Theo tried not to slap herself in the face. No wonder—Clausen didn’t cover the Scythian stuff. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Actually, it’s the only thing that does.” His calm was slightly eerie. It felt like a conversation they should be having in the cubicles of the loft, not while she was standing in the middle of a deserted industrial block. “The Scythians left us almost no literature, but their jewelry was unparalleled.”
“I know, it’s gorgeous. I did prep work for the brochure last year.”
“It would’ve been a wonderful exhibit. But then, I’ve been saying that a lot lately. Who do you think is responsible?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. The Egyptian items were the real goal.”
“And why do you think that?”
She laughed, but her heart wasn’t in it. “How did I wind up answering your questions instead of asking them?”
“I’m the one asking questions that need answering.” She could hear the doctor tapping his pen on the edge of the desk. “If you’re telling the truth, Miss Speer, why did he steal the Scythian gold?”
“Cover. Make it look like a regular old burglary.” Theo tried to think. “Or maybe for the money, but I wouldn’t bet on it. The guy doing most of the robberies seems to be that Collector character, and he doesn’t strike me as the type that needs cash on hand. Whoever it is, though, if he knows what I know about Number Three’s grave goods, then he’s after more than money.”
“And what is that, exactly?”
“It’s a mess, is what it is.” She took a breath as she tried to figure out how to phrase it. “It’s…it’s big, Doctor. Stolen artifacts, old religion, history being rewritten. Everything we know about Number Three is being turned upside down.”
“That sounds suitably mysterious. And unlikely.” The doctor’s tone remained level. Apparently, being called after hours by an employee on the run didn’t really faze him. “Granted, Egyptology spent most of the nineteenth century as scientific plundering, but things have moved along since then. We learn things through careful research and scholarly analysis, not corpse robbing and midnight hijinks.”
“Dr. Van Allen, if I could have learned this stuff in an incredibly boring and normal way, I would be thrilled beyond belief. You know how they say that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing?”
A pause. “Do you have proof to offer?”
“Yes.” She silently asked Seth to forgive her. “In Number Three’s tomb, there’s a hidden room behind a panel of Apep. It contains several shabtis and a pretty bad copy of the Coffin Texts. Get the museum’s Cairo team to check it out, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
Another pause, longer this time, and she thought she heard the scratching of pen on paper. “It’ll take at least twenty-four hours to get a team to the site,” he informed her calmly. “Are you going to tell me how you came by this information?”
“I know a guy.”
“Miss Speer, you’re not precisely instilling me with confidence.”
“Sir, I swear if you get our Cairo people on the job, they’ll find it.” She let out a breath, trying to settle her racing pulse. “But I’ve learned more. I need to talk to you—I’ve found some things that could lead us to Number Three.” For something to hurt the mummy so badly, it couldn’t be in responsible custody. And that meant that Dr. Van Allen, who’d rather see an artifact disappear than risk it being destroyed, didn’t know where the mummy was right now.
“I must admit, hostage negotiation was not part of my preparation for this position,” he said. Theo could hear more papers shuffling in the background. “But THS203 is invaluable. Where would you like to meet?”
“The museum,” Theo said instantly. “I know for a fact that there aren’t many cameras in the administrative wing. I’ll meet you at the west entrance in one hour.” She swallowed her fear and tried to keep her voice steady. “Please believe me—I don’t want to see Number Three get hurt.”
“It’s a little late for that,” the doctor responded, his voice steady. “But I believe we share a goal in that respect. One hour.”
* * *
The museum campus was dead and dark after nightfall. Dr. Van Allen might not want to see THS203 hurt any more than she did, but that didn’t mean she could walk in and ask to see him. Security would be on high alert, and even if there were no cameras in the administrative section, it would be too easy to get caught.
It was probably stupid to come back to the museum. But this new robbery was something out of place, and she needed to see the wrecked collection. Maybe someone who knew about the unnatural aspects of the situation would be able to spot something the police couldn’t.
