Sacrifice (The Venus Chronicles #1)

Chapter 8

Eight

A silver Bentley Continental waited in the street outside, its smart-suited driver holding open the door. Eve slid into its climate-controlled interior and scooted across the leather seats for Lucien Knight to settle in beside her. The car was gorgeous. The man was gorgeous. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience.

“This is very nice, Dr Knight,” she said with a nervous smile. She brushed her hand over the leather between them.

“Christie’s please, Philip,” he said to the driver, then turned to her and said, “Just the kind of thing you’d expect a fat-cat collector to own.”

Eve squirmed in her seat.

He gave her a wry smile. “And stop being so formal, please. Anyone would think we hadn’t already shared a coffee this morning.”

Eve cringed. “Shared a coffee. That’s one way of putting it.”

“You’re helping me out. We are now officially friends. All forgotten.” There was a slight arch to his eyebrow, and Eve couldn’t be sure if he was teasing. The glints of gold were there in his eyes again. “It’s good of you to agree. I’ll try not to take up too much of your time. It’s just I have to attend a faculty meeting, and I’ll never hear the last of it if I’m late again.”

Eve smiled. Being late was something she could relate to.

“No rest for the wicked,” she said. “Besides, what are friends for?”

A low rumble of appreciation came from Lucien. “Well, quite.” His voice was deep and smooth as velvet. It made the hairs on the back of Eve’s neck stand on end.

“It’s fine,” she said as the car pulled away into traffic. “I’m happy to help. Least I can do, really.”

More than happy. Riding around in a limo with a handsome billionaire or stuck in the gift shop stock room with the narcissistic Sienna strutting about in the shop? How crazy would I look if I pinched myself?

“I don’t remember seeing you at the Museum before,” he said.

“Well, you know, gift shop.” Eve felt a pang of disappointment in herself. “But I’m angling for a transfer into the Egyptology department,” she blurted impulsively. “First step today.”

“I think you will be excellently suited to the task,” Lucien said, and there was something about his tone that made Eve feel there was more to it. Just like the policeman who’d been pleased she couldn’t answer his questions, Lucien Knight seemed able to look inside her.

“Perhaps our meeting was fate,” he said.

Christies was housed in a grand eighteenth-century building in one of the most auspicious areas of London, St. James. When the Bentley drew up outside, Eve became suddenly rather conscious of how she must look. The standard-issue British Museum polo shirt and trousers didn’t feel quite as appropriate as they had when she’d dragged them on that morning. Now they were an embarrassment, especially compared to her companion’s sharp designer suit.

But if Lucien was bothered, he didn’t show it in the slightest. He strode confidently past the doorman and the stuttering receptionist, to take a known route into the building. He was obviously a regular visitor.

He showed Eve into an elegant, wood-paneled room with a dark smile. Paintings hung artfully on its walls and modern ceramics posed in subtle spotlights.

“A private viewing room,” he said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Bernito always meets me in here.”

Indeed, Bernito made an appearance moments later. It hadn’t taken long for the staff to adjust to Lucien’s unannounced arrival. The manager, a thin, reedy-voiced man with an obsequious smile, appeared, almost as if by magic, to greet them both before vanishing again to fetch Lucien’s purchase.

“The Blades of Sargon,” he announced, emerging from a screened doorway. He was carrying a wooden box, which he placed on a high table. Two heavy-set men came to stand behind him, folding their arms forebodingly and fixing her with cold eyes.

Lucien motioned to Eve to examine it. “I think you might find these interesting,” he said.

The manager’s eyes slid somewhat disbelievingly from Lucien to rest upon her. “Madam,” he said and held out a pair of white silk gloves for Eve to take. She put them on, prickling with irritation. Okay, she definitely didn’t look the part, but she would not let him make her feel like a fraud.

She arched an eyebrow to give him her best haughty expression and turned her attention to the box to run her fingers over the lid. It clearly had considerable age. Beautifully inlaid with silver scrollwork of twisting vines, an ancient lock held it closed. She carefully turned the small key and opened the lid.

The box revealed itself to be a fabric-lined case, containing seven daggers arranged like the rays of the sun. There was an empty indentation for a missing eighth dagger, and a vacant central well shaped like a palm-sized globe. The blades were of mottled iron, their handles enameled and inlaid with a variety of archaic symbols. The tip of each hilt bore a crystal or gemstone of some kind.

