Panther Curse Read online

  A terrible car accident a week after my seventeenth birthday had put a serious damper on those plans.

  According to the cops on the scene, it was a goddamn miracle I’d survived. To be honest, sometimes I wished I hadn’t. The doctors had wired, plated, and stitched me back together to the best of their abilities, but my body was a map of scars and burn tissue. I wasn’t wheelchair-bound, but prolonged physical activity took a heavy toll on my broken body.

  Ten years had passed since I wrapped my dad’s Mustang around a tree after a night of furious drinking and partying. I felt like twenty-eight going on ninety. Archeological field work was out of the question for someone in my condition. Teaching really was my only option if I wanted to even tangentially remain involved in the field.

  I was stuck with this gig the same way these kids were stuck with me. Yay!

  When the bell finally rang, both my students and I let out a sigh of relief. For now, we were free of each other.

  As the kids eagerly filed out of the lecture hall, I scooped up my books and papers and placed them into my beaten-up leather satchel, one of the two items I’d inherited from my late father.

  The other was a circular bronze pendant I wore around my neck. Runes and a Celtic Tree of Life adorned the amulet. This had been my father’s lucky charm, much good it had done him. Dad had bested grave robbers, hostile regimes, and rival treasure hunters only to succumb to a mugger’s bullet after leaving a late-night lecture at the Archeological Institute of America Society in New York City. His sudden, violent death had left me orphaned at the age of twelve and sent me on a self-destructive spiral that culminated in the accident which almost killed me. Dad had meant the world to me, even more so since my mom had passed away when I was still a baby.

  A bespectacled, rail-thin young man slouched past my desk and eyed me intensely. “Great class, Dr. Cross.”

  I smiled at the kid. Nice to know I had at least one fan. The student lingered in front of my desk for an awkward beat, and I almost expected him to hand me an apple. When I didn’t say anything, he shuffled away.

  I waited for the young man to leave the classroom before I headed out myself. It was nearly four o’clock, and in theory I had the rest of the day off unless I became ambitious and decided to score today’s quiz. I would see how I felt after I grabbed a bite to eat.

  I beelined to the faculty room, where I hoped to listen to some gossip and chew the fat with my colleagues.

  A gray-white cat looked at me with a bored expression as I stepped into the break room, which didn’t diminish the feline’s cuteness in the slightest.

  Domino belonged to adjunct psychology professor Ashley Norton, who refused to leave her feline alone at home and brought the kitty to school every day. All the professors adored the gray and white cat, who loved to play fetch with us as if she was a little dog. She spent most of her time in the faculty common room reclined on a chair or bookshelf. Domino’s presence definitely accounted for the many visits from students who pretended to be looking for one professor or another. The cat was a rockstar.

  I scratched the beloved feline’s head, and Domino purred. I helped myself to a generous cup of coffee and a donut from the snack area—all the carbs, sugar and caffeine my out-of-shape body craved.

  I was about to walk over to the nearest table to polish off my treat when a lovely brunette snuck up on me. Meet Ashley Norton, Domino’s owner—and, if I was honest with myself, probably the real reason why I’d headed straight for the break room. The woman had gotten under my skin, and I’d developed a hopeless crush on her.

  Ashley sported a devilish grin on her face as she gazed longingly at my chocolate-frosted donut.

  “Lucky you. You got the last chocolate one. Mind if I take a nibble?”

  Ashley never gave me a chance to answer, knowing full well I wouldn’t deny her anything. Grinning coquettishly, she leaned forward and took a giant bite out of the pastry

  The girl wasn’t afraid of catching any germs from me, that much was for certain. I leaned forward and a stab of pain shot through my back.

  I flinched inwardly, not wanting her to see how much I was hurting.

  I liked Ashley. A lot.

  If a young Erik Cross had never totaled his car and destroyed his body in the process, I would have asked her out in a heartbeat. But in this reality, I just couldn’t see an amazing woman like her dating a man who needed a cane to get around, and whose body was wracked with pain, so I refused to take things further.

  I know, pretty pathetic, but I had good reasons for keeping our relationship platonic. I hadn’t really dated since my accident.

  I’d been pretty popular in my bad boy days, but a car accident can change your world in more ways than one. For the last ten years, I’d gone through life pushing away women who might be interested in me before they got too close. Better to reject them before they rejected me.

  And they ultimately would, I was sure of that. Especially once they realized in what sorry shape my physique was. Clothes could hide a lot.

  I had convinced myself that I was resigned to being alone for the rest of my life, but Ashley’s playful personality and sense of adventure were wearing me down. Being around her made me feel amazing. And the feeling appeared to be mutual.

  Until recently, Ashley had a boyfriend, which had made it easy to keep our friendship on a platonic level. With the guy out of the picture, things were heating up between us, and I didn’t know how to handle it.

  Ashley leaned into me and squeezed my hand, and every nerve ending reacted to her closeness. Her long auburn hair smelled terrific.

  “Want to ditch this joint and go for a walk around campus?” Ashley asked me. “The weather is beautiful today, and we should catch some Vitamin D.”

