Emerald City

Emerald City By Melody Knight

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Dedication

To my friend & colleague, Yvonne Walus…

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Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Tamsyn HansenHill, Rob Fry, Travers Hansen-Hill, Angel Huang, Tashley Hansen-Hill, and Tesslyn Hansen-Hill for their support, encouragement, technical assistance, and http://www.egypt-archaeology.com/ for its information on the Sikait Project.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Emerald City by Melody Knight Red Rose™ Publishing Publishing with a touch of Class! ™ The symbol of the Red Rose and Red Rose is a trademark of Red Rose™ Publishing Red Rose™ Publishing Copyright© 2007 Melody Knight ISBN: 978-1-60435-246-7 Cover Artist: Brenda Porter Editor: Lara Parker Line Editor: Bernadette All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away. This is a work of fiction. All references to real places, people, or events are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. Red Rose™ Publishing . www.redrosepublishing.com Forestport, NY 13338

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Emerald City By Melody Knight

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Spirit Dance

Emerald peaks and ancient climes, Cast off stones, abandoned mines, Resurrected trades of long lost days, Hell-spawned sands, forgotten ways. Midst stone and ruin, to meet perchance In writhe and tangle, when spirits dance…

by N. D. Hansen-Hill

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Prologue

The heat ate at her skin. The wretched sun was a beast which had also eaten her thermometer, so she couldn‟t even brag to friends back home how tough she was. Claudia lifted her head, but there was no breeze off the Red Sea. The sight of all that water held promise, though. Cool. Liquid… And she was no ancient Egyptian. If I’d lived here, I would have fought to go to sea. No conscription necessary. Berenike was a dead city now — all ruins — but it had once been a thriving port. A trading center, multicultural, humming with activity, with polyglot exchanges… And dummy me, I’m still standing in the bloody sun! Her scalp was on fire, and the pounding of her heart echoed in her head. That’s all I need, first day out — heat stroke. Making a name for myself already… She forced her boot-clad feet beyond trudge and popped behind a ruined wall, to squat on a pile of stone. It made a sandy scrape, rattle and crack, but she was beyond doing dainty. She reminded herself she was supposed to be revering these slabs — treating them with respect.

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My butt will be perfectly respectful, thank you very much. Amazing how heat waves could generate sarcasm — or maybe that was her mind revolting against the lack of oxygen. Hell, the air was so hot she couldn‟t even breathe! Ingrate. Well, that much was true, anyway. Claudia made herself close her eyes and sucked in a deep, hot…tolerant…breath. She willed herself to relax, and lulled by warmth, dozed. Everyone else was smart enough to be napping, too. Nobody worked in the day‟s full heat. Only newbies like her went wandering, wanting to soak in the atmosphere and ending up needing to soak up a couple of day‟s bed rest instead. She‟d heard the stories. So now, she chased the shade as the sun moved, stretching out behind the wall and resting her head on a stone shaped very much like the headrests used by the ancients. Her conclusion-jumping fully in gear, she wanted to shout „artifact!‟ To pick up the curved Y of rock and go running to the professor. Intuition told her there might be something in it… Until she recalled something else she‟d heard. Newbies are always good for a laugh. So instead, she stretched out amidst the broken stones and rested her neck on the curve. Queen of Egypt. She spared a thought for scorpions in the rocks, then tossed it aside. Damn them if they could venture out in this blasted heat to do their hunting.

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Maybe they‟d be as wary of her as she should have been of them, but at the moment, ignorance made a happy shield. What I don’t know can’t kill me. She lay there, far from sound sleep, but definitely drowsy. The dirt layer coating the floor was comfy in its own way, and if she were to open her eyes to slits, she could almost imagine this as a complete building, even looking as it did, with no roof and a fourth wall missing. Rather like a studio set. I could live here. Who needed walls in temperatures like this? Somebody did. She peered at the almost haphazard piling of rock on rock, then realized it couldn‟t have been all that haphazard and have remained standing for twenty-five hundred years. She sat up, running her fingers over the mismatched layers. Same stone, different sizes. Precious. Quarried and carried here by hand, camel, boat. Each stone valued, utilized. There were no chinks in the layers that she could see, which meant they‟d been well-fitted. Either that or they‟d been filled over the centuries with sand. Every hollow I possess now has a sprinkling of the stuff. She used her pinkie to pick sand out of her ear. Her elbow was still up, her pose awkward, when the chill hit. It started in her shoulder blades, then shivered down her arms, the hair standing in salute. Her nape strands were already dancing, and her back crawled with what

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felt like a dozen scorpions. Icy scorpions, which sent shivers shooting down both legs… Damn! Was it bad to think profanity in the face of phantasms? “Bloody hell!” she griped.”I thought for sure you couldn‟t follow me here. Or does the heat remind you of home?” She glanced over to the corner of the ruin, and spotted a wave of movement that had nothing to do with rising heat. The distortion bent and disordered those orderly stacked stones, but to her heat-dried eyes it shimmered almost like a waterfall. For a moment she was tempted… “I know it‟s you. You‟re unhealthy — that‟s what you are! I‟m here to burn you out of my system!” And with that, she booted aside old stone and precious block, stood, and tromped back to the camp. Some men never learn. Not even after they’re dead.

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Chapter One

It had been journal articles which dubbed this the Emerald City, but the name stuck. Berenike had been a thriving port, terribly cosmopolitan, with a diverse populace speaking at least eleven different languages. It lay in Egypt‟s eastern desert, and was one of the trading centers for emeralds. At the time Berenike was in its heyday, Egypt‟s Wadi Sikait mines may well have been the primary source of the world‟s emeralds. Claudia knew it all by heart. She‟d dreamed of coming here for over a year. Nowadays, Colombia‟s precious stones far outshone Egypt‟s in quality, but Berenike had everything, in Claudia‟s opinion. A thriving city crushed and layered beneath sand and stone, century upon century building over what had gone before, a sudden demise from as yet unknown causes, precious stones, and an amazing international trading history. Claudia read about it nearly a year and a half ago. It took her that much more time to take some basic hieroglyphics classes, and center her master‟s research on the emerald trade. It was time to forge her future and leave the past behind. Well, her own past. Other people‟s pasts were more worth exploring. And I don’t want help!

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Damn him. Nigel was a plague. Like a fly, or a mass of flies, he would come in while she was asleep and mangle all her research into incomprehensible gibberish. Actually, he‟d reorder it in the proper direction, which always made her feel like a fool. Upstaging her, when she‟d done her best. Now, she wanted to do something great…on her own. If she‟d chosen science, she had no doubt Nigel would have cured cancer, then tossed her the credit. He could never understand that she wanted to live her own life — that she could successfully manage selfdirection — without him. “Go away,” she muttered, thinking aloud. Not that he was here at the moment, but she was counting on the universality of the afterlife. And loud was the only thing Nigel seemed to understand. Don’t start talking to him again. Do that, and they‟d think she was balmy, suffering from heat stroke. A one-way ticket home. Courtesy of Nigel. One of the other grunts, far more seasoned than she, heard her mutter and turned to look at her. “Pesky fly,” she explained. And Nigel could make of that what he would.

