Hammer to Fall: Uncommon Bonds, #2

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HAMMER TO FALL

Uncommon Bonds – Book 2

Copyright © 2022 William E. Noland

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ISBN (EPUB Version): 1622537165

ISBN-13 (EPUB Version): 978-1-62253-716-7

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Editor: Lane Diamond

Cover Artist: Kris Norris

Interior Designer: Lane Diamond

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PUBLISHER’S NOTE:

At the end of this novel of approximately 113,325 words, you will find two Special Sneak Previews: 1) FROM THE BEGINNING by William E. Noland, the next installment (Book 3) of the Uncommon Bonds series of supernatural thrillers, and; 2) THE TEMPTATION OF DESTINY by D.M. Earley, the critically-acclaimed, award-winning first novel in the Call of Destiny series of literary suspense thrillers with mystical, American Indian themes. We think you’ll enjoy these books, too, and provide these previews as a FREE extra service, which you should in no way consider a part of the price you paid for this book. We hope you will both appreciate and enjoy the opportunity. Thank you.

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eBook License Notes:

You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved.

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Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

Books by William E. Noland

UNCOMMON BONDS

Book 1: Playing with Fire

Book 2: Hammer to Fall

Book 3: From the Beginning

Book 4: Day of Judgment [Fall 2023]

Books 5-6 in planning and development.

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William E. Noland’s Website

BONUS CONTENT

We’re pleased to offer you not one, but two Special Sneak Previews at the end of this book.

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In the first preview, you’ll enjoy the first chapter of FROM THE BEGINNING by William E. Noland, the next installment (Book 3) of the Uncommon Bonds series of supernatural thrillers.

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OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

UNCOMMON BONDS Series at Evolved Publishing

In the second preview, you’ll enjoy the first chapter of D.M. Earley’s THE TEMPTATION OF DESTINY, the critically-acclaimed, award-winning first book in the Call of Destiny series of literary suspense thrillers with mystical, American Indian themes.

~~~

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Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews says: "Suspenseful, intriguing and powerfully tense, this is a dark fantasy work like no other... a master class in tension and supposition."

~~~

OR GRAB THE FULL EBOOK TODAY!

YOU’LL FIND LINKS TO YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE:

CALL OF DESTINY Series at Evolved Publishing

Table of Contents

Copyright

Books by William E. Noland

BONUS CONTENT

Table of Contents

Dedication

HAMMER TO FALL

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Special Sneak Preview: FROM THE BEGINNING by William E. Noland

Acknowledgements

About the Author

More from William E. Noland

More from Evolved Publishing

Special Sneak Preview: THE TEMPTATION OF DESTINY by D.M. Earley

Dedication

For my parents.

Chapter 1

Central Etruria, 593 BC

Just the faintest sound woke Rika, a stowaway on the honeysuckle breeze that drifted through her small, unshuttered window.

Below, her parents slept on, the distant and muffled cry insufficient to rouse them from the exhaustion of long and seemingly endless labors. Until recently, she had shared with them the cramped space that dutifully served her family in various capacities day and night. As fortune would have it, her sister, Sethra, had been married at harvest time last year. This granted access to the tiny but coveted loft, meant originally for storage, where formerly her two older brothers had bunked before they too moved out.

The space gave a modicum of privacy in the otherwise unrelenting scrutiny that characterized their confined and insular village. With Rika’s transition to womanhood underway, she valued this prize of solitude above all others. The small window presented an unfettered vista down the hill and over the treetops of the woods below. She spent much of her precious and insufficient free time gazing into this tranquil panorama, which existed oblivious to and uncaring of the toils of the forge, or the loom.

Their cottage sat at the edge of the settlement, so few others were likely to have heard the noise. If they had, like her, they would know in their hearts what it meant. Unlike her, however, they would surely have pulled their blanket tighter and thanked Tinia for sparing them, or Calu for passing them over in favor of another. Even their anger and mounting frustration would not impel them to rise and investigate.

What purpose would it serve? The answers they sought were shrouded by the secrecy of that part of the temple where only the priests, those of noble blood, or a small cadre of elite household guards were allowed. Furthermore, making their displeasure known would surely bring the wrath of their lord and his soldiers.

