Ghosts of Karnak Read Online Free Page A

back in New York.
    She’d been running from that for a while now, and was beginning to think that running wasn’t going to be the answer. The creature she’d seen at the fairground still haunted her dreams, and some mornings she woke thinking she must be going mad. To even conceive that such things could exist in the world—the very notion appalled her. She needed time to let it sink in, for her view of the world to shift to accommodate what had happened. This trip was supposed to be that opportunity.
    Now she was here, though, she found herself longing to see Gabriel, to be with someone who understood. She might have asked him along, she supposed, although she suspected he wouldn’t have come. She doubted anything could tear him away from that city, not now. Not even a woman.
    She waved her hand to discourage a fly that had been buzzing around her head for the last few minutes. The bar was busier today than she’d seen it, populated by an array of people of all nationalities and creeds. She’d heard Germans talking in the lobby, met an Englishwoman in the restroom, and overheard the swarthy-looking chap at the next table ordering a drink in French.
    The bar itself was luxurious and stately, reflecting the inordinate cost of staying here. The walls were comprised of glistening white arches, open to the elements, each of them adorned with a complex fretwork of interlaced patterns. The roof out here on the terrace was domed, and low hanging fans turned rhythmically, the sound of them leaving her feeling dozy and tired. They barely seemed to stir the hot, still air, and she found herself longing for the cool breeze of Manhattan, blowing in off the water and gusting along the broad canyons of skyscrapers, apartments, and shops.
    She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the dizziness, allowing the darkness to swarm in.
    The next thing she knew, she was in the arms of the swarthy Frenchman, who was dribbling cool water on her lips and gently mopping her brow with a serviette. She tried to stand, confused and embarrassed, but he shushed her quiet and carefully propped her back in her chair.
    “There,” he said. “I fear the heat may have got to you.” He was crouched beside her chair, and he reached for a glass from his own, adjacent table, holding it out to her. “Drink this.”
    She did as he said, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a cautious sip. The water was cool and pure, and she gulped at it thirstily, draining the glass. The man laughed. He stood, taking the bottle and pouring another.
    “Where did you get this?” she said. After the tepid stuff she’d been drinking, it tasted like nectar.
    “This is your first time, isn’t it?” he said, evidently amused. His Gallic accent tumbled wonderfully as he spoke. “No one’s told you to ask for the bottled stuff.”
    Ginny shook her head, finishing the second glass and placing it on the table before her. She glanced around, still feeling somewhat embarrassed, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention. It was probably a regular occurrence around here, with inexperienced tourists passing out from the heat.
    The man waved to the waiter, who hurried over. “We’ll take another two bottles,” he said. The waiter nodded enthusiastically, before rushing off to execute the order. Ginny wondered how he managed to operate so quickly in such heat, particularly dressed in his shirtsleeves.
    “Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know what came over me.”
    “It happens more than you’d think,” said the man. “Pretty ladies swooning by my table.”
    She looked up at him, and laughed. He was handsome, in a rugged sort of way, with a tanned face and thick black beard. His shirt was open at the collar, and his pale suit was stained around the cuffs with smears of what might have been ocher or rust. His brown eyes were sharp and alert.
    “I’m Amaury,” he said. “Jacques Amaury.”
    “Ginny Gray,” she replied. She noticed her book had