The Fortune Teller Read online

  She had lain there in bed, trying to figure out what the hell to do, until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  Without waking Bren, she’d grabbed her robe, tiptoed from the room, and quietly shut the door behind her. After a double espresso, she returned to translating. Even after everything that had happened last night, Ionna still had her undivided attention.

  She tugged her hand away. “I need to go to the office.”

  Bren gave her a searching look. “You’re acting weird. You know that, right?”

  She gave a weak nod.

  “Why?” The hurt in his voice made her wince. “It’s me.”

  “I know. I just…”

  “Just what? Talk to me.”

  How could she tell him there was a ticking clock on their relationship, that they weren’t going to last?

  “Sorry, I’m really stressed over work.”

  “Of course.” Bren threw his hands up in surrender. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard this excuse. He tried switching to a brighter tone. “Just don’t forget about the dinner tonight with my folks. I was thinking I’d come by at seven. The reservation is at seven thirty.”

  Her heart sank. She’d forgotten that his parents were in town from Florida for the week. It was their first time visiting Bren since he and Semele had started dating, and she knew he was excited to introduce her. She couldn’t fathom the idea of spending an evening with them now.

  “Bren, I’m too tied up with this deadline to make the dinner.”

  A range of expressions played across his face. “You’re kidding. My parents have been looking forward to meeting you for months.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I really am, but it’s a bad time.”

  Bren stormed into the bedroom and came back with his shirt. He dressed rapidly and grabbed his wallet and keys off the table.

  “Don’t be mad,” she pleaded.

  “Don’t be mad? What the hell, Sem?”

  Her eyes welled with tears. God, she hated this. The truth was that even if she hadn’t seen his future without her in it, she and Bren would still be standing at opposite ends of the room, a gulf between them.

  “Did you meet someone in Switzerland?” he demanded. “Is that what’s going on here?”

  Semele hesitated. Theo wasn’t the reason.

  “Because ever since you came back it’s like you’re a different person.”

  “Like I said”—Semele crossed her arms—“I’m stressed over work. I don’t want to fight.”

  Bren shook his head, completely bewildered. “You seriously can’t go tonight?”

  She nodded, avoiding his eyes, and made a big deal out of packing up her computer. She needed to go to the lab and check the manuscript. “I’m sorry. I know it’s lame.”

  Bren let out a pained sigh of resignation. “I guess we’ll have to do it next time. I’ll tell them things are really crazy on your end.”

  She wondered what he would say if she confessed that a two-thousand-year-old manuscript was talking to her. Crazy didn’t come close.

  Queen of Swords

  Semele got off the elevator on the eleventh floor, purposefully avoiding the twelfth, where she might run into Mikhail or Raina.

  She found Cabe at the humidifier chamber again. “Still busy with Georgie?”

  He muttered, “Our first president is high maintenance.” He glanced over to her and smiled. “You’re looking rad-trashed.”

  She grimaced. “Thanks. I need to ask a favor. Has Fritz inventoried the Bossard Collection?”

  “Yesterday. I got the short list this morning.”

  The short list wasn’t really a list. It was more like a mini-collection, comprised of items that needed authentication, closer examination, or possibly restoration. Semele knew the manuscript would be one of the works singled out. She had logged the piece with several question marks about its origin and date.

  “Back table.” Cabe motioned. “But I thought you weren’t on the Bossard Collection anymore.”

  “I’m not. I just need to take a quick look at something.”

  She headed toward the sink and was washing her hands when her cell rang—her mother, again. There was also a voice mail from Bren, no doubt fishing for the reason behind her emotional withdrawal this morning. She saw Theo had left her a message too and quickly played it.

  “Semele, Mikhail’s insistent that Fritz handle the auction. It’s not ideal, but he feels it’s the best course. I’d still like to meet when I come to New York next month.” He hesitated. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  Semele’s pulse quickened and she listened to the message again. Theo wanted to see her. She had no idea what to make of that, and she would never find out—she would already be in Beijing when he came.

  She put her phone back with a little sigh and washed her hands once more for good measure.

  There were twelve pieces on the back table, including Ionna’s manuscript. She carefully opened the leather binding to examine the first leaf.

  “I agree,” Cabe said when he saw what she was handling. “That one’s quite the stunner. I’m doing a DNA rundown.”

  “Good. I was hoping you would.”

  DNA testing had become one of the most precise methods of dating a work, though there were several handicapping factors. Usually the parchment was made of an amalgamation of animals’ skins from different time periods, which made pinpointing its exact origin and date difficult. Handwriting analysis would always remain a vital tool in the process; unlike DNA testing, it didn’t require samples.

  “Call me when you have the results.”

  “Sure. But why?”

  “I’ve been reading it,” she confessed. He gave her a quizzical look.

  “I made a digital so I could hone my translation skills.” She wanted to downplay her interest, and this wasn’t a lie. She hadn’t done a translation in years. “I think some of the leaves are missing.”

  Cabe shrugged. “The translator will find out soon enough.”

  Semele frowned. The idea that another translator would be reading Ionna’s story bothered her. But in less than a month a buyer would acquire the manuscript, and Semele would move on to another collection in another country. For the first time the thought made her weary.