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She was strange, that one. Not odd or peculiar or anything really negative — just different. Carlton had noticed her straightaway. Hey, she knows her emeralds. And, of course, this kind of research brought in all types, from the novice enthusiasts who couldn‟t wait to get started, but didn‟t have a clue as to how, to the veterans of field school after field school who could have directed the show if given the chance. What the latter lacked were credentials, the letters after their names to secure their word in fact. Speculation might work wonders in archeology, but only when you could speculate in one of the major journals. Carlton didn‟t know where the woman fit in. Could be she was just one of the social misfits who sometimes haunted digs. For them, the idea of weeks, months, years of isolation struck a chord. All they wanted was to escape what was haunting them back home. “Cartoon! Yer almost up —” An elbow digging into his side accompanied the hastily whispered warning. He‟d been slacking, dammit! And that detestable nickname, bestowed on him back when he was an insecure, huffy bastard, had stuck. This was the only time he really minded. It prepped all the newcomers to doubt his proficiency, and he knew he was damn good at his job. His eyes strayed to the female at his side again, and he strove to see her as more than boobs and a pelvis. Think of her brain. Hell, he wanted to be taken

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seriously. She probably considered brainpower just as important — if not more so — as boob power. There was something about her…damned if he knew what it was. Carlton decided he‟d meditate on it later. If it didn‟t give him any clues — beyond the boobs and pelvis, of course — then at least it would ground him. If newbies were viewed as naive incompetents, guys with nicknames like Cartoon were considered the height of folly. And I’m not even funny. Intentionally. “Cartoon!” Apparently, they‟d been shouting his Doctor Sheffield name, and then Carlton, while he‟d been ogling said female. Now, they‟d resorted to slurs. Everybody was laughing… Hey, it got my attention. He sighed, stood, and strolled as coolly as he could up to the front. “Just a few safety issues I need to address —”

It was clever. By beginning with safety issues, he‟d taken their minds off derogatory comments. Bet he has a lot of experience… Bitch! It wasn‟t like he was a buffoon or even funny looking. It was just that the nickname predisposed people into thinking so. For a moment Claudia

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came out of herself enough to feel sorry for him, instead of envious. It was all too obvious he‟d be the brunt of jokes for the new crew. Truth was, they were all envious. He‟d been here what? Seven years? They‟d been here closer to seven hours. All of them had come with dreams of a Great Find — a sculpture, a high grade emerald, a Roman wall fresco. Stupid, irrational, unrealistic, but damn! It‟d be nice. Better than nice. Amazing. Incredible. Stupendous. Not that I could keep it. Her eyes drifted back to the rough podium. Cartoon was still talking and she hadn‟t heard a word. The heat was making it difficult to concentrate. “If you intend to leave the site, please notify at least two people — the second one in case the first wasn‟t listening.” At that there was general laughter. A man who can laugh at himself. Claudia tilted her head to study him more closely. He had those creases at the corners of his eyes which could have been sun squints, but she was almost sure they were laugh lines. He looked like he laughed a lot. Hmm. Cheeriness and a nice smile. My two most desirable qualities in a partner. Better than strong hands, cut jaw, or sculpted torso, though Claud had a feeling there was some of the latter hidden under that sun-bleached shirt. The meeting adjourned and the beer came out next. Dammit if there wasn‟t always beer on a dig site, and she‟d heard more than once that field work

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was lubricated by alcohol. No sign of Nigel now, and Claudia guessed he wouldn‟t put in another appearance until bed. Damn the man! She took another quick glance at Cartoon. How could anyone, no matter how jovial or understanding, date anyone with such abnormal fixations? She sighed, caught Cartoon gazing back at her and lifted her beer in salute. Maybe there was only one way to rid herself of Nigel. She had no doubt that Nigel‟s spirit could never compete with a flesh and blood rival. A trickle of dread tightened her stomach. No doubt at all.

Nigel came to her again that night. This time, he came onto her harder, faster, than ever before. It was almost as though this trip — this effort on her part to dispel him, or maybe it was just her determination to take a living lover — had him spooked. He was more physical than ever before, too. So much so, in fact, that she feared the other women in the tent might see him… She was on a cot, and she clung to the metal supports. He usually began with her breasts or her stomach, lapping with an icy tongue and sucking gently at her peaking nipples. He‟d do the same with her clit, or if she turned her back, he‟d begin with her nape, or the hollow at the base of her spine. Other girls got tattoos. Claudia got Nigel‟s icy caress.

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By the time he finished sucking her clit, to move inwards, Claud was on fire, despite the chill in the air. She tried to still the creaking of the cot, and sighed as though she were turning over in her sleep, but as Nigel slithered inside with the dexterity of a worm, he made a point of wriggling along every G-spot she had. She spread her legs to welcome the demon who wasn‟t really there, and he chose that moment to expand and fill her. She jumped, and tightened, and came, again and again, clamping down, toes and fingers curled, jaw set, nipples taut. Oh my God! She wanted to scream, to writhe as he rode her, absent fingers cleverly sliding down her crack, applying pressure to drive her home. She could swear she could feel his eruption, the tickle and trickle of his expulsion, the gift of life writhing and wriggling inside her. Then, as it sometimes did, her belly would swell — not to full size but enough so she could see it under the blankets — just enough to give her dreams and phantom feathery baby kicks that would stir her and set her cumming all over again. Then, as always, with a chilly kiss and a caress, he was gone. It was so strong, he‟d been so strong, that she knew it was hopeless. Call it lust, call it love — she didn‟t know. In the six years he‟d been visiting her, it had never been like this. She was still dripping from the force of her response, and she could swear some of him was in there, too.

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She lay there, spent. Her labia were numb, and her rear end damp with her juices. The damn man had ridden her like never before. And I let him. That was the thing with Nigel. Despite all — the speed of his arrival, his entry, his cumming — he would have stopped, if she‟d requested it. If even once she‟d muttered “no”, he would have vanished, faster than the wind. Not his presence —she could scream at him and he‟d still return — but his assault. Nigel wanted it consenting, with both of them participating. And tonight, despite her resolutions, she just hadn‟t had the conviction to say no. A tear trickled down, to join the moisture dotting her sheets. Her dead lover was just too damn good.

“Hi, Cartoon.” Claudia gave him a huge smile at breakfast. Unlike yesterday, it looked like the heat was getting to him today. He had circles under his eyes. “Please.” He held up a hand, but his smile was pained. “The name‟s Carlton. I know it‟s not much better, but feel free to call me Carl, or even Toon. Personally, I‟ll respond to CT best.” His smile was winning, if weary. “I tried for Shef, years ago, but it didn‟t catch on.” “Shef.” She rolled it around on her tongue. “I like it. Has a certain charm.”

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He smirked. “More than I have, apparently. If you use it, nobody will know who you‟re talking about.” His grin brightened his face. “You‟re the emeralds expert, aren‟t you?” He pulled a stone out from beneath his shirt. It was on a leather thong and he held it up for her to see. I found this in the water. It must have dropped out of a shipment. What d‟you reckon?” Claud grasped the stone to peer at it intently, conscious of how close he was. He looked slightly embarrassed. “Not trying to get personal. It‟s tied on a short length.” “Really?” Claud said boldly, switching her perusal from the emerald to his eyes. “How disappointing.” It was as bold as she dared get, given the circumstances. These kinds of liaisons out on the dig sites were frowned upon. As much as she might want something physical — someone real — to chase away Nigel‟s shade, she couldn‟t ask it of this man. He was too nice to get involved with her personal demons. She tilted the crude emerald so she could study it better, then abruptly dropped it and took a step back. “Wish I could tell you more, CT. My specialty‟s the emerald trade routes, but I hope to get some experience in looking at the real thing.” Her smile was genuine, and she did her best to keep any wistfulness out of it. The warmth of him on the stone had left a tingle in her fingertips. “Thanks

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for sharing.” She forced herself to turn casually away. Behind her, she could feel his presence fading as he walked over to the rough buffet. Damn! She‟d always been too sensitive, particularly when it came to objects. She could have told him heaps about his stone, including how precious it was, but her sensitivity was one of the reasons she‟d gone into archeology — to learn to distinguish between factual information, logical supposition, and psi phenomena. Her abilities could act as a guide, but they couldn‟t displace details, facts, discipline. She needed to acquire substance, to deal with the real and now. Else, she‟d be no better than a novelist, writing fairy tales to fit her ideas. Give it a foundation in reality. It was only at night that she had absolutely no idea what reality was. And the time for spilling her guts — for telling these people she might be able to offer them a little insight into their own research — wasn‟t at breakfast on her second day. The last thing she wanted was to rival Carlton‟s “Toon”, by being similarly labeled “Loon”.

