Divine Retribution
Each blow was forceful enough to knock him back, back, back – but Marc didn’t raise a hand in defence. He deserved this. He deserved it all. You deserve it all.
“Marc – ” Steven’s voice came through then, frantic, the sound jolting him. “You didn’t kill him. Tell her you didn’t kill him.”
Layla kept coming, and he felt Jake push forward desperately. “Let me stop her,” he demanded. “Let me stop this.”
“We’re in this together, Marc.” Steven’s voice rang through his head again, but this time he was calm. He was so, so calm. “You told me you didn’t kill him. This was not your fault.”
Something shot through him then – adrenaline, willpower, he didn’t know – and he raised a hand to block her strikes to his head. Layla shoved him against the wall as she snatched her sword off the ground, the blade coming to press against his neck. Her eyes shone with tears, her sword and her voice trembling with rage. “Give me one good reason.”
Let her do it, that part of him sang, ever-present in his mind. Let her kill you. You deserve it. You know you deserve it.
But they didn’t. Steven didn’t deserve it. Jake, despite his many flaws, didn’t deserve it. The thought of what Zara would find when she came back pushed its way into his mind, jarring him. She didn’t deserve it. The memories of the Duat flooded forward, those cold white rooms, the memory of Zara in the tomb, the righteous rage in Jake’s eyes. The complete forgiveness in Steven’s as he’d told him that he knew. He knew everything. And he loved Marc anyway.
They loved him anyway.
“I didn’t do it.”
Layla’s eyes widened then, but she didn’t release her grip on him. Marc wouldn’t fight her again. He couldn’t possibly cause this woman more pain. But he wouldn’t go down for Bushman’s crime, either.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t believe you.”
“My partner, he – he told us it was just a raid. Stealing artefacts, but he – ” Marc cut off, his words feeling jammed in his throat. He swallowed, hard. “He turned on us. He didn’t want witnesses.”
Her grip tightened on him, the blade of the sword pressing into the binds around his neck. “I don’t believe you.”
“I tried to stop him.” Marc continued, his voice cracking slightly. “I tried to save them – to save your father. I still see him in my sleep, every time I close my eyes.”
Layla’s mouth opened, then pressed shut, her lips trembling – with grief or rage, he didn’t know. But past experience told him it was likely a mixture of both.
Suddenly someone landed on the roof behind them. “Marc?”
A pause. Then, “Layla?”
Zara. He heard her rush forward and Marc put his hands up. “Don’t, Zara.” He locked eyes with her over Layla’s shoulder as she came into view. “Don’t come any closer.”
Layla glanced at her fleetingly over her shoulder, genuinely remorseful. “I’m sorry you have to see this.”
Zara gritted her teeth, her armour curling in strands around her. “Let him go.”
“I can’t do that,” Layla murmured, her grip tightening again. “I’ve searched too long, worked too hard.” Her gaze flicked back to Marc, full of rage. But her voice was quiet, sad. “How could I ever let this go?”
“I’m not asking you to,” Marc murmured, bracing himself – but to his surprise, this time Jake didn’t push forward. “But I need you to know that I did try to save him, your father. My partner almost killed me in the process. Then I crawled to Khonshu’s temple – ” The god of the moon materialised then, watching him. “He saved my life.”
“Layla,” her voice came back then, Zara slowly walking forward. “I know you’re hurting. I – I understand.” She stilled then, mere feet away from them. “But this isn’t the answer.”
Tears sprang from Layla’s eyes then, her voice a hiss. “What would you know?”
“You said it yourself – I know the feeling,” Zara reasoned, her eyes briefly flicking to Marc’s. “I know loss, too. I know grief, and so do you. But creating more of it won’t make your own go away.”
Layla inhaled sharply, and Marc saw her teeth clench so hard he thought they might shatter. She didn’t speak again for a long time, her mind working behind her eyes, her iron grip on him never loosening, the sword still pressing against his throat. Finally she glared up at him, her voice trembling. “Who did it, then? Who killed him?”
Marc reeled for a moment. “Raul Bushman. I was part of his team, but we – he never told us what he planned to do.” He locked eyes with her then, nodding as much as her sword would allow. “I swear.”
Suddenly a voice came out of the dark, but no one followed it – and even Khonshu stood to attention.
He tells the truth.
Zara inhaled sharply, her eyes flying wide – and Marc knew Sekhmet was talking to her. “Mafdet.”
“Mafdet?” Steven was incredulous, and he almost fronted out of pure excitement, despite their literal life-and-death situation. How he could still be excited after everything he’d seen, Marc didn’t know. “Oh my days – ”
Jake wasn’t impressed. “Who the hell is Mafdet?”
Her goddess, Khonshu stepped forward then, and Layla flinched. Goddess of justice, judgement –
“And execution,” Layla finished, her voice low. Finally she released her grip on his neck, stepping back, her sword clattering to the ground. Before Marc could even speak Zara surged forward, wrapping her arms around him, almost knocking him off his feet. Marc let out a laugh in surprise, wrapping her in his embrace. He didn’t want to let go. He would never let go.
