Read Online Channeling Cleopatra by Elizabeth Ann Scarborough - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Ann Scarborough
Tags: Egypt, Reincarnation, cellular memory, Alexandria, Forensic Anthropology, gypsy shadow, channeling, channel, cleopatra, elizabeth ann scarborough, soul transplant, genetic blending
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this
dinner together. You may have to entertain our guests while I
cook."
"Be careful, or Daddy will be in there
telling you how to do it," Leda said. "It'll taste like Chinese by
the time he's done with it."
The souq was similar to other such markets
she'd been to, and sort of a cheaper version of Pike Place Market
in Seattle on a touristy Saturday. Nobody juggled the fish, but
they did everything else to attract the attention of the buyers,
especially prosperous-looking ones like Gabriella and
Leda.
"One thing you must have first," Gabriella
told her, veering away from the food stalls to a little jewelry
shop featuring mostly a lot of Chinese merchandise such as one
would see in the finer dollar stores at home. But Gabriella emerged
a moment later flourishing a watch with a black plastic band.
"Here, put it on. All of the Westerners on
the site have them." As Leda strapped it on, murmuring a puzzled
thanks, she saw why. The large black numbers on the dial were big
enough to be easy to read, except they were all in Arabic. "It
helps you tell prices, street numbers, all sorts of things,"
Gabriella told her.
Leda was touched by her thoughtfulness.
Maybe she would have her sister send over a Marvin watch for her
new friend in exchange.
As Gabriella did the food thing, Leda looked
longingly over to the next street where yard goods and garments
hung. She longed to buy a really pretty caftan and a few fake
antiquities to salt around her apartment at home with her
collectible toys and books, but then she remembered that she no
longer had an apartment at home. Her stuff was in storage, her cats
with her sister. Thinking of the cats, she felt a pang of
homesickness but then thought, how homesick could she be with Daddy
here, and after all, she was in Egypt, assisting in an actual
excavation, field work, no less! And she already had a new friend
who had just given her a useful and exotic present.
Still, the crowd and the heat, stifling even
now that the sun was past the midpoint in the sky, were making her
woozy. She was glad when Gabriella bought her last lemon and they
were able to hail another taxi back to the villa.
CHAPTER 6
All through dinner, Duke flirted with
Gabriella while Leda and the hydrologist, Dr. Peter Welsh,
exchanged glowers across the lemon chicken.
When Gabriella rose to go see to
after-dinner drinks, Dr. Welsh stepped on the bare toes protruding
from Leda's sandal, dropped a fork, and ducked under the table. She
ducked under, too, frowning as hard as he did.
All during dinner she had choked her food
down and tried to maintain her cool and slightly comical
condescension toward him while being warm to Gabriella and
controlling her irritation with her father. Damn him, anyway. Why
did he have to buddy up with the last guy in the world she ever
wanted to see again? She knew the answer to that but didn't like
it.
As for Peter Welsh, now Dr. Peter Welsh,
hydrologist and high-muck-a-muck of the cofferdam, he smirked at
her, also with condescension mixed with scorn, the worm. She
managed to flip a bowl of rice into his lap, but it was small
comfort. The damned rice wasn't hot enough to burn or even sticky
enough to make him uncomfortable till could change. But as soon as
Gabriella left the room, true to his old form, he pounced.
"What the hell are you doing here, Punkie?"
he demanded in a harsh whisper.
"Not chasing you, my dear, that's for damned
sure," she said. "I knew they had some dam fool holding back the
Mediterranean for this dig, but I had no idea it was you."
"Yeah, well, Duke's a great guy. I had no
idea his last name was more than a coincidence."
"Of course not. You wouldn't have known my
last name if it hadn't been on my name tag."
"I sure wouldn't have known you now, Punkie
my girl. I never expected you'd live up to being my Pumpkin in such
a literal way. You've become quite thick through the middle, and
you've wrinkles round your eyes and gray hair."
"You're no spring chicken
dinner together. You may have to entertain our guests while I
cook."
"Be careful, or Daddy will be in there
telling you how to do it," Leda said. "It'll taste like Chinese by
the time he's done with it."
The souq was similar to other such markets
she'd been to, and sort of a cheaper version of Pike Place Market
in Seattle on a touristy Saturday. Nobody juggled the fish, but
they did everything else to attract the attention of the buyers,
especially prosperous-looking ones like Gabriella and
Leda.
"One thing you must have first," Gabriella
told her, veering away from the food stalls to a little jewelry
shop featuring mostly a lot of Chinese merchandise such as one
would see in the finer dollar stores at home. But Gabriella emerged
a moment later flourishing a watch with a black plastic band.
"Here, put it on. All of the Westerners on
the site have them." As Leda strapped it on, murmuring a puzzled
thanks, she saw why. The large black numbers on the dial were big
enough to be easy to read, except they were all in Arabic. "It
helps you tell prices, street numbers, all sorts of things,"
Gabriella told her.
Leda was touched by her thoughtfulness.
Maybe she would have her sister send over a Marvin watch for her
new friend in exchange.
As Gabriella did the food thing, Leda looked
longingly over to the next street where yard goods and garments
hung. She longed to buy a really pretty caftan and a few fake
antiquities to salt around her apartment at home with her
collectible toys and books, but then she remembered that she no
longer had an apartment at home. Her stuff was in storage, her cats
with her sister. Thinking of the cats, she felt a pang of
homesickness but then thought, how homesick could she be with Daddy
here, and after all, she was in Egypt, assisting in an actual
excavation, field work, no less! And she already had a new friend
who had just given her a useful and exotic present.
Still, the crowd and the heat, stifling even
now that the sun was past the midpoint in the sky, were making her
woozy. She was glad when Gabriella bought her last lemon and they
were able to hail another taxi back to the villa.
CHAPTER 6
All through dinner, Duke flirted with
Gabriella while Leda and the hydrologist, Dr. Peter Welsh,
exchanged glowers across the lemon chicken.
When Gabriella rose to go see to
after-dinner drinks, Dr. Welsh stepped on the bare toes protruding
from Leda's sandal, dropped a fork, and ducked under the table. She
ducked under, too, frowning as hard as he did.
All during dinner she had choked her food
down and tried to maintain her cool and slightly comical
condescension toward him while being warm to Gabriella and
controlling her irritation with her father. Damn him, anyway. Why
did he have to buddy up with the last guy in the world she ever
wanted to see again? She knew the answer to that but didn't like
it.
As for Peter Welsh, now Dr. Peter Welsh,
hydrologist and high-muck-a-muck of the cofferdam, he smirked at
her, also with condescension mixed with scorn, the worm. She
managed to flip a bowl of rice into his lap, but it was small
comfort. The damned rice wasn't hot enough to burn or even sticky
enough to make him uncomfortable till could change. But as soon as
Gabriella left the room, true to his old form, he pounced.
"What the hell are you doing here, Punkie?"
he demanded in a harsh whisper.
"Not chasing you, my dear, that's for damned
sure," she said. "I knew they had some dam fool holding back the
Mediterranean for this dig, but I had no idea it was you."
"Yeah, well, Duke's a great guy. I had no
idea his last name was more than a coincidence."
"Of course not. You wouldn't have known my
last name if it hadn't been on my name tag."
"I sure wouldn't have known you now, Punkie
my girl. I never expected you'd live up to being my Pumpkin in such
a literal way. You've become quite thick through the middle, and
you've wrinkles round your eyes and gray hair."
"You're no spring chicken
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