Page 1 of Luthias

Chapter One

The strangest night of Emery Parker’s life started in the administrative office at the Pelton Medieval Museum in downtown Concord.

Summer had arrived in New Hampshire, and the setting sun made everything seem bright and warm as it poured its last golden beams through the big windows. Glints and sparkles danced in the air from a prism on the director’s tidy desk, and flashed from the face of the delicate gold watch the older woman wore. The air smelled faintly of lemon, beeswax and rich, dark coffee. A Bach violin concerto being played over the museum’s sound system created an elegant backdrop, and oddly harmonized with the gurgling sound from a drip machine somewhere nearby.

I will behave myself. I will not babble. I’ll act as if I intern at my number one favorite museum every other weekend.

As Emery sat listening to the personnel director go over the details for her new summer job, she also tried very hard not to fidget or smile too much. A forensic anthropology graduate student should be calm, poised and confident, not as excited and grabby as a sugar-crazy kid in a free candy store. She also had to stop staring at the gorgeous four-foot-long Scottish claymore hanging on the wall behind the director’s desk. Even if she was almost positive the sword was authentic, and dated back to the fifteenth century, constantly ogling it would seem creepy.

Maybe I can sneak in and drool over it later, after everyone leaves for the day.

“You’ve been assigned to the Arms and Armor Department,” the director said as she finished signing off on the paperwork. “They’re working on transferring all the old hand-written records into our new computer database, so we’ll start you there. Here’s your employee badge, which you should wear at all times while you’re working.”

Emery took the black lanyard from her and looped it over her head. The plastic case containing the badge with her photo and name also had been dated, so she’d never forget the first day of the best job she’d ever landed. “I will, thank you.”

“As I mentioned over the phone your hours will be from four p.m. until midnight, and Bill Buchanan, the assistant curator for the A and A department, will be your supervisor.” The older woman looked up and smiled. “Do you have any questions?”

“Is that claymore on the wall from the fifteenth century?” Emery asked before she could stop herself, and then cleared her throat. “I’m just curious. It’s a beautiful piece.”

Looking surprised, the director glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, yes, I believe it is. Do you have some experience with dating medieval weapons?”

“Yes. I’m planning to write my dissertation on the types and effectiveness of bladed weapons during the Middle Ages. Not all of them, of course, just what the Scottish used.” Knowing she was on the verge of babbling, she made what she hoped was a nonchalant gesture. “I’m always looking for new research materials.”

“Then you’re in luck,” the director said. “Pelton has one of the finest collections of Scottish medieval weapons in the U.S.”

Which is the real reason why I applied for this job, Emery thought as she smiled and nodded.

From there the personnel director sent her with one of the administrative assistants to the underground archive and restoration level, where employees handled the actual work of the museum out of the public eye. Her escort informed Emery that the Arms and Armor Department occupied a half-dozen offices and a full conservation and restoration laboratory. They helped manage the museum’s massive collection of medieval weapons and artifacts, and one of the largest archives of documentation, research, provenance and data in the country.

“We like to keep it casual down here, so call me Buc,” Emery’s new supervisor said after her escort delivered her to his office, and he gave her a quick and rather damp handshake. Tall, heavyset and red-faced, he had the kind of expression that looked dismayed even when he smiled. “You’re working on your doctorate, right? That’s terrific. Are you ready to go to work tonight? Of course, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. I’ll show you to your desk, and have the other intern get you started on the data entry. What’s that kid’s name? Oh, yeah, George.”

As she followed him from one office to another, Emery felt a little bewildered by how fast Bill Buchanan spoke, and the way he answered his own questions before she could. Maybe like her he was naturally high-strung, but he seemed even more nervous than she was. She also preferred working with calm, quiet people, as they helped keep her own endless exuberance in check.

In the next office a tired-looking young man badly in need of a haircut sat pecking at a keyboard with his two index fingers. He barely glanced at her as Buc made introductions and then left with her escort.

“It’s Gordon, not George,” the other intern said as soon as they were alone. “That guy can never remember anyone’s name, so just learn to answer to anything.” He finally looked at her and his brows disappeared into his tangled bangs. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

Emery eyed his Account Suspended t-shirt, tattered jeans and soiled sneakers. “The new employee packet said thong bikinis are strictly optional.”

“Heh. You’re funny.” He yawned the last word. “How fast can you type?”

“Without mistakes?” Emery glanced at the huge stack of documents next to his computer, which was partly buried under a mound of crumpled chip bags, torn candy wrappers, sticky-looking soda cans, and dirty napkin balls. “Ninety words a minute.”

“That’s eighty words a minute faster than me.” Gordon got up and gestured for her to sit down in his place. “I’m going to take my dinner break. Just pick up where I left off and type what’s on the paper you take from the inbox, and then print out a copy of each page you finish and put it in the outbox.”

She watched him stroll out of the office, and then eyed the screen and the documents. Spending the summer working as a typist wasn’t why she’d applied for this job, but she needed to make a good start––and when she wanted to, she could type a hundred and twenty words a minute with no errors.

The data Emery input turned out to be measurements and shipping information on museum acquisitions for the last four years, which soon bored her. She was actually working at the Pelton, which would have wowed her dad, who had brought her to the museum every time there was a new exhibit. Why was she typing?

“Your mother’s ancestors came from Scotland,” Elliot Parker had told her as they’d visited a special collection of Pict artifacts. “She almost didn’t marry me when she found out my grandfather was British. I have to make sure you learn about the history on both sides of your family, or she’ll come back and haunt me.” He said the last part with a wistful tone, as if he wished her mother’s ghost would visit.

Neither of her parents had any living family, so it was just the three of them for a short time. Olivia Parker had loved the sea, and never missed a chance to go to the beach in the summer. Emery still remembered the day when she went to the beach with her parents, and her mother had taken her into the water for a swimming lesson. A vicious riptide had suddenly caught them and dragged them both under the waves. A nearby swimmer had managed to grab six-year-old Emery and drag her out of the current, but Olivia was swept away from shore and drowned.

The horrible memories had made Emery terrified of swimming and the water, and her devastated father had never forced her to try again. He’d also never recovered from losing his wife, and instead devoted himself to their daughter. Later in life Elliot had developed heart problems, but had concealed his declining health from Emery. Shortly after seeing her get her first college degree her dad had died in his sleep.

Losing her father had left Emery alone in the world, which sucked, but now she didn’t worry anymore about Olivia Parker being alone in the afterlife. If it were possible, she knew her dad would have found her mom again.

Three hours later Gordon wandered back in from his dinner break and came to stand over Emery, who was writing on a notepad a list of the different swords the museum had in their weapons collection that she wanted to examine.