A million memories can dance before the blink of an eye in the face of death. A million memories are doing just that. But the memories aren't only mine. There are more... so many more. But somehow, they are my memories. At least, they've been passed on to me.
I hadn't known about them. They've been buried deep inside me. Lost clues, waiting to be found. The last few days have brought some of them crashing to the surface, throwing my life into an uproar. But now, as I stare into the empty eyes of my biggest fear, I remember them all in the blink of an eye.
I remember back to what brought me here, to face this true evil...
One week earlier...
No one had ever explained to me what turbulence was before I boarded this flying deathtrap. And now, here I sit gripping the handles of my seat for dear life whilst casting an eyeball at the airliner pamphlet labeled Super Douglas DC-3, wondering how anything that bumps around the sky this much could be called super.
"Please... seats... squalls ahead...may... bit bumpy..." the pilot's muffled voice can barely be heard over the roaring engines and thunder, as the storm we've flown into rages on.
The petite stewardess who was kind enough to bring me some champagne during takeoff is now doing her best to calm the other passengers. Something crashes behind me and I squeeze my eyes closed, preparing for the worst.
I can't believe I wore my best dress for this!
"Excuse me, miss?" The older gentleman to my right gently taps my arm, interrupting my thoughts.
I peek at him out of one eye, afraid to open the other.
"Miss, trying bending forward with your head down to breath. It may help." His eyes wrinkle up with his smile.
Behind him, through the square window, a bolt of lightning flashes frighteningly close to the right wing of the aircraft. Seizing up in fear, I bend forward so violently, I would've flipped right out of my seat if it weren't for the belt across my lap.
"Whoa there," the gent next to me says in reaction, reaching over to steady me by my arm. "Fret not, my dear. Things could be worse. Have you ever flown in a Ford Tri-motor? Not nearly as smooth of a ride. I assure you, this Dougie will get us to Paris safe and sound."
I sit up with a deep breath, grateful for the conversation as a distraction, even if I have no idea what he's talking about. "Thank you. Mister...?"
"Augustine, madam. Uriel Augustine," he introduces himself, reaching for my hand in greeting.
Even before his hand touches mine, I draw in a sharp breath. There's a popular saying in France which literally translates to "already seen." The premise of the phrase being that something catches one's attention due to the feeling of having just experienced something similar or connected. They call it Déjà vu.
It's most certainly what I'm feeling as the gent's warm hand grasps mine in greeting. I can't help but share the phenomenon with him.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, sir, but your name sent chills right down my spine!" I exclaim. When the man's forehead wrinkles up above his frown, I realize I've done a poor job explaining myself, so I give it another go. "It's just so extraordinary. You see, I'm traveling from London on a mission that just so happens to be connected with your name."
The old man's eyes grow round to dwarf his spectacles. "My name?"
I race to explain a little better before he labels me insane. "My apologies, Mr. Augustine. I'm doing a terrible job of clarifying. Let me start over. I'm an Art Historian for the National Gallery, Ms. Sinclair. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
"M-my pleasure, Ms. Sinclair," Mr. Augustine stammers, hesitating to allow me to continue my story.
I oblige and continue on, "I'm on my way to Paris for a gig. I've been brought in for a commission regarding a famous work by Leonardo da Vinci. We know it's fifteenth century, but there's a discrepancy in the timeline–"
"Ah... would that happen to be the Virgin of the Rocks?" he interrupts to ask.
"You know it?" I ask, after pausing in surprise.
"Well, there are precious few famous works of art that are associated with the angel Uriel and Leonardo da Vinci," he shrugs with a knowing smile.
"You must be a historian yourself!" I nod in excitement.
"Guilty, my dear. As a matter of fact, I'm a Professor at the Harvard Divinity School in Boston," he acknowledges with a slight bow of his head.
"Yes, indeed? What are the chances?" I laugh. The gent knows a thing or two about art. The plane ride just became bearable with this pleasant turn of events.
"What is it about the painting that warrants such research?" Augustine asks, continuing the distraction.
I ignore the noise around me and continue on with enthusiasm, "You see, not many people know that there are, in fact, two versions of the commissioned painting. Both are supposedly painted by da Vinci's hand. I've already gathered all the information I can from the version in London's National Gallery. Now I'm off in search of clues from the version that is displayed at the Louvre!"
"What are you hoping to find?" he asks with the interest of a true historian.
"Well, the truth, of course! Why two paintings? Was da Vinci the only artist? Art is nothing, if not subjective. For example, while you and I may agree that the angel in the painting is the archangel Uriel due to the subject matter and biblical reference, others have mistaken the angel for the more well-known messenger, Gabriel."
Augustine's mouth curls, perhaps in humor, but he remains quiet.
"What is it?" I ask, confused by his reaction.
"Oh nothing, my dear. I just find this fascinating. I suppose you must love your work. You do seem to light up when you talk about it."
"I'll tell you, it's like pennies from heaven. I just adore the connection to history. I could bash your poor ears all day about Renaissance art," I admit.
"Passion fuels potential, my dear. Discussing history will never be wasted effort with me! As a matter of fact, you've been so distracted, you've hardly noticed we're clear of the storm." He turns to point at the window behind him as we roll out on the runway.
My gaze follows out the window in wonder.
"Well, I'll be... we certainly are. Why, you're as smooth as apple butter! What a marvelous distraction!" I exclaim with a laugh, just as the captain comes over the speaker to announce our arrival.
Over the next few minutes, I'm caught up with the routine of gathering my belongings and exiting the plane.
My foot has never craved solid ground more. I steady myself, hand on the rail, as I step down onto the damp tarmac. The storm has passed, leaving the mirrored landscape twinkling in the dusk.
So, this is Paris?
I can't help the butterflies that flit through my stomach at the thought of coming to the city of lights. I've always thought I should like to end up in Paris.
Not wanting to forget my new friend, I turn to shake the old gent's hand in farewell. "Thank you again, Mr. Augustine, for calming me during the flight. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were my guardian angel! I do hope we meet again." I convey my gratitude, flashing him my best smile.
He removes his hat to bow his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, but he pauses at my smile. With a slight tilt of his head, he squints his eyes as if to better scrutinize me. Caught off guard, I back up a step just as someone calls my name from the lights by the gatehouse.
"Aurora, over here!" A young girl waves her arms next to a chauffeur.
