In the deserts of Egypt, a figure of indiscriminate gender hides under a finely tailored parasol, hiding from the sun. The archeological dig works in organized madness around them as if they are invisible. Their black sunglasses and mask hide the discomfort that radiates from them. The desert heat feels lifeless and suffocating, under their shirt their skin crawls with gooseflesh as the heat finds them, even if the sun doesn’t.

 

There is one archaeologist in particular that they watch. Sweltering away within the rows of perfectly gridded-out holes, she hides beneath an ugly, wide-brimmed hard helmet. Her black skin is covered perfectly from head to toe as she points and directs people within the gridlock system. The only recognizable feature is her twists, pulled half up and parting around her ears. Ears that seem to look so charred that they are one touch away from crumbling.

 

While no one seems to pay any mind to the stranger underneath the parasol, the woman in the hole finds them almost immediately, a supernatural connection alerting her to their presence. Beneath the mask, they can’t help but break into a grin and step forward with acknowledgment.

​

“Nedjem!” The nickname is full of affection, watching her climb from the hole to force her companions away. They offer the parasol out to them in the same breath. “You look like shit.” They add, ignoring the intense pain the sun seems to bring them as soon as they are forced out of the safety of the shade.

​

Despite the dirty look, Nedjem gives them, they slink under the parasol gratefully and remove their hat. “Pyrrhos,” she greets them. They recoil almost immediately at the name. Their ringed fingers twist the parasol’s handle anxiously.

​

“Please, I haven’t gone by that name in centuries.”

​

“Then what name are you going by these days?” Nedjem asks, they can tell her patience is running thin.

​

“Nikos.”

​

“And why are you here Nikos?” Nedjem asks.

​

“Not for pleasure obviously,” they begin. “I don’t know how you can stand this.” Nikos waves their hands as if gesturing to the desert in its entirety. “I’ve come to ask for help.”

​

“Let’s talk in private then,”  Nedjem pushes her hair back and puts her helmet on before graciously pushing the parasol back towards them. “Follow me.” Nikos gives a little sigh of relief, trying to ignore the fact that their skin was starting to turn the same shade of red as their hair.

​

They find themselves clearing out an otherwise occupied tent. Nedjem’s authority is not once questioned as she directs them out and despite the relief from the sun, Nikos is still distinctly aware of its presence all around them. Their sensitive skin burning at the even slightest touch of direct sunlight.

​

Once alone Nedjem finally begins peeling off all her protective layers, their bodies are cold, but even so, Nikos can’t imagine so many layers are comfortable. “So what have you done that requires you to make the trek into the desert to find me?” Nedjem asks casually, now free of the jacket and gloves she flops into the cheap foldable chair behind the desk.

​

“I can’t come to see my dearest Nedjem?” Nikos sounds almost offended, neither of them believes it.

​

“You’ve already told me that you need help.” She reminds them. Nikos snaps the parasol shut and leaves it beside the tent flaps, moving to sit on the plastic foldable desk.

​

“Well. I need an expert.” They say, kicking their feet up as they pull the boots off their feet to dump out the sand that’s accumulated. “To begin, I recently broke up with a man. He’s a brit and you know how clingy they get. Write a few poems for them, tell them you are eternal and they start expecting you to be together forever.” They twist on the desk, struggling to put their shoes back on. “It’s like Shakespeare all over again, you remember that? He was obsessed with me. Wrote all those damn sonnets” Their laugh has a hint of condescension to it.

​

“Did this one try to stab you too?” Nedjem asks, her boredom apparent.

​

“No thankfully.” they say, “But he thought they could blackmail me, me! He stole a handful of my things from my flat, a couple of antiques from over the centuries…” Their words lose momentum and Nedjem knows that Nikos is finally getting to the point.

​

“What has been stolen?” Silence builds in the pause between them, Nedjem can see it on their face– the minor temper tantrum building. Their fingers rake through copper-red hair adding to the mess that it already is.

​

“Well, back in the 1500’s I dated that Welsh witch, you remember? She had this book, used to brag that it contained a demon. One that did all her bidding. Apparently, it’s a Welsh thing to trap a demon in a book and force it under your command. So of course I demanded to see it in action, I mean it’s a demon!” They laugh nervously.

