by Cherry Adair
He’d already logged more miles jogging around the deck than if he’d been in an Ironman race.
Callie’s face lit up. “Give me five minutes to get my shoes.” She dashed out of the room on silent feet, braid bouncing down her back, and Jonah’s scrotum tightened as it always did when she was around. He was starting to get used to the uncomfortable feeling, and the annoying heightened awareness she always brought with her. He was the lamp, Callie the electrical plug.
Everyone was good-natured about the two of them going off without them. Jonah could’ve let any of the others join them Callie. He trusted his chief engineer to get her to and from Fire Island safely. But if anyone was spending the day with her, it would be himself.
He was a glutton for punishment.
By the time Callie got back—a good fifteen minutes at least—Thanos had the Riva running and ready to go. Not that they could even see the smaller boat. They got down to the dive platform more by instinct and feel than by seeing where the hell they were going. Every time they touched metal, they received a snap of electrical charge for their trouble.
“Ouch!” Callie sucked on her thumb and Jonah briefly thought about just tipping himself into the water to cool off.
The generator had allowed Maura and Gayle to electronically contact someone on a weather channel, apparently. “Any updates from that weather services today?” Jonah asked Thanos as they moved through the eerie whiteness of the fog. Even with the retractable hood up as protection from the elements, the fog felt like small, cold, damp, unpleasant fingers trailing across his skin. Static electricity pinched when he touched anything conducting electricity.
The whole trip was turning into an interesting character study of himself. He didn’t do a lot of belly-button psychology. He’d never been superstitious, never had a particularly active imagination, unless it had something to do with a ship he was designing. Nor did he usually get “feelings” from people or places. But apparently his imagination was working overtime on this salvage.
“It wasn’t a weather service,” Thanos grumbled. “I think the captain managed to get ahold of some kid on a shortwave radio. Whoever he is, he said he’d check.” Thanos pulled his windbreaker collar up around his jaw and hunched his shoulders. “He got back to us half an hour ago. Line was crackling, and sounded fried, but the gist, according to him, was that three reporting stations say there is never this kind of fog bank in this area.” He sounded very Greek as he spoke. He was spooked, and attempting not to show it.
“Someone should come and see it for themselves,” Callie said into the oddly muffling miasma. Moisture beaded on her hair and made her skin look even dewier than usual. She’d changed into jeans and a royal-blue windbreaker, which made her eyes look more deep sea than shallow water.
Jonah wanted to snuggle up with her in the protection of the hood. He wanted the right to hold her close, and warm her body with his …
Fuck. He stared blindly into the blank white world through the windshield. It was good to want things. And God only knew, one rarely got what one wanted, not without a boatload of hard work. Which he’d be more than willing to do, if there wasn’t the small matter of a loving husband waiting for her back home.
Too bad all his wants and needs would have to go unfulfilled. Live with it, buddy.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his own jacket and hunched his shoulders, hands fisted to prevent the overwhelming need to grab her. “It’s probably just an anomaly, too low lying to register.”
“It should register,” Thanos said mutinously. “It should alert the weather people. It’s odd, and while unprecedented, their instruments surely should have registered what we can all see plainly with our own fucking eyes. Excuse me, Doctor.”
“Can’t last fo…” Jonah stepped forward. “Well, shit, look at that.” Fire Island appeared ahead of them like a mirage, bathed in brilliant sunshine from a clear, cloudless sky.
Callie looked over her shoulder. “Look behind us.”
Jonah turned. The fog was like a solid mass behind them, yet he felt the heat of the sun hot on his face.
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Callie came to stand beside him, her sleeve brushing his. “We are in the Twilight Zone.”
“Weird, all right. Let’s ask our host about it. He’s lived here all his life. If anyone knows it’ll be Spanos.”
The ancient-looking fishing boat was tied up where it had been a couple of days before. When the craft bumped the cement wall, Jonah jumped out, then held out his hand to help Callie.
“We’re probably going to be here awhile,” he told Thanos. “Want to hang out here in the sun, or head back to Stormchaser?”
