He gulped down the ale and grimaced. “Stars above, I think this guy needs a new supplier.”
“George tries to keep this bar vampire-free, which means certain professional sacrifices.”
“Clearly.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. “Yeah, I know someone.”
“Thought you might.”
“Her name is Antonia Birch.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Former girlfriend?”
“Occasional client.”
“Phew. Good. I don’t have time for an inquisition.”
Mack groaned. “It was one time and Geneva was a little bit obsessive.”
“A little bit obsessive is like saying she was a little bit pregnant.”
Mack wrapped his hands around the glass and exhaled. “She never got over the breakup.”
“No kidding. She still carried a photo of the two of you in her wallet.” I nursed my glass of ale. I wasn’t in the mood to drink. “Tell me about Antonia.”
“You can find her at the Britannia Museum. She’s a curator there.”
“What kind of work have you done for her?”
He fiddled with his napkin. “Technically it’s for the museum, but she’s my contact. The museum likes to keep any theft of artifacts quiet, so they don’t go through official channels. If they report it to the authorities, it’ll end up a PR nightmare.”
“I’m touched that you trust me enough to share her name.”
Mack’s friendly expression faded. “If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t work with you.”
“Same.”
He offered a crisp nod. “And this is why we get along so well.” He pulled a card from his pocket and passed it to me. “Give her this so she knows you’re legit.”
I glanced at the business card with its logo of crossed flaming swords. “Look at you. Such a professional.”
“Hope she can help with your secret project.”
I could tell Mack was dying to know the details, but it was best to leave him in the dark. If my theory proved correct, I didn’t want word of their existence to leak to the masses. In the wrong hands…
It didn’t bear thinking about.
I left Mack to finish his ale alone and headed to the museum. The building was located in Russell Square, not far from my flat near Euston Station. Although it incurred damage during the Great Eruption, House Lewis saw fit to restore the museum to its former glory and it continued to showcase antiquities from around the world. Throughout my childhood, my mother and I admired its many collections. It wasn’t unusual for her to stand in front of the same display for an hour imparting every related fact she knew. I served as the repository of her knowledge. As a teacher, she said she felt a sense of duty to pass on all that she’d learned, but sometimes I sensed there was more to it than that. On occasion my mother would stand in front of an artifact and trip over her words in a hasty effort to release them, as though there was a ticking clock that no one could hear except her.
I approached the grand columns with the same sense of wonder I had as a child. My mother told me the style was called Greek Revival and meant to emulate classic Greek architecture. Many ancient Greek structures were destroyed beyond repair during the Great Eruption and it was strange to think that the only evidence of their existence might be in photographs and buildings like this one.
I took my time walking through the museum on my way to find Antonia. It was impossible for me to enter a museum and not pause to explore the collections. House Lewis paid for temporary exhibits that arrived from across the globe and those were always worth a gander. Most of the time it was the only way you’d ever lay eyes on a mask from an ancient African vampire tribe, for instance. The colorful masks were designed with strategic holes that aligned with the wearer’s fangs. I still remembered staring in awe at the collection and my mother reeling off more facts than my tiny head could carry at the time.
Rhea Hayes was a complicated woman. She would speak about vampires until your ears bled, but only in a general sense. She never revealed anything specific about my father including his name. She shared so many details about vampires that I was certain she’d one day slip and say more about him than she intended, but she never did. As far as she was concerned, the knowledge was too dangerous for me. She worried I’d grow up, bang on his door to announce my existence, and get myself killed in the process.
I stopped in front of a security guard and flashed a friendly smile. Security guards in a place like this were usually one of two types—vampires who could use their speed and strength to protect the museum’s contents, or witches and wizards who could use magic. The fact that this guard was short and lean with no discernible fangs suggested he was a wizard.
“Hello, I’m looking for Antonia Birch.”
The guard barely made eye contact. “Egypt.”
“Thank you.”
I didn’t need to read a map. I knew exactly where to find the Egyptian and Sudanese antiquities.
In the gallery I spotted a woman on her knees in front of a display. Her black skirt was long enough to cover her butt as she wiggled and twisted. Her lanyard hung backward around her neck, which was how I knew I’d found Antonia Birch. According to the display information, she was adjusting a hieroglyphic tablet that showed early evidence of vampires.
“You know it’s crooked now, right?” I asked.
She craned her neck to look at me. With reddish brown hair, deep brown eyes, and unlined fair skin, she was younger and more attractive than I expected.
“It’s meant to be at an odd angle,” Antonia said. “Someone keeps coming along and straightening it and then I change it back.”
“Might want to leave a note that says ‘Do Not Touch.’”
“I feel like it should be implicit in that it’s a museum artifact.”
I offered my hand and helped her to her feet. “Are you Antonia Birch?”
She dusted off her pale pink blouse. “I am. How can I help you?”
I produced the card from Mack. “We have a friend in common. He seems to think you can help me.”
Her expression didn’t change. She simply handed the card back to me and watched me expectantly.
“I’m looking for a stone,” I said.
“Then you’ve come to the right place.” She motioned to the next room. “I’m guessing it’s the Rosetta Stone. It’s our most popular one.”
As fascinating as it was, I’d seen the Rosetta Stone more times than I could count.
“Would it be possible to speak in private?”
Her eyes sparkled with interest. The request clearly intrigued her. “Absolutely. Come with me.”
Her heels clicked loudly across the hard floor and I followed her to a door marked ‘Staff Only.’ She slipped inside and beckoned me forward with a slender finger. Upon closer inspection, I realized the finger was slightly crooked as though a break had failed to heal properly. One of the perils of handling ancient supernatural artifacts no doubt.