  She leaned down to study the binding where she had stopped reading this morning and saw the evidence.

  Pages were missing.

  They had been carefully cut out right at the spine, where the leaves were stitched. She leaned even closer and discovered that quite a few had been removed.

  “What are you doing?”

  Raina’s voice made Semele jerk upright. Raina was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips.

  “Hey, Renie,” Cabe interjected.

  Semele looked at him. Did he just call her “Renie” and smooth out his stained T-shirt? Semele looked back to Raina and noticed the slight flush on her face. She would have laughed if she wasn’t so irritated.

  Semele stepped away from the table. “Leaves are missing from one of the Bossard manuscripts. It’s an important piece.” She tried not to sound like a thief caught in the act. Why should she feel guilty for looking at a manuscript she had authorized to be transported here in the first place?

  “Mikhail gave you the rest of the week off,” Raina said, crossing her arms in that disapproving way of hers.

  Semele stared at her without blinking and forced herself not to mimic her gesture, though she desperately wanted to. She didn’t say a word, her spine stiff with anger.

  “Fritz has already noted that some pages are missing and informed Mikhail and his client. He’s very thorough,” Raina said in a clipped voice.

  Semele caught the subtext—and you’re not. She decided to make an exit before she said something she would regret, and headed for the elevator. “Excellent. Ciao, you two.” On her way out she shot Cabe a stern look, which he purposefully ignored.

  As the elevator doors closed, she caught a glimpse of Raina and Cabe sharing an inti
mate kiss. The sight of them felt like a punch in the gut, and it only reinforced the distressing thought that was running through her mind: she was about to lose her friend.

  Message to VS—

  Manuscript has missing pages.

  Reply from VS—

  Was it him?

  Message to VS—

  Unclear. Will dig deeper.

  Reply from VS—

  Dig quickly. Assemble a team.

  All her life Elisa had received premonitions and she believed those visions were gifts from God.

  She attended mass every day at the Golden House, a magnificent church that surpassed every building in Antioch. Built in the shape of an octagon, it had a gilded dome roof decorated in gold, brass, and precious stones that towered in the sky like God’s crown.

  Elisa’s father was a great physician in Antioch, and last year Elisa had married one of his pupils, an earnest young doctor named Mathai. Mathai had loved Elisa from afar for years before gathering the courage to seek her hand. His mother ordered him more than once to choose a different girl. “She cannot bear a child. Look at her. She will snap in two!” she proclaimed with a grim shake of her head. A woman who had mothered four sons felt entitled to say such things.

  Fortunately, as the middle child, Mathai was often overlooked. So when he decided to marry Elisa, his mother finally relented. It was Elisa’s father who took issue: he thought Mathai weak and doomed to mediocrity and had hoped for a better match. There had always been tension between the two men. Only Elisa knew she could convince her father to let them marry.

  One day, when she was helping her father clean his medicine box, she confessed she had foreseen her future as Mathai’s bride. Not knowing how her father would react, she rushed to assure him she had also foreseen how, over the years, Mathai would stay dedicated to his studies and rise in prominence. More importantly, she promised that Mathai would treat her like the most priceless treasure in the world.

  Her father listened while polishing his medicine vials, never once looking at his daughter. Even if he hadn’t believed in his daughter’s gift—which he did—he had never been able to say no to Elisa, his gentle daughter, whom he adored above all else.

  He expelled a soft breath and nodded. “So it will be.”

  * * *

  At the end of their first year of marriage, Elisa confided in Mathai about her gift.

  “Husband?” she called to him softly as he was leaving to go to her father’s school.

  Mathai turned around and smiled at the sight of her sitting at the kitchen stool, her stomach just beginning to show with child.

  “On the way to my father’s you might run into your old friend. Do ask him about his leg. It needs mending.”

  Mathai was in too much of a hurry to question her strange request. But on the way to his father-in-law’s school he did run into his old childhood friend. Even more astounding, his friend was limping. Mathai never would have asked why if Elisa had not warned him.

  His friend showed him a cut across his knee that had festered. Mathai brought him to the clinic, and his morning was spent cleaning the wound, stitching it, and applying salve. When Mathai returned home he found Elisa waiting for him on the same stool.

  He stared into her eyes and realized she had just told him her secret.

  From then on, every morning before he left, she would tell him something about his day. And it would always come to pass. After a month of being privy to her foresights, Mathai believed that, indeed, she was blessed. So when Elisa came home from the Golden House that day in tears, barely able to speak, Mathai listened with grave attention.

  While kneeling in prayer, she had seen the walls of the church crumble around her and the stones turn to sand. Then she saw a great earthquake level Antioch to rubble. A firestorm raged through the city for days and the Golden House was destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of people perished and the city was demolished.

  Her words sent chills through his body. He was horrified that she had foreseen these catastrophic events with such clarity.

  That night the family gathered at Mathai’s insistence and Elisa recounted her vision. When she finished, no one spoke for a long time. Mathai held Elisa’s hand while her mother wept.

