by Jasmine Walt
I listened closely and nodded when he finished. “That makes sense . . . kind of like people who buy a really expensive bottle of wine for the brand, not realizing that the actual wine might not be as good as the wine in a much cheaper bottle,” I said, using some of the knowledge my winemaker dad had instilled in me growing up.
“Precisely,” Marcus agreed.
“Okay . . .” The rain had decreased to the usual, soft drizzle, and I reached for the door handle.
“Lex?” Marcus said before I opened the door. “Where are you going?”
“To the bus stop. I thought I’d head home.” When I saw the confusion wrinkling his brow, I added, “I’m kind of tired . . . it’s been a long morning.”
“Ah. I’m on my way back to campus. I’ll give you a ride.”
“Oh? Thanks. I’d appreciate that,” I said, truly grateful. I really hadn’t been looking forward to heading back out into the rain.
Marcus’s responding smile was mischievous as he started the car. “Besides, we have to finish our game of show and tell. I told you about the black market,” he said the last two words like they were the name of a scary monster. “Now it’s your turn to show me what’s in the bag.”
I laughed. “I almost forgot!”
The look he gave me as he pulled away from the curb seemed to say, I’m sure, with heavy sarcasm.
As he drove, I pulled the little box out of the bag and lifted its lid. The carving was swaddled like a mummy in layer after layer of soft cloth, but I managed to unwrap it eventually. I studied the miniature goddess in the dim midday light. She was unusual for a Hathor depiction; though the traditional ankh was dangling from her fingers at her side and her head was crowned with the usual graceful cow horns cradling a sun disk, she was also holding a Wedjat—an Eye of Horus—in front of her stomach.
I’d been examining the statuette so intently that I hadn’t noticed the car stop. Looking up, I saw the bright red light of a stoplight and could feel Marcus’s eyes on me. “See,” I said, holding Hathor up for his inspection.
He breathed in sharply. “Lex, where did you get that?” His voice held a chill I didn’t understand.
“Uh . . . you’re kidding, right? From Genevieve’s shop . . .”
He waved my obvious explanation away. “I know that. I meant, where in her store was she keeping it? This is the type of thing she usually reserves for me.”
I puffed up, excited that I’d found something Marcus wanted . . . and I’d found it first. “It was on one of the tables. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Yes, quite,” he said softly. We were moving again, the road drawing his attention away from the carving in my hand.
“Can you tell what the stone is?” I asked, testing him.
“Alabaster—true Egyptian alabaster.” Damn.
“And what’s unusual about it? Aside from the amazing detail, I mean.”
“Her accessories.” Double damn.
“What period is it from?”
“Old Kingdom, Sixth Dynasty.”
“You got all of that from a ten-second glance?” I asked, dumfounded . . . again. If those were the observation skills of a truly talented archaeologist, then I had no business in the discipline.
“No.”
I scoffed. “So . . . what? You’ve seen it before?”
“Yes.”
Which, much to my annoyance, meant I hadn’t found it first. “Where? When? That’s not fair!”
He rolled over my indignation as if it were nonexistent. “She belonged to my sister.”
Again, I was stunned. “Your sister? Where’d she get it? And why the heck did she give it away?”
“She acquired the statuette a long time ago, though I don’t know from where. And she didn’t give it away.” He paused, frowning. “She, ah . . . many of her things were shuffled around and many were lost after she died.”
“Oh, Marcus, I—” I swallowed several times, unsure of what to say. I wanted to know where Marcus’s sister had obtained the statuette, but it really wasn’t the time to ask. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
Bringing the car to a stop, Marcus said, “I never expected you would.” He looked at me, a small, sad smile on his face. “It was a very long time ago. Don’t waste your sympathy on me.”
“But—”
“Enough, Lex. I’m not fond of talking about her.” He shifted his eyes to stare out the windshield. “We’re here.”
Surprised, I looked around and found my brick apartment building just beyond the passenger side window. I’d been so focused on Marcus and the carving that I probably wouldn’t have noticed if we’d run over someone during the drive.
I turned back to him, holding up the statuette. “You should take this. It was your sister’s, and—”
He reached over, plucked Hathor out of my grasp, and began rewrapping her in the pale green cloth. He tucked the bundle in the gift box, and that in the bag, then set it on my lap. “No. She belongs to you now.” Finally, he met my eyes again. “Just take good care of her.”
I nodded, my mouth dry. “I, um . . .” I cleared my throat. “Okay. Thank you. And thanks for the ride.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
As I exited his car, I thought back on the eventful day.
“Lex?” Marcus called out before I could shut the door.
I poked my head back into the car. “Yeah?”
“See you on Monday.”
I smiled. “Bye, Marcus.”
12
Ah-ha! & Agh!
After a tearful goodbye hug, I left my mom in my apartment, knowing she would be gone by the time I returned. The farewell was bittersweet—my eagerness to begin working with the excavation team mixed with a longing for the days when my mom was always waiting for me when I got home. She’d always been a safe place—a comforting embrace—and having her stay with me after the Mike incident had been exceptionally therapeutic. Unfortunately, it also seemed to have reverted my emotional state to that of a twelve-year-old.