She, however, knew better, or thought she did. So, despite the risk, she softly padded to the little window and looked out. From the road that led past her village and up the hill, torchlight winked and danced between the branches of trees still shy of their full complement of leaves.

Many small settlements sat dotted around the periphery of the prosperous and opulent plateau. Some contributed labor to the workshop. Farther west, they extracted ore from the hills for local use or, increasingly, for export to Fufluna near the coast. Mostly, these people eked out their existence by hunting or trapping game, or plucking fish from the ponds and streams around the hill. A portion of this bounty they ceded to the noble family in exchange for protection, meager allocations of grain from the fields in the east, and access to the annual festivals and feasts conducted outside the temple, which cemented all these far-flung communities into some semblance of a unified whole.

In a turbulent world, life here had long seemed safe and bucolic, but that began to change when the fortunes of the noble family mysteriously waned several years ago. Now, ever more hands were needed to mine and transport ore, and despite the importation of slaves for the most odious tasks, many who once hunted, fished, or augmented the craftspeople in the workshop were sent west.

It meant increased work for Rika’s family and those in villages like hers, whose proximity to the plateau dictated residents labor almost exclusively in the workshop, or directly serve the noble family. More importantly, however, this left many of these small outlying settlements nearly empty. Those who remained, largely the elderly, for whom such grueling work was now impossible, made easy targets for the guards who came to collect them.

It could be days or even weeks before word spread that, yet again, another two had gone missing, the euphemism used for what everyone knew—that they’d been taken, never to return. The question was, taken where, and why?

Where wasn’t difficult to envision: the temple presented the logical location. Most believed a blood sacrifice took place, the likes of which the cultured Rasenna had abandoned for many generations. Verification of this, however, had proven elusive. With its stone floors and timber construction, the structure was unsuited for either burying or burning human remains. No bodies, or evidence of pyres or burial grounds, had ever been found outside, almost inconceivable in a settlement so small and ever full of prying eyes and gossip.

So, while the location appeared evident, exactly what periodically happened in the temple on late nights such as this one remained unknown, at least for now. She felt certain she’d discovered a way to solve this mystery. Thus, she alone rose, while others slumbered on or turned a deaf ear to what they might, or might not, have heard.

Southby, Massachusetts, Friday, July 26, 2013

Eric watched as Margot bit her lip.

She gazed from the paper on her desk to her computer screen, back and forth. Suddenly, a spark of inspiration appeared to strike. She let her lip free from the clutches of her front teeth, typed in some numbers on her keyboard, and hit return.

Again, a quick glance from paper to computer screen, but with a dissatisfied and puzzled look, she leaned back in her chair and resumed torturing her defenseless gums.

Eric snickered.

She shot a quick glance in his direction, but he was too fast for her. His eyes had already returned to his own computer screen, and the selection of hybrid bikes it currently displayed. He’d wanted a new one, so he’d been conducting a little surreptitious comparison shopping on this quiet Friday morning.

Well, not quiet for poor Margot, he reflected.

He knew she had the Peterman’s invoice in front of her. Peterman’s was one of Schneider Industrial Flooring’s largest suppliers of cleaning chemicals and raw ingredients for certain types of heavy-duty flooring. They billed quarterly, and to get the best pricing, you had to order in certain quantities, but these were specialized products, and Peterman’s didn’t always have the amount a customer might want in stock. So, they’d honor the discount and ship portions of the various products over time. Clients had to keep track of what had been shipped versus their own inventory, as that represented what was being invoiced each quarter. Making matters even worse, Schneider typically placed multiple orders for the same product, and all that had to be tied out against various lot numbers.

Freaking nightmare.

Eric knew all about it, because he’d struggled through this process not long after he started in the Business Office. Now, he watched Margot as she got her first taste of this particular little ray of sunshine. It reminded him that it had been the Peterman’s invoice that put him in the chair he now occupied: Business Manager.

That hadn’t been his goal when he’d started. It was an accident, really. He’d been working for his dad’s company since his semi-aborted freshman year of college, a year he tried hard not to think about. He turned from it even now while he recalled that unusual period.

