I turned my head, catching sight of Danaus out of the corner of my eye. He had approached while my focus was on the city and surrounding area. The leather duster was gone, but he still wore his black cotton pants and black sleeveless T-shirt. There were several knives strapped to his waist, wrists, and thigh. He was prepared for battle.

“I see you’ve fed,” he said as he stepped closer to the railing. I resisted the urge to run my finger over my lips. I generally wasn’t a messy eater. “You’re…pink,” he continued, filling in the silence. The word stumbled and tripped from his throat as if he struggled for an appropriate description.

Throwing my head back, I laughed, the sound drawing the attention of several deckhands. I always looked a bit flushed after a good meal, my skin taking on a pinker, more lifelike color for a few hours, but I hadn’t expected him to notice. He wasn’t looking particularly happy with me; not that he ever was, but his glare seemed more censuring than usual.

Leaning back, my elbows rested lightly on the rails. “Have you eaten?” He nodded, his gaze directed at the dock as we pulled in. “I bet something died for your meal.”

His narrowed eyes jerked to my face. “It’s not the same.” His jaw was clenched and his lips pressed into a hard, thin line. Hot, angry power bubbled within him, pulsing against me in waves that would have rivaled the midday sun that baked the Egyptian landscape. “Why not?” I turned and walked toward the bow, my eyes on Aswan. I didn’t expect an answer or want one. There shouldn’t be a difference. I didn’t care what he thought. We both did what we had to in order to survive; it was as simple as that.

It wasn’t long afterward that we docked at Aswan, our little boat skirting several larger cruise ships to settle at a less crowded berth. I jumped down to the wooden dock, not looking back to see if Danaus had followed. But I could feel him a few steps behind me, his anger simmering. I was irritated with him. At least, I think he was bothering me. It could have been that I was forced to cut short my time with Michael, or that I didn’t know where the hell Jabari was. It could have even been the fact that the naturi were once again threatening and I didn’t want to face them. It could have been any or all of these things, but right now Danaus was an easy target.

I paused on the Corniche el-Nil for a moment, gazing up and down the road as I tried to get my bearings. The road ran north-south along Aswan closest to the Nile, housing a variety of travel agencies, which in turn managed the various motor launches and feluccas that ferried tourists to the islands that dotted this stretch of the Nile. We had landed farther south in Aswan than I’d anticipated. Directly in front of me was the Nile and Elephantine Island, and beyond that, Kitchener’s Island, with its exotic botanic gardens. One block over behind me, the rich sounds of the souq could be heard. Vendors would be at their trade for another few hours, hawking their wares to anyone who passed close enough to be considered a potential customer. Vibrant Nubian music filled the air, played on pear-shaped guitars called ouds and shallow douff drums. The sun had set, but the city was just coming alive as people finally escaped the oppressive heat of the day.

During my stay with Jabari, we had passed most of our time farther north, in Thebes and occasionally in Alexandria. Because I needed to feed more frequently than he did, the Ancient thoughtfully lingered near populous areas, though I suspected he would have preferred to move to a more remote, secluded location. On two occasions we took trips up the Nile to Aswan, where we stayed within the local Nubian villages; Jabari’s true home.

Just prior to moving to the New World, I encountered Jabari in Venice during one of my infrequent visits to the Coven. He spoke of moving south to Aswan to oversee the construction of the first Aswan dam. It would flood the areas that had once been the heart of the Nubian empire. While I never had a chance to ask him decades later, I was confident that the Ancient Nubian had also overseen the construction of the High Dam and the careful moving of Abu Simbel and Philae to a safer, drier location.

Walking north along Corniche el-Nil, I weaved my way through the crowds as they stepped off their feluccas and headed back toward their hotels, with Danaus following like a dark rain cloud. The people barely looked up at me as I passed by. The city had a feeling about it that whispered of darker things than me. Jabari had spent his entire existence in this part of the world. He had ventured elsewhere, seen the green lands of South America and the cold tundra of Russia, but he always came back to his beloved Egypt. I think the people of Aswan could feel him when he was there. They never understood what it was they were feeling, though; perhaps assumed it was one of the old gods lingering in the temples or a pharaoh’s ghost.

I wondered if they felt his absence. The people hurried down the streets with their heads down, careful not to make eye contact. The Middle East had always been rife with civil unrest, but now there was an edge to the people that I couldn’t understand. Maybe they knew their god was missing.

After a few blocks I finally found what I was searching for. Unfortunately, the ferry to the West Bank was closed for the night. Aswan lay on the East Bank, overflowing with rich vegetation, hotels, and shops. The West Bank was mostly desert, with only a few monuments visited by tourists throughout the day. However, all those monuments closed by 5:00 P.M., so there was no reason for the ferry to remain open past that hour.

Shoving my hand through my hair, I turned where I stood, gazing up and down Corniche for an open felucca. It was only a guess, but I truly doubted that Jabari would have settled near the busy heart of Aswan. There were two types of nightwalkers: those that ran from their past, such as myself, and those that still embraced their human history, like Jabari. I knew where he would have gone. I just had to get there.

A smile lifted my lips as my eyes fell on a young man with skin like rich coffee as he was tying up his small felucca. It couldn’t have held more than six people, smaller than most used by tourists, but he could have easily advertised it as a more private excursion.

I bargained for the price of a quick jaunt across the Nile to the landing for the Tombs of the Nobles. He was polite enough to at least ask if I was aware of the fact that the Tombs were closed, but he didn’t push the matter. What did he care? He would get paid whether I was turned away at the entrance or not.

Danaus and I boarded the small boat and the captain pushed off from the dock and immediately unfurled the white sail. Between the brisk wind and the swift flow of the Nile, we were able to cross to the West Bank in only a few minutes. Something in me wished for more time, though. I would have liked to head farther up river to see the Temple of Philae in her new home, bathed in the glow of golden floodlights. Or even gone down river to Edfu and the Temple of Horus. While a Roman replica of ancient Egyptian architecture, the temple still outdated my lengthy existence and was magnificent to see. But for now, I sat in a tiny boat with a vampire hunter while I searched for an Ancient vampire that might or might not be dead.