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I'd expected more dirt, maybe, or an empty space, the contents long since rotted away. Maybe something to explain the strange GPR results. Not—certainly not—a book, its cover dark and rich. I reached down, my heart pounding. Though I knew I shouldn’t touch it, I was unable to resist: I lifted the book from its stone box.
This made no sense. It was perfectly intact, the leather supple, the binding tight. Had it been placed here recently? No, that didn't make sense; the fort had been abandoned since the early sixteenth century. The book looked old, but there was no way it had been buried for hundreds of years and remained in this flawless state.
Time seemed to stretch as I stared at the book. Carefully, I traced one fingertip over the spine, the ridges of the binding cords thick under the leather. Gold tooling was still visible in delicate lines on the spine, glinting in the half-light. It was on the cover too, forming elaborate designs in the corners. There were no words on the front, just the bright bands of gold.
I should get Dr. Blanton.
I glanced up, and my breath caught in my throat. The tents lay abandoned. The moon was somehow higher in the sky, the shadows long and deep. The parking lot was empty. How had I not heard everyone leave? How long had I been staring at this book?
A chill crept over me despite the warmth of the evening air, and my gaze drew back down to the book cradled in my hands. Put it back, replace the lid, cover the unit, and get out of here.
Instead, I opened the book, revealing a wide expanse of thick, creamy yellow parchment. I touched the blank first page, the texture crisp and clean and slightly coarse beneath my fingertip.
There was a wave of warmth, the book growing suddenly hot in my hands, and a blinding flash of light. Heat surged up my arms and I gasped, nearly dropping the book.
And then the heat and light were gone. Had I imagined them?
I had to get out of there.
I slammed the cover shut and unceremoniously shoved the book back into its stone box. I maneuvered the lid into place with shaking hands, then made quick work of flinging a tarp into place, weighting it with stones with one hand while I scrambled to gather my tools with the other.
Seconds later I was running across the darkened field, Vanessa's words from the day before repeating in my head over and over like a clarion call.
Noladets.
Cursed.
6
The dorm was quiet when I let myself in, the hallways dark. Vanessa was a shadowed lump beneath her blankets on the far side of our narrow room, and I heard her snoring lightly. I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. I needed to tell someone about what I'd found, what had happened, and Vanessa seemed the most likely to believe me, but I wasn't sure I could find the words.
Instead, I climbed into bed, wrapping the blankets tight around my shoulders and burrowing down into the safety of the mattress. Could jet lag make you hallucinate? Something to search in the morning, I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, I woke alone, sunlight streaming through the narrow window over Vanessa's unmade bed, a note on the bedside table wedged under a bag containing a single sugar-covered spurgo. I wolfed it down, regretting my decision to skip dinner the day before as I read the note.
You stayed at the dig pretty late last night, so Alicia says to sleep as late as you want. Join us when you get up. -V
I took a deep breath. In the bright light of day, my reaction the previous night seemed kind of silly. I'd found an old artifact, the moonlight had played tricks on me, and I'd freaked out. There had been no wave of heat, no flash of light, just a good old-fashioned anxiety attack at finding myself alone on an unfamiliar dig site at night. Vanessa's ghost stories were putting me on edge.
"Get your shit together, Shih," I muttered to myself, then made my way to the shower. I let the weak pressure and inconsistent hot water move my thoughts away from the night before.
My threadbare pink towel was hanging over the curtain rod, and I wrapped it around my head as I climbed out. What would my superstitious dad say if I told him about the 'cursed' dig site? I chuckled as I pulled on my clothes. He'd probably tell me to get on the first plane home.
Not Theo, though. My smile faded as I imagined him picking up the book and turning it in his hands, rattling off facts about sixteenth-century bookbinding, about Baltic myths and legends. He would know everything there was to know about the book by the weeks' end. He was nothing if not an overachiever.
My heart gave a pang. I missed them both. Missed Theo's sarcastic banter. Missed my dad's level gaze over his half-moon glasses.
A shrill ringing sound jerked me out of my thoughts, and I dropped the pink towel and reached for my phone on the nightstand. Probably Vanessa or Raheem wondering if I was up yet. But when my gaze landed on the screen, my eyes widened and my heart leapt into my throat. I scrambled to answer.
"Dad? It's three in the morning there, is everything—"
But the voice that cut me off was definitely not my dad.
"What's up, unicorn? I didn't think you'd answer if I used my own phone."
My mouth went dry. I opened it to say something, anything, but all that came out was a creaky, "Huh?"
"Don't tell me you've forgotten me already," Theo said dryly. "And here I thought we had something."
