Echo Prophecy Page 9

  Reaching out, he grasped my hand and shook it firmly. “A pleasure, Ms. Larson.” His accent was as rich and beautiful as I remembered from our brief encounter at the bar.

  “Yes, it is, Professor Bahur.” I forced myself not to stare at him like a moon-eyed teenager, which was exactly how I’d acted at the bar.

  As he released my hand, he flicked his eyes to the barista and said, “The usual, please. Thank you, Cassandra.” To me, he said, “Well then, Ms. Larson. Why don’t you pick a table and get settled. I’ll join you shortly.”

  “Sure.”

  Pleasantly disturbed and highly confused, I wound through the haphazard clusters of tables and chairs to an unoccupied corner. I sat on a bench against the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intriguing professor’s interaction with the barista.

  Cassandra bubbled and chirped nonstop while Professor Bahur waited for his order. He rarely spoke, only providing one-word answers when required, but she was unperturbed. At every shift of his body she giggled or simpered or sighed. Such a little girl, I thought blandly. I ignored the fact that my body had wanted to respond in an unfortunately similar fashion during both of our brief encounters.

  “Get a grip,” I muttered. The director of the greatest excavation opportunity I’d ever been offered was a no-flirt zone. I needed to get my ridiculous, unprofessional reactions to him under control.

  But damn, even though he was still wearing his heavy wool coat, I could tell he was well built. When he moved, every inch of him seemed utterly sure of its placement, like a dancer or a master of the martial arts. I couldn’t help but imagine what his body would look like without clothing, unintentionally leading me to think about it pressed against mine … covering mine … moving against mine. Unbidden, Mike’s body replaced the professor’s in my lewd thoughts. My heart rate increased dramatically, and my breaths grew short.

  “Ms. Larson? Are you alright?” Professor Bahur asked from across the table. He sat, placing a cappuccino cup and saucer on the wooden surface.

  “Hmm?” I snapped my mind back to the here and now, shoving away all lust or panic-inducing thoughts. Under the professor’s steady gaze, I said, “Yes … yes, I’m fine. Thank you. I was just thinking …”

  Like a falcon, he cocked his head to the side and scrutinized me. “Sometimes, I find that stray thoughts can be quite troublesome. A curse of the intelligent, I suppose.” He included me in his undefined “intelligent” group with a flick of his hand on the table.

  “I suppose,” I said. “Or a curse of the cursed.”

  “Are you cursed, Ms. Larson?” His amber eyes were penetrating.

  I shook my head and laughed softly, thinking of all that had happened during the last month. “Maybe.”

  Professor Bahur’s expression turned serious. “Well, that can be quite an inconvenience when bounding around on excavations and such, don’t you think? One might accumulate more curses than one can bear.”

  “I’ve been on several excavations over the past five years and the curses have yet to interfere with my life. What about you, Professor?”

  He lowered his eyes and studied his cappuccino. “Some people are more cursed than others.”

  I coughed, choking on the sip of coffee I’d just taken. “I … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  He waved away my concern with his hand. “Please, don’t worry about me. I’ve had a long time to learn how to live with my curses.”

  Unsure of how to respond, I took another sip of frothy latte, this time cough-free.

  “I’m very eager to work with you, Ms. Larson. I’ve been reading up on your work. Your piece in the Journal of Mediterranean Archaeology was exceptionally enlightening.”

  I brightened, happy to veer toward a less-personal topic of conversation. The article he spoke of focused on my unconventional method for deciphering unknown or unclear symbols across dozens of ancient languages using similar, but technically unrelated texts; it formed the basis for my dissertation as well.

  “Thank you, Professor. Honestly, I’m hoping your excavation will provide an opportunity for me to test some of my theories. I think it’ll really increase the methodology’s validity.”

  “I’m certain it will,” he agreed, taking a sip of his coffee, which also appeared to be a latte. “Now, I’m sure you’d like the specifics of the excavation.”

  “Yes, I really would.”