"Oh, that's me!" I say to Mr. Augustine, waving my arm back toward my cousin, Adelaide. Turning back, I notice the gent's eyes have widened considerably, and he seems to have paled up.
"Ms. Sinclair, please if I could have a moment," Mr. Augustine attempts to delay my departure.
"Mr. Augustine, are you quite alright?" I ask, concerned about his coloring.
"Yes, yes, my dear. It's just... your name. What did you say your full name was?" he spurts out, almost in panic.
Surprised by his question, I begin to grow uncomfortable at his sudden change in manner. I look toward Adelaide and begin to step away. "My name is Aurora. Aurora Sinclair. I'm so sorry, sir, but I don't want to keep my ride waiting. Perhaps I'll see you at the museum sometime?" I call back with a wave.
I do my best to shake off the strange farewell as I move briskly toward the gatehouse to my waiting cousin. "It's so good to see you, Addie!" I move into her welcoming embrace.
"You too, Aurora! I'm so thrilled you could make it in time for the wedding!" she says, ushering me into the car while the driver packs away my luggage.
"I wouldn't have wanted to miss your big day! But I suppose I lucked out at work with the timing. It must've been meant to be!" I shrug. "Thanks again for letting me stay while I'm in town. With the housing shortage, I was having a hard time arranging a flat," I point out.
The driver gets in and we're whisked away, into the night.
"Oh, I wouldn't have had it any other way! There's still so much to do, and so little time. And I can't wait for you to meet my Mikey! You'll absolutely adore him," Addie insists.
It's so rare to see my cousin light up like this, she's usually so quiet and reserved. This man of hers must really be something.
"Now I have an important question to ask you, dear cousin," she grows perfectly serious. "I wasn't sure if you would make it or not, so I've been holding off. But... will you be my maid of honor?"
"Oh, Addie! Absolutely!" I exclaim and we both squeal with delight.
Addie is almost the only family I've got left after the war. We were always close as children, spending our summers on holiday visiting each other's families. But when we both lost our parents, and I lost my older brother in the horrors of the war, we leaned on each other to get through.
"I've asked Broderick to walk me down the aisle," she says, reading my face to know where my mind has wandered.
"Oh, he must be getting so big! I haven't seen your little brother in ages!" I smile, thinking of how the young man must be nearing finishing secondary school. "How's he getting on?"
Addie opens her mouth to answer, but her face transforms into a look of horror.
In an instant, everything changes as Addie screams for the driver to stop. In the panic, I'm not quite sure if the tires or my lungs are the source of the deafening screech. The piercing noise is cut off, and my world changes at the sound of the sickening thump-thump.
The car comes to a halt, but it's too late. There's no mistaking what that noise meant.
With a quick glance to make sure Addie is okay, I jump out of the car.
The driver springs into action, moving to huddle over the victim in the street.
I crouch down next to him, and look down at the crumpled form of a young gentleman, possibly just a few years older than me. I'm afraid to touch him, and at the same time, afraid not to touch him to check if he's alive. The shock of the crash has my adrenaline pumping, and I need to focus.
Check his breathing.
Right. I suppose growing up through the Second World War can teach you some useful skills. I pull out my pocket mirror and hold it under the man's nose.
The surface just barely fogs over.
"He's breathing, thank God," the driver exhales his relief. "Go see if you can get someone to call for help!" he barks up to Addie as she joins us. "You, help me move him out of the street," he turns to command me.
"Perhaps we shouldn't move hi–"
"You'd rather he be run over again?" the driver yells at me, still distraught.
"No. Of course not." I move to grab the man's legs as the driver hoists him up from under his arms. We haul him over onto the curb, and as I set him down, my hand seems to burn as it brushes the skin of his ankle where his pant leg's ripped. I flinch at the contact and nearly stumble as my mind swirls with jumbled images.
I move to lean against the nearby post and cradle my head until my vision clears.
That was strange. Did I hit my head in the accident?
I glance around as the smell of a smoke overwhelms me for a moment. A siren's wail grows closer and I wonder where the fire may be, considering I don't see any flames or plumes. The scent drifts away and I realize the siren belongs to the ambulance approaching to help the man.
Addie returns to cradle against my arm as we both use each other for steadying support. We watch the medics move to check over the victim.
"Pas de battement de coeur," the medic states with his hand on the man's neck.
No heartbeat.
Addie's driver buries his face in his hands, and my own vision goes blurry with moisture. Addie whimpers and hugs me closer, and just as I close my eyes, I hear several gasps.
My eyes pop open to find the man sitting up with strangled breaths. The medics are in a flurry of activity to check him over and the small crowd that's gathered gives a cheer of good fortune.
Addie's driver now sobs with relief and I find myself again sharing his sentiment as I continue to let a few more tears escape.
The medical team continues to fuss over the man, but he seems to be adamant in his refusal for treatment now that he's regained consciousness.
"I am fine," the man speaks in English to the lead medic. "No, I do not wish to accompany you to the hospital. Pas d'hôpital," he adds in thick-accented French. Something about his voice, or accent, stops me. It's a mix of Northern English, and maybe even... American? I didn't get a good look at his face when he was unconscious, but now that I hear his voice, it's uncommonly familiar. Though I'm not sure how that could be, considering I don't know many Americans.
It's difficult to see him clearly through the jumble of people. So as Addie moves over to check on her driver and give her statement to the police, I move around the crowd determined to get a closer look.
I find an opening off to the man's side, but he's too distracted to turn my way.
"Hello there," I attempt to gain his attention. "I was a passenger in the car. I have to say, you gave us a fright. I'm incredibly relieved that you're okay," I say, offering him a meek smile as I finally move into his line of sight.
"I assure you, madam, I am fine. No thanks to your idiotic driver." His sour mood seems to darken his features. The man glances at me sideways in annoyance and then does a double take in shock. "E-El-?" his stuttered whisper dies off as his face loses all traces of color. His eyes roll back into his head just as he slumps over yet again.
The medical team jumps into action with no hesitation this time, and without the man being awake to argue, they strap him to the nearby gurney and place him in the waiting ambulance.
***
I've only been in Paris for a few days, and I'm physically and mentally exhausted. The police let us go back to Addie's after they took our statements, but they were unable to give us any information about the man who was hit by our car.
The best they could offer was to tell us that he was taken to Hôpital Saint Louis. Addie's driver, Phillip, has assured us that he'll drop by the hospital to check on the man's welfare.
