Demon Bound by Meljean Brook Page B

gaze slipped over the sketches on the walls, the photographs.
    â€œIt is such a bother when that happens,” she said quietly.

CHAPTER 3
    Alice hadn’t expected her answers, such as they were, to satisfy the novice. After all, they’d never satisfied her.
    But that was where the similarity between them ended. She hadn’t stalked around her quarters, muttering to herself in the way Jake was now, his hands linked behind his head like a prisoner on the march. He didn’t lower them, even when he stopped in front of a photo and studied a male figure painted in profile.
    She’d memorized the figure’s sword, his simple tunic and sandals, years before. Though there weren’t any hieroglyphs to identify him, Alice was certain it was Michael.
    â€œAnd this one?”
    â€œFrom a temple about fifty miles west of where Abu Simbel stands now. That is a site in—”
    â€œSouthern Egypt. Constructed during the reign of Rameses the Great, and relocated in the seventies when they built the Aswan Dam. Yes, I know.”
    His interruption was the first sign of irritation at her lecturing tone. He’d listened patiently through a monotonous history lesson about Mesopotamia and India, though he’d seemed to be biting his tongue. She’d pushed on, certain she’d been boring him. But he’d just been polite, letting the eccentric natter on; he’d already known all she’d told him.
    â€œIt seems you do.” She’d tired of it as well. His reaction reminded her too much of her human years, when she’d smile and nod as people lectured to her on subjects that she already knew as well—or even better—than they, and then go on about her business. “I have no idea how long this temple stood before I discovered it, and it disappeared four days later.” Her gaze skimmed the wall below the photograph. A deep gouge scarred the smooth marble surface.
    No, she hadn’t paced the room in her frustration—she’d taken her weapon to it. She’d gained nothing, and left a blemish on her home.
    Oh, why didn’t he leave?
    A soft noise from the mice reminded her how he’d tricked her into inviting him in. He hadn’t brought them in apology, but as a bribe. She would attempt her own if it meant he would go.
    â€œI have photographs from Tunisia on my computer,” she said, lifting the carton of mice. Their cage hung from the ceiling, a heavy contraption with steel mesh and bars as thick as her finger. “You’re welcome to take them.”
    Jake joined her, tapped the laptop’s touchpad. “Your battery’s dead.”
    â€œHow observant you are.”
    She ignored his quick grin, but appreciated his doubtful glance at the cage when she opened its door. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You feed them vampire blood, and they can gnaw through metal.”
    â€œNo.” She slid the brown mice into their nest. After vanishing the empty carton to her cache, she pulled a mangled pet-store cage out of it. “This is what Nefertari did to the previous one, so Irena made another.”
    Jake looked at the gaping hole in the side, the twisted wires. Something flickered through his psychic scent—remembered terror, remembered pain. She vanished the cage again.
    She’d intended him to speculate about Nefertari, not reopen a wound. She had too many scars of her own to take pleasure in that.
    Reaching over her desk, Alice tugged the flash drive from the port. “I’ve already copied the pictures. If you would only return the—”
    Jake held up a large rectangular battery, and she thought there was a slight smirk on his mouth when he looked from it to the small memory stick she offered. “Or, I can just get your computer rocking again and save them to my own.”
    â€œOh, but surely that can’t be for the same model—”
    â€œIt is.” Without waiting for her consent, he