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Chapter Two

Digging was harder than she‟d thought. Oh, not the physical effort, though it was darn hot, even in the late afternoons, but her susceptibility to impressions seemed to be aggravated by the heat. Maybe it was the malaise they all seemed to suffer from — that slowdown from their bodies‟ attempts to acclimatize — but it left her open to quick visions, which were difficult to dispel. Claud found she not only had to fend off Nigel at night, but a constant trickle of flashbacks during the day. Stupid to think she could fend off Nigel at all. The truth was, in her own way, she loved him. He was so damn cheeky and cheery. Unlike any man she‟d ever met. Well, not quite. CT‟s laughter echoed in the still air, the shimmer of it reminding her of Nigel‟s occasional daylight visits. The resonance found an echo in her soul. I like him. Claudia moved over to work beside him. It had been two weeks now, and each day found an excuse to be in his company. Claud found she was enjoying it…him…more and more. So much so that she‟d begun to feel slightly guilty, only she couldn‟t figure out in which direction guilt lay. Guilt for thoughts betraying her dead lover? Or guilt that she could be so interested in a living man when she still permitted Nigel‟s transgression of her body every

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night? Nigel was nearly as persistent now — as physical — as he‟d been on that first night she‟d arrived. He‟d relaxed a little, but he was so very nearly present, so very nearly physically there, that sometimes it gave her a chill worse than his own. Was he getting stronger because she was growing weaker? Would the time come when she would choose death everlasting with him, rather than living out her natural existence? It would have been more of a shocking idea if it weren‟t for the visuals. Every day, every time she touched something on the site, she‟d experience a momentary replay of that other existence. There were those archeologists in the literature who claimed that every object had a distinct cultural history — a story of its own, and they didn‟t know how right they were! The problem was, you weren‟t supposed to live those histories instead of your own. You weren‟t supposed to live those other individuals‟ existences if it meant forfeiting your own dreams for the future. It’s wrong. The visions are wrong, Nigel’s wrong, I’m wrong. The only thing right in this scenario was CT, and she couldn‟t tell him about any of this. He‟d only think she was…weird. She was sure she almost had him convinced she was normal. Claudia recalled Nigel‟s intentness the night before, particularly with the dimensions of her clit. Normal? Wouldn‟t CT be surprised!

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CT had never been so aware of one of his co-workers before. Oh, he‟d fallen for his female professors several times, and there‟d been that teaching assistant back in grad school, but Claudia! Man! He couldn‟t even think about her without his dick going into salute mode. She’s not my type. He told himself that for what? The hundredth time? Maybe, at this point, with no sex for the seventh year in a row, he would have been attracted to anything with boobs and a slit. Crass. She‟d be shocked if she knew he‟d even contemplated her nether regions. Oh, she‟d given him a „come hither‟ look or comment a couple of times, but they both knew the boundaries — and she hadn‟t done anything to overstep them. Then why do I feel I know her so well? He could have closed his eyes and described her flesh, down to the mole on her back and the dimple on her left buttock. The taste of her clit was like an absent, yet fondly remembered memory on his tongue. Sometimes the sensation was so strong that it was only presence of mind that kept him from dropping that kiss onto her nape or from draping his arm around her waist and giving her bun a squeeze. Was this how rapists started out? Absence giving them an obsession that led to the devil knows what? For a moment it frightened him, his gut tightening with nerves. He was sleeping like a log yet it was like he hadn‟t slept at all.

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Malaria… If this continued, he‟d have to visit the Doc. Seven years ago, when he‟d first arrived, he‟d had a bout of malaria. All the signs — the restlessness, the sweats at night — were pointing to a relapse. Dammit if he wanted to miss the season‟s dig, though! And it might be the only opportunity he‟d have to get to know Claudia. Most people didn‟t like protracted stays in the Hell Hole, as they called it. There was a joke that the heat burned out too many sins, and everybody needed their fair quota to survive. CT didn‟t know whether Claudia would stick around for another season in hell, and if they were going to stay sinners, he‟d much rather they‟d do it together.

Today they were sieving through sand. It was a monotonous prospect, but the rewards were worth the effort. Claudia settled down and began sieving her square meter of project soil. She glanced around at the other researchers. Seasoned or new, they were all the same. She grinned widely, grimaced at the sand crunching in her teeth, swirled the spit around in a quick clean, then did a practiced spit — delicately, she hoped — off to one side.

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Her grin relaxed to a tight smile. Archeology, in its own way, was competitive. Just like everyone else here, she was hoping her tiny parcel of land would be the one to turn up gold, archeologically speaking. It did, for her. This wasn‟t gold, but pounded metal. Bronze, most likely. Claudia dusted it lightly with the brush, but the itch in her fingertips promised more. Irresistible. She closed her eyes, took a quick breath, and picked it up in her hand. Her world vanished. This wasn‟t Egypt any longer. This was Rome, in the way that all things were Rome once conquered by the Roman legions. Whether or not the army had ever made it this far, or claimed any of this land as theirs, made no difference. This was a time when a lone soldier might lose his way in the desert sands. Might travel by camel, or foot, or ship — any way to find home. But here, in this busy port, he was lost. Because of her. Claudia saw him standing there, looking longingly at the ship that could carry him north, so that passage to the Mediterranean Sea was a crossing, a delta, a camel ride away. It was what he‟d been told, and what he wanted to believe. Only, she wouldn‟t travel with him. Claudia spied the hesitation in his dark brown eyes. This wasn‟t a face given to laughter like CT‟s, but it was a strong face, accustomed to directing men and equipment, to driving forces forward into enemy strongholds. Only now, he was left with no men to direct. He was alone, save for her. She‟d made

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him a home, with the stink of the sea, the wash of foreign fountains, the heat that had seared his skin and made years‟ worth of weathering peel to a ruddy brown. I can’t survive here. He‟d told her, finally, because his dreams were rocky reaches, rather than sandy wastes. Rich soils rather than barren deserts. The sight of a murky pool should never make you rejoice, he‟d told her, spitefully. He wanted to walk amidst the olives, and longed for the sweet scents of ripening oranges. And the grapes! Always the grapes, and the wines! He‟d described it all to her, again and again, but she, who had never tasted an orange, who lived on goat and sheep meat, couldn‟t imagine the flourishes of a fruit meal. Her people had found him wandering, nearly dead, in the desert, but it would not have happened save for their own travels. They caravanned across the wastes on trade routes long established. To her, the prospect of living within thick block for decades at a time held no appeal. The idea of confronting snow, which he revered in long soliloquies on the hottest days, held even less. He held the dagger in his hand. It was his trade object, balanced, sharp, and well-fashioned. It could buy him either his passage on the perilous ship journey north or a place in her father‟s caravan for another trading trip crossdesert. The choice was his, but he‟d tried very hard to give it to her. To discern the depth of her passion, her caring. What could this land possibly offer her that he could not?

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As Claudia watched, the soldier stabbed the sand with his blade. Again and again and again, like a man demented. Venting his fury with her, his fury with a hell-spawned region that could bind her so tightly, set such limitations upon her, and while his own much more favorable clime gave him rein to traverse the world. Why?! Finally, the blade snapped, leaving its tip in the shifting sands. With sweat glistening on his brow, his nostrils flared and his upper lip curled in disgust, the soldier returned the hilt to his belt. Then, stiffly, he turned his back — against the backdrop of her keening cries. He‟d killed the soils of her birth, but it was she who had really done the damage. He had nothing left. Nothing. Shuffling, he made his way toward the port. Claudia sat there, sniffling, the ancient, discolored dagger clenched tightly in her fist. A tear dripped out the corner of one eye and traveled down her cheek. She wiped it away roughly, with her arm, then glanced over, to find CT watching her. His brow was furrowed and he looked…concerned. Her womb lanced with a heat that rivaled the noonday sun. Damn the man for caring! She sucked a quick breath, forced a smile, and gestured — a little lamely, she was sure — with the ruined blade. “I found a knife,” she said.