When we finally did arrive home that night, it was too late to meet Addie's fiancé. Even though I was disappointed, I was more than ready to collapse into bed.
As tired as I was, my sleep was restless. I kept having strange dreams that included the man we hit with the car. It was beyond bizarre. When I woke the next morning, I had to drag myself out of bed for my first day at the museum.
After spending the first few days filling out paperwork and going through all the steps of new employment, my supervisor Mr. Cox, is now showing me around the storage and restoration areas with a slight sneer on his face. I do my best to listen to his instructions, but I can't keep my eyes from wondering to the treasures tucked away in the room.
"Be sure you never bother Mrs. Woodall with anything, always come promptly to me, your superior," he drones on in French-accented English. "Excuse me, Miss Sinclair, are you paying attention?" he snaps.
I turn back his way with a quick nod. "Yes, sorry sir. It's just... where did all this come from?" I point to a corner where several large crates have been halfway unpacked. Ancient artifacts are scattered across the tables nearby. I can almost feel the energy of history emanating from them.
"An excavation in Heliopolis, the museum is finishing up a new exhibit. Not really your concern at the moment, come along." He directs me to a work station in an adjacent storage room. "You can start with these," he points to a stack of small canvas paintings. "When you're finished, come find me."
"But sir, I thought we'd finally be getting to work on the da Vinci–"
"Well, you thought wrong," he interrupts, puffing up. "You're a conservator trained in restoration, yes?" At my nod he continues, "Then you will make yourself useful here. I will come find you when you are needed for any research."
With a haughty bow, he takes his leave.
Stamping my foot, I move to argue, but stop.
Just play along for now.
Reminding myself that it's my first week in a new job, I grab the closest canvas and set up a station with the necessary tools for restoration and conservation. As I open a can of varnish, a crash from the neighboring room nearly causes me to spill it all over the precious painting.
Rushing into the next room, I find a young woman standing over a shattered stone jar. She looks as if she's about to go into hysterics. When she spots me, she freezes up.
"Qui es-tu?" she asks suspiciously with an accent that's anything but French.
"Parlez-vous l'anglais?" I ask.
Her dark curly hair bounces when she nods.
I continue in English. "I'm Aurora Sinclair. I've just been hired on for research, but it seems they have a need for me in restoration today. Do you work here?" I ask, moving closer.
She nods again, hesitant. Eyeing me up and down, she finally decides to reply in accented English. "My name is Leya. Leya Esperanza. My uncle is the exhibit designer. He's letting me intern as la preparatoria while I'm finishing up secondary school," she says, looking to the ground.
I follow her gaze to the shattered jar. She's broken an artifact. Not only will she most likely be dismissed, but her Uncle could lose his job over this.
Looking back up at the young girl, I make a quick decision.
"Right, let's get that cleaned up. There must be an inventory sheet. Perhaps we can make an edit?" I ask.
She stares up at me in shock. "You mean... we... we can't cover this up!"
"Absolutely we can! It's just a canopic jar. It's not very ornate, so it's not likely to contain an organ of anybody noteworthy. In fact, the actual organ is probably long gone by now if it's not rolled up in a bandage by your feet," I say pointing down.
Her feet move as if to avoid stepping on the phantom organ, and with the movement I notice a flash of shiny metal.
"What's that?" I ask pointing again. "Did it come from the jar?"
Leya's eyes follow mine in surprise. She bends down and plucks up an antique string of gold jewelry from the broken pieces of stone.
"It's an amulet," she says in awe.
"You've made an amazing discovery! Look, the gold is hardly tarnished." I smile wide. "What an interesting hiding place for a necklace. I wonder what it was doing in there?" I can't help my mind from wandering, musing over ancient conspiracies.
"Perhaps the necklace was not meant to be found?" Leya suggests. "What if it's cursed? Should I put it in another jar?"
For some reason, I grow sad at the thought of losing out on the history. "No, I think this treasure needed to be found. These jars were sacred back then, no one would've dared open them to hide it unless this needed to be preserved."
"How do you know all of this?" she asks me.
"I'm a historian! Ancient Egypt has always fascinated me. Now c'mon, sweep that up and let me see that inventory list. I have an idea," I hold out my hand, encouraging her to trust me.
After just a moment's hesitation, Leya smiles and we get to work.
When all the evidence has been covered up, Leya turns to me in relief. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this. I am indebted to you!" she says with doe-eyed sincerity.
"I wouldn't be where I am without someone helping me," I confess. "You're very welcome. Just be more careful. These treasures are our only physical connection to the past."
"You really do love this stuff, don't you?" she asks.
"I respect it. There's so much to be learned. So much reason to preserve the past. Everything has a story," I say looking over at the necklace that Leya placed with the other artifacts.
"Would you like to come back tonight? You can help us finish setting up the display after hours. You can see the artifacts up close, hold them in your hands. I know my uncle would be happy to meet you," she offers.
I'm not one to pass up that opportunity! I agree to meet back later that evening to help Leya and meet her uncle. After saying goodbye to my new friend, I hurry back to my station before Mr. Cox can find any more reason to sneer at me.
***
After my shift, I emerge from the museum to find Phillip waiting to drive me to Addie's. "Bonjour, Miss Sinclair. Are you ready to go?" he greets me.
"Actually Phillip, I plan to stay and work late this evening. I'll go ahead and find a nearby café for dinner. Would you mind returning later to fetch me?" I ask.
"Not a problem, Mademoiselle. I will let Miss Adelaide know you'll be staying," he bows his head in acknowledgement.
As he moves to get back in the car, I stop him. "Oh, Phillip! I meant to ask you. How was the man from the accident? Did you get a chance to visit him at the hospital?"
Phillip looks to the ground. "Unfortunately, no. When I went to la Hôpital, he was no longer there. They would not give me any information about him." He gives a helpless shrug.
"How frustrating," I mumble. "Thank you, I'll see you later this evening."
"Ouí, Mademoiselle. I will return tonight," he assures me, tipping his hat as he gets into the car.
Determined to enjoy my break, I cross the Seine and wander west until I find a cozy café that provides a wonderful view of the Eiffel Tower in the setting sun. Sipping a glass of wine and hearing the deep sultry rhythm of a nearby street musician's saxophone has me musing over the city of lights.