“These blades are thousands of years old,” Lucien said. “Forged for Sargon the Great, first ruler of the Akkadian Empire.”

“Ritual blades,” said Eve. “Some of these symbols I recognize. They look like hieroglyphs. There should be eight here, so I’m guessing a reference to the planets, or at least the gods associated with them.” She ran her gloved finger along the hilts, examining the symbols.

“If you are wondering which one is missing, it is the blade of Venus,” said Lucien, “Representing the second house and associated with the sun. As was the centerpiece,” he added, pointing at the empty dip in the center. “It was rumored to hold a gemstone called the Eye of Shamash . So, any idea what the ritual was for?” He looked at her quizzically, and Eve felt tested.

“I’m afraid the Akkadian Empire isn’t exactly my forte. The Pharoah, Akhenaten, founded a religion called the Atenism during the New Kingdom, based on the sun, it was associated with Ra…” She realized from his expression that she was telling him something he already knew and that he’d written extensively on the subject. “But you know that, of course. So, I guess, some kind of ritual sacrifice to their Sun God?” She could feel heat rising at her neck at the possibility of making a fool of herself.

Lucien looked rather surprised. He nodded approvingly, eyes twinkling with gold. “You may be closer than you think, Eve. We do not know for sure. Other collectors have assumed these to be fake, but I have a good nose for these things. I arranged for them to be carbon dated, and the analysis proves them to be from the twenty-fourth century BC.”

Eve’s eyes widened, and she looked back and forth between Lucien and the incredible treasure before her.

“If I could only find the lost dagger,” Lucien murmured. He stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing down at the knives, seemingly quite enthralled. It felt to Eve like he was resisting the urge to pick one up.

The manager cleared his throat and spoke. “We are, of course, doing our best.”

Eve looked at him and gave a theatrical sigh. “But no luck yet.” It was the manager’s turn to look uncomfortable, and Eve found she was rather enjoying herself. “So, what exactly is the exhibition going to be about?” she asked, turning back to Lucien.

“Sacrifice. I have studied many ancient belief systems, all sharing the same obsession with celestial deities, gods known by many names, but essentially the same fascination with the heavens.” He looked back down at the knives. “I’ve spent my entire life searching for the hidden truths of these ancient cultures, trying to understand their beliefs, to understand what drove them to kill an innocent, to appease a higher power.”

The Latin growl in his voice held Eve enthralled. “Actual sacrifices?” She looked down at the notches in the blades and shivered at the thought of them being plunged into a virgin’s chest. Lucien tipped his head to her. She examined his expression. There was something about the glimmer of his eyes that made her heart race. “You think that’s what these have been used for?”

Muscles contracted in his cheeks and his gaze became a smolder that took Eve quite by surprise. “Perhaps,” he said. “Show me one.”

Eve took a deep, calming breath and lifted one from the case. Cradled across both her palms, she held it out, but Lucien did not take it. It felt solid and heavy. Royal blue enamel striped the hilt in finger-width rings. It was too substantial to be just for show. She tipped it back and forth to examine the marks along its keen edge.

Light caught and dazzled Lucien with a reflected beam. He grimaced and turned away. “Let’s get them wrapped up,” he snapped, all playfulness gone. “I need you to take them back to the museum for me, take them to Rupert. He’s expecting them.” He turned away. “Philip will drive you.”

Eve hesitated, wrong-footed by this sudden dismissal, then placed the dagger carefully back in the case. “A-Absolutely. Whatever I can do to help.”

Lucien’s manner had turned on a dime, but she supposed there was bound to be a serious side to him. She shouldn’t get ahead of herself here. They weren’t colleagues. She reminded herself that she was acting gopher for a billionaire archaeologist and that was fine by her. There was the glimmer of an opportunity here if she could grasp it. This might just be her ticket out of the goddam gift shop.

Lucien pulled his phone from his pocket and scowled at it, tapping impatiently.

“You know,” Eve ventured, “If there’s anything else I can do, any more help with the exhibition that you need, I’d be more than happy to pitch in.” She closed the lid of the box and the simpering manager whisked it away to wrap it in protective packaging.

Lucien didn’t seem to hear her. “I have to go,” he said. “Philip will wait for you outside.”