The Five-Day Dig

by Jennifer Malin

  Chaz jumped up and yanked her to her feet. “Everybody out of here!”

  They ran for the door, choking on particles of debris.

  SEDICI

  SHE RAN OUT of the temple holding Chaz’s hand, her free arm draped over her head to protect herself from falling fragments.

  As soon as they hit the night air, the noises behind them died, supplanted by the chirping of crickets. A full moon shed cold, pale light on the path beaten into the dirt over the last few days.

  About thirty feet from the building, the group slowed and looked back, coughing and gasping. The exterior appeared the same as it had before – no outward sign of damage.

  A couple of yards to Winnie’s left someone sobbed. She looked over and saw that it was Amara. A dust-free Enza brushed her off, murmuring words of comfort. Hank stood beside them, looking concerned about Amara but not sure what to do for her.

  On the other side of Chaz, Jack sat on the ground, using the edge of his toga to dab at a smear of blood on his cheek. One of his horns stuck out to the side with the tip broken off.

  Winnie pulled Chaz toward a pile of soil that had been covered with a tarp, and they sat down on it.

  He put an arm around her and stroked her hair. “Did that masonry hit you?”

  “No.” Leaning against his chest, she soaked up his warmth and strength. Even amid the chaos, the new experience of feeling him, smelling him and studying him excited her. “It just scared me, I think.”

  “You’re trembling. Lie down.” He helped her into a prone position with her head in his lap. She gazed up at him, smitten.

  “Keep shooting!” a familiar male voice shouted from the direction of the temple.

  She lifted her head to look over, only then realizing that Dunk wasn’t with the rest of them.

  Hank hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and turned it toward the building.

  Coated in white dust, the show host ran from the door and toward Hank, looking directly into the lens. “We seem to have had an earth tremor,” he said, gasping for air. “I think it’s over now.”

  He coughed, took a deep breath, and surveyed the rest of them. “Is everyone all right?”

  No one answered. Winnie couldn’t believe he was still performing. She supposed the show must go on, but continuing under these circumstances seemed too much to ask of them.

  Dunk rushed over to Jack and looked at the cut on his cheek. “Do you need a doctor, Jack?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “No, it’s superficial.”

  “What do you think just happened?”

  “A tremor, as you said.” He sounded irritated. Pulling off his horns, he threw them aside. “Hopefully isolated. If there are more to come, this site is in danger.”

  “Are you ready to go back in and see how much damage we’ve sustained?”

  Jack gave him a look of disbelief. “Hell, no. We’ll need to monitor what’s going on seismically in the area. If all is quiet during the night and our structural engineer gives us the go in the morning, then we can go back in.”

  Domenico’s Quattroporte pulled up in the background, its headlights shining on them. Doors on both sides of it opened, and he and Farber jumped out and ran up to the rest of them. Domenico rushed to his daughter’s side, but her composure made it clear she wasn’t hurt.

  “What happened?” he asked the group in general. “A collapse?”

  Jack rubbed the top of his head. “The tremor knocked some plaster down on us. We’re all right, I think.”

  Farber frowned. “What tremor?”

  “You didn’t feel it?” Dunk asked. “It must have been minor, but it certainly felt significant inside the temple. Perhaps it was just an underground collapse that gave us a shake.”

  “The downstairs wall may have fallen down,” Jack said. “I thought the engineer and I braced it well, but the building is 2,000 years old, after all.”

  Dunk turned to the camera with his wonky eyes wide. “Perhaps it’s the curse. The goddess may not be pleased that we’ve disturbed her temple. She may not feel our rites were performed properly tonight.”

  Winnie made a face. She glanced up at Chaz to see what he thought of that kind of theatrics. He watched the scene poker-faced.

  “In any case,” Dunk went on, “it looks like we’re done here for the night. We’ll pick up on Day 4.”

  Amara wobbled forward to take her place in front of the camera. Without a clapboard or any enthusiasm, she said, “Cut. That’s a wrap.”

