Grave Phantoms
Page 25
Bo was not on the main floor. And Winter, who carried baby Karin around the foyer to witness the hubbub of the holiday decorating, informed Astrid that his captain hadn’t yet left for work.
“Think he’s going in later, after a couple of errands,” Winter said.
Excellent. Even better, Bo hadn’t seemed to have informed her brother about their bad night at Gris-Gris. While Winter bounced his smiling daughter in the crook of his big arm, Astrid slipped away and took the servants’ staircase downstairs.
Halfway down, she came to an abrupt stop. She’d nearly plowed straight into Bo.
Her heart pinged.
“Good morning,” she said, slightly breathless and nervous. Her gaze flitted over a striking lapis blue suit, expertly tailored to hug lean muscle, with a crisp white collar and cuffs peeking out from the jacket. “Don’t believe I’ve seen that suit before.”
“You know me. Vain and frivolous.” A lie. Proud and confident was more like it. His gaze flicked to her wristwatch for a moment—ping! went her heart again—and then he smiled up at her like everything was normal, and they hadn’t done all that confessing in the butler’s pantry. Like she hadn’t cried in front of him.
All right. Fine. She could act normal. She pasted on a smile.
He scratched the back of his neck.
She shifted her feet and brushed invisible lint off the front of her dress.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Did you drink the tea after Greta—”
“Booted you out?” she supplied.
He leaned a shoulder against the stairwell wall. “She probably fantasizes about cracking a whip at my feet while I retreat down here in the dungeon. She’d put bars on my door if she could.”
“Your door? After you left, she practically accused me of being a manipulative hussy.” Astrid did her best Greta imitation, shaking a finger. “Stop bothering that boy, flicka. You should be in bed right now. What is this strange tea? You cannot drink this! Velma Toussaint is bride of devil!”
Bo laughed. The low, velvety sound surrounded her like an embrace and sent flutters through her stomach. “Everyone is ‘bride of devil’ to Greta. Was the tea awful?”
“I got it down by holding my nose. I thought it might make me sick, but I actually think I might feel better today. I wonder if my aura has cleared up.”
He squinted and skimmed a finger around her head and shoulder, a phantom touch that never made contact with her, but she felt it nonetheless. “I’m seeing . . . a golden sort of light. Oh wait, that’s just wattage from the bulb above you.”
Playful. But was that Bo’s normal lighthearted playfulness, or something more? He withdrew his hand and stuck it in his pocket, giving her no insight into his feelings. She wanted to scream out: What were you going to tell me last night, huh? For the love of Pete, what was it? But doubt made her hesitate.
More awkwardness stretched between them.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she finally said, “Speaking of strange phenomena . . .”
“Yes?” He settled one polished shoe on the step next to hers. Very close. This made her so jittery, she almost forgot what she was going to say.
“I thought of someone who might be able to tell us something about that idol,” she finally managed to get out.
His brow lowered. “I don’t like the sound of that. Is this one of your schemes?”
“I don’t scheme.”
“You’re a Magnusson. You’re all schemers.”
That was . . . absolutely true.
“It’s nothing risky,” she promised. “I’m talking about legitimate academic help. As in, my sister-in-law.”
“Hadley?” His eyes scrunched up momentarily and then relaxed. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. She might be able to shed some light on its origins. Either her or Lowe.”
They both looked at each other and agreed in chorus, “Hadley.”
Besides, Astrid needed her sister-in-law for more than just her ancient history expertise, but she couldn’t tell Bo this.
“I have a little free time this morning before I have to head in to the warehouse,” he said. “Depends on the flooding, of course, but we could see if we could make it to Hadley. If you’re game.”
“Oh, I’m game,” she said a little too enthusiastically, and cleared her throat. “I’m free, too. My datebook is completely clear this morning.”
“No dancing penciled in?”
“None whatsoever,” she said. “Will we will be riding in the oh-so-lovely Sylvia?”
The corner of his mouth twisted. “Not letting that one go, either, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fair enough. When can you be ready to go?”
—
It turned out Hadley was not working at the de Young Museum that day, but was instead assisting her husband, Astrid’s brother Lowe, at a lecture in a nearby neighborhood that overlooked Golden Gate Park. As long as Astrid got to speak to her in private, she didn’t care where they met.
Parnassus Avenue was home to the Affiliated Colleges of the University of California. Driving toward the ocean, Bo and Astrid passed the Romanesque stone facade of the College of Medicine and stopped at building with a large totem pole standing near the front steps: the university’s Anthropology annex.
The inside of the building was rather dim and smelled of old stone and dust. No one was there to greet visitors, so they walked around mostly deserted rooms filled with bits of pottery and rusting ancient tools until they found someone who pointed them to the second floor. In a corner room that housed a small Egyptian collection, Astrid heard her brother’s cocky voice and peeked inside the open door.