The chief engineer scanned the hillside, then glanced back at Jonah. “Mḕ kheíron béltiston,” he said drily.
“And that means?”
“The least bad choice is the best. I’ll head back. How long you think you need?”
Jonah glanced at Callie, who was looking around, taking it all in. “Four hours?”
“A whole library? At least.”
Jonah glanced at Thanos. “Four hours, but bring something to entertain yourself in case we stay longer.”
Thanos saluted, then angled the boat away from the cement dock. The Riva was clearly visible until it was … not.
“We head this way. Watch your step, the ground is sandy and littered with rocks.” He would’ve taken her hand. A chivalrous gesture Jonah would’ve offered his mother or grandmother. Callie was neither. And if he got hold of her hand he’d never fucking let go. He kept a cautious eye on her as she picked her way up to where scrub grass and shrubs made footing safer.
Callie shaded her eyes to look up at the off-center volcano. “When did your new friends say that last erupted?”
“Spanos didn’t appear to know. He deferred to one of the old guys. He said twelve something.”
“So it could’ve sunk Ji Li. You said Spanos didn’t know about her sinking, right? Then why do you think there could be writing about it in his library.”
“Frankly, I’m not even sure it is his library.”
She looked over at him, so Jonah saw himself reflected in her glasses. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“He said he and his sister consider this home, but he’s hardly ever here. And I get the feeling the old guys don’t much like either Spanos. He was pretty vague about what we’d find in the books, and from the amount of dust on the shelves, I doubt anyone has opened any of them in years. Maybe more than a few years. But that’s not what interests me, and you know it. I want to see what we can find about our city. If it is Atlantis, people living this close to it would know about it.”
“Especially in those days.” Callie paused to look around, skin dewy with perspiration. “If Atlantis existed, and if that is Atlantis down there, it would’ve been a major seaport. Trade ships would’ve been coming and going. Any writing or verbal histories passed down through the generations would have descriptions and details. God, I can’t wait to see what we uncover. It’ll be incredible if he allows us free access.”
If Spanos didn’t, Jonah figured he’d have four hours alone with Callie on a picturesque island. He’d had worse days.
“I think he’s trying to buy my favors so I take his sister off his hands,” Jonah said drily, observing the two black robed men waited for them at the top of the hill. They must be lookouts.
“Is she eighty like the men who visited the ship the other day?”
“Nope. Mid-twenties.”
Callie shook her head. “What twenty-something woman wants to live on an isolated island in the middle of nowhere? Are there any other women living here?”
Jonah shrugged. “Didn’t see any, now that I come to think of it.”
“No wonder he wants you to take her off his hands, poor girl.”
Jonah frowned. “I’d reserve judgment on the ‘poor girl’ until you meet her. Our transportation is waiting up ahead.”
Callie looked up to see the m
en and the donkeys. “Cute. But I’d prefer to walk.”
“Same here.”
The two old men insisted that they ride, but Jonah was equally insistent that they walk. He remembered the way, so they wouldn’t get lost. After several minutes of back-and-forth in his poor Greek, the men agreed to let them walk.
“Is everyone who lives here as old as Methuselah?” Callie asked as they started off up the first incline.
“Everyone I’ve seen so far, except for Spanos and his sister.”
“Doesn’t look as if anyone lives here.”
“There’s a small settlement tucked between the hills at the foot of the volcano. Maybe twenty houses. They seem self-sustained. They have communal plots for fruit and vegetables. Some chickens and sheep. Clearly they fish.”
“Doesn’t sound like the kind of place a man would bring his sister to live. How old is he?”
“Forty, maybe? I’m not great at judging someone’s age, but he’s about four decades younger than anyone else around.”
“I wonder what he does with himself here?”
Jonah shrugged. “Not a clue. We’ll ask. He’s some kind of cosmetics-something.”
“This is an odd place for a cosmetics-something to hang out, isn’t it?”
