Nefertiti’s Curse: An Urban Fantasy Read online

  Carlos knew that the scientist was part of the contingent at the DSO who felt that the best way to protect humanity from supers was seeing that there were no supers. He also knew that most people with this view did not realize how deeply the supernatural community was already integrated into society.

  “Do you remember your shock when you saw what that fruit did to normal human cells no matter what we put against it?”

  Konstantinos would never forget it. “It’s the worst bio weapon I’ve ever seen. They’re planning to wipe us out.”

  “Do you remember who made us aware of it and gave us a sample to study?”

  Konstantinos looked away, recalling Xavier’s presence at the meeting.

  “Do you also remember how you and your team were stumped on finding a way to counteract it until I got you a copy of that research paper about the Guggenheim vector?”

  “You sent us that research? I thought that was from the Brits?”

  “It only sounded that way because the scientist who wrote it grew up in Scotland and still writes in British English. But you can’t tell by talking to her because she’s kind of lost her accent over the last three hundred years. These days she sounds pretty much like any other researcher at the University of Pennsylvania.”

  A half hour later the meeting reconvened with two new participants sitting on Isabella’s side of the table. One was a furry Eloko dwarf wearing rimless eyeglasses and a thoughtful expression. The other was an attractive young woman in a lab coat.

  Konstantinos stared at the woman, and not the dwarf, with a befuddled look.

  The dwarf leaned over to the woman and whispered, “That’s a first.”

  “Indeed,” she said. “We’re practically the opening line to a walks-into-a-bar joke.”

  Chiyem laughed, making his rotund belly jiggle beneath his fur.

  Isabella extended a hand toward the dwarf and said, “Dr. Demetriou this is Chiyembekezo.” Then she nodded toward the woman. “And this is Dr. Bethany Stoneweight, who I believe you know. They are leading our research effort into Baynin’s toxin.”

  “You’re one of them?” Konstantinos asked Bethany.

  Bethany clasped her hands demurely. “That’s not quite the same way you greeted me at the hotel bar during the SYNBIO Symposium, but yes, I’m afraid I am.”

  “You said you were from Rhode Island.”

  “And you said you worked for a biotech startup in Northern Virginia.”

  “We were led to believe there was an antidote to discuss,” Isabella said.

  “Yes,” Chiyem added with a touch of excitement. “We saw your team’s early results and we’re eager to hear where that took you. It appeared that you were pursuing an inhibitor rather than a reversal agent, which makes sense if your antidote is derived from the peptide sequences we identified in the Guggenheim vector.”

  Konstantinos blinked at the creature. “You’ve seen my team’s research?”

  “Yes, we have a data sharing agreement.”

  Konstantinos turned to Carlos. “We do?”

  Carlos made a motion like he was chopping a pill in half.

  “Yes,” the scientist said, gathering himself. “We’ve developed an inhibitor—or at least the biological framework for one.”

  “Explain,” Bethany prodded.

  “The toxin in Baynin’s fruit is not really a toxin. As far as we can tell, it doesn’t destroy anything. It’s more like it gives the biological system of its host a new set of instructions that take priority over the original instructions, which are still there in the DNA. But we have no idea how this mechanism works because anytime we put it under any kind of magnification—”

  “You see nothing,” Chiyem said.

  “Mostly nothing,” Konstantinos corrected. “About ninety-eight percent of everything inside the cellular walls is invisible to us, even when we put in under the Lijiang array.”

  “The Lijiang array?” Chiyem asked with surprise. “The DSO has access to Chinese electron microscopes?”

  Konstantinos turned a shade red, wondering if he had revealed too much.

  “We have access to anything and everything we need to keep humanity safe,” Carlos said. “Please, go on Doctor, but take care to limit your remarks to essential information.”

  “Of course,” Konstantinos said before launching into a long technical diatribe.

  When the scientist finished speaking, Chiyem said, “It’s the Song of the Blood.”

  “Come again?” Konstantinos asked.

  Chiyem stroked the fur beneath his chin. “In your report, you described a ribosome with only one subunit. And a few minutes ago, you mentioned amino acids. You are obviously omitting details you believe we are not authorized to hear, but assuming the process producing the amino acids is part of the ribosome in your report, then Baynin’s fruit contains cells that capable of carrying out genetic instructions from an unobservable source. My hypothesis is that this unseen source is what we call the Song of the Blood.”

  Bethany spoke up. “The Song of the Blood is a euphemism for certain subatomic characteristics in supernatural organisms which can be measured but not observed directly. At least not from this side.”

  “This side of what?” Konstantinos asked, noticing several of the beings across the table growing uncomfortable.

  When no one appeared eager to answer, he said, “I am in an office having a scientific discussion with a talking Koala bear and an ancient European wood nymph with two doctorates and a face that would’ve made me break my marriage vows in a New York minute. I would also remind you all that I am the Scientific Director of a secret government agency responsible for managing supernatural life. I assure you that I am psychologically prepared to handle whatever it is you are not telling me.”

  Chiyem said, “If you ever refer to me as a Koala bear again, I will disembowel you with my bare claws and wear your pathetic intestines around my neck like a string of beads during Mardi Gras.”

