Reawakened Page 4

  “Go where?” I asked.

  Squaring his impressive shoulders, he straightened to his full height and looked at the surrounding buildings. He studied both sides of the street as if assessing our options. “I do not know. I have never seen monuments of this size before.” Cocking his head, he queried, “What is the distance to Thebes?”

  “Thebes?” I snickered softly. “Uh, let’s just say it’s a little farther than I would want to walk in these shoes.” I clapped both hands over my mouth, utterly shocked that I’d said exactly what I’d been thinking. Snarky, acerbic comments were definitely not mother-approved, and I’d worked hard over the years to develop the habit of waiting an extra moment before responding.

  I’d long ago learned that my natural response to most situations was humor in one form or another, and there was no place in my parents’ circles for a quick-witted daughter.

  Oblivious to my thoughts, he glanced down at my shoes, frowning. “Very well. We shall find another means of transportation.”

  Leaving the wall, he approached me with catlike grace, hand stretched out. I jerked my head away and he appeared hurt by my action.

  “Remain still,” he said softly, stroking my cheek lightly. His fingertips felt like they were filled with liquid sunshine, and at his touch, heat seemed to seep into my cheekbones. I got the distinct impression he was assessing my body, and not in a boy-checking-out-girl way.

  “You are weakened,” he said finally. “The accident has diminished our strength. We both need sustenance.”

  “There’s that word again.”

  Cocking his head, he asked, “Is there a different word you would prefer?”

  “No, it’s fine, as long as I’m not the one on your menu,” I quipped uncertainly.

  “I do not consume human flesh. Is this practice common in your city?”

  “Uh, no.”

  He looked relieved. “That is good. I would rather starve on my sojourn.”

  “Well, at least I can cross ‘cannibal’ off the list. I was worried you were going to slice me up into little pieces and pull out your sauté pan.” His brows lowered in concentration and then lifted as his mouth curved up into a genuine smile. His expression was so bright and full of delight that I found myself wanting to bask in the display. It was as if he’d been covered by storm clouds, but in that brief moment the sun peeked through, warming me in a way that made me want to see him smile all over again.

  I’d been very wrong in my initial assessment of him. He wasn’t a cover model, a lunatic, an axe murderer, or any of the other labels I’d tried to make fit. The power that settled on his shoulders didn’t come from money or good looks, though it was obvious he had at least one of those. No, this guy’s confidence wasn’t based on a superiority complex. It wasn’t superficial.

  “Perhaps later,” he said with a twitch of his lips. “Tell me, what harvests are gathered in this iron city? I do not see farms, but I smell food everywhere.”

  Harvests?

  Taking hold of my hands and pulling me up from the bench, he asked, “Will you help me find it, Lily?”

  I got the sense he was asking for much more than directions to the nearest fast-food joint, and was suddenly sure of a few things. First, he was way out of his element, literally a stranger in a strange land. Second, although he was definitely comfortable in his own skin, he was experiencing moments of confusion and doubt, which made him unsure of himself and hesitant, and he chafed at those feelings. Third, he really seemed to need me. That above all else rang loud and clear.

  Maybe the solution was simple. Perhaps if I just bought him a burger and pointed him in whatever direction he needed to go, this pseudo-hypnosis thing would end, we could amicably part ways, and I could head home and try to make sense of all this. I hypothesized that perhaps some unknown force had brought the two of us together, and my role as this guy’s guardian angel would soon be over. If that wasn’t the case, I had no idea what was going on.

  I often found that the most obvious solution was the right one. He wanted to eat, so I’d feed him and then take it from there.

  “Well”—I scanned the street for a place to eat—“in New York City they have a little bit of everything.”

  “This city is called New York?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly, watching his expression. If he was playing at not knowing where he was, he was an exemplary actor.

  “Excellent,” he said. “Take me, then, to a little bit of everything.”

  I gave his skirt a pointed look. “Um, I think the only place you would fit the dress code for would be a hot dog stand.”

