Co-authored by Jules (I FORGOT HER FF USERNAME DAMMIT)

AHEM.

This is the prologue to something bigger, but don't expect much during November as we are both tackling NaNoWriMo challenges. It was inspired by the Indiana Jones franchise and the movie/graphic novel Les aventures extraordinaires d'Adele Blanc-Sec (both of which are very exciting and involve really cool plots about archaeology and ancient history, so in other words WATCH THEM :D).

- Airy

P.S. There is an OC, who is briefly introduced in this chapter, but you'll learn more about her later, I promise.

Prologue

xx

Jake Rosenbloom had not wanted to attend the gala that night. He didn't know the societal rules of mingling with the uppercrust and didn't care to learn. All that mattered to him was the dig—and not the fundraising that came before it.

The event just seemed like an excuse for the wealthy and powerful to flaunt just how wealthy and powerful they were—not how interesting they thought Egyptian artifacts were.

However, he couldn't refuse when Amy had asked him to accompany her. She had seemed so excited and he hadn't had the heart to tell her no one really cared about what she had to say—just the fancy hors d'oeuvres and free champagne. Plus, it was gave him an excuse to see her outside of the university (the occasional drink at the local bar didn't count).

Unfortunately, she had phoned that she was running late and told him to go on ahead, so he hadn't seen her yet. In fact, it was getting close to her allotted speech period and he was a bit worried that she'd miss the opportunity to sell her expedition idea to the room-full of rich, drunk intellectuals.

He caught sight of one of Amy's students, a wispy-but-intrepid girl named Rowan Foster, and called out to her, hoping she'd know where her professor was.

"Hey, Prof," the girl answered a bit too brightly, her hand clearly hiding a champagne flute behind her back, "what's up?"

"You know I'm not your teacher," he shook his head at her, chuckling at her attempt to seem nonchalant, "I don't care if you're drinking."

He glanced around at the company they were currently keeping—mostly retired professors and their much, much younger wives—and tipped his glass towards her, "In fact, I'd be worried if you weren't trying to sneak a drink."

She grinned and clinked her drink against his, before drowning the rest of the liquid in a highly unladylike fashion.

"Have you seen Am—" he cleared his throat, realizing the girl may not know her teacher's first name, "I mean, Professor Cahill?"

Rowan shook her head distractedly, already looking around for another waiter to take her empty glass, "I thought she would be here before anybody else."

"Me, too…" Jake murmured, "she was supposed to be here with me."

Rowan plucked a new glass from the serving tray offered to her and turned back towards him, "Did you say something?"

"Nothing, it's just…" the guests had started to congregate toward the speaking platform, but there was still no sign of the honored speaker herself, "she should be here by now."

Rowan shrugged, "I wouldn't worry about it—the Professor can handle her own pretty well."

"But she wouldn't miss the chance to talk about her precious expedition," he looked over Rowan's head at the crowd forming around the stage, "there's something wrong."

The younger girl shrugged again and stalked off to get a good view of the podium, leaving Jake to imagine the worst case scenarios of his colleague's absence.

Professor Amelia Cahill was a nervous wreck.

Her hands were shaking so badly that she was worried she wouldn't be able to read her notecards. She kept taking deep breaths to calm her knotted stomach and to keep from vomiting. She'd had a few glasses of champagne in hopes the alcohol would settle her nerves, but so far she only felt lightheaded and a bit uneasy.

She had thought she was prepared for this, but she didn't expect the crowd to be so…crowded. There were just so many people in the ballroom—and they were all there to see her. They would soon be staring at her as she spoke, judging every syllable and every gesture. The pretty wives of the old professors and doctors would judge her on a different plane, of course, and perhaps that was even worse. She would be among a group of women who carried pride in themselves and their image. They would whisper about her hair and her dress and her lack of makeup, even her posture would be scrutinized. She wasn't sure what appraisal made her more nervous—that of her ancient colleagues, or of the high-class women her own age.

She'd just reached for the bottle of champagne she pilfered earlier from the kitchens to pour herself another glass, almost knocking it over in shock when the coat closet door opened.

Jake stared down at her as she regained her composure, "Should I even ask?"

She shifted over to make room for him among the furs and leathers, ignoring his curious looks. She didn't need his judgment, after all, when she had an entire ballroom's-worth.

"You know," he took the bottle from her hands and drank a swallow before continuing, "if you didn't want to do this you could've said something."

"I did want to do it, though!" She protested, snatching the bottle back from him, "I just…didn't think there would be this many people."

She ducked her head, staring at the notecards in her hands. The speech was some of her best writing and, now, no one would ever hear it—except Rowan, and the mirror, of course.

"I could read it for you."

Amy glanced up at his words, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "What?"

Jake sighed, running his fingers through his hair—a sign that he was fed up with her—and repeated himself, "I could give your speech."

She found herself nodding before she'd even registered what she was agreeing to—an effect her friend always seemed to cause in her—and handed over her notes. Jake had always been the better speaker, anyway. He was more personable, and charming, and even persuasive—she knew he would do an excellent job. After all, the women were the ones who controlled their husbands' wallets and Jake was very handsome… He could definitely win the hearts and minds of the audience without even stopping for a breath.

But there was one tiny problem that needed to be dealt with before he could go on stage in front of their future investors.

"Jake," she hesitated, her hand tugging on the chain around her neck before gesturing to his chest, "did you tie that yourself?"

He looked down and fingered the rumpled, emerald tie over his dress shirt, "What's wrong with it?"

Amy bit her lip to keep from laughing—the knot was too loose and the lengths uneven, like it was done by a child. She supposed he hadn't much use for ties in his department anyway—he was more hands-on than most anthropologists—but it still seemed odd for him not to be able to dress himself properly.

"Come here," she said, a grin flickering on her lips, "I'll fix it."

He rolled his eyes, but leaned forward, watching intently as her fingers skillfully threaded the accessory into a half-Windsor knot.

"My brother could never tie his ties himself when he was younger so I learned for him," she said, yanking the garment once more to be sure it was snug, then leaned back to appreciate her work, "There, that looks nice."

He nodded his thanks, flattening the tie against his chest, "I'll trust you on that."

He offered her a hand and she accepted, holding the skirt of her dress up as she stood as not to trip over the long fabric. She brushed herself off, just in case she'd been sitting in dust, and smoothed the satin ribbon around her waist. The dress was simple compared to the other female guests who came inside in a rush of sequins and taffeta. Amy's gown had no sparkle or fluff, only a deep blue color that shimmered in the bright lights and a neckline she initially felt was much too low until she added a final touch. The pendant that sat on between her breasts was large, and probably ostentatious to some, but it was a gift from her mother and she never had an occasion to wear it before now. It looked like a locket of some sort, but there was no crease or opening that she could find. The Eye of Horus was carved onto the metal—"to remind you that I'm always watching you, always protecting you," her mother had told her upon bestowing the necklace.

"Amy?"

She glanced up at the sound of her name, dropping the necklace back against her chest, "Did you say something?"

"Just that it's nice to see you in a dress," Jake smiled, pushing the door open, "I'd almost forgotten you were a girl."

She shoved past him, making sure that her elbow found its target in his ribcage.