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Lauren found herself laying on a bench in an office she’d never seen before. A large mahogany desk filled half the room. An old computer, with a sepia tone screen, flickered in the fluorescent lighting. It took up a large portion of the right return on the L-shaped desk. The blinds were open on the wall-to-wall windows. She could see it was raining furiously outside. The chill of it reached her as she sat up and tried to gain her bearings. Her internal gyroscope was out of whack, and it took a moment before she found her place in the world and her spinning brain settled.
The last thing she’d remembered was ducking into the ladies’ room just in time to vomit in the first stall. She should have known better than to eat so much. She put her hand to her head, shivering as a chill raced over her. The feeling of waking up somewhere she’d never been was disconcerting. Unfortunately, it seemed to happen to her all too often. Had she fainted? She must have.
She froze when the doorknob wiggled. It squeaked as it turned, and the heavy door swung open with a groan. A woman entered the room. “Miss?”
“What ... what happened?” Lauren asked, swallowing hard.
“Someone found you passed out in the ladies’ lavatory,” the woman said. “My name is Dr. Eliška Kominsky, I’m the director here. Do you need medical attention?”
“Sorry, Dr. Lauren Pierce.” Lauren shook off the miasma of confusion. “And no, I don’t. I’ll be perfectly fine in about seven or eight months.”
“You’re expecting?”
Lauren nodded. “Just found out a little over a week ago.”
“Your first?”
“Third,” Lauren said. “I’m terribly sorry to be so much trouble.” The woman brought her a bottle of water. Lauren took it with thanks.
“Vincent said you were here to see a ... Dr. Masa?”
“Yes,” Lauren said. “Do you know him?”
She seemed to hesitate a moment, looking dubious. “I’m sorry to have to tell you. There’s no one that works here by that name, Dr. Pierce.”
“What?” Lauren gasped. Panic raced through her. She knew she hadn’t been talking to ghosts. He’d come to her house, flown with her from Cairo. She’d felt his hand on her arm, and knew he was flesh and bone. “But ... he came to my house in Egypt. He checked me into the hotel last night and sent a car for me this morning.”
“Perhaps you have the name wrong?” Dr. Kominsky said.
Lauren shook her head. “No, it was Masa.” Lauren spelled the name for her. “I’m certain of it.”
“Why are you here, Dr. Pierce? What was the purpose of your visit?” The woman spoke curtly and stared down her nose at Lauren.
“He said you had one of the lost pages of the Codex Gigas and he wanted me to see it,” she said.
The woman’s mouth twitched as she leaned her hip on the edge of her desk. She crossed her arms and seemed to consider Lauren for a long moment. “Part of that story is correct,” she said. Lauren’s pulse quickened. “We do have a page that is allegedly from the Codex Gigas. Why would you be interested?”
“He said my name was written on it. He showed me a picture. You see, I’m a linguist,” Lauren said. “Not by education, but by trade. My degree is in biological anthropology. I also have a knack for ancient languages. I’ve been studying them and anyway... Dr. Masa asked me to see if I could translate part of the text.”
Dr. Kominsky scratched behind her ear. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight twist. She wore an impeccably tailored suit and heels that were several inches high. Her nails were perfectly manicured. She wore a string of pearls around her neck. Lauren never dressed like that, but she admired the look. The Director was polished. “Could you identify this man?”
A wry smile pressed tightly into the corners of her cheeks. “He looked like ... a vampire.”
“A vampire?” The director eyed her warily. “You know we take that kind of thing quite seriously here.”
“He was tall, pale ... he had dark hair pulled back tight in a queue at the base of his neck. He wore a black suit and he looked very ... Slavic.”
Kominsky nodded. Lauren thought she saw a glint of recognition in the woman’s eyes, but she couldn’t be certain. “Yes, that’s often how vampires are portrayed. Are you feeling steadier now?”
“Yes,” Lauren drained the bottle. “Thank you.”
“Come with me,” Dr. Kominsky said, adding, “Please?”
