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And I, as an ancient Alchemist, am faced with the disturbing possibility that I know more then I should about the Avatars. That even now they are choosing new hosts, and making their presences known to the Four in ways that are as yet unknown to them. Is it my task and that of the others with me to help them come to the realization that they are unusual? What has blocked their memories of their powers till now? And why am I suddenly having my own problems with controlling the sorceries I learned so many centuries ago. Will these two men I have come to love accept a 3500 year old mummy, and if so, can I face the courage to take a potion that will give me the illusion of life so that I may help them? This is how events came to pass...
Gene's suite, Chicago, Morning:
(After the Rocky Horror Picture show):
It took some getting used to she admitted. Even when she awakened the next morning after seeing the Rocky Horror Picture show, she wasn't surprised to find one of them gone, herself curled up to the other under the sweat drenched sheets. Why Paul had a mania for getting up at dawn she couldn't say. Yet Gene remained, dead to the world asleep as if he were a hibernating bear.
She ached in more places then she would care to remember, but Ra it felt good. Drawing her knees up to her chest she began to chuckle softly.
"What?" Gene asked, settling onto his side as he stirred awake. His hand rested softly on her shoulder.
"If I didn't already shock the hell out of her majesty now, I'm sure this will put her through the roof," Mennehotep chortled.
"That's a crying shame for her," he laughed, and lightly traced the curve of her neck with his nose. The sensation of his skin on hers made her jump.
"Where's Paul?" she asked. "He has this uncanny knack of vanishing as of late..."
"That's Casanova for you," Gene shrugged. "Guess he couldn't wait to hit the recording studio..."
"Ra... God... I mean my head feels clear... very odd..."
"Why's that?" Gene asked matter of fact, running his lips over her shoulder blade in firm kisses.
"With what I drank I would expect to have a hangover that would put your friend Ace to shame..."
"You didn't have that much, sweetheart," Gene laughed.
"And how would you know?" Menne turned around in the bed to glare at him. "Were you checking up on my drinking tally in addition to scoping me out?"
"Somebody has to," Gene shrugged, and resumed his exploration of her nude form, brushing his dark hair over her chest.
"You're worse then Rath," she groaned.
"A buddy of yours?" Gene asked.
"A good friend," she said with a sigh. "Who's probably worried sick about me..."
"Hmm," Gene responded, and looked up from what he was doing. "You called them right? Explained what was what?"
"Yes, for all the good it does me..." Menne turned to him. "Strange how Rath was the most understanding, and the others well... let's just say this didn't go over too well with them..."
"Your husband?" Gene raised an eyebrow.
"Tried all the old tricks to bring me around. As if I would come crawling back to him on my hands and knees. He pulled out the guilt trips. I must admit he almost... er... what's the word..."
"Suckered you in?" he supplied.
"Yes... that's it. Then declared that I was no wife of his. Which was what I had expected. I think he was er... astounded I actually didn't come back..."
"Good for you. So what are you going to do now?"
"Don't know," Menne sighed again. "I just don't know. But I don't think I could go back."
"Then don't," Gene said. "But don't leave your friends in the cold. They deserve to know what you're next move is going to be..."
"I know... I know... and believe me I'm glad you got on me to finally as you say... level with them... but it was so hard..."
"Life isn't easy, sweetheart," Gene said.
"No kidding..." Menne groaned, and felt the affects of a headache slowly spreading behind her temples. Being alive was something that she had little practice at. Even Sohkarra's blush of life spell fell short of some of the effects of full life. Ashake's potion was well and truly taking its full measure.
"Speaking of life... don't you er... have rehearsal too?"
"Depends on what you mean, Menne," he glanced at her knowingly.
"Isis," she laughed. "You can't be serious..."
"One can't be too careful... after all it never hurts to practice... especially if you want the best..."
"What about the arrangement..." Menne said, playfully slipping out of his grip. He almost stumbled off the bed when she slipped out from between the sheets. Gene grabbed her about the waist, sweeping her easily off her feet as he caught her in his arms.
"And where do you think you're going?" he laughed.
"Give me a break!" Menne giggled. "You can't seriously be..."
"You up to it?" he asked. "After all you damn near wore Paul out!"
"Is that something to be proud of?" she glanced up at him.
