A Year and a Half Later...

Conrad picked up the trowel and started scraping away at the next thin layer of soil he'd exposed from the pit. Some sixth sense of his had gotten triggered when he and Franklin had started working in this particular annex a few days ago and he couldn't shake the feeling.

"Sun's down." Franklin popped his head through a wall opening. "I'm gonna go fire up the SLS."

"Yep. I'm just going to keep playing in the dirt here," Conrad said.

"Good. That's why we're paying you the big buck." Buck no 's', of course, which was why he laughed along with Franklin who left to go play with the structured light scanner.

Man, you'd think he'd be fed up of hearing the guy's daily one-liner after three months, but Conrad was just too damn grateful for the opportunity he'd been given.

Jerry Franklin had reached out back in the spring. Turned out his old Harvard acquaintance was now working for U of I's Anthropology department. 'I heard you were back in town, Conrad, helping your mother out. Listen, I could use a skilled pair of hands to help out with a dig I've got going at the Cahokia Mounds. You could help me with the night work. The 3D scanner we got on loan only operates properly in the dark.'

What about Kinley's accusations against him? That had been the first thing out of Conrad's mouth. The whole blacklisted thing?

'Guess you haven't heard? Glen Kinley was convicted and imprisoned in Mexico for stealing Aztec antiquities.'

Well, whaddya know... Karma could be a real bitch after all.

'As for your rep,' Franklin had continued as if having read his mind, 'I never believed any of that rank bullshit. Kinley was nothing but a jealous prick who wanted to fuck you over the first chance he got. Shoe's on the other foot now. Kinley dug his professional grave. In perpetuum.'

'You were the best at what you did, Conrad,' Franklin had gone on in their first convo over coffees face-to-face. 'That knack of yours for finding hidden things? That was the stuff of legend back in the day. Listen, these mound excavations have been going on for years, and if there's anything more to find, you're the guy who'll do it. C'mon. Whaddya say? Come back and play in the dirt for a few months? The pay sucks...'

'...but the thrill is real,' they'd both quipped at the same time.

So yeah, he'd taken the job. Why not? He spent his daytime hours doing the house renovations his mother needed after her hip surgery. Fiona was still travelling back and forth between here and London. The former was to apply and interview for teaching positions at private schools in the region, the latter for sorting out her inheritance from her now deceased grandfather.

Conrad still couldn't believe she'd attended Paul's funeral. The stolen bird had ended up shitting on many of her heartfelt ideals, but whereas he'd have flipped her old coot of a grandfather a different sort of bird posthumously, Fiona was made of stronger stuff. She possessed a profound sense of right and wrong. And two wrongs for her definitely wouldn't have made a right. She had gone to the funeral.

Just something else he admired in the woman who'd found his heart and ended up making him the marrying kind aft–.

Conrad froze. The trowel had struck something solid.

And an old, yet familiar tingle ran up his arm.

Grabbing a vacuum cleaner, he quickly...

Holy. Fuck.

"Jerry?! JERRY!"

Pounding footfalls echoed off the packed earthen walls.

"Wh-wha-what–" Bursting into the annex, a breathless Franklin drilled him with a panicked gaze. "Are you ok?" he asked. Then the man blinked...and blinked again, as he caught sight of what lay in the ground before Conrad's knees.

Conrad almost had to peel Franklin off the dirt ceiling once the two had finished clearing what they could.

The piece of clay tablet measured a mere 2 feet by 1 foot by 3 inches but the symbols inscribed across its surface made its dimensions seem infinite.

A stunned Conrad was willing to bet his left nut that the symbols they were staring at were numeric calculations.

They went to work immediately excavating and preparing the tablet for in situ documentation. Franklin emailed images to an archeoastronomy expert he knew in Milan for an opinion. They would have to wait for a response at this point.

When the pair emerged from the mound, it was broad daylight. Talk about losing track of time.

Conrad froze once again.

'I better go grab some calories." Franklin was still sounding dazed.

Conrad whipped out his phone.

"And I better go get married."

