“Hello, Auntie. You’re looking bonny.” He kissed me on the cheek.
“I’m sorry. I’m late.”
“Of course you’re late. You were with your books. I didn’t expect you for another hour at least,”
Gallowglass said, dismissing my apology.
When we got to the lab, Matthew had the image of the alchemical wedding from Ashmole 782 in front of him and was so absorbed that he didn’t even look up when the door pinged. Chris and Sherlock were standing at his shoulder, watching intently. Scully sat on a rolling stool nearby. Game Boy had a tiny instrument in her hand and was holding it dangerously close to the manuscript page.
“You get scruffier all the time, Gallowglass. When did you last comb your hair?” Miriam swiped a card through the reader at the door. It was marked VISITOR. Chris was taking security seriously.
“Yesterday.” Gallowglass patted the back and sides of his head. “Why? Is a bird nesting in it?”
“One might well be.” Miriam nodded in my direction. “Hi, Diana. Matthew will be with you soon.”
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“Trying to teach a postgraduate student with no knowledge of biology or proper laboratory procedures how to remove DNA samples from parchment.” Miriam looked at the group surrounding Matthew with disapproval. “I don’t know why Roberts funds graduate students who don’t even know how to run agarose gels, but I’m just the lab manager.”
Across the room Game Boy let out a frustrated expletive.
“Pull up a stool. This could be a while.” Miriam rolled her eyes.
“Don’t worry. It takes practice,” Matthew told Game Boy, his voice soothing. “I’m nothing but thumbs with that computer game of yours. Try again.”
Again? My mouth dried up. Making repeated stabs at the page from Ashmole 782 might damage the palimpsest. I started toward my husband, and Chris spotted me.
“Hey, Diana.” He intercepted me with a hug. He looked at Gallowglass. “I’m Chris Roberts.
Diana’s friend.”
“Gallowglass. Matthew’s nephew.” Gallowglass surveyed the room, and his nose wrinkled.
“Something stinks.”
“The grad students played a little joke on Matthew.” Chris pointed to the computer terminal, which was festooned with wreaths of garlic bulbs. A crucifix designed for a car dashboard was attached to the mouse pad with a suction cup. Chris turned his attention to Gallowglass’s neck with an intensity that was practically vampiric. “Do you wrestle?”
“Weeell, I have been known to do so for sport.” Gallowglass looked down shyly, his cheeks dimpled.
“Not Greco-Roman by any chance?” Chris asked. “My partner injured his knee and will be in rehab for months. I’m looking for a temporary replacement.”
“It must be Greek. I’m not sure about the Roman part.”
“Where did you learn?” Chris asked.
“My grandfather taught me.” Gallowglass scrunched up his face as his concentration deepened. “I think he wrestled a giant once. He was a fierce fighter.”
“Is this a vampire grandfather?” Chris asked.
Gallowglass nodded. “Vampire wrestling must be fun to watch.” Chris grinned. “Like alligator wrestling, but without the tail.”
“No wrestling. I’m serious, Chris.” I wanted no responsibility, no matter how indirect, for causing bodily harm to a MacArthur genius.
“Spoilsport.” Chris let out a piercing whistle. “Wolfman! Your wife is here.”