  Finally her father said, “You must leave Antioch. Right away.”

  Mathai frowned. “But the baby.”

  Elisa’s hand moved protectively to her stomach. She would give birth soon, but she knew it would not be in Antioch. “Mathai, we must leave. We all must leave.” She pleaded to her parents.

  Her mother shook her head. “We are too old, Elisa. Our place is here.”

  Elisa’s eyes welled with tears. She would spend the next several days begging and pleading for her parents to come with them. She also knew that, in the end, they would not. Only her desperation to save the child in her womb would make her consider leaving them behind.

  Mathai sat brooding. “But where would we go?” he asked helplessly. “Our lives are here. Our family, my work…”

  “We must leave. For the baby,” Elisa said with conviction.

  “But where will we go?” Mathai repeated.

  “To Gundeshapur,” his father-in-law said in his commanding voice. “I will write to the academy with your introduction.”

  Mathai looked at him in astonishment, and long-buried ambitions began to stir inside him. He had heard of opportunities arising in Gundeshapur, the glittering jewel of the Sassanid Empire. But never in his life had he thought he would make the journey. Now Elisa’s father was willing to write to the academy there on his behalf. The Academy of Athens had lost its funding from the emperor, triggering a great exodus—not only from Antioch, but also from Edessa and Athens—to Gundeshapur.

  Only the brightest scholars and doctors were granted tenure. Gundeshapur boasted a medical training center, a hospital, an observatory, a library, and its own translation house. Built by the hands of Roman prisoners of the Persian dynasty—many of whom were skilled architects, masons, and artists—Gundeshapur’s buildings supposedly rivaled those in Rome and Antioch in their magnificence. To work there would be anyone’s dream.

  Mathai watched Elisa’s father pen the letter. “Thank you,” Mathai said, his voice choked with gratitude. Elisa’s father looked up at Mathai with sharp eyes and pointed to his daughter. “I do this for her.”

  Mathai nodded earnestly. “I’ll work hard. I’ll give our child the best life.”

  Elisa swallowed the lump in her throat and took her husband’s hand. She already knew he would.

  * * *

  They left before the week’s end. Elisa looked back at her city for the last time. She prayed to God once more for her vision to be wrong.

  She and Mathai journeyed east, then south. They stopped at Aleppo and Rusafa before continuing the long stretch down the Euphrates to Dura-Europos. Elisa rode on their horse while Mathai led the donkey with all their possessions.

  The Zagros Mountains loomed in the distance and Mathai calculated they would reach Gundeshapur in three days’ time. Elisa was growing weaker and weaker; today she had not said a word at all. Mathai feared she could not keep riding.

  Their horse carried her gently, as if he understood her fragile state. The baby would come soon. Mathai tried to convince her they should stay in one of the passing towns until the child was born, but she insisted they keep going. His position at the academy was not guaranteed, and the longer they delayed, the more tenuous it became. He was not the only physician to come from the west seeking work.

  Elisa let out a small moan and Mathai stopped the horse. He hurried to give her water. “Drink, Elisa. Drink.” He held up the leather bag but she did not take it.

  Her eyes glazed over as she stared into the distance. Then her body went limp and she listed toward him, tumbling off the horse.

  As Mathai rushed to break her fall, the horse startled, poised to run. “Easy, Zaman,” Mathai said gently. “Help me now.”

  Zaman remained still but neighed
with agitation. Mathai held Elisa in his arms and tried to think of what he should do.

  He laid her on the ground and led the horse and donkey to a nearby tree. Then he went looking for branches to construct a makeshift litter, which he covered with one of their blankets. He laid Elisa on top and tied the litter to the horse. Only a few hours of daylight remained, so they had no choice but to continue on.

  They traveled for two more days, barely stopping to rest. Only when he knew Elisa was asleep did Mathai show his fear. Her vision had forced them to flee Antioch, and he struggled to suppress the thought that his wife and child would not survive the journey.

  * * *

  When they finally arrived in Gundeshapur, Mathai closed his eyes and whispered a prayer.

  They wandered through a residential district and Mathai tried to get his bearings. He assumed the medical school would be south, near the city center, but he wasn’t sure they could travel any farther at this point. Elisa had begun to whimper in pain hours before, and now she could barely stifle her screams. They would not have time to seek lodging from the academy before the birth.

  Mathai placed a cloth in Elisa’s mouth for her to bite on, in the hope it might distract her from the pain. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, pleading. Mathai swallowed and squeezed her hand. “We have made it to the city. I will find help,” he assured her; though he wasn’t sure how.

  He led Zaman and the donkey down the street. From the looks of the houses, they were clearly in a wealthy district. The architecture of the city felt foreign, from the colonnaded porticoes and square towers, to the pointed archways and trapezoid doorways.

  He passed an old woman on the side of the road selling fresh yogurt and asked if any physicians lived in the nearby houses.

  The woman only spoke Pahlavi, but she saw Elisa’s distress and pointed to the villa farthest down the street, the one that looked like a palace. Mathai thought he understood.

  “Thank you,” he said. But since he was not buying anything, the woman just shooed him away.