“Ah, here we are,” Griffin commented. They paused before a door with the inscription “Michel Khatabi.”
The scrivener tapped gently.
The door swung open as if the room’s occupant had been waiting breathlessly on the other side. Instead of a solemn academic, they were greeted by a thirty-something glamazon with long auburn hair. She was dressed in Chanel and four-inch stiletto heels, causing her to tower over everyone except Griffin. Her blue eyes locked onto Erik in hungry anticipation the second she saw him.
Rushing through the door, she murmured, “Ah mon chéri, it has been too long!” Then she threw her arms around him and planted a long, slow kiss on his lips.
Cassie and Griffin exchanged startled looks.
It took a lot to embarrass Erik, but this lavish display of affection had obviously done it. Blushing furiously, he disentangled himself from the woman’s embrace. “Um, hi, Sophie, it’s good to see you too.” He cleared his throat.
Cassie narrowed her gaze. “Why don’t you introduce us to your friend, dude?”
Erik stepped out of the woman’s reach. “Guys, this is Sophie Khatabi. She’s Professor Khatabi’s daughter.”
“Please, Erik.” She had a strong French accent and pronounced his name “Ereek.” “You know everyone calls me Fifi.”
The paladin nodded. “Fifi, this is Griffin, the Chief scrivener.”
“Enchanté.” Fifi held out her hand, palm downward, giving Cassie the impression that she meant for Griffin to kiss it. Instead, he limply shook her fingers.
Erik moved on. “And this is our new pythia, Cassie.”
When Fifi transferred her attention to the third member of the Arkana team, her eyebrows shot halfway up her forehead in surprise. Sizing Cassie up from head to toe, she murmured, “This is the new pythia? Ma déesse! She is so little and so young. A mere child.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t all be as old as you,” Cassie muttered under her breath.
“Pardon?” Fifi asked.
Griffin gave Cassie’s sleeve a warning tug though she caught a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
“Never mind.” Cassie stepped forward and shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you.” Barely pausing, she added, “So, how do you know Erik?”
At the mention of his name, Fifi turned to gaze at the paladin fondly. “Oh, Erik and I met a long time ago in Paris.”
“I was working on a recovery in France,” he explained. “Fifi was my contact. Back then, she was getting her doctorate in archaeology at the Sorbonne.”
“And we became good friends.”
The accent on the word “friends” made Cassie think they had been a lot more than that. “So, if you’re French, what are you doing here?” she asked abruptly.
Fifi smiled condescendingly at her ignorance. “My family is of French and Berber descent. You must not be aware that Morocco was once a French Protectorate and still has a strong French influence. In fact, French is the unofficial language of the country.” She finally moved out of the doorway. “Please, you must all come in. My father will be here soon. He was delayed and asked me to make you welcome until he arrived.”
The office wasn’t very large, but the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite wall gave a commanding view of the campus and the city beyond.
Fifi retrieved several folding chairs. She grouped them in sets of two on either end of the desk, making sure to seat herself next to Erik at the far side of the room away from the others.
While Cassie and Griffin were getting settled, Fifi leaned over confidentially and began whispering in Erik’s ear. The paladin darted a swift look at Cassie who was shooting daggers in his direction. He quickly leaned away from Fifi. Undeterred, she lunged in farther and continued to whisper in French. Apparently, Erik knew the language because he replied rapidly in a low voice.
At that moment, the office door swung open and a burly middle-aged man entered. “I am so sorry to be late.” He walked over to shake hands with his visitors. Cassie noted that his accent was as heavily French as Fifi’s. He had bushy eyebrows over piercing blue eyes. His grizzled beard came to a neat point just above his shirt collar. His hair which had once been the same shade as Fifi’s was now streaked generously with grey. Exuding a sense of benevolent authority, he seemed to be the quintessential college professor except that his tweed jacket didn’t have leather elbow patches.
“I hope my daughter has made you feel at home.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Cassie assured him. “She gave us quite a welcome.”
Not sensing the irony in her comment, Michel nodded curtly. “Good, that’s very good.” He sat down behind his desk and regarded his guests. “It has been a long time since visitors from the Central Catalog have come to this region. We are honored by your visit.”
“I’m surprised the Arkana even has a trove here,” Cassie observed. “I mean, the Sahara is nothing but sand.”
Michel chuckled. “Ah, but it wasn’t always that way.”
“The Sahara didn’t dry out as quickly as other areas did,” Griffin interjected. “By current estimates, the Russian steppes dried out first around 5000 BCE. The Arabian Peninsula followed around 4000 BCE, but portions of the Sahara remained verdant well into historic times.”
“That is true,” Michel agreed. “It seems unlikely that my ancestors would have evolved in a landscape as harsh as the Sahara has become.”
“Your ancestors originated here?” Cassie regarded him skeptically. “But you’re white.”
“Not all native Africans are dark-skinned,” the trove keeper replied. “The most recent DNA studies indicate that the Berber peoples sprang up in east Africa thousands of years ago. Most of them migrated into Europe at some point and then returned via the Iberian Peninsula.”
“Why bother to come back at all?” Cassie persisted. “I mean the Sahara had to be drying out by the time they made the return trip.”
“The desiccation was a gradual process that took thousands of years to accomplish,” Michel countered. “There was plenty of time to grow crops and establish cities in North Africa. In fact, a civilization called the