  “This side of the Garden of Eden,” Isabella said before Konstantinos could respond.

  Despite his claim of mental preparedness, Konstantinos stared at her in shock.

  “Like the one from the Bible?” Michelle asked.

  “And many other religious systems,” Isabella replied.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Carlos chimed in.

  “You think that the missing parts of the cells in are in the, uh, Garden of Eden?” Konstantinos asked.

  “Our current hypothesis is that the missing ribosonal subunit is present in the cell and is being genetically manipulated by someone outside the Garden with the ability to observe it,” Bethany said.

  “But I thought you said it couldn’t be observed?”

  “We can’t observe it,” Carlos said. “But if someone from the Garden of Eden came to this side, he could observe it just fine.”

  “That is what we believe,” Bethany said.

  “The toxin would have to be measured in a live culture to confirm that,” Konstantinos said. “But the moment the cells become separated from the host organism, they cease functioning.”

  “We have a live culture,” the nymph said.

  Konstantinos shot upright from his seat, startling the DSO guards. “I must see this right away!”

  “That would be far outside the limits of our current data sharing agreement,” Isabella said.

  “This is a matter of life and death!” Konstantinos said.

  “Only for humans,” Chiyem pointed out.

  “Everyone take a deep breath,” Carlos said. “Something tells me our gracious host has an amendment to our data sharing agreement already prepared.”

  Isabella smiled and slid a manila envelope across the table.

  * * *

  After the meeting ended, Konstantinos approached Chiyem.

  “It was not my intention to offend you. You are clearly a man...uh...a person of science. Hopefully, we can cooperate for the benefit of both sides.”

  Chiyem looked up at the sc
ientist. “The majority of my village in Africa was wiped out by a specialized virus that the DSO provided to the French special forces who delivered it. Developing an antidote is what brought me to the study of biology.”

  Konstantinos remembered the Nambia Strain well. It was deadly effective against a broad range of supers with mammalian characteristics. Before today, he had considered it the highlight of his career.

  “I am sorry,” he said.

  Chiyem said, “On four separate occasions I have sat in the elm tree outside your house in Manassas Park holding a vial of anthrax customized for your daughter’s DNA. The only reason she still lives is because Bethany frequently reminds me that my people have a saying: A tree does not anger at being cut down if it is used to build a hut. If you still wish to cooperate for the benefit of both sides, I will see you at the lab. If you do not, then I will see you in Hell.”

  Then the dwarf turned and walked away.

  In another corner of the conference room, Isabella approached Carlos, who was admiring the impressive view. “I can see the Rocky Statue and the Delaware River from here. Your rent must be astronomical.”

  “The DSO forensic accountants who monitor our assets know exactly how much I pay in rent.”

  Carlos kept looking out the window.

  “Give me your hand,” she said.

  He extended his palm and she placed two slips of paper in it.

  “What are these?”

  “The first slip has the address where you can meet us in two hours if you wish to see the live culture. The second slip has the code you must enter correctly at the gate box to prevent the security system at my home from killing you. I’ll be expecting you at seven thirty. Bring playing cards and wine.”

  Carlos turned to her. “As much fun as I’m sure it would be, a visit like that would be a major breach of protocol. I could go to prison for a very long time.”

  “I prefer red wines from Napa,” she said.

  * * *

  Just under two hours later, the DSO team met Xavier and Ghox at an abandoned boat slip under the Ben Franklin Bridge, where they were forced to don enchanted balaclavas that blocked all sight and sound.

  When the balaclavas were pulled off, they found themselves in a modern laboratory where Isabella, Chiyem, and Bethany waited before a heavy metallic door guarded by two armed orcs.

  Bethany addressed the group. “Before we go in, I must warn you that the subject possesses a heightened ability to discern information of a highly personal nature by merely observing you. If you have a secret you would prefer not to share with this entire party, you should wait out here.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Carlos said. “But we’re all going in.”

  “Sir, I request permission to remain here,” one of the DSO guards said.

  “Denied,” Carlos said.

  Michelle opened her mouth.

  “Denied!” Carlos said before she could speak.

  The orcs looked to Isabella, who nodded. The guards then simultaneously placed their palms on unmarked sections of the wall on either side of the door, causing it to hiss open.

  Zildan leaned on the metallic bars of a cell. His head was shaved bald and he wore a hospital style cotton smock. He had been here since surviving the attack by the infected werewolf in the Poconos.

  The elf pointed at the DSO guard who had requested to remain outside. “He’s a functional alcoholic.” Then he pointed at the other DSO guard. “He watches teen porn and you’ll probably catch him lingering a little too long at coworkers’ family photos.” He pointed at Michelle. “She’s not human and is hot in the pants for X-man over there. I can see from their body language and the distance they’re keeping from each other that they’ve probably already sent some sheets to a hotel laundry room if you know what I mean.”

  Michelle gasped, but Zildan wasn’t finished with her. “Be careful with him, Honey Buns. I know he looks like Maxwell most of the time, but if he doesn’t kill something every few days then he can’t control the doggie on the inside. You don’t want to be around when that happens.”

