Cursed & Coveted

By Catharina Shields

18+ ~ A Woman Who Really is a Goddess Inside...(special debut price: $0.99)

In Louisiana and on the east coast, ritualistic cult murders baffle the F.B.I. as mangled bodies pile up with no end in sight. Special Agents Jean-Marcel Vaillant and Lawrence Beauchamp are dispatched to enlist the help of Doctor J.D. Jamison, an ancient rituals expert, but they meet the late doctor’s daughter instead.

Professor Jaydee Jamison is an intelligent and eccentric woman with huge owl’s glasses and a retro-hippie look—not the most glamorous type. However, she is unique because she’s the recipient of not one but two deadly curses: the Yinepu Iwiw curse that had killed her parents and what will eventually take her life, and the curse of housing an adored and revered ancient Egyptian goddess, Bastet, who, if awakened, will take her body and end her existence as Jaydee Jamison.

The supernatural complications in her life are compounded as Bastet’s growing influence begins to affect people around her and they begin to idolize her. But when out-of-her-league Jean-Marcel falls in love with her—and she with him—her heart aches to know . . . does Jean-Marcel really love her? Or does he desire the goddess inside?

What's "Cursed & Coveted" about?
Toss some fictional and non-fictional Egyptology-based werewolves and werecats in a bowl, add the Louisiana Bayou, mystery, action, and a steamy “geek girl meets popular jock” romance to the mix, and you have
Cursed & Coveted.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catharina Shields
• Release date: Mar 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311101198

Catharina Shields

{PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR THE LIST OF MY AVAILABLE E-BOOKS} I've always enjoyed storytelling, ever since I was a child. My love for storytelling has evolved from hand-drawn comic strips, to creating hand-puppets - "Meemies and Fluffies" - for my younger brother and sisters' morning puppet show, to writing stories in longhand in spirals armed with only a Penmate pen while battling a stiff hand and dreaming of a day when I'd finally own a typewriter. Today, in my peaceful Southern California home near the mountains, I can't go a day without my computer and I now enjoy storytelling via my e-books, specializing in mystery, drama, Young Adult and paranormal romance. If you've read one of my books and like them, please leave a review, good or bad, and add me as a favorite author {a single click on a button to your left is all it takes}. Remember . . . reviews are tips for Authors.

Book preview

Cursed & Coveted

SMASHWORDS Edition

Published by Catharina Shields

©2014 Catharina Shields

Cover Design by Catharina Shields

Edited by my rocks of Gibraltar,

D.C. Greenes & Cassandra A.P.

All Rights Reserved

Author's note:

This is an original work of fiction.

All characters, organizations, and events portrayed herein are either

products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are

18 years of age or older.

Cursed & Coveted

By Catharina Shields

A Woman Who Really is a Goddess Inside

Professor Jaydee Jamison is an intelligent and eccentric woman with huge owl’s glasses and a retro-hippie look—not the most glamorous type. However, she is unique because she’s the recipient of not one but two deadly curses: the Yinepu Iwiw curse that had killed her parents and what will eventually take her life, and the curse of housing an adored and revered ancient Egyptian goddess, Bastet, who, if awakened, will take her body and end her existence as Jaydee Jamison.

The supernatural complications in her life are compounded as Bastet’s growing influence begins to affect people around her and they begin to idolize her. But when out-of-her-league Jean-Marcel falls in love with her—and she with him—her heart aches to know . . . does Jean-Marcel really love her? Or does he desire the goddess inside?

Toss some fictional and non-fictional Egyptology-based werewolves and werecats in a bowl, add the Louisiana Bayou, mystery, action, and a steamy geek girl meets popular jock" romance to the mix, and you have Cursed & Coveted."

Happy reading!

And remember, reviews are tips for authors

and are very much appreciated!

Table of Contents

{Click on Chapter Headings throughout this book to return to Table of Contents}

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

About the Author

Connect with Catharina Shields

Prologue

Somewhere in Bayou Country, Louisiana . . .

