Vicki saw the “email” icon on her phone. She knew that the message was from her best friend Julia. Both of them were traveling, for different reasons, but both women continued their tradition of sending the other “postcards” – self-made, often self-taken photos, of their travels.
She was waiting in a New York airport for her connecting flight. Her traveling companion Dr. Colin Bishara was asleep, resting his head on her shoulder. She opened the email.
I was bound, tied fast to the metal web. My arms extended over my head, and my legs were spread wide, ankles securely tied. My lace bra and panties, pink as he ordered, only served to make me feel more exposed. I waited in the spider’s parlor.
I had a free evening in my new town, so I decided to take the historic cemetery tour. When I arrived, I found the tour guide, a beautiful young man, in a frock coat and top hat lounged against the graveyard gate talking passionately with a small group of tourists.
Victoria turned to leave the chamber. She’d had her moment, but it was time to tell the professor she’d discovered the hidden room and what she was certain was Pharaoh Djet’s sarcophagus.
She heard stone scraping against stone, followed by something light and wispy brush against her arm. She grinned gritted hey teeth against a scream. She was still being mocked for screaming at a scorpion in her first week, so she wasn’t going to add spiders to the list.
When Victoria got the opportunity to go on a real excavation, she jumped at the chance. She knew that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.
After a month of hard work, she was still excited, but admittedly tired and frustrated. The work was still fascinating, but the manual labor at the start had worn her down. Of course, the work was a little easier now that the tomb was open. With lighting, they could begin the work at night and without the relentless desert sun, the cleaning and documenting of artifacts went faster, and Victoria’s enthusiasm resurged. Her frustration, however, hadn’t ended. No one on the crew was interested in her.
Caroline opened the door, and the bells attached to it chimed. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but the interior looked exactly as she expected. The fortune teller’s shop was dimly lit with lots of beaded curtains and the heavy scent of incense. A large shelf dominated the space. Caroline looked over the items, mostly crystals and candles. She raised a brow at candles shaped like cocks and vulvas.
“You must be Caroline” a man’s voice drifted over her.
Caroline jumped, tearing her eyes away from the sexual candles. She turned and was momentarily speechless. He wasn’t what she expected. He was young, maybe ten years younger than her 35. And he was, by almost any standards, hot. She snapped her mouth shut when she realized she was gaping at him. He was the image of tall, dark, and handsome.
“Um, hi. Yes, I’m Caroline” she fumbled over her words. She offered her hand, feeling lost in his dark eyes.