Page 18 of Us in Ruins
“Sure, I do.” Van lifted his hand out of his pocket, dangling a diamond key ring stamped with the Hotel Villa Minerva logo. “Goodbye, Margot Rhodes.”
Margot checked the side pocket of her backpack where she thought—no, knew—she’d stashed that key, but it was empty. “How did you—hey! Give that back! You can’t just leave me!”
Van didn’t stop walking. Didn’t hesitate or turn back. Definitely didn’t slow down as Margot sprinted toward him. He just stuck the key into the scooter’s ignition and flashed the high beam on. Revving the whiny little engine, he shot off into the winding streets of citrus and stucco.
Without her.
7
Margot’s blisters had blisters. Her bones ached in protest with every step back to Plot D.
She’d spent the entire five-mile walk back to the hotel last night wondering how Van could be so utterly un-Van-like. He’d written about Pompeii like it was a spectacular adventure, something spellbinding. He was supposed to be dashing and inquisitive, a regular Reed Silvan. And sure, he would have challenged her, but it would have been because he knew she was capable of something remarkable, not because he didn’t believe in her.
Her Van would have never stranded her in the middle of the night in Italy with no phone.
Her Van didn’t exist at all.
Margot’s welcome to Plot D was as warm as she’d expected. Astrid and Suki had both been downstairs for breakfast by the time she’d pried herself out of the death trap that was the top bunk’s sheets. She almost hadn’t put on her lipstick. Almost.
In the daylight, the ruins were starker and more undeniable. There was no hint of magic threading through the streets like there had been last night. There was only stone, ancient and unforgiving, exhumed from its resting place for poking and prodding by curious minds.
Now, the class sat cross-legged in front of their excavation plots, and Dr. Hunt trekked back and forth as she lectured.
“Venus was the patron goddess of Pompeii, which meant she was viewed as the city’s primary caretaker and worshiped by its residents. Of course, we know Venus as the goddess of love, but the city of Pompeii also quickly found its footing as a major trading post and a travel destination for Romans throughout the empire, thanks to her generosity.” She pointed to the fresco on the courtyard’s wall. The depiction of Venus here was scantily dressed, requiring a level of maturity that far exceeded anything Rex and Topher were capable of. “Gods and goddesses have many different names—we call these epithets—and Pompeii’s Venus was known adoringly as Venus Felix, or Lucky Venus, and sometimes as Venus Aurelia.”
“Golden Venus,” Astrid said quickly, not waiting for Dr. Hunt to call on her despite her arm rod-straight in the air.
Margot glowered across the dig site. She didn’t have to be a Latin scholar to know that one.
“Precisely,” Dr. Hunt said, a soft smile gracing her lips.
Margot’s hand shot up, and Dr. Hunt nodded, encouraging her to speak. “And what about the Vase of Venus Aurelia? Why do you think no one knows where its pieces are?”
Rex said, “Because any archaeologist worth their salt knows the Vase is mythological. You know, a make-believe story.”
Dr. Hunt cocked her head. “Actually, Mr. Yang, many myths were formed on the foundations of truth. Achilles may not have truly fought in the Trojan War, but the Trojan War was fought. As for the shards, Venus was notoriously ruthless. Like Psyche descending into the underworld, I suspect the trials of the Vase are equally demanding. Impossible, even.”
“If you completed them all,” Suki asked, “would the Vase really make everyone fall in love with you?”
“No wonder Margot wants to hear all about it,” Astrid sneered. “She definitely needs it.”
Margot’s shoulders fell. Trying to exist near Astrid was like trying to floss with barbed wire.
Dr. Hunt didn’t acknowledge Astrid’s comment, thank god. She breezed forward, saying, “The myth is, like many, unclear. Some researchers suggest the Vase was believed to bestow gold to whoever successfully completed the trials. Others say the hero would be golden, eternally beloved and bestowed with Venus’s gift. It’s a linguistic conundrum.”
“Do you think it’s really out there?” Margot asked, even if Astrid snickered behind her.
Considering, Dr. Hunt trapped her chin. “I think history always finds a way of surprising us. That’s why we dig. Everybody, grab your spades and get started.”
Margot’s phone buzzed in her backpack. She waited until Dr. Hunt drifted toward Plot A to slip it from its pocket.
Her dad had texted. Margot’s stomach hit rock bottom as she thumbed open the message.
Gogo, saw on the online itinerary the class was going to Rome tomorrow. Booked a nonstop flight from FCO to ATL that evening at 7 PM. Forwarding the details.
Another notification popped up at the top. An email. From American Airlines.
Her chest ached, right behind her sternum—the vagus nerve, her therapist had called it. She pressed two hands against the bone to try to calm the swirl of emotions before it became a storm she couldn’t control.