Her captor thumped her shoulder and pointed to the right. She turned. In front of her stood another door, made of heavy, aged wood. It was ajar, so she reached out and pulled it open. The flashlight illuminated a tunnel, built with more of the same uneven stone. They walked down the passage, taking left and right turns. Sometimes the ground seemed to incline, only for them to descend deeper underground moments later. Then it came to a dead end.
Leila swallowed, staring helplessly at the stone wall before her. This was it. Her stomach churned with dread. All she could do now was plead to be let go. She turned to face Abdullah, but he wasn’t even paying attention to her. He reached with one arm toward the ceiling. She looked up and a hole gaped open directly above them, large enough for a person to fit through.
A bundle of ropes clattered down from the hole, unfolding into a ladder. As it swayed, Abdullah grabbed her upper arm and pushed her toward it.
“What’s going on?” she asked, gripping the scratchy rope on both sides of the ladder.
“Climb.”
“I can’t.” She dropped her hands, then turned back to Abdullah. “There are people looking for me. If you don’t tell me what you’re doing, I’ll… I’ll scream.”
Abdullah pulled down the scarf from his face, his eyes briefly darting toward the heavens. “Why couldn’t you leave things alone?”
“I was trying to help. In case that maybe, just maybe, one day, you’d want to find the tomb. It’s what Amina wanted. She needed it. Maybe you will too.”
“We didn’t need your help,” Abdullah snarled. “I know exactly where it is.”
Leila frowned, unconvinced. “Why didn’t you say so? Would have saved me and Amina a lot of trouble.”
Abdullah’s eyes blazed. “You should have listened to me and left it alone.”
“Well, it’s too late. I know where your tomb is. Father Marcus knows where it is. That worries you. I get it. I’m an archaeologist, I’m supposed to find this stuff and take it to labs and museums and you’d never be able to see, let alone touch, your inheritance. But I’d think, after everything we’ve been through, you could trust me. Just a little bit.”
“I have no reason to trust you. You stole the journal. But this. This is not a matter of trust. You’ve gone too far. If I don’t kill you, someone else will.”
“I know. I have people trying to kill me everywhere.”
“It will only get worse. You read the warning.”
“What is this?” Leila rubbed her forehead. First the letter. Then Father Marcus. And now Abdullah, of all people. “Are you afraid of these Medjay? Newsflash. They don’t exist anymore. They haven’t for thousands of years.”