Suddenly Zara pulled back, her eyes fixing on the woman behind her. Layla’s armour was unravelling around her and she staggered back, as if she’d been struck. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “All that time…” she murmured. “I spent all that time…”
“Layla?” Zara strode forward then, tentatively putting an hand on her arm. Layla’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, wary and tear-streaked.
“I spent all that time going after the wrong man.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and Marc felt an arrow of pain shoot through him. “My father…his killer is still out there. And I wasted all this time – ”
“No,” Zara told her, and her gaze fixed on her. “It’s not wasted. What happened to your father, I – I know people. I can help you find the man who killed him.”
Layla released a ragged breath, the two women watching each other for a moment. Bushman had killed innocents – so, so many innocents – and for what? The rage that had filled him since that day flared again, the rage that he knew he shared with Jake rising like gasoline poured on a fire. Raul Bushman had killed Abdallah El-Faouly. He’d very nearly killed Marc himself – and by extension, Jake and Steven. Marc looked back to the two women, his gaze fixing on Layla.
“We can help you.”
Zara glanced back at him, Layla blinking at him in surprise. “What?”
“Yeah, what?” Jake interjected, and Steven shushed him.
“I – I worked with Bushman for years, as a merc. If anyone can help you find him,” Marc stepped forward tentatively, as if not to spook her. “I can.”
Layla shook her head. “Why would you want to help me?”
“Because – ” he faltered then, and Zara looked to him, nodding her head. “Because I’ve hidden from what happened that day for too long. I should’ve fought back harder, or realised earlier what he’d planned to do, or – or something.” Marc ran a hand through his hair, his heart thrumming in his chest as he fought off the wave of nausea at the memories. “Maybe if I had, all those innocent people – they’d still be alive.”
Layla straightened then, and for a moment he thought she might come at him again, though now she had no armour or weaponry. Zara stood next to her, taut as a wire – and the memory of Sekhmet standing in the Great Pyramid flashed through his mind. All of this was second nature to her – the fighting, the wars, the strategy and the damage and the pain.
Just like it was for him.
Layla considered him. “Would you kill him? In my position?”
Marc almost laughed. “If I couldn’t, I know someone who would do it in a heartbeat.”
Jake surged with pride. “It would be my pleasure to kill that sick hijo de puta – ”
“God,” Steven breathed. “I think you might be actually bonkers.”
Jake snorted. “Big talk from a man who uses the word bonkers – ”
Marc forced his attention back to the woman across from him. Layla nodded. “All right. And uh, sorry for trying to kill you.”
Zara chuckled. “Don’t worry. Happens all the time.”
* * *
Convincing Layla to come back to the safe house was like pulling teeth.
That was, until Jake decided to tell her how badly Zara had butchered the Kushari.
She’d hardly even blinked when Marc had explained his condition, and Zara had never wanted a friend so badly in her life. Jake had come to the front at some point during their conversation, watching the two of them interact with that cool, mildly amused gaze of his – and she could just tell that he knew she was hopeless. After all, the Red Room had never really encouraged…friends. More like tactical relationships. Using people to get what she (or more accurately, they) wanted. No room for sentiment.
Layla sat perched on a stool as Zara stirred the now cold food, stacking the spices on the bench that she’d bought from the markets simultaneously. She looked to Layla. “Am I missing something?”
“Don’t worry,” Jake told her, flashing her that infuriating Cheshire cat grin of his. “I’m sure the secret ingredient is love.”
Zara scoffed. “I’m full of love. I’m an incredibly loving person.”
“Cariño, I once saw you flip off a guy for not using an indicator, when you and Marc went to Luxor.” He put a dramatic hand to his chest. “And completely unprovoked.”
Zara narrowed her eyes at him. “I would bet – and I’m not exaggerating here – literally a million dollars that you’re an angry driver. So you can bite me, Lockley.”
Jake’s grin only widened. “I mean, if you’re asking.”
“Not to interrupt,” Layla cut in, watching them warily. “But have you really not made Kushari before? I thought you were Egyptian.”
“I – ” Zara faltered. She knew Layla didn’t mean it that way. She knew that. But her words felt like a punch to the gut all the same. “I mean, I was born here – ”
“She’s a black widow.” Jake interjected, and she shot him a glare. “What? You are. I don’t think you should be ashamed of it.”
Layla blinked at her, her jaw practically hitting the ground. Her gaze flicked to Jake, and then back. “Is he serious?”
“Unfortunately,” Zara sighed, slightly relaxing her glare on Jake. She stirred the food again. “Long story short – got taken as a baby, raised to be an assassin, got put back here while under mind control until the Red Room got taken down and another widow saved me.”