  Wrinkling his nose, he exclaimed, “You eat…dogs? That is almost as bad as people!”

  “No!” I snickered. “Boy, you are from out of town. Hot dogs are made from pork or beef.”

  “Ah, I understand. Then I would like a hot…dog.”

  “You got it, Ali Baba.”

  “Why do you call me this?”

  “I have to call you something. You still haven’t told me your name.”

  I spotted a food cart across the street and indicated for him to follow me to the crosswalk. He tagged along placidly, and while we waited to cross, he said, “Amon. My name is Amon.”

  “Right. Amon.” He didn’t pronounce it like Ammon. His version was a much more swoon-inducing “Ah-moan,” providing, of course, that one would swoon over a guy who was obviously not all there. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Amon from Thebes.”

  “I am not from Thebes.”

  “No?”

  “I was born in Itjtawy in the time of the Dark One’s reign.”

  “Right. And Itjtawy is in what country, exactly?”

  “You would likely know my land as Egypt.”

  Really, why did the good-looking, interesting guys always have to end up being MIA upstairs? His body had reached cruising altitude, but the pilot had obviously called in sick. “So should I call you Pharaoh Amon or King Amon?” I teased, playing along.

  “I was to be a king, but the time of the pharaohs was after my own.”

  “Uh-huh.” This was getting easier. I finally felt like I was getting back in control. “Well, that’s okay. You shouldn’t feel bad. Titles don’t make the man. Am I right?”

  Amon folded his arms across his chest and regarded me. “You are laughing at me.”

  “Never. I wouldn’t mock an almost-king-slash-non-pharaoh.”

  His expression was doubtful and a little more shrewd than I felt comfortable with, but he let it go, watching the action on the street instead. He seemed fascinated by the traffic—the honking, noisy, fist-waving, tire-screeching action. It was almost like he’d never seen a car before. Which was impossible. There were maybe—maybe—only a handful of people in the entire world who didn’t know what a car was.

  When the light changed, Amon waited for the traffic to come to a stop. He didn’t move until I took his hand.

  “Come on!” I entreated. “The light will change soon and the drivers don’t really care if you’re still in the way.”

  After I mentioned the possibility of another accident, he rushed forward, gripping my hand and tugging me along as he weaved quickly among the other pedestrians to get safely to the other side. “I do not trust those golden chariots,” he declared, while giving the taxis the evil eye.

  “Yeah, well, travel by golden chariot is pretty much essential in Manhattan.”

  “I thought you said we were in the city of New York,” he said as I guided him to the hot dog cart.

  “We are. Manhattan is the name of the island.”

  “Island?” he mumbled. “We are indeed far from Thebes.”

  “Yes, we are,” I said in an exaggerated voice as if I were talking to a child. Gently, I patted his arm as if he were an invalid. “So let’s get you a hot dog, put my phone back together, and call social services to come pick you up.” I hadn’t decided on a course of action until that moment, but it felt like the right one. I was suddenly exhausted. This guy was
in need of more help than I could give him, and I wanted to remedy the situation as soon as possible.

  “Why is there a service to lift people? I can walk. Ah…you mean a litter. Yes, that is appropriate.”

  “Indeed it is.” I smiled at him, utterly confused by our conversation.

  “Whaddya want?” the hot dog vendor barked after giving Amon the once-over.

  “Two dogs with the works and a soda,” I replied.

  Amon, if that was his real name, stood right behind me as if guarding my back from the people passing. He watched with curiosity as the vendor got my order together. When the vendor was finished I handed Amon the food before fishing out a ten-dollar bill from my wallet. After stuffing the change into the guy’s tip jar, I walked Amon to an empty bench and put my bag between us as he began fiddling with the hot dog wrapper.

  Amon took a bite and seemed to like what he tasted, but when I unscrewed the top of the soda bottle things really got interesting. He chugged a mouthful of soda and a second later he was choking on CO2, soda spraying everywhere as his eyes watered.

  I grabbed some napkins from the vendor and began cleaning the soda from Amon’s chest and arms.