London is my home, known for its unequivocal old-world charm, but Paris has a natural ambiance that lights up the soul. Even on gloomy days, there's still always a glimmer of romance reflecting on every street corner. That radiance calls out to me even now, and it's as if I was meant to be right here in this moment.
I finish my meal and laugh to myself at my silly idealistic notions.
Walking back to work after the sun has set, I take my time crossing the Pont des Arts, enjoying the view of the Seine in the twinkling lights of the oil lanterns.
I've always loved being near the water. There's something about the sound of a river's flow that relaxes me. I stop halfway along the metal bridge to breath it all in. Closing my eyes, I just concentrate on the sounds of the water.
Like a flash behind my eyelids, I conjure a vision of myself laughing and playing chase along the banks of an unknown flow of water. I call out to a man nearby, telling him I'll always be waiting for him by the river. The vision fades just as fast as it came, and I'm left confused and shaken.
I'm startled even further when a man's voice close by pulls me from my reverie.
"Mademoiselle, vous êtes une œuvre d'art classique échappée du musée?" the voice asks, comparing me to a work of art.
The hair on my nape stands on end before I can even turn the man's way. Something deep inside me is telling me I've heard this voice before, but not in French.
Refusing to turn around, I reply in my own language, "I'm afraid you must be mistaken, sir, I'm English."
The man moves next to me, determined to catch my attention. I continue to refuse to look his way. Everything inside of me is telling me to run.
But why?
"I am not mistaken," he begins again in perfect Queen's English. "You are a vision. A perfect piece of art that my eyes have craved for quite some time."
My breath catches in my throat. This clipped English is unmistakably familiar.
I take a step back as I turn toward my admirer. I drink in his perfect posture, his tall, lean frame. His hair is hidden beneath his hat. His clean-shaven jaw is perfectly chiseled with slight dimples as his only visible imperfection.
While I've turned his way, he decides to look out across the water, avoiding eye contact. But it only takes a glimpse of his profile to know that I've seen him before. Though, try as I might, I can't recall ever meeting this man in my life. Something tells me I ought to turn and get back to the museum, but curiosity keeps me glued right where I am.
Absurd romantic ideals swim in my head about my vision of meeting a man by the river. Standing beside the stranger, I turn back to look back over the water myself.
"Lovely view," is all I can think to say.
"Certainly is," he replies, looking my way.
My breath catches with a little laugh. "I meant the river," I say, feeling light-headed.
"Ah, yes. The river," he says, with meaning.
"Do I know you, sir?" I ask, never the patient type.
"This is the perfect time of night. After the sun has set. The lights in Paris begin to glow their brightest, would you not agree?" He completely ignores my question with his strange observation.
I look around at the many streetwalkers, puzzled. The lamplighters have already come and gone and the streets now hold an otherworldly glow. "Yes, I do enjoy the lights here. It's one of my favorite things about Paris. The oil lamps give an aura that's so much more enjoyable than the electric lamps they've begun to turn out in London," I admit.
"It requires more work though. Someone must always be there to snuff out the light when the dawn comes," his tone changes with his last strange statement.
I turn back his way, something about his new flat tone puts me on edge.
I don't even realize that I've backed up a few steps. A gentleman passing by gives me a strange look, asking with his eyes if all is well. After my small nod of assurance, he continues on.
"I must be getting back to work," I say to the stranger, still backing up. "It was nice to meet you Mister..." I trail off, expecting him to give his name.
"We have already met. And we will meet again. Goodnight, petite de lumière," he says, giving me a stiff bow. When he straightens, I finally meet his eyes.
Without another moment's hesitation, I turn and run back to the museum.
***
I can't begin to explain what happened back there on the bridge. The only thing I know for sure is that when I looked into that man's eyes, I knew I've looked into them before. And it terrified me. I'm not really sure what to make of it.
At least for now, I can distract myself with work at the museum. I'm a little out of breath as I move through the empty corridors after hours.
When I near the storage rooms where I first met Leya, I'm stopped by a half-pint security guard.
"Excusez-moi, mais vous ne pouvez pas être ici. Le musée est fermé, " the little Napoleon barks at me about being in the museum after hours.
I reach into my purse to produce my employment papers, telling the guard in French that I'm a new employee.
"You're outside your shift, Mademoiselle," he switches to English. He obviously wasn't impressed with my French.
"I'm here to help the exhibit designer with a display. His niece works here as well. She asked me to come back in," I add.
"I'm sorry, but you have no proof. You need a pass to be here after hours–"
"Monsieur Boney, it's quite alright. My niece arranged for me to have some extra help tonight. It was too late to get a pass, but jeune femme is with me," a dashing Spaniard steps around the corner to interrupt the guard. He waves me to follow him without even waiting for the guard's response.
Without hesitation, I follow the older man before the guard can argue.
"Bonsoir, Miss Sinclair. I'm Leya's uncle, Inigo. She told me of your assistance this morning, and I cannot thank you enough for your actions," he stops and turns to meet my eyes, "and for your discretion."
I meet his gaze and give him an assuring nod, affirming his unspoken question. No one will find out about what happened from me.
He nods back, satisfied, and his expression softens. "Truly, thank you," he adds. "My niece tells me you'd like to help set up some displays. She says you seem to have a passion for the history involved."
"Yes, sir. I love diving into history. Which makes this the perfect place to work, I suppose," I smile.
"It certainly does," he finally smiles back, and I suddenly feel much more at ease. "I've set Leya up in the next room to deal with the pottery and jewelry, if you'd like to help her? I won't be far if you need anything."
I nod my head and move along, secretly excited to be able to work with the jewelry. I can't help hoping to be able see the necklace that we discovered hidden in the jar. There's something about the idea of the secret concealed jewelry that really sparks my curiosity. Tons of conspiracy theories swirl around my head. It'd make for a great mystery novel!
I make a few turns to reach the adjoining gallery where Leya is setting up. Quite a few crates lay scattered throughout the room, most of them opened and halfway unpacked.
"Hello again, Miss Sinclair," Leya greets me in English. Her Spanish accent flows so smoothly, I enjoy the sound.
"Miss Esperanza," I greet her with a smile.
"Please, you have already proven to be a friend. Call me Leya," she insists.
"Thank you, Leya. Aurora will work just fine for me," I offer in return.
"Well, let's get to work, shall we?" she asks, gesturing her arms to the room. "I'm just arranging the jars by location and date over here. And don't worry, I won't drop any this time," she gives me a sly wink. "I've laid out the jewelry by dates over by the display case. The signs are stacked in order, if you'd like to arrange the pieces. There are a few display fixtures you can use."