Franklin's gaze went bug-eyed. "That's today?!"

Shit. He'd forgotten he'd set his damn ringer to silent the afternoon before. Well, at least there was no need to waste a few more seconds hitting up Rory's number. There were about a dozen missed call notifications from his friend clogging the screen.

"In an hour, actually," he replied to Franklin, raising the phone to his ear. "Too late for me to go home to get dressed. Ceremony's private but come on over for a beer later. We're doing a BBQ at my mom's place."

Conrad leapt through the open side door and slammed it shut behind him before dropping in a dusty heap into an empty back seat.

"The Eagle has landed! Hit it, Baby Boy!" the Empress commanded, riding shotgun from her wheelchair.

The tires of the silver Honda Odyssey adapted van skidded on the gravel as Nick floored the accelerator. The van's rear end fishtailed, sending grit flying from beneath the treads before the vehicle shot forward. White bows and streamers tied to the bumpers and hood flapped to and fro.

"Holy shit, Con." From the seat beside him, Rory rifled through the duffel bag he had wedged between his ankles. "You gonna lend me that horseshoe of yours someday? Talk about getting the cavalry to come to your rescue at the last minute. I know your head's back in the digging game, but buddy, you're getting married today."

"Just tell me you brought my suit." Conrad braced his legs so as not to get ploughed into the side of the minivan now barreling down the dirt road towards the main thoroughfare.

He hunched over and finger-wrestled the swollen laces of one muddy boot. The bone-shaking vibrations and road noise put a damper on any convo for a few moments.

Ok, yeah, maybe Rory was right and there was some horseshoe involved in his life lately, Conrad thought, having managed to wrench off the one boot and now working on the other.

Lots of good things had been coming his way and proverbial horseshoe or not, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, yada-yada.

He needn't see outside to know when the van had left the dirt road and gripped pavement. The moment the road noise cut, the song the Empress had been belting out became clear.

"Goin' to the chapel and we're, gonna get ma-a-a-ried." The serenading Empress tossed a packet over her shoulder at Conrad.

Baby wipes. Lavender-scented.

Conrad peeled the packet open and pinched out a cloth. Pulling his Cubs cap off he started to pass the wipe over his matted hair. A quick swipe of his face came away with streaks.

He removed his sweaty t-shirt then pinched out more wipes and started giving his torso a sponge bath.

Rory meanwhile was furiously texting away on his phone.

"Woohoo! A pony ride plus a show." The Empress laughed as she angled the rearview mirror with her rainbow gel-manied fingertips to get a better view of the goings on behind her.

"Don'tchu worry, Connie. My Nico will get you delivered on time." She swatted Nick's arm. "You know what they say about redheads and their packages after all."

If he weren't already flushed from exertion, Conrad was pretty sure the flaming heat he felt flooding his cheeks would out-blush his red hair.

Nick's shoulders shook with silent laughter. Rory's laughter had no such volume control as he slipped his phone back into his suit jacket. "Gave Hank our ETA, that is if we don't blow a tire."

"Hubby didn't wanna come along for the ride?"

"He stayed behind with Nkosi"–Rory pulled out a pair of leather loafers and dropped them on the floor– "you know, in case some creative stalling was going to be required to cover your ass. Although, I'm pretty sure that Nigel fellow's got things covered in the spin department if it comes to that."

"Now there's a fascinating man, that Nigel." The Empress grinned at them from the rearview mirror. "And that French-Canadian beau of his? Jean-Sébastien? Ooo-la-la, that accent... Nick! Cancel the vacay in the Keys next winter. We're heading to Montréal." She fanned herself with her hand.

"Thanks Costas, Nick, for the use of your wheels." Conrad peeled off his socks and wadded them into a ball. His shoulders ground into the seat as he arched his hips to strip out of his dusty jeans.

He glanced over at his best man. "Tell me you brought socks."

Rory shot him a duh look.

"Is your van gonna make it to Chicago after this, Nick?" Conrad asked, passing a fresh wipe over his bare legs and between his toes. Honda Odysseys weren't exactly ATV material for off-roading. "Let me and Rory check out the suspension later, ok?" He grabbed the dress socks Rory pulled from the bag and slipped them on.