​

“You didn’t…” Nikos looks guiltily away, twisting one of the rings on their index finger. “Is that why you fled to the colonies back then?”

​

“That? No, that was an accident! I was in Spain for just a bit and that gross little man Columbus was bragging about going to India. So I thought, maybe I’ll pop in and see Ash for a bit, but then suddenly we’re out to sea and going in the opposite direction.” They shudder at the thought. “Then I got stuck over there for a century or two, I couldn’t stay in the colonies after what happened with Roanoke obviously, especially when they almost figured out what I was. Then they started to get crazy with witches and I didn’t want to accidentally get burned so–”

​

“Get to the point, Nikos,” Nedjem interrupts their tangent.

​

“Right, what was I saying? The book? The book. Well, I stole the book when we separated, and then he stole the book from me, it’s written in Ancient Welsh so I doubt he truly understands what he took, but if he does- it will be quite a mess,” Nikos says, trying their best to ignore the way Nedjem’s red eyes slit with annoyance.

​

“So some brit with a broken heart has a book with an ancient Welsh demon in it? Is this the story?” Nikos twists anxiously, standing up from the desk to pace. Instantly Nedjem knows there is more. “What else? Nikos what have you done.” Nikos flinches at the serious tone. “Pyrrhos,” There’s a warning in the name.

​

“He wasn’t just ‘a brit’ per say,” They start, words tumbling out quickly. “He might have been a prince…”

​

“You did what?” There’s ice-cold rage in Nedjem’s voice. Nikos looks meek, hiding beneath their wild red hair. “A prince of England has an ancient Welsh demon book.”

​

“You can see my predicament now.”

​

“Why do you do these things?” she asks, holding up her hand to stop her from answering. They’ve known each other well into a millennium. “A better question, what do I have to do with this? Can’t you just compel him into giving you the book back?” Nedjem asked, watching as Nikos paced across the tent floor, kicking up the loathsome sand.

​

“I tried.” Their words are nothing short of a drawn-out whine.

​

“Flirt with him to get it back, that’s what he wants right?” Nikos shot them an extremely dark look.

​

“I tried, he wants to be like us, which I refuse. So he rescinded my invitation into his home, but I was able to gather enough information to know he took it to one of the curators at the British Museum in Bloomsbury. He knows it’s important obviously. I tried to hypnotize a few workers to get it for me, but then they started showing up to work with garlic wreaths on like necklaces.”

​

“Just kill him and take it back.”

​

“He’s a fucking prince, Nedjem. I am not about to exile myself for the next 60 years until it blows over. What would you have me do? Hide in Cairo or Alexandria with you? The sun is awful, I mean just look at you covered in ridiculous amounts of layers.” Nedjem stands up now, reaching out for Nikos' arm. They stop and let their friend give them a sympathetic pat on the cheek.

​

“You’re a fool,” she says warmly.

​

“We both know this. That’s why I need you. Not only are you the most brilliant, capable, beautiful, and otherworldly creature I know, but you also have connections.”

​

“At least try to make your flattery less transparent.” She leans back onto the desk, letting Nikos return to floating around the tent anxiously.

​

“Nedjem, I am desperate.”

​

“What do I get out of it?”

​

“My eternal gratitude.” Nedjem looks unimpressed so Nikos pushes on. “You know they’ve got mountains of stolen Egyptian artifacts. Whatever ones you want. We’ll take those too. The Rosetta stone? It’s yours by right.” The silence between them lets Nikos know that she is considering the offer.

​

“You’re still quite good at hypnotizing people right?” Nedjem asks. Nikos nods, their grin broadens knowing they’ve won Nedjem over.

​

“Whatever artifacts I want?” Nikos gives a definitive nod. “Good, then you’re going to need to think of something else to offer.” Nedjem reaches for her jacket digging through the pockets for her phone.

​

“Who are you calling?” Nikos peers over curiously, the anxiety seeming to evaporate almost instantly upon Nedjem’s agreement.

​

“Ashok.” She says simply pressing the phone to her ear, Nikos' nose wrinkles in disgust.

​

“No, not him.” They groan. “He will never agree if you tell him it’s me you’re helping!”

​

“Then figure it out, Nikos,” She snaps at them. “If you want your book back, we need the best.”