"Now who's keeping tabs on whom?" Gene asked.
"You'll kill me a second time," she groaned.
"A second time?" Gene frowned.
"I mean... well... I almost died of pleasure last night!" she quickly
corrected herself. Gene caught the joke, and still held her off her feet,
carrying her towards the shower.
Elsewhere that morning…
Slow deliberate licks washed over Nefertina's nude form. The Tiger rumbled a low growling purr from his thick throat, his tongue moving ever dangerously downwards. Soft black fur yielded under his moist sandpaper with continual strokes. She mewled and rolled her back against the cool gravel of the lagoon.
Bastet it felt marvelous, whatever this Beast was doing. Even if it was ten shades of pure naughtiness when his tongue lapped around her tail, sniffing as she rolled over onto her stomach.
The Panther let out a low growl when it felt the tiger's fangs playfully seize its neck. His huge paws bracketed her shoulders, his rump lying lightly across her back. Soothing licks passed over her eyes and folded ears. IN one single motion he plunged far within. Nefertina's cry yowled through the moist green canopy overhead.
Easily she met the Tiger's advances, rocking in unison with his swaying thrusts. Pain smoothed into a continuous red tide. Branches of ever increasing desire shot up her spine that had taken root in the tingling shivers. More and more the green sensation spread its sprouts into her moist soil, gently watering her fierce hot desire. Till she was in full bloom under the warm rays of his love. She took all he had to offer and more, when he moved off of her with a loud roar.
Her knee contacted the wall, and Nefertina yowled in pain. "Damn!" she cursed, and hugged her bruised knee. Rudely she realized that she was pressed against the wall, while someone shushed her with a subdued laugh.
"Oh sorry, Kittycat!" came Peter's suppressed chortle. "God... are you okay?"
Where was the jungle and the tiger Nefertina half wondered. Still hugging her knee she rolled painfully over into the warmth of his arms. Blond hairs tickled her nose as he wrapped himself around her.
"What just... happened?" Nefertina asked, very confused. Her insides ached deliciously, which indicated a very familiar series of events. Yet she didn't recall making love to him the night before. Which left one disturbing possibility.
"Only the very best loving I've had privilege to wring from you yet... wait... are you all right..."
"Peter, I was asleep!" she groaned.
"But I could swear that you jumped my bones, scaring the crap out of me till I figured out what you were about, Hon," Peter protested, when she blinked in confusion at him.
"I was dreaming... you mean to say you got me asleep?"
"I thought you were awake!" Peter gasped, his breath surging as he glanced at her in added confusion.
"This is really... weird," Nefertina sighed.
"I didn't think that it was..." Peter stretched himself, and stroked his cheek against hers. "If you were asleep, then damn, it must have been one hell of a dream!"
Nefertina didn't know whether to be angry or not. It was an honest mistake, and at least it must have been Peter in the movements of the dream. Yet why was he a Tiger of all things?
"Hey, why are you funking out on me, Kitty?" he asked, curling up to her. "It's a natural thing, to make love in your sleep.... and you were with me the whole time... so why the silent treatment?"
"I just... well..."
"Hey, if I had known you were asleep... I'm really sorry if it freaked you out..." he rumbled in his throat, and rubbed deliciously up against her.
Over her shoulder Mennehotep slipped the strap of her borrowed base. Automatically she slipped home the plug to the readied amplifier, which already hummed in unison to his.
"You'll notice that sliding bar under the edge of the bridge," Gene Simmons said to Mennehotep. "It's a way of short cutting extra fingering..."
"Hmm, like the bar that I've seen Paul and Ace sometimes strap to the necks of their instruments..." Menne mused, fingering the extra sliding toggle.
"Yeah, exactly. Expect this is specifically unique to the Punisher series. Not many bases use it. It can be tricky at first, but if you master it, it can be your best edge..."
So saying Gene laid down a simple baseline progression. After a few minutes he repeated the progression using the sliding toggle. Menne noticed the difference in position of his fingers. It still seemed quite unlike the harp she had learned to strum centuries ago. Basic principles of stringed instruments did not change, but the specific fingering and applications seemed worlds removed.
"Line in A, five note progression. You try it now..." he nodded, and pointed to her.
"All right..." Menne breathed.
