The Memory Painter: A Novel Read online

  Linz’s eyes welled up with tears. What she wouldn’t give to believe him. “There’s no way that was an accident.”

  “Because it wasn’t.”

  All of a sudden Conrad grabbed his sword and lunged at her with lightning speed. Linz flinched, but she wasn’t the target—his blade blocked the sword that was slicing through the air behind her.

  Linz whirled around to find Finn at her back. If her father hadn’t stopped him, she’d be dead. In one deft move, Conrad knocked the sword from Finn’s hand and it flew across the room.

  He held his sword to Finn’s neck and said, “I always wondered if it was you who turned them against me. Now I know. Thank you for the journals. They were very enlightening.”

  Conrad stepped back and drove the tip of his blade into the floorboards, so that it stood upright. He would no longer fight. He spoke to Finn in ancient Egyptian. “Seth. I see you finally crawled out from your rat hole to face me.”

  With a twisted smile, Finn gave a mocking bow. “Father.”

  Linz stood frozen in shock. Seth? Conrad was Ramses? She peered into the depths of his eyes and saw it was true. “Father?” she asked in their ancient tongue.

  Conrad’s eyes grew wide. He whispered, “Thoth? You’ve remembered?”

  She nodded and turned to face Finn and all the remaining pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Linz needed to see his eyes, but he was still wearing his tinted eyeglasses—she needed to know for sure.

  “Take off your glasses,” she ordered. “Look at me.”

  Finn gave her a self-depreciating grin, and Linz caught a glimpse of the Finn that Diana had loved like a brother. “It’s not pretty,” he warned.

  She gasped when he removed them.

  Finn had begun wearing sunglasses after he had started to remember, but it was now clear the migraines were a lie. The dark lenses had veiled the truth. The eyes were windows to the soul, and Finn had not wanted anyone to see his. They were hideous—livid, bulging, marred with broken veins. His once beautiful green irises were now a muddy violet. Linz could see the hatred of Septimus, d’Anthès, Kira, Seth—so many enemies from her past—but she could also see Finn, in pain, suffocating under the weight of his own soul. “Finn?”

  “Finn’s gone,” he said. “I almost kidnapped you both that first night you came to visit me. It’s so easy to hide a sedative in tea. But then I found out who you were—Daddy’s little girl. I knew Conrad would come after me if you disappeared. It’s a shame I hesitated. It would have saved me so much trouble.”

  Linz pointed the tip of her sword at Finn’s neck, forcing him up against the wall. “You convinced us that Conrad was Kira and Septimus so we would fear him. But he wasn’t. You turned us against him … you knew Conrad was Ramses and that he wanted to help Michael remember.” She thought back to the moments before the lab explosion. “You caused the gas leak … you were willing to kill yourself in the process. You wanted to stop us that much.”

  Finn scoffed and let out a maniacal laugh. “I only wanted to kill him—the gas exploded before it was meant to. I remembered Seth at the same time as Conrad, and I couldn’t have them reunited. I would have loved to have extracted the Guardian’s knowledge from Michael’s mind, but I didn’t know how to, yet. That has taken me many years to perfect. So you see, I couldn’t let him remember. He had to die. Conrad unknowingly made it quite easy.”

  It drove Linz mad to realize that, even now, Finn had tried to turn them against her father—and had almost succeeded. If her father hadn’t tried to protect Bryan and she hadn’t remembered the past, their present lives would have ended no differently.

  Conrad tried to calm her. “Lindsey, put the sword down. You cannot have his death on your hands.”

  But her psyche was battling with too many alien emotions. She spoke in ancient Egyptian. “He destroyed our world, Father. You died before you could see … we’ve lived in darkness ever since.” She pressed the blade into Finn’s skin, accusing him. “You put an arrow into my back. But Ammon healed me. I did not die. I lived a long life wandering the world, finding a place to hide the book that bore my name.”

  Finn gasped in astonishment. “The Book of Thoth exists?”

