A BLADE BETWEEN OUR HEARTBEATS

Chapter 2

Director Higgins was sweating through his collar.

He was pacing the length of his office, a small, cluttered room on the second floor that smelled strongly of old carpet and peppermint antacids. Kai stood rigidly in front of his desk, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater.

"It’s unprecedented, Kai," Higgins muttered, waving a hand in the air. "The Vantane Estate hasn't loaned pieces to a public institution in over eighty years. They’re funding the entire East Wing renovation just for the privilege of exhibiting here. Do you understand the budget implications?"

"I understand that it's a lot of money," Kai said carefully. She shifted her weight, her boots squeaking on the linoleum. "What I don't understand is why I'm in this meeting. I'm paper restoration. I fix bindings and glue maps. Intake is Acquisitions' job."

Higgins stopped pacing and leaned over his desk, planting his sweaty palms on a stack of files. "Because the estate’s broker specifically requested the head archivist handle the uncrating."

Kai blinked. "I'm the only archivist, Director. And I'm not an art handler."

"You are today," Higgins snapped, losing his forced patience. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a roll of antacids, and popped one into his mouth, chewing aggressively. "Look. The broker is... eccentric. Difficult. He insists on absolute secrecy regarding the initial inventory. No dock workers, no interns, no curators. Just you, in the secure loading bay."

Kai’s stomach did a weird, slow roll. "That sounds like a massive liability. What if I drop something?"

"Then I’ll fire you and sue you for the rest of your natural life," Higgins said, utterly deadpan. He pointed a stubby finger toward the door. "The truck arrived ten minutes ago. Security pushed the crates into Bay Four. Get down there, c***k them open, verify the preliminary manifest, and get out. The broker is arriving tomorrow morning for a walkthrough, and if everything isn't perfect, he pulls the funding."

Kai opened her mouth to argue, saw the frantic, genuine panic in Higgins’ eyes, and shut it. She needed this job. She had sixty thousand dollars in student debt and half a box of cereal in her pantry.

"Bay Four," Kai mumbled, turning toward the door.

"And Kai?"

She paused, looking back over her shoulder.

Higgins grimaced, gesturing to her oversized, moth-eaten sweater and faded jeans. "When he comes tomorrow, please try to look like you belong in a museum, not a thrift store."

The secure loading bay in the sub-basement was a cavernous concrete room designed for temperature control. It was freezing. The massive rolling steel doors were shut, locking out the humid October air.

Sitting in the dead center of the room under the buzzing halogen lights were six crates.

They weren't standard museum shipping crates. They were huge, built from thick, dark wood stained almost black, heavily reinforced with iron bands. They looked medieval. They looked like coffins.

Kai shivered, rubbing her arms. She walked over to a metal tool cart against the wall, grabbing a heavy yellow crowbar and a pair of leather work gloves.

She approached the first crate. A jagged, intertwined letter 'V' was burned into the wood on the side.

She jammed the flat end of the crowbar under the heavy iron latch. She grunted, throwing her weight into it. The metal shrieked, echoing painfully loud in the empty concrete room. The latch popped, the heavy lid shifting a fraction of an inch.

Kai wedged the bar under the lid itself and heaved backward. The wood groaned, nails screaming as they pulled free. She shoved the heavy lid aside, letting it crash against the side of the crate.

She leaned in, pulling away layers of thick, gray acoustic foam.

No paintings. No delicate marble busts.

Kai frowned, pulling her gloves off and tucking them into her back pocket. She reached into the crate and hauled out a heavy, rusted metal cylinder. It was a mace. The spikes were blunted with age, but the leather grip was still surprisingly intact.

She set it on the nearby staging table and pulled out the next item. A massive, two-handed broadsword. The blade was dull and pitted, wrapped in oiled cloth.

"What kind of art exhibit is this?" Kai muttered to herself.

She moved to the second crate, wrestling the lid off. More weapons. Iron gauntlets. A heavy, iron-bound ledger filled with a harsh, angular script that made her eyes ache just looking at the pages. She couldn't recognize the language. It looked like German mixed with something completely alien.

By the time she got to the third crate, she was sweating despite the cold room. Her shoulders burned, a dull echo of the pain from catching the coffee pot that morning.

She popped the latch, prying the lid back.

This crate was smaller. Instead of gray foam, the interior was lined in heavy, faded crimson silk. Sitting in the center, resting on a velvet block, was an object wrapped tightly in black cloth.

Kai stared at it.

The hair on the back of her arms stood up. The air in the loading bay suddenly felt incredibly heavy, like the pressure drop right before a thunderstorm.

She swallowed hard, wiping her palms on her jeans. It was just an object. Probably another sword.

She reached into the crate.

The moment her bare fingers brushed the black cloth, a static shock bit into her skin. She flinched, pulling her hand back with a sharp hiss. She rubbed her fingertips with her thumb. It felt like she’d touched a live wire.

Curiosity, heavy and morbid, won out over caution.

Kai reached back in, grabbed the object, and lifted it out. It was heavy. Much heavier than it should have been for its size.

She set it on the metal staging table and carefully peeled back the layers of black cloth.