Sekhmet: The Elsehere, #1

By Grace J Roberts

What do you do when dreams become nightmares...

...and nightmares become reality?

 

Ayana just wants a normal life. A life-threatening accident as a child has left her with a mysterious, unwanted power. But at last she seems to be getting close to her goal: she's earned a place at university. Things are looking up. Right?

 

Nick isn't sure he's cut out for this paranormal existence anymore. With two successive jobs having gone sideways, he's having second thoughts, but when an old friend asks for a favour, he can't say no.  Keeping an eye on a first-year student at Cambridge doesn't sound that dangerous. What could go wrong?

 

Ayana and Nick both reckoned without sinister forces who want Ayana, and who want Nick out of the way—permanently. On the run, they have to find a way to work together against enemies who are far more personal than either of them suspects—or risk bringing about the end of the world...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Trench
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201904258

Book preview

Prologue

It was the smell, or rather the lack of it, that told Nick he was no longer in a war zone. Opening his eyes, he saw a crisp white pillowcase and, just beyond it, a generic hotel alarm clock. A hotel room, then, but where? How? He shifted a little, aware that someone had actually taken the trouble to put him to bed: which probably meant he was amongst friends, but the thought wasn't as comforting as it ought to have been.

His last clear memories were of the sirens going off. Of trying to hustle the children to safety.

If he was here, that meant it had ended badly. But what of the children who'd been in his care? Where were they?

A cough pulled Nick's attention toward the far side of the room. Seated in an armchair that was at least two sizes too small for his build, was a familiar, albeit unwelcome, face.

You are back, then? The words were English but carried with them heavy traces of the man's native Russian accent.

If I'd known you were here, I'd have stayed unconscious, Nick muttered.

That made the man smirk. You are welcome.

Nick ignored the remark in favour of sitting up. Muscles, stiff from lying still, complained at the activity but it at least enabled him to take in more of the room. It looked like a side room in a suite rather than a room on its own. That made some sense, but it didn't tell him much more about where he was, beyond the obvious.

Cairo, said the Russian. If you are wondering.

Nick grimaced. Why?

We were repatriating an Egyptian national. The man shrugged. Not a lot of choice.

That statement confirmed the orphanage had been hit badly. Where are the children?

With the Red Crescent. From what Ana was able to piece together, you had already got most of them safely away.

Most?

We found one little girl with you. A little bruised and cut, but otherwise well. The Russian shrugged a little. No reports of any bodies when they dug the place out. So.

Nick frowned. How long ago?

Five days. They dug it out because we told them it was an orphanage. You're welcome again, by the way.

At that, Nick nodded. Five days. That was an impressive length of time for him to be unconscious. It probably meant they'd had to drug him.

TTX, said the Russian.

Nick scowled. I thought it was your partner who was the mind reader. Though prolonged use of TTX did explain the Russian's presence: he was obviously there as a precaution against any psychotic reactions Nick might have had.

I'm not a mind reader, retorted a sharp, female voice, from the doorway.

Nick glanced in that direction and saw the woman in question. Ana.

Nicholas. She glanced at the other man and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. You. Cossack. Out.

The Russian smirked again, even as he heaved himself awkwardly out of the too-small chair. Be seeing you. In Russian, he added to Ana, He's his normal cheerful self. You worry too much.

And you forget that he can speak Russian, Nick retorted, a comment that rewarded him with a sheepish expression on the Russian's face and a roll of the eyes from Ana.

Ana moved away from the door, allowing the Russian to exit and then she closed the door behind him. I see you and Daniil are getting on as well as ever, she noted.

Nick said nothing.

From her expression, Ana had expected as much. Instead, she took up the seat Daniil had vacated. So, I think you know why I'm here.

I assume you've been poking about in my head.

It isn't poking if you're practically broadcasting it, Ana retorted. I'm surprised Daniil didn't notice.

Nick winced. It's fine.

It is not fine. Ana sighed, slumping back in her seat. You have been hiding—

I've been working for Medicins Sans Frontiers. I wouldn't call that hiding.

Ana pulled an impressive grimace. I'm not saying it's not worthwhile. Clearly it has been. Ousa and the other children were all very sad to know you wouldn't be coming back.

Did you tell them I was dead?

I didn't have a choice. Ousa knew before Daniil and I found you.

At that, Nick winced again. Ousa was one of the sharpest of the orphans and she'd seen plenty of dead bodies to know the difference. And now he was one more scar on that bright four-year-old's soul.