It was night in the Louisiana swamplands, and it was cold and damp. With only a full moon lighting her way, a young woman ran as fast as her bare feet could take her. She could barely breathe in the thick mist, but she couldn’t afford to stop. With dark hair flying and dress torn to shreds, she looked hunted, frightened, and panicked. There was no doubt she was fleeing something that terrified her.

Her feet were bloodied and bruised. All around her the woods came alive in the dark and she could hear them moving, coming closer, catching up with her. Time was running out. They knew the scent of her blood and were on the chase, but she had to make it to the clearing before they got too close . . .

"La lune me guidera," she whispered repeatedly. The moon will guide me.

She flew out of the woods and into the clearing, but inexplicably, she only ran until she reached the center of it where the moonlight beamed strong and bright from the night skies. There was a change in her expression as she came to a stumbling halt, out of breath but no longer panicked or afraid.

She raised her face and closed her lips breathing solely through flared nostrils before she closed her eyes, allowing the pale beams of moonlight to bathe her in its mysterious glow. Then she slowly lifted her arms and held them out at shoulder level, palms up and head back seemingly in worship of the pale and perfectly round moon.

"La lune me guidera," she whispered as a smile spread over her lips. Then she began to laugh deliriously . . .

"Le soleil vous libérera, a firm feminine voice spoke up. The sun shall free you."

She gasped as she shot her head forward, her wild curls bouncing around her scratched and bruised face. There she saw a tall figure in a black hooded cape standing a few yards in front of her. Her face twisted into a vicious snarling mask, baring teeth that glinted in the full moonlight. Gone was the terror inside her, and in its place appeared a malevolence that contorted her pretty face.

"Chaton de démon! she sneered hatefully through clenched teeth. Demon kitten!"

The thundering roar of a jaguar tore through the night before a slender woman in a black tunic jumped out of the hooded cape high into the air before landing on the snarling young woman and crashing them to the damp, soggy ground.

"It is CHAT de Bastet and goddess, you mongrel!" the assailant snarled.

Feminine hands shot over the clawed-fingers of the assailed, pinning first one then the other, but those delicate feminine hands suddenly morphed into the large black paws of an oversized black jaguar.

At the same time, the woman on the ground began to transform as well. She morphed into an enormous black wolf-beast with long snarling snout and snapping jaws. Her enraged eyes began lighting before they flashed blood-red as she began to grow, grow, and grow, finally dwarfing the black jaguar on top of her . . .

The battle between the legendary werewolf and werecat had begun.

With lightning quick claws, the smaller but clearly more powerful werecat rained powerful blows on the head of the werewolf, ripping open fur, skin, and muscle. The werewolf howled in pain, struggling to free its own mighty paws to defend itself, but her attempts were futile.

Suddenly, quick swooshing noises tore through the air in rapid succession, ending with hard thuds when arrows plunged into the wide chest of the large black jaguar. It threw back its massive head with wide gaping mouth and its roar made the ground quake. Its large fangs and pink abrasive tongue glinted in the moonlight as more ruby-tipped arrows struck her in her chest around her heart until the great werecat finally flew off the werewolf and landed with a loud thud on the soggy ground, but there was no escaping the perfectly aimed arrows. They continued to fly and plunge into her massive chest . . .

She felt the mystic power inside her begin to leak out of her as she lay panting in defeat on the ground. Her bloodied chest was full of wooden arrows that were deeply embedded. There were so many that there was barely an inch of space in-between them, and her massive chest now resembled a macabre pincushion. Blood filled her lungs and she coughed up a blotch of it. She knew she couldn’t survive this attack. Physically.

Four men and their leader, the victorious woman who had now returned to her human disguise, came to stand around the dying cat-beast. They silently watched as life slipped from the werecat’s black furred face. She was panting heavily now, her face splashed with her blood. Her mystical, glowing green eyes began to move slower and slower as its rumbling breath ebbed.

The wicked young woman who didn’t escape deadly injury herself, found the strength to smile cruelly down at the werecat before she set shaky hands to knees and bent to look down into the dying jaguar’s eyes.