  He nodded absentmindedly. “Several years ago, I discovered a couple of stone tablets referring to a temple in Deir el-Bahri. A temple that, as far as we know, doesn’t exist.”

  “Or just hasn’t been discovered yet,” I added. Deir el-Bahri, located on the west bank of the Nile in southern Egypt, was world-famous, mostly because the mortuary temple of one of the most famous female pharaohs—Hatchepsut—was located there. The idea that there might be an undiscovered temple somewhere among Deir el-Bahri’s steep, limestone cliffs was astounding … and so incredibly intriguing.

  “Precisely,” he agreed.

  “Professor, if you’ve discovered an entirely unknown temple there, you’ve made the find of a lifetime!” I was in complete and utter awe of the beautiful creature sharing a café table with me, not for his looks, but for his unquestionable intellect.

  Eyes sparkling, he continued, “It gets better, Ms. Larson. The temple has remained hidden for so long because of its unique construction. Unlike the three main temples at Deir el-Bahri, ours was designed without majestic colonnades and ramps—the entire structure is supposedly carved into the cliffs.”

  I nodded, trying to comprehend the enormity of the potential find. “So it’s supposed to be more like the tombs in Valley of the Kings?” I asked, referring to the cluster of tombs located on the other side of Deir el-Bahri’s cliffs.

  He nodded. “Based on recent geologic studies, we are fairly certain of the location of the temple’s buried main entrance.”

  “Main entrance? As in, not the only entrance?”

  The professor’s mouth quirked into a mysterious smile, an expression I was quickly growing fond of. “You’re quick, Ms. Larson. Dr. Ramirez warned me about that aspect of your character.”

  “Warned you? Last I checked, being quick wasn’t a bad thing.” Damn, my tongue was going to get me into trouble with him.

  He acquiesced with a dignified nod. “You’re correct, of course. I must remember not to underestimate you, though your youth and … other attributes may lead me in that direction.”

  I kept my face blank, pretty sure my new boss had just insulted and complemented me at the same time.

  His lips quirked again. “Back to the issue of multiple entrances—you see, the tablets indicate that our undiscovered temple connects to Djeser-Djeseru.”

  My mouth fell open and I held up a hand. Djeser-Djeseru—roughly meaning “holiest of holies”—was the ancient name of Queen Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple. I couldn’t believe that the most famous, visited, and explored temple in Deir el-Bahri contained an as-yet-undiscovered secret passage that led to an as-yet-undiscovered secret temple. “You’re kidding, right? That’s impossible!”

  Professor Bahur stared into my wide, stunned eyes with a complete lack of humor.

  “You’re not kidding? Oh my God … you’re serious?”

  He raised one eyebrow at my shocked redundancy.

  Placing both of my hands flat on the tabletop, I said, “Let me get this straight. You think you can find a previously unknown temple that connects to Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple?”

  He gave a single, minute nod.

  “But that would mean there’s an undiscovered secret passageway in Haty’s temple. That site’s been scoured by … I don’t know—everyone—over the past century! It must draw more than a million visitors every year! How is this even possible?”

  “It would appear, Ms. Larson, that Haty”—the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement at my nickname for the famous female pharaoh—“was a woman of many secrets. Her stepson and her architect did a very g
ood job of covering them up. Your main role on this excavation is to uncover those secrets—particularly the exact location of the entrance in her temple—as I’ve yet to have much luck.”

  Oh my God … Oh my God … Oh my God, I thought, and my nerves hummed with excitement. Professor Bahur had just handed me a task that pretty much every archaeologist would kill for.

  He made a low, knowing sound. It was annoyingly attractive. “Yes, I thought you might enjoy that bit of information.”

  “This is unbelievable. Thank you so much!” I practically laughed.

  “You are quite welcome. It just so happens that your skill set is precisely what might crack the final riddle. You specialize in deciphering difficult, ancient texts … we have difficult, ancient to decipher,” he said cheerily. “Do keep in mind that you will need to do a fair amount of research in preparation for our departure.”