* * *
The Museum Director led her down the wide hall to the elevator. She said nothing as they went down to the main gallery. Dr. Kominsky stopped at a wall full of portraits, most were older men, all were distinguished. “Does anyone here look familiar?”
Lauren inspected the portraits and older paintings, pausing when she found a familiar face, and gasped. “That’s him.” She pointed to a painted portrait.
“That’s Bartolomeo Masa,” she said. “He was a wealthy benefactor who passed away recently. This portrait was commissioned in 1938, when he was a young man. He helped the museum acquire many of our most precious pieces.”
“Does he have a son? Or ... a grandson?”
“He died without an heir,” she said. “Thanks to him, we have an endowment that will fund our mission for many more years to come.”
Lauren clenched her jaw and heaved a deep sigh. “I’m not crazy.”
“No one suggested you were,” the director said.
Lauren’s brow narrowed, not so much at her host, but in deep thought. “There’s a painting in the lobby I want to ask you about.”
* * *
“Ah, this is the work of Milana Muclia, a Slovakian painter. It was painted in the 13th century and was quite rare for its time.” Lauren didn’t want to look at it, but she found herself unable to look away. Her knees quaked and the thought of how uncharacteristic that was for her came and passed just as quickly. It took a lot to shake her, but she was definitely shaken.
“How so?” Lauren asked, her hand over her mouth.
“What do you know of angels, Dr. Pierce?” Kominsky asked. “Are you Catholic? Christian at least?”
Lauren had to consider her rapid-fire questions for a moment. She knew more than most, but that wasn’t something she cared to talk about. “I have studied religion for the sake of history, but ... as a scientist, I consider myself ... neutral.”
“In the Bible, angels are neither male nor female in a human sense because they belong to a different order of beings.” Lauren’s brow lifted as she considered this. Michael had spoken of Enki and Enlil as fallen angels, but they were referred to as brothers, which seemed pretty gender specific to her. “Still, when biblical writers try to describe angelic appearances, they consistently use masculine pronouns and male attributes.” Well, that made sense then, Lauren thought. “Artists too, struggle with how to depict them. This piece is called the Rape of Phanuel. She is the fourth angel who stands before God in the Book of Enoch — after the angels Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel. Because angels have no gender as we know it, the artist painted the Divine Being as female. Her name means the Face of God, but that may be an inaccurate translation. Phanuel was actually the Hand of God. Her duties include standing beside God's throne, ministering Truth, and serving as the Angel of Judgement.”
The words made Lauren’s heart race, the room tilted, and she swallowed hard. Memories of her experiences some years ago with her brother came racing back at her. Michael had been chosen as an ambassador to a race of beings that some might call aliens – others might call gods. He served as the ambassador of the gods, their voice. They had referred to her as their hand. Enki, the alien god, had told her to prepare for a coming war between the forces of good and evil; heaven and Hell. Lauren chilled just thinking about it. In the years since Michael had been called ... she hadn’t seen him, nor had she been visited by the gods, whom he served.
Her own spirit guide, Tsul’Kalu, a shaman of the Bigfoot tribe, had been absent from her, too. He had served in judgement for the rabbit in Washington State, a double-dealing diamond thief who’d been causing torment for the race of bipedal primates who dwelled in caves around Mt. St. Helens. Tsul’Kalu had been judge and the very hand of judgement when the thief had attacked Lauren and her team. Now, as she gazed into the angel’s tormented eyes, she wondered why her own face appeared in this horrifying image.
“Dr. Pierce,” Dr. Kominsky nudged her. “You’ve gone pale. Are you sure you are well?”
Lauren looked at her host sharply. “Am I crazy, or ... or does she look like ... like me?”
The Director answered without much thought. “One of the beautiful things about art is our ability to see ourselves in great works.”
Lauren’s scowl deepened. She didn’t know what to say — what to think. “I suppose so.” She stared at the painting a moment longer.
“I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Pierce. I wish I could have been more help.” Dr. Kominsky put a hand on Lauren’s upper arm, then turned to leave her.