  He was looking at me with a half-frustrated, half-amused expression. “I can take care of it, Young Lily.”

  Cupping my hand, he wriggled the wad of napkins from between my fingers while I blushed violently and apologized. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

  He took both the sticky soda and my fumbling words in stride. Still, I forced myself to look away as he finished cleaning up because I was enjoying the process just a little too much. Being physically attracted to Mr. Almost-King/Non-Pharaoh just wasn’t acceptable, and I refused to allow even a glimmer of interest to take root.

  When he was done cleaning his chest, Amon thrust the soda bottle into my hands. “This drink is vile. Is there no juice of the grape, or perhaps water?”

  “Hold on.” I left and returned a moment later with some bottled water. “Here. Now, why don’t you tell me how you came to be in New York and yet have never heard of the place?” Instead of answering me, he drained his beverage.

  Raising the empty bottle, he exclaimed, “This water is more delicious than the soft kisses from the daubed lips of a dozen nubile maidens.”

  Suddenly, I couldn’t remember what I’d just asked him. Seeing that my only response was to stare at him like I’d forgotten how to think, which, incidentally, wasn’t too far from the truth, he waved a hand to get my attention. “May I have more, Lily? My throat is as dry as a sandstorm in the desert.”

  What a coincidence. My throat had suddenly gone dry, too. “Uh…sure.”

  Leaving my bag on the bench beside him, I pulled out some cash and headed back to the vendor. When I turned around, my hands full of bottles, I saw a man in a hoodie grab my backpack and begin to run. Seriously? Is this the day I’m having? Surely I’m being punked!

  “Hey!” I shouted, and immediately dropped the bottles, two of which split, spraying their contents on my legs. Without a second thought, I ran after the thief.

  “Stop him!” I called out, and was pleased to see several pedestrians make an effort to slow the thief down. Before I reached him, the man abruptly halted in his tracks, as if he had no control over his body. He turned around to face me as a voice behind me said, “You will return her belongings.”

  I grunted, “Not now, Amon. I can handle this.” To the thief, I proclaimed, “Give it back and I won’t call the cops.”

  The thief nodded, his eyes glazed over, and passed me my bag. Afterward, he started as if jerking awake and lunged through the crowd, desperate to get away. Glancing briefly at Amon, I shook my head in disbelief and unzipped my bag to check its contents.

  Once again a crowd had gathered around us, and Amon played to the masses. Some people even cheered, and Amon raised his hands, seeming to enjoy the praise.

  Everything accounted for, I angrily zipped my bag closed and swung it over my shoulder. “Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself. “I mean, really. Un-freaking-believable! Craziest day ever!”

  I spun around, very much needing to get away from everyone. Amon quickly caught up. “Where are we going, Young Lily?”

  “I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m going home.”

  “To your home?”

  “Yes.”

  He matched my stride easily even though I was practically running by now. At the corner, I raised my hand to hail a cab and one immediately pulled over.

  As I yanked open the door, Amon said warily, “I do not trust the golden chariots.”

  I sighed and turned back around. “Look, the best thing for you to do is to head back to the museum. It’s a straight shot down, six blocks or so. Ask for Tony. He’s a friend of mine. Tell him you’re trying to get to Thebes and they’ll help you out. He can get you another hot dog and put it on my tab.”

  “I do not understand, Young Lily. You wish for me to leave you?”

  “Yes. I need to go home, take a bath, and sleep for a long time.”

  “Then I will go with you.”

  “No, you—”

  “Hey, you coming or not?” the impatient driver asked.

  “Hold your chariot!” I shouted back, adding bellowing at cabbies to my new repertoire.

  The driver shut up and satisfied himself after that with giving me annoyed looks.

  At Amon’s expectant expression, I lost it. There was already enough pressure on me without adding this guy to the mix. It was time to get off the insane train. Last stop. Everybody off.

