Blood Lines

opened.

    'Did you hear something, Ray?"
    'Not a thing, Dr. Shane."
    'Must've been my imagination…"
    She didn't sound convinced and Vicki held her breath. A moment later, there was a soft click and the lights went out, then the door closed and Vicki heard keys in the lock.
    The interior of the sarcophagus was actually quite roomy, having been built to hold a full-sized coffin, but Vicki had no intention of remaining inside. She crawled out and set both bag and umbrella on the top of the stone box. As far as the new guard knew, she'd signed out and was gone. The odds were slim to none that the old guard had told him she'd gone back inside. If the mummy was messing with people's heads-and as no one remembered it, it certainly looked like it was-there was nothing in anyone's head to incriminate her.
    She was actually quite proud of the way she'd gotten past security. With the paranoia caused by two deaths, plain old sneaking in would have been impossible. That what she had done-and was doing-was illegal, bothered her a little, but as she wasn't going to hurt anything, or even disturb anything, her conscience would just have to roll with the punches.
    Actually, it had gotten pretty good at that since meeting Henry.
    She fished her flashlight out of her bag by touch and checked her watch. Sunset would be in fifteen minutes. She'd give Henry half an hour to clear his head and get over to the museum, then she'd start working on the lock.
    'Meanwhile," she turned the tight beam on the sarcophagus, "let's see what I can find out here."
    Henry stood for a moment watching Vicki work. Although emergency lights put the hall in twilight rather than true darkness, he knew that for Vicki they were one and the same. She could no more see the lock, inches in front of her face, than she could see him, yet her touch was sure as she probed at the mechanism. Silently, he moved a little closer and smiled as he realized her eyes were tightly shut.
    'Well done," he said softly as, with a sound only he could hear, the lock disengaged.
    Heart pounding, Vicki fought the urge to leap to her feet and spin around. "Thank you very much, Henry," she muttered, aware that no matter how low her voice he could pick it up, "you've just cost me a good six years of my life and almost made me shit my drawers." Running her hand lightly up the door so as not to become disoriented, she stood. "Now, if we could get out of the hall before someone comes along…"
    He reached past her, turned the knob, and pulled one of the double doors partway open. Before he had a chance to act as guide, Vicki slipped through the narrow space and into the room beyond. Puzzled, he followed, pulling the door shut behind him. "Can you see?" he asked.
    'Not a damn thing." Although still bitter about her night blindness, a certain amount of pride colored her voice. "But I could feel the difference in the air where the door wasn't. Now then, be useful and find the lights. The doors fit tightly enough, there'll be no spill into the hall. Or not much anyway," she amended as the multiple banks of fluorescents came on. Eyes streaming from the sudden glare, she turned to face Henry and found him slipping on a pair of dark glasses.
    She grinned. "You look like a spy." The black leather trench coat and sunglasses made an exotic contrast with the red-gold hair and pale skin.
    His brows rose. "Isn't that what we're doing? Spying?"
    'Not really. If we get caught, it's breaking and entering."
    Henry sighed. "Wonderful. Vicki, why are we here? All the evidence has certainly been cleared away."

    'Maybe. Maybe not. I wanted to get a look at the scene of the crime." Taking one final swipe at her eyes, Vicki glanced around the workroom. It had to be at least fifty feet square, perhaps larger; the high beige walls tended to draw the eye up. Rows of chest-high wooden cabinets covered half the room and floor-to-ceiling metal shelves-filled with stone, and pottery, and sculpture-the other half. They stood in an area obviously used for paperwork beside a buried desk and a number of laden bookshelves. To their left, a camera stood on a tripod before a neutral background and to their right a small kitchenette-fridge, counter, cupboards, and sink-ran along one wall. A lime green door just at the end of the counter led to the darkroom. Two padded sawhorses stood between the desk and the cabinets in the only open space of any size. Resting on them was the coffin, its lid on the closest cabinet. "Besides, I