"Think of it like extra leverage. It's your shortcut so your hand doesn't have to work as hard for the solos and rapid changes..."
Cramps seized her fingers in sudden paralyzing waves. Gritting her teeth she clenched the pick firmly in her right hand, covered by that black lace glove. Her tendons seemed alight with hot spasms. A low growl escaped her throat, muffled by the rising rumble of her evolving baseline. Instead of crying aloud she fed the pain back into her efforts to follow Gene's pattern. Vibrations resounded into the pit of her stomach.
"Loosen up, sweetheart. Don't fight it," he said. "You grip that tightly and you'll pull something. Lean into the baseline... let go!"
"If I let go I might loose control..." Menne gritted between clenched teeth. Still the pain seized her cramping hand.
"So what? It's not a performance. Enjoy it!" Gene shook his head. "Follow my lead... and let's fly..."
Sweat trickled down her temples to her cheeks. On Gene's forehead the beads of perspiration already pooled. Slowly they oozed down his cheeks in shimmering ripples. His thick dark hair slowly absorbed the moisture to hang in thick ringlets. Now Menne let the vibrations merge into her being while she followed his lead. Hot spasms of pain surged into the embers of her progression. Just beneath the surface a terrifying energy seethed. Through the numb hand she no longer felt the cramping, but a sparking surge that had only been in her stomach before.
"Sweet!" Gene laughed. "You're getting into it now!"
Like he wandered on stage, Gene stepped closer to her sphere of ten feet. Each wave of the beat started from her bobbing head to snap down her spine into her hips. Eyes fluttered shut under dark, mascara-covered lashes when Menne finally lost the connection between pain and pleasure. What seemed painfully cramping before was now soothed with a gentle crackling warmth. Where was the fire that seeped into her being coming from? Inside? Within?
Slowly and ever louder the flames built, till they could not be contained. Was it illusion or reality? From behind closed eyes she could see the rising fire that threatened to consume her existence. A connection broke from mind to hand, and loosened muscles tightened within a fraction of an instant. All the muscles in her right hand tensed rock hard and refused to move. She bit back a cry of intense pain.
"Sweet Isis," Menne keened, doubling over. Instantly the duet collapsed into a discordant rumbling. Only the sound of the amplifier still hummed in the still air.
"Menne, what the hell is wrong?" Gene demanded, gripping her shoulders.
"My hand... can't move it..." she grunted, her eyes squeezed shut with pain. Her other hand gripped it tightly overtop the lace glove.
"Easy, easy," he said, moving back slightly. "Take a breather."
Mennehotep turned away, and slipped aside her glove. She could swear she saw a faint crackle of flames present, which slowly drifted away.
"What's wrong?" Gene repeated.
"I... just don't know... I thought it was..."
"And..."
"I... don't want to discuss it. It's just... my old burn. That's all..." she said shortly.
Gene saw the fear in her eyes, which widened under his concerned gaze. Whatever she had sensed or felt had scared the proverbial hell out of her. Yet, he knew she would only talk when she felt she wished to.
"Whatever you say, doll," he coughed. "It's your business. You don't wanna talk? No , no nothing that's your call. But something's going on. So you can either deal with it and move on, or let it drag you down..."
"I'll deal with it," she winced, and then looked up at him.
"Can you go on, or do you want to stop for today?" he asked. "Up to you."
"I... wish to continue. Just give me a moment..."
"Okay. Let me know when you're ready..." Gene said, and stepped a few
paces back from her. The space was no longer violated, as he sensed her
need for distance and privacy. In many ways, this resembled him at times,
for he did not always wish to share his feelings.
"That was the worst that I could remember," Menne whispered. "That feeling of loosing control..."
"Was this a dream you had?" Paul asked.
"A waking dream. I know it must sound crazy to you, but in Ancient Egypt dreams were extremely significant."
"Did you tell Gene?"
"He respected my need for privacy. I don't think he would as you say, get it..." Menne said to Paul, who regarded her thoughtfully from the perch of his stool.
"What... did you see?"
"My form being consumed by flame," Menne admitted after a long pause.
"I know you can work magic with fire..." Paul said. "Don't tell me you're afraid of fire..."
"No, I am afraid of others around me being consumed," Menne glanced up at him. "The fear I will loose control of my flames..."
"Whoa, heavy," Paul muttered.
