Sunrise on the Mediterranean by Suzanne Frank Read Free Book Online Page B

is what matters. They had none, so they were of no consequence. They carried no talismans,
     they knew no magic, they were nothing except fodder.”
    The stones against his waist, his talismans, heated through his skin. Their warmth combated the chill this woman was giving
     him. An icy bite greater than the winter wind. “They were human beings.”
    “Haii!
They were as pebbles.”
    Suddenly Cheftu was grateful he was here with RaEm and Chloe was safely gone. RaEm was a demon. He would stay awake, guard
     against her. He hoped someone, preferably ugly and aged, though competent, was guarding Chloe in this Egypt that RaEm would
     gladly destroy.
Be safe, beloved.

C HAPTER 2
    M Y INTERNAL LEXICON woke me up with the definition for
teraphim.
Images of statuettes—Lladros, Precious Moments, Hummels, and anything from the Franklin Mint— flashed in a slide show before
     my eyes.
    B’seder
, so they were the dustables, the collectibles, of this day and age. No, the lexicon said, they were more. They were little
     personal gods, good-luck charms, and the wealth of the household, all wrapped into one easily transportable object.
    The Pelesti
teraphim
that had been burned by the highlanders were not only the little gods the soldiers had brought to the battlefield for good
     fortune, but also the enormous totem statues the priests took into battle. These images were positioned on a hill overlooking
     the field of engagement to serve as encouragement for the soldiers. At the end of the day, or battle, the statues were loaded
     on their palanquins and carted back to the temple.
    What a way to wake up, bashed over the head with an encyclopedia.
    You ask, I tell. You wanted to know
, it scribbled on the blackboard in my brain.
    Yep, I did. But did you have to tell me so early? I rolled over for a few hours’ more sleep.
    The rest of the day had passed uneventfully in perfect safety. Uneventful because people kept showing up; in perfect safety
     because there were priests everywhere, carrying swords. I’d checked them all out, but not a one was Cheftu. Unless, of course,
     he had stepped into someone else’s body this time. But no one even had amber eyes.
    The Egyptians believed our eyes were the windows to our souls. Perhaps that was why I always had my own eyes? To not have
     them would be not to be myself? On this theory, Cheftu would be here, possibly in another body but definitely with his bronzy
     brown eyes.
    Additionally, I was learning that escape wasn’t going to be easy. Each time I thought I was alone, another person would come
     in, seeking my wisdom and words, leaving me little gifts. I’ve played the part of oracle before, so I just played it again.
    The overriding concern was when Dagon would get over being mad at them. Would I intercede? The answer was always yes, though
     I had no idea to what I was agreeing. It didn’t matter, since I was leaving during naptime.
    My, or rather RaEm’s, cheap rayon clothing had dried stiff with salt water. My skin felt like scales, and my hair was grimy.
     I wanted a bath before my escape. The little handmaiden brought me a bath, then washed my hair. She seemed mystified that
     I had legs. So I spun some elaborate story about needing salt water in order to regain my fishtail. It seemed to comfort her,
     but now I really had to leave. I didn’t want her to throw me back, just as a test.
    She massaged my back and neck while I thought.
    I’d come through water, just as the lintel had predicted. Terrified that I’d misunderstood some part of it and wouldn’t be
     able to get back to Cheftu, I had memorized the passage during my few hours in modern times:
    A portal for those of the twenty-third power, those who serve in the priesthood of the Unknown. For those, the power exists
     on earth, mentored by the heavens and directed through the waves. The waters will guide, they will purify, they will offer
     salvation. From the twenty-third decan to the twenty-third decan this