Thoth by Alessa Thorn
1
Thirteen years ago
Kema had always been the fastest runner of all the orphans raised at Saint Katherine’s Home for Lost Children. Even at the age of fifteen, she was as swift as a gazelle and was proving it by running away from her wedding.
The veil stuck to sweaty skin as she tore out of the cathedral and through the streets of Downtown Alexandria. She heard voices shouting behind her, knew her intended, Ibrahim, had people coming after her, and wasn’t about to slow down to look. She ran until she hit the green gardens of Al Shalalat.
“Keeemmmaa! Stop!” a voice shouted as she crashed her way through a group of university students. Kema didn’t slow, even though her ribs were aching, and she wanted to throw up. She ripped the veil from her head, freeing her face and vision.
People complained in alarm as she tried to duck down amongst the groups of tourists heading towards the Bibliotheca.
Need somewhere to hide, she thought, scanning her options.
Kema would have prayed to Katherine if she believed that the saint would help, but she had prayed for two weeks now to be saved from an unwanted, arranged marriage. Katherine had been too busy to answer her prayers, so Kema was taking her salvation into her own hands.
Kema rounded a sharp corner, and something bronze flashed in the sunlight.
There was a single door tucked in between stalls of flower sellers and street food vendors. It was lapis lazuli blue, with bright bronze hieroglyphs painted around its frame. Kema ran for it, shoving the stiff door open and stumbling into the darkness.
The scent of paper and dust filled the air, and as her eyes adjusted, Kema realized she was in an old bookshop. It was empty and quiet, so she crept around the stacks, looking for somewhere to hide.
The front door banged open, and low masculine voices broke the hushed silence. Kema didn’t hesitate. She dove behind the counter and tucked herself up in the small space under it, next to a stack of books.
Beautiful books, Kema noticed, the top volume catching the light. She lifted it, staring wide-eyed at the gold and tiny jewels inlaid into the cover. It was more wealth than she had ever seen in her life.
What kind of bookshop was this?Kema touched the tiny gems, the mesmerizing patterns, her mind ticking. She didn’t only have the fastest feet in the orphanage, but also the fastest hands.
She would often walk the markets, stealing fruit and sweets from vendors to give to the younger children. It was a game.
Staring at the jewel-encrusted book in her hands, it no longer felt like a game. It felt like a ticket to her freedom.
Kema was aging out at the orphanage, which was why the wedding had been arranged.
Be a good obedient wife, and your husband would take care of you.
That would’ve been a fine plan if Kema had been good or obedient. She stuffed the book down the front of her dress.
“Excuse me, gentlemen, the shop is closed,” a deep voice said. The owner of the voice stepped out of a back room. He was tall and lean, dressed in a casual button-down shirt, and had vibrant tattoos up one arm. His bronze-colored eyes spotted Kema under the counter, and she instantly put her finger to her lips.
“Your front door was open. We are looking for someone who came in here,” one man answered. He was a friend of Ibrahim, but Kema couldn’t remember his name.
“Someone, who? Can you describe them?” the owner asked.
“A woman, dressed like a bride. Plain, but with a pretty smile.”
The owner lifted a quizzical brow. “Sounds like she’s not interested in getting married today.”
“She’s only a little nervous. She’s young and has been brought up in a convent. She loves her intended very much.”
Kema shook her head, eyes wide and pleading at the stranger to not give her up. Pissed-off annoyance flashed in his bronze gaze before it vanished.
“Well, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for her, but I can assure you, she’s not in here,” he said, moving around the counter and out of sight. “Let me show you and your friends out.”
Kema held her breath until the footsteps faded. She scrambled out of her hiding place and out the back door. The stolen book burned like a secret next to her heart as she disappeared into the darkening streets of Alexandria.
* * *
Thirteen years later,the day of Kema’s failed wedding still haunted her. Not out of regret for not becoming a married woman, but for stealing that damned book.
Said book gleamed in the morning sun that was coming through her bedroom window. The same window she had tossed it out of the night before just for the hell of it. That was the problem with the beautiful book…it was cursed.
The day Kema had stolen it, she had gone straight to the local markets and sold it to an antique dealer, spinning a story to them that she needed the money for her dowry.