"Like the fear you had that if you and I made love, you would drown..." Menne admitted. "It's an instinctual fear tied into my elements. Those that I manipulate. Under the Ibis I have certain power over Air magic. Yet there was always the capacity to manipulate fire. Hence the ease of forming lightening..."
"This is crazy stuff," Paul shook his head.
"I know. But after what happened to us a month ago when you and I made love... I think it is something you should be very aware of..."
"You mean when you... and I..."
"You remember I called you Star Bearer," Menne glanced at him shyly.
"It was as if I almost wanted to forget..." Paul rubbed his brow. "But suddenly..."
Images flooded over his psyche, and Paul pressed a hand to his forehead in an effort to shut them out. They would however not be denied, and surged into his waking mind with a vengeance. Menne's amulet let out a shrill tone accompanied by an amethyst flare. "Paul," she whispered.
His eyes popped open, and she gazed into the bottomless depths of amethyst. It did not frighten her, as she met her gaze with his. A second later he gasped, and the glow faded to nothing. His shoulders rose and fell with the resulting heavy sigh.
"You can't hold it back, can you..." Menne said, slipping her arms around him. He flinched and moved away.
"Those things I see... that I can do..." he shuddered.
"It's all right Paul," she soothed, and embraced him as he tried to pull away. "I'm not afraid of it..."
"When you said... losing control... and Star Bearer... I couldn't stop the images..." he gasped. Menne lifted his chin to meet her gaze as he often did to her when she was withdrawn.
"What did you see?"
"Loosing control. Everything and anything... all four of us... loosing it... but now it's fading... Chontra..."
"Paul, what happened? What does the name Chontra mean to you?"
When she repeated the name, Paul shuddered. "It... was three months ago. This... crazy witch woman put a whammy on Gene, and he changed. I had forgotten till now. It all just surged back. We all... transformed strangely. Before the concert. Gene... he was changed into a horrific creature that tried to burn us all... and Peter..."
"Tell me more..." Menne urged.
"But she made a mistake. Taking control of Gene wasn't enough. Ace and I... we stopped her. And I reached into her brain and flooded it with pain. Such pain and heartache it makes me cringe to consider it..."
"It's okay Paul," she soothed him, as he buried his head on her chest and held her tightly against him.
"I don't get it, and I do..." Paul sobbed into her shirt. "Why us? Why did we forget... only to remember now... and wiped your minds..."
"Not totally," Menne whispered. "I'm recalling now... in little bits
and pieces. Tell me more..."
Concert, 9PM, Chicago:
"Go get 'em, Tiger," Nefertina purred to Peter, as he headed out to the stage.
"Tiger?" he grinned, and caught her about the waist. She giggled and winked at him as he pulled her close. Careful not to smudge his Catman makeup, she gave a quick peck on the lips.
"Later," she whispered.
"I'll take you up on that," he said, pulling back reluctantly.
Ace and Sohkarra exchanged meaningful glances as he pulled his costume into array. Still his own makeup had not the slightest smudge present.
Menne gave a supporting hug to Paul, who pressed her close for but a minute. Then tentatively broke away as he wandered onstage with a noticeable knee brace. Someone swatted her lightly on the rear as they walked past. Whirling around, Menne saw the swish of a black cloak and armor.
"Save it for the encores," Menne chuckled, grabbing Gene from behind. A low growl escaped her throat.
"I'll be seeing you," he said, voice rumbling deep in his throat. An index finger pointed meaningfully in her general direction. Those damned boots put him head and shoulders above her as always. No mean feat, because he was six feet four without them! Still he was quite intimidating in full makeup and costume, but Menne knew it was all outward appearance. That strange excitement seized her, and she had to take a deep breath to control her racing pulse. Somewhere between excitement and fear she poised.
"Not if I see you first, you mean," she shot back. A final thumbs up and he ascended the catwalk to the platform, which would drop them all onto stage.
Sohkarra's questioning glance fell on Menne, who simply waved it away with one hand. The mental probes reached out, only to hit a brick wall. Wincing, the Princess frowned. Never before had it felt difficult to reach into someone's mind. Yet now... Mennehotep's thoughts veiled themselves to the Princess. How had she developed the power to block her probes?