In my morning prep, I had been surprised by my reflection. My face had abandoned the gauntness of several days past, but retained the almost feverish coloring—my cheeks were still noticeably rosy, and my lips were so pink that they contrasted starkly with my pale, blemish-free skin. And my eyes . . . they still teetered on the precipice between brown and red, a far more conspicuous color than they’d been a week earlier. For the most part, I credited the changes to excitement. However, my eyes still troubled me.
On the walk to Denny Hall, I did nothing to suppress the cheerful bounce in my step. Before I bounded up the three flights of stairs to the top floor, I considered stopping by Dr. Ramirez’s office for a quick hello, but I opted not to. I needed to start working on the excavation like I needed air.
When I reached the rarely used fourth floor, I peeked into each consecutive darkened classroom and a few of the smaller offices. The narrow, windowless hallway zigzagged around the floor like a well-planned maze, giving the odd impression that the building was larger on the inside than it had seemed from the outside.
When I approached the second-to-last classroom door, I noticed a laminated sign taped to the front with THE PIT written in bold over a Wedjat. Since the well-known symbol of Horus’s eye was second only to an ankh in representing all things ancient Egyptian to the masses, I was pretty sure I’d found excavation central.
Opening the door and stepping inside, I nearly collided with Marcus. “Oh!” I exclaimed.
“Lex,” he said, seeming to hold back a laugh. “I thought you might have become lost.”
I chuckled nervously, very aware of the three other sets of eyes examining me from further in the classroom. “Not exactly. I didn’t know the room number . . . had to guess and check. You probably heard me banging around.”
His lips curved into a faint smile. “Perhaps a little. My apologies for the oversight.” He stepped aside. “Please, come in.”
Without his sleek, towering form blocking my view, I cou
ld see the layout of the room. It was larger than I’d expected, and much wider than it was long. Mismatched, wooden bookshelves lined every available space along the walls, only absent in those spots already occupied by one of a half-dozen desks. Each shelf had a small bronze placard attached to its front. Tables of various sizes and materials were arranged around the room, and nearly every surface was covered with cardboard boxes or antique chests.
I’d never been in the room before, and was excited by the prospect of discovering all the goodies it contained. Are the tablets Marcus mentioned here? What’s in the chests? Which texts are lining the shelves? I had no doubt the collection would prove to be filled with rare items. And who are the people staring at me?
As I walked through the doorway, Marcus again placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me away from the prying eyes to a very familiar, battered desk. Its presence was enough to shake my focus from the pressure of his hand.
“That’s my desk from downstairs!” I exclaimed happily. Just seeing it made me feel oddly at home.
“Yes, well, I thought it might help you settle in. I’m afraid I’ve shaken up your world a bit.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” I said earnestly, grinning at him. For a moment, I forgot my new surroundings and lost myself in his amber eyes.
At the other end of the room, someone cleared a throat, and Marcus’s mouth thinned, transforming him from friendly colleague to annoyed businessman.
“Come, Lex, I’ll introduce you to the team,” he said, leading me across the room. Three notably attractive people watched our approach with differing expressions. I briefly wondered if, along with antiques, Marcus made it a habit of collecting beautiful people.
“This is Dominic l’Aragne, the excavation’s Project Manager,” Marcus said, indicating the man on the left. He was pale and trim, and he studied me with exceptionally dark eyes. His features were sharp, almost pointy, an effect made more severe by the way his dark brown, jaw-length hair was swept back.
“Hello, Ms. Larson,” Dominic said, a thick French accent making the simple greeting sound remarkably elegant.
“Hi,” I said, smiling shyly, and his severe expression softened a little.
“If you need anything, just let Dom know and he’ll make the arrangements. And this young lad is Josh Claymore, my research assistant,” Marcus told me, introducing the man on the right. He was blond and slightly burly, but he had an open, youthful face. His short hair stuck out haphazardly, making him appear slightly unkempt.
Nearly bouncing with excitement, Josh extended his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you! We’ve heard a lot about you.”
His enthusiasm surprised me. “Um . . . it’s nice to meet you too,” I said, shaking his hand.
The last of the three people, quite possibly the most breathtakingly gorgeous woman I’d ever seen, was glaring at Marcus.
Indicating her with a sweep of his hand, Marcus said, “And this is Neffe, my second-in-command.”
“Ms. Larson,” she said, meeting my eyes and pursing her full lips. The perfect, sultry features on her heart-shaped face hardened.
“Hello,” I said, more than a little intimidated.
Josh leaned forward and, loud enough for everyone to hear, whispered, “Don’t mind her, she’s always like that. Must’ve been how she was raised or something.”
To my complete shock, Dominic barked a raucous laugh. Neffe transferred her glare from me to Josh and Dominic, and I took the opportunity to send a questioning glance to Marcus.
He shrugged, his eyes opened wide in the most ridiculous imitation of innocence.
Backing away from the potentially insane group of people, I mumbled, “I think I’ll just get situated at my desk.” My retreat was complete within seconds.
