Colleen Gleason - The Clockwork Scarab

At last, he stopped singing and lit a tiny twig with one of the candles, then dropped it into the bowl in which he’d been mixing. A soft pop! and then thick, curling red smoke snaked up from the bowl, bringing with it a stronger rush of the exotic scent.

The Ankh took the bowl and walked around the statue of Sekhmet, pausing every two steps. There were small vessels on the ground circling the statue, and he poured some of the smoking contents into each of them. This created many spirals of smoke rising around the goddess like a fragrant red curtain.

Moving to the altar, the Ankh retrieved the scepter and the sistrum and brought them to the Sekhmet statue. He fitted the scepter into the hand of Sekhmet that was positioned to hold it, and then slipped the noose of the sistrum over the other hand, which was raised with its palm facing outward. The sistrum thus hung from the goddess’s elbow.

“It is time,” said the Ankh, looking at the two young women he had chosen. “The Inner Circle has been prepared, and you must be initiated in order to access the deeper power of Sekhmet.”

Della Exington came alive and stepped eagerly onto the dais. “I am grateful and pleased to prove my loyalty to the goddess.”

“Felicitations, brave one,” the Ankh said, turning to Miss Exington. The beard and mustache obscured much of the Ankh’s face, yet I could see the delight in his eyes. His expression was unsettling in its fervor as he told Miss Exington, “You shall bring to Sekhmet her divine cuff, and you will be forever bound with her and her power.”

He gestured, and one of the guards stepped onto the stage. Under the Ankh’s direction, he helped the young woman into the circle of red smoke and turned her to face Sekhmet. As she looked up at the figure’s leonine face, the guard lifted her left hand, fitting her palm, wrist, and arm against Sekhmet’s in a mirror-like position. With her other hand, Miss Exington grasped the scepter.

The Ankh brought the cuff and fitted it around Miss Exington’s upraised wrist, using it to fasten her to Sekhmet’s arm. Fascinated and yet disturbed, I watched as the Ankh used a slender golden thong to bind her other hand to the scepter. All the while, the pungent crimson smoke continued to filter through the open roof.

“You shall join with Sekhmet. You have brought her Sacred Instrument, the golden cuff, to her, and your life force will meld with the goddess.”

Miss Exington looked up at the statue as if it were the goddess herself. “I’m ready.”

Sharp discomfort prickled over my skin, lifting the hair from the back of my neck and along my arms. What should I do? I curled my fingers around the pistol I’d slipped in my tunic pocket and glanced at Miss Holmes.

She was staring at the scene with the same horror I felt. She also had a pistol barrel pressed into her side by my twin counterpart. The Ankh wasn’t taking any chances that his other Inner Circle candidate would have second thoughts.

The guard brought the spindly mechanical figure over and positioned it behind Miss Exington. As I watched in morbid fascination, he lined up the device’s “arms” and “legs” to mirror the position of Miss Exington’s, and then fastened three wires to the cuff. Three more wires were attached to the scepter, and three to the sistrum. The eerie red smoke curled around them, cloaking girl, statue, and machine in its thick fog.

“What—what are you doing?” the captive asked, her voice quavering as she pulled at her bonds.

“Be still, my dear. Your life force is the greatest gift you can bestow upon Sekhmet.”

For the first time since entering the chamber, I moved. I started toward the altar, and the Ankh noticed me immediately.

“Ah, Amunet, you’ve returned in time,” he said, giving me a brief glance.

I had to act . . . but for once, I was hesitant to leap into action. The guards still loomed. And then there was the gun pressing into Miss Holmes’s torso.

Miss Exington pulled more violently against the wires that bound her. “I—I don’t think I—”

“Be still, my darling,” said the Ankh from outside of the circle of red smoke. “You are receiving a great honor from Sekhmet. You will be well rewarded. Hathor,” he said, gesturing to the man who’d been assisting him. The man stepped away from the stage.

Miss Exington seemed to acquiesce, and her captor turned to the device.

“So shall it be! Sekhmet, I call to you to return.”

Before I could react, the Ankh pulled down on a lever. A brilliant yellow spark snapped audibly, and I could see a hot red sizzle zip along the wires, through the device, and then over to the cuff and scepter. It was almost like electricity . . .

“Stop!” I shouted as Miss Exington jolted and screamed, then went rigid.

The Ankh spun around. “You!” He released the lever and lunged toward the table, snatching up the curved knife. I saw the lever swing back into its starting position. The sizzling sparks ceased, and Miss Exington sagged, struggling weakly against her bonds. She was crying.

I launched myself toward the front of the room, vaulting over a table that stood in the way. The Ankh’s arm moved, and something silvery spun through the air toward me.

Someone cried out, and I heard a low shout . . . and then something red-hot tore into my side. Despite the sudden agony, I landed on two feet on the other side of the table just as Hathor sprang to action. Energy flooded my body as I spun into motion. I yanked up the table over which I’d just leapt, holding it with the legs facing the man.

As he rushed toward me, I whipped the heavy piece of furniture through the air. It crashed into him, and he stumbled back and into his companion. They landed in a heap on the floor.

I whirled to see that the Ankh had returned to the lever. His hand closed around it, and his eyes danced. “You’re too late.”

I pulled out my pistol and looked down at it as I lifted it to aim. And saw blood.

My blood.

I felt as if I’d been plunged into an ice-cold pool of water. Everything stilled and slowed and became murky and mottled.

I couldn’t make my lungs work. They were thick and heavy, my vision narrow and hypnotized by the slick red blood . . . everywhere. On my hands, my torso, the gun, the floor.

I tried to fight the images assaulting my mind . . . I was back there again, with Mr. O’Gallegh . . . his throat and chest torn open, the scent of blood everywhere, the burning red eyes of the vampire mocking me as I froze. . . .

I tried to breathe, I thought I heard Mina, but she sounded far away. Too far away.

I had to . . . move . . . I had to . . . stop . . .

I heard someone laugh. Triumphant.

I pulled my face upright, looking at the Ankh.

He was smiling as he pulled the lever.

Miss Exington screamed again, the horrible sound cutting through the chamber.

Frantic, I looked over at Miss Stoker. Her eyes were empty, her expression dull. The hilt of a dagger protruded from her side. A dark stain ate into the fabric of her tunic, spreading rapidly, and blood covered her hand. Her chest heaved, as if she’d been running. The blood-slicked pistol slipped from her grip and tumbled to the floor.

I returned my attention to the Ankh, and then to Miss Exington, who had gone silent in her agony, still straining at her bonds. Then I turned back to my partner, who still hadn’t removed the knife. All the while, I was cognizant of the heavy, hard metal of a pistol barrel pressing into my side.

Unfortunately, that heavy, hard metal of a pistol barrel was just above the pocket which held my own heavy, hard metal pistol . . . currently unavailable to assist me.

I could do nothing but watch the grisly scene unfold.