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Authors: Suzanne Frank
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hallucination, she was to be an exhibitionist with an enormous podiatry bill.
Sighing, she seated herself at the dressing table and motioned to Irit. Once the girl tore her stare away from Chloe's enormous feet, she painted long black lines of kohl around Chloe's eyes for protection against the sun.
After Chloe's chin-length black hair had dried, Irit plaited strands, periodically winding the ends with silver bands. She reached behind her for a small woven trunk and opened it, revealing a jewelry collection the Louvre would kill for. It was all silver. The “other” admonished her; priestesses of HatHor never wore gold. Bravely Chloe reached for a bracelet and ring.
“Would my lady select a collar?” Irit asked, a little bewildered, Chloe thought. The choice was incredible. She picked a silver filigree collar with enameled lotuses and birds. Irit fastened it around her neck, adding a beautiful falcon pectoral under it, so it rested heavily beneath Chloe's skimpily covered breasts, covering her own ankh necklace. Chloe stood, trying to see her reflection in the polished bronze that passed for a mirror.
This was
too
unbelievable. The jewelry, the clothing details, the faint odor of myrrh that hung over the place, the dissonant chanting that could be heard from time to time … now this. Chloe was not seeing herself. A tomb painting stared back. The fitted white dress, the black drawn-on eyes and brows. Only the reflection of her slanted green eyes was familiar. Chloe looked behind her, sensing she was being watched.
The dark-eyed man from yesterday, Nesbek, the “other” mind suggested, came forward.
He was squat and broad, obviously middle-aged and dressed in a wealth of gold… collar, armbands, bracelets, and rings. His eyes were small and deep-set, filled with some emotion that Chloe couldn't read. The room cleared as if by invisible command.
“RaEmhetepet,” he said, approaching her, “I trust you remember me?” He took a step forward, leering at Chloe's appearance, frowning at her sandals. “It would be a pity for me to have to remind you….”
His tone shifted between teasing and threatening, and Chloe took a shaky step back.
He smiled, revealing blinding gold teeth. “I must leave for my estate in Goshen, but once I have disciplined my Apiru, I will return for my bride.” He glanced around as he pulled up his kilt. “Will you give me something now? A
token
to remember you by?”
Chloe averted her eyes, not even wanting to know what this was about. Was she a real sicko in this hallucination? He made her skin crawl, the way he looked at what her transparent clothing revealed. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her breasts and wished for a robe.
“Aiii,
I can see it is a shock.” He dropped his kilt, straightening the pleats with fat, manicured hands. “A pity that you have forgotten such a”—he paused—“passionate and beneficial relationship. I will take pleasure in reminding you.” He reached for her and was halted only by a velvety, razor-edged voice.
“The lady is still in her serving time, when she must be unknown to any man. If you touch her, the Sisterhood will reprimand you, as will the goddess HatHor, for defiling one of her favorite maidens.”
Chloe's and Nesbek's attention jerked to the doorway, in which a tall Egyptian stood in silhouette. He stepped into the room and Chloe saw him fully, from his floor-length robe to his red-and-gold-striped headcovering. It ran straight across his forehead and fell to his shoulders, framing his strong, bronze features, which even heavy earrings did not diminish.
“My Lord Cheftu,” Nesbek ground out slowly. He turned back to Chloe. “I will await our marriage, my lady.” He walked to the doorway, where the cloaked Egyptian inclined his head. “Life, health, and prosperity to you, Lord Nesbek,” the man said, the words sounding like a curse.
Chloe tensed her muscles, trying to stop their trembling. Nesbek was gone, but this
Sighing, she seated herself at the dressing table and motioned to Irit. Once the girl tore her stare away from Chloe's enormous feet, she painted long black lines of kohl around Chloe's eyes for protection against the sun.
After Chloe's chin-length black hair had dried, Irit plaited strands, periodically winding the ends with silver bands. She reached behind her for a small woven trunk and opened it, revealing a jewelry collection the Louvre would kill for. It was all silver. The “other” admonished her; priestesses of HatHor never wore gold. Bravely Chloe reached for a bracelet and ring.
“Would my lady select a collar?” Irit asked, a little bewildered, Chloe thought. The choice was incredible. She picked a silver filigree collar with enameled lotuses and birds. Irit fastened it around her neck, adding a beautiful falcon pectoral under it, so it rested heavily beneath Chloe's skimpily covered breasts, covering her own ankh necklace. Chloe stood, trying to see her reflection in the polished bronze that passed for a mirror.
This was
too
unbelievable. The jewelry, the clothing details, the faint odor of myrrh that hung over the place, the dissonant chanting that could be heard from time to time … now this. Chloe was not seeing herself. A tomb painting stared back. The fitted white dress, the black drawn-on eyes and brows. Only the reflection of her slanted green eyes was familiar. Chloe looked behind her, sensing she was being watched.
The dark-eyed man from yesterday, Nesbek, the “other” mind suggested, came forward.
He was squat and broad, obviously middle-aged and dressed in a wealth of gold… collar, armbands, bracelets, and rings. His eyes were small and deep-set, filled with some emotion that Chloe couldn't read. The room cleared as if by invisible command.
“RaEmhetepet,” he said, approaching her, “I trust you remember me?” He took a step forward, leering at Chloe's appearance, frowning at her sandals. “It would be a pity for me to have to remind you….”
His tone shifted between teasing and threatening, and Chloe took a shaky step back.
He smiled, revealing blinding gold teeth. “I must leave for my estate in Goshen, but once I have disciplined my Apiru, I will return for my bride.” He glanced around as he pulled up his kilt. “Will you give me something now? A
token
to remember you by?”
Chloe averted her eyes, not even wanting to know what this was about. Was she a real sicko in this hallucination? He made her skin crawl, the way he looked at what her transparent clothing revealed. Instinctively she crossed her arms over her breasts and wished for a robe.
“Aiii,
I can see it is a shock.” He dropped his kilt, straightening the pleats with fat, manicured hands. “A pity that you have forgotten such a”—he paused—“passionate and beneficial relationship. I will take pleasure in reminding you.” He reached for her and was halted only by a velvety, razor-edged voice.
“The lady is still in her serving time, when she must be unknown to any man. If you touch her, the Sisterhood will reprimand you, as will the goddess HatHor, for defiling one of her favorite maidens.”
Chloe's and Nesbek's attention jerked to the doorway, in which a tall Egyptian stood in silhouette. He stepped into the room and Chloe saw him fully, from his floor-length robe to his red-and-gold-striped headcovering. It ran straight across his forehead and fell to his shoulders, framing his strong, bronze features, which even heavy earrings did not diminish.
“My Lord Cheftu,” Nesbek ground out slowly. He turned back to Chloe. “I will await our marriage, my lady.” He walked to the doorway, where the cloaked Egyptian inclined his head. “Life, health, and prosperity to you, Lord Nesbek,” the man said, the words sounding like a curse.
Chloe tensed her muscles, trying to stop their trembling. Nesbek was gone, but this
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