Sides of the Coin
The phone was ringing.
It had been several days since she’d seen Steven Grant. He’d texted her later that night after their museum tour, the following awkward-yet-adorable messages asking if she wanted to go to dinner. She’d agreed, of course, suggesting the restaurant only a short ride from the museum, which boasted ‘the best steak in town’. She’d gone to the restaurant on the Friday night, only to be left waiting, sitting there alone. He’d never showed, never called or texted to explain himself. Never even offered so much as a shitty excuse. And now, as she sat alone at six twenty-three in the evening, staring at her buzzing phone, she realised she didn’t particularly want to pick it up. Her pride had flared, and she had to remind herself that her personal emotions were irrelevant. Not that she needed to – Sekhmet had no issue doing that for her.
Pick up the phone, the goddess’ voice rang through her head, commanding her. We need that scarab.
“All right,” Zara muttered, trying not to sound petulant. What the hell was wrong with her? He was just a means to an end, anyway. She accepted the call, switching accents instantly. “Steven?”
“Hiya,” Steven’s voice was jarring, even though she’d been expecting it. “Just wondering if you’re on your way?”
“On my way where?” Zara replied, assuming a puzzled tone. He’d stood her up. She wasn’t about to make this easy for him.
“Umm…for our – our date?” Confusion marked his words, as if she were speaking another language entirely. “Remember? Six o’clock? For the ‘best steak in town’?”
She shook her head, voice flat as a tack. “I didn’t forget.”
Don’t push him away, Sekhmet chastised her. Your pride does not take precedence over this mission.
Steven paused a moment, uncertain. “Oh, no worries. You’ll be along soon, then, yeah?”
He sounded so innocent and genuinely perplexed, that she instantly regretted her tone. Impatient as ever, Sekhmet urged her to press further. “Steven, I was there on Friday. I waited for you for an hour and a half. You never showed.” She lowered her voice. “That was two days ago.”
“What – no,” he stammered. “No, that can’t be right. Yesterday was Thursday. And Friday follows Thursday.”
“It does,” she confirmed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that today is Sunday.”
“Wait, hold on, sorry – ” a sound stifled the microphone, and Zara vaguely heard his muffled voice on the other end, talking to someone. “Excuse me, what day is it?”
Another man’s voice, presumably one of the waitstaff, responded. “It’s Sunday, sir.”
“It’s Sunday?” Steven sounded incredulous, his words holding a slight tremor. “No…no…oh no.” His voice returned to clarity as he spoke to her again. “Oh, Zara, I’m so sorry.”
“Look, Steven, I don’t – ”
“I don’t know how this has happened,” he rambled on frantically. “I swear, I went to bed last night and it was Thursday, and now it’s Sunday, and I don’t know where those two days went but I swear to you that I didn’t mean to stand you up – ”
His voice was rising in dismay, and Zara felt a sudden pang of sympathy. “Steven,” she cut in, trying to sound soothing. “Did something happen?”
“No, no – oh, bollocks, I don’t know.” His breathing had quickened, his distress tangible through the phone. “I don’t know but I am so sorry, and I still very much want you to come but I understand if you don’t want to see me, I just don’t know how to explain – ”
“Stay there,” Zara instructed, and he went silent. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
He paused, as if surprised. “Really? You’ll still come?”
“I will,” she confirmed, and the note of certainty in her voice seemed to calm him. “I will, and I want you to tell me what happened.” Zara stood, briefly eyeing the form of the lioness-headed goddess, watching her intently from across her apartment. Sekhmet nodded approvingly, urging her on. “But Steven, could you do one thing for me?”
“Anything,” he replied instantly. “Anything, just name it.”
“Order me a steak, please. Medium rare.”
* * *
“So you really have no memory of the last two days?”
Steven nodded, unable to meet her eyes. Their previous phone call had thrown Zara slightly off balance. The culprit was his complete lack of inhibition, something she had not expected from an undercover mercenary. This was only exacerbated by the fact that he’d barely stopped rambling from the second she’d sat down, profusely apologising like it was the only thing he knew how to say. Finally, he took a breath, steeling himself. “I’m going to tell you something.”