  I fully indented to tell her I had a giant stack of quizzes that needed my undivided attention.

  Really, I did.

  Instead, I just nodded my head with a lopsided grin plastered across my face.

  Love makes you do stupid things.

  And that’s when my ringing phone came to my rescue.

  “Hold on, “ I said as I scanned my cell.

  It was my boss and mentor, Professor Robert Mason, the head of the Archeology Department. A close friend of my father’s, he’d known me since I walked around in diapers.

  When I lost my dad, Robert had been there for me, doing all in his power to keep me out of trouble. He blamed himself for my car accident, saw it as a personal failure on his part for not being a stronger father figure. He’d helped get me the teaching position after I earned my Ph.D.

  I would never knowingly ignore a call from the man—even though Ashley’s smile made it difficult.

  “It’s the boss,” I said, and Ashley nodded. She knew how close I was with the good professor.

  I palmed my phone and accepted the call.

  “What’s up, Robert?”

  “Want a break from the grind, kid? Your talents are needed.”

  Robert was referring to my linguistic abilities. I was fluent in Latin, Aramaic, Coptic, and Demotic, the ancient Egyptian language derived from northern forms of hieratic used in the Nile Delta.

  I know that’s a mouthful for the uninitiated.

  To sum it up, I had a freaky talent for languages, specifically those found etched on pyramids and other ancient grave sites. As far back as I could remember, I was able to study a new tongue and within hours get a sense of its syntax and grammar. It was an ability I’d inherited from Dad, and it sure came in handy in my chosen field.

  “I know this is short notice, but we could use your big brain, kid.”

  I sighed, both disappointed and relieved to be missing out on my walk with Ashley. “Okay, where am going?”

  “Your favorite place in the world. I’ll see you in a few.”

  With these words, Mason hung up.

  My favorite place in the world.

  Robert was talking about William Andrews Clark Memorial Library. Located downtown near the
Natural History Museum, about ten miles from campus, it was one of the twelve official libraries at the university and one of the most comprehensive rare books and manuscripts collections in the country. My best guess was that Mason had an ancient piece of writing he wanted me to translate, and who was I to deny him.

  “Duty calls again?” Ashley said as she rolled those mesmerizing eyes at me.

  “I’m afraid so,” I replied, the disappointment in my voice all too real.

  “I’m going with a few friends to Hal’s for a late happy hour. You should join us after you get done with Mason."

  “I’ll do my best to make it, Ashley.”

  “Alright, I expect to see you there,” Ashley said and winked playfully before she turned away from me and approached a female colleague in the back of the faculty room.

  I looked after her for a beat and then left, disappointed that I would not be able to spend more time with the lovely Ashley. Robert’s timing had been impeccable.

  My mind was definitely not on translating some ancient manuscript as I made my way out of the Anthropology Department and walked across the parking lot toward my metallic gray Honda Civic. My cane relieved some of the pressure on my joints and improved my balance, but the ten-minute walk to my car still left my body aching as if I’d just run a marathon.

  I lowered myself into the Honda and began the endurance test known as LA traffic. As I braved the sea of steel, I found it difficult not to let my mind wander back to Ashley. I was at a loss on how to proceed with the charming psychology professor. My brain told me one thing, my heart another. The more I hung out with Ashley, the more I knew this thing wouldn’t end well for me. Better not to start, right?

  I was used to being alone. But I wasn’t used to being in love. This was a whole new ball of wax. And I hated it.

  Hated feeling like this. Hated just being half a man.

  Your own damn fault, Cross. No one told you to knock back a six-pack and crash your car into a tree. Just be glad no one else got hurt.

  Hoping to distract my whirling thoughts, I cranked up the radio and blasted some loud rock.

  It helped. A little.

  After thirty minutes, I reached my destination. My spine creaked as I crawled out of the car. My left leg felt numb. Driving was even worse than walking. To think I’d been a star athlete before my accident.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re lucky to be alive.

  My inner voice snapped me out of my growing funk as I advanced toward the library. It was already turning dark outside. I fought back a shiver, the weather having cooled considerably since the sun had vanished.

  Fall in Los Angeles was a joke when compared to the rest of the country, but my damaged joints were sensitive to any fluctuations in temperature. Wearing a thin tweed jacket didn’t help matters either. So much for trying to look professorial.

  I hobbled as fast as I could down a stone path bordered by a wall of hedges and ignored my chattering teeth to the best of my abilities. Moonlight played over the lavishly detailed brick building up ahead. The structure oozed history and class.

  I cherished this place with all my heart. I might not be able to take part in archeological digs, but I could walk the library’s refined halls, soak in its timeless masterpieces, and pore over manuscripts and texts composed by people who’d been dead for centuries.

  I passed into the lobby, with its beautiful marble and painted ceiling. The head librarian, a gray-haired lady with an energetic gaze and a surefooted gait, greeted me as soon as I entered. I tried to not get too distracted by the intricate woodwork framing a collection of paintings.

  “Professor Mason is waiting for you in the main collection room,” she said crisply.

  I nodded and headed in that way, my curiosity growing with each step. What did Mason want me to look at today?

