Page 96 of The Stolen Queen

As Annie passed through the basement gallery of the Western European Arts collection on her way upstairs, she heard her name called out.

Billy strode over and gave her hand a hearty shake. “Annie Jenkins! You’re the hero of the Met. We heard all about how you found the Cerulean Queen and took out the thief in the process. Just amazing.” His grip was strong and warm, and his eyes shone.

“Well, it wasn’t quite like that.”

“Can I buy you a coffee to celebrate? And as thanks? I learned yesterday that I can still stay on at the job, thank goodness.”

Seeing Billy so happy and enthusiastic was a relief. She would’ve hated to think their friendship had cost him his job.

In the staff caf, she answered his questions about her trip (pyramids, no; camel ride, no; mummies, yes) and then they settled into an easy conversation about his application to New York University, which he’d just submitted. “Fingers crossed I get good news in April,” he said. “And what about you? Are you coming back to the Met?”

“Actually, I accepted, for the second time in a month, the job of assistant to Mrs. Vreeland,” said Annie.

“That’s great! She’s lucky to have you.”

“I realized I’m no longer intimidated by her. Well, not as much as I was before. Being in Egypt—it’s hard to explain—but it changedeverything. After almost being killed during a tomb cave-in, asking Mrs. Vreeland what on earth she means is no big deal.”

“You seem different. Not that you weren’t extremely compelling before.” Billy looked straight at her with his big brown eyes.

Annie took a sip of her coffee to hide the blush that she was certain was crawling across her cheeks.

“Well, now that you’re back at the Met,” he said, “I hope I can take you out on a real date. Would that be all right?”

“I couldn’t think of anything better.”

Annie was still beaming from her conversation with Billy as she crossed the Great Hall on her way out. At the information desk, she overheard a man ask for Charlotte Cross. She turned to see who it was, but he had his back to her. The clerk informed the man that Charlotte wasn’t at the museum, and she was unsure of her exact return date.

“Blast it!” said the man.

In an English accent.

He was tall, wearing a tan overcoat, with curly gray hair cut short. Short enough that Annie could see a large pair of ears sticking out from either side of his head.

It was Henry.

Charlotte’s Henry was here.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Charlotte

As Charlotte was cleaning out her desk, the phone rang, a jarring sound in the tiny cubby.

She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Charlotte, it’s Annie.” She was breathless, as if she’d run a marathon. “He’s here at the information desk. You’ve got to come at once. He’s here, asking for you.”

All sorts of terrible images flew through Charlotte’s mind at the panic in Annie’s voice: that Leon had escaped from the Egyptian authorities and was after them, or another Ma’at goon was out for revenge. “Calm down. Who? Who is asking for me?”

She heard Annie take a deep breath.

“Henry,” she said finally. “Henry’s here. He’s waiting for you.”

Charlotte registered nothing but the path directly in front of her as she made her way to the Great Hall. She still couldn’t believe Henry was at the Met.

After decades apart, she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to behave. Pummel his chest with her fists? Offer to shake hands? The last time they’d seen each other had been the most traumatic experienceof her life, and now he’d shown up out of the blue. She resented that he had the element of surprise. That was what she’d been counting on by going to Geneva—having the upper hand—but at the very least, Henry was on her home turf. The Met was her domain, not his.

She stepped clear of the tourists and spotted Annie and, standing next to her, Henry. He carried himself much the same, the only difference a slight stoop to his shoulders and a heaviness about his eyes. This was the man who she’d once shared all her secrets, hopes, and dreams with. They’d created another human being together and marveled over their baby’s ears and toes. He was obviously older, his hair gray instead of brown, but in looking at him, she saw the ghost of his younger self, which shimmered past the age spots on his temples and the folds around his eyes.