The Nymph's Curse: The Collection (2 page)

She jabbed the trowel into the hard earth.

The trowel-marked square walls around her seemed to move in a little closer as Ariadne worked. She swallowed back her fear as she looked up at the night sky. When she was done, she could get out of this place and never come back.

Her gaze fell to the exposed light gray column at her right. For a moment she stared at the moonlit carved stone, it reminded her of the thousands of years that had passed since she had been born. Each year brought a new challenge, a new set of problems. She ran her finger against the arid dirt and brought her fingers to her nose to smell the burnt sage, the citric aroma of oranges, and a hint of olive.

To have an archaeologist sticking his nose where it didn’t belong was an invasion tantamount to war. Subterfuge was the game and nymphs had thousands of years of practice.

The ocean breeze picked up and with the scent of salty air, came the dank, putrid scent of forbidden secrets. A hooded crow called out, announcing the arrival of night and sordid undertakings, and pushed Ariadne back to work. She needed to complete her task and get out of the depths. She needed to get back to Heraklion, back to normalcy and out from under her sisters’ command.

The tip of the trowel struck gray volcanic ash and Ariadne stopped. The top of the Minoan-era dirt sat exposed and vulnerable. Ariadne grabbed the box beside her and pulled off the cardboard lid. After she slid on a pair of latex gloves, she lifted the tiny skull and placed it in the hole.

Lifting the rest of the bones one by one, she laid them beneath the skull. Ariadne thought of the child to which these bones had once belonged. She and the child must have been alive at the same time. Had she seen the little one playing in the fields or at the market? Maybe the child would like the mischievous game she was playing, but only if she was successful.

It was of no use to wonder about the past. Now these were just bones, and the child’s spirit was alive and well in the heavens.

Ariadne moved on to the ribs, lying one bone above the next. In no time, she was done. After all, the skeleton couldn’t be too perfect. This was supposed to be a body that had been resting beneath the earth for thousands of years, not a freshly sown grave.

Satisfied, Ariadne pulled the sweaty blue latex from her fingers and stuffed the gloves into her back pocket. Grabbing her trowel, she carefully pushed the soil over the body and packed it down.

Perfect.

The roar of a car stopped her in her tracks. Looking up, Ariadne watched as headlights bounced off the edges of the pit above her. Her heart pounded.

Damn it … someone is coming.

Grabbing the box and trowel, she stood up. Standing on her tiptoes, she grabbed the edge of the pit and peered out into the night. A thickset man had his back turned to her as he opened the rear door of his car. For a second, she could only stare at the man, his snug American jeans, and his gray T-shirt that stretched over the well-defined muscles of his arms. He brushed his shaggy hair behind his ear.

Breaking her gaze, Ariadne stuffed the handle of the trowel in her back pocket and pushed the emptied box under her arm. The dirt from the edge crumbled beneath her fingers as she pulled away. Stumbling backward, she shoved her body into the tight space between a column and the earthen wall.

Hopefully he wouldn’t come into the pit where she was hiding. A confrontation wasn’t ideal. No, it was supposed to be in and out, as Kat had instructed.

Ariadne tried to slow her heart as she stood still, a human bridge between the memories of the past and the terror of the future. So much was at stake — her life, her culture, her species.

The car door slammed shut and crisp footsteps approached the pit. Ariadne pushed her body back as far as it would go against the crumbling wall. The tight space made her heart race faster, and a bead of sweat slid down her forehead — she was a trapped animal.

So … tight. She must stay calm.

He moved closer, and her breath quickened. She needed to get out. Though he couldn’t kill her if he found her, trying to explain her presence would be next to impossible.

Shifting was an option, to strike at him with her serpent fangs — a couple of well-placed bites and he would no longer be a problem. But to kill … it was so permanent.

I shouldn’t have come here.

She sat the box down in front of her feet and closed her eyes. Shifting was the only option.

Shuffling her feet, they scraped against the dry soil. Her eyes sprang open. The sounds of the man moving toward the pit stopped.

“Who’s there?” the man said, his smooth voice breaking the tense silence.