During the performance, Sohkarra found Mennehotep waiting backstage. The song "Let Me Go Rock and Roll" blared over them, and they had to find a quiet place in the backstage lounge to get away from the noise.
"I couldn't help but notice... you seem quite familiar around Gene. What about Paul..."
"I don't ask you about how Ace is with you," Menne said.
"But I'm your friend. And Paul looks rather downcast... why have you..."
"That's my business," Menne said. "Don't let it bother you..."
"But I thought you and Paul..."
"We still are," Menne said.
"But you and Gene..." Sohkarra gasped. Then the reality sunk in, and the sapphire eyes widened discernibly.
"You're what?" Sohkarra gasped. "Both of them..."
"Since you had to ask..." Mennehotep glanced at her casually. "Yes."
"But... that's crazy," Sohkarra looked horrified.
"Both of them approached me," Menne said. "And I said yes."
"How could you?"
"How could I not? I like both of them, and they are happy..."
"It's just not natural..."
"And what you're doing with Ace is?" Menne lifted an eyebrow. "Mental versus Manual?"
"That's not for public discussion."
"With all due respect, neither is mine," Menne returned coolly.
"What has gotten into you?"
"Life," Menne answered. "For the first time I feel free, as you say you do. You of all should appreciate freedom..."
"But two men at one time..."
"Why the shock?" Menne asked. "It's not unknown in this time for a woman to have a ménage a trois..."
"It's just... very..."
"Sick and disgusting? Is that what you're thinking? I can tell by the look in your eyes you don't approve," Menne sighed.
"I just can't..."
"Well it's not for anyone to say but me, Gene and Paul," Menne said. "It isn't the first time they've done something like this..."
"Menne why?"
"Why not?" Menne shrugged. "I'm happy, Gene's happy, and so is Paul. As Nefertina seems with Peter, and you seem with Ace. So I don't see why you should worry about me... us... when you have your own issues. Didn't you tell me yourself that what is between you and Ace is private. I only expect the same from you..."
"As you like it," Sohkarra threw up her hands. "But you're playing with fire..."
"I play with fire all the time... and I know about getting burned," Menne said.
"You just aren't acting yourself..." Sohkarra said.
"And you are?" Menne said. "Please, you yourself have felt the need to break free. How can you really say that this isn't the real me, as this isn't the real you?"
"You're so blunt... it's like I can't reach you..."
"I am sorry you feel that way," Menne said. "But relationships change. I only wish you could accept what I'm doing as I have accepted your choices. But this is how I chose to live my life... as you have the freedom to live yours. And if you're happy, who am I to say what's wrong and right for you?"
"I half expected you to scold me and now..."
"You feel the same need, eh Sohkarra?" Menne asked. "Don't worry. I have no intention of acting like a daughter of the Royal house. When clearly what I have done in no way is fitting for one."
"WE still are..."
"Perhaps you are, but I am not. Nor do I wish to be again," Menne leveled her gaze. "I like being Menne Curie, pyrotechnician. Tuthmosis himself said I'm no wife of his..."
"Menne..."
"No, it's over," Menne glanced at Sohkarra. "This Princess is no more. Can you say the same?"
"I am what I am," Sohkarra shrugged. "I'm still Amenhotep's daughter. As you are still the daughter of Thuthmosis II... and..."
"That's my point. You talk of wanting to explore the new time, but you still hang onto the past. I see no reason to do that anymore."
"So you'd throw away your heritage. Your responsibility..."
"I suppose I would. For what responsibility do I have save to honor the name of my mother... and stop my sister. That's the real reason Rath called me back. But now that I've tasted life..."
"Which I bestow upon you..."
"Even that can change..."
"Would Gene and Paul accept the real you, if you weren't able to have my spell?" Sohkarra asked.
"Why do you ask?" Menne wondered.
"If you are so keen to leave us... and not return, you might not be able to have the benefits of it..."
"Maybe so..."
"You seem keen on leaving the past behind. But you are still a mummy. How can you expect to live in the modern world as you are?"
"I have my cosmetics, and my sarcophagus, if that's what you mean..." Menne said.
"But I might not always be around to give my spell. What would you do?"
"I'd find a way around it," Menne announced. "Tell Paul and Gene the truth of what I am. It's only fair..."
"You think they would accept you?"
"That's a risk I'll have to take. They have a right to know the truth..."