  I would find out soon enough.

  All around me, the walls hemorrhaged books, and the musky scent of aging paper filled my nostrils. It was one of my favorite smells in the world. I’d spent many a day in these hallowed chambers traveling back in time. This place held some of my most cherished memories of the last few years.

  I shook my head at my thoughts. Jeez, I had to get a life. What kind of guy spends more time with books than actual, living human beings?

  Up ahead, Mason fronted a mahogany desk as he conversed with a man and a woman I’d never seen before. A catwalk encircled the room, providing access to another floor lined with books. Round windows filtered the soothing sunlight shafting into the library.

  Drawing closer to the trio, my eyes fell on the ancient leather-bound book splayed out on the desk. The medieval manuscript had to be the reason Mason had requested my presence.

  I wondered who the two strangers might be. They didn’t look like academics, their fit physiques and serious eyes making me think of cops or soldiers.

  Mason noticed my arrival and flashed me a warm smile. “Looks like Professor Cross has finally decided to join us.”

  The two strangers turned in my direction and coolly regarded me. The man sported a buzz cut, and his flinty gaze oozed a no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners professionalism.

  The woman next to him projected a similar level of cool bad-assery. An obsidian mane of hair framed a tanned face that clearly spent more time under the sun than in front of a computer screen or buried in a book. Her intelligent blue eyes formed a striking contrast with her complexion. She wore tight jeans and a form-hugging leather jacket that accentuated her super-fit but curvy figure. A pair of leather boots completed the killer outfit.

  These two definitely weren’t academics.

  This suspicion was further borne out by the bulges under their jackets—they were both carrying firearms. This threw me for a loop. Guns and academics didn’t exactly go hand in hand. Why would Mason be dealing with people who were packing? And why would he let them enter the library armed like this?

  Who were these people?

  Mason nodded at me. “My friends, meet Dr. Erik Cross, the most talented polyglot in the Western hemisphere.”

  I looked down at my shoes. “Don’t even listen to the man. He’s exaggerating.”

  “No need to be modest, kid. I know what you’re capable of. If anyone can shed light on this manuscript, Erik is the man.”

  The dark-haired woman smiled at me, yet her eyes remained cool and appraising.

  “Erik, this is Natalia Creed, a good of friend mine who works for the World History Society, and her assistant, Karl,” Mason said.

  I searched my memory, but I couldn’t recall ever hearing of a World History Society.

  I shook Natalia’s hand and did the same with the big guy who acted as her bodyguard. For a second, I wondered if they might be a couple but quickly ruled out the possibility. Nothing in their body language suggested their connection extended beyond a professional relationship.

  Not that it mattered because I was here on business. And I loved Ashley. And even if neither of those things was true, this flinty, leather-clad Amazon would never want anything to do with me.

  “I’ve heard a great deal about your father,” Natalia said. “He was a great man. And I hear the apple hasn’t fallen too far from the tree.”

  Her words caught me off guard. I felt like a pale shadow compared to my father. Mason must’ve sold me hard to these people.

  I eyed my boss curiously, and he nodded at the leather-bound tome waiting for me on the desk.

  “The Society recently discovered a secret burial chamber inside a medieval church in England that contained the coffin of a renowned bishop. The book was found in his sarcophagus. Their people have been trying to translate its contents, with limited success so far. I told them if anyone can crack this code, it would be you.”

  I shrugged. “I’ll give it my best shot.”

  I circled the desk and moved closer to get a better look at the medieval Codex. Natalia and Karl’s eyes followed me intently as I hunched over the leather-bound pages of vellum.

&nbs
p; The Latin letters etched in gold into the tome’s leather hide roughly translated into The Reign of the Beast.

  Sounds like some light bedtime reading.

  I donned a pair of gloves and leafed through the text’s yellowed pages. The parchment crackled, and I breathed in dust.

  A glance at the first few pages gave me a sinking sense of disappointment.

  For one, I could immediately tell the actual text was composed of a hodgepodge of Latin, Aramaic, Coptic, and Demotic. But even keeping this in mind, the mad scramble of words read like gibberish. The languages had been swapped and rearranged somehow.

  This code required a cypher in addition to the command of four languages. The Anglo-Saxons were masters of this form of cryptography, a skill which many historians speculated might be related to the popularity of riddles for which Anglo-Saxon England was famous. Sometimes the ciphers could be found at the end of a manuscript, but I doubted that was the case with this particular text. One thing was certain: I wouldn’t have this puppy translated in time for happy hour.

  “Deciphering this text is going to take a while,” I admitted.

  Judging by the way the Natalia’s eyes blazed, time was one thing she and her partner didn’t have.

  “Do your best, Dr. Cross. We don’t require a full translation. We just need to get a sense what we’re up against here.”

  Up against? What did she mean?

  Natalia bit her lips, seemingly unhappy with her choice of words.

  I took in the first page of gobbledygook. I needed the cipher if I was going to make heads or tails out of this manuscript.

  I was still racking my brain about how to proceed when a bestial roar shook the library.

  My eyes jerked away from the text and landed on the creature crouched ten feet in front of us.