"Die chaton. You did not think I would let you continue killing us without retaliation, did you? She slowly shook her head. Foolish kitty. You walked straight into our trap and now you will die and be a nuisance no more."

The jaguar’s eyes closed as her rumbling breathing stopped. In the next moment, as life poured out of her, she began to shrink and return to the beautiful young woman she was; with flowing black hair and flawless, pale skin.

She was adorned with the precious gifts given to her by thankful villagers who knew the spirit she housed inside, keeping with the custom of ancient times. Around her neck she wore many golden necklaces while both her wrists were adorned with elegant golden bracelets stacked nearly up to her elbows. Around her bare left ankle, she wore a golden anklet with emeralds and diamonds. All of these were gifts from her people in reverence to the goddess inside her. These simple Bayou folk had suffered for so long before she arrived in their midst to become their champion. Now they had lost their only defender.

A tear rolled down the blank staring eyes of the woman on the ground as her breathing stopped forever . . .

Without taking any of the precious jewelry from the dead woman, the small group left her there lying in the moonlight, all alone. They walked back into the woods laughing in triumph and basking in victory, and they never looked back. Had they done so, they would have seen the ghostly green mist swirling up from the young woman’s body; a magical and ancient mist that swirled higher and higher into the night air, over the treetops . . . and beyond.

Had they taken the time to have one last look back, they would have known she had escaped them, and that she, not they, would prove to be the victor that night . . .

A little girl, just five, was sleeping in the back seat of her father’s car. It was late and she was very tired from a long day of play. Her father’s car was parked at the curb in front of the home of the prominent F.B.I. director who was also a very good friend of theirs.

They had come to visit for dinner that evening, and it had gotten late. The director and her father knew each other for many years, even before she was born, and they had become more than just friends. They were as brothers.

The little girl’s father spoke quietly with the director outside his car about a case he might be able to help him with. Engrossed in their conversation, neither man noticed the ghostly green mist descending from the night skies over the parked vehicle.

The mist was seeking something, and once found it filtered into the car through a crack of the window before it floated down like a translucent blanket over the little girl in the soft pink dress who was curled up and sleeping in the backseat. The mist hovered briefly over her before it slowly descended and faded into her.

Without awakening, the little girl’s lips curled into a soft smile. "Le soleil est avec moi," she whispered in her sleep. The sun is with me.

Chapter 1

French Quarter, New Orleans, LA . . .

A nondescript black sedan pulled up to an irregular brick curb in a residential area of the French Quarter. Rows of brick homes that were built old European style made up most of that particular neighborhood, and all homes had tall narrow windows and a narrow emerald-green front door.

The homes all looked alike on 2nd SW Chartres, a secondary street running parallel with the more famous Bourbon Street. The house that the inhabitants of the sedan were there for had a sorry excuse for a front yard because it was nothing more than a patch of grass with a brick walk stretching through the center up to the steps of the porch. As with all the other properties, this one was fenced in with a high black wrought-iron fence topped with inhospitable spear-like points. Its purpose was to present a visual deterrence rather than provide any added security.

The doors to the driver’s and passenger side of the dark sedan opened and two men in dark suits exited the vehicle. One was a dark-haired man in his late twenties and the other was a tall blond in his early to mid-thirties. They paused by the sedan as they looked up and down the quiet street as typical New Orleans street-band music permeated throughout the neighborhood, coming from Bourbon Street.

The blond stood a decent six-foot-three and was impeccably dressed in a crisp white dress shirt, dark tie, and dark blue three-piece suit without a wrinkle to be found. He had sleek wheat-blond locks that were left longer atop his high-held head, and he sported darker sideburns along his lean cheeks and muscular jaw. His chiseled good looks possessed intelligent deep-set azure blue eyes with almost feminine dark eyelashes. He was now squinting against the sunlight as he peered skeptically up at the old brick home that looked worse than any of the other houses in the row.

This was supposed to be the home of a supposed highly regarded expert they were sent to speak with?

Are you kidding me, Larry? Are you sure you have the right address? he asked his partner.

Yep. This is the home of the man Chief said could help us, he answered, squinting gray eyes. He said Doctor J.D. Jamison is an expert on ancient texts, signs, and everything supernatural, Jean-Marcel.

