circles and make them dance for years and years.”
“They steal babies, too,” he added, more seriously than she wished. “Leave behind changelings, sometimes nothing more than a dried old stump sitting in the cradle.”
“Right. I don’t wish to challenge anyone’s pagan beliefs—”
“Ooh, the Catholic chick is challenging my beliefs.”
“What makes you say I’m Catholic?”
“A guess. Almost twenty percent of the world is. And I’m not a pagan, just a believer in what feels right.”
“Little people with wings feels right to you in this situation?”
He smirked. “No. But if you’ve read anything about the Irish legends of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, they’re not so little. Our size, actually.”
“I did do research on the flight here. They were warriors who landed in Ireland around 1470 BC.”
“Right,” Wesley said. “And after many battles against the original Irish, or Fir Bolgs and Milesians, they were finally defeated and went to live underground with the Sidhe. They never reveal themselves to humans, unless you’re one of the old folk who do put credence in the myth. I bet every other farmhouse in the county still puts a bowl of cream out on their back step before turning in, to appease the other crowd.”
“Bet the feral cats love that,” Annja said.
“Meow,” Wesley said snidely. “So I’m guessing I’ll never see Annja Creed’s name connected with astro-archaeology?”
“You got that right.”
Some astro-archaeologists believed humans on earth were descended from aliens, or at the least, they’d been given alien technology to create some of the amazing architecture throughout history. A person had to possess a certain degree of belief in the unbelievable. No skeptics allowed.
“Ever been to Puma Punku?” Wesley asked. “That site will make you wonder.”
“I have, and it did.”
The ruins in Bolivia were rumored to be seventeen thousand years old, yet they possessed remarkable stone technology. Some of the construction blocks were estimated at four hundred and forty tons. There was no known technology at the time that could have transported those blocks the distance from the quarry. The precisely cut stones stirred rumors of alien involvement in the creation.
“You know anyone with the other dig who might talk? Someone friendly and not packing a Walther?” Annja asked.
The sun beamed across Wesley’s face as he thought about it. Annja loved the rugged, adventurer look. He was a man of her kin. Happy under the open sky, and always with dirt under his fingernails, and a question that needed answering.
“Nope, not a one. They’re mostly new since the camps have split. Don’t really know any other than Slater. He’s a Brit, you know.”
“Got a problem with Brits?”
“As a matter of fact, they don’t know how to dig correctly.” He tapped her trowel, which she had been absentmindedly scraping across the surface, and now realized she’d nicked a piece of something white. “What do you have there?”
“Looks like a bone. Excellent. Let me show you how well I can dig.”
“All right, American. Hey, what’s that?”
Looking up from the find, Annja squinted and scanned the horizon. A crowd was gathering at the field edge where the grass grew high and both camps joined.
“Let’s go take a look.” Wesley left her behind, but not for long.
“Annja!” Eric appeared, gestured toward the commotion and took off, camera at the ready.
The cause of the excitement wandered onto the dirt area in front of a parked vehicle. A woman about twenty-two. Surrounded by curious people, she held out her hands as if to ask for space, or maybe just to keep her bearings.
“Beth,” Annja heard Wesley say.
The missing girl? She quickened her steps to join the gathering. The crowd was keeping its distance, not blocking her in, yet one woman took Beth’s arm and led her to a stop.
“Beth?” Wesley approached her. “Where have you been?”
The bedraggled woman
“They steal babies, too,” he added, more seriously than she wished. “Leave behind changelings, sometimes nothing more than a dried old stump sitting in the cradle.”
“Right. I don’t wish to challenge anyone’s pagan beliefs—”
“Ooh, the Catholic chick is challenging my beliefs.”
“What makes you say I’m Catholic?”
“A guess. Almost twenty percent of the world is. And I’m not a pagan, just a believer in what feels right.”
“Little people with wings feels right to you in this situation?”
He smirked. “No. But if you’ve read anything about the Irish legends of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, they’re not so little. Our size, actually.”
“I did do research on the flight here. They were warriors who landed in Ireland around 1470 BC.”
“Right,” Wesley said. “And after many battles against the original Irish, or Fir Bolgs and Milesians, they were finally defeated and went to live underground with the Sidhe. They never reveal themselves to humans, unless you’re one of the old folk who do put credence in the myth. I bet every other farmhouse in the county still puts a bowl of cream out on their back step before turning in, to appease the other crowd.”
“Bet the feral cats love that,” Annja said.
“Meow,” Wesley said snidely. “So I’m guessing I’ll never see Annja Creed’s name connected with astro-archaeology?”
“You got that right.”
Some astro-archaeologists believed humans on earth were descended from aliens, or at the least, they’d been given alien technology to create some of the amazing architecture throughout history. A person had to possess a certain degree of belief in the unbelievable. No skeptics allowed.
“Ever been to Puma Punku?” Wesley asked. “That site will make you wonder.”
“I have, and it did.”
The ruins in Bolivia were rumored to be seventeen thousand years old, yet they possessed remarkable stone technology. Some of the construction blocks were estimated at four hundred and forty tons. There was no known technology at the time that could have transported those blocks the distance from the quarry. The precisely cut stones stirred rumors of alien involvement in the creation.
“You know anyone with the other dig who might talk? Someone friendly and not packing a Walther?” Annja asked.
The sun beamed across Wesley’s face as he thought about it. Annja loved the rugged, adventurer look. He was a man of her kin. Happy under the open sky, and always with dirt under his fingernails, and a question that needed answering.
“Nope, not a one. They’re mostly new since the camps have split. Don’t really know any other than Slater. He’s a Brit, you know.”
“Got a problem with Brits?”
“As a matter of fact, they don’t know how to dig correctly.” He tapped her trowel, which she had been absentmindedly scraping across the surface, and now realized she’d nicked a piece of something white. “What do you have there?”
“Looks like a bone. Excellent. Let me show you how well I can dig.”
“All right, American. Hey, what’s that?”
Looking up from the find, Annja squinted and scanned the horizon. A crowd was gathering at the field edge where the grass grew high and both camps joined.
“Let’s go take a look.” Wesley left her behind, but not for long.
“Annja!” Eric appeared, gestured toward the commotion and took off, camera at the ready.
The cause of the excitement wandered onto the dirt area in front of a parked vehicle. A woman about twenty-two. Surrounded by curious people, she held out her hands as if to ask for space, or maybe just to keep her bearings.
“Beth,” Annja heard Wesley say.
The missing girl? She quickened her steps to join the gathering. The crowd was keeping its distance, not blocking her in, yet one woman took Beth’s arm and led her to a stop.
“Beth?” Wesley approached her. “Where have you been?”
The bedraggled woman
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