The Ankh of Isis: The Library of Athena, Book 2

by Christine Norris

  “It’s the Greek letter Omega,” Diedrich said. “The last letter of the Greek alphabet. I don’t know what it means to my father, but…”His face turned pensive.

  “But what?”

  “He had this same thing tattooed inside his left forearm.”

  Megan frowned. “I never saw a tattoo.”

  “He almost always wore long-sleeved shirts—and it wasn’t obvious, the tattoo is small. He’s had it as long as I can remember. Strange he had this same thing on his journal. He was never into Greece or Greek mythology as far as I know. It was always Egypt he loved. I kind of thought him even having the tattoo was weird too, since whenever I mentioned getting one he freaked out about me defacing my body.” His face went slack, as if the memory of his father getting angry with him hurt.

  Megan put the diary into the suitcase with everything else. She was curious about what it said, but decided she would let Diedrich take care of it. Likewise with his pile of papers—Megan still had the copies Rachel made anyway. Megan would keep them, just in case.

  When they finished, Bailey came and collected the two suitcases, a briefcase and garment bag that stood in the hall.

  “I will have these sent to your father’s home,” Bailey said.

  Diedrich nodded sadly. “There won’t be anyone there to receive them. I’ll send you the address of a storage facility where you can send them. Thank you, Bailey.”

  It was time for Diedrich to leave. His suitcases were loaded into the Montgomery’s car, ready to go to the train station. He and Megan were alone in the entrance hall, hands entwined. There was an awkward silence between them.

  “Dad’s right, you know.” Megan felt her face get hot. She was embarrassed to even think what she was about to suggest. “You could stay. It’s not like we don’t have the room. If you really wanted to, I’m sure you could even transfer and go to school here. There’s St. Bart’s, St. Agatha’s brother school, not far from here. We could ask your mother.”

  Diedrich shook his head. “No. I really have to go. The sooner I get away from here, the sooner I can, you know, move on.”

  Megan tried not to let her hurt show. “You really want to get away that badly? I totally don’t, you know, blame you.”

  He shook his head. “Not from you, just from this place. I’m sorry.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek, while a thousand butterflies in her stomach did a tap dance. They stood there, holding hands, and said nothing.

  The front door opened and Bailey stuck his head inside. “A-hem.”

  The two young people jumped apart.

  “Everything is prepared. We must leave soon in order for you to catch your train.” He looked at Megan and winked. Megan wondered what that was all about. “I’ll wait by the car.” He pulled the door closed.

  Diedrich ran his hand over the back of his head and sighed. “Time to go.”

  “Email me when you get to your mom’s? Let me know you got there all right?”

  “I promise. Listen, Megan, I, uh, I’m really going to…”

  Megan pulled him into a tight embrace. “I’m so going to miss you too.”

  Two weeks later, Megan bounced into the breakfast nook. She draped her dark blue blazer with the St. Agatha’s crest embroidered on the left breast over the back of the chair, sat down and grabbed one of Maggie’s scrumptious corn muffins, and poured herself a steaming cup of tea. Her father sat in his usual place by the window, his face covered by the paper.

  “Ready for school, Megums?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear. It’s unladylike.” He snapped the paper, which had started to flop over, up straight. “Hmm. Would you look at that.”

  “What?”

  “Herr Hemmlich’s gone missing.”

  Megan tried not to choke on her muffin. She grabbed her teacup and took a gulp of hot liquid to wash down the cake that had lodged in her throat. “Really?”

  Her father’s head peeked out from behind the paper. “You all right?”

  Megan nodded. “Muffin went down the wrong way. What happened to him?”

  Her father laid the paper on the table and squinted at the article. “Apparently he got lost in the desert. For some reason he went off into the Valley of the Kings alone, sometime last week. No one’s heard from him since.” He looked up, confused. “Now why would he do that?”