Kema had used the money to buy some clothes and rent a cheap room in a student boarding house. The following day, she had woken up, and the book had been on the small mattress beside her.
In the years since, Kema had sold the book eleven times, tossed it into the ocean thirty-two times, burned it to ashes eighteen times, and every morning she woke, and the book was back.
Kema had tried to read it every day as well, without any luck. It wasn’t written in any recognizable language. She had shown professors over the years, who had always said that it was a made-up script of some bored scholar.
Kema liked the drawings in it the most. They were multiple complex illustrations of shapes and diagrams of fantastical machines. None of them had made sense to the engineers or mathematicians she had shown the book to either. They had said that whoever had written it didn’t understand physics, and so it was probably the journal of a crazy Egyptian mystic trying to be Leonardo Da Vinci.
There was no argument that the book was old, and it was a mystery. It was also, without a doubt, magical.
Kema was old enough to remember when the Greek gods came out, so she knew that some form of magic existed. She just never expected to find herself in possession of a magical object. The constant returning of the book wasn’t the only thing that made it magical; it was just the first.
The second thing was that when Kema had tried to find the bookshop to return it to the handsome and equally mysterious owner, the shop no longer existed. According to the businesses in the area, it never had.
It pissed Kema off because she wanted to learn more about magic, and he seemed the best person to help her. She had searched for other books like hers over the years and had found nothing. Every time she hunted down other people claiming to be magic users, she ended up disappointed.
The third thing was that when she had drawn a set of cards using the illustrations from the book as guides, the cards gave spookily accurate and not always nice readings to her customers.
“You’re a mixed blessing, to be sure,” Kema muttered, climbing out of bed and shoving the book into the drawer of her dresser. She had stopped trying to sell it unless she really needed the money, but her stall at the Shalalat gardens always made what she needed to get by.
Tourists were good marks, and she was happy to relieve them of their pounds, euros, dollars, and drachmas. Her card readings had been exceptionally popular of late, and it ensured that she kept out of the slums that one day longer.
Kema downed a coffee and stuffed day-old baklava into her mouth for breakfast.
Growing up in a strict orphanage meant that once she could afford to eat what she liked, she had developed both a hopeless sweet tooth and the generous curves to match. Always considered too tall and skinny as a teenager, Kema loved her body and was absolutely unapologetic about her love of food. Kema was unapologetic about everything.
It was a warm spring day, the kind that brought out lots of people, and the Shalalat gardens were already filling with tourists, families, and students.
The market stalls were set up in the eastern corner of the gardens. She greeted the people selling jewelry and tourist trinkets. She quickly retrieved her gear from the back of the grocery market. It could be locked up, so Kema rented some space for her equipment to avoid dragging it in, then home again every morning and night.
In her usual place between street food vendors, Kema constructed her burgundy and brown striped tent. Inside, she lit incense, lamps, and candles and rolled out her mats.
With that done, she set about turning herself from Kema to Madame Heka, queen of the mystical arts, communer of the dead, fortuneteller, and mouthpiece to Alexander the Great.
Some believed that Alexander’s tomb rested beneath Shalalat Gardens, and in a moment of brilliance, Kema had decided that channeling the conqueror was the edge to her act that she had been looking for.
Kema put on a crown of golden laurel leaves and pinned her hair up. She stripped off her streetwear for a chiton and wrapped a gaudy golden belt around her waist.
Her outfit might have been Greek, but her makeup was Egyptian. She applied golden eye shadow and drew on heavy black eyeliner, stretching it out at the corners, before she drew an iconic swirl under her left eye, turning it into a magical eye of Thoth. Kema grinned at her reflection before summoning her sultry and mysterious Madame Heka face.
Digging about in her bag, Kema found her deck of cards. They were badly painted and foxed around the edges, but even with her not-so-steady hand, the symbols she had copied from the book seemed to draw the eye. Giving them a quick shuffle, she felt a rush of excitement and warmth tingle through her fingers.
As Kema stepped outside her tent, an awareness swept up her spine. She looked around at the growing crowd of tourists and shoppers, unsure of what her intuition was warning her about.
She saw a flash of bronze in the corner of her eye, but it was gone so quickly, Kema thought she imagined it. Kema shook off the feeling, turned to the curious onlookers, shuffled her cards one-handed for show, and got ready to tell some fortunes.
