Chapter Two

Day 1.

I tap the end of my pencil against my notepad, bobbing my head in time to the music dancing into my ears. Humming along softly, I continue to sketch, the rough drawing slowly transforming into the coiled gold snake that's been stuck on my mind ever since I first saw my father's exhibit yesterday. When I finish shading in the snake's gemstone eyes I pause, twisting my lips into an obscure shape as I scrutinise my drawing. Even though my sketch is rough, the snake still appears to come alive on the page, its eyes glittering up at me as it prepares to slither off the page at any moment.

I roll my eyes at myself, shaking my head. What am I even saying? It's a drawing of a snake. It's not going to slither off the page, it's not even a good drawing of a snake, let alone alive.

So why can't I shake the feeling that it's watching me?

I let out a long breath and throw the notebook down on the ground next to me. My father glances up from the other side of the room at the loud noise, raising an eyebrow at me.

"Sorry." I mouth, wincing. He shakes his head, returning to his paperwork with a small smile.

Leaning over to grab my bag from next to the door, I pull my laptop out of it and power it up, resting it on my lap. While it slowly wakes up, I unwind my camera from around my neck and click it on too, aiming it at my father and taking a quick picture before he realises what I'm doing.

"Kiara." He warns sternly, giving me a sharp look as he gestures towards the boxes of artifacts scattered around the room.

"I'm not sorry. They're all still wrapped up safely." I shrug slightly. "I just want to get a photo of you setting the exhibit up for my blog."

"Okay." He replies slowly, narrowing his gaze. "But remember our deal."

"Yeah, yeah." I roll my eyes. "I won't upload it until after your precious exhibit has been open for a week. I know the rules, Dad."

"Good. Follow them for once." He deadpans. I poke my tongue out at him.

"I'm an aspiring journalist, Dad. If I want to be noticed, I can't follow the rules. Me and rules are like water and oil. We just don't mix."

"If you keep that attitude up, you and your exclusive access to my exhibits will be like water and oil, aspiring journalist of mine." He retorts, raising an eyebrow at me. I smile sheepishly, drawing my knees up to my chest. "Why don't you go look at the other exhibits? You know, the ones that you're free to take photos of?"

"Are you banishing me?"

"No, I'm kicking you out. There's a difference." My father grins, waving his hand. "Go explore for a while. I'll let you know when I'm finished up here."

With a huff of indignation, I slip my laptop into my bag and stand in the doorway with my hands on my hips, pouting at him. My father rolls his eyes at my melodramatics.

"Don't act offended, I can tell you're bored, Kiara. I know you've been itching to explore the museum since you got here."

"Alright fine, if you insist." I reply haughtily, cracking a grin at the exasperated look he throws my way. I head out the door, waving at him. "Thanks Dad!"

"You're welcome. Oh, and Kiara!" He calls after me, and I pop my head back in the doorway. "If you see my useless excuse for an assistant, can you tell him he needs to get his ass up here before I raise this mummy from the dead and let it loose on him?"

"Oooh, spooky!" I tease, wriggling my fingers around in the air. "Once you've done that, can I borrow the mummy and set it loose on Mum? Maybe then she won't ship me off to law school."

"Go, Kiara." He replies sternly, but I can tell he's holding back a smile. My laughter echoes down the hall as I head out.

Slipping my headphones back over my ears as I enter the elevator, I turn the volume up and close my eyes, running my fingers across the elevator keys until I pick a floor at random. The doors ding and close, and the elevator rushes me off to the random venture I've chosen.

When I next hear the doors chime, I open my eyes and eagerly step out onto the floor. The museum had become so familiar to me that choosing specific exhibits had become somewhat mundane, so, naturally, I decided to make a game of it, choosing a floor at random like dipping my hand into a pick-and-mix jar. Today, it looks like I've chosen the floor somewhat ironically: its the exhibit containing the amalgamation of ancient cultures, from the ancient Greeks, to the ancient Egyptians. Grinning, I unwind my camera from around my neck and dive into the past.

Ignoring the wary eye the security guard keeps trained on me, I peruse each exhibit intently, my mind chewing over the words detailing each window into our history as I occasionally take a photo of the things that catch my eye. I can practically feel the judgment radiating off the people and the security guards around me every time they hear the distinctive click of my camera, but I'm too enamoured by everything around me to care.

That, and I've also become very adept at bolting from the room at a moment's notice.

