The plane’s descent into JFK forced Semele to stop reading. She had been immersed in the manuscript since takeoff eight and a half hours ago. As hard as it was to pull herself out of Ionna’s story, she powered down her computer and packed everything away in the bag under her feet.
When she glanced up, she saw a man from the next row looking at her, and she gave him a polite smile. She stared out the window, watching the plane touch down. Being back in New York felt surreal.
She checked her cell phone on the cab ride to her office, irrationally thinking that Theo might have called her. When she saw her voice mails she grimaced.
She had three, and two were from her mother:
“It’s me. Are you back in town yet? I really do need to talk to you. Please call me back.”
The second was more of the same: “Darling, we can’t go on like this. If you could just call me so I can explain everything. I know you’re still upset—”
Semele deleted both. She didn’t want to think about her mother right now. Their issues were insurmountable, although Semele knew at some point she’d have to call her back and discuss what happened. There was also a voice mail from Bren. She didn’t want to think about that either.
* * *
The cab pulled up to her office building on the Upper East Side. The sleek, modern exterior contrasted with the classical European structures around it. Kairos Collections Management took up the top three floors of the twelve-story building.
Semele hurried inside to get out of the windy drizzle. November in New York was always unpredictable, but it seemed colder and wetter than usual. She couldn’t have planned a grayer, more dreary homecoming.
She headed to the executive offices on the twelfth floor to drop off her things, thinking she would grab an espresso in the break room. The jet lag was already kicking in.
When she rounded the hallway corner, she stopped—her office door was wide open when it should have been locked. She could hear the sharp clicking of high heels on the floor inside and then caught a cloying whiff of perfume.
A second later Raina stepped out.
“Oh, you’re back,” Raina drawled in her lilting Russian accent, looking neither guilty nor apologetic for being caught in Semele’s office. Instead, she gave Semele a scathing once-over.
Raina was wearing her usual power dress, which showed off her collarbone and a lot of leg in a way that seemed calculated. From the moment Raina had arrived from Moscow, with her cascade of auburn hair and privileged air, Semele had called her Russian Barbie.
She returned Raina’s stare with a cocked eyebrow. “Was there something you needed?”
“From you? Not at all.” Raina brushed off the question in a condescending tone. “I was dropping off recent catalogs.”
Semele frowned, knowing Mikhail’s assistant usually did that.
“How was the trip?” Raina folded her arms with her hands out to show off perfectly manicured nails.
“Excellent.” Semele had nothing else to say. She would discuss the collection and how to proceed at auction with Mikhail.
“Have your expense report on my desk by Friday.” Raina turned to leave. “And tell Mikhail you’re back.”
Semele kept her face expressionless. Raina was easily the most annoying person she knew. “Is Cabe here?” she asked innocently, enjoying the flash of jealousy in Raina’s eyes. Cabe headed Restoration at Kairos and was one of Semele’s closest friends. Raina couldn’t stand that their friendship predated her.
“Of course. He’s busy working.” Translation: Don’t bother him. Raina walked off.
Semele tried to brush off the exchange, but whenever she talked to Raina it put her in a foul mood. She dumped her bags in her office and looked around to see if anything seemed out of place. A stack of glossy catalogs sat dead center on her desk, along with a mountain of mail. Still Raina’s excuse for being there was flimsy.
One handwritten envelope stood out from the pile—she would recognize that handwriting anywhere.
Tomorrow. She would deal with her mother’s card tomorrow.
* * *
Semele took the stairs down to the restoration labs on the eleventh floor. Cabe’s ten-speed was propped against the wall.
Cabe stood hunched over the humidification chamber. His gloved hands were unfolding several brittle-looking letters. He was dressed in shorts despite the weather and had exchanged his biking shoes for flip-flops.
“Looks serious.” Semele nodded toward the chamber, taking a peek.
He looked up and grinned. “Oh, cheerio, you,” he said with a fake English accent. “Welcome back. Got me here so’more spy letters to Georgie-Porgie.”
Georgie-Porgie was their nickname for George Washington. They had countless others for historical figures and artifacts: Linny was Lincoln, Mo was Mozart, and Elvis was the Declaration of Independence.
“I had to completely revamp the sodium carbonate elixir to treat the invisible ink. Epic fail. This batch is taking me forever.” He continued working the papers apart like a neurosurgeon.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get it done.”
When it came to salvaging the unsalvageable, Cabe was a rock star. He had a graduate degree in both chemistry and forensic biology and oversaw every Kairos lab. He was also the only person Semele trusted when she had a palimpsest—parchment on which the original text was written over. Cabe always unearthed the writing without fail.
“How was Switzer-vonderland?” he asked, attempting a vague German accent.
“I saw our client half-naked and an intruder broke into my hotel room,” she deadpanned.
“Is that why you didn’t call me back?”
“I already gave you my advice on Raina. Run away.”
He gave her a sheepish look. “Kind of can’t do that.”
Semele could only stare at him, at a complete loss. “You’re kidding me. While I was gone?”
He laughed at the look on her face. “Believe me, it’s blowing my mind.”
Semele could only gape in horror. Russian Barbie was dating one of her closest friends? Semele didn’t know what to say. Even worse, Cabe looked happy. But right now she was too tired to find out how bad the damage actually was. “We’ll do dinner soon,” she promised. “I just stopped by to let you know I’ve got a special piece coming in with the Bossard Collection I need you to look at.”
“Sure. Bring it.” He saw the look on her face. “What?”
Semele hesitated. His news about Raina had completely derailed her. “Just see what you can find out.”
“You got it. Oh, hey, I need to test your DNA.”
The abrupt request made her laugh. Only Cabe. “God, no.”
“Come on. I’m doing everyone at the company.” He moved to his workstation.
“Do I want to know why?” She watched him load a program.
“Mark needed a favor.”
“Mark? Our Mark?”
“He’s now head programmer for one of the largest ancestral DNA companies in the country.”
“And he needs our DNA why?”
Semele and Cabe had become friends with Mark almost a decade ago when they were all on fellowship at the Smithsonian in the Conservation of Museum Collections program. Semele had worked on conservation research and Cabe and Mark in scientific analytical studies and technical support.
Cabe typed in several commands. “I’m helping him troubleshoot a program glitch by running profiles using three different patches. You all get to be the lucky guinea pigs.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course we do.”
“Come on. It’s a cheek swab.” He opened the kit on the table. “You get your own ethnicity chart.”
“Lucky me.”
Cabe grew solemn. “Sorry, Sem. I’m an idiot.”
“No, it’s fine, really,” she said, trying to reassure him. “Swab away.”
Her family background had become a touchy subject lately, and Cabe was one of the only people who knew why. After her father passed away, she had spent days helping her mother locate important papers. In her search, she had unearthed adoption papers in an old file—her adoption papers.
She joined him at the table. While he swabbed her cheek, she noticed his bike in the corner. “You know you shouldn’t bike when it’s slick outside.”
“Already back and giving orders,” Cabe teased. He put the swab in a plastic capsule and labeled the sticker. “Wanna grab dinner tonight?”
“Can’t. It’s our anniversary.”
“How are you and Bren the Pen?”
“Good,” she said quickly. At least they were until yesterday.
She would have loved to tell Cabe what happened in Switzerland, but she owed that confession to Bren, and only to Bren.