Cobra.

Jess involuntarily flinched and the cobra reacted, rearing up to eye level and flaring its hood wide around its sleek head. Black eyes glittered in golden light, and for an eerie moment the thing looked like a ghost of ancient pharaohs risen again. It swayed slightly, watching him.

From somewhere behind him, Wolfe whispered, “Don’t move,” and Jess didn’t. He stayed as still as he could, exchanging stares with the reptile that swayed slowly in front of him. He didn’t know much about snakes—there weren’t many in England, and none like this deadly creature—but he knew sudden moves were a terrible idea, even if all he wanted to do was throw himself backward. Cobras, he remembered his friend Khalila telling him, could strike the length of their body, and this one looked as long as Jess was tall. At least Egyptian cobras didn’t spit. He was remembering a surprising amount of information from new-minted Scholar Khalila Seif’s lecture, to which he’d only half listened. Most critically, he remembered that the venom could easily be fatal without immediate treatment.

“Move back very slowly,” Jess heard Wolfe say. The Scholar hadn’t moved, thankfully. “Very deliberate movements. Native Egyptian cobras are not overly territorial; it wants escape, not confrontation. Give it a chance to go.”

“It had a chance,” Jess said. “It didn’t go.”

“It was attracted by her body heat. And stop talking and do as I say!”

Helva’s eyes were fixed on him, too. Her face was a dirty gray, covered in sweat, and he didn’t like the labored way she was breathing. The cobra continued to focus on Jess, which he supposed was the best outcome; if it turned on Helva again, she’d have no chance at all. I could try to shoot it, he thought. If he fired accurately, he might kill it. If he didn’t, it could bite him or Helva, and shooting Helva even with half-strength rounds might kill her, anyway.

“Back away,” Wolfe said again. “Do it, Brightwell!”

It was the snap of command in Wolfe’s voice that made Jess finally comply. He’d grown so used to following the Scholar’s orders as a student that before his forebrain could argue with the order, his hindbrain had already begun to move him backward, one slow scrape of his knees at a time. The snake shivered, as if considering a strike, but it held back and watched him shuffle in retreat.

The hood slowly deflated, and the snake—sleek and fast now—slid off of Helva and made for a darker corner of the room. Jess watched it without moving until he was certain it was set on escape, and then breathed a burning sigh of relief and lunged forward to Helva. She struggled to sit up, but he held her down. “How long?” he asked her. She gave him a weak, pale-lipped smile.

“A few minutes,” she said. “I was afraid he’d bite me again, so I didn’t dare call out. Thanks.”

“For what? I didn’t even kill the thing.” I should have, he thought, looking down at his comrade’s sweating, pallid face. He should have killed it. What if it came back?