The Breath of Anubis: Dr Byron Willoughby Mysteries, #1

By Penny BroJacquie

Archaeology school? Who wants to go to that? It's boring as F.
Except, it's not archaeology school. It's so much more than that.

At least, that's what Dr Byron Willoughby says. Dr Willoughby is a recruiter - a Raider himself. He's grouchy and prickly and has no problem telling me he doesn't think I can hang and the head master is only extending a place there as a favor to my dead father.
Whatever.
I'll prove him wrong.
And I'll find out who killed my father.
These magical artefacts we're supposed to be hunting for are a bit of a stretch for me but I'll bite my tongue and wait to see what happens. I mean, magic isn't real. We're just searching for artefacts and stuff.
Right?
BUY NOW to find out the answer!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Penny BroJacquie
• Release date: Aug 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223482888

Book preview

Chapter 1

It was a bright, sunny day when the balloon went over and life as I knew it was changed forever.

There was nothing particularly special about that day, nothing that would mark it as the precipice between the before and the after. The sky was a bright blue with puffy white clouds that filled it, like paintbrush strokes. Lawns had sprinklers on, making their perfectly squared lawns even greener. There were bees humming, flowers reaching to the sky, and kids chasing each other on bikes.

I still remember the scent of the freshly cut grass, the shouts from kids at lemonade stands, trying to make some summer money. I could appreciate an entrepreneur when I saw one and decided to grab a cup of lemonade for myself. How could I resist?

It was at one of these stands where I first met him.

Thor, the god of thunder, was arguing with an eight-year-old about the price of a cup of lemonade.

At least that was who he claimed to be. Every word out of his mouth was I, Thor, god of thunder and I, Thor, god of warriors.

At first, I thought he was one of those guys that used to line Hollywood, dressed up as favorite fictional characters, looking to take pictures with tourists for a quick buck.

A winged helmet crowned his long golden hair. A gust of air made his red cape wave, revealing his black plate armor with six massive studs along with blue cloth wrappings over his wrists. However, the incessant way this guy was going at it with an eight-year-old worried me he was a genuine 5150.

If he was indeed crazy, he sure went all out with the costume design.

But there was something about the broad sweep of his shoulders, the way he carried himself as though everyone those piercing blue eyes came in contact with was a peasant, the very slight hint of a Scandinavian accent, that made me wonder for a second if he was actually telling the truth. At least, he believed he was telling the truth.

At this point, I thought maybe now was the best time for me to leave. There were plenty of mini entrepreneurs lining the neighborhood. I could always come back to this one later.

Miss! Miss! He was now shouting at me.

I decided the best response was for me to ignore him. I turned around to walk away, curling hair behind my ear because it gave my fingers something to do, but with a couple of huge steps, he reached me and blocked my way.

Excuse me, miss, he said in a polite tone. Do you know where I can find Odin’s spear? I am a stranger to this land, and I have lost my way.

He said it just like that. Completely genuine, like he was not crazy.

You’ve lost your mind, too, I almost spat out, but I wisely chose to keep that to myself. I did not want to insult him, and he genuinely looked like he needed help. I did not know how to handle him.

If I told him the truth, would it send him into a frenzy? Would it make him dangerous? Or would he get agitated that he was not getting the information he needed?

Do you know where Odin’s spear is? the man insisted.

I glanced around. A couple of people were staring more at Thor than at me. Regardless, it was unnerving. I did not need this right now.

I don’t know. In a museum? I was not trying to be a smartass. Really, I was not. I was uncomfortable with attention and Thor here was attracting way more attention than I cared for. Maybe throwing out a relatively innocuous answer would insist to him that I could not help him.

Now, excuse me, I need to get going. I tried to step around him again, but he refused to let me pass.

Museum? What is that? the weirdo insisted but this time he stretched his arm to grab mine.

I opened my mouth, ready to snap at him for touching me, when a jolt of electricity shocked my entire body as soon as his hand touched mine.

