Medusa's Dagger (Aya Harris Collection 1)

“Um… thanks,” I mumbled. Secretly, I cursed myself. Thanks? Was that all I could say to this man with the broad shoulders and yummy lips? No wonder I was desperately single.

“No problem,” he said, his voice rough.

I felt myself staring a little too long at the way his hair effortlessly swept back from his forehead. So, I tore my eyes away to look at the statue in his hands instead. He held it out awkwardly, as if it were dirty, and refused to look at the little naked man.

“Can you take this?” he asked, pushing it toward me.

“Oh, of course.” I felt my cheeks burn. Snatching the fertility statue from him, I set it haphazardly back on the display, and ran away to hide behind the counter.

Of all the ways to meet the possible man of my dreams... Somebody should put me out of my misery.

Peering between my fingers, I watched him loiter around the entrance, pausing at each exhibit. He couldn’t have been older than thirty. Dressed in a dark navy suit and striped tie, he looked like some kind of businessman. Maybe a banker or a lawyer. I liked a man in a suit. Not only did I find it hot, but it usually guaranteed that he didn’t live with

his mother anymore.

Angel came breezing past the counter at that moment, her brilliant red sheer blouse flowing behind her, distracting me from my stalking.

“Aya, you’ve got another package from Mr. Boss-man.” She slid the box stamped with fragile in bright red letters down the counter at me, barely glancing up to see if I caught it before it tumbled off the edge. Placing a hand on her designer skinny jeans, she glared at me and wagged her finger. “When are you going to learn to water my babies? Plants need tender loving care. I’m gone for two days and already they’re wilting.”

She stroked one of the dozens of potted plants she’d littered across the museum’s expansive exhibit area. Angel had a way with greenery. A real green thumb. Whispering and cooing to a miniature rose bush, she grabbed the water can and sprinkled it over the green foliage until satisfied.

“Good morning to you, too,” I said in a sour tone. “Late again, I see.”

Angel turned her wrist to look at an imaginary watch and shrugged her shoulders with a grin. She grabbed her Prada bag from the counter, pulled out a brown lipstick, and turned to a giant ornate mirror hanging on the wall.

The mirror distorted Angel’s image into that of a crooked old woman with shoulder length grey hair and wicked crow’s feet. It’d been enchanted centuries ago by a sorceress, to reflect an aged version of the viewer. Rumor was, she’d had it made and then sent to her vain older sister. They were infamous bitter rivals.

Most everyone hated the mirror, except for Angel. She was a nymph, and so naturally, she never aged. To the world, she appeared to be a gorgeous twenty-five-year-old Latina woman. Only her friends knew the real truth. At forty-seven, Angel looked great and never got any older.

“You know you love me,” Angel said, smacking her lips together and flashing me a smile in the mirror.

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of my mouth.

Angel and I’d been working together at the museum since I came here after college. For three years, she’d kept me from turning into a bore. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.

“Let’s see what Mr. Jones sent us today,” I said, peeling the tape off the USPS box. Digging through a pile of foam peanuts, I felt something solid brush against my fingers and pulled it out. It was a dagger, about the length of my hand. Filigree designs on the handle and sheath made the dagger appear centuries old.

I dug in the box for some kind of note or instructions, but found none. Typical Mr. Jones. His adventures were often too great for him to take the time to give me any kind of notice. As the owner of the museum, he loved to send us new items to display. Sometimes, months would go by before he’d pop back in to check on us.

“Angel, could you have a look at this dagger later on? See if it has any magical qualities?”

On top of being an ageless nymph, Angel had studied a bit of witchcraft over the years. Most of her abilities were pretty basic, but they came in handy when I needed an artifact examined.

“Sure thing, boss,” Angel chirped from the other side of the room.

No longer distracted by new toys, I watched the man who saved me return to the fertility charms display. With nimble fingers, he plucked the fertility statue from where I’d dropped it, and set it back where it belonged, perfectly aligned with the charms around it. I couldn’t have done it better myself. Suddenly, he turned in my direction, and I ducked down to restack an already perfectly straight pile of The City of Arcana Tourist Spots brochures.

“Ma’am, I was wondering if you could help me.”

I looked up from my obsessive stacking into his eyes rimmed with dark brown lashes.

Without warning, Angel popped up beside me. She had a knack for showing up when the handsome customers came through the door. Leaning forward on the counter, she gave him her best one-hundred-watt smile.

“Of course we can help you. What can we do?”

He cleared his throat and blinked, startled by her sudden appearance. His eyes flicked back and forth between us, as if unsure who to address.

I couldn’t help the sinking feeling in my stomach. Sure, we hadn’t exactly hit it off between my spastic fall and the giant phallus man. But as soon as Angel got in the picture, I was toast.