Ariadne didn’t answer. Holding her breath, she peered out from behind the column. A pattering rain of dirt announced the man’s entry into the pit. His thick, brown hair shimmered in the moonlight and silhouetted his V-shaped torso.

The beam of his flashlight bounced around the cave, and she pulled back, deeper into the small space.

The light moved away from her and she peered around the darkened corner. The man’s back was to her, as he faced out into the night. His feet were in front of the disturbed patch of soil, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Thank the gods.

Pulling the trowel from her pocket, Ariadne sat it on the ground. Closing her eyes, her arms pulled into her sides and her legs blended together. Her teeth grew longer and sharpened in her mouth. There was a quiet thump as her clothes fell to the ground. The man turned toward the sound as her body dropped to the ground.

The light flashed above her, but he must not have seen her and he turned back.

Her smooth body snaked around the cardboard box and past the edge of the column as he pulled a bottle from his pocket and took a long drag.

The ocean wasn’t far. Beau’s body would be easy to hide.

Beau Morris threw his feet up on the cheap particleboard desk of the rented room. A roach scuttled across the floor. Without thinking, he pulled his boot from his foot, and pitched it at the bug, missing the roach by at least a foot. He’d never been much of a baseball player; books and dirt had always been more of his thing.

God, he hated this place. He should have been with his field crew. Instead, he was pent up in this hellhole with nothing but a roach for company.

His mind wandered to the young students. Each morning at least one or two of them staggered into the site still stinking of booze from the all-night parties. Maybe there was something to staying in the roach-infested room. At least he had his own place, a place where he could come, relax, and think about the site instead of babysitting all day and night.

Opening up his laptop, he scanned through his emails. Bills, bills, and more bills. Clicking through the mess, he paid the ones he could and avoided the ones that could wait. At the bottom of the list was an email from Lynda. It wasn’t time to pay yet, but without a doubt she was stepping in line for her money.

Without opening the email, Beau clicked to his account and sent the normal amount. That should shut her up for a while. Avoiding her at all costs was the simplest solution. He always seemed to trip into disasters when it came to her. The only thing good about Lynda was Kaden.

Watching his son ride his first bike had been a great moment.

What has it been? Ten years? Kaden must not be much of a kid anymore.

Even if Beau didn’t get to see him much, it was still a comfort to think that he had a boy running around. Especially a boy who loved to cause his mother a little bit of hell — Lynda deserved every second of his orneriness.

When Beau had emailed Lynda about the possibility of bringing Kaden to Crete, Lynda had seemed to consider it, but she had decided against it. Kaden didn’t know him, and a summer in another country would have been a disaster. On the other hand, it would’ve been fun showing Kaden the site and taking him to Heraklion, where there was a fantastic museum.

Kaden might’ve loved Crete, he could have taken part in the dig, helped his old man. Not that he was old; nah, thirty-four was only slightly worn. There was plenty of life left in him.

Closing his email, Beau opened up his site files. There were so many loose ends, but with a little luck, they would find what he was looking for, he was sure of it. Then the National Science Foundation would get off his back. All he needed was something to prove his theory. Something tangible and the NSF would be eating out of his hands.

Next to his computer, the newspaper sat partially unfolded. There was a picture of the Cretan riots, where the unemployed picketed around a building. He scanned to the next page. He couldn’t help but snicker at the headline. It said it all, “Archeologist Searches for Answers.” They didn’t know how right they were. Questions were easy to come by, but answers … they never seemed to come.

Beau took a sip of the beer sitting next to the paper and sat it on top of the headline. A drip fell from the bottle and splashed against the paper, blurring the ink.

The NSF was never going to give him the grant for next year if he didn’t get his crap together.

A knock broke the silence.

Who would be at his room at this hour? Maybe one of his crew members? God only knew what trouble they had caused. Last week, the police had been called for a broken window. The offending student had to pay for the window to be replaced, but at least Beau had managed to get the charges dropped.

“Who’s there?” Beau grumbled as he stood up and grabbed his boot.

No answer.

Goddamn college students.

The person knocked again.

“Hold your horses. I’m coming. I’m coming.” Beau’s ankle cracked as he slipped his boot back on.