What on Earth? I yanked my hand away from his as I furrowed my brow and glared up at him. What the hell do you think you’re doing? I yelled and swiftly moved away from him, walking fast in the opposite direction.

Looking behind to make sure I was not followed; I walked the half-mile to the Metro station at a rapid clip. Luckily, I could not see him from where I was. Granted, I could have missed him, but I doubted it. Not when he was tall and muscled. Not even Chris Hemsworth had anything on him, and that was saying something.

The Union railway station was so packed that I had to stand. This was not all that unexpected, but it still bothered me. I wanted to sit, to digest what had just happened, but instead, I would be holding onto a little tether to keep my balance and prevent being thrown around at the sharp stops and starts of the metro. As I plugged my headphones into my ears to muffle the subway chatter, I threw a glance through the window outside and nearly stumbled into a large woman and her cat she had in a little pet carrier.

Watch it, she snarled over her shoulder, but I did not pay attention to her.

He was there. The man who called himself Thor was standing on the platform, staring at me in a way that gave me the chills.

Was it out of excitement or terror? I could not tell. I had no idea why I would be excited by someone like him, but the way he looked at me caused my body to do things I did not want to think too much about.

I was the one who finally broke our locked gaze when the train began to speed. I immediately looked up again. Only a second had passed, but he was gone.

The crowd thinned out as the train headed away from the city. I sank into an open seat and put my backpack next to me to discourage unwanted company.

The trip usually took less than sixty minutes at this time of day, and it was a great opportunity for a nap. I turned up the volume in my headphones hoping to easily zone out. However, each time I closed my eyes, the vivid image of the blond man with the piercing blue eyes gaze came back to the forefront of my mind, again and again, until I finally slipped into dreams.

Those were not pleasant dreams. I dreamed of my late mother, Saet Byul, whom I had lost at the age of five. Most of my memories of her had already faded, yet I still remembered her long black hair that smelled like freshly cut roses, and the black leather jumpsuit that she wore every time she went with my father on their archaeology expeditions.

I came from an old family of distinguished archaeologists. The notorious Abernethies. My father, Lennox Abernethy had the name of one the best archaeologists of his generation. His great-great-grandfather was Sir Tavish Abernethy, best known for his excavations in the Valley of Kings in Egypt.

Had my mother stayed away from Sir Tavish Abernethy’s excavations in the Valley of Kings, she might still be alive.

As the train slowed entering the Vermont Beverly station, I woke up and slowly opened my eyes. My mom’s face, laughing cheerfully, was still in my mind as I walked home.

Waiting for my dad to get back home, I decided to prepare dinner. Famished as I was, I craved for a bowl of spaghetti with Italian-style red sauce drizzled with Parmesan flakes. So, I took a knife, sat at the kitchen table and started chopping onions and tomatoes. My fingers shook as I chopped, and I took extra care to ensure that I would not accidentally slice into them. I still could not shake Thor from my mind, the way he stood in front of me with his weird helmet and demeanor.

As I pushed the last bits of onions into the skillet, my dad rushed into the kitchen.

Where is your phone? he asked anxiously.

Right over there, I said as I pointed with the knife to the far side of the kitchen table. I did not want it to get spattered as I chopped the tomatoes.

I have been calling you. Why didn’t you answer my calls? He did not try to hide his irritation.

I’m sorry, I said apologetically as I took my phone into my hands. I must have forgotten to switch off the silent mode.

Why did you set it to silent? I’ve told you to never do that. I need to always be able to reach you. And you must be available to receive my calls at any time. The guys we are working for demand that we are available 24/7. And they pay us big money to make sure we are.

I’m sorry, dad. It will not happen again, I said keeping my eyes low.

The tomato sauce bubbled on the back burner, as my dad furiously left the kitchen and went into his bedroom. I had just given the pot with the boiling pasta a stir when he returned.

Give me your phone, he demanded.

I reached out for my phone and gave it to my father, along with a little stylus. A frown creased his forehead when he pulled the stylus on the edge of a page, but the page did not move.

"Of all the smartphones, you had