​

~~~

​

Above the Seine river in Paris two vampires share a parasol, hovering along the pathway. The world moves past them, just as it always does. Parisians browse and meander along the riverside, despite the overcast sky The Bouquinistes are rife with collectors and tourists alike.

​

“Remember when all of this used to be a few little merchant peddlers?” Nikos fills the silence with their silly chatter as they walk. “You know, Hugo and I used to walk along the bank all the time. The man could talk, truly. I think I still have a copy of his original manuscript of Les Miserables.” Nedjem remains silent, her red eyes darting between Nikos and the passing humans. “Did you know Enjolras was based on yours truly? As soon as he told me I just had to–”

​

“He’s here.” Nedjem interrupts, Nikos' face tightens in brief annoyance before turning to follow Nedjem’s gaze. 

They watch together as a familiar Indian man inspects one of the many green box stalls, flipping through the stack of carefully wrapped antique pages of medical diagrams, illustrations, maps, and other newspaper clippings. It is Nikos who moves first, asking Nedjem to let them handle this, she doesn’t correct them, they all know she will have to intervene soon enough.

​

Nikos steps forward confidently, twirling their parasol as they step up to the man. “Ashok.” Nikos gives them a stiff greeting, waiting for any sign of recognition or acknowledgment. “It’s been ages, at least say Hello to an old friend.” They force their voice to stay even, waiting patiently for Ashok to look up.

​

“Are we still friends?” he asks, holding a carefully packaged diagram of birds up to the few rays of sunlight trying to break through the clouds. Nikos lets out a loud huff, lifting their chin indignantly. “Pyrrhos” Ashok finally greets them, Nikos makes a noise at the name, quieting him.

​

“Don’t use that name here.” They hiss, giving themself a moment to take in Ashok’s appearance. His turtle neck and doctor's coat,  his neatly trimmed hair resting against his shoulders. The centuries may have changed but Nikos can still see the same Ashok.

​

“They’re going by Nikos now.” Nedjem intervenes from behind the two of them.

​

“Doesn’t wearing your identities like hats get old?” He asks before finally bringing the illustration down, clearly satisfied by its authenticity as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet to pay the seller.

​

“Not when it’s for my own personal safety.” The words are a defeated grumble.

​

“It’s good to see you again Ash, let's put aside grudges and have a talk.” Nedjem offers, attempting to diffuse the tension.

​

“Ah, Nedjem,” He greets her with a warmth that Nikos is not afforded, a smile spreading across his face as he steps past Nikos to kiss both cheeks in greeting. “Aging as beautifully as ever.” Nedjem chuckles, taking small amounts of satisfaction as Nikos goes ignored behind them.

​

“What brings you to France?” Nedjem asks pleasantly, her eyes bright with amusement as Nikos moves to inspect some of the books, pouting in the distance.

​

“Medical conference. As you know, working as a doctor has its perks,” he says, motioning for Nedjem to follow along and chat while they peruse The Bouquinistes.

​

Nikos follows behind, their frustration clear as the three find themselves at a bakery, sitting together as the sun starts to fully set, Nedjem uses the opportunity to catch Ashok up on Nikos' predicament. The atmosphere around them consistently fluctuating between hushed whispers and annoyed looks.

​

“I’ll offer what I can if there are any artifacts that have been stolen that you want back.” Nikos says, “Nedjem seems to think your help is invaluable, and she is by far the brightest of all of us. If she believes that us working together is the right move then I truly believe we could get whatever we want.” Ashok doesn’t respond for a long minute, instead, he stares down Nikos, resting his chin in his hand, waiting for something. They glance anxiously at Nedjem before continuing. “Nedjem is a tactical genius and she has connections in the industry, I am one of the best at compulsion, and you– I’ve never met anyone else who can morph as well as you do. If they figure out just what they can do with the book–”

​

“All these years later and Nedjem is still cleaning up your messes it seems.” He finally speaks, leaning forward toward Nikos. “I’ll help,” he starts,  “If you apologize.” Ashok takes a sip of his drink calmly, watching the changing expressions on Nikos' face.

​

“I,” Nikos starts, frustration building on their face. They can feel their temper rising, quickly glancing at Nedjem, they can see they will get no sympathy. Exhaling dramatically they continue “Am sorry that you’re still upset because of the one time I ate most of your servants, but to be fair I had just woken up from a ten-year nap. I forgot where I was and I am terribly sorry that it included my manners.”

​

“That is not an apology,” Nedjem interjects quickly. “That is an excuse.”

​

“I would never be so disillusioned to think Nikos here would give me a real apology. I just like seeing them squirm a bit.” Ashok flashes a grin at them, before straightening up in amusement. “I’ll help. For the sake alone of not letting the British Empire have a demon on its side.”

​

“It is much appreciated.” Nikos falls back into their chair, their fingers drumming against the chair, unable to wipe away the building suspicion in their chest at Ashok’s quick agreement. Even Nedjem, who was unequivocally the most important person in their life, needed to be bribed.

​

“So how do you plan to get the book back?” Ashok asks, purposefully directing his question at Nedjem.

​

“Nikos said that they’ve been thwarting their attempts with the use of garlic, but I feel as if that is less of a testament to their cleverness and instead more towards Nikos' impulsivity and ridiculousness.” Nikos scoffs immediately, opening their mouth to disagree only to close it immediately when no words come out.

​

“I can contact the head curator at the museum and tell him I will be visiting to inspect some of the artifacts they’ve gathered in their museum,” she says,  “For research purposes, of course. I’ll be able to go in and locate just where the book is or who has it. Ashok, how long can you hold a mist form?”

​