Zara snapped to attention. Surely, surely a cold-blooded mercenary like Marc Spector was not going to make this so easy. Why would he tell her anything? What was the point of the alias of Steven Grant if he was just going to spill the proverbial beans to someone who was practically a stranger? There must be something else at play here. And if her time in this industry had taught her anything, it was that trust is reserved for two kinds of people – children, and those with a death wish. Still, she cocked her head, intrigued. “What is it?”
His breathing became ragged, and she realised he was nervous. No, not just nervous – borderline panicking. A little voice in the back of her head told her something wasn’t right, but Zara could spot a liar a mile away. She was going to figure him out.
Seeming to change his mind, Steven shook his head. “Never mind. You won’t believe me.”
“Steven,” Zara sat forward intently. “I want you to tell me what happened.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “All right, but you’re going to think I’m completely bonkers. I’ll totally understand if you never want to see me again after I tell you this, but…” Steven shook his head, finally meeting her gaze for the first time since she’d arrived. “I think I ended up in another country.”
Zara’s eyes widened. “Another country?”
“I have a sleeping disorder,” Steven explained, busying his hands with the edge of the tablecloth, which was almost as frayed as his nerves seemed to be. “I can’t…I can’t tell the difference between my waking life, and dreams.” He shook his head, voice trembling slightly. “And I thought – I thought all that crazy stuff I’d lived was a dream. I thought it was, you know, until I called you and you told me it was Sunday. I don’t know where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing over the last two days. I can’t remember a single bloody thing, outside of what I thought was a dream. All I know is that my life feels like it’s full of holes and now my goldfish has two fins.”
Zara sat back, nodding slowly. She had absolutely no clue what his goldfish had to do with it, but him talking about it was better than him not talking at all, which was what she’d been expecting. Steven glanced at her, a melancholy falling over his frame like a lead weight, so that he seemed to be collapsing inward. “You think I’ve lost it.”
“Steven,” her voice was surprisingly gentle, even to her, and he managed to look her in the eyes. His eyes were beautiful, she realised – dark and lovely, like the night sky itself. “I believe you.”
The shock was tangible on his features, his relief following soon after. “Really? You do?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. His face softened, a little more of the tension leaving his body. Sekhmet’s words echoed in her head, and she pressed on. “Is there anything – any detail, even something small, that you can think of – which would explain why you were in another country?”
“Well I don’t even know if I was really in another country, but…” he faltered, as if something was physically staunching the flow of his words. His jaw clenched, and Steven scrunched his face up, as though getting the words out was an exhaustive effort. As if something inside him was trying to stop him. Then, the words she’d been hoping for flew from his mouth in a flash: “A scarab beetle.”
Zara didn’t even have to pretend to be shocked – her heart practically jumped into her mouth at the words she’d just heard – and straight from Khonshu’s avatar himself, no less. She could not believe that the man in front of her would actually admit that he had the scarab, much less in a public place where he might be overheard. She cocked her head, feigning confusion. “A…scarab beetle?” she repeated slowly, trying to make the words sound foreign in her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Here, I’ll show you,” Steven offered, rifling around in his pockets. “It’s a little golden amulet, I guess, that looks like a scarab beetle. Some old geezer wanted it from me, and every time I tried to give it to him, it’s like my body did the opposite of what I told it to do – oh, bollocks.” By now he’d pulled everything out of every pocket on his person – some coins, his phone, chewing gum – everything except a golden scarab. “I swear I’m not havin’ a laugh here, it was in my jacket, I swear.”
It’s like my body did the opposite of what I told it to do.
Steven kept rummaging through his clothes and rambling, but Zara barely heard him – the full implications of his story slamming into her like a freight train.
She hadn’t been able to pick up any faults in his demeanour because there weren’t any. She hadn’t been able to find any holes in his story, because his story had none. Steven had told her all of this because he truly did not understand the situation, and had absolutely no grasp of the danger he was in. Of the danger the world was in. The man sitting across from her – with his British accent and trusting nature and his sweet disposition – had absolutely no clue what was going on.
He didn’t know that the scarab led to the tomb of Ammit. He didn’t know that the little compass was all that stood between this world and a world of judgement at Ammit’s will. He didn’t even know that he was the avatar of the moon god.
And, worst of all: he had no inkling of where the scarab was.
Zara had done everything right – found the right man in the right city, contacted him without blowing the cover of herself or her goddess – but none of that mattered.
None of it mattered at all, because the man in front of her was not Marc Spector.