“Wait,” Lauren called after her. “I’ve come all this way ... would ... would it be possible to see it? The page ... the Codex that is.”
Dr. Kominsky hesitated a moment before she turned. When she did, she looked dubious. “It’s not that easy. It’s been transferred to a safe. I’ll have to coordinate with Security and the archivist. If you can make an appointment, I’ll see what can be arranged.”
“I can come back tomorrow.” Lauren offered.
Dr. Kominsky folded her hands and hung her head. “It might take a few days,” she said, sadly. “Perhaps it would be better if you left your number. I can have my assistant call you with an appointment time.”
“My flight leaves in a few days,” she said, fishing a business card out of her handbag. “I don’t have much time.”
“I’ll do what I can. In the meantime, enjoy our beautiful city. Try the food, see the sights. You will not be disappointed.”
Lauren’s brow knitted and she glanced back at the painting, then to her host. “Call me and I’ll come back.” Lauren gave her the card. Kominsky nodded. “Thank you for your help earlier.” Lauren offered her hand.
She tucked Lauren’s card in the pocket of her suit jacket, before accepting her handshake. “I do hope you are feeling better, and ... congratulations.”
* * *
Rowan got to his seat on the sixth row just as the lights in the auditorium dimmed. Tima made a grand appearance in the spotlight on stage, to the applause of her students. She was dressed in the attire of an ancient Egyptian woman, a sheath dress known as a kalasiris. The red garment bore striking similarities to ones Rowan had seen depicted on the walls of the tomb of the Priestess of Seshat. Tima wore a circlet of gold with inlayed red stones, a blue feather in her crown. She carried the scepter and ankh of a queen.
“I am called Ma’at, I am the goddess of truth, balance, order, harmony, morality and justice. I personify these concepts and regulate the stars, the seasons. I wield power over the actions of mortals and the deities who brought order from chaos at the moment of creation.”
Rowan sat, spellbound. Tima had missed her calling. She was a splendid actress.
Tima continued. “In the Duat ... the Egyptian underworld ... the hearts of the dead were said to be weighed against my feather. It is a symbol representing the concept of balance and can still be found in the Hall of Two Truths. This is why hearts were left in Egyptian mummies while their other organs were removed, as the heart ... called ib ... was seen as part of the Egyptian soul. If the heart were found to be lighter or equal in weight to the feather of Ma’at, the deceased had led a virtuous life and would go on to Aaru, or paradise. A heart found to be unworthy was devoured by the goddess Ammit. Its owner would be condemned to remain in the Duat for all eternity.”
He wished Lauren were here. She held steadfast to the power of truth, even more so since her bizarre experience in Washington State. She’d clung to it just as diligently after the ordeal in Mexico. Since South Africa, peace and balance joined to form her own personal ethos; a trilogy that was engrained in her spirit. Lauren would like Ma’at, he decided, especially Tima’s depiction of the goddess.
Rowan hardly took a single note, even though he had his iPad at the ready. He found himself so enthralled in her performance, he completely lost himself in the story. He had a new goddess to add to his list of favorites.
Yes. He had a list.
* * *
Lauren was at the top of that list. As he sat in the back seat of the car with Tima, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She still hadn’t called. That wasn’t like her. He typed out another message and hit send.
“Still no news?” Tima seemed to be able to read his mind.
“Not yet,” he said. “I’m starting to worry.”
“She’ll call when she can.” Tima tried to reassure him.
“That’s what worries me,” he said. “I know she’d respond if she could.”
“Maybe her battery died.” Tima shrugged.
“Yeah, silly me.” Rowan sighed. “That’s probably it.”
* * *
After a futile effort at the museum, Lauren found herself at a café in the old city center. The rain had finally abated, and she’d been seated on the patio. The pavement remained damp, but the furnishings had been dried off. The air was cool, perfumed by coffee, baking bread and sweets. She’d already finished her cup of soup and smiled to herself when the waitress brought her a cup of tea and a pastry.
