Unzipping the pack, he took out an accordion folder. “Read this, and afterward, if you’re still unsure, you can take a few whacks at me.”
Was he yanking her chain or was this real?
Simon continued talking. “What I need from you are facts. You referenced a number of myths and objects in your paper. Orpheus’s lyre. Pandora’s box. Even Thor’s hammer from Norse mythology.”
“I referenced them. I didn’t have them,” she replied.
She took the folder and pulled out the contents. They weren’t notes. The size, width and height of a hardback novel, the pages were bound into what she could only describe as half of a codex. She turned the manuscript over. The back was missing and, she guessed, a number of the pages along with it.
Carefully, she rubbed a page between thumb and forefinger. Calf vellum. Durable and lasting but still thin and yellow. She sniffed. It smelled familiar—like the earth and old skins. From the top to the bottom of each page were paragraphs written in ancient Greek. This wasn’t a recent creation. From early Greece or Rome would be her first guess. Perhaps the fourth century—give or take a few hundred years.
Her hands skimmed the blank page that passed for a cover. The writing style, texture and even the scent triggered a sense of déjà vu.
She knew this codex. Or at least the missing piece.
And she wondered just how much Simon knew. “A diary or journal of some sort?” she asked as she skimmed the words and picked out a few phrases that she recognized.
Simon raised his right eyebrow in an exaggerated vee. “You read Greek?”
“Of course,” she scoffed. Although she knew it wasn’t a skill most archaeologists bothered with. “However, I am out of the habit. If you had done your research, you would know that my mother is Greek and an archaeologist who believed in making sure her daughters knew their heritage. How do you think I ended up with a name like Veronica?”
Simon gave a nod. “Touché. Means ‘honest image’ or ‘true image,’ doesn’t it?”
Perhaps he was as smart as she remembered. That, or he’d done some research before he approached her. Either impressed her. A little. “Very good.”
His mouth turned up in what she thought was his first real smile since he came to her. “Anyway, according to this codex, the transmutation from organic and inorganic materials was done with an artifact called the Midas Stone.”
“The name coming from the legend?”
“That would be a good assumption,” he replied. Reaching over, he turned the pages and pointed to a sketch of a rock. “This Stone is hidden at the birthplace of Artemis.”
“Delos.” The small, uninhabited island off the Greek coast. “Then why are you here? Just go get this Midas Stone.”
“If it were that simple, I would. But the Stone is hidden, and while the island is barely a square mile in size, that’s still to big for a random search. Part of the text describes the Stone. What it did. How people both used and misused its powers. It also refers to it in conjunction with the Eye of Artemis and explains that this Eye is the key to retrieving the Stone. Specifically, it says that the Eye is the key to all that is gold.”
The Eye of Artemis? Her skin tingled. She knew the Eye. Or learned of it, at least, when she was last in Rome doing research. “So?”
“I’m here because you referenced the Eye of Artemis in your paper, and that’s the only other place I’ve found it mentioned. I hoped you had studied it or at least knew where it was located.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair again. A few strands came loose from the band that held them.
The movement caught her eye. She loved long hair on a man, and God help her, Simon had beautiful jet-black hair. The one night she’d kissed him, she’d let it slip through her fingers like water. Without thinking, she reached out to push the wavy strands back but stopped herself when his gaze slipped to her hand.
What was she thinking? She changed direction and grabbed a pencil from the jar that served as a holder to hide the slip.
Simon turned his attention back to her. “As I said, I went to some of the other experts on Greek archaeology, but they didn’t know anything about the Eye. Never even heard of it. In fact, all three dismissed its existence, since the only place it’s mentioned is in your infamous paper.” Rising ire flooded her with heat, but before it bubbled over, her eyes locked with Simon’s and she realized the comment wasn’t a stab at her career, but the truth. She was unable to turn away, transfixed by the sincerity shining from his eyes. “You’re the only person alive who seems to know anything about the Eye, Veronica. I need you.”
