I manually had to remind myself that she was my enemy.
I nodded and leant closer to her. ‘I could like you. It’s a real shame you are who you are.’
‘I could say the same about you. Fighting the people who try to keep our city safe—’
I couldn’t help but laugh loudly at this. ‘Are you talking about The Duat? Wow. Your face when you said that. Like you really believed it—’
Her face was steely.
Ma’at leant closer too, about to say something when the doors to the Main Room opened with a bang that caused the dancers to swing to a stop. The music was drowned out by the sound of raw screams. I could smell blood. Jolted, I leapt up to see two of my guards carrying a girl whose brown skin was turning grey, whose clothes were so stained with blood that they were turning stiff.
I swore and immediately called to Baz for help; she was my right hand, quick and incisive in these situations and usually by my side within seconds. Actually, she was usually already at the scene. But as I got closer, she was nowhere to be found. Confused, I called for her again, craning my neck to look around the lounge. ‘Has anyone seen Bastet?!’
The girls’ screams turned to whimpers. They turned to me, wide-eyed and shuddering as I pushed past the crowds that had gathered to see who they were carrying. I frowned. Incidents were not a regular occurrence, but they were not rare either. My girls were trained for emergencies, so it was odd to see them this shaken.
‘Look, I know this is frightening, but I need someone to answer m—’
An arm, decorated with an ouroboros tattoo and smattered with blood, drooped towards the floor. My knees buckled and a scream leapt from my throat. I looked desperately into the frantic faces of the girls, needing an answer.
‘She went to go and ch-check a disturbance, outside. A man was attacking a woman. He drew a gun,’ one of them stuttered out.
I never lost my composure. I had seen everything under the sun and everything below earth. Horrors embedded within horrors. I had skills to deal with these scenarios. I could patch up, stitch, balm, extract, treat – but seeing my best friend bleeding to death immobilised me.
The sounds of alarm blended into a cacophony. Somebody was ordering the patrons out, commanding the guards to stand by the door to keep The Duat out, but I couldn’t make out who. I couldn’t breathe. Bastet’s eyes were vacant, her skin damp, her breathing slow and jagged.
They were asking me what to do. I knew what to do – of course I did – but I couldn’t extricate any solution from the viscous swamp my mind had regressed to. All the panic and fear I’d been impervious to all these years flooded through me.
‘I need jugs of water, towels and a bucket. Now. Place her down over there, in that booth. Quickly. She’s losing blood.’ The foreign voice again. I turned to see Ma’at commanding the girls, her face focused. They looked at me in question. I didn’t trust her, but she was right. I swallowed, forcing my voice out.
‘Do as she says. We don’t have time.’
Ma’at turned to me and grabbed my arms. ‘Look at me. We need to take her to the hospit—’
This shook me out of my shock and I tore my arms from her grip. ‘What? Of course we can’t take her to the hospital! They’re controlled by the— we can’t call anyone. They’ll let her die to get to me. They’ll—’
My voice was shrill and Ma’at grabbed my arms again and rubbed them. ‘It’s okay. I’m sorry. That was a stupid suggestion. Look, I can treat her, I’m trained—’
Of course she was. All The Duat had basic medical training. I pushed her to the side, sniffing, wiping away the tears, anger warring against fear. ‘No. You should leave— can somebody get my kit?’
I knelt by the booth and brushed my best friend’s brow with a napkin. She was whimpering, rapidly losing consciousness. ‘Nef—’
‘Shh, don’t speak. Everything will be okay.’ I tore her dress open and bit down to stop my scream at the sight of the wound. My stomach turned. I felt faint. My kit appeared but my hands were trembling. My eyes blurred.
Bastet’s blood was seeping into the velvet of the chair, making it deeper, richer. I could hear the labour of each breath. She was leaving me. I felt a hand over my own, gently pulling me up and away. I couldn’t fight it even if I wanted to. I was limp. Ma’at moved past me, took my kit, and knelt before the dying body.
‘How are you feeling?’
Ma’at’s voice was level as she looked at me from across the kitchen, eyes glistening. She was shell-shocked too. Somehow, she had saved Bastet’s life. Swiftly, incisively, commanding my girls with expertise. It had been a deep flesh wound and Bastet was still hanging on by a thread, but she was alive, and would pull through. Ma’at had helped me back to my quarters, where I washed the terror from my skin, and poured myself the strongest drink I could find in the cabinet.