That was the theory, anyway. But as she clambered awkwardly up the iced-over path toward the white building, she forced herself to admit that it was also partially about comfort.
The loft of the Columbian was more like home than her apartment or her parents’ place. It was the place where she was safest and happiest, the place that provided her with a bulwark against the rest of the world. Now that everything was going wrong and her life had been violently turned upside down, she wanted to see that place one more time—in case she didn’t get a chance to return.
From the outside, the museum was silent and lifeless. Its sleek pillars and high arches seemed to belong to a different time, and with fresh snow covering everything, the building took on the air of an archaeological site. A temple, perhaps. It was as if an ice age had destroyed all life on Earth and the wind was blowing through the shattered stone monuments of a dead species.
Interesting picture. Bad time to be contemplating it, though.
She finally reached the crest of the hill. The reflected light from Soldier Field cast her shadow, thin and wavy, across the main steps of the northern entrance as she passed them by. The north and south sides were for patrons, who would climb shallow steps to a colonnaded entryway and a nineteenth-century-style wrought-iron gate over the modern glass door. The side entrance Theo was aiming for had security doors, a keycard scanner, and a camera perched on the lintel.
Not that she couldn’t avoid that. You technically weren’t supposed to smoke within one hundred feet of a public building, but the people who had made that policy hadn’t realized that they were asking a smoker to give up the broad cover of the museum and go stand in the lake wind when it was below freezing. No matter where the cameras were put, half the art department would be inevitably found wedged into the tiniest blind spot, puffing away like nicotine ninjas. If she’d doubted she was in the right place, she could follow the trail of cigarette butts.
Dr. Van Allen was waiting for her under one of the orange safety lights. The ominous effect of the heavy shadows on his dark suit was somewhat spoiled by the Chicago Bears jacket and scarf he was wearing over it. It occurred to Theo that this was the first time she’d ever seen him wear a coat: on a typical day he would arrive earlier than she would, and often stay later. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed to have shrunk an inch or two in the last few days.
“Miss Speer,” he greeted her perfunctorily. “You’re going incognito, I see.”
“Haven’t had much of a choice.” She tugged at the edge of her hood, making sure most of her curly brown hair was covered. “Thank you for meeting me, Doctor.”
“You made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” The curator’s tone had a touch of grim humor, which surprised her. She hadn’t been aware he could be amused. “I presume you won’t consider stepping inside? It’s a little chilly out here.”
“Actually,” Theo said, “I want to see the site of the second robbery.”
Dr. Van Allen’s eyebrows rose, and she hurried to elaborate. “I’m not going to touch anything or interfere with the site. I won’t ask what the cops have told you, or how you think it was done. I need to see it.”
The curator looked her over with a strange expression. “You’ve put a great deal of thought into this,” he observed. “I d
on’t recall hiring you for your ability to negotiate a criminal trespass.”
Her heart sank. “You didn’t. Are we actually going to do anything, Doctor?” The words were sharpened by worry. “Because if you’d rather make fun of me, I can get back to what I was doing and leave you to find THS203 on your own.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Van Allen’s lips thinned. “I’m disappointed, though.”
“That makes two of us. Not the way I wanted to spend Christmas.” Theo gestured to the door. “After you, sir.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Dr. Van Allen swiped his card through the reader and opened the door. He went first, and Theo followed him, her hood still up to obscure her features.
Granted, nobody was expecting her to return to the scene of her supposed crime. That didn’t mean she was going to be careless.
Dr. Van Allen swiped open a new door and the pair of them ducked into the brightly lit back corridors. Theo followed closely, trying not to let her impatience make her get ahead of him. Her heart was thumping painfully under her breastbone. She eyed each corner and door before she reached them.