She was enjoying watching people as they rushed by or strolled along the promenade. The food was good. The tea was strong. She hadn’t kept the little food she’d eaten down, and she was surprised now that she could eat. While the aroma of the coffee was overt, even over her floral tea, it hadn’t triggered her nausea. Rowan’s morning grog usually set her off. Maybe she’d pay for it later. At the moment, the tea was just the balm she needed after her odd encounter at the museum that morning.
The thought of Rowan reminded her to check her phone. She’d texted him some pictures from the gothic cathedral she’d toured earlier, knowing he’d want to see them. Still no response. That wasn’t like him. She hoped everything was okay.
She lay her phone on the table beside her cup and sat back, sipping it as she watched people passing by. A man went by with two Great Danes that were almost taller than he was. There was another man in a rumpled business suit shouting at someone on the phone as he passed. Lauren only caught part of the conversation. He was arguing with a coworker about the division of labor and how he always had to do the hard assignments. A red and white cable car passed on the railway, full of passengers.
A group of teenage girls in their baggy pants and oversized flannel shirts came and took the table next to her. One had a nose ring. One had a tattoo around her neck. Yet another had one side of her head shaved and her hair was dyed dayglow pink. Lauren sipped her tea and sighed deeply. She was grateful that she had boys and they were still little.
Her thoughts went to the one she carried now, wondering if it would be a boy or a girl. She wondered if it would look like Rowan or more like her. Presently, they each had a mini-me. Henry was the spitting image of his father, while John Carter was olive-complected with a head full of thick dark hair, the exact shade of raven-wing black hers had been when she was younger. Threads of gray were beginning to appear amongst the dark as she aged.
The image in her mind’s eye coalesced into a little girl with cinnamon curls; a little girl who looked like her daddy. She sighed as a happiness she could have never imagined over ten years ago washed over her. She loved being a mother. Her boys were her pride and joy and though they hadn’t been trying, a third wasn’t unwelcomed in the Pierce family. Lauren just worried about how they would manage and if she’d ever be able to go back to work. She missed filming The Veritas Codex; she missed her friends and the crew.
“Dr. Lauren Grayson?” A stern voice snatched her from her happy daydream. Lauren turned and found two men in black coats standing behind her. A third stood across from her. “Are you Lauren Grayson?”
“Yes.” She looked up at the man. “May I help you?”
“Come with us.” The man caught her under her arm and practically lifted her out of her chair.
“What?” She stiffened but didn’t resist. “Wait!”
It all happened so fast she couldn’t even get the words out. She was shoved into the back of a van with two of the three men pinning her arms to her side. The third jumped in the driver’s seat as the back doors closed. The van began to move, and she might have been upended had the men not held her so tight. “Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
No one answered.
Panic gripped her throat, squeezing the air out of her. She found herself struggling to breathe. The more she tried, the harder it became, and that familiar feeling of impending unconsciousness washed over her. Her stomach churned. Please, don’t let me puke or pass out now. The thought wasn’t a prayer, or — maybe it was. Either way, it didn’t help.
* * *
“Still nothing from Lauren?” Tima asked as they sat down in the faculty dining room. Normally, Rowan wouldn’t have been allowed in here, but no one told Fatima Badr what she couldn’t do or whom she could or couldn’t dine with, including the service staff. They were given the best table, with the most efficient waitstaff.
“No, she hasn’t called since she left,” Rowan said. “I texted her earlier, but ...” He took his phone from his pocket and pulled it up. “No, she hasn’t responded.”
“I’m sure she’s been quite engrossed in her work,” Tima said. “Perhaps the museum doesn’t allow cell phones in their vaults for security reasons. We don’t allow them in ours.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Rowan said. “Everyone has a camera in their hip pocket these days, don’t they?”
“It’s so true,” she said. “I talked to Shemi a few minutes ago. The boys have worn themselves out this morning and were napping.”
“I hope they don’t nap too long.” Rowan reached for his tea. “It took forever to get Henry to bed last night.”
“It’s to be expected.” Tima patted his hand as she looked at him over the top of her menu. “They miss their mother.”
“So what am I? Chopped liver?”