“It’s all odd,” Jonah told her drily. “Ever hear of Hebe Cosmetics? He’s listed as CEO on his business card, with addresses in Athens, New York, and London.”
“Never heard of them. But that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t wear makeup that often. And all those addresses don’t mean anything, either. With an Internet connection and a mailbox, anyone can look like a mogul.”
“Yeah. Exactly what I thought.”
It took less time to get to the small village the second time. Certainly it was quicker on foot than on the donkeys.
“This whole place looks like it’s camouflaged,” Callie observed quietly as they walked up to the front door of the largest house on the island. The house was right on the dirt path, with just a narrow skirt of weedy grass where a chicken pecked for its breakfast.
“Have you noticed how quiet it is?” Callie’s voice was pitched low. “No sounds of humans, or animals, or even birdsong.”
“My thoug—Anndra, good morning.” It was barely nine, and she was wearing a low-cut, glittery black sweater, gold jeans, and high-heeled sandals.
“Jonah. I was so happy when they told me you were—Who is this?”
Callie held out her hand. “Dr. Calista West. It’s nice t—”
“You didn’t say you’d be bringing a woman.” It sounded both accusatory and petulant. She ignored Callie’s outstretched hand.
“Callie is our marine archaeologist. She has an even greater interest than I do in your brother’s papers. Are you going to let us in, or should we wait for your brother out here?”
Wordlessly, Anndra widened the heavy wood door and stood back. Jonah ushered Callie ahead of him.
“Kall is busy. We’re both busy. But I’ll let him know you are here. Wait in the library,” Anndra said flatly, all fake niceties gone. “You know the way.”
“Charming,” Callie said under her breath. “She might be best in show, but she needs her distemper shots.”
Jonah grinned.
Callie looked around, clearly having already forgotten the other woman. “I wonder how old this house is? Architectural design hasn’t changed much in this region for hundreds of years, if not thousands. This looks as if it’s been here for centuries.”
“I suspect so,” Jonah said quietly. There was no one around, but walls always had ears. They strode down the dark hallway, but after turning a corner ran into Small.
“Good day, Kyrie Cutter. You are here to visit my—Kallistrate’s very fine library?” Small asked, his voice cordial enough.
“We are. And happy to be allowed to do so. Callie, this is Bion Eliades. Dr. Calista West from Miami.”
“Despinis.” Eliades bowed his head respectfully, then gestured with a pale, plump hand for them to follow him. He was wide enough to plug the corridor ahead, which meant they plodded slowly behind him. The hem of his robe made a soft, rasping sound on the tile floor, and his sandals made a small snap as he walked.
Jonah stepped closer to Callie as the hair on the back of his neck lifted for no apparent reason.
Nine
“You don’t need to stay if you have something better to do,” Callie told Eliades softly in Greek. Spanos and his sister hadn’t made an appearance. A good thing: She didn’t want anyone hanging over their shoulders all morning. The old man was there, but mostly dozing in his chair, emitting a small throaty snore every now and then.
Already covered with dust, she and Jonah stood in front of one of the ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall bookcases, going through the volumes. The leather-bound books, and thousands of loose-leaf manuscripts, were piled high on every shelf, higgledy-piggledy, three and four deep. It was laborious, dusty work, and she loved every magical second of it.
Callie knew if she dug deep enough into this gold mine of information she might find the gems she needed to decode what lay beneath the aqua waters of Stormchaser’s hull. She wished she had a month alone in the book-lined room. But even with just the few hours they had, the old man remained in the library with them, a corpulent, sleepy guard.
The poor old guy, seated in one of the comfortable, deep leather chairs, kept nodding off. His head jerked up at the sound of her voice. Blinking several times, he cleared his throat. “I am quite content to sit here and let my old bones soak up the sunshine. Don’t let me disturb you.”
* * *
“Can I get you anything?” Callie asked softly. Dressed from head to sandals in dense black wool, he couldn’t be comfortable sitting in the blistering sunlight streaming through the window beside him.