She knew the shabtis had been divided up. A few were on display; others had been moved to the secondary prep labs for LoJacking, and if the news reports had been correct, it was that group that had been stolen. The rest, a group of twelve or so, were still in Prep A. Thank goodness: if the little guys had been in one group, they might’ve all been stolen.
Prep D was a mess. Crime-scene tape roped off the entrance, and the door hung half-open where the lock had been burned through. Several clear cases—extra-strength plastic, the toughest available—had been cleanly broken open, but anything made of glass was smashed. The sterile tables were scuffed and sooty, with corresponding scorch marks on the ceiling above them. Theo’s eyes widened.
“Did they use dynamite or something?” she said, dumbfounded. “This isn’t a robbery; this is a sack.”
“Like Troy,” the doctor agreed levelly. “Scorched earth and all.”
Theo picked her way through the debris. Several items lay where they had fallen, cordoned off by the plastic markers the cops used to label them. An orange-and-black Grecian urn hadn’t so much shattered as crumbled, leaving nothing but a heap of colored chunks. Several less fragile items, including a stone fertility goddess, were overturned and flecked with soot. Whatever happened had been quick, messy, and destructive.
But there was more to it than that. A strange gray pall hung over the place. Something whispered past her, a familiar-sounding syllable that was gone when she turned to chase it, and there seemed to be a mistiness in the air. She twitched, and Dr. Van Allen frowned at her.
She couldn’t help it. It was there. It had to be.
Squaring her shoulders, Theo skirted around a caved-in tabletop and crouched down next to one of the ruined cases. True to her word, she didn’t touch, but she didn’t have to. The edges of the plastic were warped, reflecting the light in smooth spots like flowing oil. It had been cut with a torch. A nearby particleboard shelf had burned fiercely, collapsing into splintered ashes that littered the bottom of the cabinet.
The clear plastic was dotted with beads of moisture. Theo swiped a corner of her sleeve over the cabinet, then sniffed it. It had a faint, rank odor, like slow-moving water under a hot sun.
A prep room should have been dry.
“Something’s going wrong.” Theo stood up, trying and failing to calm her racing heart. Something was already wrong; the shadows were strange—dark in places where they shouldn’t be. The colors were shifting subtly, but the lighting was staying the same.
Van Allen’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Speer, I’ve been patient. Extraordinarily so, I think. But you’re not giving me answers, and paranoia isn’t a helpful trait in an employee.”
“It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. Look at the shadows.”
The curator looked around the lab. “It’s night, Miss Speer. Shadows tend to come out at night. What are you…?” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Wait, what…?”
“Don’t you see? The light is wrong.” Theo instinctively shifted her feet, bracing as if she were getting ready to run. Maybe she was. “Doc, I think we should get out of here.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Van Allen picked up the phone. “I’ll call Security.”
“I’m guessing they’re going to say everything is okay.” Theo backed toward the door, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the shadows. “Or they won’t say anything at all. This is going to sound crazy, but which of these walls faces west?”
“I would say…the one you’re looking at.” His expression was tightening. “Speer, do you hear something?”
“Whispering?” Yes, yes she did. “Getting louder?”
“Speer,” Van Allen said with inhuman calm, “what the hell is exactly going on here?”
“I’m not sure.” Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes watered as she struggled not to blink more than absolutely necessary. Every time she did, the shadows shifted that little bit closer. “But if I had to guess, I think there’s a jackal somewhere close.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The words seemed to be a reflex.
“Then tell me what that is.”
The shadows were coalescing in the doorway. Four paws lightly touched the ground, gliding over the shattered debris on the floor as if it weren’t there. The eyes glinting from the darkness were golden, surrounded by sleek blackness.
Theo grabbed a leg from the broken table and hurled it at the eyes. It sailed between them and bounced off the opposite wall of the corridor. The eyes never blinked. Behind her, Dr. Van Allen drew in a breath.
The shadows gathered, and suddenly the eyes winked out. If Theo strained, she could see the darkness draining away, leaking out through the door like dim mist flowing with the air. Heart in her mouth, she pursued it, lunging through the door, and prepared to throw something else if necessary.
