by Martha Carr
A quick trip across the room netted her one of her rolling ladders. Once she’d reached the top, she realized she’d miscalculated on the position of the book she wanted. Instead of climbing back down, she swung across the bolted shelf, snagged the book, and returned to the ladder.
“There we go.”
Shay smiled and headed toward a small cozy nook she’d set up in a side room. With its comfortable lounge chair and soft lighting it was a relaxing place to review a tome or two, just not the place for stacks of books and pages of furious note-scribbling.
Shay settled into the soft leather chair. Tomb raiding was about money, first and foremost, but it was also about her love of history, and it was nights like this she could appreciate that.
She planned to leave for Turkey bright and early the next morning, but a few hours of reading would not only be useful, it’d also relax her.
Let’s see what I can dig up.
The tomb raider stifled a yawn. She was on her third book in as many hours. Surveying the ancient Anatolian culture of the Hittites was interesting, but it had yet to give her any insights that might help on the job. She’d vowed to check out one last work, a translated copy of a 1945 German book, The Secret Occult History of the Bronze Age.
Shay was ready to head home when a footnote caught her eye.
Wolf agrees with Klein that the proper translation of the text of the temple inscription mentioned in Klein’s survey would be more properly rendered as “denying death” rather than “extending life.” (Wolf 24)
The rest of the chapter mainly discussed issues with the translation of ancient languages and didn’t mention anything else that could be construed as having anything to do with the stone.
Even if the tidbit had anything to do with the stone she was looking for, it didn’t matter. Shay wasn’t planning on collecting the nine stones and achieving immortality, either by “denying death” or “extending life,” whatever the difference was.
Shay stretched and yawned. “Time to grab me an artifact.”
Men choked the streets, all streaming toward colorful banners in the distance. Many walked without shirts, their toned muscles on display under the morning sun. They chatted jovially in Turkish. She doubted anything they were saying was important enough she should use machine translation. Few paid her much attention.
She smirked to herself. The universe had a sense of humor after all. She’d hit the city during its famed annual oil-wrestling tournament. If she hadn’t been there on a job, she might have taken in a few rounds of greased-up men rolling around with each other. The simple pleasures made life bearable.
An image of a shirtless and oiled Brownstone popped into her head. Even if he didn’t notice her, it didn’t change the fact he was the Grand Master of Six Packs. She had most definitely noticed that.
Shay shook her head. Respect for Brownstone was flowing together with admiration of some of his other traits more often than not lately.
The tomb raider pushed out the thought of oiled bounty hunters and moved up the street, her gaze sweeping the area. She was careful not to make eye contact with any of the men. She didn’t want or need to draw any attention to herself.
Her current outfit, a robe and a head scarf, was opposite on the modesty scale from the shirtless men. She’d chosen it to keep a lower profile and hide her identity, but she was impressed by how many weapons she could hide under the robe. She could have probably hidden the Masamune tachi under it. Shay snickered at the thought.
The street was almost as thick with tourists who’d shown up to take in the festival celebrating all things oily and virile. More people to give her cover—which was good.
Her mirth vanished as she turned a corner. Four minarets rose in the distance, surrounding the massive dome and three balconies of the Selimiye Mosque.
Okay, nothing like a building older than your country to give you some perspective.
She wasn’t there to sightsee. Not entirely, anyway. Getting a firsthand look at the street layout might help her later if she needed to beat a hasty retreat.
A few more minutes of sightseeing and escape planning brought her to a small café. She pushed inside and winced as a powerful smell ambushed her and brought bile to her throat.
People who didn’t travel much took for granted sensory familiarity and how challenges to that could push a person off-balance, especially smell—one of the more evocative of the senses. Shay sucked in a breath and focused.
The scent was hard to identify at first. It reminded her of a combination of rust and blood, but her review of local culture on the plane en route helped her figure out the source sitting on several plates—cigercisi, or fried calf’s liver.
Shay wasn’t anemic enough to try to eat something like that.
The din attacked her ears as the cigercisi went after her nose.
Several large groups of men sat around tables making boisterous declarations—judging by the tone—and pounded down drinks in a distinctly un-Islamic display of alcohol consumption.
Whiffs of anise suggested everyone was drinking raki.
You don’t get much more Turkish than this place, so the coffee’s gonna be authentic. That’s a win.
Now it was just a test to see if she could tolerate the smell long enough to acquire the drink.
Shay was always insulted by a poor tail. The two obvious plainclothes Turkish cops who’d been following her since her stop at the café didn’t even bother to wipe the looks of concentration off their faces.
She’d give them credit for sensing she might be a troublemaker, considering all the people, Turkish or otherwise, who were there for the festival.
Thankfully, the city’s skies weren’t as choked with drones as LA or New York. Once she lost the cops, she’d be able to make her way to the burial mound site at the edge of the city with ease.
The sun hung low on the western horizon. She’d have a good chance to escape soon if she timed it right.