No. Stop it. Ana's voice was sharp. Does it suck? Of course it does, but it is not your fault. Just like Athens wasn't your fault.

Nick scowled. Stop poking around in my head.

I'm not. I don't have to. Nick... Ana sighed and hesitated for a few moments, clearly picking her next words carefully. I'm going to say this once, then I'm going to let you get up, shower and do whatever it is you want to do in Cairo for the rest of today—by tomorrow your new documents should be here ready for you.

Nick folded his arms across his chest, fairly sure he knew what Ana was going to say.

Athens was a fuck up. Athens was a fuck up six ways from Sunday. Maybe seven. Your part in that? Being the guy caught in the crossfire. Ana paused. The guy that got to walk away after the crossfire, she amended. I know Jonno's tried to tell you this before and you've refused to hear it from him, so maybe you'll hear it from me: someone sold Nita out. It wasn't your mistake that led to the shootout. And, just in case you were in any doubt, you did everything you could to protect Nita, but you are not bulletproof. Someone else had a hand in it. Someone who wasn't you. There was a phone call to Gemel, three days before. Within an hour, Gemel was on a plane to Greece. Up to then, Gemel's attention was elsewhere.

Unwillingly, Nick said, Does Jonno know who?

Ana shook her head. Burner phone. Used just twice. Once to call Gemel and once to call for pizza. The pizza ordered was pretty basic and was delivered to an Athens hotel.

So dead end.

Except for what it shows: that someone else was on the board. Someone we didn't know about. Maybe someone in Gemel's organisation, or maybe it was someone else. We don't know and at this point, we may never know. The point is: you can only deal with what you know about. You're not omniscient and you did everything you could for Nita.

Except keep her alive.

Ana rolled her eyes heavenwards and muttered a particularly choice Russian curse. You and Daniil deserve one another. She pushed out of her chair. I've said what I was going to. Up to you what you do now. She started for the door. There's clean clothes in the closet for you. And with that, she left, closing the door behind her with more force than was strictly necessary.

Nick fell back against the pillows with an arm draped against his eyes. Objectively, he knew Ana was right. An unknown third party did mean Athens had been an exercise in futility, but knowing that didn't make the feeling of having failed go anywhere. He'd thought, working with the orphans in Syria for MSF would help and for a time, it had. Or maybe it had just allowed him to avoid thinking about past mistakes.

Another thought came to him: had he lost his edge? He'd been doing this for a very long time—only Jonno had been at this longer, but the Larrakia rarely left his computers these days, preferring the quiet of research and his teaching. That kind of semi-retirement suited Jonno but Nick knew it wouldn't remotely work for him. He'd been there and done that. Maybe it was time for him to walk away, then. Cut the cord completely. And do what?

Nick let a low growl sound in the back of his throat as he flung the bedding back and rolled out of bed. That was the problem. There was no pension plan. No quiet little cottage in the country. Besides, that would drive him just as nuts as teaching or research. Ana had said he was free to do as he pleased for the rest of the day: maybe he should take a walk. While Cairo had never been his home, there was still the Nile, the one true constant in his life.

––––––––

It was perhaps inevitable that Nick found himself in the labyrinthine halls of the Cairo Museum. He'd intended to take a wander along the river, but his feet, it seemed, had other ideas. So here he was, in the sort of place that only Egypt could do: rooms upon rooms stacked with knowledge and with, apparently, only a bare thought for the care and preservation of the artefacts. He knew there had to be more care than was apparent—linen gloves didn't survive for three thousand years without it—but it still amused him as he moved between the glass cases.

As he wandered through the museum, he became aware of someone following him. For a second, he feared he'd been recognised, but then he caught a glimpse of his pursuer. Dressed in a light cotton sundress with her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, she looked just like any other tourist. He knew she wasn't. He sighed and at the next convenient niche in the displays he stopped to allow her to catch up.

Kari. Shouldn't you be in Wales? I assume Sita had a hand in your arrival. he asked as she joined him.

At that, Kari mustered a sheepish sort of smile. Don't blame Sita. I didn't think you'd answer my call otherwise. She shrugged a bit and then gestured to their surroundings. I'm a little surprised by your choice of activity, though. She waved a hand at the large sandstone statue of Amenhotep IV, better known as Akhenaten. I would have thought once was enough.