  At that point, Farber noticed Winnie and Chaz on the spoil heap. He stormed over to them. “What the hell are you doing, Winifred? Roman initiation didn’t include ritual sex.”

  The remark hit her like a slap across the face. She and Chaz had barely escaped disaster, and he had no concern for them, only criticism? A spurt of adrenaline wiped the confusion and fear from her mind. She sat up, indignant. “A building almost collapsed on us, William. Can’t we take a moment to pull ourselves together?”

  He glared at her but kept his mouth shut.

  She lifted her chin, matching his stare. This time, he’d gone too far. She would not back down.

  Eventually, Chaz broke the standoff. “Actually, the Romans may have performed ritual sex,” he said in the tone of someone sharing an interesting fact. “This part of Italy was influenced heavily by Greece, and we know that hieros gamos, the divine wedding, was reenacted at Athens.”

  In the background, Jack chuckled, but Farber didn’t crack a smile. He frowned at Winnie. “You will recuse yourself from reviewing Charles’ dissertation.”

  “Why? This isn’t a classroom. And we’re not having sex.”

  He snorted. “Not at the moment. But I won’t be assigning his dissertation to you. Ride back to the house with me now.”

  “No. I’ll walk.” She struggled to her feet and staggered away on rubbery legs, determined to escape his presence. “This excavation has nothing to do with the university, and I have nothing to say to you.”

  Chaz caught up with her almost instantly.

  “Wait, Charles!” Farber shouted after them. “Ride with me. We need to talk.”

  “In the morning,” Chaz called back over his shoulder.

  He tried to take her arm, but she shrugged him off. “I don’t want to give him anymore fodder for his accusations,” she said under her breath. “Last night, it was forgery. Tonight he charges me with an illicit relationship with a student. What will it be tomorrow – murder?”

  “I’m not your student,” he said.

  Ignoring the comment, she cut through the parking lot and pushed her way through brush to the dirt road that led to the house.

  The sudden serenity of the moonlit path between two vineyards offered a welcome contrast to the tumult by the temple. Replaying the last few minutes in her mind, she shook her head to herself. “I’m sorry, Chaz. Don’t worry. Anyone in the department who reads your dissertation will be impressed.”

  “I’m not worried about my dissertation. And you have no reason to apologize.”

  She kept her eyes focused on the rut-ridden road. “Yes, I do. I wasn’t behaving appropriately. Dr. Farber’s right.”

  “Farber is never right.”

  The rush of adrenaline had faded, and she slowed her pace, tired. The cool air felt wonderful, and the moon looked so beautiful ... Her thoughts began to stray. She bit her lip. She had to keep her head above that dreamy delirium that had left her smitten and stupid back at the temple. Looking at him, she said, “I’ve been treating you too much like a ... a peer. You’re my student.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t taken one of your classes in two years. Yes, I was your TA this semester, but the school year is over. You can treat me like a peer now. Please do.”

  To some extent, he had a point. Her mind was muddled, but she knew that the barrier broken down between them earlier couldn’t be rebuilt. She had to try to explain her concerns.

  Stopping on the path, she turned to face him. “You may ma
ke light of this, but when I was working on my doctorate, one of my profs made a move on me. When I rejected him, he spread lies about me. I don’t know what he said, but all the instructors got cold toward me. I would have lost everything, except he pulled the same stunt with another student who turned out to be the niece of a rich and generous alum. When she complained, he lost credibility.”

  He gazed into her eyes, melting what little willpower she had. “And that’s why you’re keeping your distance from me?”

  “Keeping my distance?” Her voice cracked with strain – the sound of someone pleading for mercy. “I had my head in your lap back there.”

  “But you want to be even closer.”

  She stared at him for another moment. Oh, yes, she did, and she knew he could sense it, smell it, feel the telltale ions dancing between them. If he reached out and touched her, she would be his.

  Before he could, she started walking again. “Talk to me about it when I’m not seeing paisleys dancing behind my eyelids. ... On second thought, don’t.”

  “You’ve got to stop letting bullies ruin your life.”

