Page 5 of Escape to Egypt

“Easy for you to say when your glass isn't being held as evidence by the NYPD," I retorted.

He laughed and swiped a bit of whipped cream from my plate with his fingertip. “Touche.”

His fingers danced across the laptop keyboard as I chewed a crunchy piece of bacon. Suddenly, his eyes lit up.

"Find something?" I asked, wiping the grease from my lips with my napkin.

"Get this," he began, his eyes alight with the thrill of discovery as he turned the screen so I could see it. "The vase—stunning, right? Well, legend has it that it was crafted to contain the Jewel of Isis, which as you know, was an ancient gemstone said to possess otherworldly powers. The jewel's guardian was supposed to be chosen by the gods themselves."

"Let me guess, the guardian would be given the gift of immortality? Infinite riches?" I asked, skeptically arching an eyebrow while I reached for my coffee.

"Close. The jewel supposedly grants wisdom and protection to its bearer. But together, the vase and the amulet are said to unlock something even greater—some cryptic 'Path of the Gods' or something."

"Hm,” mused. “I wasn’t aware of that part. Most art thieves are simply criminals looking to sell the artifacts on the black market to the highest bidder. They don’t know anything about the historical significance of the relics themselves. However, in this case, it sounds like whoever took the jewel and the vase might have a bigger goal in mind.”

"Exactly," Dean said, rotating the device back toward him and tapping the keyboard triumphantly. "And here's where it gets really interesting."

I leaned in closer, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"Found an old explorer's journal in the university library archives," he continued. “Check this out." He turned the screen toward me once more, revealing the image of a hand-drawn map scribbled over with various crisscrossing lines and symbols.

"Is that...?" I squinted at the intricate lines and landmarks.

"Yep, a map of Egypt," he confirmed. "And according to the margin notes, whoever penned this believed it leads to the location tied to the vase and jewel."

"Are we seriously considering following some ancient treasure map?" I scoffed, yet the prospect sent a flurry of excitement running through my veins.

"Who is this ‘we’? I don’t do airplanes, remember?” He made an expression of distaste and shuddered. “Ew. Besides, I have a big release I’m working on due out next month. Nope. Charlotte Bray, treasure hunter extraordinaire. Imagine the headlines when you clear your name and uncover one of history's greatest mysteries."

I laughed at the outlandish proclamation, but the diner's buzz faded into the background as I studied the map's path again. My heart began to beat a little faster, even though I knew the chances of me finding anything that countless explorers had somehow managed to overlook for centuries were slim to none.

"Could this really be where the thief is heading with the artifacts?" I murmured, the gears in my brain already turning.

"Only one way to find out," Dean replied with a shrug.

I pushed aside the remnants of my feast, determination settling like a mantle over my shoulders. "Very true. I have nothing left to lose, and everything to prove. Book me on the next flight to Egypt.”

We clinked our coffee mugs together and Dean set about making my arrangements. I’d taken risks before to get what I wanted, but never anything like this. Whatever the future held, I knew after Egypt, nothing in my life would ever be the same.

Chapter Three

I stumbled into my shoebox-sized apartment, and the door closed behind me with a creak that sounded suspiciously like a groan. It was later in the day after brunch with Dean, and let me tell you, my belly was still riding high on a tidal wave of pancakes. The buttons on my jeans were holding on for dear life, like little heroes in a syrup-drenched action movie. I exhaled deeply and gave them some mercy, unbuttoning the top one with a satisfying pop.

“What am I even supposed to pack for Egypt?” I muttered to myself, kicking off my shoes and wandering over to my bed. Kneeling, I pulled out the suitcase I kept underneath, unzipped it, and laid it open on top. It seemed to be taunting me with its emptiness. Egypt. Land of the Pharaohs, sand, pyramids, and…heat. I’d seen enough National Geographic specials to know it wasn’t exactly sweater weather out there. The thought of being surrounded by ancient history both thrilled and terrified me, like the first time I ordered sushi. This wouldn’t be like the conference I’d attended in Rome sponsored by the museum with a set itinerary and luxurious accommodations with guaranteed amenities. I could be drinking water from cacti and relying on a camel for my transportation. I’d always considered myself good with animals, although my building didn’t allow for pets, but I had a feeling camels might be different.

I started grabbing random clothes from my closet, which, to be honest, was just a rod jammed between two walls. A couple of bathing suits seemed like a good idea. If I found the lost treasures, cleared my name, got my job back, and still had some time to spare, I might as well get a tan. Maybe even indulge in a massage if Egyptian spas had a Groupon deal going on. I tossed the swimsuits into the suitcase and threw in some shorts, a few T-shirts, and the closest thing I had to adventure gear: an old pair of cargo pants from a failed hiking phase, and a sunhat that looked more suitable for a tea party than a desert expedition. Oh well, I’d simply have to make do since I didn’t have enough time to go shopping.

Turning to my dresser, I caught a glimpse of myself in the tiny mirror on the wall, my shoulder-length honey-blonde hair catching the light from the single bulb that had miraculously survived the harsh conditions of my ceiling fixture. My reflection looked back at me with a mix of excitement and disbelief. Despite my lack of sleep, I felt energized. Granted, it could have something to do with all the caffeine and sugar I’d consumed at breakfast, but I’d take it. Was I really doing this? Jetting off to Egypt to chase after stolen artifacts, and hopefully, clear my name? This wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured spending my summer, but then again, what better way to beat the New York humidity than with some dry desert air?

As I packed, I thought about the bizarre events that had led me here. One day, I was a perfectly respectable newly hired museum curator, and the next, I was the prime suspect in an art heist. The police thought I was the one who’d swiped them, but I knew better. Someone had set me up. Someone who knew just enough to make it look like I was the guilty party. Or at least, someone who obviously had no compunction about throwing me under the bus to take the blame.

I reached for my junk-journal, my constant companion and sanity-saver. This thing was more than just a journal—it was my personal scrapbook, planner, and memory vault. Its pages were stuffed with ticket stubs, scraps of paper, dried flowers, and whatever else I felt like gluing in. Some people meditated to find their zen; I preferred a glue stick and a pile of paper scraps. Flipping through its pages was like flipping through my life, with all its messy, colorful moments.

I ran my fingers over the cover, a patchwork of stickers, photos, and doodles. I couldn’t go anywhere without it. I slipped the journal into my suitcase, along with my favorite gel pens and a glue stick just in case I had time to document my Egyptian adventure on the go. My monthly junk-journal and movie night with my best friend, Adeline Wilson, was scheduled for next week, and the thought of missing it made my heart sink a little. Addie and I had been friends since college, bonding over our shared love of crafts and cheesy Hallmark movies.

I pulled out my phone and fired off a text to Addie: “Hey, I have to bail on our Hallmark-and-glue fest next week. Got myself into a bit of a pickle. I’ll fill you in when I can.” I hesitated before hitting send, wondering how much to tell her. Addie had a knack for worrying, especially when it came to me. But before I could overthink it, the message was already delivered.

A few seconds later, my phone buzzed with her reply. “Why? What’s up? You okay? I saw the news about the stolen artifacts. Are you in trouble?”

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