Supernatural, Jean-Marcel shook his blond head. This is getting crazier and crazier.

"That’s why we need to see an expert that has to be a little . . ." Larry said with a chuckle as he made a circle by his temple with his finger.

His skeptical partner chuckled good-humoredly.

Finally! Something that makes sense, Jean-Marcel Vaillant said.

Although six feet in height, dark-haired, gray-eyed Special Agent Larry Beauchamp was still a few inches shorter than his fair-haired partner. That became clearer the moment he stood beside him on the curb where his partner waited for him before they’d proceed toward the closed gate of the home of Doctor Jamison.

They entered the small front yard before heading up the brick path to the steps of the porch. After stepping up on an unusually small porch, Larry pushed the bell by the green door, hearing it ring hollow inside the house. After some time, they heard many locks unlocking and they knew they’d already been spied at through the tiny spy-hole in the door. A few seconds later, the door opened a crack and a pair of the greenest eyes God’s ever created looked curiously up at them through the largest eyeglasses man had ever manufactured.

She appeared to be a teenager. She had a slightly freckled face and was peeking warily through the crack at them. Her bangs were braided in four separate strands and decorated with colorful plastic beads, and these fell alongside her heart-shaped face that was devoid of cosmetics. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous by any measure, but she wasn’t plain, either. Aside from her striking green eyes, she also had nice puffy pink lips.

Oui? she inquired in French with a gentle, almost shy tone of voice.

Uh . . . do you speak English? Agent Beauchamp asked carefully.

Oh. Yes. Yes, of course I do. Sorry. What can I do for you? she asked.

Larry watched as her eyelashes fluttered in obvious shyness, but only, as he had expected, after she had a look at his partner. He was used to that typical female reaction to Jean-Marcel’s a-typical male sensuality whenever meeting his partner for the first time.

We’re with the F.B.I. I’m Agent Beauchamp and this is my partner, Special Agent Jean-Marcel Vaillant, he introduced as he looked at her big curious green eyes. He flipped open the black leather document case and showed his F.B.I. card, and Jean-Marcel did the same. We need to speak to Doctor J.D. Jamison. Is he in?

F.B.I., you say?

Yes, Larry said.

She nodded and opened the door giving both F.B.I. agents a good look at her.

The girl wasn’t very tall. She barely reached a petite five feet five inches, if that. She was dressed in a sleeveless dark yellow and green nearly full-skirt dress with round neckline. Her ankles and arms were bare, and she stood on small bare feet with a colorful bead anklet on her left ankle. She looked like a lost flower-power child.

Strange, she seemed to ponder. F.B.I., you say?

Yes, that’s what I said. Larry nodded, trying to hide his impatience. We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May we come in?

Why? she asked with a curious frown.

Well, for one, Jean-Marcel spoke up, this porch is small. And two, we hope Doctor Jamison can help us with something important regarding a case we’re working one. We’re in need of his expertise and we don’t want to ask him something as confidential as this out here on the doorstep.

Larry mentally sighed. The girl didn’t immediately react. In fact, she didn’t say a word. She just stared at them with an almost blank stare. It was as if she didn’t get—or want to get—the hint. Jean-Marcel wasn’t exaggerating when he said the porch was small. It was barely big enough for a deliveryman with a decent sized package, but it was downright cramped for two men with big shoulders.

So, again, can we come in? Jean-Marcel asked.

Unlike the girl, Larry could clearly hear the irritability in his partner’s tone.

She arched an eyebrow. What case, exactly, are you here for?

Hasn’t F.B.I Director Renaud called? Larry quickly asked when he felt Jean-Marcel bristle beside him.

"Jon? No—ohh . . . she ended in dawning, and then she swept a hand up along her forehead before she flicked her wrist. Phone got disconnected because I forgot to pay the bill, but they assured me they’ll switch it on sometime today—"

—That’s all fine and well, Miss, Jean-Marcel said, cutting her off, but is Doctor J.D. Jamison in? We really need to speak to him.

