Free Mysterious Cairo by Edited By Ed Stark, Dell Harris

was strong, insistent. After a brief struggle, the case toppled. It struck the floor like a sack of wet jelly, making a plopping sound instead of the breaking glass Cage expected. He forged ahead, the remaining cases tipping and falling before his onslaught until only one remained. It glared at him with its smokey, glass-filtered light, standing tall and defying his advance.
    Its insolence angered Cage. He balled his hand into a fist and drew it back, determined to shatter this case before knocking it aside. He stopped, though, when he saw what the case contained. It held his Fedora, mocking him with its worn, well-used treasure.
    If it thought to delay him with its tactics, the case had another think coming. Cage almost laughed at himself for personifying these objects, but he couldn't laugh at the wet, dragging sounds emerging from the maze at his back. The rest of the maze was coming to the defense of its brethren, and Cage had to force himself not to turn around. If he saw the shifting shapes of the display cases, if he looked upon them as they dragged themselves closer, he would go insane. Instead, he kept his gaze focused on the case containing his hat. Suddenly he thrust his fist through the glass door, hoping to catch the case off guard. He braced himself for the impact, for the sharp pain of splintering glass. But all his fist encountered was a cold, wet membrane. His hand passed through it with hardly any effort, and it greedily sucked it in up to his elbow and held him fast.
    Cage ignored the wet grip and the changing shape of the case before him. He tried to block out the feel of its cold touch, the sight of its shifting black form. Instead, he concentrated on searching with his finger tips for his Fedora. It didn't take long to find it. He grabbed its soft-felt crown and pulled. But the case, now a shapeless oil-black mass at the end of his arm, refused to release him.
    "Let go," Cage ordered, tugging with all his might. "Give me back my hat!"
    The tug of war lasted a moment longer, then Cage's hand and the Fedora popped free. The black mass squealed, then scurried away into a corner of the shop. Behind him, the dragging, wet sounds stopped. Cage shuddered, examining his arm and hat for any signs of damage. Satisfied that all was in order, he placed the Fedora on his head.
    "Perfect," he decided, tilting the hat down over his forehead. He reached behind his back and pulled out his 9mm Browning. He turned, risking a look at the rest of the maze. The cases were just cases, all glass and velvet and proper light. They were closer than before, of course, with every display turned to face him, but they had stopped moving. He stared at them, waiting to see if they would change and move while he watched. He willed them to move, to flow, to advance upon him. Nothing happened. "Time to check out the prize exhibit, then," he decided.
    Angus Cage strode purposefully toward the curtain of shimmering black.
    * * *
    To Cage's surprise, the curtain parted without a struggle. He looked at it warily, then ducked beneath it and stepped into the stone chamber. The chamber appeared much the same as when Cage last saw it. Arcane runes were inscribed upon the walls. Black candles flickered with malevolent light. Eleven bell jars, sitting atop eleven pedestals, circled two stone sarcophagi. The differences, minor though they were, stuck out like sore thumbs.
    Quentin Payne stood before the mummified remains of Sutenhotep, spouting words in a language Cage had never heard before. Even though he could not understand them, the words made Cage uneasy. Payne directed his chant toward the shop's last customer, a dark-skinned young man who stood perfectly still. This was Payne's going-out-of-business sale, Cage knew.
    The small man with the carnival voice was pulling out all the stops to make one last done deal. The words he spoke were powerful, electrifying, and each one fell like thunder from Payne's small, smiling mouth.
    As Cage watched,