  I nodded, brimming with anticipation. I would do almost anything to participate in his excavation.

  Professor Bahur continued, “The university has been kind enough to set aside a classroom on the top floor of Denny Hall for the excavation team to plan and prep. I expect you’ll spend most of the winter term there. I’d like you to come by on Monday morning so I can give you a key and introduce you to the rest of the team.”

  “Sure. What time?”

  “Half past eight should work nicely. Additionally, I’ve made arrangements with Dr. Ramirez for your graduate duties to be pushed aside. You won’t need to teach students or complete any unrelated research projects. This excavation will function as your entire course of study for the next year. I need your focus uninterrupted. Is that acceptable?”

  I was stunned. This enigmatic, visiting professor had spoken with my advisor and completely altered the next year of my life before he’d even met me … at least, officially. I felt a twinge of irritation that he hadn’t consulted with me before rearranging the next year of my life, but the results were amazing enough that I ignored it. “Yes, I think so. Thank you … again, Professor Bahur.”

  “You’re welcome … again, Ms. Larson. I expect your participation will invigorate the excavation.”

  Invigorate the excavation—what the hell does that mean? Along with uncovering the secrets of a long-dead queen, I anticipated uncovering the mysteries behind the confounding man sitting across from me.

  We discussed some of the more technical details of the excavation over the next several hours. During a lull in our conversation, Professor Bahur glanced around and then said, “I’m afraid our meeting lasted longer than I’d anticipated and night has fallen. I’d hate for you to have to walk home alone in the dark. Might I walk with you?”

  Gazing through the narrow, floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite wall, I found that the sun had indeed set and twilight had come and gone. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” Although the idea of a companion on my trip home was tempting, I didn’t want to impinge on Professor Bahur’s undoubtedly valuable time. “You really don’t need to walk me home,” I told him, but for a reason I didn’t understand at all, I wanted him to. I should have been running for the hills after what happened with Mike, but I felt an overwhelming amount of trust for the professor. I shook my head the barest amount. Yep, I’ve officially lost it.

  Professor Bahur lifted his coat from the back of his chair and shrugged into it. “Really, Ms. Larson, there is a great deal of difference between want and need. I’d expect someone of your advanced academic experience to be familiar with the disparity.”

  Standing, I blushed at the idea of him wanting anything non-academic from me and used arranging my coat and scarf as a shield. “Alright, but only if you want to,” I said, attempting to keep the teasing tone in the friendly range.

  “I assume, then, that a combination of want and need are acceptable,” he said with a severely polite air, the sharp sparkle in his eyes the only hint of playfulness. “One must always keep a watchful eye on those he needs in matters of business, and I couldn’t possibly turn down the chance to spend more time in the company of such a lovely, knowledgeable colleague.” He indicated the crooked path toward the door with a negligent gesture. “After you, Ms. Larson.”

  Baffled again by his strange behavior, I slipped between the tables and headed for the door. I made sure to smile at Cassandra as I passed the counter.

  She glared back, her sour expression turning to honey as she looked at the man following me. “Goodnight, Professor Bahur,” she chirped.

  “Cassandra,” came his emotionless response, and though I wasn’t looking at him, I pictured him giving her the slightest nod of acknowledgement.

  Once the door closed behind us, I smiled and glanced at the professor. “You know, I think you might have just broken her heart with a single word.”

  “Yes, well …” he said as he looked up into the cloudy night sky, a tired smile playing across his lips. “I can’t waste time and effort on every woman who desires my attention, Ms. Larson.”

  “A curse of the beautiful, I suppose.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished for them back. I was sure I’d just crossed a line in our newly-established, mostly professional relationship.

  Professor Bahur chuckled and casually placed his hands in his coat pockets. “A curse whose affects you must suffer from every day,” he said before turning to walk toward the nearest concrete path.