The muscles in Veronica’s jaw relaxed now that she knew what he needed, and she wished she could help him, but reality made that difficult if not impossible. “I never studied it. Never got the chance. And I have no idea where it is.”
Barely perceptible disappointment shimmered through his eyes. “Damn.”
A twinge of pity moved her at his obvious disappointment, but she quickly reminded herself that he was a jerk. He might need her and she might even be interested in what he offered, if anything, but that didn’t mean he deserved her sympathy.
Pushing her chair back toward the window, she paced the few feet behind her desk. If Simon wanted her help, he needed to do better than act disappointed. He was going to have to convince her that he was worth her time.
She glanced at the watch. His five minutes had ended five minutes ago, but he’d snagged her curiosity and there was no turning back until her interest was satisfied—her great gift and her great failing. She put her watch back on, tightening the Velcro strap and turning it until the face was on the inside of her wrist. “But I know where to get the information concerning its location.”
“Where?” Simon almost leapt from the chair.
She appreciated and envied his enthusiasm despite her intentions to remain as neutral as possible. “Not yet.” She set the folder down. “If this is all you have, you’ll be ignored or worse. It’s not proof. At least not enough.”
He hesitated, but then gave a quick nod. “Hard proof?” A small metal case rested on the floor at his feet. He picked it up and set it next to his pack. Turning it around so the clasp faced Veronica, he pushed it toward her. “Open it.”
A part of her itched to open it and see this proof he offered her. The other half screamed that this was the first step to the same fool’s journey she’d been on before, and she’d do better to toss both the metal case and Simon out the door.
As usual, curiosity won. It always did. She flipped open the clasp and opened the case. It was filled with dense foam. The kind reserved for a photographer’s lenses. In the middle lay a cloth-wrapped object smaller than her fist. It was heavy. Solid in her hands. She set it on the desk with a thunk.
Simon grinned. It was a knowing grin. The smirk of someone who was about to win. “Go ahead.”
She peeled back the cloth.
In front of her sat a mouse made of gold.
She picked it up and noted the sturdy weight. It was perfect in every detail, from the tiny, closed eyes to the texture on the tail. The creature was posed as if it were caught cleaning itself, one delicate paw held against an ear and its little nose wrinkled while it turned its head.
Was Simon trying to tell her that this mouse was gold because of the Midas Stone? That it was once alive?
Intrigued, she turned the mouse over. There was no flattened area where an artisan or smelter might have set the statue down to cool.
Perhaps the artist crafted it in two parts and welded them together. She took a magnifying glass from her drawer, then went over the surface area, searching for a seam. After a few minutes, she set it down. Nothing. Whoever made this was incredibly skilled, or Simon was telling the truth.
Despite her suspicions, she wanted to believe, but it would take more than a cursory five-minute exam to convince her of his sincerity. “Where did you find it?”
“On a dig in southern Italy.” Sitting on the edge of her desk, h
e propped a knee on her desktop and turned to face her. Beneath the black T-shirt, his broad shoulders relaxed, clearly more at ease now that she’d seen the mouse and hadn’t tossed him out of the office. “It was a field study for some graduate students. I didn’t think we’d find anything of value, much less this.”
“Yet here it is,” Veronica murmured. She touched the stub of a broken whisker and pricked her finger.
Simon continued. “I didn’t know what to think when I found it. It didn’t match any styles of art I expected. The site’s location next to an artesian spring, coupled with a marble statue of a huntress, led me to believe the site was associated with Artemis. A statue of an animal associated with her, like a stag or a bear, might be expected. But a mouse? Rodents were not included in the lineup of animals she associated with.”
“Could one of the students have placed it there?”
Simon’s dark brows pinched inward at the suggestion. “And contaminated the site? I’d think they’d know that kind of joke is unacceptable.” He hesitated, and she could see him come to some kind of conclusion as his face relaxed once again. “Besides, none have the kind of income needed to pull a trick as expensive as this.”
