Page 41 of A City of Hearts and Feathers (The Order of Anubis #1)

Breathe slowly. Take in the sound of nothing, Penelope told herself as the weights on her belt drew her down into the dark blue water. She adjusted her mouthpiece and goggles more comfortably before checking her watch. Beginning now, she would have two hours of blessed silence with nothing but tropical fish for company.

Penelope had just started her first holiday in two years when a friend working at James Cook University in Cairns had called to tell her that some coins had been brought into his office by a pair of free divers.

"They look Phoenician, Pen," he'd revealed. "I know you have your theories about Egyptians and Phoenicians coming this far, so I thought I'd let you know. See if you're interested."

Get your ass back on the horse, Pen , her best friend and flat mate, Carolyn, had said. You just need a win.

She had watched Penelope's downward spiral after losing out on investors and grants for the past two years. Carolyn was an academic. She knew the score when it came to research funding, but when Penelope had mentioned the coins and a trip to the warm sunshine of Queensland, Carolyn had all but packed her bag for her. Hunting Phoenician coins on the Great Barrier Reef seemed like the right kind of holiday.

Still chasing ridiculous dreams, Penelope. When are you ever going to grow up? Her father's voice echoed in her head.

Penelope ground her teeth around the rubber of her regulator. It had been six months since their argument, but the words still stung. Professor Stuart Bryne was known for this prowess as a lecturer, but what people didn't know was that he had practiced those skills by lecturing Penelope.

"He's only worried about you," her mother, Kiri, had consoled her that afternoon when Penelope had called in tears. Kiri was back in her native New Zealand, working on her newest book about gender roles in Māori culture.

"He's worried I'm going to tarnish his reputation. He's an anthropologist, for God's sake. We aren't even in the same field!" Penelope snapped. "He needs to calm his shit and let me live my own life."

"Hey! Don't you use that kind of language about your father," Kiri defended. "He loves you and doesn't want you throwing your career away."

"They thought Schliemann was crazy, too, until he found Troy. I know it exists, Mom. I can feel it. It's like an extra heartbeat inside my chest. It's mine . I know it is."

"Maybe it's not the right time for you to find it yet," Kiri sighed. "Take a job teaching for a while until you can figure out your next steps."

Like usual, Penelope only decided to take her mother's advice once she'd run out of other options and lost any hope of getting funding.

At least under the water, the only thing she needed to worry about was drowning.

Penelope breathed slowly through her regulator, counting down from ten to soothe her anxiety.

There's nothing around or over you. Straight dive. Nothing to get caught on .

Three years ago, she'd nearly drowned while diving through an old ship, and it had taken her months to get the courage to put a pair of goggles on again.

Penelope hated being afraid of anything, so she'd quickly forced herself back into the ocean, starting small with lifeguard courses before moving on to snorkeling, and then finally back to deep diving. As long as she had open water and wasn't moving through wrecks or caves, her fear of drowning remained in check.

It had been on her first real dive since the incident that Penelope had discovered the corner of a stone tablet. It was on a research trip to Crete, and she thought her luck couldn't have been better. She was wrong.

And didn't that just send my anxiety off in a whole new direction? She thought the Atlantis Tablet would be the key to her Troy, but all it'd done was set her up for more disappointment and frustration.

One of the free drivers, Sam, swam past her, making her start.

Phoenician coins, Pen, no mysterious tablets with mixed origins. It didn't matter that finding Phoenician coins in Australia would launch a whole new line of inquiry for her to be ridiculed over. These mysteries keep finding you, not the other way around .

Sam waved at her and pointed to an outcrop of coral and rock before he shot up to the surface for another breath of air. Penelope shut out her thoughts, letting the eerie silence of the ocean fill her as she searched the rocks, brushing the sea bed with her gloved hands.

Three hours underwater produced four startled stingrays and two tarnished coins, and Penelope couldn't have been happier.

By the time she got back to her hotel, she felt calmer than she had in months. Her chestnut hair was a riot of salty curls, and her body was physically exhausted.

She showered and made sure her heavy silver ring was secure on her finger. It was a replica of the Phaistos Disc, which she had bought on the same trip to Crete where she had found the Tablet. The Disc had been discovered in a Minoan temple in 1908, and researchers still had no idea what it meant. It was a reminder that some mysteries fought against being solved.

After pouring herself a glass of wine, Penelope opened her laptop. Despite being on a semester break until March, Penelope's university inbox had a way of becoming flooded with emails if she didn't clear it out daily.

Her Atlantis Tablet had gained her notoriety with all the wrong people. The mystery of Atlantis called to ufologists, New-Agers, and Lemurian theorists alike. They all wanted to know about the magic, about the secret hidden knowledge the Atlanteans had allegedly possessed. It felt like Penelope spent half of every day emailing the enthusiasts back politely to say that she had no new information for them.

In her defense, Penelope had done everything she could not to get caught up in what she couldn't prove. She had stuck to facts, scraping away at the added mystery of the few primary sources she had, such as the one from Plato, trying to get to the heart of the mythic civilization.

Forever the realist, her father did his best to disregard the esoteric. The fact that Penelope's dream had been to find Atlantis since she was ten years old had caused him countless headaches. He couldn't look at her bookshelves, crammed with as many mythology collections and fantasy novels as academic textbooks and journals, without rolling his eyes.

"You're just like your grandmother," he often muttered in his Irish brogue. "She was mad by the time she died, leaving milk out for brownies and God knows what else."

At times like that, Penelope regretted never having the chance to meet her grandmother. Both her parents were painfully atheist, believing only what could be proven by scientific theory.

Scrolling through her inbox, Penelope deleted the university newsletter and staffroom spam until an unknown name caught her attention.

Who on earth is Marco Dandolo ?

She opened the email, silently hoping he wasn't another crazy person.

Dear Doctor Bryne,

My associate, Doctor Alessa Christiano, gave me your paper on the Atlantis Tablet. She believes you might be able to assist in identifying markings I encountered this evening at a crime scene. Please forgive me for contacting you so directly, but our experts are at a loss and time is particularly short in regard to this case.

Please find the attached photo of a sample of the writing. I would appreciate any help you might be able to provide.

Regards,

Inspector Marco Dandalo

A crime scene? Penelope read the email twice. The footer had his official titles, the police station, and its crest. It wasn't spam. Penelope prayed it wasn't a virus before opening the attachment. The glass of wine fell from her hand, splattering red all over the tiles.

"Impossible. This can't…" Penelope zoomed in, trying to get a closer look, but the resolution of the photo was low, so it only blurred. Five minutes later, Penelope picked up her phone and called Carolyn.

"I knew you couldn't go three days without ringing!" Carolyn said triumphantly, "What's up, Bryne? Have another panic attack caused by your shit brain father?"

"Carolyn, don't freak out,” Penelope took a steady breath, "but I'm going to Venice."

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