She looked downright annoyed at him. No, he’s not, she said with a testy tone.

And why not? Jean-Marcel said more than asked.

Because you’re five years too late.

Both agents frowned as they exchanged looks. Then they looked back at her and she looked back with big eyes in a deceptively shy heart-shaped freckled face that was nearly hidden behind her huge eyeglasses.

I don’t get it—

—Apparently, she drawled.

Now it was Larry’s turn to look impatient. I don’t understand what you mean with we’re five years too late.

My father passed away little over five years ago.

Is there another J.D. Jamison in the house then? Jean-Marcel asked as something began to dawn on him.

She looked at him and her gaze cooled considerably. Not a mister", but there’s a Ms. Jaydee Jamison, she said. It’s spelled J-A-Y-D-E-E, and then Jamison, but I’m certain you two intelligent gentlemen don’t need me to have to spell that out for you." Then she perked with a cynical smile.

"You’re J.D.? Larry looked her frail and slender length, his gaze moving down then up before he frowned. But you’re just a—"

She popped black eyebrows with a haughty look. Yes?

Well, you’re just-just, uh, just—

My, don’t you two know how to put that special in Special Agent, Agent Beauchamp, she drawled.

Larry looked deeply annoyed. I meant to say, you look very young.

I’m twenty-eight-years old, and to be quite honest, I take exception to your tone, she reprimanded with an annoyed look.

"My tone?"

It’s patronizing.

Larry was rendered speechless. His partner wasn’t. Yet.

Neither of us meant to offend you, Ms. Jamison, Jean-Marcel intervened. We were told to come here to speak with Doctor J.D. Jamison and we weren’t told that your father had passed. I guess Chief Renaud meant you and he just got the title wrong.

She arched an eyebrow. He did?

Well, yeah, I believe he did, Larry said a distrustful frown. I mean, he did mention that we were going to meet a doctor—

—We apologize for offending you, Ms. Jamison, Jean-Marcel interrupted, ignoring Larry’s quick and quizzical look.

She looked at him for a few moments as if to gauge his sincerity. Then she nodded. Jon should’ve been clearer. He knows my father had passed away five years ago.

Jean-Marcel nodded. But now that we’re here, and it’s apparent Director Renaud meant to send us to see you, we hope you can help us and we’d like to talk to you.

Ok.

For starters, Jean-Marcel continued, we were told you can tell us what this is. He pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper and unfolded it as he handed it to her. He had to squeeze by his equally broad-shouldered partner, and he had to do a little twisting just to fit by him without falling off the porch. It irked him that she didn’t seem to notice.

She took his paper between two sets of slender fingers. It was then when he noticed an antique ring on her right middle finger. It had a large cat-eye emerald embedded in dark gold, and it was big enough to cover that fragile-looking finger from base to just beyond her knuckle. She took her time looking at the drawing before a thoughtful frown appeared on her brow. Then she pushed up her sagging glasses.

I believe I’ve seen this before. I think it’s an ancient mythological character of pre-ancient Egyptian era.

Pre-ancient Egyptian era? Larry asked.

Before the era of Pharaoh, she said absently before she looked up from the paper.

Is it some type of pre-pharaoh Egyptian hieroglyphic? Jean-Marcel asked curiously.

"No. Character. A god to be precise," she said. Then, without a word, she turned and went back inside, walking down the long hallway laid with a Persian runner before she disappeared through a door on her left.

May we come in?! Larry Beauchamp called into the now empty hall.

Yes! But close the door! she answered from somewhere in the house.

Jean-Marcel thought it smelled nice inside. Cozy. The scent of scented candles and incense hung in the air. Lavender and orchids. Very appealing and welcoming, he thought as he stepped into her home. Larry closed the door before he caught up with him and then they proceeded down the long hallway into the abode of one Jaydee Jamison.

There were two doors on the right and one to their left, which was the door she disappeared through. At the far end of the hallway they could see what looked like the kitchen. On the left at the end by the kitchen door were stairs that led to the upper floor.