"Not a problem," Nick answered.

When Costas and Nick had learned of the upcoming nuptials from Rory, the Empress had let them know the pair had plans to attend the Pride festival in Chicago that very week. They'd decided to make it an impromptu cross-country trip, and wasn't it just pure serendipity how swinging through Collinsville for a wedding on their way there worked out perfectly with their schedule.

"Wouldn't have missed this particular detour for the world, Connie," Costas said. "Besides, getting the groom to come on time has always been a personal fantasy of mine. Ha! And now, dear ginger boy, will you puh-leeease put us all out of our misery and tell us what the heck is going on that we had to come rescue you from the middle of an Indiana Jones movie set?"

"I found something. Last night. Buried beneath a pit in an annex.

"We're now waiting to hear back from an expert," he told his expectant peanut gallery. "Not that I'm superstitious, but I don't want to say anymore and jinx things until we get confirmation."

Nick chuckled behind the wheel. "Some kind of curse of the mummy if you speak the words?"

Conrad smirked. "That's just the movies, my friend."

"Good thing you guys spent the traditional day and night before apart," Rory chimed in, handing over a blue button down. "Fiona'd be busting your chops if she knew we were having to haul you over to the chapel from here instead of from my parents' place."

The perfect low key kind of event, as far as he was concerned. They were getting married in a simple ceremony at a wedding chapel. No frills, no crowds. With all the globetrotting and treasure hunting they'd done, neither he nor Fiona were interested in that. They both wanted something quiet, intimate. Family and close friends only.

Conrad did up the shirt buttons in record time and was arching his hips once again to slide a pair of dress pants over his boxer briefs.

After reaching down to pull on the dress loafers Rory handed him next, he took out his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans pocket. Franklin was going to call him the moment he heard anything from Milan. Conrad stared at the screen for a long while then glanced up at the horizon.

The sun was warm and the sky was blue on this beautiful June day. And wherever fate was taking him, he'd learned over the last incredible 18 months that it was best to just follow his gut.

With a slide of his thumb, he shut his phone off.

Damn it all! Was it because it was a Thursday?

Fiona plucked at one of her curly forelocks, a habit she had whenever she was nervous... or getting pissed off.

Why the hell did this day have to be the only one available for booking the chapel this month? What was it with everyone on the planet wanting to get married in June?

Ok, fine. Not everyone on the planet. Just everyone in Collinsville, Illinois, USA.

Did it have something to do with that world's largest catsup bottle the town was famous for? Did the thing emit "get hitched here" vibes? Maybe that was it. It was one of the first places Conrad had taken her to see when she first visited because she hadn't believed him when he'd told her the roadside attraction was named to the National Register of Historic Places.

Seriously? Of all the bloody things... and on that note, why Americans called ketchup "catsup" was beyond her. Her brain kept reading it as "cats gut" and given its colour...

Ugh. Her brain was rambling nonsense again.

Fiona eyed the clock on the wall of the chapel's dressing room for the umpteenth time. Fifteen minutes to go before the ceremony.

Where the hell was Conrad?

He'd spent the night at Rory's parents...supposedly. The two were going to come straight here from there...supposedly. She'd checked her phone. No missed calls. No messages other than the one from Costas about an hour ago saying she and Nick had a last minute gift-to-die-for pickup to make but would be at the chapel lickety-split (red lipstick kiss emoji plus tongue emoji).

On that note, that pair had yet to arrive as well.

She looked through the open doorway into the main hall. Hank, Nigel, and Nkosi were huddled close together. The men were whispering intently amongst themselves with Hank constantly glancing at his cell.

Something was up.

She jerked when smooth fingers brushed her shoulder. Siobhan had come up behind her and started adjusting the straps of Fiona's bright yellow sundress.

"You know," Conrad's sister said. "It's not too late to bust out of here. Side door's unlocked. I could be your getaway driver."