Menne turned and walked away from her friend, tears in her eyes.
On the way to the hotel, in the limousine, she chewed her lip. Even when she sat among the guys there, she fretted.
"You haven't touched your drink," Paul said thoughtfully.
"I'm just well... thinking about something else..."
"Karra seemed pretty ice queen all evening," Paul said, sitting back as he sipped his customary single glass of white wine. Gene chugged down half a bottle of Evian water. He dabbed at the traces of fake blood on the front of his costume.
"Gal needs some serious lightening up," Gene muttered. "What is with her? I would have though the Spaceman would have..."
"Gene, put a sock in it," Paul muttered. "Haven't you noticed there's a little trouble in paradise for our guitarist?"
"He or she not getting any then?" Gene asked.
"You're awful," Menne glanced at him, and smacked his knee a bit warningly.
"Well," Gene held up his hands.
"Keep this up and you'll be walking home," Menne glared at him.
"Care to come over here and say that?" Gene asked, tugging at her hand. She toppled awkwardly over his knees as the limo lurched inelegantly around one corner. Paul grinned as he moved closer, and she was helplessly squirming across both their knees. His fingers plunged into her side, while Gene held her still.
"No fair! Two against one!" Menne shrieked, as her flailing hands plunged under Paul's jacket, causing him to gasp. She grabbed a bit of ice from Gene's drink and tossed it at his bare chest.
"that means war!" he laughed, and grabbed her feet. Whipping off her shoes he began to tickle her mercilessly while Gene looked on.
Paul's Suite:
"It's after one am," Gene said, when he brought Menne back to the hotel room. "I'm surprised you aren't wasted..."
"I have to tell you something..."
"Could it wait till tomorrow?" he asked, then saw the urgency in her eyes. "I guess not. All right, what's on your mind?"
"you might want to sit down," Menne said. "This is going to be quite a shock to you..."
Gene watched her from across the room, as she reached up and slipped off the fall of black hair. Slowly she tossed it to the couch, followed by her black lace glove. The trappings of her costume fell away when she wiped what appeared to be makeup off her face.
"Holy..." he muttered under his breath.
"This is what I really am," Menne said softly. "The reason I have cramps in my hand... it was an old injury that never quite healed correctly. And my head... here..."
Here she unwrapped the bandages around her scalp, letting them fall to the floor. Gene continued to watch her, his brown eyes fixed onto her actions. The Demon said nothing when she backed a step away, his arms folded across his chest.
"I had to tell you the truth..." she said, glancing down them meeting his gaze with hers. "As I have had to face it all along."
"You're a mummy," Gene said matter of fact. "That's the big dark dirty secret you've been holding back?"
"Yes," Menne said, feeling the burn of tears in her eyes when there was no reaction on his face.
"I suppose it was Sohkarra's spells that made you appear alive..." he asked.
"Yes. Everything that we... er did was under the magic..."
"I gotta admit I've made love to all sorts of women over the years. You're the first... dead one I've ever cozied up to," Gene laughed nervously.
"I can understand if it disgusts you..." Menne sighed. Gene moved over to her with the clanking of scaled boots.
"I'd be lying to you if I said it didn't creep me out. But hell, for a dead woman... you still look pretty damned sexy... I mean the bandages and all are a little old... and your skin's kinda bluer then I've seen in a dame... but..."
"You're just humoring me," Menne glanced down.
Gene seized her chin in his fingers. "Hell no," he gritted. "This is coming from a man who dresses up as a vampire on stage. Would I be bullshitting you about this? No fricking way, Menne..."
"I saw what you were beneath the makeup, it was only fair that you see who I was... behind mine..."
"Fair enough, sweetheart," Gene said, stroking her cheek. Gently his hand traced over the scars on her bald scalp. "And besides, there are lots of chicks in this time that go through things like chemo for sickness, and they have no more hair then you do now. A lot crying and worrying that a man won't find them sexy because they are somehow... deformed. But even I can't always explain what's a turn on. Or what really matters. Most people think I'm disgusting, but the dames still flock to my side... go figure..."
"And you only spit up fake blood," Menne laughed softly.