“With enough concentration, an hour maybe two at most.” He answers readily. “It’s one of the harder forms to manage since sentience is minimalized. Turning into a bat would be easier, but it wouldn’t be as stealthy.” Nedjem nods, her eyes shifting down at the table, they sit in silence while she thinks.

​

“Nikos, how many people can you hypnotize at once?” She asks after a long stretch of silence passes.

​

“Depends,” Nikos responds, tipping their chair back, kicking their feet up on the lip of the table like a child. Ashok watches, with slitted eyes, clearly plotting something. “If they are a thrall, they’re entirely submissive to what I say for as long as at least a drop of my blood is in their system. I can compel humans with one good look, but with enough mental willpower or outside disruption, the hypnosis will snap.” Nikos explains, “I could potentially compel five maybe six people at once, but that kind of concentration would require me being right next to them, touching and looking at them constantly.”

​

“Which is why you need to be the center of attention,” Nedjem says quickly, her eyes racing around the table as both Ashok and Nikos lean forward in anticipation. “The book itself is not a part of the museum, so it won’t have a set-out display case.” She taps against the table as if she’s mapping out her plan. “This is good because it means it’s likely in their archives or research labs.”

​

“If it’s still in their labs, that means it won’t have high-level security,” Ashok agrees, “But it would make us fools if we assume it's unguarded.”

​

 “Which is why I am there, I have an excuse to be in those labs thanks to my work with the SCA,” Nedjem says.

​

“What about the garlic?” Nikos asks.

​

“We’re gonna have to hold our breath. It’s not the ideal solution but breathing is muscle memory, not a necessity for us.”

​

“Beeswax,” Ashok interjects. “We can stuff our noses with beeswax so it will block out the majority of the smell.”

​

“That's brilliant!” Nikos leans forward, grinning at him. “Absolutely brilliant, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that.”

​

“I can.” Ashok’s words are barely a whisper, but it’s enough for Nikos. A small hiss escapes.

​

“While I make the call to set up a meeting, Nikos, I need you to enthrall at least four humans to be under your total control. Your compulsion might be the only thing that gets us an escape if this plan goes sour.” Nedjem says, looking at them hard, warning them to behave.

​

“The thralls will get the artifacts right?” Nikos asks.

​

“Yes, and the compelled humans will be scapegoats. You’ll tell them which artifacts to grab. The compelled humans only need to be used to cause a disruption and pull the security to you, but also away from you for as long as possible.” Nedjem pauses for a moment, “Once he realizes it’s you, your prince will come out immediately. You’re going to be the center of attention.” Nikos' grin turns almost sinister.

​

“Oh, I do love that,” they agree readily.

​

“So Nikos will create a scene in the actual museum and what will I be doing? Are you truly prepared to risk all the work you’ve put into hiding the Library? How will you control what artifacts are discovered if you’re wanted for stealing from the British Crown?”

​

“Technically the British crown stole it from me,” Nikos interjects.

​

“Welcome to the club.” Nedjem gives them a withering look before continuing. “Once I find out where the book is, I will grab it. Ashok since you have the ability to go nearly completely undetected you can handle the security cameras that would otherwise catch me taking the book.” Nedjem tells him.

​

“I should grab the book” Ashok interjects quickly. “I can move more freely than either of you.”

​

“Do security cameras hold that much of a threat if we don’t have reflections?” Nikos muses.

​

“That’s mirrors, you idiot.” Nedjem rolls her eyes, “Unless they’re suddenly using silver-backed cameras or mirrors for security, we will show up. The cameras must be turned off, which is why I cannot be the one to do it.” Nedjem says, “Ashok, you can pass by as mist and get into the security room and handle the cameras before going to assist Nikos with escaping after being a distraction.”

​

“I can handle myself.” They say defensively.

​

“Yes, Nikos can handle themselves,” he agrees dismissively. “The book is the utmost important factor here. I will take the book so your reputation will not be risked and you can continue your work. Things will be locked down and I am the only one that can sneak in and out easily.”

​

“What if we used the security cameras to our advantage?” Nikos says quietly.

​

“Don’t be silly,” Ashok says, dismissing them.

​

“No, listen.” They demand, looking to Nedjem for confirmation. She gives them a small nod to continue. “They focus on me, I’ll make a scene- a big one, pull as many under compulsion as I can, demanding the book back. Security will be forced to focus entirely on me- Nedjem you can carry Ashok in as a rat, bat, or whatever. While things go into lockdown within the artifact storage rooms, Ashok and Nedjem, you both can secure the book. If we cut the feed to the cameras they will know something is up.”

​

“That’s…actually a good point,” Ashoka says, impressed. “Coming from you,” Nikos wastes no time kicking him under the table.

​

“Enough, both of you,” Nedjem interjects before they can bare their fangs and start hissing at each other.

​

“What Nikos says does make some sense, disguising the break-in like it’s just Nikos being dramatic… well it’s not hard to imagine.” Ashok says.

​

“Precisely.” Nikos agrees.

​

“You both do realize this is an insane plan and practically a hundred things could go wrong with it?” Nedjem asks.

​

“Any doubts you have should have been erased when I came to visit you in Alexandria. Even further ones should have been erased when we met up with Ashok here in Paris.” Nikos says, trying to ignore the extra second of hesitation beginning to present itself.

​

“This book- it is that important right?” Ashok asks. “This isn’t over something silly like a locket or some lover’s eye, Nikos?”

​

“I know you think I’m vapid or just stupid, but I wouldn’t put Nedjem at risk, or even you for that matter if I didn’t think it was important.” Nikos says in response “Now if you wouldn’t mind, we should catch the last train of the evening back to London. I’m not staying in Paris all day, being here brings back such terrible memories of the time I participated in the June Rebellion.”

​