My progress halts in front of the exhibit from ancient Greece. This exhibit, with it's simple and elaborately decorated pottery, was one of my absolute favourites. The elegantly painted figures frolicking over the surface of one vase in particular always made my day. According to the placard, it was unearthed in Athens, and detailed onto the surface of the vase was a typical scene of Dionysiac revelry, with several young girls dancing lightheartedly away to the music the accompanying satyrs were playing on their lutes.

I smile a little as I place my hand on the surface of the glass cabinet, lightly tracing the outline of the vase with my finger. I'd give anything to be the girls on that vase right now. Sure, they were probably drunk and completely hypnotised by Dionysus, but they were carefree, and were, even if just for a short time, able to escape the pressures of their lives and just dance. I'd give anything to be able to do that.

I'd give anything to have an adventure.

"It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" Someone softly speaks up to my right, and I turn to see a couple standing next to me. The brunette girl smiles, gesturing to the vase. "The vase, I mean. It's crazy to think that thousands of years ago, someone actually painted that."

"Trust me, it's not that crazy. My dad goes on about it all the time. Perks of being an archaeologist's daughter." I roll my eyes, causing her to laugh. The corners of my lips dart up in response, and I glance back at the vase. "But I know what you mean. I can't get over how intricately detailed the scene is. I feel like every time I come back to see this vase, I discover something new I hadn't seen before."

The girl grins triumphantly, nudging the disgruntled blonde man next to her. "See? She thinks it's a pretty scene too."

"It's a completely inaccurate scene." The man grunts, his arms folded tightly over his chest. "Dionysus never looked like that, and that's nowhere near what happened."

I pause, staring at him curiously. "What makes you say that?"

The man shrugs slightly, not offering up a response. The girl standing next to him chuckles, throwing me an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry about his Neanderthal-like behaviour, Spencer's just incredibly opinionated. He's... also a type of archaeologist, you could say. He's very knowledgeable about those times. Or, at least he likes to think so." She adds on hurriedly when I frown slightly, even more perplexed.

"An archaeologist. That's beautifully inaccurate." Spencer snorts. The girl elbows him sharply. "Ow. Why are you abusing me? You know that's nowhere near the truth. An archaeologist."

By this point, I'm completely bewildered by the bizarre conversation we're having. I open my mouth, about to question them further, but before I get the chance to do so, a young blonde girl who looks to be around ten darts over to the couple. She repeatedly tugs on the brunette's arm.

"Come on! Why are you still looking at the boring vases? Spencer already has hundreds in his house!" She whines, her face screwed up in exasperation. "Why would you want to look at even more when there are real dinosaurs next door? I wanna see if their teeth are bigger than my arms!"

"Of course you do." The brunette girl shakes her head, embarrassment colouring her cheeks as she looks back at me. "Looks like we have to go. It was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too." I reply falteringly, staring at the family as they walk away, the ten-year-old impatiently yanking her mother after her, much to her father's obvious amusement. I blink several times, slowly returning my attention back the vase in front of me. I cast one more surreptitious look over my shoulder, and bring my camera up to snap a photo of the vase. "I think."

"Hey!" I hear a loud shout. I jump, twirling around to see a security guard charging over to me. "Put that camera down!"

I freeze, still in the motion of taking the photo, and stare at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Oh, crap. I've never seen him before. He must be new.

"My flash is off, I swear." I tell the guard, shooting him my sweetest smile as I wave my camera around in the air. "It's harmless, I promise."

"We have a strict 'no photos' policy for a reason, ma'am." He tells me sternly, holding his hand out. "I'm going to have to ask you to give me the camera."

I wrinkle up my nose slightly. Well, at least he had the decency to be polite. I almost regret what I'm about to do. "And I have a strict 'no handing over my precious camera' policy for a reason too, sir."

I bolt from the room before he can recover enough to stop me.

Once I've put several rooms between the guard and myself, I finally stop running and slump into a chair, gasping for breath. I can't help but laugh as I recall the shocked look on the guard's face as I ran from the room; he obviously wasn't expecting me to run at all.

But then again, they never do.

