1. Olivia

CHAPTER 1

OLIVIA

W hat is that glow?

I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of the sub-basement. The mysterious glow flickers once more, then vanishes. My heart races, a mix of excitement and trepidation coursing through me.

For a split-second I am almost overwhelmed by the desire to plunge ahead, danger be damned.

This is it Liv! Your big adventure awaits!

But just as quickly as the thought forms, my rational mind kicks in.

Um, hello. You're in a dusty basement.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of ... whatever that was. What am I doing down here? I have a system, a plan. The sub-basement isn't scheduled for cataloging until next month.

"Get it together, Olivia," I mutter to myself, gripping the railing. "You're letting your imagination run wild again."

Too much time alone with the archives.

I turn to head back upstairs, but pause. That pull, that inexplicable urge to explore, it's still there. Tugging at me.

No. Absolutely not .

I have a routine for a reason. Structure keeps me sane, keeps me in control. I'm not Zoe, gallivanting off on some impromptu vacation. I'm dependable, organized Olivia. The one who catalogs the chaos.

With a sigh that's equal parts relief and regret, I climb back up the stairs. The main floor of Winthrop House welcomes me with its familiar, musty scent of old books and polished wood. I breathe it in, feeling my nerves settle.

Right. I look around. Once we get this place organized, and into exhibits, it is going to be an amazing museum. It's only fitting, since Zoe's Great Aunt Charlotte was an amazing woman. All the treasures she accumulated through her many adventures so long ago will have a fitting home.

"There you are!" Amanda's voice cuts through my thoughts. She's standing by my desk, perfect eyebrows raised in a mix of concern and amusement. She's the picture of poise in her tailored blazer and stilettos. I suddenly feel very aware of my own rumpled cardigan and sensible flats.

"I was beginning to think the ghost of Charlotte Winthrop had kidnapped you or something."

I force a laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as awkward as it feels. "No ghosts, just got a bit ... distracted." I gesture vaguely towards the basement door. "Thought I heard something, but it was nothing."

Amanda nods, though I can tell she's not entirely convinced. "Right. Well, I'm heading out. You coming?"

"Oh, um..." I glance at my watch, remembering how late it's gotten. "Actually, I think I'll stay a bit longer. Just want to finish up a few things."

"Olivia," Amanda says, her tone gently chiding. "You work too hard. Come on, let's grab a drink. It's been ages since you've come out for a girls' night."

The thought of a crowded bar, all those people, all that small talk ... I can feel my anxiety spiking already. "Thanks, but I really should— "

"Should what? Color code your sock drawer?" Amanda teases. "Live a little! Who knows, we might even find you a nice guy to chat up."

I snort before I can stop myself. "Right, because I have so much in common with the type of guys who hang out in bars."

Amanda's expression softens. "You never know. There could be a nerdy Prince Charming just waiting to discuss ... I don't know, the Dewey Decimal System with you."

"I prefer Library of Congress Classification, actually," I mutter.

Amanda laughs. "See? You're hilarious when you loosen up a bit. Are you sure?

Just then, the front door chimes. We both turn to see a whirlwind of colorful scarves and jangling bracelets burst into the room. It's Mia, Zoe's free-spirited friend.

"Hey guys! Any word from our AWOL historian? It's so weird. She's not even answering texts."

I shake my head. "Nothing yet. But I'm sure she's fine. Probably just needed a break after that meeting with Dan. Sorry, Dr. Patterson," I correct myself, even though our boss doesn't deserve the title in my opinion.

"Douchebag Dan works just fine," Amanda interjects. "This is a safe space," she adds with a wink, as Mia laughs. "And yeah, "I'm sure Zoe's fine. Probably just blowing off some steam on an impromptu vacation like we said."

Mia nods sagely. "Totally. I bet she's on some tropical beach right now, sipping margaritas and flirting with cabana boys."

The image is so at odds with the Zoe I know that I can't help but laugh. "I highly doubt that. More likely she's holed up in some dusty archive, geeking out over ancient texts."

"Ooh, kinky," Mia winks, and I feel my face flush again.

"That's not what I— Oh, never mind." I busy myself straightening the papers on my desk, avoiding eye contact .

"Anyway," Mia continues, "I just stopped by to see if there was any news. But since our girl's still MIA, I'm off to my pottery class. You guys want to join? You can do just one class if you want, to try it out. We're making decorative flower pots this week!"

"Hard pass," Amanda says with a laugh. "If Olivia here won't join me for a drink, thinking maybe I've got a hot date with my Netflix queue."

They both look at me expectantly. "Oh, um, no thanks," I stammer. "I've got some ... data to collate."

Mia raises an eyebrow. "On a Friday night? Girl, you need to get out more."

"I get out plenty," I protest weakly, even as I know it's a lie.