  Linz nodded, feeling she had won a small victory.

  A fire flared in Finn’s eyes. He took a step forward. “Where is it? Think what we could do with that knowledge.”

  The thought of him obtaining the book and using it made her want to strike him down with every atom of her being.

  “Lindsey Jacobs!” Conrad’s voice was harsh, as if he were yelling at a child who had run blindly into the street.

  Linz was startled. She didn’t take her eyes off Finn, but her father had her attention.

  Conrad spoke as Ramses, in a tone as forceful as the leader he had been. “You once contemplated killing your brother and wondered if I was watching you from the Duat. I saw you spare his life.” Tears blinded Linz and she blinked them away. “We are here for a reason.” He reminded her. “Do not be seduced by rage.”

  Linz took several deep breaths, struggling to calm herself.

  He put his hand over hers and whispered in English, “Stormy Weather, come back. Come back to me.”

  She dropped the sword and, with a sob, turned to her father. He held her in his arms. His eyes met Finn’s.

  Finn put his hands in his pockets and gave a mocking bow. “Thank you, Yankee Doodle. This has been a fascinating reunion.”

  Conrad didn’t see the taser in Finn’s hand until it was too late. Finn delivered a high-level jolt that paralyzed him. He buckled to the ground, writhing in agony and clutching his heart as his pacemaker failed him.

  Linz screamed and dropped to her knees. “Dad? Dad!” She sobbed, then looked up to see Finn picking up his sword. “Please don’t do this,” she begged, watching her father die. “Don’t do this, please.”

  Finn mocked her. “You always were his favorite.”

  “Please. We can forget the past. Just help me.”

  “Forget the past? We are the past.”

  “You can change who you are. Start over. Just help me save him. Please.”

  “The Brotherhood of Horus,” Finn sneered, “hoarding the ancient knowledge. Do you think you are the only ones who have a destiny?”

  “So your answer is killing? Your father? Your friend?”

  “And I will do it again. The Apophis only wants to give power back to the people. You’re the one who stands in our way.” Finn spoke in ancient Egyptian. “Father never understood that.… It was why he had to die. I made sure the poison was slow.”

  With a fierce growl, Linz sprang to her feet. She lunged at Finn and attacked him barehanded, delivering a brutal jab to his chest. Finn lurched backward in surprise and retreated to the gallery as Linz came at him like a Fury. There was no time to waste—her father was fighting for his life.

  She grabbed a medieval spear hanging on the wall and tested the weight of the weapon. Finn charged at her, sword in hand. Linz avoided every strike, her mind in sharp focus, channeling an Egyptian stick fighter at his best. With a powerful roar, she launched her body and swung the spear, forcing Finn to jump to one side. She spun in the air, leg extended, and crashed into his chest with all her weight. The force knocked Finn backward into the case holding Bjarni’s vegvísir. It fell with him to the ground, shattering glass everywhere.

  Finn lay on the floor stunned amid the shards of glass. Linz bent over, picked up the vegvísir, and looked down at Finn. She spoke in ancient Egyptian. “Poor Seth, never able to find your way.”

  Using the stone as a weapon, she brought it down hard on his temple, knocking him unconscious.

  Linz stared at him and wondered when it would end. Thoth had not killed him in Egypt, and she would not kill him now. She could gain nothing from his death.

  She rushed back to the study. Conrad was on the floor, alive but gasping, clearly fighting for every breath.

  Linz grabbed the house phone and called 911. “Help m
e, my father’s having a heart attack—he was tasered. He has a pacemaker.”

  The dispatcher assured her an ambulance would be there in five minutes. She hung up and returned to her father, cradling his head in her lap.

  Conrad was cognizant but in great pain. “Finn?” he asked her.

  “He’s unconscious. Just hold tight, Dad, please.” She took his hand. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were? I’m so sorry.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Wanted to protect you from it all … my fault.… Renovo is too powerful, so easy to get lost.…” He struggled to get the words out. “No time. Listen to me. I built Medicor … for the Guardian to return … people will try to stop you. So many.”