Eric worked hard, borderline fanatically—for reasons of his own—trying to put that miserable first semester behind him. At first, he worked with the flooring crews, meaning he schlepped their equipment, fetched their coffee at Dunkin’, and helped mop up when things were done. All shit jobs, but he did them well, and he kept at it during breaks when he made a second stab at school.

The following summer, the guys started showing him some of the flooring processes. By the time he graduated with a History degree from UMass in the spring of 2012—on time, remarkably—he’d performed just about every job function in the Schneider crew repertoire. He had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do after graduation, so, he just stayed on at Schneider. He never intended to remain long-term, but then the receptionist in the Business Office left, yet again.

His dad asked him to fill the spot for a while. He’d get a chance to learn the business side of the operation, and it would be a little break from the physical grind of working with the crews. Having no compelling alternatives, Eric accepted.

Judy Denoff served as Business Manager. She’d been around since Grandpa had run the place, and she had her files and her processes pretty much tied up with a silver bow.

Eric had known her since he was little, and things started off fine. She had him answer the phones, open and send the mail, make endless streams of photocopies, and file almost equally endless streams of paperwork. None were exactly taxing exercises, and he mastered most of these in the first two weeks. By early July, he started to get a little bored.

He offered to help Judy convert some of her manual ledgers to Excel, but she refused. Not shocking, as she hadn’t grown up using computers. It frustrated him, though, because Schneider always seemed to be behind in payments. He knew it would be so much easier if they tracked things electronically to figure out why. So, he decided to fiddle around with it a bit on his own, using copies of the invoices he opened in the mail.

For a while, he worked quietly on the recent June 30th Peterman’s invoice, discovering how devilish it was. Then, one day, Judy asked him to address and mail some recent invoice checks. Seeing the Peterman’s invoice and check together for the first time, he noticed the check was written out for less than the basic invoice amount, and didn’t include the arrears amount at all.

He asked her about it.

She said it was due to Peterman’s stupid way of invoicing, and that she had the correct figures in her files. He supposed that was possible—the whole thing really did seem to be a disaster—but then she also told him to stop messing with the invoices and to just pass them to her.

That surprised him. He was supposed to be learning. No wonder receptionists quit all the time if they had so little to do. He started to feel that perhaps more was going on here than met the eye.

When Judy went to lunch one day, he copied ten years of Peterman’s invoices, which only amounted to forty bills. It took him a couple of weeks working covertly, but in the end, he realized that Schneider owed Peterman’s thousands of dollars. He even discovered that four years ago, the vendor had written off several large lots of product in good faith just to try to clarify the process and start from scratch, but Schneider had again quickly fallen behind.

Reluctantly, Eric brought the information to his father, and by August first, Judy was gone.

She’d apparently been underpaying vendors, and siphoning off the difference, for years. She’d put it an account she created when Grandpa had been sick and probably didn’t know what he was signing for.

With few great short-term options, his dad asked him to step up into the Business Manager role. In some ways, it was a tall order, but after what had happened, his father expressed full faith in his abilities, and promised to pitch in personally during the transition.

Eric quickly got his arms around the basics; it wasn’t exactly rocket surgery. He knew, however, that many things remained that could be improved, and that everything would need long-term care and maintenance. He didn’t consider this kind of work to especially be his calling. He also knew, or at least hoped, that he wasn’t going to stay at Schneider forever. So, he developed a better idea.

The company needs a new receptionist, so why not bring in someone I can train, who can step in when I leave?

When presented with the plan, Eric’s dad begrudgingly agreed. He didn’t want to lose Eric, but he recognized this would be the best path forward if it came to that. He even let Eric conduct the initial interviews, but reserved final say on who was hired.

About ten months had passed since then. As he sat at his desk, Eric remembered the first time he met Margot Hall, whom he continued to clandestinely monitor as she struggled with the Peterman’s invoice. She’d reminded him a bit of someone else—not so much her looks, though there were similarities, but more that confidence, that poise. Then, as now, he danced lightly across this memory, his feet barely brushing the floor... hardly remembering at all.