Shay made her way toward the thickening crowds flowing toward the mosque. She walked with a steady but not quick pace. The cops didn’t need to know she was on to them. The minutes passed as she closed on the mosque.
A loud, sonorous Arabic chant erupted from the mosque. The call to prayer echoed through the nearby streets and alleys. A ripple of interest passed through the crowds as they headed toward the mosque.
The two cops following Shay took their attention off her for a moment and focused on the mosque.
And you’d been doing so well, guys. Too bad. Big mistake.
The tomb raider ducked into an alley and broke into a sprint. She checked over her shoulder as she hit the exit. No tailing cops in sight.
Sorry, but I’ve got a job to do.
Shay stepped out of her gray rental Fiat Qubo. The ultra-compact minivan wasn’t the type of vehicle she wanted to drive, but it didn’t stand out and wouldn’t be all that suspicious driving by the fenced area surrounding the mound site.
Her jammers would keep any drones out of the area, and she didn’t see much in the way of security other than the fence.
She’d switched out of her robe and into a loaded tactical harness, jacket, pants, and boots. She also put on a headlamp. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but the job smelled too easy to her—and Peyton’s warnings about mangled bodies ensured she wouldn’t let her guard down.
Damn it. Maybe I should have brought the magic sword after all.
Shay carefully made her way toward the burial mound. She heard something scratching and dropped to her knees behind a pile of crates, fishing out a sonic grenade. A little shock and awe might be enough to get her through and to the stone.
She poked her head around the corner. Unless she really misunderstood anatomy, a sonic grenade wouldn’t work.
Well, fuck. I guess I know the difference between extending life and denying death now.
Half a dozen animated skeletons wandered back and forth in front of the excavated entrance. They all held curved single-edged sab
ers and small elaborately-decorated round shields, pre-modern Ottoman-era equipment.
The blades gleamed in the moonlight, not a hint of dust or rust on them. The shields looked as if they’d been painted the day before. They didn’t resemble equipment pulled from a burial mound.
What the fuck is up with the undead lately? Overpopulation at its worst. Motherfucking skeletons.
Shay decided the only thing worse than a zombie was a damned skeleton. At least a zombie still had organs a person might target. Their anatomy and movement made sense—magical, but not too magical.
Everything about a moving skeleton was a mockery of biology and physics. They were pure magic in the most annoying sense. Shooting a walking pile of bones with a pistol was pointless.
Now I really wish I’d brought the sword. Maybe it’d be great at chopping skeletons up. First, though, I’ve got to figure out how these bone assholes hunt.
Shay grabbed a rock and threw it against the metal casing of an unpowered spotlight. The rock clinked and fell to the ground. The skeletons ignored it.
Okay, so not sound. How do I get past them? Just walk?
Shay unsheathed one of her adamantine knives and crept toward the skeletons, holding her breath. A few seconds passed, and the skeletons continued to wander near the mound.
The stupid things couldn’t even see her. Of course they couldn’t; they didn’t have eyes. She let out a sigh of relief. They were just for show.
All of the skeletons spun toward her and advanced.
“Well, shit. Fuck it.” Shay ducked a saber. The skeletons rushed after her, not able to match her speed but not lumbering like zombies either.
She slashed with her knife, but other than nicking the bone, she didn’t accomplish much. The skeleton didn’t react at all.
Shay pulled out a second knife in time to parry a powerful slash from a different skeleton. For bastards with no muscles, they hit hard.
The force of the blows pushed her back. She slashed again and again with her knives, but her enemies weren’t reacting to her hits and scratching up bones wasn’t a great way to win a fight against something already dead.
Shay blocked another blow and considered her options. A frag grenade wouldn’t have enough force to blow apart bones.
Am I gonna have to start carrying C4 everywhere with me?
Shay snorted. I wonder if this is how Brownstone felt when he fought those zombies?
The armed piles of bones spread out in a half-circle. A few quick dodges saved Shay from some nasty lacerations, but she was running out of room to maneuver.
Fuck it. I’m not leaving without my damned stone.
The tomb raider flipped on her headlamp and rushed into the burial mound. A saber whizzed by, missing her neck by mere inches.
The excavation had followed the original contours of the long-decayed walls that had once separated the low-ceilinged chambers.
The only noise as she rushed forward was her heavy breathing and the scratching of the bony feet behind her. She would have preferred a few groans or moans.
How do the bastards even sense me?
The skeletons hadn’t reacted to the noise of the rock or seeing her at first. She didn’t understand how they detected her. Maybe, like Alison, they could sense souls at close ranges or something similar. Magic tended to make sense in its own weird way.
Something clicked in her head. Shay spun toward the advancing skeletons, her mind afire with sudden understanding. Everything made perfect sense.
Airtight bag, huh?
She held her breath.
The skeletons stopped and turned back to the entrance.
The tomb raider grinned to herself as she hurried down the thin path between a few of the sub-chambers toward the main burial chamber lying at the end.
The stone lay in the center of the chamber, alone. She wasn’t sure if it’d been buried that way originally, or if other objects had been already removed. If the archaeologists had any inkling of what the stone did they might have been too afraid to move it.