Apparently not. Nick shrugged. He glanced at the information placard for the statue, which defined Akhenaten as a heretic, and snorted softly. He'd have hated that.

I dare say, said Kari dryly.

So why are you here?

There was a lengthy pause while they negotiated a large knot of tourists and started down the stairs. We're worried about you.

Nick gave her a sharp look. Really?

Really. Her words were firm and there was a certain warmth to her expression.

Nick looked away. Huh.

We are wondering, she continued delicately, if it's your time.

Her words an echo of his earlier thought, Nick now understood why he'd ended up in the museum instead of on the Corniche. The museum represented his past, but it took seeing the glass cases full of obsolete objects to know it wasn't time for him to become one of them. Not yet.

They stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine of a Cairo summer's day and Nick thought he heard Kari sigh with relief.

Being worried about me isn’t why you're here, though.

It was several yards more before she answered, by which time they were walking along the Nile Corniche. The river below was as busy as ever, though the boats that plied the waters were more for pleasure than for trade these days.

Well, no. Not entirely. She sighed. I need a favour.

Nick came to a halt and leaned against the wall, looking out over the waterway below. What sort of favour?

The girl I've been looking after is finally ready to go off to university. She doesn't need me any longer, but she's still under the council's watch.

Nick flashed to a similar conversation, five years earlier. I'm not sure I'm a good choice.

Why?

Athens, said Nick briefly. I know you've been busy with your assignment, but you're not that far out of the loop.

At that, Kari gave him a fond if slightly exasperated look. You're right, I'm not that far out of the loop and this isn't remotely the same. Ayana's not a whistle-blower; she's a twenty-four-year-old student. None of the information I've got says this is anything other than making sure she gets to be a well-rounded adult, and I've done the hard work there. Her stepfather's a bit of a bastard, but he won't intervene now she's been accepted to Cambridge.

At that, Nick looked up, surprised. Which college?

Newnham, why?

Evan Jones' youngest granddaughter is about to start her second year there.

Even more reason for you to be in Cambridge, then, said Kari. You can keep your promise to Evan while you're at it. More gently, she added, It would give you somewhere to go and something to do, given you can't stay on here.

Nick grimaced. Much as he hated it, Kari was right there. With such a public and recorded incident as the orphanage, it would be twenty or thirty years before he could safely return to Egypt. The opportunity to see more of Becky wouldn't be bad and it did sound like an easy assignment, not that he ever put much stock in that.

He rubbed a hand over his face and turned his back on the Nile. Tell me about her, he said.

Chapter 1

I knew I should have insisted you take the window seat.

Ayana van der Merwe looked up from her book and glanced at her seat-mate. What?

You are humming. Again. Caroline Hickman, formerly a Sergeant and field medic in the British Army, had a facial expression that suggested both fondness and exasperation. The exasperation appeared to be winning.

Ayana hadn't been aware of it, but now she came to think of it, she did have a melody stuck in the back of her mind. As it was an unfamiliar one, she assumed it was a transfer from someone who'd brushed her shoulder as they passed up the train carriage. Sorry—I didn't mean to.

At that, Caroline relaxed and chuckled. I know. Like I said, I should have made you sit by the window. She paused, brushing strands of blonde hair that had escaped the confines of her braid back behind her ear. You need to watch that, though.

I know. I try. Ayana sighed. It's hard.

Caroline smiled sympathetically. You'll get there.

Ayana tried to return to her book, but now she'd been disturbed, that was hard. She knew, from a glance out of the train's window, that they were in the outer edges of London. It would be less than twenty minutes before they arrived at Paddington, and that would bring her one step closer to her goal.

She was finally starting university.

For most people, starting university was a daunting prospect. For Ayana it was something that had seemed beyond her reach until recently. A serious accident just as she was about to start secondary school had left her with a myriad of health issues and massively behind her peers. Time had helped with the former; hard work and determination, the latter. There had still been one big hurdle, though: parents for whom the long months of hospital care was still fresh in their memories. Ayana was still not sure what had finally convinced them to allow her to try applying, but she suspected Caroline, the woman who'd overseen much of the rehab work Ayana had put in, probably had something to do with it.

What had definitely eased matters was the letter that had arrived in early January, confirming she'd been accepted by Newnham College. Her father had definitely relaxed at the thought of being able to boast about that. Her mother was still more than inclined towards fretting, but she had also conceded that this was something good—normal, even—and to Ayana's surprise, she'd even agreed that Caroline would be the better travelling companion for this trip.