As if on cue, my bag chooses that moment to spill its contents across the floor.

Great. Just great.

"I've got it," I mutter, dropping to my knees to gather the scattered items. But Mia's quicker, scooping up a handful of cards before I can stop her.

This just keeps getting better.

How embarrassing.

"Ooh, what are these?" She flips through them, her eyes widening. "'Remember to laugh at jokes, even if you don't get them. If you don't know what to say, ask about their hobbies. Remember to occasionally break eye contact to avoid staring.' Liv, are these... flash cards for socializing?"

I want to die.

"Maybe..."

What am I supposed to say? I don't want to lie ... but talk about mortifying.

I shove the cards back into my bag, avoiding their eyes. "Sometimes it helps to have, like ideas, you know? To be prepared. Just in case."

Amanda fills the semi-awkward silence, "I get it. Hey, I use notecards whenever I have to do a new grant proposal or give a talk," She shrugs, "It's not that weird. That is, it's not weird at all. What I mean is it's not that different."

Mia pipes up too. "Sure, personally, I like to just wing things, but whatever, you know?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. They mean well, I know they do. But they're also probably just being nice.

I should have stayed in the sub-basement.

As Amanda and Mia head out, I let out a long breath, my shoulders sagging with relief. Social interactions always leave me feeling drained. I slump into my chair, pulling out my trusty notebook.

"Okay, Liv," I mutter to myself, uncapping my pen as I feel a mild sense of overwhelm approaching. "Dump it all into a list Liv."

I start scribbling furiously:

Email Dr. Patterson about the display cases budget

Do some research on Victorian Jewelry for comparison w collection.

Buy more sticky notes (multicolor pack)

Maybe figure out how to do conversations without flashcards...

Ugg. A girl can dream.

I pause, tapping the pen against my chin. At least I'm trying, right? That's all I can do.

My best.

Number 2. That's the one. I just want to see what there is on the subject at the archives. Shouldn't take too long.

Besides, I'd rather work than go home to my empty apartment anyhow. When I am working, I at least feel marginally normal .

My eyes drift to the basement door again. The pull I felt earlier seems to have faded. That's kind of a relief. I think? I still feel a weird ... something. I shake my head. Nope. Stay on target, Olivia. You have your list, now stick to it. Just go down the line.

Right.

"The auxiliary library," I say aloud, nodding to myself. It's Friday night. Place is probably hopping.

I chuckle at my own joke.

The walk downtown is pleasant enough, the cool evening air clearing my head. The library is housed in an imposing stone building that always reminds me of a Masonic lodge, though I know it's not. But like any good lodge, it's got its own sort of seal, carved above the door.

I've been meaning to dig into its origins for ages now. It's got nineteen century stylings, with its fine details. Some of its elements I can't make out, but the central focus is a woman's upper torso and head. And it's her little half smile that has always captivated me. Like she has some sort of secret. And the little crystal ball in her hand is pretty cool too.

I make a mental note to add researching it to my to-do list.

Inside, I flash my special collections badge to the sleepy-looking student worker at the desk. "Evening, Jake," I call out softly.

He barely looks up from his textbook. "Hey, Olivia. Hot date with some old books?"

"Something like that," I nod, heading to the back room. A little too close to the truth, actually.

The familiar smell of old books and dust soon envelops me like a comfortable blanket though and any anxiety fades. This is my element. This is where I shine.

I make my way down the worn stone steps, running my fingers along the cool, ornate walls. The craftsmanship is exquisite - probably pre-Civil War. I should really look into the history of this place sometime. Add it to the list, Liv .

The special collections area is deserted, just how I like it. I quickly locate the volumes on Victorian jewelry and settle in to take notes. But as I'm flipping through a particularly dusty tome, a peculiar breeze ruffles the pages.

"That's odd," I mutter, glancing around. No windows down here, and the AC definitely isn't that strong.

Before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet, following the mysterious draft. It leads me to a section I've never noticed before, filled with dilapidated boxes stuffed with what is probably just old files.

But there, nestled in a stone alcove, is something a little more interesting. A chalice. Ancient, by the look of it, with an inscription that makes my heart race: "Drink, all who thirst for knowledge ..."

The air seems to hum with energy. It practically crackles with electricity. And that weird breeze. Suddenly I am feeling that strange feeling again, though my big frontal lobe tries to resist. Yes, I bet they don't even know this artifact is here. It should be properly cataloged and stored away for safe keeping. I better report it to the head librarian. But my gut, or the pull or something is winning out instead. I find myself reaching out, fingers trembling as they close around the cool metal.

"Drink, all who thirst for knowledge," I whisper, as I rub at the writing on the tarnished cup.

And just like that, the wind increases and then ... flash ...

Everything goes white...