~~~

​

Within the British Museum, three vampires blend in with the throngs of tourists. Using the human’s ability to blend faces together within a crowd to create the perfect shield as they set their plan into motion. Nikos quietly surveys the museum, using hypnotizing touches and words to the people around them as Nedjem shakes the hand of the head museum curator across the room.

​

Nedjem can feel Ashok’s placated breathing in her pocket as she walks, his bat wings folded against his body protectively, if the human man notices the bulge in her pocket he doesn’t say. Nedjem keeps his attention with talk about the recent archaeological finds in Cairo and Alexandria, easily dominating their conversation.

​

“I’ve heard much about your research into the Rosetta Stone. The work in Alexandria has gone as smoothly as it possibly can, we found some interesting fragments of rock recently that we would like to run samples for. There are just some things a fiberglass replica cannot fulfill, like rock composition or age dating,” Nedjem says, watching the British man visibly ruffling at the mention of the poor imitation her department was given in placated reparation attempts.

​

He reminds her of an owl, with thick round glasses that make his eyes double their size and a poorly hidden bald spot. For just a moment Nedjem is grateful she will never age. Losing the stone was one of Nedjem’s biggest failures, all her work to contain Alexandria’s secrets had been risked in that moment. The Library was the last piece of her life before eternity, even its destruction could not stop her protective instincts.