“Oh, Rowan, darling,” she scoffed. “You are their best friend, but you are not their mother. You would be wise to appreciate the significance of a mother’s place in a son’s life. My boys, well, they will never love a woman more than they love their mother.”
Rowan’s brow lifted. That’s what you think, he thought to himself. He loved his mom, but Lauren was his goddess, his North Star; his Deja Thoris, his Princess of Mars. He never felt complete without her. Perhaps Henry and John Carter felt the same way. She was the glue that held their little family together.
“I enjoyed your lecture,” Rowan said, as he took up his own menu.
“The Egyptian Goddess Ma’at has always been my favorite,” she said. Ancient Egyptian beliefs and religion were her specialties. As Dean of the Department, she could teach any class she wanted. Whatever Fatima wanted; Fatima got. She didn’t have to teach if she didn’t want to, but she loved to lecture, and she was good at it. Her classes were always booked in the main auditorium and were usually packed. Rowan even considered she might have missed her true calling. She was a performer on the dais and her students — and even a few who sneaked in that were not her students — were almost always transfixed by her presence.
Rowan knew he had a strong presence on camera. He’d quickly become a fan favorite when he took over the #2 spot on The Veritas Codex. The previous co-host, Big Ron Riggs, and Lauren had suffered from — creative differences. He had been a famous big-game hunter from Saskatoon, turned paranormal researcher. He played the role of the perpetual fly in Lauren’s ointment. She lacked the ability to hide her emotions from her face, so it was clear to everyone except Big Ron that she loathed him. Of course, on camera, she fought to hide how much she truly hated the man. Rowan recognized the restraint on her face in the old episodes. He’d watched every episode before he started rallying to get himself hired.
Rowan could only describe his predecessor in words he couldn’t use in front of his children. While Lauren used terms like “evidence suggests that this would be ideal hunting grounds for a species such as the Sasquatch,” Big Ron used more — colloquial terms. His catch phrases were more along the lines of, “I seen me a ghost,” or “Smells kinda squatchy out here.” But no, he and Lauren did not get along. Not one bit. Oil and water. Salt and vinegar. Now, his name was never spoken in Lauren’s presence. By anyone. Ever.
It had been while they were working at the Stanley Hotel that he’d come straight out and called her a witch — well, something that rhymed with that — to her face. Ten minutes later, she was laying with her leg wrenched nearly backwards at the knee. The bone broken and sticking out from the skin, with her foot — practically hanging. While all the evidence pointed to her having been pushed down the stairs by a ghost. Rowan had another suspect. One he couldn’t prove, but then again — he didn’t have to. He got his revenge by taking his job and winning the girl. And what a girl she was!
* * *
“By the way, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed reading your paper on the parallels between the Egyptian and Mayan creation stories,” Tima said after the waitress had taken their order. “Perhaps I shall have to visit Chichén Itzá someday for myself.”
“Let me know when you want to go,” Rowan said. “I have an excellent guide there that I worked with. His wife makes the best tacos in the Yucatán. I’ll meet you there.”
Tima smiled. “Have you thought about pursuing your PhD after you complete your Masters? You could finish in just a couple of years.”
“I don’t know,” Rowan said. “One know-it-all in the family ought to be enough, right?”
Tima laughed at that. “The quest for knowledge is never-ending. You of all people should realize that.”
“I’m not saying I’m not considering it,” Rowan said. “But I can see it in Lauren’s eyes. She’s got the itch to go back to work.”
“No one said she couldn’t work,” Tima said. “She didn’t seem to hesitate about going to Prague.”
“Oh, she hesitated all right,” Rowan said. “I had to talk her into it. Thank you for your help, by the way.”
“Well if she didn’t want to go ...” Tima started.
Rowan shook his head. “She wanted to go. Trust me. That woman doesn’t do anything she doesn’t want to do.” He chortled. “She just needed to know the boys would be taken care of. She’s never left them before.”
“That is the duty of every mother,” Tima said. “You are lucky to have such a devoted wife.”
That made Rowan smile even more brightly. “Yes, I am.”