  “What could I have done with that professor? He was in a position of power. I was a starving grant student with no connections.”

  “I mean now. You have connections now. Why are you letting Farber bully you?”

  Shocked, she looked at him. “I’m not. I just told him off.”

  He grabbed her hand. “Then let’s pick up from where we left off back at the temple.”

  Headlights flashed up from behind, and she snatched her hand away. Dunk’s car pulled up beside them with him at the wheel and Amara on the passenger side. He rolled down the window. “Want a lift the rest of the way?”

  “That’s probably a good idea. Thanks.” Winnie opened the door.

  She climbed in and slid across the back seat, but a crate on the opposite side prevented her from moving all the way over.

  Chaz got in after her and squeezed into the remaining space, his side flush against hers. She squeezed against the crate, but there was no way to insert space between them. Sighing, she looked at him warily. He smiled at her.

  Dunk glanced at them in the rearview mirror. “Your boss crossed the line back there – as well as last night. I told him as much after you left, Winnie. In the morning, he’ll realize what an arse he’s been. Meanwhile, are you two sure you didn’t get injured?”

  “We’re fine.” Chaz said.

  Winnie felt like lying back and closing her eyes, but she forced herself to lean forward between Dunk and Amara. Concentrate on where you are, she told herself. “Do you think Jack is right about the downstairs wall collapsing?”

  Dunk pulled the car off the dirt road onto the drive leading up to the house. “We’ll find out soon enough. I’ve already called our engineer. A collapse would be odd, though, because we braced the wall professionally. I hope nothing dodgy is going on.”

  Winnie snorted and sat back in her seat. “You mean the curse?”

  He laughed. “Of course not. I just said that for the camera. I’m talking about sabotage.”

  Her gaze shot back to him. “You suspect Father Giampiero?”

  “Well, he made bloody well sure he got out of the temple early tonight. And he didn’t come back with Dom and Will.”

  She digested this. What would the priest’s motive be for causing a collapse, if he even had the ability? There were no scrolls in the temple, only amphorae. Could he be so incensed about the pagan rites that he would go to any length to stop them?

  “To be fair,” Chaz said, “Dr. Farber and Signore Rentino were also gone when the collapse happened. If foul play is involved, they could just as easily be behind it.”

  “And Enza was outside,” Amara added. “If Dom is responsible, perhaps he warned his daughter about it, and she knew to get out.”

  Dunk pulled the car up in front of the villa and parked. “Or the wall might have just been in worse shape than it looked. As Jack noted, it’s 2,000 years old.”

  Entering the house, they were all quiet. As Winnie and Chaz followed Dunk and Amara up the stairs, a medley of images from the wild evening flashed through her mind, but the slideshow always came to a stop on Chaz’s face, close to hers.

  Dunk approached his door, across from Amara’s, and fished for the correct key on his ring. “Get a good night’s sleep, everyone. Who knows what lies in store for us tomorrow?”

  Chaz stopped just past him. “By the way, Dunk, Winnie and I think the beer you brewed may have psychoactive properties. I suspect that the triticum purpurea had wheat fungus.”

  He did a double-take. “Are you winding me up? I had a glass last night and another one tonight. I didn’t notice anything unusual.”

  “The effects don’t seem to be strong, but we probably shouldn’t drink any more of it.”

  “Indeed not. If it’s giving you hallucinations, I’m appalled.”

  Winnie waved off his concerns. The trauma of the collapse had faded, and the warm, fuzzy feelings reigned again. “No hallucinations – well, maybe one at the temple. But it’s mostly funny feelings. And swirling colors behind my eyelids when I close them.”

  “Oh, dear.” Dunk turned to Amara. “Are you experiencing anything strange?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and shook her head. “I don’t think so, but I barely drank any of the beer.”

  He looked back at Chaz and Winnie. “I certainly hope you’ll feel no further effects.

  She shook her head. “We’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

  After Dunk and Amara entered their rooms, Winnie hesitated at her own door, reluctant to open it. Although her hallucination hadn’t scared her, the idea of being alone made her wary. She stared at the wooden panels.