He guessed she was near his age, twenty-two, or possibly a little older. Margot’s black hair sported a boy’s cut. Her clothes were just on this side of business acceptable, betraying a slight bohemian flair. She smiled impishly when they shook hands, but underneath, her demeanor seemed more serious, more deliberate. She didn’t appear nervous at all, almost as if success, or failure, was a fait accompli. Her eyes flashed with a keen intelligence he hadn’t seen in the other candidates he’d interviewed.

So, what attracts you to this position? he asked, as always.

Well... I mean... industrial flooring.... What’s not to like, right?

It took him a few seconds, but finally he laughed.

But seriously, she went on, my partner is a new teacher in the high school, and I moved here with her. I need a job. I’m smart, I’m a hard worker, I’m detail oriented, and I don’t really care what my day job is like. I’m a musician, and that’s my passion, but I’m not stupid, and I know that’ll never pay the bills. This looks like a position with growth potential, and it beats waiting tables. What more would you like to know?

Jeez, stop beating around the bush and tell me what you really think!

In truth, she impressed him. After thirty seconds, he felt as though he knew more about Margot than he did about most other candidates after an hour. As they talked further, he learned she even had some relevant experience—albeit volunteer at a cat shelter during college, answering phones and helping run the office. She closed the interview by telling him she had a gig at a local coffee house that weekend and hoped he could come.

This seemed to him like a weird thing to say in an interview, but it definitely piqued his curiosity. Margot stood out. She was different. With their interview completed, he brought her in to meet his dad. They all spoke for a bit, then his father asked her to wait in the reception area.

Well, she’s certainly smart, his dad said. I think with you training her, she could do the job. I’d still hate losing you. I also wonder about turning it over to someone so young who doesn’t have the experience you’ve developed with the business.

Eric laughed. I’m young too, Dad. Seriously, though, I know what you’re saying about business experience. I’m just not sure how critical that is for most of this job. Knowing what the flooring crews do is helpful, but it’s not essential. I can teach her the basics. I just think she’s more suited to this kind of back-office, detail work. That’s not my thing. I like a little more variety in what I do, and like working with people, as long as there aren’t too many of them. I think she’s what you need. She’ll bring some energy and make a long-term commitment, and she’ll do way better in the long-run than I ever would.

His dad took that in. You think she’s a good... well... fit?

Fair question.

Southby had gradually dragged itself, kicking and screaming, into some semblance of modernity. The employees of Schneider Industrial Flooring, and their clients, were a different breed though.

Or maybe they’re the same breed, and it’s everyone else who’s different.

The question remained: would they accept Margot?

I think it’ll depend on you, Dad, he replied. I’ll get her trained. Her competence won’t be questioned, but you’ll have to fully support it. You’ll have to make people understand it’s not a point of debate. She’s no shit. I think she can handle some occasional crap from the guys. My sense is she’s dealt with stuff like that before. If it gets any more serious, though, you’ll have to step in. It’s your call.

Eric went to the gig and had a great time. Margot’s spirits were high after getting the call from his dad on Friday. Eric met her partner, Jessica, and Margot sang and played guitar beautifully. Her songs about love and relationships came from the heart. It made him remember, despite his efforts not to.

As usual, he failed.

Margot got up and walked to the file cabinet.

Hilarious. She’s doing exactly what I did.

Eric knew he had a spreadsheet that already logged all the invoice information she was about to go through. The problem was, if you didn’t really understand the Peterman’s invoices, the spreadsheet was only good until something went wrong, which it often did. Then you were screwed.

He wanted her to struggle through the process of tracking everything. It would only be four quarters worth of data, as Schneider had paid their balance due and asked Peterman’s to reissue the past years’ worth of invoices so they could all start fresh. She’d have some work to do, but not that much, and the struggle would be worth it.

Someone had taught him that once, and he considered it largely true, though he had yet to fully comprehend what value certain struggles imparted.

Whatever.

He quickly looked down at the bicycles on his screen as she scurried back to her desk, Peterman’s file folder in hand. He’d positioned his computer so he could keep an eye on her, even though it meant the sun made his screen difficult to read when it shone through the window. He didn’t do it to spy on her, at least not in a bad way. He just wanted to make sure she was cool, and that people were treating her okay.