"Hey, different strokes," he laughed, shrugging. "One can never tell what lies under the surface, unless they dig deep enough. But I knew you had a secret babe, and only you were going to pick the time and place to spill it. But that's not all the total truth. For a long time I had a funny feeling about you... that you were something more then you first said. I've been reading this book... and someone in it reminds me of you. Seeing these scars... and your personality... I would swear you were that same gal that was described..."
"What?" Menne asked.
"Remember that book you seemed so surprised I was actually reading?" Gene asked, and let go of her cheek to cross the room. Light glinted off the metal of his costume when he leaned over to pick up something from the couch. He returned with a hard backed book in his hand.
Handing it to her, he said, "Look familiar? An archeologist researching the life of Hapshetsut, and her two daughters wrote it. The gal writes about Princess KarahAmmon, and her sister, Nefru-Re... who was also called Mennehotep..."
If she had been alive, Menne's breath would have rasped into her lungs quickly. Since she was dead, the effect was an echo of its gesture in life, yet still made an audible gasp. "I somehow fit the pieces together... and now that you've revealed yourself... I know for certain..."
"And what is that?" Menne asked, knowing the answer he would perhaps say.
"That you're Mennehotep, Hapshetsut's daughter. And that you loved your sister very much. All you did you thought was best for everyone around you, but you worried constantly about how others would judge you. And now I see it's because you were burned. Hell of a thing for a Princess to hide..."
"My sister was always beautiful. Like you, I hid behind makeup and a wig, and everyone loved the image. But I was so afraid that they would think me repulsive if they saw me without my makeup, my wigs..."
"Did your husband find you ugly?" Gene asked. "Did he ever really see you without all your trappings?"
"It wasn't so odd for women in Egypt to be bald," Menne shrugged. "But the scars I always hid under special cosmetics designed to fool the eye. Strange that I should take up with a man that hides his own appearance for a different reason... to reveal an aspect of himself he keeps hidden in normal life..."
"Well you still are beautiful," Gene said, resting a hand on her cheek. "I mean, you are dead and all... but look, I'm still standing here. So it can't be all that bad now... oh crap that wasn't the best way to say it was it?"
"I suppose that's the best I could expect," Menne said, shaking her head. "The fact you didn't run screaming in fear was a bit encouraging... but this does make things a little difficult..."
"Yeah, I suppose," Gene said. "But what about Peter and your other friend Karra? They're dead too, right?"
"Karra's body is dead, but preserved in a much different fashion... but Nefertina is like me, a mummy."
Gene leaned over her, easy task because of the seven-inch platforms. Dark painted lips pressed a kiss to the scarred skin on her bald head. He wrapped arms around her bandaged form, the coldness of his metallic costume seeping into the coldness of her body. Under her chest his heart beat, his chest rising and falling. Why did it seem easier to tell him when in costume then when he was his normal self? Perhaps it was the irony...
There came the movement of the door opening, and Paul stood there, still clutching the top half of his costume. Menne glanced up in Gene's arms into his inquisitive face.
"I'm dead, Paul," she said, tears in her eyes. "I know I should have told you..."
"I heard," Paul said evenly, striding over to them both on his own platform shoes. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, his makeup white in the dim light of the room. Scant light sparkled off the rhinestones on his leggings and belt.
She could not see the expression in the dark patch of makeup surrounding his right eye, but the left seemed lowered in confusion and shock.
"This is the big secret she's been keeping from us, from you, Casanova," Gene said, and continued to hold Menne's bandaged form in his arms. Her head only came to his mid chest he towered over her so.
"I wish you had told me," Paul said softly.
"You would have perhaps not explored our feelings, would you?" Menne asked.
"Honestly I don't know. It kind of creeps me out... but knowing it now that you and me... we have... I'm still trying to get it..." Paul shook his head. "I mean God... I made love to a corpse... who can walk and talk... its heavy stuff..."
"If you think about it, Ace's woman is also dead," Gene said evenly to Paul, who collapsed into the sofa with shock. Still he glanced at Menne with a glazed look in his dark eyes.
"Were you waiting to tell me too, or was Gene first because..."
"Does it matter?" Menne asked, pushing away from Gene. "When will this little piddling contest between you two resolve..."
"Hey, easy now..." Paul held up a hand. "Look, you only just now revealed that you're dead. It's kinda hard for a guy to accept that all in one sitting okay? But I'm wondering why you didn't come to me first..."
