A Book of Spirits and Thieves - Morgan Rhodes Page 0,54
was a compliment usually reserved for her sister.
She took another snapshot of the guy, noting that he looked good from both the front and the back.
Maybe she’d have to rethink her original plan to not go to university.
Crys shook her head, trying to clear it. She wasn’t usually so quickly smitten by guys just because they were good-looking.
Whatever, she told herself, and then headed confidently in the right direction.
In the Anthropology Building, she finally found a list of offices. Dr. Uriah Vega was on the second floor.
She took a deep breath before getting in the elevator, then navigated the gray hallway, before she found the door that held his name placard. After only a slight hesitation, she knocked.
When the only reply she heard was a grunt, she knocked again.
“Well, come in, then,” a grudging voice said. “And be quick about it.”
She turned the handle and eased the door open.
A man sat behind a desk piled high with stacks of paper surrounding an old computer covered in colorful sticky notes. He had reddish-blond hair, thinning across his scalp, round wire-rim glasses, and an unfriendly scowl on his face.
“If this is about the paper due today, I’m not taking anyone’s excuses. If you’re late, you’ll be penalized.”
Her heart thundered. “Dr. Vega?”
“Who else would I be? And to remind you, students need to make appointments to see me outside of my listed hours. Check the door.”
“I’m not a student.”
His scowl deepened. “Then who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Jackie Kendall told me to come and see you.”
His eyes bugged out. A moment later, he jumped up from his desk and reached the door in three big steps, pulling her farther inside. “Jackie sent you?”
It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, a complete personality change in a split second. “Yes, I’m . . . I’m Crys Hatcher. Her niece. She said this would be a good time to talk.”
“Why didn’t you say that to begin with?” He pushed the door shut and locked it, then pressed his back against it. “Were you followed?”
The question made her feel queasy. “Uh . . . I don’t think so.”
He went to the small window behind his desk and peered outside, scanning the area before yanking down the blinds. “You must know these things. You must always be vigilant.”
Jackie hadn’t said anything about watching for stalkers—although, she had mentioned self-defense. Was Dr. Vega totally paranoid or was he simply being cautious, like Jackie?
She nudged her glasses back up her nose. “I’ll remember that in the future. Promise.”
He sat down with a heavy thud behind his desk and signaled for her to take a seat on the rather uncomfortable-looking wooden stool across from him. The professor reminded Crys of a youngish Albert Einstein: frazzle-haired, wild-eyed, eccentric.
Hopefully nearly as brilliant.
“Where is Jackie?” he asked.
“In Paris, I think. She’s trying to get here as soon as she can.”
“Really? She’s coming here?” He leaned back in his chair, his expression now wistful. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, not since our last meeting in London. A beautiful woman, your aunt. She’s . . . quite remarkable. I look forward to every e-mail she sends me.”
Crys could practically see the little cartoon hearts popping up over his head. He wouldn’t be the first, or even the fiftieth, man who’d fallen hard for her free spirit of an aunt.
Vega’s frown returned slowly, popping the cartoon hearts like soap bubbles. “Jackie always informs me of any news or changes. She didn’t mention anything about you.” He swept a skeptical gaze over Crys. “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Let me see your ID. I have no proof that you are who you say you are.”
Definitely paranoid. She fished around in her bag and pulled out her Sunderland High School student card. “Good enough?”
He pursed his lips as he studied it. “Hmm. I suppose.” He leaned back again and eyed her guardedly. “What do you want?”
How was she supposed to get information from a man whose mood swung so wildly from minute to minute? “Jackie said that you’d give me”—did she really have to say it out loud?—“the . . . full monty on the book.”
The bug eyes returned. He whipped off his glasses and wiped the lenses on his rolled-up shirtsleeve. “She said that? Those words exactly?”
“Um, yes.”
“Does this mean that you have it?” Vega asked, his voice hushed to a hoarse whisper.
“Have what?”
“The Bronze Codex.”
He was speaking another language, and she tried to keep up. “What’s the Bronze . . . ?”