I shake my head, biting back a grin as I look over the photos I'd succeeding in taking so far. I'm definitely going to hear it from my father later, he'd made me swear that I wouldn't do this again. The amount of times he'd stressed how bad it was that I took photos of the exhibits, you'd think I'd have stopped by now. I can't help myself though, I just love documenting my life. Every minute is just full of so many little moments that I never want to forget, that I'm always driven to capture forever in a picture, and life is too short, too fleeting to forget them. The pictures have never actually made it further than my secret hard-drive: I only ever take them for me. It was like having an endless, colourful treasure trove of secrets that nobody else ever got to see, and that feeling was like a drug to me.

"Kiara?" I glance up at the sound of my name to see my father standing in front of me, a very stern expression dressing his face. I smile sheepishly, unwittingly pulling my camera closer to my chest. He sighs, rubbing his face in exasperation. "What did you do this time?"

"Why are you assuming I did something?" I ask, blinking up at him innocently. He raises an eyebrow at me, not all all swayed by my contriteness.

"I only ever find you in here when you've been running from the security guards." He deadpans, and I grimace. Busted. My father groans, shaking his head. "Again, Kiara? I thought you learned from last time."

"Yes Dad. Locking me up in the sad little jail in the security's quarters was extremely successful in stopping me from indulging in my passion." I retort dryly. He gives me a look. "What? I like to take photos, just like you like to dig up dead dudes and let thousands of people see their mummified corpses. It's who I am."

"That spiel didn't work on me the last ten times you tried it, and it's not going to work on me this time." He deadpans. I wince. "How many times do I have to tell you no, Kiara? Photography in the museum is banned for a reason. If you're not going to listen to me, I'm going to have to take drastic measures."

"'Drastic measures'? Come on, you can't be serious." This time I'm the one raising my eyebrows at him. He nods, the serious expression on his face not wavering. "What are these 'drastic measures' then? You going to lock me up in real jail this time? Make me serve time for taking photographs? That'll go down well with the murderers and drug dealers."

"No. I'll take your camera off you." He replies. I gasp in horror, holding my camera away from him.

"You wouldn't! That's worse than Mum threatening to ship me off to law school!"

"I would, and I will. That's your final warning, Ki. If you're caught taking photos again, I'm taking it off you." He warns. I gulp, nodding. He nods gruffly, leaning down and offering me a hand up. "Okay. Now that I've played the role of the mean father, can we go home? There's a pizza being made with our names on it as we speak."

"I'm in." I grin, accepting his offered hand and allowing him to pull me to my feet. "I'm pretty sure that security guard's still looking for me anyway, and I'm not sure I want to give him the satisfaction of finding me."

"How you manage to evade them all is beyond me." He responds. "I guess you really do have journalism in your blood."

"What can I say? I know all the secret passages and back alleys of this building. I could probably murder someone in here and still get away with it." I shrug nonchalantly, and he narrows his eyes at me. "What? I'm kidding."

"Consider me completely convinced." My father says sardonically. I beam at him innocently, before stopping with a gasp and smacking my forehead.

"My laptop! I left it in the exhibit." I glance over at him hopefully. "Did you bring it?"

"No." He frowns. "You'll just have to get it tomorrow, Kiara. I've locked the place up."

"I need my laptop Dad. I have stuff on it that I need to work on tonight for my university application! Can you please just let me go back and grab it?" I plead.

"I'm sorry Kiara, but the answer is still no." He shakes his head. "You're technically not allowed in there without either Seth or I present."

"Since when have the museum technicalities stopped you?" I ask. The look I receive is so dry it gives the Sahara Desert a run for its money. I switch tactics. "I'll be in and out in five minutes, I swear. My bag's right next to the door; all I need to do is pop my head in the door and grab it."

He eyes me skeptically for a few seconds, before sighing loudly and nodding, handing me his keycard from his pocket. "Okay, fine. But you'll need to use my card to get in, alright? Otherwise you'll trip the alarms."

"Okay." I grin at him gratefully as I back up. "Thank you! I'll only be a couple of minutes, I promise."

"And not a second longer!" He calls out. I nod. "I'll be waiting by the car, alright?"

I nod again, turning on my heel and darting into the elevator before he can change his mind.

— — —

The moment I step off the elevator, I step right into the hallway of a cliche horror movie, complete with the darkened hallways and the flickering yellow lights. I shiver involuntarily, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as I hasten down the hallway. I obviously spent more time running from that security guard than I thought; I hadn't even realised that the museum had been close to closing for the night, let alone actually close.