They passed through the same door they had seen her disappear through, and they entered a huge room that had been a parlor once upon a time. It was crowded with towers of books stacked everywhere, and a few expensive pieces of antique furniture were strewn here and there. The elegant fireplace was hidden by more towers of books, and there were some ancient-looking artifacts on shelves and on a few tables. Books, however, dominated every inch of space.

Ms. Jaydee was standing by a window which was nearly hidden behind stacks of books. There were so many that they blocked out most of the sunlight. She was now standing, bent over a large old book that she had opened, and was busy carefully perusing the yellowed pages. When she found what she was looking for, she laid the unfolded piece of paper on the book while her slender finger slowly ran down old French writing as the two agents navigated their way around the towers of books, papers, charts, and globes until they came to stand by her table.

Just as I thought. She looked up and pushed up her glasses. This is the character, Yinepu Iwiw, the god wolf.

She turned the huge book around to allow them to have a look. They saw a drawing of overlapping triple stars in a hemispherical curve. It was identical to the one drawn on the piece of paper her slender finger was now tracing as she followed the lines and explained to them what they meant.

These are ancient lines, lines attributed solely to very ancient gods. These are the ears of Yinepu Iwiw the God Wolf; here is his snout, here are his fangs, and these represent his eyes. She nodded as she wrote her findings down on the piece of paper, marking them, and then she straightened. This character definitely represents Yinepu Iwiw, the God Wolf. There is no doubt in my mind.

Yine-poo Ee-wiw? Agent Beauchamp asked, slowly testing the unusual name on his tongue.

She nodded.

And what is the significance of this Yinepu Iwiw god?

I don’t know, Special Agent Beauchamp. It’s your job to find out what that means for your case.

I meant, Larry clarified, who or what is this Yinepu Iwiw?

Circa 2465 before common era—

—Before common era? Jean-Marcel asked with a frown, and watched as she directed her big owl’s eyes on him as she nodded.

Commonly but incorrectly known as B.C. or Before Christ, she explained. Anyway, circa 2465 b.c.e., and according to the writings of the few Yinepu Iwiw historians that have existed, the Egyptians weren’t the first people on the continent of Africa in the region we know today as the country Egypt. As a side-note, current excavations in and around the Great Sphinx of Giza and the Great Pyramid tell a story about these far more ancient people. According to these most recent excavations, those great monuments were erected thousands of years apart. The Great Sphinx of Giza, according to current carbon dating methods, is older by at least ten thousand years than the Great Pyramid.

The two agents popped their eyebrows simultaneously, apparently impressed with her knowledge—or, they believed she was pulling their leg.

Jaydee flustered and cleared her throat. Anyway, she continued, recently excavated scrolls tell a different story than is commonly believed today in academic circles. Only, at this moment, this is only theory until peer reviewed. Today we still believe that ancient Egyptians are responsible for building the great pyramids of Egypt, but these newfound scrolls contradict that notion. According to the recently uncovered writings, Egyptians weren’t the first people to inhabit that region. The scrolls tell us that the first inhabitants of that region were not fully human.

"Weren’t fully . . . human?" Larry asked incredulously.

Correct. Jaydee nodded. They were half wolf, half man.

He placed an arm over his stomach and set his elbow on it as he covered his mouth as if to rub his chin. But his eyes were twinkling with barely contained laughter. But that’s according to some scrolls that haven’t yet been peer-reviewed, right?

Correct, Jaydee said with a nod.

Half human, half wolf—are you talking about . . . werewolves? Larry asked.

It’s not clear yet, but that’s the theory experts are currently poring over. She shrugged. And this is where Yinepu Iwiw comes in. He was their revered god of the moon and night, the putrid and the dead. Some Egyptologists believe Yinepu Iwiw was the god of transition between the world of the living and the world of the dead. They later added him to the roster of ancient Egyptian gods as Anpu, or as the Greeks called him, Anubis, but his origins are far, far older. Maybe even tens of thousands of years older than the ancient Egypt we study today.

Correct my knowledge of Egyptian mythology, Jean-Marcel said, but wasn’t Anubis, or Anpu", half jackal and half man and not half wolf and half man?"