"Sounds great," I jump into action, marveling over the history I'll be able to hold in my hands.
"There are some gloves, just over there, for handling," she catches me before I can touch the first piece.
"Right," I say, forgetting myself in my excitement. I don the gloves and get to work arranging the pieces.
We keep busy, and Leya fills the eerie quiet of afterhours by making small talk.
"What do you think of your supervisor?" she asks.
"Oh, Mr. Cox? Well, he's certainly ambitious," I'm careful of how I choose my words.
"Hmm, ambitious. That's a kind way to describe him. I'd say his rear-end's sore from failing to live up to his uncle's successes. He's a mean-spirited one. Do be careful around him," she advises with obvious good will.
"What's his uncle got to do with it?" I ask, curious.
"He's a famous British museum Director in England. Our dear Benedict clearly has some big shoes to fill, with two too little feet," she muses, and I can't help but laugh.
"Well, he hasn't been too receptive of me being here, but I figured he'd warm up over time," I admit.
"Good luck with that," she scoffs. "He'd sooner bury you if he can't use you as a stepping stone. He's never been fond of women or foreigners. It serves him right he was placed under Mighty Mary's authority," she sniggers, referencing the Keeper of the Art, Mrs. Woodall. "Rumor is she's in line to be the next Director here."
"A woman Director at the Louvre? How wonderful that would be," I marvel at the idea.
"If you ladies work hard enough, it could be either of you one day," Inigo interjects, entering the gallery. "Leya, I'm afraid I need your assistance in the back. Miss Sinclair, you will be okay on your own for a moment?" he asks.
"Perfectly fine," I assure them, and Leya scurries to help her uncle.
I continue my task, but can't help glancing over at the mysterious necklace I've avoided all night.
Looking around to be sure I'm alone, I move over to examine the gold pendant from the broken jar.
I'm amazed at the quality of the precious metal, though I know it was perfectly preserved in its hiding place. I make a close inspection of the pendant for any wear and tear done over time. The triangle shape is designed surrounding a pointed oval, and in the very center, another circle that's been divided into four wedges with a cross:
The design is impeccable, almost too perfect for the apparent time period. It's hypnotizing. The more I stare at the design, the more my vision loses focus. A low hum begins to stir in the air.
As impossible as it sounds, it's almost like it's coming from the necklace.
There's something drawing me in.
I lean closer.
Moving as if I'm no longer in control, I remove my gloves. I may as well be under some sort of spell. My hand reaches out and my fingers ache to trace the sharp angles of the design.
As soon as my skin makes contact with the gold, everything goes black.
***
I've been swept into a dreamlike state, floating in an overwhelming cloud of ancient energy. I crouch inward in fear with my eyes tightly closed to try to shut out this alternate reality. My back moves up against something solid, and when I open my eyes again, I'm trapped in an unfamiliar dark room.
My face is wet, like I've been crying. I move to wipe the tears, and notice my clothes have been replaced by a coarse fabric gown with beads sewn around my bust. Running my hands along the foreign fabric, I begin to panic. My hand grazes warm metal, a pendant, attached to a chain around my neck.
The necklace!
My mind screams in recognition, but when I move to take the necklace off, I realize I'm not actually in control of my limbs. It's like I'm trapped in my body, playing out a scene from a movie.
This realization does nothing to help my fear.
What's happening?
It must be a dream. I've had dreams like this before. My mind seems awake, trapped inside my own body that I can't control. I've dreamt of strangers that I've known and loved, and foreign places that've felt like home. When I woke back then, I thought that must surely be what it's like to be paralyzed. How terrifying to be so powerless.
Here I am again, unable to control my fate.
I take stock in my surroundings. I'm crouching in the dark. The room feels like it's closing in on me, almost like a tomb.
A tomb!
With that thought, a whole cluster of memories I never knew existed come flooding into my subconscious.
I was with the man I love, and we were found by the evil that hunts us – the serpent god of destruction. In our attempt to escape, we were separated. My hero sacrificed himself for me, and I ducked into this forbidden place, to hide from death in his own house.
A noise from the entrance shaft brings my body and mind both to full alert.
"Apep," The whisper comes forth with every ounce of bitter hatred in this body's bones.
Death will find me after all.
In the dark, I instinctively grip the necklace. It's supposed to protect me, but how can it now? The battle was lost with my hero's great sacrifice. But the war will continue, even after I fall. The necklace must be hidden for the day it finds its way back to the light.
Movement echoes from the antechamber just outside the tomb.
There isn't much time!
I jump from my crouch in the corner and move to find the sacred resting casket. I know it's a crime against the gods to lay my hands on anything in their sanctuary, but they must forgive me for the sake of the battle against this evil.
My hand reaches for the sarcophagus, but stops. I can't move it, it'll make too much noise.
I can hide it in the chest of holy cradles!
The canopic jars!
My dreaming mind recognizes the plan.
I creep over to the chest that holds the sacred vessels. These jars cradle the organs of the dead in a consecrated preservation so they can be taken along into the afterlife. I can feel the hesitation in my limbs as I open the sanctified chest. It goes against every part in this body to defile such a sacred place. Yet, this amulet is a gift from the gods. It must be protected at all costs. I open the nearest jar, and carefully place the amulet inside.
Closing the chest, I kneel in front of the sarcophagus and say a prayer to the gods that were, the gods that are, the gods that will be, and the energy that drives them.
I pray that this amulet be delivered into the hands of the new light. I pray that when it's found, it may be wrapped in a memory of this life and this battle, so that the new light may remember what needs to be done.
I'm bent over in prayer, but my dreaming mind hears the footsteps approach. Even in the silence of the tomb, there's no noise of a dagger being unsheathed, no time to react, and no burning pain. The only thing I feel, as dagger drives down through the back of this body's neck, is the small spark of dawning light, far off in the distance, waiting for it's time to shine.
***
Reality comes back into focus, and I look down at the amulet, warm in my hand. I'm haunted by the chaos of the vision and its violent end. With a jerk, I drop the priceless artifact on the table as if it's scorched me.
Perhaps it has scorched me, just not my skin.
I can't quite seem to catch my breath, so I lean against the table for support.
"Aurora..." Leya's voice, weak but close, catches me by surprise.
