Echo Prophecy

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  Still glaring, Kat grumbled, “Are you, like, going out with him or something?”

  It took me a few seconds to shift all of my attention to her. “Am I dating Marcus?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Yeah,” Kat said, rolling her eyes and sighing dramatically.

  I snorted. “Definitely not. We work together.”

  “Oh.” She brightened noticeably, straightening from her slouched position.

  I hesitated, worried I wouldn’t be able to conceal my unreasonable jealousy if I asked the question I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t resist. “Your mom seems to have a, uh, connection with him. Is there something between them?”

  Giggling, Kat hopped off her stool and skipped around the counter to join me. She was built like her mom—curves everywhere they should be—just not quite so filled out. If it weren’t for her outfit, she easily could have passed as an undergrad. As it was, her white, neon-splashed t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and bright green Chucks placed her in high school, maybe as a junior or senior. Her long, nearly black hair was twisted up into a high, messy bun, and the multiple piercings in her ears were filled with a variety of gemstone studs.

  “No,” she whispered, “but Mom totally wishes there was. I mean, damn, who wouldn’t? He’s totally, like, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen … ever. It doesn’t even matter that he’s so old.”

  I laughed—I couldn’t help it. There was no way Marcus was beyond his mid-thirties, but to a teen, I knew that could seem ancient.

  “How much is this?” I asked, holding up the carving. I’d come to the highly improbable conclusion that the little goddess wasn’t a reproduction, but was actually the real deal. What she was doing in the shop, on a table of artful junk, was beyond me.

  Kat bit her glossed lip. “Um … that’s one of the special items. I have to ask my mom.” So it really is authentic … I knew it!

  “Ask me what?” Genevieve asked, her rich voice startling us both as she walked through the beaded curtain and joined us in the front of the shop. I was surprised Marcus hadn’t followed her out. Maybe he’s busy buttoning his pants, I thought snidely. And then I mentally slapped myself. Not mine … off-limits … get a goddamn grip!

  “The cost of this statuette,” I explained, holding up the small carving for her to see.

  Genevieve pursed her lips and squinted before coming to a decision. “Take it, no cost.”

  Kat’s mouth fell open. “But … Mom—”

  A firm hand gesture from her mother quieted the teenager. “Consider it an apology gift, since I can’t give you the information you seek. It seems to want to be with you anyway. It’s fitting.”

  By the time Marcus emerged from the back room, my newly acquired artifact was wrapped in a soft, pale green cloth, fitted into a gift box, and tucked into a small, dark purple bag.

  “Thank you,” I said to Kat and Genevieve, briefly raising the little paper sack.

  “Of course,” the mother replied while her daughter ogled Marcus.

  He approached me, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Did you purchase something? Perhaps a good luck charm … or a love potion?”

  “Not exactly,” I replied coyly. “I’ll show you later … maybe.” My nonchalance was all a bluff—there was no way I could withstand bragging about my little Hathor carving, but I could drag it out for a little while … make him wait.

  What had been only a hint of a smile turned into a full-blown grin. “Ah, Lex, I am so looking forward to the coming year.”

  I blinked. That most certainly had not been the reaction I’d expected.

  Before I could respond, Marcus turned to Genevieve and her daughter. “A pleasure, as always. Genevieve, Katarina.” He gave each a slight nod and placed his hand against the small of my back, ushering me toward the door. Even through my pea coat and sweater, the contact felt extremely intimate.

  “Goodbye! It was nice to meet you both!” I called over my shoulder.

  “And you,” Genevieve said. Oddly, she sounded relieved.

  Once outside, Marcus and I had to huddle together in the entrance’s alcove to avoid the rain. It had been drizzling earlier, but that had turned into a rare winter tempest.

  “You said you’d tell me more about your forays into the illegal artifact trade,” I said loudly, snuggling deeper into my scarf.

  Marcus leaned in, negating the need to shout. “Yes, of course, Lex. But not here … unless you prefer huddling together in this god-forsaken portion of the city.”

  I wouldn’t say I dislike it, exactly … “You’d better not say ‘I’ll tell you later,’” I said, deepening my voice and attempting—poorly—to mimic his accent. “You seem like an ‘I’ll tell you later’ kind of guy.”

