This Wicked Fate (This Poison Heart #2)(16)

“So this is a dead end?” I asked. “There’s no way to know if it could be possible that Aeaea actually exists?”

Alec took off his glasses and set them on his desk. “What we have is the Odyssey. And if we pair that with things we now know about the places mentioned there, I would say that Odysseus, traveling home from Troy, would be much more likely to have encountered the island in a ‘wine-dark sea,’ as Homer describes it, if he was sailing the Black Sea.”

Circe’s gaze swept over the map mounted on the wall behind Alec’s desk. “The Black Sea?”

Alec nodded. “Let’s assume some of the details are true. If Odysseus was coming from Troy, making his way home to Ithaca, why would he be off the western coast of Italy?”

Circe continued to stare at the map. “He wouldn’t. He’d most likely be in the waters of the Mediterranean or the Aegean.”

“The Aegean is a better candidate, but there is still the question of why,” Alec said. “What is the foundation of that school of thought?”

He glanced at me, and I put my hands up in front of me. “Don’t ask me. I just found out Hercules killed his entire family, and I been singing his little songs from the movie my whole life.”

“Fair enough,” Alec said. He turned to Circe. “Would you like to elaborate?”

Circe bit back a smile. “We believe Aeaea was in that specific area because of Heinrich Schliemann’s discovery of Troy. Once he found the precise location, we had a starting point for where to look for the island.”

“Right,” Alec said. “Schliemann’s dig site was located in the western part of what is now Turkey, but just because he, an untrained amateur archaeologist, declared it to be the Troy of legend doesn’t make it true. It is a known fact that the treasure he claimed belonged to the fabled King Priam actually came from an unknown culture that had flourished over a thousand years before Troy even existed.”

“You mad?” Marie asked. “Because you sound mad.”

Alec waved her off. “There is, however, real archaeological, fact-based evidence to suggest the Troy of Homer’s work was much farther northeast.” He stood and pointed to an area of the map just south of the Black Sea, its coastline jutting out like four long fingers. “Somewhere around here.”

Circe shook her head. “I’ve heard this theory before, but I found so little evidence to support it, I just let it go.”

“You haven’t seen corruption until you’ve seen the underbelly of the archaeology world. Disinformation is rampant.” He sounded genuinely upset about it. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

I went to the map to get a better look. “So, the island could have been in the Black Sea? How many islands are there in that area?”

“Almost none,” Alec said. “Which is probably why it’s so easy to dismiss it as a possibility.”

Marie was suddenly at my side, staring at the map like she was seeing it for the first time. She reached out and traced the coastline south of the Black Sea with her fingertips.

“What is it?” I asked.

She held her breath, running her hand over her mouth and tilting her head as she surveyed the map. “I just—I had something here.” She glanced toward the door. “A piece of pottery. It was older than most of the other stuff. It had something on it that looked kind of like that.” She pointed to the fingerlike protrusions of land. “And there were other things on it, but I can’t remember exactly.”

“What?” Circe asked. “Where? Do you still have it?”

Marie shook her head. “No. I gave it to a contact I have up in Albany. He was making a trip and said he would return it for me.”

“Did he?” I asked. “Did he take it back?”

“I don’t know,” Marie said.

“You know how long I’ve been looking for something—anything—to point me in the right direction?” Circe stared at Marie. “And you had something here this whole time?”

“I didn’t know what it was,” Marie said stiffly. “And it’s not like you’ve always been the most approachable person, Circe. After—”

“Don’t.” Circe shoved her hands in her pockets. “Just don’t.” She sighed and tilted her head back. “I’m gonna need you to find out if this person still has the pottery and how soon we can get a look at it.”

Marie nodded. “Gimme a minute.” She took out her phone and excused herself, disappearing into the next room.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Alec said as he settled back into his chair. “Her contacts aren’t always the most reputable people. They like to stay under the radar for a reason.”

Circe patted him on the shoulder, then let her hand linger there. She leaned down, studying his face. He avoided her gaze.

“What happened to your neck?” she asked.

It had only been a few weeks since Alec got himself hemmed up by the vines surrounding the Poison Garden. The deep brown skin of his neck was crisscrossed by lines of pale pink—newly healed flesh.

“I got into something that didn’t agree with me,” he said.

I watched as Circe studied him closely. “You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”