"Leya! You're back! I was just..." Words fail me as I turn her way to explain. How can I even begin to comprehend what happened, let alone explain it! She probably only saw me holding the necklace, risking damage to the artifact!
"I'm sorry. I know I should've been wearing the gloves–" I begin to explain why I was touching the priceless relic, but she cuts me off.
"I saw," Leya's words are so soft, I'm not certain I heard her right.
"You saw me holding it?" I attempt to clarify her meaning.
"No. I mean, yes. I saw you holding the necklace. But when you were holding it, you were in a sort of daze. And the necklace... or your hand... it was glowing," she ends in a whisper.
"It was?" I ask, bewildered.
"You didn't see it?" she asks, her voice full of confusion and doubt.
"Oh. I saw something. I just... don't really know how to explain it," I end with a shrug.
"Aurora, I just saw an ancient piece of gold literally glowing in the palm of your hand. Try me."
And so, I recount the vision, along with every detail I can recall, through to its frightening conclusion. Leya just stares at me wide-eyed through it all.
At the story's end, we both sit silently staring at the necklace.
"Maybe it's cursed," she suggests, after a moment. "I told you I should've put it back in one of the other jars."
"I'm not certain cursed is the right word. I think it needed to be found. The feeling I had when I was living out the final moments of the vision... this story needed to be passed on. And the necklace," I attempt to rationalize this insanity.
"But what are you supposed to do with it?" she asks.
"Well I don't necessarily think it's meant for me," I deny her implication.
"Aurora, I handled the necklace when I picked it up from the broken jar. I felt nothing," she claims.
"Well maybe it only happens at night!" I argue after trying to come up with an excuse. I point to the necklace. "Touch it again!"
"I'm not touching it!" She jumps up and backs away.
"Why not? I did! Just touch it. We can't know what set it off if you don't try it too," I do my best to reason with her.
She tilts her head at me with attitude, knowing she can't deny my logic. She looks back and forth between me and the necklace. "You'll be right next to me, just in case?" she asks, looking at me sideways.
I move next to her, grasping one of her hands in mine. "I'll be right here. If anything happens, I'll try to shake you out of it," I assure her.
She gives a quick nod, and slowly reaches her hand out.
I suck in my breath in both fear and anticipation. Just as the tip of her middle finger is about to make contact with the necklace, a stern voice interrupts us.
"Cataleya Maria Esperanza, what do you think you're doing? Get your gloves on when you're handling the artifacts!" Inigo storms in and continues cursing in a mix of English, French, and Spanish. "Mon dieu! You know better, mi sobrina!"
"I'm sorry, Tío Inigo. We were... just testing the metal. It won't happen again!"
"It certainly won't! Out, vamos, both of you! We're running out of time! I'll have to find a different project where I can keep an eye on you both!" He points to the gallery exit, and we walk heads down, away from the priceless item we discovered.
"Sorry, sir," I murmur as we pass Leya's irate uncle.
As soon as we are far enough ahead to whisper without being overheard, Leya leans over to me, "We have to get that necklace."
"What?" I exclaim as quietly as I can. "You just heard your uncle, he won't let us near the jewelry again."
"We have to find a way," she insists.
"We don't even know anything about it. If someone else touches it tonight–"
"Nothing will happen," she cuts me off. "Right before Inigo interrupted us, my finger grazed the pendant. Nothing happened."
I look at her out of the corner of my eye. Something about her demeanor has changed. She's grown determined, and she's completely serious.
She squeezes my arm with meaning, interrupting my thoughts. "That necklace was meant to find you."
***
I arrive back at Addie's house after the remarkably strange night to find she has a couple guests in the drawing room. I find myself both exhausted and on edge after the extraordinary happenings throughout the evening, and attempt to make an excuse to retire, but Addie insists on delaying me.
"Oh Aurora, I'm sorry to do this to you, but Phillip told me you were working late, and I just couldn't wait another day for you to meet my fiancé!" She turns in obvious glee to introduce the man behind her. "Aurora, this is my husband to be, Mr. Michael–" she begins the introduction, but is interrupted.
"Just Mike will do, my dear!" he says, playfully grabbing Addie's hand and twirling her, only to end the gesture with a kiss on her knuckles.
She laughs and gives him a playful swat for interrupting while continuing on, "Now behave yourself Michael! This is my cousin I've not stopped talking about, Aurora!"
He finally turns my way and gives an elaborate bow in greeting. "How do you do, Miss? I've been anxiously waiting to meet my fair Addie's dearest cousin. Happy to finally have the pleasure!"
"The pleasure's all mine to see Addie so finely matched," I greet him, shaking his outstretched hand.
The other young gentleman in the background moves closer to capture my attention.
"Broderick?" I ask, stunned to see my little cousin looking so much like a man.
"Yes, it's me. Good to see you again, Aurora," he smiles, before wrapping me in a warm embrace.
After the hug, I hold him at arm's length. "Goodness gracious, look at you! I still just can't believe it. Has it been so long?"
"I suppose it has, if you're this shocked," he laughs.
"But I thought you were stuck at school until the wedding?" I ask, confused.
"Well, that's only two days away!" Addie exclaims. "Tomorrow we're having what the American's call a rehearsal dinner. Is that right, Mikey?"
"Yes, all the rage after the Kennedy's had one. Addie here deserves no less than the best," he wiggles his eyebrows, provoking a giggle from my cousin.
"Of course," I concede, "my days are all mixed up in the excitement." With everything that's been going on, the wedding had completely slipped my mind! I'd hoped to go back to the museum tomorrow to figure out what to do about the necklace with Leya. She mentioned meeting in the morning. Perhaps I can sneak away unnoticed if I'm early enough.
"... and for the dinner it will just be a small crowd, mainly the wedding party." I've missed half of what Addie was saying while thinking about the necklace.
"And my grandfather," adds Mike. "He's been delayed with a few things this week, but he's very excited to see you again, Addie."
"Well, it'll be nice to gather everyone together," she says. "Aurora, is everything alright, dear?"
I jump out of another daydream. "Yes, sorry. I've just had an exhausting day. If you would all excuse me, I really must get some rest so I can be at my best for the festivities to begin tomorrow."
"Of course," Mike puts me at ease. "It's late, and I've kept the house up in the excitement of meeting you, my dear. Please do get some rest. It was lovely to meet you."
I say my goodnights to Addie and Broderick as well, and when I finally reach my bed, I've never craved sleep more in my life.
