The petition is only necessary to get you to do what you should be doing anyway.”
“And who are you to tell us how to work?” I demanded. “People have been digging up dinosaur bones for a hundred years now. Do you really think you’re going to change that on your own?”
“One step at a time, Dr. Eisenberg,” he said calmly.
“You’re unbelievable. You have no right to be here.”
“I have the same rights as you,” he retorted. “More, maybe. Who knows what sort of damage you would do to this area if it weren’t for me stopping you.”
I took a deep breath, reminded myself that my team was watching, and forcibly unclenched my back teeth. “I’d like you to leave now,” I said, forcing evenness into my voice.
Saying nothing, he paused for a moment, then acquiesced, climbed back in his car, and drove off. I watched his car as it followed each of the cutbacks along the hill, wondering if it was coincidence he’d turned up such a short time after Eric had been beaten up. For some reason, I had a feeling this wasn’t the last I’d see of Hunter Joseph.
Chapter 6
T HAT NIGHT I set up a campfire, hoping the combination of food, whiskey, and crackly heat would help my new team to bond. I hadn’t had much chance to talk to the two grad students, Andre and Pete, and from my previous experiences working with River and Raven, I knew they wouldn’t settle into a group unless they were forced to.
I’d put Boner in charge of the fire, and he’d done well, building it high and setting logs around it for people to sit on. As the night grew colder, we all edged in closer and closer until our shoulders were hunched up tightly to squeeze everyone in. The bottle of whiskey made another loop around the circle and Raven passed; she was more interested in extracting her marshmallow from the end of a long sharpened stick.
“What were you two like as kids?” I asked River.
She threw back a mouthful of whiskey, shuddered, and laughed. “Vile,” she said.
“You grew up in New York, right?” Boner asked.
“How did you know that?”
“There’s no way you could be so cool and disaffected unless you grew up in New York.”
She laughed again. “Yeah, but you’re thinking of the wrong sort of New York City kid.”
“We didn’t get to be cool and disaffected until we were teenagers,” Raven said around the marshmallow that was sticking her teeth together.
“When we were little, we were musical theater brats.”
“No way,” Boner said.
“Way.”
“Broadway musical theater brats?” I asked.
River rolled her eyes and tucked a strand of her long inky hair back into its braid. “Yeah. Shit, we did loads of stuff. We played Tallulah in Bugsy Malone for six months. That ran right in the middle of Times Square.”
“They liked the fact that we were twins,” Raven added. “It meant they could swap us each night, and we could do twice as many performances as the rest of the kids. They were always circulating casts, but we stayed in until we got taller than the kid playing Bugsy. Then they kicked us out.”
“Harsh world, show business,” Boner said. I got the impression he was joking, but the girls nodded solemnly.
“It really fucking is,” River said. “People think, oh, they’ve got this privileged life. And we didn’t. We were at school five days a week and spent all our weekends either performing or taking dance classes. If I hadn’t gotten into science in high school, I was going to try out for the American Youth Ballet.”
“The arts’ loss is science’s gain,” I told her solemnly.
She snorted and gave me the finger.
“One of my cousins is a percussionist,” Pete said, leaning in toward the fire so his voice would carry across the circle. “He works at the ballet in Boston.”
“That’s cool,” River said with a grin.
“Do you miss it? Performing, I mean,” he asked.
River winced. “I don’t know. I miss the camaraderie among dancers, especially the girls in
“And who are you to tell us how to work?” I demanded. “People have been digging up dinosaur bones for a hundred years now. Do you really think you’re going to change that on your own?”
“One step at a time, Dr. Eisenberg,” he said calmly.
“You’re unbelievable. You have no right to be here.”
“I have the same rights as you,” he retorted. “More, maybe. Who knows what sort of damage you would do to this area if it weren’t for me stopping you.”
I took a deep breath, reminded myself that my team was watching, and forcibly unclenched my back teeth. “I’d like you to leave now,” I said, forcing evenness into my voice.
Saying nothing, he paused for a moment, then acquiesced, climbed back in his car, and drove off. I watched his car as it followed each of the cutbacks along the hill, wondering if it was coincidence he’d turned up such a short time after Eric had been beaten up. For some reason, I had a feeling this wasn’t the last I’d see of Hunter Joseph.
Chapter 6
T HAT NIGHT I set up a campfire, hoping the combination of food, whiskey, and crackly heat would help my new team to bond. I hadn’t had much chance to talk to the two grad students, Andre and Pete, and from my previous experiences working with River and Raven, I knew they wouldn’t settle into a group unless they were forced to.
I’d put Boner in charge of the fire, and he’d done well, building it high and setting logs around it for people to sit on. As the night grew colder, we all edged in closer and closer until our shoulders were hunched up tightly to squeeze everyone in. The bottle of whiskey made another loop around the circle and Raven passed; she was more interested in extracting her marshmallow from the end of a long sharpened stick.
“What were you two like as kids?” I asked River.
She threw back a mouthful of whiskey, shuddered, and laughed. “Vile,” she said.
“You grew up in New York, right?” Boner asked.
“How did you know that?”
“There’s no way you could be so cool and disaffected unless you grew up in New York.”
She laughed again. “Yeah, but you’re thinking of the wrong sort of New York City kid.”
“We didn’t get to be cool and disaffected until we were teenagers,” Raven said around the marshmallow that was sticking her teeth together.
“When we were little, we were musical theater brats.”
“No way,” Boner said.
“Way.”
“Broadway musical theater brats?” I asked.
River rolled her eyes and tucked a strand of her long inky hair back into its braid. “Yeah. Shit, we did loads of stuff. We played Tallulah in Bugsy Malone for six months. That ran right in the middle of Times Square.”
“They liked the fact that we were twins,” Raven added. “It meant they could swap us each night, and we could do twice as many performances as the rest of the kids. They were always circulating casts, but we stayed in until we got taller than the kid playing Bugsy. Then they kicked us out.”
“Harsh world, show business,” Boner said. I got the impression he was joking, but the girls nodded solemnly.
“It really fucking is,” River said. “People think, oh, they’ve got this privileged life. And we didn’t. We were at school five days a week and spent all our weekends either performing or taking dance classes. If I hadn’t gotten into science in high school, I was going to try out for the American Youth Ballet.”
“The arts’ loss is science’s gain,” I told her solemnly.
She snorted and gave me the finger.
“One of my cousins is a percussionist,” Pete said, leaning in toward the fire so his voice would carry across the circle. “He works at the ballet in Boston.”
“That’s cool,” River said with a grin.
“Do you miss it? Performing, I mean,” he asked.
River winced. “I don’t know. I miss the camaraderie among dancers, especially the girls in
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