  “Who knows, Dad. Maybe he wanted to scout things out before the expedition. Or he got a lead on what he was looking for—that lost King’s tomb, or whatever, and he couldn’t wait.”

  “Perhaps. Odd thing, though. I hope he turns up. I’d hate to lose him as a client.”

  Megan said goodbye and walked to the front door, where Bailey was waiting to drive her to school.

  He bowed his head. “Good morning, miss.”

  Megan tilted her head to one side and gave the butler an inquisitive look. “I heard the most interesting thing this morning, Bailey.”

  “Really, miss?”

  “Yes, it seems that Josef Hemmlich has gone missing. It was reported he went into the desert alone and never returned.”

  Bailey pushed his lower lip out and nodded. “That is interesting. Do they have any idea of where he might be?”

  Megan moved in close to the butler. “No, and I’d like to know how the newspapers came by that story.”

  “How would I know that, miss?” Bailey’s eyes twinkled as he opened the front door for her. “I am but a humble butler.”

  “Yes, Bailey, and I’m the Queen of Egypt.”

  About the Author

  To learn more about Christine Norris, please visit www.christine-norris.com. Send an email to her at christinenorris02@gmail.com or join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as Christine! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/christinenorris

  Look for these titles by Christine Norris

  Now Available:

  The Crown of Zeus

  Which is worse: Having to start life over, or being eaten by a Minotaur?

  The Crown of Zeus

  © 2008 Christine Norris

  The Library of Athena, Book One

  Thirteen-year-old Megan Montgomery’s world is falling apart. Her father’s promotion means leaving her whole life in New York behind. She finds herself transplanted to a huge, lonely manor house in the English countryside, with no one for company but the distant staff. Her new school only adds to her misery—neither the girls nor the teachers seem to like her.

  Then Megan meets three girls who actually talk to her instead of about her, and at first she thinks things are getting better. But the girls seem more interested in the strange rumors that the house is haunted. Desperate to make friends, Megan invites them to sleep over for the weekend.

  A discovery of a cryptic poem, a key and a diary written by the builder of the manor—an eccentric archaeologist—turns the sleepover into a treasure hunt. Clues lead the girls to believe the Parthenon holds a great secret—and suddenly they find themselves sucked into one man’s version of Ancient Greece. The only way home is to find an object thought to be mere legend.

  If they survive that long.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for The Crown of Zeus

  “Can I help you?”

  “Ah, yes.” Megan squared her shoulders and tried to stand up straight. “I’m Megan Montgomery. I’m a new student and this is my first day. They said I had to report to you.”

  The woman shuffled through the papers on her desk and pulled out a manila folder. “Yes, of course. The girl from America. Well, come in child, don’t lurk in the doorway. Please sit down.”

  A thick burgundy rug muffled Megan’s footsteps as she walked to one of a pair of high-backed chairs in front of the desk. She tried to look graceful as she sat down.

  “Welcome to St. Agatha’s.” The woman gave a smile that reminded Megan of a cat who has just found a juicy mouse. She folded her hands on the desk, sat up straight, and looked Megan in the eye. “I am Miss Spencer, the hea
dmistress.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Miss Spencer nodded. “Since you are from America, you are probably not familiar with our British education system. You are thirteen, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Megan had never really called anyone ‘ma’am’ before, but Miss Spencer looked like someone who she should. “I’m in the eighth grade.”

  Miss Spencer’s smile widened a bit, but it was still a smile that looked put-on for company. “It’s ‘yes, Headmistress’. And we don’t have ‘grades’ here. You are in third year.” The headmistress picked up the file and walked around to Megan’s side of the desk. “I’ve looked over your transcripts, and everything appears to be in order. But I must warn you, Miss Montgomery. Here things are going to be much tougher than they were at your old school. This institution is a tradition among many families from all over the world.”

  “The world?” Megan asked. “Do their families all move here so they can go to school?”

