Noah returned the precious book to the shelf but reminded himself to ask Amanda about whether another copy existed. Either that, or he could contact the publisher to see if there were any in its inventory. A long shot, but he had to try.
He spent another fifteen minutes in the room, moving from other paintings of the era to a few sepia-stained photographs on the wall, all protected behind glass. Losing himself in the lore of the Medusa, he kind of forgot all of this was background for his new job, not just pleasure. Still, he felt like he’d immersed himself in an adventure novel like Moby d**k or more appropriately, Treasure Island. It was thrilling stuff; none of it, he reminded himself, seemed to have anything to do with his own story. What could his mysterious birth have to do with the