Fiona smirked as she turned to face her. "Getaway drivers need a lead foot. Isn't yours more of the airy fairy twinkle-toed type?"

"Fine, whatever. If ever you need to coupé plié my brother"–Siobhan made finger scissor motions followed by a grounding of a fist in palm–"you know where to find me. And Fiona...?"

"Yeah?"

"He'll be here." Siobhan's strawberry blond tresses fanned over her fuschia crepe-clad shoulder as she cocked her head, offering Fiona a reassuring smile.

"Conrad's always been a free spirit. But wanderlust and adventure meathead my brother can be, Con's always, always there for the people he loves. And up until he met you, that really only included mom and me. But I've seen how he is with you, how he's changed with you. Well, changed back into how he used to be. There's no hiding his feelings from his little sister. He loves you, Fiona. Which means he'll always be there for you too."

Planting her fists on her hips, Siobhan broke into her signature cheeky grin. "Besides, mom will skin him alive if he fucks this day up, let alone how I'll arabesque his ass."

Fiona laughed. Siobhan had become such a great friend to her these last months. Conrad's sister was a most unique embodiment of grace and grit, a woman of intelligence and wit with a vocabulary to do a trucker proud. As for their mother, Janice. It wasn't hard to see where her children had gotten their spark and kindness.

Walking over to the counter, Fiona reached into the flower shop box and pulled out the bouquet she'd specially ordered.

"Is that...is that mistletoe?" Matifadza walked in. Fiona's mum, along with Janice and Nkosi's wife Elaine, had been placing flower arrangements delivered by the florist around the chapel stage. Mati gently poked one of the white berries, raising a quizzical brow at her daughter. "Mistletoe? For a summer wedding?"

"Why not?"

The women turned to look at Nigel who'd entered accompanied by his boyfriend Jean-Sébastien and Mati's partner Luis. Nkosi followed with a smiling Elaine whose baby bump was just beginning to show beneath her silk blouse.

"The first century celtic druids considered it a sacred symbol of, shall we say, vivacity? No doubt why our resident history teacher chose it."

Nice try, Nigel. Fiona refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her blush. In truth it was symbolic of a certain promise she meant to fulfil. And that was something private she would keep to herself.

"Now, now, Nigel. No teasing the bride."

Nigel beamed when Seb, as he preferred to be called, patted his arm as he uttered his gentle reprimand. A former acrobat and now artistic director for the Montreal-based Cirque du Soleil, Seb was an absolute sweetheart who happened to also be a magnificent specimen of lean, muscled, salt and pepper-haired male.

Fiona was so happy for Nigel. Her old friend positively glowed and well he deserved it. When she let him know that she and Conrad were getting married, he'd said he'd be there no matter what. The fact he hadn't shown at her grandfather's funeral but was attending her nuptials spoke volumes.

When her grandfather had passed away nine months before, only she and her mother had attended as family out of a sense of duty. And while she'd shocked her mum relating all that had happened between Paul and his lover, she herself remained calmly convinced it was that final message from Peregrine, aka Jackson, that had released Paul from life. Almost as if the old man had been hanging on just until he could get that last selfish, twisted message of love.

What had been the shocker for Fiona? According to the solicitor who'd contacted her a week later, Paul had designated his granddaughter as his sole beneficiary.

Ten million quid.

Blood money.

More like guilt money, Conrad had kept insisting.

Initially she wanted nothing to do with a single penny. But then it'd occurred to her that there could be an opportunity to do good with it. A substantial donation in trust to her former boarding school in Zimbabwe topped the list. The fact she didn't have to stress finding a teaching job here right away didn't hurt.

"Mistletoe should be a year-round affair." Luis with his creamy linen suit and thick handlebar moustache leaned over to give Mati a peck on the cheek.

Elaine nodded towards the bouquet and smiled. "Druids, eh? Does that mean when you throw it at the end, whoever catches it must marry a Merlin-like type?"

"Hey"–Nkosi gently rubbed Elaine's belly–"may I remind the lovely lady that she's already hitched to her very own Sir Lancelot?" She smacked him on the shoulder as they both burst out laughing.