  He scowled slightly, confirming my suspicion. Leaning in a little closer, Marcus said, “Might I suggest we take refuge in my car?”

  Who the hell talks like that? I wondered but nodded with enthusiasm anyway. I was equally as excited about the prospect of dryness as the promise of answers. “Where’d you park?”

  He pointed to an unbelievably suave, gunmetal-gray coupe parked three cars away on our side of the street. Staring at it, I tried, with all of my mental power, to make the thing turn into something more realistic, like a Toyota or a Ford. “Who the hell are you? James Bond?”

  Marcus held his arm out toward the car, pressing a button on a tiny remote. “Not quite. Shall we?” The car’s lights blinked once, and Marcus strolled into the rain. Based solely on his walk, I would’ve assumed it was a sunny summer day.

  I waited until he had almost reached the car, then burst out of hiding and hustled toward its promised dryness. Much to my surprise, Marcus headed straight for the passenger door and held it open for me.

  “What are you doing? It’s pouring … you’re getting soaked … go get in!” I shouted, making a shooing motion as I neared the car. Against my commands, he waited until my soggy self was safely nestled in the dark gray interior. It was the most monochromatic car I’d ever seen. From the paint to the leather to the dash—everything was the darkest of grays.

  Sliding into the driver’s side a moment later, Marcus shrugged and smiled knowingly. “It’s only a little rain, nothing to get so worked up over. Now, show me what you procured from our mistress witch.”

  Hugging the damp bag against my stomach, I bargained, “Only after you tell me about this black-market stuff. I don’t want to get involved in anything that’ll ruin my career before it even starts.”

  Marcus studied me for a moment, then sighed and settled in his seat, resting the back of his head against the headrest. With closed eyes, he explained, “It’s really more of a gray market than black. Many of the participants are trying to help save artifacts that would otherwise be lost to know-nothings or thieves, or that would be destroyed by a lack of proper care. All successful archaeologists have some dealings with the antiquities black market, so you’ll need to get over this little moral dilemma of yours. Millions of priceless artifacts are already out there in the hands of people who can only harm them. Part of our job is to protect any evidence left from the past, and sometimes that includes searching through illicit streams.” He sounded like he was lecturing a dimwitted pupil.

  “And you’ve never sold any of your findings to the highest illegal bidder?” I asked.

  He scowled, keeping his eyes closed, and I used the moment to study the clean lines of his profile. To my eyes, it was proportioned to masculine perfection with a strong nose, full lower lip, and broad chin. The contours of his stubbled jaw and prominent cheekbone were emphasized by the slight hollowing of his cheek. There was nothing pretty about him, but rugged or handsome weren’t the right words to describe him either. He was … striking, and sexy as all hell. And off-limits, I reminded myself.

  Without warning, he opened his eyes and turned his face to me, catching me staring. I blushed, hoping the storm’s darkness masked my embarrassment. Marcus’s eyes, black-rimmed amber, seemed to blaze in the car’s d
im interior. I couldn’t look away.

  “No,” he said.

  “No? No, what?” I asked, confused.

  Smiling faintly, he held my eyes. “No, I’ve never sold any pieces to the highest bidder. I don’t deal, Lex. I buy.”

  “Oh … that’s good.” Looking into his eyes for too long was like staring at a solar eclipse—sure to cause blindness … or at least it felt that way. I blinked, slowly, seeking a respite from their natural intensity. When I fixed my gaze on him again, the corners of his mouth were turned down in the faintest of frowns. For some reason, he was frustrated.

  I cleared my throat. “You said something earlier, in the store, that I didn’t quite understand.”

  “What did I say?” he asked, the tension in his face easing.

  “You said the difference between value and importance amuses you. What’d you mean?” I really was curious, but the true motive behind my question was to distract him from whatever I’d done to trigger such frustration.

  “Ah, yes. You see, many of the wealthy love to collect antiquities because they want to impress their friends. For the most part, as you know, they haven’t the faintest clue as to how to preserve what they acquire. Fortunately for you and I, most of them don’t really know anything about their illegally gained pieces, other than that they came from some famous excavation or they’re made of precious materials. But people like us—we desire the items of importance, those that tell us some vital piece of information about the past. The artifacts we usually hunt on the black market are rarely the most valuable in the eyes of collectors.”

  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.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  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 c
redited 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 could 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?