Or not. Tanya was confused.
"Anubis, who is the son of Nephthys, is the god of the dead, yes, but the process itself is her purview. Also childbirth." There was something familiar and relaxing about his voice, like something from a History Channel special.
Her mom nodded. "That makes sense, didn't something like one in five women die in childbirth back then?"
He smiled, clearly impressed. "That's true, and a good observation. She was largely worshiped by women in that aspect, so not much of her cult has been preserved, I'm afraid." He came to stand between the two women, staring up at the hieroglyphics. "She was very important to the guild of embalmers, though, and was frequently worshiped in tandem with her sister Isis and husband Set, so fortunately some record of her remains."
It took every ounce of effort Tanya possessed to act natural. When he caught her staring, she pretended to examine the wall again. This close, she could feel the buzz again, but it was different, almost magnetic rather than repulsive. And she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something weirdly familiar about him.
"Wasn't Set the evil Egyptian god?" Tanya asked, wanting to seem like she was part of the conversation.
Dr. Walker turned to face her, and she realized his eyes were a very pale aqua, just a ring of color around his large pupils in the darkness. They seemed almost to glow, like a gas flame, but it was probably just a trick of the light. Why were museums always so dark? He was beautiful, in an older guy kind of way, although his lips were too thin and he needed a haircut.
"He is cast as the villain in the Osirian cycle, and that his how most people today know of him. He was the god of destruction, and the open desert, but also foreigners and politicians,” he recited.
Tanya shrugged. "Sounds like the bad guy to me."
His smile was amused. "Not necessarily. The ancient Egyptians were obsessed with cycles, you see. They felt the world hung in a delicate balance, and that the rites and rituals they performed convinced the gods to continue the eternal process of life, death, and resurrection. Death was as necessary as life, destruction as essential as creation."
Something in Tanya's brain clicked. "Resurrection?" she asked slowly.
He gestured around the fake embalmer's shop. "Of course. Why else go to all this trouble, if you didn't believe there was something better beyond death?"
Before she could ask him more, a young intern came running through the exhibit. "Dr. Walker!" he called breathlessly. "There you are. Your lecture is about to start."
He turned, and glanced at his watch. "So it is," he began to step away, and turned to face Tanya and her mother again. "Excuse me, ladies. It was nice meeting you." He nodded to Mrs. Cooper, and then smiled at Tanya a moment before turning back to go.
Tanya’s heart was going a million miles an hour. What the hell had just happened? She looked at her mother, who for all she knew had just nearly died, but it looked like Julie was trying not to laugh. "What?" Tanya asked.
"Oh, honey. He's nice, but he is too old for you," Julie said fondly, putting a hand on her shoulder.
Tanya blinked rapidly. "Excuse me?" What the hell was she talking about?
"Don't try to fool your own mother, I saw the way you looked at him." When Tanya continued to stare at her blankly, she chuckled. "Like he was a tall, juicy steak," she teased.
Tanya relaxed a little. Clearly, her mom had seriously misread her assessment of Dr. Walker. "Yeah, you're right," she laughed. "Way too old."
She has no idea, she thought darkly.
A month later, Tanya was still on the fence about Seth Walker. It was the first time she hadn’t been 100% sure about a mark, but she felt like she had to do something.
Every time she thought she was sure one way or the other, he would break the mold. A week of normal activity, followed by three bars visited in one night. Rather than becoming progressively drunker with each venue, he lit up and seemed reinvigorated. Then he’d go right back to stodgy professor. There were never any complaints at the bars, so it could just be that he needed a night on the town to loosen up now and then.
In the end, she decided to strike. If he ended up being human, she should be able to tell pretty quickly, and could easily dash off and lose herself in the city. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but she was starting to go a little stir crazy.
Decision made, she went through the ritual of texting her dad.
After a few minutes, his response came back:
Tanya already had the answer typed in.
It was their code, her way of telling him who to go after should the worst happen. She knew he hated texting, all those years working as a mechanic had abused his hands and made his thick thumbs nearly numb. But he insisted on texting, so he would have the words to look at later. It took him a long time to type the next message, though.
Somehow, even though she hadn’t told him her concerns, Tanya felt better for having talked to her dad. She could do what was necessary, and he would understand.
Six
"Detective Bradley," he answered his cell phone. It was 8:03 AM on a Monday morning, and he had just sat down at his desk. He tried to sip his fresh coffee and nearly burned his lips.
"Um, hi," said the male voice on the other end. "This might sound a bit odd, but do you know my daughter, Tanya Cooper?"
Bradley frowned. He hadn't heard from Tanya for a couple weeks, but that wasn't unusual. She had hinted that her family didn't know what she was up to, so he played it cool. "Name doesn't ring a bell, can you describe her?"
"Spunky redhead, about 5' 3", bit of a foul mouth, and... unusual hobbies."
Hmmm... Maybe Daddy knew more than Tanya had let on. "Oh yes, she's a freelance reporter, right? Shows up at some of our more unusual crime scenes. Why?"
"Well... It's just... She went up to Chicago about a month ago to chase a new... lead... And we haven't heard from her in about ten days. We were wondering if she had contacted you more recently?" his voice was full of hope and concern.
Bradley’s stomach dropped, and he glanced up at the photo of Lexie. He knew that feeling, from the first few days she had gone missing, the incredulous hope that she had just dropped off the grid for a weekend hike or something. The stress of not knowing if it was something worse. If Mr. Cooper really did know what his daughter was doing, it would be nerve-wracking.
"I haven’t heard from her, but if you like I can see if I can contact her," Bradley offered. He scrambled to find a pencil and paper in the disaster on his desk to jot down some details.
"She
