of temper over that, she got custody. Infuriated that he could only have supervised visits, Hani moved back to Egypt.
“He visited Kara twice a year, and he did quite the job at controlling his resentment, but I could tell he hated being monitored with her. And then—” Here Jane hesitated, desperation darkening her eyes. “Then, a year ago, I got called onto a flight while he was visiting. My father thought there would be nothing wrong with letting Hani take Kara out for ice cream…but they never came back. Of course my parents were frantic. The first thing I did, when I found out, was call the airlines…”
I had the strangest feeling I’d heard this story before—probably because she wasn’t the first person it had ever happened to.
“He’d taken her home with him,” Jane said, voice breaking. “She was only eleven years old, and he stole her away to Egypt—and nobody in this godforsaken country will give her back!”
A human interest article, including pictures of a too young looking Kara, and copies of letters to and from different officials confirmed this.
“Egypt’s laws do not allow a child to leave the country without her father’s permission,” Tala explained simply, when Jane’s voice deserted her. “Unless my stepson signs papers—but of course, he will not sign. He has become increasingly angry, increasingly rebellious. His business activities…” But she shook her head.
Unsure what else to do, I took one of Jane’s trembling hands in mine.
She inhaled deeply, strengthened either by the goddess energy or just the caring, then raised her face and continued. “At least tradition frowns upon Kara living with Hani, as long as he remains unmarried that is. She lives with Tala, and I spend as much time here as I can afford, more than he does! But it’s not the same as having her home, and I’m afraid…”
Whatever she was afraid of, she couldn’t make herself put it in words.
“After the divorce,” Tala said, “my stepson became involved with other men urging the return of old-world values. Particularly the domination of women. He is not,” she clarified, “a Copt.”
As if any particular religion wholly prevented male domination.
Jane turned to a newspaper article in Arabic—I recognized only her picture. “I tried to smuggle her onto a ship, to get her out of the country, but I suppose he’d been watching for me to do it. He has contacts everywhere. Suddenly the police were there, and they dragged Kara out of my arms and arrested me, and she was screaming…” Jane shuddered and squeezed my hand, as if for strength. “Egyptian jail was horrible! I’m still surprised Hani dropped the charges. I could be in prison right now.”
“It would have been even more of a scandal,” Tala explained, “for a man to need the law to control his wife.”
Jane’s chin came up. “Ex—wife.”
“Especially a man who has so little respect for the law, unless he is using it to his own ends,” Tala continued, which wasn’t encouraging.
“Anyway,” said Jane, “that’s how I met Father Pritchard. I needed someone to talk to, someone who bloody well spoke English, and he was volunteering as a counselor at a clinic here, on his off time.”
“When she learned I was working with the divers, looking for the Temple of Isis, she mentioned the possibility of finding a goddess cup,” explained Rhys. “Of course I was interested, so on her next visit she brought Dr. Rachid—”
“Tala,” insisted our hostess. “And I must take full responsibility for bringing you into this, Maggi. When I hesitated to tell Father Pritchard my ancestral secrets, he suggested that I might be more comfortable confiding in another woman. He spoke so highly of you that…Well…there had been rumors.”
Okay, coward or not, I couldn’t ignore that. “Rumors of what? About me?”
Rhys looked as honestly confused as I felt.
Tala motioned to a maid, who’d waited quietly in the corner, and the young woman immediately left. “Rumors that the time has come, my dear. That the goddess chalices are calling out to be found—and that a champion has been chosen to do just that.”
There was that word again! “Chosen by whom? Assuming there were such a rumor—and I never heard anything about it until I got to Egypt—why would you think I’m that champion?”
I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. Wouldn’t I have been notified about something this important?
Tala’s composure did not waver. “Because, Magdalene Sanger, you are the one who answered the call.”
Before, that had only been because armed men had broken into mine and my aunt’s offices! Only because it was our own family’s grail they’d been after. And now, only because Rhys had a lead—and because someone had gone after him. Nobody goes after my friends. Unless…
What if that had been someone’s ploy to get me here?
“Look,” I said, perhaps more abruptly than was polite. “I’m very sorry for your troubles, Jane, and I hope that you and your…your former stepmother-in-law are able to resolve them. But the fact that I’ve found one single, solitary grail hardly makes me someone who can help you. I’m neither British nor Egyptian. I don’t have an ounce of legal or diplomatic experience. I’m a professor of comparative mythology, not a soldier of fortune!”
“Yes, but—” In the midst of her protest, Jane stopped and brightened. “Kara!”
“Mama!” exclaimed a high voice—and a little girl in a white dress launched herself across the room and into her mother’s waiting arms. Kara Rachid was small for a twelve-year-old, even smaller than she’d looked in her pictures. She had olive skin, curling black hair, and huge dark eyes that reminded me of a puppy’s. Her skinny arms held her mother tightly. “When did you get to Alexandria? How long can you stay, this time?”
In the meantime, the maid had reappeared with a tray of ornate cups that reminded me of Greek kylix, though they were of course smaller than those standard offering vessels. They had wide, shallow bowls with a handle on either side, set on a narrow base. They fit this fine house, I thought, as much as I was willing to notice. They fit this woman.
The maid lay the tray on a cocktail table, and Tala brought the drinks to us. “Touching, is it not?”
I scowled. “This is manipulation.”
“I loved my husband dearly,” she said, her voice low beneath Kara and Jane’s happy reunion. “And I love my granddaughter. But I do not trust my bully of a stepson. Rescue Kara, Magdalene Sanger, and I will help you find the chalice of Isis. Refuse…”
She left the rest of the threat unspoken—but pointedly clear.
“I don’t appreciate ultimatums,” I warned, taking the cup she offered only to soften what I meant to say next.
She raised her eyebrows, unperturbed. “Who among us does?”
Annoyed, I took a sip of the wine—delicious.
But the next thing I knew, I was lying on some kind of rough wooden flooring, surrounded by absolute, echoing darkness.