  “Are you going to be all right?” Chaz asked. “Because I can stay with you. I won’t try anything ... unless you want me to.”

  “Oh, that’s reassuring,” she said with a smirk. “ ‘Unless I want you to.’ ”

  He let out a short laugh. “What do you want me to say? Even if you want me to?”

  “I’m in no state of mind to ...” She put a hand up to her forehead. “Oh, why am I always making excuses for myself?”

  “You were drugged, Winnie. That’s not your fault.”

  She took a deep breath. They were walking on thin ice – or more like the thin crust of a smoldering volcano – but the thought of him leaving seemed unbearable. “Can you come in for a few minutes? Just until I make sure no monsters are going to jump out at me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks.” She opened the door, switched on a light, and they went into her room.

  Together, they checked under the bed, in the bathroom, and in the closet. Everything appeared normal.

  “I guess everything seems OK.” She looked at him uneasily. “Can you stay until I’m ready for bed? I mean, while I change in the bathroom and brush my teeth.”

  “Sure. Take as long as you like.” He glanced at her laptop on the desk. “Do you mind if I check seismic activity online?”

  “Good idea. Take a look at the Vesuvius monitoring station, too. I have it bookmarked.”

  While he sat down and turned on her laptop, she went to the dresser and pulled out a T-shirt and shorts. “I can’t wait to get out of this silly sheet.”

  “You look great in it.” He didn’t look away from the computer screen, but she saw him smile to himself and felt pleased. “Do you have a T-shirt I can wear, too?

  She rummaged through the drawer. “My souvenir tee from the conference should fit you, but what will you do for pants?”

  “I have shorts on under this.”

  She found the tee and gave it to him, then went into the bathroom.

  After a moment of struggling to unpin the brooches on her shoulders, she stepped out of the costume and hung it on a hook on the door. She pulled the T-shirt over her head and looked in the mirror while she smoothed down her hair. Her pupils were still dilated, making he
r eyes look big and doll-like. As she stared at herself, they grew smaller, then bigger again.

  Disturbed, she looked down. The Madonna and Child statuette on the shelf caught her eye. She noticed the tree crown on the mother again.

  “Is that a juniper?” she wondered out loud, bending down to get a better view.

  The tree lacked enough detail to identify the species. Her gaze shifted to the figures with their black complexions and golden hair. She remembered reading that hundreds of Madonna statues and paintings in Europe depicted the Virgin with black skin. Legends associated with some of them attributed the shade to darkening from soot, but there were far too many examples for coincidence, in her opinion. Another theory held that the black skin harkened back to traditional depictions of a pagan goddess.

  Staring at the strange figure, Winnie tilted her head. “Who are you?”

  As she watched, the Virgin’s closed eyes opened, and she smiled gently, like the priestess in the temple fresco. Her gold crown began to glow, first faintly, like a halo, then brighter until small flames shot out of it.

  Winnie squealed and looked around frantically for a way to put out the fire. Snatching a plastic cup from the shelf, she filled it with water. But when she looked back at the statue, it appeared normal – no sign of burning.

  She dropped the cup in the sink, shut off the faucet and ran out of the room.

  Chaz, in the T-shirt and boxers, stood by her bed folding his toga. She rushed over to him and wrapped him in a bear hug.

  He put his arm around her and looked down at her with a lopsided grin. “Did you see a spider?”

  “The Madonna statue smiled at me, then burst into flames. Now it’s back to normal again.”

  He smothered a laugh. “Sorry. But if it’s back to normal, what’s the worry?”

  His composure and the warmth of his body reassured her, but her thoughts still tumbled out of control. “An inanimate object smiled at me and spontaneously combusted. ... What does it mean?”

  Grinning, he pulled her tight against him. “It means you had too much of Dunk’s bloody purple beer.”

  He felt wonderful – warm and hard-muscled. Spreading her hands over his back, she absorbed the experience of holding him. “I know, but it seemed so real. ... I think I need someone to stay with me tonight. If not, I’m going to have a panic attack.”