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Chapter Three

CT was taking her to Wadi Sikait. To the mine of Cleopatra. Well, not really. She could almost hear Nigel‟s voice hectoring in her head. He‟d been with her so long that he hung around — even when he wasn‟t…hanging around, that is. There was no solid Egyptian evidence connecting Cleopatra with the Sikait mine, but the lady had liked emeralds. Tradition claimed they were her favorite gem, and that she‟d not only worn them on her person, but decked her palatial homes with them. And one source claimed her picture was carved into larger stones given as parting gifts for departing dignitaries. Surely she would have sourced her gemstones as close to home as possible? I like emeralds, too. Claudia glanced over at CT, but the emerald wasn‟t visible. To have another glimpse, I’ll need to take off his shirt. She smiled wickedly, picturing his bronzed muscles etched and shadowed under the blazing Egyptian sun. Unfortunately, CT chose that moment to glance her way. Unfortunate? Maybe not. Not very professional, either. Nigel again! Not here, yet accounted for. Get out of my head!

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CT‟s warm smile held nothing back. He was happy to be with her, it appeared, whatever her intentions. Nigel‟s memory faded to the background. Claudia felt a moment of angst, of guilt, almost as though she were abandoning a faithful lover. Faithless, that’s me. But then CT stretched an arm casually across her seatback, his hand resting on her shoulder. The heat of his fingertips shouldn‟t have fazed her, given the warmth of the day. Claudia was all too aware of it, though, and her own fingers splayed on her thighs as she fought down impulse. Impulse made her want to splay her fingers on his thigh rather than her own. Why was a man like this still single, unattached? Did he have some wild sex life during the off-season? Did he troll Cairo‟s brothels for satisfaction? That’s disgusting, Claud. It was her own inner voice chiding her this time. Not only did a man like this have no need of paid entertainment, he wouldn‟t take the risk with his reputation. CT might be Cartoon to his dig mates, but to the world at large he was Carlton N. Sheffield, PhD. Much admired for his incisive summaries interpreting ancient technologies. He wouldn‟t risk that rep for a night‟s satisfaction. He could be gay. Claudia had been attracted to gay men before — a fact dear Nigel seemed to find hilarious. Nigel liked it that he lacked competition. The thought irritated her enough that she opened her mouth to ask CT, only recognizing at the last second that the question would hardly win her any points with a would-be lover. Damn that Nigel!

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CT seemed to be aware that she‟d been about to say something, because he took his eyes from the track to peer at her inquiringly. Claudia sought frantically for some intelligent comment about Cleopatra, about emeralds, about anything, but none were forthcoming. Finally she managed, “No real night life out here is there?” It was lame, stupid, and a shadow of disappointment darkened his eyes. The fingers that had been resting on her shoulder began drumming on the seatback instead. Way to go, Claud. Now he thinks you’re a party animal. “I‟m not!” she burst out, so suddenly he swerved the car. “Not what? Dammit, woman, you nearly wrecked us —” I nearly wrecked us? “You‟re the one driving —”Hardly congenial conduct toward a prospective lover. She could have kicked herself. No, he was going to do it for her. He yanked the wheel over to the side of the road, and stopped on the packed sand. “„Driving‟?” he repeated. He turned off the engine. “Not anymore.” He narrowed his eyes and gazed at her intently. “Is this one of those schizophrenic episodes you‟re so prone to, or can anyone join in?” It was harsh, it was cruel, and if she‟d thought he really meant that comment about schizophrenia, she would have been crushed. But there‟d been a sparkle in his eyes at the last. Curiosity? Laughter? That‟s why his eyes were narrowed — so she wouldn‟t be able to read him.

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Too bad. He seemed to realize he‟d overstepped the line, whether it was form of address to a colleague, or a reprimand to a student. “The schizophrenic thing — I mean, if that‟s what it is, that‟s okay. I really didn‟t think that was it, though —”He blundered to a stop. Claudia thought it was the most adorable thing she‟d ever heard. Her eyes traced his face then switched focus to his hands. Such strong hands, perfect for — Stop it! She sucked in a hot breath, almost started coughing, and prepared to reveal all. All not meaning Nigel, of course. There was only so much sacrilege a person could be expected to absorb. One confession would make her an archeological god in his eyes — the other, a Decadent and Evil Influence. “It‟s clairvoyance — or retro cognition,” she admitted. “I‟ve never been sure which.” She checked his face to see how it was going over. Okay, so far. “When I touch certain objects, I see things.” “Like visions?” There was doubt in his voice. He wasn‟t a believer yet. “Not exactly. It‟s not just a flash, either — usually more like a scene, quite often traumatic.” CT‟s brow furrowed. “How so? Ya mean like battles, fights, things like that?”

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She nodded. “I saw a beheading once.” She shivered. “Not something I want to see again.” “Tell me about the dagger.” So he had noticed. She‟d thought so at the time. “It‟s too hot to just sit here.” He leaned back in the seat, stretching out his legs, and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Just the dagger. Then I‟ll drive, and you can fill me in on the clasp, the plate, the bone fragment, and the tile.” Claud‟s eyes widened. He had been watching! Was her archeology career about to be trashed by what he‟d probably consider an unruly imagination? Would he ever trust her suppositions, her theories — hell, her judgment — if she were to level with him? One lazy eye opened in her direction. “Ah-hah! Hesitation.” He paused for effect. “Did I ever tell you I meditate?” She attempted to look shocked. She wasn‟t, of course, but she refused to be the only one under inquisition here. “I must say I‟m surprised.” He appeared to be a little flustered at that. Clearly, he hadn‟t expected her to react. “Lots of people meditate —” he began, lamely. “Of course,” Claudia said. His fluster broke in a big grin — no, more of a cheesy smile, she decided. “C‟mon, Claud,” he coaxed. “Don‟t try to fob me off —” “Been reading historical romances again?” she taunted.

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“You‟re fobbing…” He chewed his lower lip, then launched into, “I began meditating oh, six, seven years ago. Back when I had malaria. One of the medical people taught me how — said it might help me when I had the shakes.” His expression sobered and Claudia guessed he was recalling a not so pleasant memory. “It did help, but it helped more when I was recovering.” She gave him her best student-listening-to-lecture look. CT‟s eyes glinted appreciatively, and his lips creased in what could have been a smile. Then he carried on. “The weakness, the sickness — I was stuck in bed on and off for weeks.” He shrugged. “So I decided not to be.” His eyes fixed on hers. “I read everything I could get on meditation, and it led into OB —” For the life of her, all she could think of was obstetrics. She fought to curb inappropriate laughter. After all, CT was baring his soul here. “O-OB?” she managed. He‟d noticed her struggle, dammit. She could tell by the way his anger flared, even though he remained civil. “Or more appropriately, OBE. Out of body experiences.” He looked away, out at the small hills and dry winding riverbeds. “I still do it,” he told her, and as much as he was trying to make it sound casual, Claudia picked up the note of defiance. “You‟d be amazed at what meditation can do for your sleep.” “It hasn‟t done much for you lately,” she told him, hoping he read it for the concern it was, rather than the rudeness it sounded. “You look exhausted.”

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“Yeah.” Blunt. Worried. “I think maybe the malaria‟s acting up.” It was said valiantly, but Claudia could read him better than he realized. There was a world of dread in those last words. “Dammit.” He smiled appreciatively. “My feelings exactly.” He reached out a hand and grasped hers. “You were right before, when you said it was too hot.” He released her and switched on key. “Let‟s go find us some emerald mines.” As he pulled the car back onto the road, he shot her a glance. “Your turn. Dagger time.” So she did. CT was remarkably easy to talk to, and she went from the dagger with its Roman soldier, to the clasp and the lady in the market. The plate fragment had come from a feast — an Egyptian feast complete with dignitaries, and when Claudia described the food CT nearly ran off the road. “The tile was destined for the Roman baths.” She paused with a smile. “Obviously, it never got there.” “Jeez — what a gift!” He shook his head, but the look he gave her wasn‟t of psychiatrist analyzing nut case. It was one of respect. “You‟re in the right profession.” “Yes,” Claudia retorted primly. “I can take speculation to whole new levels.” He hooted at that. Archeology was all speculation, as some of the more maverick archeologists liked to point out.