  Conrad was fading now, his body shutting down. Linz heard the sirens and knew the ambulance would be there soon, but not soon enough. Her father’s spirit was already leaving this world. She had to lean in close to hear his last words. “Find the others. They are waiting.”

  She saw his soul depart and cried out in anguish. She was not ready to lose him. It was just like it had been ten thousand years ago: they still had too much left to say.

  FORTY-SIX

  Bryan stood on the ledge of the balcony, performing a series of dance-like stretches. Countless drawings filled the tiny hotel patio; none of them were depictions of Egypt.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the air, letting his mind expand into the openness, hoping to touch upon whatever life Linz had already found. But instead he began to fixate on why she hadn’t called him back. He felt like he was in exile.

  His scattered thoughts almost pitched him over the edge. Channeling Bodhidharma, Bryan quickly regained his balance. And again the Zen monk commanded him to paint.

  Bryan rolled his eyes and, instead, stood up on one toe to prove a point.

  “Sir?” Layla stood behind him at the balcony’s door holding a set of fresh towels, her face frozen in disbelief.

  Bryan pivoted around in a perfect 180-degree turn. “Oh, hello, Layla. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Layla’s mouth opened and closed several times. “Should you be up there?” she finally squeaked.

  “Probably not.” In truth, he could only tolerate Bodhidharma’s exercises for short periods of time, and the look of terror on her face wasn’t helping his concentration.

  He glanced over the edge, feeling the street rise up to meet him as gravity did its best to pull him down. Somehow, he launched into an impossible back flip and landed right in front of Layla.

  She yelped and dropped the towels. It took her a moment to process what he’d just done. “Are you in the circus?” she finally asked.

  Bryan burst into laughter. It made Layla laugh too. “Something along those lines,” he said, when he finally stopped chuckling.

  “You scared me to death!” She playfully swatted at his arm.

  “Sorry.” They both smiled at each other.

  “I don’t think you should be standing on that ledge anymore, okay?”

  “No more ledges,” he promised.

  Layla picked up the towels and took in all the drawings. “You’re an artist,” she gasped, delighted. “These are so beautiful. You are in Cairo to work?”

  “It’s turning out to be that way,” Bryan said with a rueful smile. This hotel had somehow become his studio, and he had yet to leave it. He stared at her, still trying to determine who she was. “Could I paint your portrait?” he heard himself ask.

  Layla laughed in surprise. “You want to paint me?”

  “I would pay you, of course, as a model.” Bryan could sense her reluctance and hastened to reassure her. “I pay all my models,” he lied, having never worked with a live model in his life. Ducking into the room, he found Linz’s pile of money. “Five hundred dollars is the usual fee,” he offered, counting out five one-hundred-dollar bills.

  Layla laughed even harder, making a sound like a duck. “You want to pay me five hundred dollars? Just to paint me?”

  Bryan nodded, and found himself laughing again too. All he knew was that he had to keep her with him.

  “My clothes stay on, yes?”

  “Of course,” he assured her, moving supplies off the lounge chair. “You just sit right here. Your uniform is fine.”

  “Right now? But I’m working.” She giggled at his unabashed earnestness. His pastels were already in one hand, and he had money in the other. Bryan’s face started to fall with disappointment, and she added, “I have tomorrow and the next day off. I’m happy to come back.”

  “Tomorrow,” Bryan answered immediately. “Here, I like to pay in advance.” He wanted to make sure she didn’t change her mind. He held out the money.

  Again, she hesitated. “This probably is breaking the rules with my job.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. I promise,” he said. “It’s just a painting.”

  * * *

  Bryan had never done a miniature before, but somehow it felt imperative for her portrait to be able to fit in his pocket, and his instincts had never misguided him before. His hand worked with the smallest strokes, relying on Jan Van Eyck’s mastery.