Something surged in the dimness of the corridor; the form of a tall, pale man loomed up. His palm slammed against her heart, sending Theo reeling backward. And then came the pain.
Her muscles locked, clenching so tightly that she thought they would rip out through her skin. White-hot agony flooded through her—tearing, wrenching—a knot of pain pulling her inward until she would die or peel her skin off her own bones to escape it. Female voices, four or five of them, were shouting and babbling in her ears as the burning hand wrenched at her heart. She couldn’t hold back a scream.
“Ri,” one whispered hoarsely against her ear. “Ata. Ri ata. Hate.”
She gasped for air and as quickly as it had appeared, the pressure vanished. Theo stumbled and sat down hard. Her attacker fell back and hunched over his hand, which was rapidly turning red as if burned. Veins bulged under the skin.
“What—” Van Allen began. His voice came dimly to her ringing ears. Alarmed, the pale man pulled back into the shadows, but it was too late—he’d been spotted. Van Allen leaped forward. “Speer! Are you alive?”
Theo barely managed to make a wheezing noise, her eyes locked on the injured man in the corridor. The face was obscured, but the form wasn’t, and through the pounding of her heart she could hear him gasping out strange words in a horribly familiar voice.
Zimmer.
“Why?” she forced out. “Why are you—this—?”
The Security chief lurched forward and grabbed the shoulder of her jacket, dragging her roughly over the threshold. Van Allen’s surprised shout was ignored. Theo clawed at his hands, drawing blood, and with a curse he dropped her to the floor.
“Where is he?” he shouted. “What did he give you?”
“He’s not here.” Theo’s words came out as a growl, surprising her. “What are you doing? You set me up!”
Zimmer didn’t answer. He turned and ran, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, and Theo staggered to her feet in an effort to follow him. Her knees buckled again, forcing her to grab the lintel for support. The world reele
d as if it were trying to shake her off.
“Get back here!” Van Allen shouted. To her surprise, the little curator took off at a respectable sprint, tie flying as he pelted into the darkness after Zimmer.
There was a gasp of pain and a heavy thud. Theo struggled forward, heart in her mouth, but over her own harsh breathing she could only hear one set of footsteps. A dark lump in the shadows resolved itself into Dr. Van Allen lying on his side, one leg askew. The color was draining from his face.
“Dr. Van Allen!” she whispered. The curator cut her off with a grimace and a flail of his hand.
“Not now!” The words were strained, but Van Allen’s expression was hard through the pain. “He was heading for the stairs!”
Theo nodded and hurried past the slumped man. She could hear footsteps ahead. Hollow rising echoes as he took the stairs upward. Trying to ignore the burns and aches in her muscles, she pushed herself into a run.
By the time she reached the second landing, she realized where he was heading. Panting, Theo clutched her side and picked up speed. Prep D was close to the ground floors, making it easier to transport artifacts to or from exhibits once they’d been LoJacked and prepared. The rest of the technical floors were above that, but a cut left through Animatronics would get you to Prep A, and that meant shabtis too.
Despite his strange reaction earlier, Zimmer was moving faster than she could. As she skidded through the door to Animatronics, her heart gave a warning twinge and the burning sensation around it spread across her shoulder and collarbone. Heart attack? She hoped not, but she couldn’t remember what the warning signs were supposed to be. Everything was a blur.
With an effort, she pushed herself and found an extra burst of speed from somewhere. She couldn’t see Zimmer anymore, could just hear the pounding of his footsteps and the occasional crash as he knocked something over. An expensive light table was lying on its side in the middle of the cubicle hallway, its top shattered. Theo skirted it, glass skittering off the treads of her shoes, and braced herself in time to avoid crashing into the wall of the prep lab.
Painter of the Dead (Shades of Immortality Book 1) Page 22
