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Jonathan stood by the hall table, sorting through the letters he'd just collected. The table was stacked high with books and papers—some of Evy's museum work—and he had absolutely no idea what a risk he took by standing where he did.
Just as Jonathan came to the disappointing conclusion that no letter had come from Ardeth—and had made the jarring yet happy discovery that cousin Horace's wedding invitations had arrived—Alex came tearing through on some childish mission to get from one place to another as quickly as possible.
As the wee tyke tried to turn toward the stairs, he lost his balance and slammed into the table.
Papers and books exploded everywhere, and because gravity apparently had a bone to pick with Jonathan, the largest, heaviest tome landed squarely on his foot.
"Ow!" Jonathan cried, dropping the letters and hopping up and down. "Bloody hell!"
In fact, he was fairly certain his toe was bleeding.
"Bloody hell, Alex!" He hobbled to the nearby hallway bench and collapsed onto it. "You should be more careful."
"Sorry, Uncle John," Alex said, approaching slowly with a cowed look on his face. "I didn't mean to."
"Yes, I know." Jonathan reached for his foot and winced. "Bloody he—"
This time, he caught himself. He froze, a cold chill creeping up his back, and he glanced furtively around. Evy might be anywhere.
He fixed wide eyes on his very impressionable four-year-old nephew. "Um, you mustn't repeat what I just said."
"What did you just say?" Alex asked innocently, blinking up at him.
"Oh. Nothing. Excellent." Crisis averted, then. Jonathan pushed to his feet, his toe protesting. "Help me clean this up, then, will you?"
"Oh, all right." Alex rolled his eyes, something his parents would have scolded, but Jonathan was an uncle—a fun one—so he didn't have to.
++
Jonathan sat in the library, reading over one of Evy's papers—she'd asked him to, as a second opinion, and he felt quite honored—when the distinct crash of breaking glass sounded from the hall.
"Oh, Alex!" Evy's voice echoed down the corridor. "You really ought to be more careful. What if this had been an antique!"
"Bloody hell, Mum, I was just playing."
A crushing silence fell, like the blade of a guillotine. Jonathan's eyes bulged. Bugger.
"What did you just say to me?" Evy's voice was calm. Too calm.
"Um." Alex sounded distinctly like he was backing away. "Nothing."
"Mhm."
Jonathan pushed to his feet. He needed to run. Fast. Perhaps to another country entirely. Preferably one without an extradition treaty.
"Jonathan!" Evy shouted. Footsteps thundered closer. "What have I said about language!"
Jonathan sank back into the chair. This was it. This was the end. He'd survived the rise of Imhotep only to be brought down by—
The door flew open, and the wrath on Evy's face was enough to turn a man to stone.
"Bloody hell."