Night’s Mistress (Children of The Night #5)(28)
Author: Amanda Ashley

“It’s . . . I guess ‘interesting’ would be the best way to describe it. There’s so much to choose from, so many textures and flavors unheard of in my time, or yours.” You could spend thirty minutes in the store just trying to decide on what kind of bread to buy—white or whole wheat, potato or rye, cinnamon with raisins, or Hawaiian. Not to mention bagels and buns and muffins in mind-boggling varieties.

“I should have thought to recommend a book on nutrition.” Ramsden pulled his prescription pad from his coat pocket and jotted down the title of a well-known book on dieting and pregnancy. “You might want to pick up a copy of this on your way home, or look for it online. And try to get some exercise.” Tearing the sheet from the pad, he handed it to her. “I’ll want to see you again in six weeks.” He made a notation on her chart. “Have you given any thought to moving here, at least for the time being?”

“No, why?”

He lifted one brow. “Because your doctor is here.”

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“You remember I told you it might be necessary to hospitalize you during the last trimester?”

She nodded, though spending three months in bed was the last thing she wanted. Of course, if she could spend it in bed with Logan, it wouldn’t be so bad. “Do you think that’s going to be necessary?”

“No, but I’d like you close by, just in case.” At her worried expression, he patted her arm reassuringly. “I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily, but you need to be prepared for . . .”

“For what?”

“For complications,” he said. “As far as I can tell, everything is as it should be, but due to your past, there could be problems. You understand?”

She placed her hand over her stomach, reassured when she felt the baby move.

“The way things look now, I don’t see any need for bed rest. Assuming nothing changes, I’d suggest you arrange to be here no later than the end of September. I’d like you close by during that last month. First babies often come early, and with your history”—he shrugged—“better safe than sorry.”

Mara nodded. She had hoped to find a doctor in Los Angeles, but qualified vampire doctors were few and far between; in case of an emergency, she wanted a doctor who knew about her preternatural background.

“So, how’d it go?” Logan asked when she entered the waiting room.

“He said everything’s fine.” She refused to think that something might go wrong. With every day that passed, the baby she carried became more real, more important. “How would you feel about moving to Nevada in a month or two?”

Logan frowned, then grunted softly. “I guess it would be a good idea, wouldn’t it? I’ll see about finding us a place to live.”

Mara stared at the date on the newspaper. July third. It was her birthday, an event she hadn’t thought of or celebrated since Dendar had brought her across all those centuries ago. Counting only her mortal life time, she was twenty-one years old today. Twenty-one, unmarried, and pregnant. It would have been a scandal in days gone by. She remembered when girls who had the misfortune to get pregnant out of wedlock were locked away, or sent out of town to stay with a relative until the baby was born. These days, it was no big deal. Girls went to school pregnant; they even took their babies to school with them. Morality seemed to have gotten lost somewhere along the way, along with so many other values that were now viewed as old-fashioned and out-of-date. All in all, she thought mankind had been more civilized back in the early twentieth century. Certainly human values today were not what they once had been.

Mara placed a hand on her swollen abdomen. What kind of world would her child grow up in? She had been excited the night she felt the baby’s first kick. She had gone to the bookstore and bought a dozen books on childbirth and child rearing and read them avidly, her excitement waning from one page to the next as the reality of what she was facing dampened her enthusiasm. Parenting was an awesome responsibility. She could barely take care of herself these days. How could she raise a child? She had never had a loving home, but she wanted one for her son or daughter. Perhaps Dr. Ramsden could help her find a suitable couple to adopt her child.

With a sigh, Mara gazed out the window. Her son or daughter would never know her. Perhaps she could write a letter to be given to her child when it was old enough to understand why she’d had to give it up. Or, better yet, perhaps she would write the story of her life. If it did nothing else, it would provide her with something to do until the baby was born.

Excited by the idea, she booted up the computer, then sat there, staring at the blank screen. How to begin? At the beginning, of course. The words flowed as she described her early years, the time she had spent as a slave in Pharaoh’s household, Dendar’s appearance in her cell, her awakening in the per nefer, the room where mummies were made.

Mara paused, wondering if she should describe the process used for making mummies. It was a rather grisly undertaking, one that took seventy days to complete. The chief embalmer, known as the hery seshta, wore a jackal mask to represent Anubis, the god of mummification. He had assistants known as the wetyu. After the organs were removed from the corpse and dried, they were placed in special containers called canopic jars. In the afterlife, the various parts of the body would come together again and the deceased would again be whole. Once all the organs were removed, the body was washed with wine and rubbed with spices and then it was left to dry for forty days. After the body was fully dried, it was adorned with jewelry and then wrapped in a linen shroud and bound with strips of linen.

After the mummy was wrapped, it was fitted with a mask fashioned in the likeness of the deceased so the ka, or spirit, would recognize itself in mummy form. The masks of kings had been made of gold; the masks of lesser mortals had been made of wood and painted gold. Slaves weren’t customarily mummified, but Shakir had been a wealthy man and he had wanted to take his slaves, all of them, into the afterlife with him. If it hadn’t been for Dendar, she would now be lying in Shakir’s tomb.

Mara glanced over her shoulder as Logan entered the room. He had fed recently. It showed in the lingering glow in his eyes, the added color in his cheeks.

He smiled when he saw her. “What are you doing there?” Coming up behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and looked over her head at the screen. “What is this?”