Sitting down, I was grateful that my torturous wooden chair hadn’t been relocated along with my desk. Instead, I had a cushy new leather office chair. Better to encourage long nights of intense concentration and research, I supposed. I was surprised to find that everything on and in my desk was exactly as it had been in the graduate office, which meant it was a mess. A slight pang of sadness twanged in my chest at the realization that, with the abrupt change, I’d rarely see the few graduate students I’d befriended over the past two and a half years.
“I thought you might like to see this,” Marcus said softly as he set a flat, wooden box on top of the papers scattered on my desk. Through the glass top, I could see an impeccable, hieroglyph-covered stone tablet.
“Marcus,” I said without taking my eyes from the object in front of me. “Is this—”
“Yes.”
“But where’s the other one? You said there were two.” I was leaning closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at the box’s contents.
“It’s unrelated to our present work.”
I barely heard his words, entranced as I was by the slab of smooth, gray-green schist.
“Lex—”
“Can I open it?” I interrupted, eagerness evident in my voice. I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes.
Marcus grinned and nodded.
“Oh. Wow.” With the glass lid removed, the artifact was even more amazing. Shaped like a closed parabola, the dark stone tablet looked like it could have been carved only a few days earlier. Every inch was untouched by the usual rigors of time. “Where’d you say you found this?” I whispered.
“I didn’t,” Marcus said, avoiding the question.
I gently closed the glass lid and faced him. “Okay, he-who-can’t-answer-an-implied-question, then where did you find it? And when?”
Across the room, one of the other men coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like an attempt to cover up a laugh.
The corner of Marcus’s mouth quirked, but I couldn’t tell if he was hiding a smile or a frown. “I can’t remember the exact date, but it was years ago. It was hidden in a secret compartment at the foot of Hatnofer’s coffin.”
“Hatnofer? As in, Senenmut’s mother?” I clarified.
Ever since I’d first learned about the many mysteries surrounding Hatchepsut and her relationship with her chief advisor and architect, Senenmut, years ago, I’d been enamored with the subject. Had they been lovers? Had Senenmut betrayed the female pharaoh, and had she banished him as a result? His body wasn’t in either of the tombs he’d carefully prepared for himself, so where was it? And what happened to Neferure, Hatchepsut’s daughter and Senenmut’s one-time pupil? As far as history was concerned, she simply disappeared as a young woman. My mind whirled with the possible implications of the tablet having been hidden with Senenmut’s mother’s mummy, especially because Senenmut had been the architect of Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple, Djeser-Djeseru, which apparently contained the hidden entrance to a secret, underground temple. It was just . . . wow.
“Marcus,” I said, my voice low and trembling. “If this was concealed in Hatnofer’s coffin, isn’t it logical to deduce that Senenmut put it there?”
“It is.”
“And if he put it there, then he probably made it?”
“One would think.”
My heart started beating faster. “Then, wouldn’t the next logical deduction be that this hidden temple, linked to Djeser-Djeseru, might actually be Senenmut’s elusive final resting place?” People—treasure hunters and archaeologists alike—had been searching for his body for centuries.
“Quite possible,” Marcus said in his infuriatingly calm way.
“How are you not exploding with excitement over this? This is unreal! We may end up solving one of the greatest historical mysteries ever!” My chest heaved with each breath as I tried to calm myself down.
Finally showing some emotion, Marcus smiled devilishly. “I assure you, Lex, I’m quite excited. I’m just . . . practiced . . . at keeping my excitement hidden.” From his deep, velvety tone, I had the distinct impression that we were talking about two entirely different things. “Would you like the translation?” he asked smoothly.
Transl
ation? Of his innuendo? I was pretty sure I could guess what he meant by his ‘excitement.’ Briefly, my eyes flicked down to the front of his pants. “Uh . . . what?” I asked, totally befuddled.
Eyes sparkling like singed topaz, Marcus widened his smile. “Senenmut’s tablet. Shall I tell you what it says?”
Embarrassed at my reaction, I felt the need to prove my academic worth. Marcus had told me my youth and “other attributes” might distract him from remembering my quick wit. It was time for a not-so-gentle reminder.
“Thank you, no. I prefer to translate it myself. Besides, you might’ve missed something,” I proclaimed. I smirked, wondering which of my “other attributes” distracted him the most. The thought that anything about me distracted him was exciting, causing a warm flutter low inside me, which I quickly quelled. He was probably just being charming. He probably makes a habit of flirting with every remotely attractive woman he crosses paths with. He probably had a dozen girlfriends, all models . . . and geniuses . . . and humanitarians . . . and—
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Marcus said. For a moment I thought I’d accidentally voiced my inappropriate analysis of him, but then I recalled what I’d said about him missing something in the translation. A challenge!
Before leaving me to my work, Marcus pointed to one of the nearby bookcases, which was filled with the various reference texts commonly used for translating Egyptian hieroglyphs. I politely informed him they wouldn’t be necessary.
The first thing I noticed in my examination of the tablet was that the infuriating combination of hieroglyphs I’d been struggling with was present . . . in several places. I wondered if the tablet was the subject of the photo Marcus had been studying in my first dream of him—the one that had been a “vision”—because the symbols had been there as well. I also wondered if I finally had the last puzzle piece I would need to decipher those infernal hieroglyphs.