She looked at him with big scholarly eyes as if in thought. Very astute, she commended. However, this can be a case of lost in translation. The word iwiw means dog, but in ancient Egypt there weren’t any dogs, only wolves and jackals. During that ancient period, wolves were seen as dogs, so iwiw could very well mean wolf as well as jackal. She made a nonchalant shrug. It’s still all theory, anyway.

So what you’re telling us is, this mark . . . it’s the mark of this über-ancient god, Yinepu Iwiw? Jean-Marcel asked curiously.

Yes. The cult that made that mark worships Yinepu Iwiw, the God Wolf, she said with a nod. She suddenly stiffened when a thought hit her, lighting her eyes before she turned around and sped off.

Both agents frowned and stared silently after her until she disappeared behind a couple of particularly high book towers and armchairs.

Looking for something? Jean-Marcel asked.

Yes! she answered from behind a wall of books.

Need any help?

No!

You said god-wolf, right? Larry called out.

Correct!

But don’t you mean wolf god?

No. The term I use is correct, special agent, they both heard her say somewhere behind those towers of books. Yinepu Iwiw was half wolf, half man and a god. He wasn’t revered by wolves as a god, so to call him a wolf god would suggest wolves were engaged in spiritual worship, and that would be factually incorrect.

Both men exchanged looks.

When she returned, she had a small, very old copy of a National Geographic in her hands that she was flipping through. She found what she was looking for and smiled victoriously before she slapped the opened page with the backs of her fingers and then turned the magazine around to show them a glossy photograph of a piece of ancient stone showing the three converging stars and lines etched into it.

Gentlemen, I give you Yinepu Iwiw, the God Wolf, she said, smiling.

Tell us a little about this god wolf, Larry Beauchamp said as he pulled out his notepad.

Well, Yinepu Iwiw was a very powerful and revered ancient god. In 1971, the Johnson & Hoyt Expedition began digging up a part of the Great Sphinx’s leg, and in 1976, found this block of stone lying apart from it. It clearly identifies the character of Yinepu Iwiw. Now, geo-archeologists are theorizing that the face of the Great Sphinx, sanded off over thousands of years by sandstorms, was NOT that of King Khafra as is currently believed, but the face of none other than Yinepu Iwiw himself. The body of the Great Sphinx was not that of a lion. It was that of the god wolf. She jutted her finger a few times on the article as she spoke before she handed them the old magazine. You can borrow this copy, but I’m going to need it back since I only have four copies of the March 1976 edition.

Jean-Marcel frowned with an amused smile.

Jaydee’s big green eyes looked back quizzically. What? she inquired.

"You only have five copies of this edition?"

Yes, she said, confused why he thought that was amusing. "I buy ten copies of every National Geographic and Readers Digest every publication. That way, when one is torn, or lost, or accidentally falls into the bathtub because a person falls asleep and doesn’t think, she said with a discontent look making both agents shoot up eyebrows, there are still enough copies to insure that information is preserved. Then she handed them the piece of paper. So you got the expert answer you came here to find. That is Yinepu Iwiw, the god wolf."

Jean-Marcel studied her big, deceptively clueless looking green eyes that now looked back a little annoyed. It was clear she didn’t appreciate him scrutinizing her face. That was interesting. This retro-flower-power-child wasn’t reacting to him as women normally do. It was interesting, a little ego-bruising, but refreshing as well.

What exactly do you do for a living, Ms. Jamison? he finally asked her.

"I’m a Professor in Studies of Ancient Civilizations of the Middle East and Africa at Harvard and Yale Universities. Part-time, though. I do have Wednesdays off, however, so I can prepare study materials for my students. You two are lucky to catch me home, being that today is Wednesday."

A . . . professor? Larry asked with surprise.

Yes.

"You’re a professor?" Jean-Marcel asked, amused. She was not.

Again, yes, she said, crossing her arms. Would you like to see my doctorates? Or will my having helped you with this little-known fact about Yinepu Iwiw very few experts are aware of suffice, Special Agent? she pointed out a little snooty.