She’d been very cool. She was doing fine.

Credit Margot? Credit Southby? I don’t really care.

All he knew was that she seemed ready. Only payroll and working directly with the guys preparing the purchasing lists remained for her to learn. The big test would be purchasing, which Eric still did himself, but he planned to start involving her soon. When she’d mastered these two things, he could go. Where to, he had absolutely no idea, but he’d be free.

Whatever that means.

The phone rang and she picked it up.

Schneider Industrial Flooring, how can I help you? Margot was good on the phone, smooth and clear. Umm, hold on, let me see if he’s here. What did you say your name was again? Okay, just a second.

She put the call on hold and leaned toward his door. Hey, Eric, it’s for you... unless you want me to tell them you’re out. You want it in there?

He glanced at the time. 9:23. Could be anybody, probably not Erica, though. She’d call on my cell phone. Nah, I’m going for coffee. I’ll take it at your desk on my way out. He hauled himself out of his chair and walked toward the door. Did they say who it was?

Umm... Alotta Swars, I think she said. I didn’t quite catch it. She’s got some kind of accent.

Eric froze.

Time froze.

Kicked in the gut, he couldn’t breathe. Dizziness washed over him. He grabbed the door frame for support.

Eric, you okay? Margot said with alarm. She got up and ran to him.

He opened his mouth, sucked in air, then blew it out slowly and rhythmically. As always, the sound of his breath calmed him, though this time it returned him to a reality he didn’t really want to experience.

Eric? she repeated. You in there?

He couldn’t answer her right now. He had no breath to spare, no thought to waste on anything other than taking this call. He stumbled to the reception desk, placed his left hand on the top for support, picked up the receiver, and poked the hold button with his pinkie.

He put the phone to his ear.

Oh, God.

Hello? he said, as if in a trance.

Eric!

Lotte!

Eric, can you hear me? He heard street noise behind her, and the phone seemed to cut in and out. "Eric, are you there? This stupid phone. Verdammt!"

The German word hit him like smelling salts, activating the stunned portions of his brain and hurtling him into the here-and-now while simultaneously drowning him in an ocean of the distant past.

I’m here, Lotte. I’m here. I hear you.

Ah, excellent! Eric, it’s so good to hear your voice. Listen, I’m downstairs, right outside your building. Can you come down?

Downstairs? Here? Now?

He reeled.

Margot came up beside him with a worried, but also curious, look on her face. You okay? she silently mouthed.

He nodded numbly and returned to the call.

Umm... do you want to come up? We’re on, like, umm... the second floor.

No, I have all my luggage here. I just got in from the airport. I don’t want to drag it all up there. Please, can you just come down?

Hold on. He laid the receiver on the desk and walked out of the reception area.

Margot followed.

He crossed the hall to his father’s office; he was out this morning playing golf at the club and wouldn’t be back until after lunch. Eric made for the window behind his dad’s desk, which had a view of the front of the building.

There she was.

Lotte!

Her ultra-straight uber-black hair almost touched her shoulders, a little longer than he remembered. She wore black jeans and sported her near signature black Euro-style Adidas sneakers with red stripes.

Do those ever go out of style?

Surprisingly, she had on a multi-colored short-sleeve knit top, with a low crew neck and holes where her shoulders poked through. She wore oversized sunglasses, had a black leather purse around her arm, and held her phone in her hand.

A suitcase on rollers and a smallish duffel bag sat on the ground beside her. She jumped slightly and waved with excitement when she saw him in the window.

Oh, my God! Margot said over his shoulder. Who is that? Eric, she’s totally hot! Despite the situation, he found that kind of funny and it served to ground him somewhat.

Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.

He gave a feeble wave to Lotte, then turned to Margot and gave her a chastening look. Easy there, tiger. She’s an old friend of mine. I haven’t seen her for... like... shit. I don’t even know. Five years? She wants me to go down. Can you go back and tell her I’m headed her way? I’ll fill you in later.

Yeah, for sure, but I’m holding you to that! She gave a sassy wink and ran back to the reception area.