​

The peevish man seems to open up almost immediately as their conversation shifts to potential finds within the deserts of Egypt. Nedjem expertly moves the conversation to one closer to their objective.

​

“We are able to understand so much about both ancient Egyptian culture and ancient Greek culture because of the stone,” he prattles on, as Nedjem forces her hands to unclench.

​

“Translation of ancient texts is so important, nothing helps more when it comes to understanding the past.” Nedjem agrees, keeping the annoyance out of her voice. “Tell me, have you discovered any ancient artifacts lately?” Nedjem pushes out just a small amount of hypnosis within her words, pushing ever so slightly on his mind. He seems to give pause for a moment, tentatively Nedjem reaches out to touch his arm in an almost comforting way, asserting her control.

​

It’s not as clean or as easy as Nikos makes it seem but Nedjem feels pride in her rise as his bug eyes seem to gloss over. “Something like Ancient Gaelic or even Welsh?” she presses on, still holding his arm. The curator gives her a conspiratorial grin and Nedjem knows that she has won.

​

Despite the beeswax, Nedjem can smell the pungent odor of garlic as they walk along the security passages. Her stomach twists in nausea, rejecting the smell with each step onward, instead she forces herself to focus on the gentle touches and small nods of encouragement filled with her own brand of compulsion. It’s nothing powerful, but it’s enough to keep him focused on their chat.

​

“Recently, Prince Howard brought a few artifacts in, he wanted to know the worth and value,” he explains, his tone distant. “Interestingly enough, among the things he brought was what the Welsh called ‘llyfr cyfrin’ known in English as ‘A secret book’, it’s ancient, clearly from a time of Welsh witchcraft.” Nedjem’s eyes brighten.

​

“Welsh witchcraft?” She urges him on, watching as he presses a keycard across a sensor and steps in. Nedjem halts at the door, the slam of an invisible barrier knocking her backward. The smell is overpowering the wax now. This is where she and Ashok need to be.

​

“What are you waiting for?” He stops mid-stride, already halfway into the room.

​

“Can I be in here? I won’t get in trouble will I?” She asks anxiously, she needs him to say the words, to let her in, but the longer he is away from her the more chance he has of breaking the compulsion.

​

“I am the head curator, of course, you won’t be in trouble.” He watches her, his birdlike features becoming sharper with suspicion.

​

“You're absolutely sure?” She asks, standing in the doorway, her heart racing. “Invite me in,” She puts as much weight behind her words as possible, he pauses for a second, clearly fighting her domination over him.

​

“Please, come in.” He finally urges her in. Nedjem feels a relief of pressure flood through her as she crosses into the room. Nedjem keeps her expression neutral as she holds her breath, the garlic stinging her eyes and nose with such intensity. She understands why Niko’s attempts have all been unsuccessful, but the cool feeling of Ashok’s mist biting at her ankles before spreading out low against the ground like a dust cloud make Nedjem’s anxieties soothe. 

Finally given the chance to inspect the room around her, she finds herself standing in a sterile lab-like room. On each table artifacts are laid out, clearly in the process of being restored or cleaned, are wreaths of garlic hanging above them. Nedjem can only imagine what treasures are hidden here, stolen by the British Empire and held hostage the same way her Rosetta Stone is.

​

“It is quite smoky here, is there a fire?” Another man steps forward into the room. His suit is impeccably pressed, two bodyguards following behind him as he enters from an office across the room. At the comment, Ashok’s mist seems to float behind a row of tables, hidden away from sight.

​

“Ah, Prince Howard, we were just talking about you.” The curator’s bubbly mood has vanished, the clarity returning to his eyes. “This is one of the archeologists working under the SCA in Egypt. This is Miss Fulan Al-Fulani,” Nedjem smiles brightly, giving him a proper nod. “She’s here to collect some data on the Rosetta Stone. I am giving her a tour of some of our artifacts since her specialty is in languages,” the curator says. Nedjem, trying to keep her posture as lax as she possibly can, steps forward to greet him. She prepared for this. Ashok will grab the book wherever it was in here and she will keep them distracted.

​

“You have a specialty in language?” he asks curiously. Nedjem’s skin crawls when she looks at him, he's boringly handsome, like a photocopy of another person. It is obvious why Nikos had fallen for him- and also why they ditched him immediately.