Don’t get us wrong, Professor Jamison. We’re grateful for your help, Larry said kindly.

Jean-Marcel added, I was just surprised that you were a professor being that you look so young, Ms. Jamison. I thought you were a teenager when you first opened the door.

If he was trying to placate her, he obviously failed.

Jaydee’s lips tightened as she looked peeved at him. "Well, I’m not a teenager, Special Agent. I am a professor. You really shouldn’t try to judge a book by its cover, she said. Then, with a honey-sweet smile, she added, But I guess I can’t really fault you for making a second mistake regarding my person because when you first told me you were with the F.B.I., I thought you were joking."

Why did you think that? Jean-Marcel asked with genuine curiosity.

Because I’ve never gotten a visit from the F.B.I.

Not even from Director Renaud?

Especially not from Jon, she noted.

Why especially? Jean-Marcel asked.

She didn’t answer. She stared at him with a look that told him it was none of his business.

Is it a secret? he asked, trying for an answer anyway.

She arched an eyebrow. Are there any more questions? I have work to do.

No, Larry said, shaking his head. I believe we have what we came for although I don’t know what to do with this information. It’s not really much help although I’ve just gotten the latest update on Ancient Egypt. He smiled.

It wasn’t returned.

I really am busy, Special Agents, she stressed. So if there isn’t anything else?

Just out of curiosity, Professor, Jean-Marcel said. What did you think we were when you opened the door?

"Overly dressed men, of course."

"Overly dressed?" Larry nearly gasped.

Okay, Jean-Marcel said, interrupting and defusing his partner, "but when you first saw us, who did you think we were?"

Door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen, she said with a nod. I thought you came by to sell me a new and updated collection of The Howard Regal Literature. I really do need a new set, she said thoughtfully as she tapped a slender finger against her plump lower lip, her studious eyes scanning a shelf with what appeared to be an old collection of the series.

Door-to-door salesmen? Jean-Marcel asked incredulously.

Her finger paused against her lip as she swept big eyes to him. Then she dropped her hand. Yes. Door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen, she confirmed and then shrugged. "That, or some city officials. They drop by unannounced from time to time to make sure I’m not a fire hazard."

Jean-Marcel gazed around the book-cluttered room. And so far they’ve approved you? he asked with a doubtful tone.

Obviously, she said looking irked again as she crossed her arms. "I don’t smoke. I don’t allow smoking even in the front or back yards. I don’t even own a stove top or oven, and the heating is done through hot water from a boiler outside in the back in the shed so there’s no conceivable risk that a fire can start here. Would you like to see the certified reports, sir?"

Not really, but you do burn candles or incense, don’t you? Agent Vaillant pointed out, but she frowned confused. I smell scented candles. He raised a lean finger and moved it in a circle in the air.

"You’re mistaken. I don’t have any open flames in my home. My books, artifacts, and charts are incredibly valuable and irreplaceable. I won’t risk them for anything. I also have a very sophisticated fire-slash-damage prevention system installed."

But I distinctly smell lavender and orchid, Jean-Marcel said with narrowed eyes.

Larry narrowed eyes too—on him.

You do? he asked his blond partner.

Don’t both of you smell lavender and orchid? she inquired. She was immediately sorry for posing that question when both agents looked at her curiously and interested the moment they noticed her sudden interest in their answer.

"No. I don’t," Agent Beauchamp said, shaking his head, and now his partner turned his head to look incredulously at him.

You don’t? Jean-Marcel asked in amazement.

Sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Hm, she pondered aloud, but then she shrugged. Well, if there’s nothing else? I have a test to prepare for my students tomorrow and I’d like to get it done before I leave for Yale tonight, she said, and regarded her simple watch before she gave them a meaningful look.

Of course, Agent Beauchamp said with a nod.

They took the copy of National Geographic and left Professor Jamison’s home to drive back to the district’s office. It was only when they were getting close to the federal building when Larry frowned in thought and looked over at his colleague. Jean-Marcel had his elbow on the door and his lean fingers to his lips; full lips every female he knew were swooning over. Strangely enough, though, Professor Jaydee Jamison