But my subconscious has a different plan in mind than a restful night.
Every time I relax enough to drift off to sleep, I'm jolted awake by visions of magic amulets, golden daggers, hooded figures, and grizzly deaths. I'm up most the night with a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.
When I hear the downstairs clock chime to announce the morning, I get up and prepare for a quick trip into the museum.
I meet Leya in the back room where we first discovered the necklace.
"I'm sorry, I can't stay long, I've been neglecting my cousin and she's about to be married this weekend," I say in a low voice to avoid being overheard.
"I understand, but I'm glad you came. I was speaking to my uncle about the shipment. I asked him if there was any additional information from the dig where the jars were found. He was suspicious of my sudden curiosity, but he said he would look into it," she reports.
"Do you think they could've found the tomb from my vision?" I ask.
"After last night, I can honestly say I believe anything is possible. You may not know much about my culture, Aurora, but we take signs pretty seriously. Last night was meant to happen," she maintains her fateful stance on the subject.
I hold back my denial for her sake. I just can't comprehend the idea right now. It's too overwhelming.
"Leya," Inigo interrupts us yet again. The man could be a top government agent with his stealth. "The gallery supervisor just informed me of something that might interest you in regard to your... recent curiosity."
"What is it?" she asks, surprised.
"As you know, the Heliopolis exhibit has a private opening tonight. The director offered me two tickets to the gala, since he was so pleased with our work. But he also informed me that the team of archeologists from the dig that produced most of the artifacts will be there," he says, eyes moving between his niece and me. "Whatever questions you had about certain objects. This might be a good opportunity to ask." He produces the tickets. "Just stay out of trouble," he says with meaning before making his exit.
Leya looks at me and then looks away from my accusation.
"You told him?!" I almost yell after I'm sure he can no longer hear.
"I had to! I was up half the night convincing him of what I saw. This was a sign from God, Aurora. He thought I was crazy, but after some time, he realized I'm too practical to make something like this up!"
"How can he possibly believe us?" I ask, bewildered.
"I don't think he does. But we are Esperanza's. Our name literally translates to hope." She smiles, grabbing my hand. "You can't have hope without a little blind faith."
***
That evening, I prepare myself for Addie's pre-wedding dinner. I've laid out my best champagne cocktail dress that flourishes with lace and tulle along the tea-length hem. When I'm all fitted and tucked, I finish the look with a gold silk sash around my waist, and I couldn't be happier with the result. This dress is perfect for a dinner party, or even a museum gala if I can perchance sneak away.
Conveniently enough, our dinner reservations along the Seine River are just catty-corner from the museum itself. If there's a remote possibility of me making the exhibit gala, at least it won't be a far walk.
Leya and I ended our meeting by agreeing that she find out what she can from the archeologists. She would go ahead to the gala and leave a ticket for me at the door, just in case. I told her I'd do my best, but I also don't want to disappoint Addie, tonight is her night after all.
Downtown Paris along the river never disappoints, though there's an inexplicable heaviness in the air. The lights glow just a little bit dimmer tonight. I cast the dreary feeling off as nerves from the past few days.
As the banquet area for Addie's party begins to fill up with guests, I can't help wondering how many people are actually in the wedding party. As the guests arrive, we all begin to mingle, and the number of people at the party just keeps growing.
Halfway through my second glass of champagne, I'm tapped on the shoulder by Addie's fiancé. I turn around to greet him with a smile, but my face freezes in shock at the man next to him.
"Aurora, I'd like to introduce you to my grandfather–"
"Uriel!" I exclaim, quite in shock.
The older gentleman gives a sheepish grin. "Hello again, my dear."
"But you're... how...did you know I was related to your grandson's fiancé?" I ask, bewildered.
"An interesting twist of fate! But I assure you, I had no idea," he smiles kindly.
His kindness has me suddenly feeling ashamed about how I left him at the airport. He was a great help to me on the flight, and I was discourteous in the manner that I parted ways.
"A happy coincidence," I return his smile. "Lovely to see you again, sir,"
Uriel's arm swiftly reaches over to nudge his grandson. It happens so fast, I almost miss it. But even stranger still, is Mike's own reaction to my smile. It's nearly the same as Uriel's, that day at the airport. He's looking at me like he's seeing me for the first time!
"Are you quite alright?" I ask him, not sure what to make of this family's odd reactions to me.
Mike snaps back to attention. "Uh, yes, quite so. It's just. Well. Hmm," he trips over his words. "My grandfather here, told me of a woman he had met on the plane. I had no idea it was my cousin-to-be!" he laughs, just a bit awkward.
"Will you excuse us, my dear?" Uriel guides Mike away, whispering furiously.
That abrupt exchange was even more strange than the day at the airport. Maybe it runs in the family? Shrugging it off, I move over to Addie to see if there's anything she needs.
"Have you got your eye on any of the groomsmen?" Addie leans to whisper as I hand her a refill of champagne.
I roll my eyes with a laugh. "I hadn't even noticed any of them. Why, are there any worth noticing?" I ask, eyes skimming around the room.
My gaze falls on the physique of a gentleman all dressed in black. He's facing the other direction, but his longer hair has been slicked back, and he has an old-world stance about him.
"Is he one of Mike's friends?" I ask, pointing to the gentleman who caught my attention.
"I'm not quite sure who that man is," Addie responds. "I'll ask Michael."
"Oh no," I stop her. "I think he's with his grandfather. Which by the way, is a completely different story that you must remind me to tell you later."
"Oh, you can't keep a good story from me on the night before my wedding!" she insists.
"Well it turns out, I've met your fiancé's grandfather already. He was on my plane when I flew in. He was awfully helpful on the flight, but then he acted quite strange when I left him at the airport. I was in such a rush to greet you, I forgot to tell you about it. And then with the accident, my job, and the wedding, I never got the chance to bring it up again."
"You're saying Michael's grandfather flew in with you last week? But Michael told me he only arrived this morning!" She looks puzzled. "I've been wanting you to meet him because he's quite the historian in Boston. Why on earth would he have kept that from me?" she sounds a little hurt.
"I'm sure there's a miscommunication. Perhaps Mike didn't know his grandfather came early. Maybe he had other business to attend to?" I do my best to put her at ease. But in my mind, I'm starting to have my suspicions about the Augustine family.