She will keep it together; I would be a blubbering wreck, Joelle van der Merwe had admitted only the previous afternoon.

Ayana smiled faintly to herself. All she had to do now was live up to her choice.

The train slowed and passed beneath a wide bridge. Scrawled on the wall was the enigmatic phrase "long ago is far away in images of elsehere. It always tugged at Ayana's mind with an odd sort of resonance. Caroline nudged her in the ribs. Nearly there now."

Ayana shoved her book back into her bag. Remind me again of the plan, she said, trying to quell odd feelings of panic.

We go from Paddington to your father's apartment in Kensington via the Circle Line. If you're feeling up to it, after lunch we'll do some shopping, perhaps visit the British Museum, have dinner and then tomorrow we travel to Cambridge. We pick up your room key, drop your stuff at your new room and meet your college mother. Caroline paused and shook her head. Only a Cambridge College would have that concept.

Ayana snorted with amusement. It's part of the charm.

Caroline shook her head again, then continued, I'll leave you to settle in, but I will remain in Cambridge for a day or so, just in case, then return to Tenby. She paused again, this time for the official announcement of their arrival into Paddington. I'm sure you have this all memorised.

It sounds so much better when you say it. Like I'm not utterly crazy.

Caroline laughed. You're not crazy. Not about this, anyway, she teased.

Ayana poked her tongue out at her friend, which just made Caroline laugh more. The train finally eased to a stop and a moment later the tone sounded indicating the doors had been unlocked. Ayana busied herself collecting together her things. Most of her luggage for university had gone on ahead to the Kensington apartment so that this journey could be done with the minimum of fuss, but there were still books, magazines and a now empty breakfast bag, plus a jacket and her silk gloves, which she'd discarded somewhere around Bristol. The accident had left her with a particularly livid scar across the palm of her left hand and poor circulation, so the gloves served a dual purpose. Pulling them back on in preparation for travelling on the tube, however, reminded her that to her fellow students they were going to be yet another mark of eccentricity. She sighed.

Caroline was doing the fond/exasperated look again. She, naturally, was ready to leave and probably had been since the previous stop.

You should have nudged me sooner, Ayana muttered as she hauled her jacket on.

Caroline smirked. I thought about it. I also thought you'd been this way a few times before.

I have. Ayana grimaced as she finally shouldered her bag. Paddington always surprises me.

Finally ready, they disembarked the train and made their way down into the underground station.

You know, said Caroline thoughtfully, I probably ought to be making you work out which platform and such.

Do you want lunch any time soon? Ayana retorted. You know I hate the tube.

Caroline took pity on her and led the way to the right platform for the circle line where, impressively, they arrived in time to step straight onto a train. Predictably, it was busy and claustrophobic—the two things about the tube Ayana hated the most. Caroline did her best to act as a shield between Ayana and the other people in their carriage, but try as she might, she couldn't help but brushing against some of their fellow passengers. By the time they left the train, Ayana's head felt as if it were fit to burst with all the impressions she'd picked up. Only the steady thread of woodsmoke and incense that signalled Caroline's presence kept her going.

Should have got a cab, Caroline muttered as they exited onto Kensington High Street.

It's fine.

It is not fine; you're squinting like you've got a migraine. Caroline glanced at her. "You’re picking up too much, aren’t you?

Reluctantly, Ayana nodded. I've now got the worst craving for anchovy pizza I've ever had. She grimaced. I don't even like anchovies. That was an easy transfer to mention. Less easy was the flash of someone else's sexting and the jumble of images she'd gained from a third person that flat out made no sense.

The transfers were one of the lasting souvenirs from the accident and while the others—the assorted scars from injuries and operations—had largely faded, her sensitivity to the touch of others had remained and, if anything, intensified. Sometimes all it did was leave her with someone else's desire for food or humming music she didn't know.

Sometimes it left her with vivid dreams and even nightmares.

She suspected the third person's touch would lead to the latter.

Just off the high street, Caroline led the way into a smart block of apartments. With a commute of over five hours, her father found it expedient to keep an apartment in London so that he could travel the day before his meetings and not incur ludicrous hotel bills. Right now, it was proving just as useful to Ayana as a way point between Tenby and Cambridge.

Caroline unlocked the apartment door. What do you want for lunch? she asked.

Absently Ayana rubbed the palm of her left hand as she followed Caroline into the apartment. Sadaf should be open, she answered, naming