Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(2)
A to-do list flooded into my head. I needed pictures, notes, sample bags . . . a phone to call my mentor, MacLaren; I had to share the news with him, regardless of his remote research location. I splashed down a dozen yards until the slope eased enough for a simple scramble up the bank and a quick jog to my vehicle. Excitement overwhelmed my nervous system, literally vibrating my body. Trembling hands fumbled with the car door’s metal latch, and a low growl rumbled from my throat. I took a deep breath and with steady focus curled my fingers under the lever, lifted slowly, and flung the door open, grabbing my supplies.
I held the phone up in vain to a signal-less sky and sighed, resigning to the fact that not even a message would get out to the professor. He’d have to hear about the discovery when I returned to Inverness on the way back to the States. The relic would travel home with me, legal or not. Not one ethical cell in my body had any issues with the clear violation of law and procedure, temporary madness overriding my natural rule-abiding tendency. I’d never likened myself to Indiana Jones until that very moment.
Retracing my path, I climbed down into the creek, splashing my way back to the metal object. I documented my find and began the painstaking retrieval of the artifact from its ancient home. I worked for the better part of an hour, cold to the bone from wet jeans, digging until I’d freed the captive. As soon as both of my hands made contact with the item, an unusual energy flowed into my body as if completing a circuit. I disregarded the sensation, certain the electric charge came from the thrill of discovery, and gently rocked the item loose, bringing it forth into the light of day. Fashioned entirely of metal—a foot long, and half as wide and tall—the box I’d unearthed bore extraordinary detailing.
I pulled the heavy object tightly into my embrace, stepping into my new future.
CHAPTER Two
UCLA Archaeology Department—A Couple of Weeks Later
As I walked through the poorly lit, tiled hallway toward Professor MacLaren’s office for the millionth time in my life, I was laser focused; none of the usual feelings of anticipation and excitement flowed through my veins. I barely registered the bleach scent lingering in the air. I found it impossible to concentrate on anything other than the cloth-wrapped box I clutched so tightly under my arm that I’d lost sensation in my fingertips. Like a running back cradling a football with tunnel-vision sights on the glory of the end zone, I made my way toward the haven posing as my workplace.
I usually counted the steps, the closed doors on either side, and the tiles on the floor before arriving at my favorite destination, but not today. I was so completely distracted by the mysterious, heavy box in my hand, I almost missed the doorway. On the wall, next to the door, hung his-and-hers nameplates—his above mine, of course. Kindred in both his Scottish bloodline and passion for the ancient past, MacLaren had taken me under his wing and tutored me to achieve what no other grad student had in such a short timeframe: Assistant to the Head of the Archaeology Department. And if I had my determined way, my discovery would catapult me to Assistant Professor. I shifted my precious cargo, cradling it protectively in my left arm, and fished my key ring out of my purse. A click of the lock, a turn of the knob, and the creak of the heavy wooden door marked the preparatory cadence for me to step into my otherworldly realm.
No amount of focus could take away from the comfort that washed over me as I entered. I turned, shut the door behind me, and closed my eyes, ritualistically inhaling scents of the past. Leather, wood, and the staleness of a place in need of a thorough dusting filled my nostrils as everything I obsess about in near-constant perpetuity welcomed me home. I flicked the light switch on the wall. My eyes opened to the cavernous room MacLaren had turned into a comfortable space, with an entry living area showcasing a burgundy-and-gold Aubusson rug surrounded by a coffee Chesterfield sofa and matching wing chairs. Wooden built-in bookcases lined one side and the back wall. MacLaren’s desk and large leather chair sat a dozen paces ahead. Flanking the space behind the desk were two locked, glass display cabinets boasting the finest treasures of his collection.
But not one of those artifacts could ever hope to surmount the shadow of the priceless one I held.
I stepped forward and gingerly placed the box on the corner of the desk, taking care not to mar the polished wood surface with its metal corners. With bated breath and trembling hands, I unwrapped the relic of my dreams.
Recently installed, museum-quality lighting cast the perfect protective glow on everything collected and displayed within the room, but nothing prepared me for the vision in flawless illumination. Yes, the actual discovering, retrieving, and transporting had turned into an adventure like no other—carry-on luggage took on a whole new meaning when I refused to take my eyes off what I believed was potentially the most important discovery in history. Yes, I’d spent countless hours carefully cleaning it in my small apartment-turned-laboratory. Yes, I’d packaged samples of both the surrounding peat and fine particles cleaned from the box into marked bags for analysis—the results of which were astounding.
I’d even taken my find to the chem lab where a materials chemistry specialist agreed to meet me under the quiet cover of night. The clandestine meeting had been arranged from my end, but Darren, who I’d only spoken to over the phone, had no idea what I’d brought. From my perspective, his requisite ignorance had enabled our meeting last night.