All of a sudden, I hear a loud thump, surprising a shriek out of me. I jump, my feet freezing me to the spot as I glance around furtively. Nothing. Swallowing back the golf ball lodged in my throat, I dismiss the noise as a figment of my imagination and hurry over to my father's exhibit, shakily swiping his keycard over the lock. It clicks, flashing green, so I tentatively open the door and slip inside.

The exhibit is, unsurprisingly, even darker than the hallway, and I have to fumble around the room for a few seconds until I find the lightswitch. The lights flicker on, illuminating the room in a low light, and I'm so jumpy that even the mere action of the light flashing across the monumental statues frighten me. I hold my hand to my forehead, laughing at myself as I attempt to slow my racing heart.

I hear one unexpected noise and suddenly everything scares me. I'd be such a terrible heroine.

Letting out a long breath through my lips, I spin around in a circle until I spot my bag, hiding in the corner of the room. Grabbing it and slinging it over my shoulder, I head for the exit again; but in my haste, I accidentally knock pile of papers with my satchel, sending them flying off one of the glass cabinets and skittering all over the floor. I groan, throwing my hands up in the air.

"Great. Just great." I mutter to myself, crouching down. "Ten points for clumsiness, one million points for idiocy, Kiara."

Once I've managed to sweep the files back together again, I snatch them up off the floor and start to stand up. The paper resting on the top of the pile unwittingly stops me in my progress. I pause, the snake armlet once again stealing all my attention. I have no idea why, but for some strange, unexplainable reason, the armlet feels familiar to me, like it was a treasured piece of jewelery I accidentally lost years ago. But that couldn't at all be possible; I'd never seen it in my life before my father showed me the photo yesterday.

Then a terrible idea strikes me. I bite my lip, glancing over my shoulder at the wooden box resting innocently on top of the glass stand. I shouldn't. I really, really shouldn't. My father would decapitate and disown me in one swift motion for even having the thoughts I'm having right now.

But... one small peek wouldn't hurt, right?

My insatiable curiosity gets the better of me, and I drop my bag to the ground, darting over to the stand. Placing the papers to the side, I throw one last furtive glance over my shoulder and slowly unlock the latch on the wooden box. I lift the lid up. A cloud of dust stains the air, provoking me to launch into a violent sneezing fit. Finally, the cloud dissipates, and I'm able to breathe normally agian. Excitement tingles through my veins — the type you only really feel when you know you're doing something incredibly bad, but you can't seem to stop yourself — as I gently dig through the wooden shavings. My fingertips hit cold metal. All the muscles in my body simultaneously stiffen. I curl my fingers around the armlet and slowly pull the ancient Egyptian artifact out of it's protective casing and into the flickering light.

The breath catches in my throat, and my eyes widen to the size of saucers. The glittering armlet is, quite possibly, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life. The photo really doesn't do it justice; the golden surface of the snake shines and sparkles under the light, the shadows playing over the surface and emphasising all the unique etchings of the snake's skin. Not one part of the snake's skin is the same, and the longer I look at it, the more I realise that my father was right after all: there are a series of intricately connected ankhs decorating the snake's skin.

I tilt my head to the side, bringing it even closer to my face as I study the decorative details around the snake's head. The snake's green eyes shimmer at me, the low light stroking the surface of the emeralds. Then, without warning, the green eyes glow like they're lit up from within, and the golden snake bursts into life.

I scream and jump back, throwing the armlet up in the air in my fright. The snake doesn't drop down to the ground like I expect it to, instead convoluting out of shape until it's a writhing golden blur and twisting through the air like an arrow, heading straight for the sarcophagus. Slithering down in a corkscrew motion, it heads straight for the center of the sarcophagus and plummets through the hardened surface, completely disappearing before my shocked eyes.

That's when the painted eyes of the mummy light up.

The sarcophagus shudders several times before the lid slowly starts to shake, lightly hissing like a gas being released from a canister. I stare at it through wide eyes, my terror rooting me firmly to the spot, and I'm forced to watch in horror as the lid magically rises up in the air. It floats through the air towards me, falling down to the ground with a loud clatter that reverberates right through my soul. Something within the sarcophagus starts to move. Then that something bolts upright, revealing a horrifyingly human and terrifyingly mobile mummified body. Another scream clatters around the room as the head of the mummified body slowly turns to face me, and like a cheaply made horror movie, the bandages slowly fall away to reveal the face of a young, living Egyptian man.

"Kasiya!" He gasps, his face lighting up when he spots me standing there. "Vous m'avez trouvé!"