He staggered down the hall toward the stairs, feeling like a death row prisoner marching to his inevitable execution. This would undo years of his carefully cultivated program of DeLottefication. What could she possibly want from him at this point? Had he not asked her for time? Did she not understand that time, in this case, might actually mean forever?

This is not how I expected my day to go.

Despite the relatively early hour, it was already hot outside, and humid... typical for New England in late July. August would be worse.

He didn’t give a shit.

She stood on the sidewalk and waved when he came out.

He walked toward her, trying to remember to breathe, and trying to refrain from crying... or screaming.

"Alter! Eric, she gushed when he got close. You look amazing!"

That took him aback.

He knew he’d changed physically since the last time he’d seen her. He’d grown until almost eighteen, topping out at just under six feet tall, and since freshman year, or really since the time he started at Schneider, he’d had a lot of physical activity. He’d started going to the gym after being severely out of shape. He still didn’t consider himself jacked by any means, but he was lean and vastly more muscular. It made him feel a little better that she’d noticed.

He couldn’t stop her from throwing herself into his arms, and despite his improved physique, she still challenged his spine with one of her super-hugs.

For a long moment, they stood in each other’s embrace.

Eventually, he began to feel his circuits frying and stepped back. What are you doing here, Lotte?

Oh, it’s complicated, she said in a weary voice. I’m so tired. I just got in from Germany, and then a long Uber ride here from Logan. Thankfully, they have that now in Boston. A cab would have cost a fortune!

"Why did you take an Uber here from Logan? Why didn’t you go to your dad’s?"

Mr. Schwarz had moved to Boston about a year and a half ago, right before Eric had graduated from UMass. The house on Holton Hill Road belonged to someone else now. He couldn’t fathom what she wanted in Southby.

It’s a long story. I actually don’t want my father to know I’m here. I have something I need to do, and I want your help. What I’d really like now, though, is to take a nap and have a shower. Can I crash at your place for a bit, then take you to lunch?

This was too much for him to process.

Lotte is here. Lotte wants help. Lotte wants to crash at my place. What the hell is next?

Yet as always, saying no to Lotte came hard for him, even though he knew that yes came with a steep price.

Umm, okay, he said, dazed. My car’s over here. My place is nothing special, though, I’m warning you.

She laughed. "You should see some of the places I’ve slept in over the past few years! I’m sure yours will be fine."

Having no imaginable response to that, he picked up her bags and they walked to the side of the building where the parking lot sat. Eric drove a red 2008 Mazda 3 hatchback that his parents had bought him for his high school graduation and birthday present that year.

Lotte had seen it, briefly, before she left.

Indeed, sitting behind the seat of that car was the last place he’d seen her as he dropped her off that final night and watched her walk to the front door of 246 Holton Hill Road. She turned to wave. He waved back, and then drove away. He’d managed to get partway down the steep incline before his sobs of misery clouded his eyes and forced him to pull over.

All neither here nor there now, of course.

It was only a ten-minute drive between the little Southby office park in which Schneider Industrial Flooring had their office and Eric’s downtown apartment, not far from the building where his grandma still lived at eighty-eight years old. Lotte commented on the changes in Southby, which seemed incremental to him, but probably far more noticeable to someone who hadn’t been there for a while. He just nodded or said, Yep. He needed processing time.

This is beyond surreal. I still can’t believe this is actually happening.

Soon, they reached his building, a rather faceless brick tenement from the post-war period, though Eric wasn’t sure to which war that referred. Given the state of the building, it might have been the Second Punic war. Hannibal himself might have lived in his apartment. It certainly smelled like elephant droppings.

The building had no elevator, so he hefted her bags to the fourth and top floor, down the somewhat narrow hallway, and finally to his door. He opened up and ushered her through. He wasn’t kidding when he told her his place wasn’t anything special, and he’d almost gone out of his way to make it even less enticing.

The small entrance foyer had a closet stuffed with coats and shoes. To the right, the kitchen had a two-seat table for dining, if you could call it that. The living area to the left housed a futon couch, a black coffee table of indiscriminate material construction, a gray bean bag chair, and a small TV on an even smaller stand. His now venerable Xbox sat on the floor next to the television, gathering dust.