​

“Yes, Ancient Egyptian and Greek as well as others such as Latin, German, Gaelic, and Welsh,” Nedjem says, forcing herself to move her chest as if she is breathing. This man knows about vampires after all.

​

“Welsh, you say?” Nedjem immediately knows that she has said the wrong thing as both men exchange suspicious looks at her. There's no way she can use any form of Hypnosis on them with her head pounding from the garlic assault. Instead, she holds her ground, keeping her eyes squared on both of them, not daring to draw attention to the shifting cloud of mist that is spreading along the artifacts.

​

The crackle of a radio breaks the silence nearly sending Nedjem straight out of her skin in panic, the commotion coming in loudly over the static as the two bodyguards move to speak in private across the room. Even across the room, she can hear a screaming Niko and the sound of smashing glass. Fighting to keep the smile from her face, Nedjem watches as the guards return, whispering in Prince Howard’s ear with statements like “he’s back” and “shattered museum exhibits” being traded between them.

​

“Well then, it seems he's made his choice, use the silver bullets I had you order,” Howard tells both of them in a hushed tone. “End it quickly.” Nedjem feels her stomach twist as she steps in front of the door blocking the pathway without thinking.

​

She can see Ashok has also appeared at the mention of silver. Be it the realization that he means to kill Nikos or just the constant assault of garlic, he's been forced from his mist form. Clutching the book to his chest Nedjem watches him search the stations silently before turning to look at the four men trapped in a room with her.

​

“If you could move aside.” The Prince gives her a narrowed look, Nedjem meeting his eyes with absolute defiance.

 

“It is dangerous to have firearms near so many ancient artifacts, why not set aside your guns, and let's have a chat.”

​

“There is a madman in the Egyptian department of the museum screaming for my attention with a gang of people smashing my exhibits to shreds.” Nedjem can’t help but notice the way he says ‘my exhibits’ as if the treasure and meaning of other cultures are his by his birthright. Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

​

“Those exhibits are made up from looting and graverobbing done by your ancestors. They are not yours,” she reminds him, her arms crossed. “The things you took will never be yours.” Understanding flashes in The Prince's eyes as he follows her gaze, turning to see Ashok standing with the book, Nedjem starting with disbelief. He was not trying to escape with the book, instead, he just finished writing in the open book, picking it up to show them, his hands holding either side of the spine posed to rip the book in half.

​

Everyone in the room seems to freeze, coming to the same realization. “You wouldn’t.” Prince Howard warns, stepping forward. Ashok just laughs and pulls hard, the binding of the book groaning under the tension.

​

Perhaps the humans can't see it, but Nedjem can. The black ichor leaking from the pages, spreading around Ashok’s fingertips and up into his palms. A miasmic gas shifting free from the pages, tendrils wisping out to touch the falling strands of hair from Ashok's ponytail. No one in the room moves, watching the flickering mist come to life like a puppet.

​

“What are you doing?” Nedjem asks, their plan falling to pieces around her. She can hear the commotion on the other side of the radio, Nikos, her closest friend, yelling for their attention, the bullets that could kill them in an instant aimed at her. Ashok had readily and eagerly agreed to help get the book. “It was never about returning the book,” she realizes.

​

“What are you talking about?” The Prince snaps at them, but neither of them care enough to pay attention.

​

“Think about it Nedjem, think of all the stuff they’ve stolen from us over the centuries. Think of the damage and the war they caused. Maybe you’ve forgotten, your wars are ancient but our liberation came less than a century ago. What they’ve done to my home and my people…” His voice is shaky, Nedjem can understand his hatred, she can understand why more than anyone. “Nikos’ book can do something about that, this demon is going to wreak havoc, I’ve already written down its instructions in the book. It’s going to happen.” She can see the ichor from the pages spreading further up his arms like its poison.

​

“That’s why you agreed to help then?” Nedjem asks, was this the book? Or was it his own intentions?

​

“Yes,” he says simply. Nedjem doesn’t waste any time, stepping back out of the room. The guards seem to snap out of their terror to stop her. She will go get Nikos herself, she will explain it herself. Nikos will understand, they’ve been alive long enough to know the pain of watching your life crumble to an empire.

​

“Then do it.” Nedjem agrees. As Ashok tears the binding of the book the room explodes into darkness.

​