“Good point.” She set the mouse down. “Were there any more?”
“No. Just the one.”
“What was the focus of the dig?”
“We were excavating the cellar in a church. Digging for pottery.” He picked up the mouse and held it at eye level. “This little guy was part of a burial.”
“Do you know who was buried there?” She couldn’t drag her eyes away from the mouse. How could anything be this perfect?
Reaching into a side pocket of his pack, he pulled out some photos and handed them to her. “Judging from the plainness of the tomb, I think the burial was a lower-level acolyte, but they weren’t usually buried with something of this value. If she was Aphrodite’s acolyte, I might believe it, but since she was burned in a shrine to Artemis, I can only concede she worshipped the virgin goddess.”
Veronica examined the pictures. Other than the location and the mouse, this looked like a simple burial.
When her parents had dragged her all over the Mediterranean, taking her from one dig to another, she’d seen the unusual and the ordinary, but never anything so out of the norm. Unless it was someone of significant importance, no one was buried in a temple, much less with something of this value. And then there would be more burial gifts. Urns of scented oil. Idols to Artemis. A statue of a stag.
None of it made sense. While it peaked her curiosity, it wasn’t enough to support Simon’s claim or start the whole myth-is-reality fiasco again. She took a deep breath. “It’s not enough.”
Simon’s jaw dropped in shock. “What do you mean, not enough?” He glowered at her, mouse clenched in his fist. “Can you think of a better explanation?”
She shook her head, but the scientist in her knew that the story, and the mouse, was not enough. She took a slow, deep breath, then exhaled. “It’s a good story, and the mouse is well crafted, but neither one proves anything about Midas or his gift or your story. Where’s the connection?” She reached across the desk and wrapped her hand around his clenched one. The rigid muscles shifted beneath her touch but didn’t relax. “Prove to me that this was once alive and maybe you’ll have a case, or at least the beginning of one.”
His eyes locked with hers, and he pulled away. Setting the mouse on the desk with a thud, Simon grabbed the envelope from her desk and opened it, pulling out what, she thought, were MRI pictures.
He handed them to Veronica.
She turned on her desk lamp and held one up.
It was the inside of the rodent.
If it were solid—a chunk of thick metal—she’d know human hands had crafted it. Smelted and molded it at a forge. It wasn’t. Veronica’s pulse sped up, and her hands shook with excitement.
Instead, there was texture. Delicate gold bones. A tiny, golden heart frozen in time. Tissue-thin lungs turned to metal in mid-breath.
It was as if someone had indeed turned a mouse to solid gold.
It was gruesome, fascinating, and completely impossible. “Son of a—” she whispered.
“My words, exactly.”
A smug smile curved his lips upward. She couldn’t blame him. Hell, she’d be smug if she had a discovery of this magnitude sitting in her lap.
The mouse glittered in the artificial twilight. She set the slides down. “This could still be one big hoax. I want to send the mouse out to a lab for my own test.”
Simon’s lips thinned, and his dark eyes narrowed. “No. You’ve played with me enough. Just tell me where to find the Eye of Artemis.”
“No.” He wasn’t taking this opportunity away from her. Not yet. Not ever. Even if he didn’t know it. “I test the mouse, then we talk.”
He frowned and held out his hand. “Unacceptable. I won’t let it out of my sight.”
She ignored him, set the mouse back in the case and closed the lid. “You don’t have a choice. You came to me. Not the other way around. You want to know more about the Eye? You want to know how and where to find it? Then it’s my way or you can leave. Trust me, there isn’t anyone else who’s even seen a picture of it, much less believes it exists.” She crossed her arms, daring him to pick up the case.
He didn’t.
“I don’t like this.”
She shrugged. “Too bad, Dr. Owens. I won’t risk my reputation for anything less, and certainly not for you.”