“Think he’s going in later, after a couple of errands,” Winter said.
Excellent. Even better, Bo hadn’t seemed to have informed her brother about their bad night at Gris-Gris. While Winter bounced his smiling daughter in the crook of his big arm, Astrid slipped away and took the servants’ staircase downstairs.
Halfway down, she came to an abrupt stop. She’d nearly plowed straight into Bo.
Her heart pinged.
“Good morning,” she said, slightly breathless and nervous. Her gaze flitted over a striking lapis blue suit, expertly tailored to hug lean muscle, with a crisp white collar and cuffs peeking out from the jacket. “Don’t believe I’ve seen that suit before.”
“You know me. Vain and frivolous.” A lie. Proud and confident was more like it. His gaze flicked to her wristwatch for a moment—ping! went her heart again—and then he smiled up at her like everything was normal, and they hadn’t done all that confessing in the butler’s pantry. Like she hadn’t cried in front of him.
All right. Fine. She could act normal. She pasted on a smile.
He scratched the back of his neck.
She shifted her feet and brushed invisible lint off the front of her dress.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. “Did you drink the tea after Greta—”
“Booted you out?” she supplied.
He leaned a shoulder against the stairwell wall. “She probably fantasizes about cracking a whip at my feet while I retreat down here in the dungeon. She’d put bars on my door if she could.”
“Your door? After you left, she practically accused me of being a manipulative hussy.” Astrid did her best Greta imitation, shaking a finger. “Stop bothering that boy, flicka. You should be in bed right now. What is this strange tea? You cannot drink this! Velma Toussaint is bride of devil!”
Bo laughed. The low, velvety sound surrounded her like an embrace and sent flutters through her stomach. “Everyone is ‘bride of devil’ to Greta. Was the tea awful?”
“I got it down by holding my nose. I thought it might make me sick, but I actually think I might feel better today. I wonder if my aura has cleared up.”
He squinted and skimmed a finger around her head and shoulder, a phantom touch that never made contact with her, but she felt it nonetheless. “I’m seeing . . . a golden sort of light. Oh wait, that’s just wattage from the bulb above you.”
Playful. But was that Bo’s normal lighthearted playfulness, or something more? He withdrew his hand and stuck it in his pocket, giving her no insight into his feelings. She wanted to scream out: What were you going to tell me last night, huh? For the love of Pete, what was it? But doubt made her hesitate.
More awkwardness stretched between them.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she finally said, “Speaking of strange phenomena . . .”
“Yes?” He settled one polished shoe on the step next to hers. Very close. This made her so jittery, she almost forgot what she was going to say.
“I thought of someone who might be able to tell us something about that idol,” she finally managed to get out.
His brow lowered. “I don’t like the sound of that. Is this one of your schemes?”
“I don’t scheme.”
“You’re a Magnusson. You’re all schemers.”
That was . . . absolutely true.
“It’s nothing risky,” she promised. “I’m talking about legitimate academic help. As in, my sister-in-law.”
“Hadley?” His eyes scrunched up momentarily and then relaxed. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. She might be able to shed some light on its origins. Either her or Lowe.”
They both looked at each other and agreed in chorus, “Hadley.”
Besides, Astrid needed her sister-in-law for more than just her ancient history expertise, but she couldn’t tell Bo this.
“I have a little free time this morning before I have to head in to the warehouse,” he said. “Depends on the flooding, of course, but we could see if we could make it to Hadley. If you’re game.”
“Oh, I’m game,” she said a little too enthusiastically, and cleared her throat. “I’m free, too. My datebook is completely clear this morning.”
“No dancing penciled in?”
“None whatsoever,” she said. “Will we will be riding in the oh-so-lovely Sylvia?”
The corner of his mouth twisted. “Not letting that one go, either, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fair enough. When can you be ready to go?”
—
It turned out Hadley was not working at the de Young Museum that day, but was instead assisting her husband, Astrid’s brother Lowe, at a lecture in a nearby neighborhood that overlooked Golden Gate Park. As long as Astrid got to speak to her in private, she didn’t care where they met.
Parnassus Avenue was home to the Affiliated Colleges of the University of California. Driving toward the ocean, Bo and Astrid passed the Romanesque stone facade of the College of Medicine and stopped at building with a large totem pole standing near the front steps: the university’s Anthropology annex.
The inside of the building was rather dim and smelled of old stone and dust. No one was there to greet visitors, so they walked around mostly deserted rooms filled with bits of pottery and rusting ancient tools until they found someone who pointed them to the second floor. In a corner room that housed a small Egyptian collection, Astrid heard her brother’s cocky voice and peeked inside the open door.