  I stood in place, dumbfounded. Does that man really think I’m beautiful? I was more of a shrug and a “Yeah, she’s pretty” kind of woman, and I was perfectly comfortable with the fact that I would never turn many heads or stand out in a room full of people. And then I remembered my current appearance, that I looked like I was suffering from some ghastly wasting sickness. He’s just being nice, I realized.

  “Ms. Larson, are you coming? It is most difficult to walk you home when I neither know the way nor have you beside me,” he called over his shoulder.

  I caught up quickly, noticing he’d been heading in the correct direction without my assistance. “You seem to be doing just fine on your own. I live in the Malloy—do you know it?”

  “Ah, yes. How nice that you’re able to reside in such a lovely building.”

  I snorted. “I don’t know about that. I think it lost most of its loveliness half a century ago.” After a moment, I said, “Professor Bahur, how—”

  “Please, call me Marcus,” he interrupted. “It seems inappropriate for such an accomplished scholar to address me as a student would a teacher.”

  “But that’s what we are,” I countered.

  “Ms. Larson, your status as a graduate student is a flaw that I’m certain will be corrected by the end of our excavation.”

  Bristling, I recalled how neatly he’d rearranged the next year of my graduate career and stopped in my tracks. “You know, I can earn my PhD, just like everyone else—with hard work and years of research. I don’t need you to do me any favors, and I’d never accept a degree I haven’t earned.”

  When he turned to face me, his lips were parted in surprise. He retraced his steps until he stood so close that the condensation in his breath nearly touched me. “You misunderstand me,” he said evenly. “I merely meant that I have great belief in your ability to use the excavation to finalize your degree. After the discoveries we’ll make over the next twelve months, I can’t imagine the university could hold back on granting your doctorate of philosophy.” His nearness and height were slightly intimidating when paired with the chill in his voice.

  “Oh.”

  “Might we continue on?” he asked.

  Embarrassed and worried that I’d damaged any possibility of friendship, I blurted, “I’m so sorry … I overreacted. I shouldn’t have, Profess—”

  “Marcus,” he corrected. “And it’s already forgotten.”

  “Marcus,” I agreed with a shy smile. “You’ll have to call me Lex, then.”

  “Very well, Lex. Now, I believe you were going to ask me something,” he reminded me as we continued along the path.

 
“Oh, yeah … I’m sure you already have a plan for this, but how are you going to clear Hatchepsut’s mortuary temple of visitors for months? The SCA will lose a ton of money.” The SCA, short for the Supreme Council of Antiquities, was the organization in charge of pretty much everything relating to ancient Egypt. “I can’t imagine them agreeing to give us exclusive access for the sake of scholarly discoveries.”

  For the first time, Marcus smiled fully, and the beauty of his joy nearly made me stumble. “Well, Lex, let’s just say that I have friends in high places.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Across the street from my building, we stopped, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. “You don’t need to cross with me. I’ll be safe inside in less than a minute.”

  Marcus turned to me, searching my face for something only he would recognize. “Need and want, Ms. Larson. Need and want.” No hint of humor pervaded his words. He’s certainly an odd one, I thought, but the sense of safety—of trust—had only increased during our walk.

  Seconds later, as we crossed the street, I grew increasingly curious about the man beside me. Who is he, besides an archaeologist? How did he make friends in such high places? How have I never heard of him? It was as though he’d simply appeared on the archaeology scene last month. That just doesn’t happen.

  We stopped in front of my building’s glass door, and Marcus waited while I fished through my bag for my keys. I felt a flash of anxiety as I remembered the last time I’d been standing in front of the same door. Seeming to sense my unease, Marcus took a few steps away. Miraculously, with the breathing space, calm returned.

  I unlocked the door and held it open with my body, half in and half out of the building. “Thanks for keeping me company …”

  “Anytime,” he replied with a quick bow of his head. “I’ll see you bright and early on Monday.”

  I smiled and nodded, retreating into the warmth of the building. For the briefest moment, I wondered what Marcus would have done if I’d invited him inside. My mom was still there, so the thought was purely hypothetical. Unfortunately, it triggered more memories of Mike, of being helpless to him, and I shuddered.