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CT wiped laughter tears from the corners of his eyes, and went back to driving. He hadn‟t forgotten though, blast him! He counted off on his fingers. “You forgot one.” Since he was swerving around a pile of sand mid-road at that moment, he didn‟t see her expression. He must have sensed something was amiss, though. It was. Claudia‟s cheeks felt even hotter than they usually did out here. She knew exactly which artifact he was talking about — the bone fragment. “I don‟t want to —” She averted her face to stare out the window. He glanced at her, then back to the road. “Too graphic?” He might have been going for sympathetic, if he hadn‟t been so bad at hiding his curiosity. “Yes.” Claudia swallowed hard. “Very graphic.” She relented enough to admit, “The woman was a whore.” CT really tried to control it, but the snort of amusement was chased by one of those hoots of laughter. “Wish you could share —” He burst out laughing again. As inappropriate as it might have seemed to the person making the revelation, Claudia appreciated it. His good humor set the mood for the rest of the trip, all the way into Sikait. This time, CT‟s hand rested on her seatback, slipped to her shoulder, and eventually, when he was shifting in the rougher patches, kept bumping her thigh. Everywhere he touched her was an erotic zone, amazing as it seemed. Her shoulder blade took on new depths when his

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fingers clasped it over a particularly rough bump. It suddenly seemed to be in direct connection with her pelvis. When his hand nudged her thigh, Claudia was struck with a sudden impulse to straddle it. To see what those magic fingers, which could alter shoulder to G-spot, could do with the real thing. Dear God, I’m going mad! Surely it was insane to be driven into a sexual frenzy by the mere brush of a man‟s fingers. He’s alive, dearie — and you haven’t had anything real in a very long time. Six years. Six long years Nigel had been invading her life, and she‟d learned to substitute chilling orgasms, frightful spasms, arching phan-tasies for the real thing. The only thing heated about Nigel was his conversation. But I love the way we fight. For a moment, nostalgia lingered on the air, and if CT noticed a change in the mood, he didn‟t say anything. Claudia did, though — a change in herself. CT drew her, with his pulsing heart. Even the sound of his breathing thrilled her, after cohabitating so long with a dead man. Nigel may have encouraged her — may have even directed her steps toward this place — but he might as well have been prepping her to say goodbye. Her profession, her talents, her visions might deal with the dead…yet it didn‟t mean she had to live with them. It was time to leave Nigel behind.

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Chapter Four

Wadi Sikait was only about sixty miles north of Berenike, but it was rough going. There were wadi — dry river valleys — and hilly mountains all over the region. By the time they pulled into the tent city that was the dig site at Sikait, she was excited, in more ways than one. Maybe even ecstatic. There was a chance — a good chance if that smolder in his eyes was any indication — that CT was as interested in her as she was in him. Too bad she was also terrified. This would be a forced confrontation, to decide things either way. It was unlikely another opportunity like this one would present itself. And she and CT would be bunking it alone tonight. One tent, or two? She hadn‟t checked their equipment to see where things stood. Even if they planned to share a tent, nobody at base camp would think anything of it. Professional footing, separate sleeping bags, roughing it. No problem. As they pulled in, she watched CT‟s face. He didn‟t look worried. Was the man mad? Couldn‟t he sense — maybe even guess, after their little trip today — just how attracted she was? How often she‟d found an excuse to brush against him, just to feel that tingle? It was almost like electricity. There was only one other

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person, living or dead, who could do that to her, and she refused to think about him…at least during daylight hours. Neither day nor night, she vowed. Not anymore. Could it be that‟s all her attraction to CT was? Desperation to rid herself of an unhealthy relationship? Women had done stranger things to put off a man than sleep with a competitor. And it’s not like I can go to a safe house, where Nigel can’t find me. Nigel seemed able to find her wherever she went. He‟d found her in Berenike, hadn‟t he? Oh, he could be put off with a firm no, only her nos were never firm. The truth was their relationship had been a meaningful, even formative, affair. She had very little power to resist him. CT or Nigel. She couldn‟t have both. Crap! Maybe I’m just at the tingling age, when every attractive male sets me off in spasms of anticipation. Right now, she was anticipating the night with CT, and terrified that Nigel would intrude. What if he were to disrupt them? It would ruin me. She could never again have sex with a living being. Only the most corrupt would consider her obsession with Nigel sane, or moral. They wouldn‟t sense the love, the affection, behind it. For some reason, she was reminded of the Roman soldier, and his ultimatum to his lover. Tonight could be the ruin of everything — the

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attraction for CT she‟d been able to nurse along, while keeping her professional relationship with the man intact, the sense of balance she was maintaining between night and day. Tonight would be the denouement. The beginning…or the end. Maybe both. She just wished her ESP could tell her which.

After they entered camp, there was no more time for worry. It was a lot like her first night at Berenike, when introductory speeches had been followed by a party. Here, it was more like greet and eat, then talk. They spent the afternoon discussing the work and discoveries in the city of Sikait proper, followed by a discussion of the mines — both at Wadi Sikait and Wadi Gimal. Much of the labor was performed by Bedouin workers, and they‟d recently uncovered several new structures in the city. As they strolled past one set of foundations, in a better state than some of the others, one of the men remarked, “We think it may have been a factory of some kind.” But Claudia had her hand on a pile of block, and knew exactly what it was. “Could it have been a bakery?” she asked. CT squeezed her arm discreetly, but in warning. No intuitive leaps allowed.

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But he hadn‟t reckoned with Claudia‟s acquired finesse in negotiating the pitfalls of her talents. “We know the Egyptians had big bakeries up on the plateaus for their workers.” She slapped the pile of block a little gingerly. “Why not here? Look at the location —” She talked on convincingly, gesturing excitedly over the large pile of rubble. Gauging her moment, she lapsed into silence and wandered away, leaving them to digest the wisdom of her words. CT caught up with her, and he didn‟t hesitate any longer. He took her arm, effectively halting her, and asked sotto voce, “One tent or two?” The Moment. Claudia stifled the memory of Nigel‟s voice and steeled herself for what might well be a lonely future. She lifted her head, her eyes meeting CT‟s. “One,” she whispered back.

The tent was dusty inside and out, like everything else in Sikait. She didn‟t mind — Berenike had been much the same. She and CT hadn‟t needed to set up their own tent after all. One of the team had generously vacated her lodgings, and as Jolly Roger, an old hand here, had tossed out, “Might as well make do with what we have.” Ah, the acquired wisdom of archeologists. Always making do, making progress, making history with leftovers. Claudia once again felt that glimmer of pride in being here, part of all this. Making history…discovering it for others to share.

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She fidgeted during the long evening session. Neither she nor CT wanted to hit the sheets until most of the other tent flaps had closed for the night, which meant they conversed until the wee hours. CT, already off his game, was exhausted by that time, and Claudia harbored doubts about the wisdom in exerting him further. If he was fending off a bout of something, malaria or otherwise, this idea might be more than ill-conceived. He must have read it in her face. “This may be the only chance we get.” He rested his hand on her back and propelled her forward. Once he‟d secured the flap, she was so edgy she didn‟t know whether to pounce or pray. What if Nigel poked his head in? Sealed tent flaps wouldn‟t make any difference to him. “What?” she asked CT lightly, but there was a certain grittiness to her tone. “No meditation tonight?” In answer, he gave her that wicked grin, which underlined the smoldering glint in his eyes. The flap might be closed, but the screened windows admitted the harsh moonlight. There was no problem reading his expression. “I think I‟ll sleep perfectly well, thanks.” With that, he attacked, like a man on the desert out to slake a desiccating thirst. Claudia had pictured a sedate lifting of the blanket, and a beckoning within, but it clearly wasn‟t going to be like that. Not at all.

