Her Kind Of Trouble. Evelyn Vaughn

      “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.