Excusing myself from Addie, I sweep up a refill of champagne and seek where the gentlemen in question have snuck off to.
I interrupt Broderick speaking to a pretty young girl and ask him if he's seen his soon to be brother-in-law.
"I think I saw him with a few chaps headed back that way," he points to a back corridor.
I thank him and move along, finishing my champagne and setting my glass down.
As I enter the darkened corridor, I hear hushed voices in a back room. Nearby, I see a moonlit alcove where I can tuck away if I were bold enough to eavesdrop.
It wouldn't be the proper thing to do, but my intuition is telling me something is off about this situation. If only for Addie's sake, I convince myself I'm doing the right thing as I tiptoe into the alcove.
"... we still don't know for sure," I hear Mike's voice.
"You saw the same thing I saw, Michael," Uriel is clearly arguing.
A third voice chimes in that I can't quite place, but I know I've heard before.
"I believe it could be her, Michael."
"How the bloody hell would you even know!" Mike's whispers get louder.
"She was with your fiancé when her damn driver ran me down. It was right after I left you to go pick up your grandfather. I saw her. I could see... in her smile..." the voice trails off. It's a voice that sounds so strangely familiar, and now I know why.
It's the man we hit with the car!
But how on earth would Mike know him? And Uriel? And it seems that they're talking about me! But why? I continue listening.
"Gentlemen, I'm getting married tomorrow. There's nothing that needs to be done tonight," Mike says.
"Like hell! If it really is her, the destructor will be after her now. Her life may already be in danger. We must take her and keep her safe," the third man says.
"Now, let's be reasonable," Uriel begins, just as Mike argues, "We're not taking anybody!"
Take me? I'm in danger?
A million questions swirl in my head, and I could nearly pass out from the fear and confusion.
"Please, just calm down," Mike says. "If you bombard her with this, you're going to scare her off. And we don't even know her potential to carry the soul of light."
"Her name fits the bill," Uriel says. "Aurora literally means dawning light."
What?!
My mind is screaming. Yet, crazy as it may seem, I can't help but keep listening to these men.
"We don't know if she's begun to have any visions. The reminiscence takes time to comprehend." I don't even know which voice said the last sentence. But all I can think of is the vision I had about the amulet and the mention of light.
I'm breathing heavy in my paralyzing fear.
"Aurora, dear, are you alright?" Addie asks, coming upon me in the alcove and giving away my position to the men I've been eavesdropping on.
A loud rumble from the next room, and suddenly three faces come into view, finding me out.
I glare at each of the three men in accusation. Michael meets my eyes and then looks down in shame. Uriel just looks at me in complete pity.
The third man, whose name I don't even know, but who I recognize all the same, looks at me peculiarly. He's the man from the accident, and from my dreams. His voice is one that sounded strange, yet familiar. I meet his hazel eyes and a current of energy so overwhelming has me turning and running from the group in utter terror.
"Aurora, wait!" I hear Addie's call.
Even for my cousin, I can't turn back. Everything I've overheard and everything from my dreams seem to be colliding in my head. I can't tell what's real.
I run through the banquet to everyone's surprise, but I can't bring myself to care.
I need answers.
There's only one place I can think to go. As I cross the Pont des Arts yet again, I hear someone calling me, but I dare not stop. I pass the river, too fearful to glance behind.
In a rush, I wind my way through the nearby streets and buildings to lose any followers. I get a few strange looks from passersby, but there aren't many people on the street tonight.
Coincidentally enough, a light drizzle has begun to fall. Usually the effect of rainfall in Paris gives the city a wonderful glow, but tonight, the dim city lights shimmer and wane.
I round the corner and come upon the Cour Napoléon. There are quite a few cars parked in the courtyard, probably from the exhibit gala. The area is strangely quiet.
I wind through the vehicles and move to cross the expansive courtyard, but someone steps out from behind a nearby car and blocks my path.
"Excusez-moi," I try to hurry past the man, but he doesn't move.
I glance up into yet another familiar face of a stranger, though in hooded form. This is the man from the bridge. Another man who I've recognized without understanding why.
"Everything alright, miss?" he asks, too casual.
"I-I'm sorry, I must be getting on, I'm needed at the gala inside," I again try to move past.
"But you are needed here," he stands his ground, blocking my way.
"I'm sorry, sir, you seem familiar. I know we met on the bridge, but I don't believe I know you," I back up a step.
"You know me, but not from this life. Does the name Talbot mean anything to you?"
Small flashes of recognition stir in my mind at his words, but I suppress them with ferocity. I've had enough of these people toying with my mind.
"It means nothing, let me pass!"
"I can see that is not true, lady of light," his tone grows ominous.
He said light!
I look up into the man's eyes, and it's like I'm looking into the vastness of a never-ending void. The emptiness of emotion behind his mask is the epitome of evil.
I can feel him feeding off my fear, trying to pull me into his empty space, into nothing.
Fear chokes me, and tears begin to form in my eyes. "What do you want?" I whisper.
"I want to snuff out the light."
With those words, he grabs me by my throat. Wrapping his hands around my neck he squeezes the air right out of me. He continues his hold, lifting me off the ground. My legs kick at him, but he stands solid in his mission.
I fight with every ounce of strength, but without air, I'm losing the battle. I can barely make out several voices in the distance, calling my name. They're still searching for me.
I'm here!
I try to call, but the only noise that comes from me is now a choking gurgle.
I hold an eternity in this moment, looking deep into the eyes of the evil that has been hunting me. My mind opens up and I suddenly know that this isn't the first time. The museum in the background fades from my vision, but I know the necklace is inside. And the woman who hid it died fighting this very evil.
He says he wants to snuff out the light, and only now, do I understand what he means. What I'm connected to. What the others saw in me.
I realize my potential, but it's too late.
In my final moments, I know must leave a memory behind the same way a memory was left for me. The only thing I can think to do is say a prayer, the way the woman in the vision did. The way all the women before me who share this soul have:
I pray that this memory passes on, the way the other memories passed to me. But I pray next time, the memories are stronger. It won't be long now. This evil thinks it can snuff out the light, but it's too late. Dawn has broken... the light is coming.
The hands around my neck choke out the last of the breath inside me. I register one last glance into the hooded face of death, his hollow laughter drawing me into the void.
And yet, I can swear, somewhere on the other side, I hear the sounds of waves, seagulls, and laughter. And in the far distance, someone is calling out a name...
"Nora..."