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CT‟s mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting, probing. She‟d never had a kiss melt her before, send her womb on a flip-flopping freefall that left her wet and wanting, but somehow CT did it. Perhaps it was the solidity of him, settled on her front, but she was hit with a craving that made her vaginal muscles ache. It was like a pulsing, vacuum sucking need to draw him into her… But physical sex wasn‟t like psychic sex, and the preliminaries had to be observed first. CT was observing them now, beginning with a sensuous journey down-torso. His hands were a delight — coarse, workman‟s hands, but the scratchy tips were more titillating than painful, as they massaged her stomach, her thighs. Real. The pressure of his digits as he held plump breasts in his hands, caressing, kneading, laving them with that dexterous tongue. The slide and grunt and sensation of solid weight pressing against her inner being, making her organs scream for satisfaction. She‟d forgotten what it felt like to have that pressure on her pelvis, to feel the thickness of a man‟s penis demanding entrance at her slit. God help her, the hot, slippery press of his glans against her tissues. He was at her cleft, and he was hot and turgid. He pulled away, but it was only to sheathe himself with a condom. She was so desperate for him now she would have taken him any way he offered it, knew herself for an ingrate for her lack of appreciation for his safe-sex efforts — but she wanted him, Now.

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Now, inside, thrusting. Her vaginal muscles were already beginning to contract… He didn‟t disappoint. He thrust in, and up. She clenched, but this time it was with a quick gasp of pain. Six years! Her muscles had had frequent clenching, and she was tight as an untouched virgin. Claudia‟s eyes widened in sudden pain, but then he was…there! She exploded, clenching him, the pain of his push feeding her frenzy. She was a virgin, untested, untapped, and he was penetrating her… Her first orgasm hadn‟t ended when she went into her second. CT was thrusting madly now, and then he stiffened, jerking, jettisoning, as her uterine muscles went into spasm. They bucked and clenched and rode each other in reckless thrusting of wet and warm and humid, heated grunts of passion. Claudia had never experienced anything like it — not with her first lovers, not with Nigel. There was nothing to match it. It was as though CT knew her inner soul — knew her inside and out. There were no thoughts of pleasure or pleasing. There was only…CT. Except at the end of it, when CT lay heavily on her chest. When CT passed out, Nigel was there, a flicker in the darkness. For a brief moment, an instant of time, Nigel tried to displace him, to insinuate his way in-between. “No,” she whispered, grasping CT so tightly there was no space between his heated warmth and her own. “No.”

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Afterwards, she lay there, irresolute, CT clasped closely in her arms. God, she thought, what have I done? She‟d chosen the living. It was the only logical choice — the only reasonable one she could have made. Still embracing CT, she shifted position, her hand leaving CT‟s tousled hair to briefly brush the gritty tent bottom. We all come to this, to grit, to dust, in the end. Had she chosen wrongly? Selected decades of shared company over millennia? She‟d thought tonight would clarify all. Instead, she‟d never been more confused. As she drifted off to sleep she was once again that Roman soldier, trudging woefully toward the shore — his lost love mourning at his back.

CT was all for leaving early, and was awake before dawn. Claudia had stirred on his shoulder, and his penis was stirring in response. Just one more time couldn‟t hurt. But it could, and he knew it. His professional reputation would probably weather it, but Claudia was just getting started in the field — and they hadn‟t exactly been quiet the night before. Oh, they‟d managed to keep it to grunts, sighs, and gasps, but they were in a bloody tent city, for Pete‟s sake! I wouldn’t be surprised if the vibrations of all that pounding and thrusting carried to the adjacent tents.

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CT grinned, his cheeks a little flushed, and his penis tightening as he remembered their carnal mingling. Damn, she was good, but he didn‟t want the whole world to know it. The old double standard was still fully in effect in some of these camps. Not when it came to work ethics, but when it came to ethics of any other kind, judgment calls could be made on the ribald remark. CT nuzzled Claudia‟s scalp and brushed his lips against hers, first, and then against one nipple peaking daringly outside the blankets. She stirred and draped an arm across him. Dammit! The moment he sat up he guessed he was in for it. His head was pounding — had been pounding since he‟d opened his eyes, but it had been easier to ignore when he was lying there watching Claud‟s nipple rise and fall with her breaths. Sitting up made him dizzy, and queasiness ground his stomach. His skin was hotter than the early morning deserved. Fuck this! I can’t —! Can‟t afford to be sick now and leave Claudia to face all those faces alone. They had to be up and out of here before anyone else rose. Voices could lie, but faces couldn‟t. CT already knew their expressions would give them away. God knows, there was little enough other social fodder here. If they stayed, they‟d become the local feature story for the season. Lurching to his feet, he crunched through the rocky sand and loaded most of their gear in the truck. Then, one finger pressed warningly against his

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lips, he awakened Claudia. Her eyes opened with a smile, and he bent over and kissed her lush lips longingly. “You‟re hot!” She stretched a hand toward his forehead. “Shhh.” He smiled, to soften the sound. “Mines and then „home‟. We‟ll handle it there,” appeared to reassure her, and she dressed quickly, her own cheeks flushed as he watched her, grinning. False promises? CT kept the smile on his face, but his brain was working furiously. Right now he wasn‟t sure if he‟d make it to the truck, let alone the Sikait mine.

Claudia tried not to let him see how worried she was. As the sun rose, so did the temperature of CT‟s skin. She knew it was a measure of his state from the ease with which he gave in to her insistence that he sit there in the tent, water bottle in hand, while she finished packing the truck. “My turn,” she told him with a smile. CT was all for equality, but she noticed he was still big on carrying things for the females in the group, and opening tent flaps and truck doors, then gesturing the ladies on ahead. If he was willing to sit there while she finished packing, it could only mean he wasn‟t up to it himself. Not a good thing. And if she cared, she‟d go straight to the camp director and have CT hauled out of here to the nearest medical facility.

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Only, CT wouldn‟t let her. He was insistent — almost grouchy about it at this point — that he knew his illness better than she. He‟d set his own limitations, thank you very much. Am I permitting myself to be convinced? Because I don’t want to cross him first thing — particularly after their closeness the night before? She didn‟t want to lose that come daylight, yet it seemed now they were on the verge of arguing. And if it comes down to it, sex with a man doesn’t buy you control. She really had no right to dictate what CT did. That’s never stopped you before. She argued with Nigel all the time. Stop it! Nigel was dead. Arguing was really all he had left, she thought nastily. The last thing she wanted at the moment were thoughts of Nigel to intrude on hers and CT‟s rather momentous night. She finished packing in silence. She couldn‟t deny part of her easy acquiescence was because she dreamed of spending more time with CT alone. And he was right about leaving now, while the camp was still quiet. Neither one of them had discussed the noise levels the night before, but their actions had been heated. Claudia blushed as she considered how their activities might be interpreted by their neighbors. For what they were… The camp director would wonder. There was still so much to see in Sikait. Houses with slab ceilings and floors, walled gardens, and built-in basins

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— many of these with multiple rooms, some two storied. Temples and administration buildings to explore, dozens of excavated buildings to peruse. Claudia had been so excited, thrilled even, that Jolly had remarked on it. CT thrills me more. So today, they were off to explore the mines. They‟d be back, after they‟d been up-wadi. Explanations could be dealt with via note, radio transmission, and after a few days‟ absence. Time enough to let the social furor die down? Claudia blushed again then almost angrily climbed into the truck. Why did romance always have to be tainted in social stigma? They hit the track, to head toward the mines. Seventy to choose from — hand dug shafts in the sloping hills of the wadi. There was one place Claudia was particularly keen to see, but it was far — maybe too far for this trip. It was called Mons Smaragdus — Emerald Mountain — by the ancient Romans. In actuality, the term Mons Smaragdus referred to the entire Sikait region, but there was a place in particular which was specifically referred to by the name. Access was supposed to be difficult, because it was on a different wadi system, but there were supposed to be low grade emeralds — smaragdus — scattered through the sands. Claudia had read about it, researched it. Now, she just wanted to see it for herself. To traverse the ancient Roman highways, to follow the trade routes

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to their source. The entire thing held a romantic aura for her, even given the realities of blazing sun, rock and sand. Claudia glanced over at CT, to see whether he felt the same — and knew immediately that whatever he was feeling, it wasn‟t romance, of any kind. He smiled at her, but she wasn‟t fooled. His face might be mahogany brown after years of work in the sun, but it usually didn‟t have that ruddy cast. Another time. There would be other opportunities for treks to the emerald mines during her stay in Egypt. At this point, CT mattered far more to her than any smaragdus, crude or refined. She already knew him enough to guess he wouldn‟t want to forfeit their little excursion on his behalf, so she‟d have to play this carefully. Claudia resolved to concentrate on one or two of the hillslope mine shafts, purporting great interest, before turning back to camp to get CT some help. There was no way he was going to manage this trek, and she knew it even if he didn‟t. A few quick stops, and back to the camp. In the end, she didn‟t have to play it carefully at all. CT passed out on their second stop.