  Miss Spencer laughed like a parent whose small child just did or said something cute and silly. “No, no, of course not, dear. Some, like you, are day students, while others live in our dormitories. We pride ourselves on turning out the finest young ladies. To that end, you will be taking more subjects than you are used to, including Latin.”

  “Latin?” Who speaks Latin?

  “Yes. As well as Music, Math, World History, Science, Literature, Philosophy, Geography and Art. You will also be in a House.” She flipped open the file. “I’ve placed you in Whitmore. Your House contains about twenty girls from each year. Your Head is Professor Livingston, she teaches History. If you have problems in school, academic or personal, go to her. Each house also meets twice a week for tutoring and study.”

  “I see.” Megan’s stomach felt as if it would drop out of her feet at any moment. All those classes, plus forced study? Megan had held her own at her old school, but she wasn’t exactly a straight-A student. I’m in trouble.

  “I notice you played hockey at your old school as well,” Miss Spencer continued, oblivious to Megan’s nervousness. “You might try out for the House team. It’s one of the best in the county. If you enjoy horses, we also have an exceptional equestrian team.”

  I’ll run right out and sign up for that. Not.

  She handed Megan a piece of paper. “Here’s your schedule. I suggest you get to class. The late bell is about to ring.”

  Megan took the paper and looked it over. “Thank you, Headmistress.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the door. She wondered what would happen if she just kept running, right out the front door.

  Megan’s first class was Literature. She found the classroom and opened the door. A stern-looking man with slicked back dark hair turned and stared at her with small black eyes.

  “May I help you?” he drawled. His pasty face wore a look of utter distaste, as if wondering who dared interrupt his class.

  “Uh, yes sir. My name is Megan Montgomery. I’m new.” She handed him her schedule.

  He glanced, sniffed, and handed it back to her. “Ah, yes. Very well, take a seat. And do not be tardy to my class again.”

  Megan felt her cheeks get hot, and thought about telling him that it wasn’t her fault she was late, but decided against it. She found a desk at the back of the room and took out her textbook. From one of the desks to her right she heard a snicker.

  “Miss Montgomery?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do not expect special treatment because you are new. Or because you are from America. I expect you to keep up with your classmates.”

  “Yes, sir.” She slumped down into her seat and tried to make herself as small as possible.

  The rest of Megan’s first day was much the same. The classes here were certainly different than at her old school. For one thing, students were expected to stand when they gave the answer to a question. Her teachers were not “Mrs. or Mr.” but “Professor.” Most of them were very strict, and demanded much more than her old teachers.

  Her schedule was packed. The first day alone she had World History, Intermediate Math, Latin, and Philosophy in addition to Literature. Most the teachers referred to her as “The American Girl” several times before remembering her name.

  They all piled on the homework.

  At lunch, she sat alone, because of course she didn’t know anyone and no one offered to sit with her. And she saw the pointing and whispering that went on; most didn’t even try to hide it.

  Megan tried to hold it together, but it was hard to ignore the fact that she was on display like some kind of freak show. She picked at her lunch, unable to eat, and sympathizing with every new kid she had ever seen at her old school.

  I want to go home. She meant to New York.

  After school, Megan stood on the front steps of St. Agatha’s, waiting for her ride home, wondering how much a one-way ticket from Heathrow to JFK cost. She was miserable and had a ton of homework; her backpack felt like it was going to rip her shoulder off.

  She shifted her bag to the other shoulder and watched a group of six girls clustered nearby. She had seen a couple of them in her classes, and was pretty sure they were in her year, but didn’t know any of their names.

  She watched out of the corner of her eye as they whispered intently between themselves and took furtive glances in her direction. Megan couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she sure knew who. Just like at lunch. Don’t they have anything better to do?

  She allowed this to go on for a few minutes, appearing oblivious to their whisperings. Finally she had enough. She whipped her head around and marched over to them.

  “Excuse me.” She walked right up to the tallest girl. “Is there a problem?”