“It’s not your reputation at risk,” Simon growled. “It’s mine. I’m not asking you to be part of this.”
“Then why come here?” she asked. “Why tell me all this?”
“For information.” He mirrored her, crossing his arms over his chest, only his expression hardened, as if daring her to defy him.
She smiled. Defy him? She’d do more than that. He might think he could leave her behind. Might think he still had that choice. But in reality, that choice fled when he walked through her doorway.
Her smile spread into a grin of success. “You’ll get your information, Dr. Owens. All that and more.”
His eyes narrowed, but she knew she had him and he knew it as well. She pointed toward the case. “Now, do I take this for study or do you take it and walk away?”
Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and reluctantly pushed the case across. “Take it.”
Trembling with the possibilities, Veronica set the case on her lap. If he were right, she’d be able to prove her theory was true. Her reputation would be redeemed.
And no one could laugh at her again or accuse her of pandering to the masses. She glanced up at Simon through her lashes. He wasn’t forgiven for what he said, not even close, but this was a start. “You won’t regret this.”
He sighed and once again ran a hand through his hair. “I doubt that.”
Chapter 3
Veronica’s backpack, heavy with Simon’s mouse and the MRI pictures, rested between her shoulder blades as she wove her motorcycle through traffic to Alyssa’s lab.
She hoped her sister would be excited at the prospect of such a new, unique artifact, but knew it was doubtful. Alyssa was like their parents, a traditional scientist who did not deal with the supernatural, and on more than one occasion she’d fought with her sister over their differing theories.
But despite their competitive natures, she was also the one person Veronica trusted with a discovery of this magnitude.
Turning the corner, Veronica screeched to a halt and parked her bike in the front of the renovated, ten-story brick building. Taking off her helmet, she massaged her scalp and glanced upward to the eighth floor and her sister’s archaeological lab.
When Alyssa married the wealthy owner of Bates Pharmaceuticals, Ian Bates, she and her parents thought it was a mistake, especially since Ian was fifteen years older than Alyssa. Veronica smiled, glad that for once, she’d been wrong. Three years later, her sister and Ian were still a “honeymoon couple.”
For their first wedding anniversary, Ian had even bought Alyssa her lab with state-of-the-art equipment, wanting to please her and give her the opportunity to prove herself in the highly competitive archaeological-scientific community.
Alyssa was brilliant, with an uncanny intuition that complemented the precision steel-and-glass lab equipment.
Veronica stepped through the antique double doors and pushed the button to call the elevator. Punching in her pass code, she rocked back and forth on her heels as she rose to the eighth floor.
The lab took up the entire floor, and the elevator opened up directly into it. Alyssa sat across the room under the Bright-Bates Archaeology Laboratory logo that was painted on the back wall. Her head bent over a microscope, she managed to appear both professional and cute in her spotless white lab coat and fitted black slacks.
Veronica touched the scratch that ran across her cheek. No matter how she tried, she would never look cute. Professional was doable as long as it involved dirt, beat-up jeans and a trowel.
She and Alyssa were different in almost everything, especially looks. Alyssa took after their English father—pale skin contrasted by espresso colored locks that were sleek and shiny despite any amount of rain. Her eyes were a dark green that some called emerald, and her figure was willowy.
Veronica looked more like their Greek mother—her hair was almost black, her lips full and her body curvy. The only thing that she took from her father’s side of the family was her eyes. A bright hazel, they were startling when viewed against the naturally dusky skin of her Greek heritage.
But the real dissimilarity was in how they approached archaeology. She went with her gut while Alyssa was a hard-core believer in the “seeing is believing” theory.
But the differences didn’t matter. Regardless of how annoyingly adorable and scarily brilliant her sister might be, Veronica couldn’t be jealous of her. Growing up on the outskirts of the Mediterranean, they rarely had other kids to play with, and so they’d always been best friends—and become closer as they got older.
The Midas Trap Page 4