Wiping his face, he shook out his hands and then reached for the doorknob.

The person banged again.
Geezus, what could be so goddamn important?

Opening the door, his jaw dropped.

A black-haired teenager looked up at Beau and pulled his orange backpack a little higher on his shoulder.

What the hell? Kaden?

“Hey kid … buddy,” Beau stuttered, trying to cover his shock. “What’re you doing here?”

Leaning out the door, Beau looked out into the hallway. Except for the two of them, the hall was empty.

Beau grabbed Kaden’s shoulders and led him inside. “Where’s your Mom?”

“She’s probably at the airport by now,” Kaden said, with an unemotional shrug. “She brought me here and then when we were about to come inside, she disappeared. She was in a big hurry to get on her honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon?”

“Yeah, Beau. I guess you didn’t get the email. She got married a couple days ago.”

Since when did
his son
call him “Beau?” He looked over at the boy he had only known from school pictures and five-minute phone calls for the last ten years. The pictures of a smiling, polo shirt-wearing young kid didn’t match the pierced, black-haired, hoodie-wearing teen that stood in front of him. How had Lynda allowed this to happen?

“Did she say when she would be gracing us with her presence?”

“Hey, old man, I just followed her here. We didn’t talk a whole lot.”

Old man?
Geezus, this situation was worse than he had thought.

The door clicked shut behind them, and Beau’s gaze wandered to the beer on the desk. Trying to be subtle, he walked over and grabbed the bottle and stuffed it into the back of his pants. He wasn’t a great dad, but even he knew beer and kids didn’t mix.

“You have another one,
Beau
?”

Beau grumbled, unsure of how to respond.

Kaden had to be trying to irritate him.
No wonder Lynda dropped his ass off. When is she coming back?

Then Beau remembered the email. Maybe it hadn’t been for child support, but why hadn’t Lynda called? A man needed a little warning that a juvenile delinquent was going to appear on his doorstep.

Kaden walked to the bed, dropped his backpack to the floor and flopped down. “Is this it? This is where I’m gonna be living? I thought you were some famous scientist or something. This place is a shit-hole.”

Living? Huh.

“Don’t you think you need to watch your mouth?”

Kaden’s eyebrows flipped up in mock surprise. “You think I give a shit about what you think, old man? Did you forget that I haven’t seen you for ten years? You’re the last person who is going to tell me how I can and can’t talk.”

Great … so this is how it’s going to be.

His son didn’t have a clue about the history between him and Lynda, but it hadn’t been Beau’s fault that he couldn’t see Kaden. But Kaden wouldn’t understand. He was too angry, too young.

“Look kid, we can get along or we can call your mother and get her to come back here. I think it’s great you’re gonna … live here … but there’s got to be some ground rules.”

“Go ahead and call her.” Kaden pulled his MP3 player out of his bag and shoved in his ear buds. “She won’t answer. I already tried.”

Lynda would never change. It was and had always been the selfish path of least resistance with that woman. And again, Kaden was the one paying the price.

• • •

Governor Kakos’ office door was closed, but the sound of giggles penetrated into the waiting room where Ariadne stood. Without knocking, she pushed open the door to his office.

The blonde secretary leaned over the governor’s desk, her breasts inches away from Stavros’ tan face, while her fishtail skirt inched closer and closer to showing the world her well-known secret.

Ariadne stepped into the lust-scented room and clicked the door shut. The woman stood up and straightened her skirt, causing her breasts to press hard against the buttons of her jacket.

Ariadne could pretend to be upset or jealous, but it was too much work. Stavros was Stavros; if he wanted to screw the whole island, he would.

“Hello, Ariadne,” the woman said, patting her hair.

“Bunny,” Ariadne responded with a slightly annoyed nod. “Stavros, you and I need to talk.”

Stavros’ gaze flickered to Bunny, and a tiny spark of guilt played on his face. If Ariadne hadn’t known him for years, she wouldn’t have noticed the subtle way his eyebrows trembled, or the way he licked his lips when he had done something wrong. The man hated uncomfortable situations, but like a true politician, he tried to brush off his guilt by acting apathetic.