I’ve spent time in the Louvre’s Egyptian collection. It’s one of the very few trips I’ve ever been able to afford. He’s referring to a giant pink granite statue with the head of a pharaoh and the body of a lion with its right paw partly missing.
I remember staring at it for a very long time during my visit, imagining it jumping on me and clawing into my flesh like the one in Thebes did, according to myth. Even now it sends a shiver down my spine.
He turns to pinching the bridge of his nose. “Most recently she was, yes.”
I barely stifle a laugh. “So, you expect me to believe I brought not just a sphinx, but a sphinx statue to life by reading what is supposedly her secret.” I draw out the words.
Mythical beings becoming real, then turning into granite statues, then reanimating, this guy is a piece of work, sexy, but definitely a piece of work. I hardly dare ask, but I can’t help myself. “How would you even know that scroll has her secret on it? And, for that matter, why do you keep referring to the sphinx as a she?”
He clenches his scruffy jaw. “It’s clear you don’t believe me”—I raise an eyebrow, surprise, surprise—“but whether you do or not, there are more secrets scribed on these scrolls, and it will be irresponsible of me to allow you to bring any more people or creatures back to the present, so let’s put this scroll back where you found it and pretend you never saw any of this.”
I snort. “Uh, no. That’s not going to happen.”
He lets out a long breath as he takes a step toward me. I’m clearly frustrating him, but no way am I giving up my find.
I brace, then grip the Maglite tightly, readying to whack him if he gets too close. “Stop right there.”
He doesn’t stop. “Please, put the scroll back where it was.” His voice is firm.
“Why don’t you?” I bobble on some of the loose, fallen rock as I back up, then step through the fallen doorway and envision the stairs around the corner. Ninety-nine of them.
“I can’t put that scroll back because in a case like this, the one who released the secret by reading the scroll has to be the one to close it.” Even in the dim light, I can see that his neck and shoulders are stiff with tension.
He’s crazy, but intense, very, very intense, and I’ve no idea what might happen if I don’t relent, at least temporarily. I can return tomorrow after telling Jude and see what other treasures these scrolls hold.
He’s almost at the doorway, within eight feet of me when I hold up a hand. “All right, all right. I’ll put the scroll back.”
He stops and exhales sharply, then tilts his head back. “She’s no idea what she’s done, and obstinate, too,” he mutters to himself, talking to the ceiling.
“I heard that.”
He doesn’t reply, just pivots, taking a step back, and extends an open hand. All those rings click against each other as he directs me back toward the open scroll.
The stairs beckon me—they’re so close.
Run, Pell, run.
I hesitate, considering.
Despite his clear frustration with me, it doesn’t seem like he plans to hurt me, so I summon my courage and step back into the room.
Pell, no! My inner voice screams.
When I reach to within three feet of him, he furrows his brow and starts sniffing the air.
I narrow my eyes. Is he scenting me? This dude is just too weird. Eau de drowned rat, it’s what I feel like in my wet coat and boots. It’d be a winning Gloria Vanderbilt fragrance.
His eyes go wide, his head jerks back, and he takes a hasty step back, gaze glued with mine as I come even with him.
“What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer. He looks like a frozen statue, wide eyes still fixed on me.
“Hel-low.” I wave a hand in front of his face, but he’s still frozen. This guy is too weird. Sexy, but definitely weird.
It’s a full minute, but he finally regains movement and his eyes go wider still; then he starts shaking his head, over and over.
I roll my eyes. A wee bit of the Fruit Loops with this one.
I walk past him, snatching up the gloves as I head toward the open scroll.
Several minutes later the papyrus is safely back in its original place and the tension has eased from his shoulders.
I pull the gloves off and shove them back in my cargo-pants pocket. He’s recovered from whatever strange fit afflicted him and watches my every move, which kind of creeps me out, but he doesn’t approach. He’s anxious to get me out of here though, immediately extending an open hand and directing me toward the doorway.
Whatever. I fumble in my coat pocket for my Kleenex and blow my nose. I’ll go when I damn well chose to.
He runs his hands through his hair again, his vest hitching up, as I take my time refolding the plastic and stowing it in my coat, then grab the flashlight.
I stumble and peddle my arms as I navigate the uneven pile of rocks like a remedial billy goat. It doesn’t help that he follows so closely. Twice, he reaches out to steady me, but I correct my balance before he can help.
We emerge back into the stairway landing, then teeter over more rubble until the stairs are in sight. “If I did happen to release a sphinx, what are you going to do about it?”
His eyes brighten. “Are you willing to come with me and recapture it?”
“No. I’m just asking.”
“Then I’ll be waiting for you to come to your senses.”
“What?” I hold up a hand. “You haven’t