"You would have known. Sooner or later. I didn't stop you from coming in here, did I?" Menne asked.
"Paul, you know, I know, does it make any difference which one of us she told first? If you ask me it took guts for her to tell us on her own time at all..."
"yeah, I suppose," Paul sighed, biting his painted lip. "But I wish you had told me before... Menne."
"But now you know..."
"Let me see you.." Paul said, holding a hand out to her. Slowly she came into the light, and Paul's brow lowered as his eyes took in her appearance.
"Wild," he muttered. "A real mummy. God, you're really... human looking. It's amazing... I mean you're covered in bandages and all... but you're still... pretty..."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Paul," Menne said, not sure if he was sincere or still in shock.
"Did the burns kill you?" he asked, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Or was it something else..."
"Paul, knock off the twenty questions..." Gene muttered crossly. Paul drew Mennehotep to sit next to him on the sofa, and Gene took a place next to her, his hip brushing close to hers.
Paul fingered her amulet, glancing at the amethyst. "This keeps you alive? That's why you have that sarcophagus... holy crap I can't believe it..."
"Believe it, lover boy," Gene glanced at him. "Our Menne's a mummy... and get this... she's the daughter of that cross dressing pharaoh Hapshetsut!"
Paul bit his tongue to stifle the laugh. It erupted downwards into his chest, and he leaned over his knees hugging his sides as he shook with laughter.
Gene joined in, followed by Mennehotep. The tension slowly eased the slightest bit, sandwiched between the two costumed figures.
"So now what?" Paul asked. "You're dead. Does this mean that..."
"It was magic that made it possible to make love before. I have in my hands a potion that can change all that... but before I took it I had to let you know... both of you know what I was. And wonder if you could accept me as I am..."
"I want to try," Paul said softly, fingering her cheek. Gene's arm lay around her shoulders, as he pressed a kiss to her necrotic lips. She felt the trace of dark greasepaint left there. Paul tentatively pressed a kiss as well, leaving a smudge of red makeup over Gene's black lipstick. Slowly his hands traced up the bandages on one arm, stopping before her neck.
"You gotta admit you're pretty well preserved," Paul snickered. "What else are you hiding under those bandages..."
"You and your damned charm," Menne glanced back at him.
"You have to admit it's an honest question," Gene shrugged. "Must take a hell of a long time to unwrap if you're in the mood..."
"To tell the truth I never did when I was this way. I always had Sohkarra's spell... or something else..."
Menne fingered the vial of potion, and glanced from Gene to Paul. "If it's what you want," Paul said.
"Go ahead," Gene nodded. Her finger fumbled with the stopper, and it came off with an audible pop like a bottle of champagne. They both looked on as she downed the contents in one quick sip.
Gene and Paul watched in astonishment as the skin slowly flushed from blue to a healthy tan. Slowly from her head hair started to sprout, full and healthy on one side, but sparse and nonexistent from the other side with the scars. Her chest heaved in and out with each quickening breath she took in. Under Gene's hand he felt the warmth of life coming to once cold flesh, a pulse in the wrist. Menne took in a huge gulp of air, head tossed back with a gasp. The bandages had vanished, leaving her only in the faded Egyptian gown and ornamentation.
"Whoa..." Paul gasped.
"Holy shit that's incredible," Gene chimed in. Still the hand he held
was the scarred one, the red scars bright against the bronzed skin. He
smoothed her hair over her burned scalp, while Paul pressed a kiss to her
lips. That warmth that seeped into his mouth tasted sweeter then any kiss
with her before. Gene's kiss in return was sweetness itself. Paul lay his
head on Menne's lap, his fingers stroking over her chest while Gene continued
with a steamy kiss that caused her to gasp in surprise. Slowly they both
pulled at the fastenings of the garments, as Menne's fingers grabbed at
the back of Gene's neck. Straitening up, Paul cast a knowing look at Gene.
Together they stood up from the couch, each slipping a hand under her thighs.
In unison they lifted her between them and carried her off towards the
back bedroom. Her arms rested across both their shoulders, her fingers
buried into their full heads of thick wavy hair. Menne caught Paul's chin,
burying her lips in his for a full minute before turning to Gene and bestowing
yet another full kiss on his eager mouth as well.