They‟d done a lot of trudging on their first hike up to the shaft lip. Truth be told, there wasn‟t much to see at that one, nor had it been the simple walk it looked. The water-packed firmness of the hill slope had been undermined with years of digging, and they had to wallow through sand. CT stubbornly refused

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to turn back, and by the time they reached the shaft, the sweat drenching his back was drying. Claudia had his arm over her shoulder on the trudge back to the truck, but it was less lover-like than necessary. CT was losing it, big time. He just wasn‟t willing to admit it. “I know what I‟m doing.” Irritated. Angry. Yeah, right. She wished later she hadn‟t gone along with it. If he‟d been Nigel, she would have argued him down. Nigel was always a good one for logic — for the reasonable request, the rational response. I don’t know CT well enough. Claudia was all for arguing with him, but in his present condition, she didn‟t think he was prepared to see reason, of any kind. It was all about holding up his end of the bargain, to see the mines. As she half dragged him up the next slope at their second stop, he whispered loudly, “Can‟t go back to camp after the ruckus we stirred up —” then followed it with one of those hoots of genuine laughter she liked so much. It…almost…convinced her he was okay until he tripped and stumbled over a rock. He gasped, grasped his head with his free hand, and sagged in her arms. Claudia was panicking as she hauled him back to the truck. It was damn hard because the man might not be heavily built, but he was solid muscle. She hefted, grunted, and dragged them both back to the vehicle, balancing him while she yanked open the passenger door so hard it groaned, nearly springing

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the latch, but somehow she maneuvered him in — the entire time praying, swearing, gasping, crying, shouting his name. It was no use. CT was out cold, and bloody hot besides. Claudia whipped the truck around, or tried to anyway, jockeying forward and back in big, jolting movements so there was no chance of getting trapped in soft sand. Then, she radioed ahead for help, and revved up the engine, before tearing down the old Roman road like a mad woman, splaying sandy gravel out the back at every curve. They roared into camp several hours later, stirring up a mini dust storm that showered the other rescuers with grit. They were ready for CT, and loaded him into another sand-scoured truck, while a medic set him up with an IV. The medic was going to meet the helicopter to transport CT to the nearest hospital. Claudia wasn‟t invited along on the truck ride. In truth, there was only room for the driver, the medic, and the stretcher, but she still felt bereft, widowed almost. She trailed the stretcher like a lost soul as it was loaded onto its transport. But at the last moment, damn him, CT woke up. He reached out a hand for her, and when she drew close grasped her sleeve. Claudia waited for the words of love, of treasured moments together — maybe, even, of some kind of commitment. Crazy after one night, but a girl could hope. Something to mark their passion, their shared night…

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CT gave her words, all right. His eyes gazed intently into hers, and he murmured, “I want pictures — of the mines.” He pallid lips forced a smile. Bloody hell! They were the last words he spoke before he was loaded into the damned truck.

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Chapter Five

I was better off with Nigel. The words popped into her head as she stood, watching the transport disappear in the distance. She was still standing there as the dusty clouds of its going dissipated in the dusk sky. She was too parched for words, too bereft to comment when one of the women came over and draped a friendly arm across her shoulders. “He‟ll be okay.” Claudia nodded, wanting to believe the woman had seen such a thing before, in order to anticipate such a hopeful conclusion. She was too afraid to ask. Two dead lovers would be more than she could take.

In the camp, pity had taken the place of derision. If CT had been whole and well, there would have been ribald comments to him, and maybe a few looks of disapproval for her. CT was absent, though, and everyone was civil. To her way of thinking, no news wasn‟t good news. Claudia hadn‟t heard anything regarding his condition, and worry gnawed at her stomach. Either good news traveled slowly, or no one thought she or the Sikait encampment

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was worth informing. After all, CT wasn‟t from Sikait — he was stationed at Berenike. Claudia had no doubt that if she were to contact Berenike, they‟d be just bubbling over with information. Meanwhile, she privately fumed, uncertain whether she should hop in the truck and head back to Berenike, or act the way she bet CT would if it were her in the hospital — traipse off and explore the damned mines. She couldn‟t believe he‟d given her so little, there at the end. Even some acknowledgment, no matter how small… Or a thank-you, maybe, for saving his damned life! Cheeks flushing, she finally asked if she could radio Berenike. They did, indeed, have news. CT was “sleeping it off”, whatever that meant. Doped up for dead, they said. As for her, they wondered what information she‟d managed to procure on the mines? All very polite, but a reminder that you’re not getting paid for nothing. It left her feeling distinctly impolite, and Nigel‟s behavior didn‟t help. He poked his face up now and then, but Claudia ignored him. At first he laughed and then grew miffed, but she just couldn‟t do it. Now that she‟d been with a “real boy”, Pinocchio just didn‟t cut it anymore. She loved Nigel for what he was, but she couldn‟t live a life in the shadows, and it was time to let Nigel go. He might even be able to find a nice ghost girl to play with. Still, it made her cry. Claudia had never been more frustrated in her life. Romantically, sexually, spiritually. CT‟s night with her had stirred her passions

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to new heights, and whenever she wasn‟t worrying about him, she was dreaming what it would be like to be in his arms once more. By the morning of the third day after CT‟s departure, she‟d had all that she could take. “Going mining,” she informed the Sikait crew rather abruptly. She said it with a smile which saved it from being curt. It’s not their fault you’re a fool in all things men. Deliberately, she delved into some of those dreams — the ones which had brought her all this way to study these ancient, dusty trade routes. “I need to see more.” It was enough. These people shared her passion for antiquity. She even got a few hugs good-bye, and one or two, “You shouldn‟t go alone” comments. I’m not alone, she could have told them. If necessary, she could always dredge up Nigel. User. She sucked in a deep breath, and gestured with the radio. “If I run into any trouble, be sure you‟ll get a call.” She handed over a rough map, with her intended trek outlined in red. “That‟s the route.” And she‟d already proven herself capable in an emergency. One hour later, Claudia drove thankfully out of camp, waving cheerily as she went.

Claudia tried to tell herself she was seasoned now — a true denizen of the desert, conversant with its dangers. In truth, other than the heat and the

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occasional critter, it didn‟t seem all that dangerous to her…provided she had water. She made a point of staying out of excessive sun, and checking in with the camp regularly. The perfect archeologist. Eager, diligent, able to undertake any task, and unafraid of confronting discovery alone. The second day of her journey dawned damn hot. So far, Claudia had checked out six mines. She knew better than to enter the shafts, but she‟d taken readings and photos. Damn that CT! She was still worried, and still rejecting Nigel every time he turned up. No woman could be faithful to two men, even if one of them was dead. It was midday on the second day when it happened. According to her map, and her sources, there was a small town a mile or so off-road, which the mine workers had once inhabited. No one had done much more than note its existence, and Claudia felt the thrill of discovery. Who knew what a place like that might hold? Other Mons Smaragdus towns had yielded pottery and metals, low grade gemstones, and a variety of other, more homely items. There were sure to be buildings, if the place had been impressive enough to be noted on the map. Gooseflesh danced down her back. The wadi region was laden with small piles of rubble — the remnants of ancient huts. This township held the promise of oh, so much more.