Straight ahead, a hall led to the bathroom and, off to the right and mercifully out of Lotte’s sight, the sole bedroom. There, a futon mattress sat on the floor among the plastic bins that stored clothes not yet hung—or that didn’t fit—in the closet. No pictures graced the walls, and the shades—sans curtains—were wide open. The sun streamed in through the kitchen window.

Lotte took it all in through her oversized sunglasses. Wow, Eric, love what you’ve done with the place.

Oh, har har har. I don’t need this shit. What does she care how I live? What business is it of hers? Yeah, well, it’s just temporary.

Oh, but look, you have a turtle!

On the wall to the right, toward the kitchen, sat a fairly large terrarium, and in it sat a turtle.

What’s his name? she said excitedly.

Her name, actually. He picked up the roughly eight-inch-long creature in his hand. Females have a flat or slightly convex bottom half of the shell. See... here. Also, short, thin tails... and she has dark red eyes. Female for sure. Eastern Box Turtle. I figure she’s about ten, but maybe younger or older. Hard to say.

So? she asked, prompting him with her outstretched palm.

So, what?

"So, what’s her name, Dummkopf?"

Oh, right, he said, shaking his head. Langsam. Her name is Langsam.

She covered her mouth and tried to contain a hoot of laughter... and failed. You named your turtle, ‘slowly?’ The look of glee on her face was irrepressible.

Yes, he curtly replied, replacing Langsam in her terrarium.

She continued giggling.

Look, he said. Help me move this coffee table. I’ll fold out the couch. You’ll like it better than the mattress in my room, which is just on the floor.

You sleep on the floor? She seemed incredulous.

At least it stopped her from giggling.

On a futon mattress on the floor, yes. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Help me get this set up, and I’ll get you some sheets and a pillow. Bathroom’s there. Let’s get this done. I have to get back to work.

She seemed to sense his anxiety, not such a great feat, given that it was likely triggering seismic readings in Siberia about now. She quietly helped him set up the couch-futon. When the sheets were on and the pillow had been produced, he made for the door.

"Pick me up at twelve-thirty, ja?" she said, finally removing her sunglasses.

He stared at her, stunned. Wow. Eyebrows. Like... real ones.

They were black, like her hair, and her name, and sometimes, he thought, her heart. They slanted inward toward her nose, giving her a slightly devilish look. Despite his frustration with the situation, he found himself mesmerized. It wasn’t just her eyebrows. In defiance of his will and his common sense, the whole amalgam of Lotte, who now inexplicably stood in his apartment, captivated him utterly.

She laughed. "Yes, well, you figure out pretty quickly that mascara eyebrows don’t work so well when you’re doing fieldwork in 38 Grad!"

38 didn’t seem so hot to him, but he still had no clue about Celsius.

Okay, he finally mustered. Twelve-thirty it is. See you then.

Thank you, Eric, you’re amazing. I’m so glad to see you. I’ve missed you so much.

I missed you too, Lotte. So much.

He gently closed the door, and bit his lip as he lumbered back to the car.

Chapter 2

Central Etruria, 593 BC

Rika’s tiny loft window looked out onto a crooked, thatched eave in the rear of the structure. A child could slip through and then climb carefully down, along the central beam, where the rough daubed walls had flaked away and revealed handholds in the wooden wattling underneath. She’d played this game many times with her brothers, when they were all much younger and smaller. Sometimes, they might daringly attempt the feat in the opposite direction, until her sister Sethra, or their parents, scolded her to stop, citing dangers to youngsters and, evidently of even greater importance, the fragile façade and roof of the somewhat venerable house.

The building had not gotten any younger, and she’d grown considerably since the ebullient siblings once frolicked in the seemingly endless sunshine of youth, but, alas, this route provided the only exit that wouldn’t awaken her parents. She didn’t bother to don her sandals. Carefully and quietly, she squeezed through the opening and onto the thatched roof. Though familiar, anxiety assaulted her as she shimmied toward the ground... partly because of the darkness, and partly because of the height, which intimidated her far more than when she’d been a little