The Archivist Read Online Free Page A

breast and swirl my fingers over her hard nipple. Her mouth presses rough against mine, and she pulls me through the door, back into the house. With an almost-dancing motion we move across to my small room, and I close the door. Our lips only separate long enough for me to slip her shirt up and over her head.
    As I drape the garment over a chair, I notice scarlet dragon-like shapes on Danae’s upper arms. Before blowing out the candle, I see that they are tattoos: mirror images of crouching and snarling red tigers. There was a moment back in the bar, when Danae stood with a candle glowing behind her, that her illuminated hair glowed with the same hue as the cats.
    Then, I am back in the here-and-now as she pushes me down onto the cot and straddles me without a word.
    Our passion builds like thunderheads on a sweltering summer day, until release comes for both of us, as sudden and intense as a cloudburst in the desert. A flash of intimacy floods over the parched landscape, then flows away before anything is allowed to seep into the hardened soil of our souls.
    Silently she rises, takes her shirt and is gone, leaving behind only her scent.

Chapter Three
    Stray slivers of sunlight poke through the curtains that are drawn across a small window above the cot I am lying on. I still smell faint traces of Danae, which remind me of our encounter in the darkness. Danae is certainly not the first woman I have lain with over the past thirty years, but they have been few and far between, and always at the Archives.
    Unlike any of those others, though, for a few moments last night Danae and I were not only physically naked, but utterly nude in an emotional sense. More than a sexual liaison, that flash flood of intimacy was almost a spiritual experience, and that scares the hell out of me.
    Reluctantly I slip out from under the warm covers into the frigid morning air that seeps through the same cracks as the sunlight. Only the radiant warmth of the chimney which makes up the inside wall counters the chill as I dress and prepare for a cross-country trek.
    When I step out into the common room, I find a vigorous fire snapping in the hearth, which explains the warm chimney. Danae has already laid out a breakfast at one end of the table: earthenware bowls filled with scrambled eggs, cooked grain that looks like oatmeal, and some sausage links.
    Danae regards me with eyes as empty of expression as they were overflowing with it last night. Her stare silently tells me, ‘What happened last night will not happen again,’ and my unwavering gaze replies my agreement. I think it was as unexpected for her as it was for me.
    “Good morning,” she says, finally, with what would be a friendly greeting from anyone else. But I have seen Danae’s real smile, and the stiff grin is a pathetic facsimile. She steps behind the table, placing the barrier between us. We both needed our encounter in that moment, but now we need what happened in that room to stay there.
    Doc strides out of his room dressed for the road in heavy pants and shirt, interrupting what had been an awkward moment. He nods to me and I follow his lead as we fill broad, flat bowls with our servings and sit on the bench.
    I turn toward the older man while Danae returns to the small kitchen. “If you don’t mind my asking, why the request for information on toxicology? We’ve never had anyone ask for that before. Usually it’s either how to make weapons or grow food.” I am not actually interested. I just want to put distance between me and that un-moment.
    Doc closes his eyes while he savors a bite of sausage, then looks at me. “There used to be a mining operation upriver. You’re too young to remember the time of the Crash, but like everything else, the mine was run by robots and computers, so the whole operation shut down along with the tech. The few men staffing the mine had no idea how to do the real work, so they just drifted away. Unfortunately, the mess they left behind