  Rubbing my temples, I explained, “I’m really sorry, but I just can’t do this, whatever this is, anymore. My head hurts. I was almost robbed. I had to eat lunch with the Three Weird Sisters. I channeled so much static electricity that my mouth tastes like the outside of a burned marshmallow. And to top it all off, I’ve been escorting the Captain of Crazytown around New York. Do you see why I need to go home?”

  Amon brushed a fingertip against my cheek, like he had earlier, and, with a very subdued demeanor, he nodded. “Yes. I understand. You must rest tonight.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I will not come to any harm, Lily.”

  “Good.” The weight of responsibility for him was like a heavy blanket that suddenly slipped from my shoulders. Still, I bit my lip and called out as he turned away, “Wait!”

  Riffling through my wallet, I pulled out several twenties and pressed them into his hand. “If you get hungry or thirsty, give the hot dog man one of these.”

  “Hakenew,” he said as he tightened his fist, crushing all the bills in the middle. At my look of confusion, he clarified, “My thanks.”

  “Ah. Well, goodbye. And, good luck.”

  “May luck be with you as well,” he replied.

  Climbing into the cab, I shut the door, telling the driver to head to Central Park. As he waited for the traffic to clear so he could pull out, Amon gripped the frame where the window was rolled down and leaned closer to talk to me.

  “Young Lily?” he asked.

  “Yes?”

  He gave me one of his special sunlit smiles. “You have the heart of a sphinx.”

  I was about to ask him what that meant, when the driver pulled away. Amon stared after me as the distance between us increased, and despite the certainty of my decision to leave him there, I remained uncomfortably twisted in my seat, watching until he was swallowed up in the jumble of people moving like ants through the dark jungle of Manhattan.

  As the driver turned the corner, bringing Central Park back into view, I asked him to drop me off at the Hotel Helios, my home. When I was young we’d lived in the suburbs and my parents would take the train into Manhattan every day. But as soon as my mother got her big promotion and my father scored a huge moneymaking deal, they traded in our upscale, more-rooms-than-we-knew-what-to-do-with suburban home for an even more upscale, snooty penthouse that was easily ten times the price and had even more rooms that we never us
ed.

  There were definite perks to living in Manhattan, and even more perks to living in a hotel—like maid service, room service at all hours, doormen, valets, access to the hotel pool, the steam room, and the gym. Still, it was hard for me to think of this residence as a home.

  The streets of New York were constantly filled with noise. A drilling, jackhammering, honking, police-whistling, bus-squeaking, and exhaust-hissing cacophony that never faded. Then there was also the fact that “homes” in NYC came with apartment numbers and shared walls with various eateries, or, in my case, floor levels and room service. And then add to that, that my parents preferred to keep our residence looking magazine perfect, stiff, and unlived in. I didn’t crave a place where the grass was greener—heck, I just wanted grass, period. It was no wonder I felt a bit disenchanted.

  To me, a home was a quiet place with a yard, a fence, and a dog. And not one of those sissy dogs that ride in purses, either. A real home needed a real dog, like maybe a German shepherd or a Doberman—a big dog that would slobber all over its owner, dig up the yard, and wait patiently by the window to welcome its master home.

  Now, my grandmother’s farm was the perfect place for a dog. I had fond memories of chasing her various pets through fields of tall grass, wet noses being pushed into my hands, the smell of sun and wind and wood and fur as I kissed the tops of their heads and played with their ears. She’d had several dogs over the years, but her last dog, Bilbo, had recently died of old age and she didn’t have the heart to replace him yet.

  As soon as the driver pulled up, Herb, the hotel doorman, made his way over and opened my door.

  “Did you have a nice day, Miss Young?” he asked politely.

  I allowed him to help me out. “Herb, it was one of the worst days of my entire existence. You wouldn’t even believe me if I told you,” I said as I squeezed his hand.

  Chuckling, Herb walked me to the hotel’s golden doors. “I’d believe anything you told me. You aren’t one of those dramatic young women always vying for attention.”

  I laughed. “Well, drama can sneak up on you, Herb. I have officially received more attention today than I’d ever want. The result is a killer migraine and a hankering for chocolate. Have a nice evening.”