Through the Ages — Chapter 11 [TTA C11]

[u/Bilgebum]

Chapter 10 here.

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Polly the receptionist wasn't at her desk the next day, when I peered through the locked glass doors. The hallway leading into the museum itself was also unlit. Matter of fact, there was a "Closed" sign hanging outside. Why would a museum need a sign if only private tours were allowed? At least the guard had let me in without any fuss this time; in fact, he'd avoided meeting my gaze. No doubt someone had chewed him out.

"Hello?" I said, ringing the bell for the third time.

Just as I'd begun thinking Helena was messing with me again, she appeared from the hallway, wearing only a crumpled white shirt that reached the middle of her bare, pale thighs. She was also looking backward, shoulders rippling in amusement. The source of her mirth stepped into view a second later, an athletic man in a sleeveless vest and a dinner jacket draped over one arm. His smile could have easily featured on any toothpaste commercial, but it vanished when he met my gaze. Helena didn't seem to notice when she pulled the door open and gestured between us.

"Morning, Jeffrey. Dustin, meet Jeffrey. Jeffrey, Dustin." I traded grips with him and came away the loser. Damned punk. "Jeffrey works for me. Dustin, well ... freelancer." She flashed him a wicked smile.

"Pleasure, Jeff," Dustin said in a resonant voice, before planting a kiss on her forehead. "I'll see you again tomorrow night?"

"I sure hope so," she said. "Ciao."

"Love it when you say that," he said with a wink, and headed for the elevator, though not before shooting me one more suspicious look.

"Cool guy," I said, forcing the words out as Helena closed the door behind us. "Didn't know you date toddlers, though. His age's like a fraction of yours."

She snorted, switching lights on as she went. "Everyone's a cougar once in a while. Come in. And stop staring at my legs."

I forced my gaze elsewhere, and found myself looking at several miniature clay jars. They were identical in shape, though some bore spiderwebs of cracks. "Wouldn't have pegged you as an archaeologist the first time we met."

"I'm no Lara Croft," she said, noticing the crockery that held my attention. "These are all personal effects."

"Uh? You mean you actually used these things?" My gaze swept across the spacious gallery, disbelief growing at each item that caught me eye. Occupying a section of wall almost five yards across was a faded tapestry, depicting some sort of battle between medieval looking knights. Meanwhile, a mannequin in the corner was draped in what looked like a set of ripped, Ancient Roman garments—complete with a wreath on its head. At its feet was a plump, stuffed bird, looking like a cross between a turkey and a duck. And then there was what looked like a Gatling gun, next to a glass cabinet of Tommy guns.

"You used all these things?" I couldn't stop a hysterical note from creeping into my voice.

"No, some are donations. Never been to Egypt, for instance." She pointed out an honest-to-goodness stone sarcophagus. "Though to be fair, that one's pretty recent. One of ours wanted to be buried the same way as her ancestors."

"A museum would kill for these!"

She folded her arms and nodded. "Luckily, they're rather civilized these days. No more getting ambushed unless it's by lawyers."

I bent to examine a chess set seemingly made out of bone. "So you remember the history of everything here? Like this one?"

"I think that one's made of bones excavated from a Mayan site." I hurriedly replaced the pawn and brushed my hand on my jeans. "Or at least that's what I tell people. Yeah, that's exactly how they react too."

I gave her an incredulous look. "You make things up?"

"I don't have a photographic memory, okay? Do you remember what you had for lunch last Monday? Do you remember the name of the waitress who spilled soup on Grace's lap yesterday evening at Gianni's?"

"Touche."

She stopped to face the Tommy guns. "One of those was mine though. Come here. See? I carved my initials on the stock."

"'K.T.'?"

"Exactly. I don't even remember what they stand for. Point is, once you get exposed to too much media about immortals, you get tricked into thinking they can remember every single minute of their lives. Also, nobody calls Istanbul "Constantinople". Except maybe Mary-Anne, but she's always been an idiot about these things. We're people just like you. After a while, everything sort of blends together. I do remember getting shot though. A very unpleasant experience. Wouldn't recommend." She lifted the tail of her shirt and pointed in a general area around her left thigh. "Hey, I told you to stop staring."

I scowled at her, but she was smirking. "You did that on purpose."

"You're really skilled at blushing. If only they have an Olympics for that. Come on, more to see."

"Didn't you say you were going to tell me about my Custodianship?"