Shay’s lungs started to burn. She sucked in a deep breath and waited, her blades raised. The skeletons didn’t invade the mound.
“Guess you guys are patient as long as I’m not close? I can deal with that.”
She removed a folded silver bag with a small plastic air valve on the side. She placed the stone inside and sealed the bag using its own adhesive strip before removing a small electric pump from her bag. The tomb raider connected the pump to the bag and evacuated all the air.
“Hope this vacuum-sealing shit works.”
Shay took another deep breath and held it before running toward the entrance.
No skeletons waited for her, none standing anyway. Instead, piles of bones lay around the entrance, their swords and shields gone.
Shay let out the breath and took several more. She let a huge smile spread on her face on her way to the minivan.
An easy job or two never hurts.
19
Peyton stifled a yawn as he watched his computer. A message popped up from Shay.
Not an easy job. Locals on the lookout for archaeological site vandal, but no description of me or my rental vehicle. Should have left last night instead of waiting. Too hot to extract from here. Gonna drive to Athens. Take care of my flight. Look after Lily.
“Easy for you to say,” Peyton muttered, yawning again.
Shay might be driving around Turkey in the middle of the afternoon, but the time-zone difference meant Peyton was dealing with a late night.
The researcher sighed and brought up the reservation website. Another yawn attack hit him. He needed to get to bed soon.
If he finished up in the next few minutes, it’d still take a long time to get home. It wasn’t a quick drive even as a straight shot, and the required circuitous safety route would only make it longer. Dying in a car accident after escaping a hit wasn’t his idea of a good ending.
A folded-up cot near the office caught his attention and called to him. He might have torn down most of the cubicle maze, but it wouldn’t hurt to spend a night in the warehouse even if the cot was uncomfortable.
See, Shay? You’re getting your wish.
Peyton smiled. He’d been working hard, and Shay would be fine once he made the reservations and she flew out of Athens.
Shay would probably hit Warehouse Five to drop off the artifact and worry about setting up the drop the next day. Between all the travel and logistics, Peyton could easily squeeze in a night off.
An apartment’s one thing and a pet’s another, but it’s time to really start living again. Not like Shay needs to know about everything I do. She doesn’t tell me everything she does. Lily can take care of herself and insists on doing so, anyway.
He smiled. Everything was going to turn out all right.
Thanks, Shay. Thanks a lot.
The next evening, Peyton adjusted his phone earpiece as he stepped into the crowded bar. Shay had made it to Athens without trouble, but her flight had been delayed and now the Greek authorities were also on the lookout for the “stolen important historical artifact.” Everyone in that region was suddenly getting along just in time to screw the tomb raider.
Peyton divided his time between scanning the crowd and glancing at his phone for updates. Shay’s poor timing had become his poor timing.
This is what I get for convincing myself I’d have an open night without any worries about Shay.
Lily was tucked into bed in the warehouse with an iPad and enough downloaded movies to keep her up till dawn and a freezer full of ice cream. The girl wasn’t going anywhere. Peyton congratulated himself on his ingenuity.
Still, Shay was the unknown factor.
Meeting a girl from the Hello Cupid dating site at a bar might be a bad idea, given his current life situation. He was sure Shay would say as much, but he didn’t care.
He was tired of living in the shadows. Shay and Peyton were both supposed to be dead, but she had a life. She had friends and jaunted
around the country and world. For that matter, she got to hang out with a muscle-bound badass like Brownstone. Peyton didn’t know if they had anything going on, but he found it hard to believe a woman wouldn’t find a guy like that at least a little attractive. He was the Conan to her Red Sonja.
All Peyton had was a cat. A nice cat, but still just a cat and a pseudo little sister.
He could be just as careful as the tomb raider. If asking permission wouldn’t work he’d ask forgiveness later, or better yet, just not get caught.
Peyton looked up from his phone. A cute blonde in silver glasses and a black dress waved from a table in the corner.
Wow. She looks even better in person.
He was rocking an awesome blue seersucker suit, but he hadn’t used a profile picture, figuring it’d be too risky to let free into the net. He was surprised the woman even agreed to meet.
Peyton made his way over to the woman. “Tricia?”
“Peyton?”
“Surprise.” He held out his hand.
Tricia smiled and shook his hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Peyton. You’re a lot cuter than I imagined.” She gasped and put a hand over her mouth. “That sounded rude.”
He took a seat and winked. “Not going to complain about someone saying they like how I look.”
Peyton’s phone vibrated and he pulled it out for a quick glance.
Might be trouble. Might not be. I’ll let you know.
The arrival of the waitress saved Peyton from groaning at his phone. He was half-convinced Shay was screwing him over on purpose while she sipped wine in a hotel room somewhere rather than desperately trying to avoid the attention of authorities in Greece.
“I’ll have a glass of cabernet.”
Tricia smiled. “Funny. That’s exactly what I was going to order.” She winked.
“I’ll have that right to you,” the waitress replied.