  “That is quite enough, Zildan,” Isabella said.

  The elf looked at her. “What? You don’t want everyone to know that you’re really over a thousand years old and insist on being in charge to overcompensate for being raped?”

  He sought out Xavier. “You’re aware she knows who your mother is right?”

  “Zildan!” Bethany shouted. “Stop this!”

  “I’m just warming up,” he said defiantly. “Hey guys? Did you know nymphs need sex like we need food? She has a pack of magnums in the pocket of her lab coat right now.”

  “We’ve discussed this behavior, Zildan,” Chiyem said.

  “How about we discuss your poisoning spree instead, Dr. Care Bear? And there are some bad vibes between you and the guy trying to hide behind the Colombian. He’s carrying himself like he has some major secrets.”

  “I am not hiding from the likes of you,” Konstantinos said, stepping out from behind Carlos.

  “Is that a Syranian accent I hear?”

  “I am Greek,” Konstantinos said.

  “By way of Syran,” Zildan said. “How did you get past a DSO background check?”

  “This is utter nonsense,” Konstantinos said, placing noticeable emphasis on his consonants.

  Zildan turned to Carlos. “You guys are either desperate or sloppy if these bozos are representative of your whole staff.”

  “No sloppier than the trailer park you come from,” Carlos retorted.

  “Is that right, Alter Boy? Did you think I wouldn’t get to you?”

  Carlos stepped forward. “Let me have it, teardrop ears.”

  “Did you guys know that Carlos is a—”

  Zildan cut off, clenching his eyes shut and grabbing at the sides of his head. “He’s a...”

  The elf fell to his knees. “Get out of my head! Get the hell out of my head!”

  Carlos turned to Bethany. “Is this normal?”

  “Only when we’re expecting a full moon,” she said.

  Inside the cell, Zildan convulsed and then passed out, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

  “I guess he’ll get me next time,” Carlos said to the group with a smile.

  Everyone shuffled and avoided eye contact.

  “Cheer up,” Carlos said. “Just think of this as a bonding activity.”

  A short while later, the group exited the room, where they were suddenly blinded by the flash of octo lights that wiped the last hour from their memories.

  This worked on everyone but Xavier, who, for the first time, regarded Isabella with suspicion.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  At seven thirty sharp, Carlos rang Isabella’s doorbell.

  She opened the door and said, “I appreciate a man who respects my time.”

  He kissed the back of her hand. “I wanted to enjoy every minute of my visit.”

  She examined the bottle of wine in his arm.

  “A nineteen sixty-one vintage of Screaming Eagle,” she said. “I am impressed, Carlos. You must have called every board member of the Mercy Society to track this down.”

  “It wasn’t nearly as much trouble as I went through to come here alone.”

  “Then let’s ensure it’s worth your while.”

  She led him to her den, where an ornate mahogany card table was set before a roaring fireplace. Two wine goblets stood at the ready.

  When they were seated, he produced a deck of playing cards from his pocket. “Five-card draw?”

  “Omaha High,” she said.

  “That goes fast.”

  “Then drink slowly.”

  “What’s the ante?”

  “Clothing and information.”

  “Both?”

  “Every round.”

  “What sort of information are we talking?”

  “Every hand that you win, I will remove one item of clothing and then tell you a detail about the unfortunate plans that Lan
don and Rahn have for you. Every hand that I win, you will remove two items of clothing and tell me something truthful about who you really are, starting with what Zildan saw when he looked at you back at the lab.”

  Carlos smiled. “Shall I cut?”

  * * *

  Hours later Xavier was about to use his key to Isabella’s front door when it unexpectedly swung open.

  Carlos stumbled out with his blazer on backward and his shoes untied. He clapped Xavier on the shoulder and slurred, “I was never here.”

  Then he walked off toward the driveway, clutching the railing for dear life.

  Isabella was standing in the doorway, dressed only in a robe.

  “Should I call him an Uber?”

  “Carlos will be fine,” she said, standing aside to welcome Xavier in.

  After locking the door, she turned and said, “Yes, I know who your mother is.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Xavier sat in a juice bar at Philadelphia International Airport sipping Orangina and watching the hubbub around him.

  Small groups of heavily armed TSA agents and counterterrorism specialists from the Philadelphia Police Department charged up the corridor outside the bar, talking into radios and shouting at passengers to clear the way.

  The staff of the juice bar whispered in hushed tones and customers comforted their frightened children in at least seven different languages.

  Three minutes after they had charged up the corridor, the same squad of TSA soldiers ran by headed in the opposite direction.

  One of them paused to yell back at the Police squad. “Confirmed sighting of Bin Rahman in Terminal D. Repeat Terminal D.”

  The Police squad paused near the juice bar. Its officers fanned out around their commander in a circle, scanning the vicinity.

  “Somebody get the CTOC on the horn to confirm that,” their commander barked. “They just told us they had a positive on Mendelev in Terminal F. These TSA geardos have their heads up their asses.”

  A few moments later, the Police team streaked away toward a different target who had been spotted at the baggage claim of Terminal A.