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She readjusted her hat, conscious of her thirst. It seemed she was always conscious of her thirst in this wretched heat! She sucked on her canteen then mustered ahead. No track, so she‟d just have to make her way. A couple of times she glanced back at the truck, even climbing one of the little hills to make sure it was still within sight. It was only on the last check that she saw it had disappeared, but that was what she expected. This was hilly country, after all, and the town should be just ahead. Only, it wasn‟t, nor could she find the truck. She tried tracing her own footsteps, but this area was rock, rather than sand, and it was no use. Her compass was erratic, due to magnetic deposits, leading her nowhere. Two hours later, dragging her body through the heat, Claudia had to admit it — I’m lost. Lost in the damned desert. Her water bottle was dry, but she refused to panic. If I don’t check in, they’ll come looking. The sun had never been so hot, and Claudia knew she should have been resting midday away instead of hiking. But it was too late — too late for anything. She rooted around in one of those piles of rocky debris, picking up rocks that burned her hands to pile them into a wall that might offer her partial shade — if it didn‟t fall on her head first. She didn‟t possess the building secrets of the ancient Romans or the Bedouin. And her blistered hands were shaking so badly she didn‟t know how she‟d survive the next few hours. It was then an icy chill came on her, colder than death. Nigel!

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She didn‟t speak — she didn‟t have to. He was there…for her. He ran freezing fingers along her spine, her heated brow, her arms, her legs. Chilling her down, breathing life and heart back into her drying soul. She would have cried if she‟d had any more tears. When night hit, she burrowed down in the sand for warmth. Nigel darted in and out, but mostly, he stayed. He didn‟t talk or argue the way he usually did — just hung in with her. And when morning dawn, Claud whispered, “Am I dying today?” She thought at first she‟d offended him somehow. He vanished in a blink, and reappeared only in fitful starts. Surprising as it seemed, Nigel, of all people, didn‟t want her to die.

Two hundred miles away, CT sat up abruptly in bed and reached for the phone. He was patched in via radio to Berenike, but it took almost an hour to make the connection. By that time he was pacing, tugging his IV rack along behind him. “Claudia‟s lost in the desert!” he shouted into the phone. There was dead silence on the other end, then what could have been a throat being cleared, but sounded a lot more like a crackle. They don’t believe me. CT gritted his teeth and told Jolly Roger, “Contact Sikait. Ask them if she checked in last night.”

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“Hold on.” It took Jolly five minutes, but finally he came back on the line. “How did you know?” he asked in a sing-song voice. It was Jolly‟s tone whenever he ran into anything historic, Egyptian, or slightly metaphysical that he didn‟t understand. “I dreamt it, Joll —” “You do have weird dreams.” Jolly meant it. He was CT‟s confidante. He‟d never heard many of the specifics, but CT‟s little out-of-body trick had chased down more than one artifact. “What do you want me to do about it?” “Break me out of here —” “Whoa.” Jolly cut him off right there. “No good. You‟re in it for the long haul.” “I can „long haul‟ it when I get back.” CT lowered his voice. “She‟s lost in the desert, Jolly!” Jolly was sympathetic. “I‟ll organize a search team —” “A helicopter would be a damn sight better!” CT was adamant. “I mean it, Jolly — I know exactly where she is.”

Nigel had abandoned her two hours ago. He was playing some kind of game, still popping in and out. Maybe he’s just low on ectoplasm. Claudia lay there, too desiccated to move, a dried-out husk of her former self. Her tongue kept

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sticking to the roof of her mouth, and her eyeballs felt like raisins in their sockets. Mummified. This is what it was like to die in the desert. Maybe they’ll find me in a thousand years… Some sound that was more than sifting sand — some vibration made her turn her head. It seemed a huge effort, as though the tendons had already dried in place. There was Nigel, coming for her. She blinked, several times, trying to draw forth enough moisture to clear her eyes. And blinked again. He was there, and he‟d brought water. He shaded her, but his form seemed solid this time. Am I dead? He tilted her head, and poured precious water down her throat till she coughed and choked. Not dead, then. “Nigel?” she whispered. “Yeah,” he retorted, his voice husky. “But I like it when you call me CT better.” He took her in his arms, ignoring background gripes from his corescuers, and just held her. Later, on the long helicopter ride to the hospital, CT sat with her, not bothering to hide his possessiveness. Despite the heat, he kept his arm draped around her. “Who told you — about the Nigel?” He grinned. “It was Jolly, wasn‟t it?”

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He doesn’t know. She remembered his discussion regarding OBEs. He clearly had no idea the extent of his “travels”. She swallowed hard, and repeated, as though needing to confirm it for herself, “Carlton Nigel Sheffield.” She had to be sure… He nodded, yawned and leaned his head back against the seat. “Can‟t imagine what they were thinking.” He yawned again, gave her a squeeze and settled in for a doze. “See you in my dreams,” he quipped. Claudia nuzzled her head into his shoulder, smiling. The one who‟d influenced her master‟s degree — who had, more or less, brought her, lured her, directed her to Berenike. Who has loved me, nourished me, body and soul, for the past six years. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. “You don‟t know the half of it,” she said.

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Epilogue

She only knew he was there when he draped his arms around her and dropped a heated kiss on her nape. Sometimes he still liked doing this — playing Nigel “in the flesh”. Claudia sighed. Nigel. He must have sensed her change in attitude because he froze, mid-kiss. “What?” Claud turned to face him. “I miss Nigel,” she admitted. CT looked flustered, clearly trying to figure out where his love-making fell short, while his alter ego‟s ruled the day. “He‟s only good for one thing,” CT told her grouchily. Claudia could read him pretty well now, and she guessed his reaction was something along the lines of “whereas I‟m the complete male, hands and feet attached.” Dammit if CT wasn‟t jealous…of himself! Like men comparing sexual equipment, and being found lacking. Claudia would have found it funny, if CT hadn‟t been so upset. “It‟s not style, or gear — yours is infinitely better,” she assured him. “It‟s just that Nigel had this way of insinuating himself into those innermost spaces of my —” She cleared her throat pointedly. “— soul.”

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“Ah-hah.” CT wriggled his eyebrows and stroked an imaginary moustache, in his best dastardly villain manner. He grabbed her, and quickly whispered in her ear, “Perhaps ol‟ Nigel could come on one of those conjugal visits.” Nigel did. There was a difference this time, though. It was Claudia‟s first time ever in a threesome, but when Nigel came, in cunt-stirring glory, CT cheered loudly in his sleep.

The End

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http://www.MelodyKnight.com

http://www.NDHansen-Hill.com

AUTHOR BIO N. D. Hansen-Hill has been writing novels for nearly a dozen years, specializing in science fiction, fantasy, and horror. All her stories are suspenseful, and all bear traces of the paranormal. A little over a year ago, the author—writing as Melody Knight—added romance to her genre list, and now has a number of published sf and fantasy romance titles. Her recent work has concentrated on single titles, rather than series. With a busy schedule that includes work as a professional artist and designer, ND stays in touch with science via university, studying a range of topics, from anthropology to virology.

Red Rose Publishing (as Melody Knight) GlassWorks Of Dragons Emerald City

Fictionwise (as N. D. Hansen-Hill) Trees Crystals Mud Shades Fire

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Light Grave Images Graven Image Grave Imagery Grave Image Light Play Light Plays Lightning Play Static Vision Elf Trolls

Linden Bay Romance (as Melody Knight) In Trysts In Flames (Jan 1 release) Five Star (as N. D. Hansen-Hill) ErRatic (Feb 20 release)

Cerridwen Press (as N. D. Hansen-Hill)

Gilded Folly The Hollowing (2008 release) Gray Beginnings (2008 release) BloodWorks (2008 release) Drollerie Press Relic (2008 release) BoneSong (2008 release)

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