Page 7 of The Lost Guardian
He had waited years for the chance to go back into the field, as a researcher in his own right. He longed to explore ancient ruins and discover new objects from antiquity. Anticipation crackled within him, and he leaned closer.
“Are you busy between the twentieth of June and the second of July?” she asked.
The buzz of anticipation spiked to pure adrenaline.
Those are the dates of the upcoming dig, he knew. His hands instinctively clenched on the upholstery of the armrests.
“No, Dr. Silva,” he answered, hoping he didn’t sound too eager. “I don’t have anything planned. Other than work and my research, of course.”
“That’s wonderful news.” Dr. Silva beamed at him. “We’re updating our online museum management system. Since I’ll be out, it would be a great week for you to catalog our wing, plus the archives, of course. And add them to the new database.”
Santiago’s jaw dropped, his mood collapsing as quickly as a popped balloon. Not only was Dr. Silva not extending him an invitation to the dig, she was assigning him admin work instead. And to make matters worse, it was incredibly tedious.
His mind scrambled, trying to figure out how he could salvage his plan to find a way to join her in Chile.
Santi couldn’t think of a damn thing.
“Digitizing everything is a really big undertaking,” Santiago muttered.
And a boring one, he thought.
“It is.” Dr. Silva nodded, then flashed one of her magazine-worthy smiles—the one Brooke had gone gaga over when he brought her to the department Christmas party. “Thank you so much, Santiago. You’re truly a blessing.”
What was he supposed to say to that?
“Right,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Of course.”
He felt dizzy.
“Now, I must be off; I have a flight to the Cultural Heritage Preservation and Conservation conference,” she said.
Still dazed, Santiago simply nodded. It wasn’t until Dr. Silva was halfway out the door that he remembered the look on Ali’s face when he said he hadn’t made any discoveries of his own.
“Wait, Doctor!” he called out. She paused, sneaking a glance down at her watch.
“We have a meeting at eleven,” he reminded her.
“Today?” she asked, already moving down the hall. “No, you should have received an email canceling it.” She waved at him apologetically.
“But, but—” he stuttered, and then she was gone.
…
The acrid tang of sweat and rubber mingled with the dry scent of chalk as Santiago entered the gym. He managed a curt nod to the front desk attendant and made his way to the bouldering walls.
A low thrum of anticipation stirred in Santiago’s blood. The climbing holds were rearranged every other Thursday—tonight would bring a fresh set of problems for him to decipher, challenging his brain and body to chart new paths up the wall. After the disappointment of the morning, he could use the distraction.
He was tempted to get himself strapped into the auto belay and attack the high wall immediately, but he forced himself to slow down. Safety first.
Santiago took a few deep breaths, rolling his shoulders, circling his arms, and loosening his wrists. His fingers flexed and bent, one joint popping audibly. He swung his legs to wake up his hips, did a few squats and lunges, then rotated his ankles, checking for any tight spots.
Santiago found an open route on a bouldering wall. Putting his hands on each of the start holds and pressing his feet into the wall, he pushed upward, feeling his legs and core flex to enable the movement. He made his way up, quickly and easily.
After a few low-level warm-ups, he left the serious routes to the boulderers and turned to his own main objective.
Santiago’s eyes traced the vertical stretch of wall before him, forty-some-odd feet of painted protrusions transforming in his mind into jutting rocks and natural grooves. The rope was a verdant vine stretching toward him. Slipping into his harness and tightening each strap, he clipped in, leaned back slightly to check the connection, and chalked his hands. He paused for a moment, breathing deeply to allow quiet anticipation to settle inside his chest.
He began to climb.