  Three of the girls turned bright red, took a few steps back, and slunk away, their heads down, leaving their three co-conspirators behind.

  Proper English girls don’t gossip, do they? Megan gave a wide smile that dripped with sugar.

  “There’s no problem, is there, girls?” the tall one said in a flat tone, still toe-to-toe with Megan.

  “Well, I think there is.” Megan’s smile was gone. “You’ve all been giggling and talking about me behind my back. Care to share?”

  The girl licked her lips. “We were just wondering…”

  “About what? My accent, my shoes, or my hair maybe?”

  The girl pushed a lock of her straight black hair behind her ear, unfazed. “Ah, no, actually. We were wondering about your house.”

  It was Megan’s turn to step back. “My House? Oh, I’m in, uh, Whitmore, I think?”

  The girls giggled. Megan felt like she had missed the punchline of a joke, and her cheeks burned.

  It was the girl with short brown hair and glasses who replied. “No, not your academic House, your house. You know, where you live?”

  Megan lifted her eyebrows, confused. “You want to know about…my…house?”

  The third girl, a pretty blonde with loose, shoulder-length curls, pulled her Burberry purse up higher on her shoulder. “You do live in the big manor house on Knapford Road, right? The Paragon?”

  “The Parthenon,” Megan corrected. “What about it?” It wasn’t the conversation she expected, but she was kind of happy they were actually talking to her.

  The dark-haired girl pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, also seeming to choose her words carefully. “We wanted to know, you see, er, whether or not you’ve seen anything…anything strange since you’ve been there?”

  “What do you mean, strange? Like African artifacts strange? Or like bad decorating strange?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” the second girl said. She pushed her thick glasses up her long nose. She gave a furtive look. “Like ghosts. Unhappy spirits roaming about the halls at night.”

  Just one spell. Problem solved. How hard can it be?

  Her Wiccan, Wiccan Ways

  © 2008 Traci Hall

  A Rhiannon Godfrey story.

  Rhiannon Godfrey is
a psychic prodigy, but her parents don’t see things her way. They think she needs a “normal” high school experience—she wants to stay in trendy Vegas. In the small farming town of Crystal Lake, being Wiccan doesn’t exactly help the Godfreys blend in.

  Beyond angry, Rhiannon neglects to inform her parents the farmhouse they just bought is haunted. Instead, she decides to use the resident ghost to prove that she belongs back in Dr. Richards’s Institute of Parapsychology. Not that dispelling ghosts is her area of expertise, but really, how hard can it be?

  And then there’s Jared Roberts. Totally hot. For a cowboy, that is. Only problem? He comes with an evil twin sister, the shallow and popular Janet. Janet’s only goal is to make Rhee’s life miserable. So when she and her friends decide it’s time for a little payback, Rhee goes to her mother’s book of spells. Janet needs to be taught a lesson, and what harm can come from a few words?

  Just one little spell.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Her Wiccan, Wiccan Ways:

  High School. Just saying the words out loud made her stomach clench and her head ache. She only had two days left until her real torture began.

  She must have been doing some really bad things for all this rotten crappy stuff to be happening to her. Hadn’t she been punished enough already?

  Her mother had dealt the tarot cards, her father had done a numerology reading, and that was that. She had to go to school.

  Rhee had no choice but to give her parents the cold shoulder, on principle. And with Tanya still in England, she had to relent and talk to Matthew over email. Which had been a stupid idea, since all he wanted to do was tell Mrs. Edwards and Dr. Richards about the farmhouse being haunted.

  Nobody understood where she was coming from.

  She got off the edge of her bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush white area rug they’d placed on the wood floor.

  Her parents hadn’t liked the idea of tearing down the partition in the attic, so they’d painted and cleaned instead. Rhee was now the proud owner of a closet she was afraid to go into, but at least it had a door and a lock. She wished they’d let her take a sledgehammer to it.