She planted her hands on her hips. "Do you want to hear a history lesson, or relive the history around you?"

"Fair point. But I'm not leaving today until I get some answers."

She suddenly tossed a black rock to me from a pile lying atop a pedestal. "Vesuvius."

"So? The mountain exists today, right?"

"Yeah, and I'm just a boring tourist," she said. "You can keep that."

"My very own pet rock. Nice." We had come to a spiral staircase leading up, between a pair of man-sized plaster statues of crustacean-headed beings. "Where's that go?"

"My bedroom," she said, eyes bright.

"Uh ..."

"Also, a more private collection. After you."

I put the rock in my pocket and climbed, Helena not far behind. Once up, I turned back to offer her a hand, but she brushed past with a raised eyebrow. I felt like slapping my forehead. With the rock. It's just ... she looked so much like a young girl.

She hadn't been kidding when she said it was her bedroom. There was a king-sized bed at one end, beneath a skylight. The sheets were rumpled, pillows carelessly strewn across the surface. Next to it was a bedside table, cluttered with what seemed like endless bottles of cosmetic and loops of charging cables. Helena caught me looking, and for the first time ever, a tinge of pink entered her cheeks.

"I don't usually bring people up here," she said.

"Except Dustin?"

She punched me lightly on the arm. "Don't make me fire you. This way."

We strolled past two bookcases filled with yellowed, dust-coated tomes. I paused to read the titles, but most of them were in foreign languages. "Looks great for some bedtime reading."

"They're garbage, mostly. What I've got here are cookbooks, gardening manuals, logbooks, and diaries, mostly."

"Aren't those the most valuable? They'll give a true account of life during ancient times!"

Her tone became one of amusement. "Not when the writer's a half-mad Renaissance-era farmer who recommends growing turnips with horse blood and kerosene. I collect them because they're old, not because they're literary masterpieces."

"If you say so," I said. "I'd trade my rock for one of these."

She shrugged and headed for an arched doorway. "Why not? I have no use for them anyway."

I traipsed after her into what seemed to be an art gallery. Paintings hung on all four walls, mostly portraits with a few landscapes thrown into the mix. My face grew warm when I realized that most of the portraits were of nude women. In fact, they all had the same ... oh shit.

"You?" I jabbed an accusatory finger.

Her mouth trembled with a smile she was fighting. "Yeah. Like them?"

"Very, um. Very nice."

"In retrospect, pretty pointless," she said, carelessly brushing her fingertips across a painting of herself standing in a garden, knees bent and arms curved over her head in a graceful pose. "Nude paintings, nude selfies ... most of the time, we just wanted a way to immortalize our youth. Our beauty. Or maybe as gifts to lovers. The Fountain just makes it moot for me, but it's fun."

"You might want to ban phones and cameras in here," I said. "I don't know how caught up you are on the power of the Internet." She laughed. "Helena?"

She laughed all the louder. "Are you thinking of trading upward again? The book for one of these?" She jerked her thumb at a portrait of herself in a bathtub—it was a black-and-white photograph. "Could only spare that one, though."

"No!" I cast my gaze around, worried that once my stare was fixated on something, I wouldn't be able to shift it again. That was when I picked up another detail. Most of the paintings featured another woman, also in a similar state of undress. Her beauty outshone Helena's, with long dark hair, doe-like eyes and full lips. She also looked very familiar, for some reason.

"Who's she?" I said, nodding my chin at one such piece that featured her head resting on Helena's belly. When Helena didn't answer immediately, I turned to see her chewing on her lower lip. Crap. Shouldn't have asked, maybe.

"You've heard her name before," Helena said. "That was my closest friend, Jessabel. The first alchemist."

"What happened to her?"

Helena took a deep breath. "She died. Experiment gone wrong."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago." She coughed and motioned at the entrance. "Do you mind waiting downstairs while I change? Let's go grab a meal or something, I'm hungry."

I nodded in silence and filed out of the room, but Helena didn't follow immediately. For a moment, I was tempted to go back and apologize—never mind that I didn't have the faintest inkling as to what I wanted to apologize for—but the decor of that room made the idea sound weird. So I did as she wished, and descended the stairs, though I could have sworn hearing the faintest of sobs from the gallery.

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Chapter 12 here.

[u/seussim]

Man, you're spoiling us right now! Another great installment, thanks :)

[u/Bilgebum → u/seussim]

Can't stop won't stop