“And said viuda was the one you hired to murder – ” Jake gestured to himself. “Us.” He grinned. “Small world, eh?”
Layla was silent for a moment, staring at the bench, and Zara could practically hear the cogs turning over in her head. “That’s why you never knew your parents.”
Zara blinked in surprise, Layla’s response catching her entirely off guard. Jake suddenly stretched his arms over his head, cat-like. “Ah, el pájaro wants a chat.” He waved a dismissive hand, sauntering out of the kitchen. “Be right back. Try not to miss me too much, cariño.”
Zara snapped back to reality, the corner of her lip quirking as he left. “Couldn’t if I tried, Mudak.”
When he was (presumably) out of earshot, Layla released a sigh, her eyes still fixed on the bench. “For what it’s worth, I did actually want to be your friend.”
Zara felt her stomach flip in excitement, but her voice was calm. “Who says you can’t still be?” She shrugged. “I don’t hold a grudge.”
Layla still didn’t look up. “I tried to kill your partner. I – I very nearly succeeded.”
Your partner. Zara’s stomach flipped again, for a different reason this time. She pursed her lips. “Full disclosure – we’re not together.” She sighed. “That was just the cover story since, you know – we thought he was being chased.”
“Convenient.” The corner of Layla’s mouth quirked up, and Zara glanced at her in surprise. She leaned forward. “Can I tell you something, as your friend?”
Giddiness bubbled in Zara’s chest, and she cocked an eyebrow. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”
Layla smirked. “If you can’t see that they like you, you’re blind.”
Zara felt the air leave her lungs as if it’d been pushed out, huffing a surprised laugh. “I didn’t expect such candour from a woman I met only hours ago.”
Layla laughed then, and Zara couldn’t help but smile at the sound. She had a lovely laugh. “Friends are also honest with each other.”
“Well, since we’re being honest – ” Zara leaned over the bench, locking eyes with her. “I don’t blame you at all for what you did. If I’d had a parent who was murdered, I would’ve fought tooth and nail to wipe out their killer, too.”
“But you never had parents to begin with,” Layla murmured, her brows knitting together in sympathy. “I can’t imagine what I look like to you, Zara.”
Zara shook her head. “You look like someone who loves her family.” She smiled sadly. “I hope if I’d ever met mine, they’d have loved me half as much as you love your father. And that’s why I’m going to help you find his killer.”
Layla suddenly reached across the bench, her hand clasping Zara’s, and she almost jumped in surprise. The two women stared at each other for a moment, before being interrupted by the clearing of a throat.
“Um, hi,” Steven suddenly appeared from the hallway, giving a little wave. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Not at all,” Zara assured him, beckoning him forward. Steven tentatively rounded the bench, coming to stand next to Zara, giving Layla another small wave. “Hiya, Steven Grant. Big fan of the old – ” he gestured to Layla’s form. “Cheetah goddess. Very interesting deity, and all that.”
Layla huffed an almost-laugh. “Our deal was over once I found Marc. I’m – I’m not actually an avatar anymore.”
Zara frowned. “What – why?”
“Mafdet was powerful, and useful, but – ” Layla faltered, and Zara and Steven watched her intently. “I don’t know, I just…I felt like I was slipping into a dark place, with her. Her role is important, but I guess I got too easily caught up in the…execution part.” She shrugged, looking to Steven with remorse. “I’m sorry about that.”
Steven gave a little laugh. “Ah, no worries. It’s water under the bridge, innit?”
Layla gave a small smile, but Zara frowned. “What are you going to do, without her?”
“I don’t know,” Layla admitted. “But I can’t be an avatar again, not the way I am at the moment. I know myself – it’s too easy for me to end up in a dark place in that grief.”
Zara considered her words, all her memories of Sekhmet flashing through her mind in quick succession. The god often matched the avatar, she knew – Sekhmet had chosen her for her physical skill and fighting spirit, for her inability to give in to her circumstances. Her heart clenched as she remembered Nagisa – chosen by Isis for her spirituality, her steadfast belief in the healing power of faith in oneself. Yatzil, chosen by Hathor for her musical talent and creative prodigy. Selim, chosen by Osiris for his unyielding respect for authority.
And then there was Marc, Steven, and Jake. Her gaze settled on the man beside her, scanning him for clues. Why exactly Khonshu had chosen them, she didn’t yet know. Something about that relationship between god and man had never quite…fit. Not the way she and Sekhmet had.
But Layla – Layla had heart. Zara didn’t need to know her for longer than a day to know that. She had fighting spirit like Zara, but she had something else, too – a kind of caring beauty, a soulfulness to her that Zara had never seen in another person. As if reading her mind, Steven spoke.
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right goddess.”
Layla smiled, her expression wistful. “Maybe.”
Then she stood, glancing back at Zara, a playful light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. “Your Kushari has too much coriander. Try adding garlic, it makes it taste amazing.”
Zara grinned, her chest flooding with warmth. “Noted.”