The damp folds of his plump face creased into a sweet smile. “In my own home? It is I, Doctor, who should offer you my hospitality.”
So the house was his, not Kallistrate Spanos’s? She met Jonah’s brilliant blue eyes to see if he’d caught that. He gave an infinitesimal nod. “Thank you n—”
Pushing himself up from the chair, and moving surprisingly fast for a man in his eighties who was at least a hundred pounds overweight, Eliades nodded his balding head as if remembering his hosting duties. “I will bring.”
Callie waited until the sound of Eliades’s surprisingly light footsteps faded to another part of the house. She’d palmed her cell phone in her jean pocket as the old man shuffled out of the room. The second she could no longer hear the snap of his sandals, she was already carefully flipping pages and taking pictures.
“Here,” she whispered, pausing long enough to slide Jonah another tome the size of a phone book from the piles she’d sorted in the last two hours, ready for the time the old man left the room. She’d learned long ago never to ask. The answer was invariably no, and it was easier to beg for forgiveness than permission. She suspected that the sweet old man would not take kindly to them taking pictures of his books.
Keeping her voice low enough so that only Jonah, standing two feet away, would hear her, she instructed, “Take pictures from the middle to the end, as fast as you can, before he comes back.”
“Find something?” Immediately opening the heavy manuscript to the middle, Jonah slipped his phone from his back pocket. He didn’t ask any more questions, just started taking pictures and turning pages.
He needed a shave, of course, but at least he wore a black T-shirt over black shorts this morning. He looked disreputable and sexy. The thick fog on the boat ride coming over had put a bit of curl in Jonah’s dark hair, which had since dried. It should’ve softened his face, but instead the slightly shaggy, rumpled strands made him look even more masculine and appealing. Callie had been itching to comb her fingers through his hair for hours. But instead she kept them busy flipping the heavy vellum pages that smelled of dust, leather, and age.
She loved how focused he was, even though he had no idea what he was lookin
g at, or for. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek as he took a picture and flipped the pages. Rugged, masculine to the nth degree, and heart-poundingly sexy, Jonah Cutter was every fair maiden’s wildest sexual fantasy.
But she was no fair maiden, and having sexual fantasies about a man she was going to screw out of his discovery of a lifetime made her feel like more of a bitch than ever.
She hadn’t told Rydell that when she’d talked to him at the crack of daybreak this morning. She’d mentioned the strange fog, and the head, and the mechanical whatever-it-was. She’d told him about the silver and gold coins; she’d briefly discussed the lava tube, and the tiled floor. She hadn’t mentioned the owner of Stormchaser or his natural allure.
Click. Turn page. Click. Turn. Click.
“Let me put it this way.” Callie spoke softly as she finished taking shots of the book she was holding. “I’m guardedly freaking excited.” An understatement of epic proportions. Inside she was doing a happy Snoopy dance, yelling Holyshit! Holyshit! Holy. Shit! at the top of her lungs.
Click. Turn page. Click. Turn page.
She spoke and read Greek, both modern and ancient, but the faded, spidery writing in the manuscripts was more ancient than ancient, and very hard to decipher. “I need more time to identify and analyze the structure of the morphemes—”
Click. Turn page.
“Which is?”
Click. Turn page.
The linguistic skill called morphology would help her ID linguistic units so she could better understand what she was reading. Or rather, trying to read. It seemed like a root dialect. Something akin to Greek, but also Latin. “Implied context, root words, intonation,” Callie told him absently, taking pictures as fast as the cell phone camera would allow, and as fast as she could turn pages while being careful not to tear the delicate vellum.
No gloves; books left out here in the open, in a dusty, brightly sunlit room. The scientist in her cringed at such carelessness. These documents were invaluable. Priceless.
“Dear God…” Callie shifted the phone so she could better look at a newly opened page. This time her heart didn’t race, it stopped with a hard thump. “I hope what I think I’m reading is really what I think it is—” Lord, what was she doing? No time to speculate—Go. Go. Go. Before the hefty guard gets back, her brain screamed.