The Clockwork Scarab (Stoker & Holmes 1)

"And you weren't certain of the individual's gender?" she asked.

"Even employing my powers of observation, I could draw no clear conclusion. There were moments when she seemed feminine, and others when I was certain he had to be a male. But aside from that, the most important thing we've learned is that there is indeed a society related to Sekhmet. I neither saw nor felt anything that indicated danger to me or anyone else, with the exception of when Miss Stoker drew attention to herself and they attempted to detain us."

What had also occurred to me, but I chose not to mention, was that the Ankh had seemed to easily make the connection of me to Miss Stoker-simply because we were standing next to each other.

"Thus, if I'm to revisit the Society of Sekhmet, which I intend to do, I must do so clandestinely." I went on to repeat-verbatim-what the genderless speaker had said during the meeting. "The Ankh promoted female independence, but not once did she speak of the right to vote."

"So it isn't merely a suffragette group," said Miss Adler. "But something more . . . and something that is endangering young women. I will report to Her Royal Highness this evening."

"The Ankh spoke of Sekhmet helping the young women. She said 'I, along with the Power of Sekhmet, will help you gain control of your lives in a manner such that women have never done.' The Power of Sekhmet. That same phrase is notated here in the book. And the Ankh spoke of women being repressed and controlled . . . and in the book, there is reference to the goddess's power rising up in vengeance for the weak and restrained."

"I believe," Miss Adler said, picking up her spectacles, "we have quite a lot of research to do. We must find out more about the Instruments of Sekhmet as well as this implication that she can be called back to life."

A week ago, I might have found such a conversation ludicrous. Calling a goddess back to life? Absurd. But the young man standing across the chamber from me had opened my eyes to the impossible becoming probable.

I turned to Dylan. "It would be helpful if you showed us where you woke and where the statue of Sekhmet was when you originally discovered it. Your journey and its disappearance-and perhaps this entire case-must be connected."

My new friend agreed, and we left the chamber. Miss Adler elected to remain behind, explaining, "I have a variety of resources that could assist us-papers, books, scrolls, and other antiquities. I'll begin to gather them."

Despite the fact that he'd traveled more than a century back in time, Dylan seemed to know his way through the museum. It was just after closing, so the exhibit halls were empty and silent except for the low rumble of distant cogworks and a sibilant hiss of steam. The lamps had been turned off and a smattering of external light filtered in through high windows.

As we approached the trio of Graeco-Roman salons, I observed the way a sliver of sun made a triangular highlight over the breast of the Ostian Venus. We walked through the first salon, past elegant statues of the Muses, Mercury, and the goat-eared Satyr.

Our footsteps made soft padding sounds as we passed through a little transept approaching the long, narrow Egyptian Gallery. This was where the famous Rosetta Stone, among other antiquities, was displayed. The stone itself was on a circular dais, and a revolving glass enclosure had been erected around it for safekeeping.

"They've placed an entire glass case around it now-er, in my time," Dylan commented as we walked past.

He led me through a darker salon and then to a small stairwell. This area of the museum was cluttered and dusty, with crates and boxes stacked in haphazard fashion. Presumably, it was one of Miss Adler's duties to unpack, arrange, and catalog the contents.

I have an excellent sense of direction, and even after several turns and descents, I still knew our whereabouts in the museum. So when Dylan paused outside a small, dingy room, I recognized that we were on the west side, two levels below the Assyrian Basement.

"In here," he said.

I pulled the slender illuminator from my reticule and flipped its switch. The beam of light created a large yellow circle that danced on dark gray walls and a low ceiling. A collection of small objects-a knee-high statue of Bastet, a vase missing a large chunk, a piece of rock, and other pieces of rubble and dirt-littered the floor. Some long-tailed rodent moved in the shadows, darting into the corner.

I spun the dial to set the illuminator on its brightest level and walked into the chamber.

"The statue was there." Dylan pointed to the far corner.

Bringing the light down with me, I hunkered on my hands and knees as I'd seen my uncle do at various crime scenes. This is much more difficult when you are a female, dressed in layers of crinolines and skirts, along with a restrictive corset. Nevertheless, I managed to do so with a modicum of modesty and commenced to examining the floor.

Faint scrapes on the stones-something heavy had been moved.

Clean, no dust or dirt-it had been moved recently.

Suddenly, a strange noise blared into the silence. It sounded like nothing I'd ever heard before. A sharp, high, screeching sound that might have been attempting to be music.

Dylan, who'd been standing off to the side watching in fascination, jolted to attention. His eyes wide, he began to fumble through his waistcoat and then his outer coat and in his agitation and excitement, the sleek "telephone" erupted from the depths of a pocket and tumbled onto the ground.

He ducked to the floor and snatched it up, but by then, the noise had stopped. "Oh my God," he said, staring at the object as if he'd never seen it before.

The device had come to life-it was illuminated and I was close enough to where he was kneeling that I could see tiny words on the front of it.

BenBo text (3)

Jillian text (5)

Flapper missed call

"I've got two bars," he exclaimed, looking around the small, dark space, then down at the shiny telephone. "How can I have bars? One bar. Now I only have one. How the hell can I have b-they're gone!" He stared at the device, shaking it, jabbing at it with his finger, bolting to his feet to point it in different directions. "They were there a minute ago. Did you see that? There's no way. No way."

"What is it? What happened?" Leaving the illuminator on the floor, I gathered up my skirts and pulled to my feet.

I understood little of what he was talking about, but his emotions-excitement, disbelief, and hopefulness-were obvious. And then they gave way to despair. I'd never seen anyone with such an expression of bewilderment, hope, and sorrow.

"For a minute," he said, "for just a minute I was . . . somehow . . . connected with the future. My future."