Out of Nowhere (The Immortal Vagabond Healer Book 1) by Patrick LeClerc

start becoming suspicious, and while I could always shore up the youth of my companions, like the World’s Oldest Cat, humans never accept such things with good grace. So I’d had a fair number of lovers over the centuries; but something about this woman had my pulse racing like at no time I could remember.
    I dragged my attention back to the task at hand. ‘Sorry,’ I smiled. ‘You teach a course in ancient languages?’
    ‘I do. I studied ancient languages and the theory of language development for a long time. How trade, travel, writing and so on affected the evolution of languages.’ She shrugged. ‘But that’s not as lucrative as it sounds, so mostly I teach English Lit. Were you looking to take a class on ancient languages? It’s only the second week of the term. I could add you.’
    ‘Actually, I was looking for help deciphering an old inscription. Or at least nailing down the period and region.’
    Her smile remained in place, obviously hiding her disappointment that I wouldn’t be attending her class. ‘I may be able to help. Where is this inscription?’
    ‘It’s on a knife. An archeological find, probably a ceremonial weapon,’ I lied.
    ‘Where was it found?’
    I was ready for this one. ‘In the ruins of a country manor in England. The family was minor gentry going back forever, long tradition of soldiering and diplomatic service, so this could have been dug up in a bog on the estate or carried back from anyplace the Brits went.’
    Her smile widened. ‘Which narrows it down to...?’
    ‘Pretty much the whole planet,’ I admitted. ‘I can usually get at least a basic idea about languages, but this is totally new to me. I was hoping you could point me in a direction.’
    ‘I’ll try,’ she said. ‘Do you have a photo of the knife or a rubbing of the inscription?’
    ‘Nothing quite so good,’ I said, digging out my notebook. ‘I have a freehand copy.’
    ‘Let’s see.’ She pushed aside her books. ‘I’ve been staring at this for too long anyway. Too much epic poetry is bad for you. Almost as bad as too many romance novels.’ As I crossed the room to her desk, she stretched, uncrossing those long legs, rolling her head to ease her neck muscles and arching her back. While I’m sure this relieved the tension of sitting hunched over an obscure Chanson de Geste, it also showed off how white the skin of her long neck was, and how her firm breasts strained the fabric of her blouse when she moved that way.
    I swallowed hard as I handed her the paper. ‘It’s not very exact. I figured I’d compare it to some books and see what looked close. I didn’t expect you to be so helpful.’
    ‘Please.’ She took the sheet from me. ‘By this time of day I’m happy to talk to somebody born in the last century.’
    ‘A standard I shall do my utmost to live up to,’ I replied with a grin.
    ‘Sorry, that sounded wrong.’ She blushed, just a bit, but enough to make my pulse speed up. ‘Again, I plead too much time with dead scribes. Well, dead scribes and very young college students. My finer manners sometimes take a beating.’
    ‘No problem. I completely sympathize. I’m a paramedic, so when nobody’s bleeding or unconscious, I’m not sure how to act.’ I extended my hand. ‘Sean Danet.’
    ‘Sarah Deyermond.’ She took my hand with an elegant, palm-down, fingers curled grace that would have passed muster in the court of Queen Victoria. It seemed so natural that I wasn’t sure if she was playing or not. I resisted the urge to click my heels and kiss it.
    ‘Now, let’s see if I can help you.’ She studied the paper, her brow creased. One by one, she went through the classic stages of thinking. She adjusted her glasses, tapped her pen, chewed her pen, looked at the page from a slightly different angle, and ran her free hand through her hair. At length she made the face that people do when they’re trying to figure out how to break bad news. ‘Are you sure this isn’t a fake?