  Jan had of course painted countless miniatures in his day, along with paintings of every other size imaginable, but Bryan had always preferred to paint on an expanse of canvas. He had no trouble working with a smaller scale, though. Yesterday, he had returned to the art store and purchased half a yard of linen canvas to work with, along with a small set of oil paints and several fine brushes suited for miniature brushwork. He’d created a three-by-three-inch frame to stretch the fabric for the portrait.

  He grinned as Layla erupted into her signature laugh when she saw the tiny square.

  “Five hundred dollars for such a little thing?” she asked in disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

  Bryan shrugged with a smile, inwardly agreeing, but he grew somber as he studied the lines of her face. He worked in silence a long time, bringing her image to life.

  Layla sat still, looking serene as she gazed at the city line from the balcony.

  “Are you from Cairo?” he asked.

  It was as if his simple question had given her permission to talk and she opened up, telling Bryan all about herself as he worked. It seemed that she felt as comfortable with him as he did with her.

  An only child, she was born to elderly parents who thought they couldn’t have children. They considered her a blessing from heaven and doted on her, despite the fact that they had little money. Her mother had made jewelry that she sold in the markets, and her father had done construction. But they were both too old to work now, so Layla had given up any dream of going to college and instead found a job to pay the bills. Five hundred dollars would go a long way.

  When Bryan had finished, she came over to look at the miniature. “You’re really very good,” she said.

  He shrugged and mumbled thanks, giving his work an objective eye. Jan Van Eyck’s gift had served him well, and his signature had never seemed more fitting: ALC IXH XAN, “As I can.” He willed himself to believe the words. As I can. I can. I will remember.

  Layla interrupted his thoughts. “Do you have a guide to show you the city? I can show you some sights tomorrow if you like?” She grinned at him. “Help to really earn that money.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” he said, though he wouldn’t mind the company. He wanted to get out of this hotel room.

  “I don’t mind. And I promised your girlfriend I’d take good care of you,” she admitted, teasing him. “I can’t let her know you stayed cooped up here the whole time.”

  “You met Linz?” he asked in surprise.

  Layla looked embarrassed. “She was leaving and gave me her card … wanted to know my name. She seems like a very serious person.”

  Bryan frowned. Linz gave Layla her card? He knew that meant Layla was somehow important—otherwise Linz wouldn’t have singled her out.

  “I’ll pick you up at nine,” she said, moving to the door.

  “Are you taking me to the Great Py
ramid?” he asked.

  “Of course. It’s the first place we’ll go.”

  * * *

  The swarm of vendors selling their wares wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Bryan’s attention was jockeyed from person to person as he tried to push his way through the throng. But the chaos was oddly comforting. It kept him from focusing on the Great Pyramid towering a hundred feet away.

  Bryan followed Layla through the crowd with a faith he didn’t understand. All he knew was that he never would have had the courage to come here if it hadn’t been for her.

  As they moved forward, they almost got separated. She looked behind her and reached out to grab his hand. He gazed into her eyes and suddenly saw himself as a young girl, running hand-in-hand with her—and in that moment Bryan remembered who she was.

  She was Kiya.

  His heartbeat began to race, as every memory from that life in Egypt began to return to him like blood circling back to the heart. Bryan’s pulse quickened as his feet kept moving him toward the Great Pyramid, until he stood just a few yards away from it. He closed his eyes and, as his palms made contact with the weathered stones, he remembered it all: the power of this Sleeping Giant, the untold atrocities that had happened here, and the mission that had been given to him.

  Bryan felt Hermese expand within him. She had been there all along—a shadow he couldn’t see, a feeling he couldn’t describe, a sense of longing he couldn’t explain.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at the pyramid and his heart filled with joy. Every life he had ever lived sounded within him in perfect harmony. His soul was singing.

  The Guardian had awoken.

  Bryan turned to Layla and saw Kiya’s spirit shining in her. How many times had they played here as children … of course, she should be the one to bring him home.