Nkosi and Elaine had driven in from Chicago two days before, the wedding having given her best friend the opportunity to take a long overdue vacation with his wife. They were going to fly on to the Hawaiian Islands tomorrow, the first leg of a three-week trip that would take them on to Japan afterwards.

"What's so funny?" Janice came in. It didn't escape Fiona's notice how Conrad's mother was trying not to glare at the clock. Obviously, Fiona wasn't the only one who was wondering where a certain groom was but not willing to say anything.

Fiona bit her tongue. As much as she wanted to ask the men point blank what the hell was going on, she kept up appearances. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Conrad's mother.

Relax, Fi. There had to be a good reason he wasn't there yet. And she believed what Siobhan told her.

Fiona had never been a girl to daydream about weddings. Jacking herself into a white dress with frills was never going to be her thing. No diamonds, no glam. It just wasn't anything on her radar. Maybe it was because of how her parents ended up, although seeing her mum with Luis now, Nkosi happily married to Elaine and the couple expecting their first child, Nigel and his boyfriend, Rory and Hank, gave her a refreshing perspective of how things could go very right.

A simple chapel ceremony was the one concession she and Conrad had made towards their respective mothers.

Hmm, Hank was still loitering out in the main hall.

Nigel was now telling her mum, Luis, and Siobhan about his and Seb's upcoming trip to Spain. Seb was scouting for locations for next year's touring Cirque du Soleil shows and Siobhan was asking questions about their dance productions. Nkosi meanwhile was chatting about his and Elaine's travel itinerary to Janice.

Fiona narrowed her eyes.

The men were stalling.

"So are we ready to get married? Where's the groom?"

All heads turned to the minister who'd stepped in. A flustered-looking Hank was right on his heels.

The room fell stone silent.

Nkosi pursed his lips. Nigel chuckled. And Hank coughed.

If Fiona's eyes had been lasers, Hank'd have been vaporised.

That's it. She opened her mouth to call bullshit–

The screeching of tires outside had the group rushing en masse into the hall whereupon the main doors of the chapel burst open.

In strode Conrad with a big, sappy grin, looking sharp in a suit and tie.

"Here's your gift, darlin'! Now let's get this wedding and not just me rollin'!" Costas clapped as Nick pushed her chair forward. A head-shaking, laughing Rory pulled up the rear.

When Fiona's eyes locked on Conrad's, his expression melted her heart. He looked so happy, wearing that smile of his that was just for her, as if she were the only person in the room.

Their time spent together flashed through her mind. Their adventures across the world, their clashes and meetups. A certain sprig of mistletoe that ignited that first true spark. But it all began really that fateful day in London, when Paul crushed her and Conrad had stepped in. He'd taken the splinters of her heart and glued them back together. And every time they'd met up and gotten together since then, the bond had grown stronger.

She wrinkled her nose as the draft from the door reached her. What was that smell on him?

But all her thoughts fled when he reached for her and twirled her in his arms.

"You didn't think I wouldn't be here, did you? Had to make an entrance after all for my one and only gal."

Fiona laughed.

Any lingering fear vanished. And while she stared at her soon-to-be-husband, she started to sniffle too as she watched him grow misty-eyed.

...

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wife and husband! You may kiss the bride!"

There was a round of applause... and a wolf whistle from Costas.

The clapping got louder, Siobhan and Rory joining in on the whistling as Conrad stepped in close and put his arms around Fiona's waist. He slowly bent her backwards and Fiona's hands shook as she cupped his face.

The bouquet brushed against his hair as she raised it above their heads.

"Love that lavender splash you're rocking," she whispered. "I'm going to find out what happened, you know. I'll get Rory to spill."

Conrad shrugged. "I'm sure you will. But first, there's a certain promise to keep, no?"

And they kissed beneath the mistletoe, slow and deep.

Lying amidst the Cubs paraphernalia and dance competition ribbons, Conrad's phone vibrated atop his old dresser. But seeing as he was otherwise preoccupied on his bed...

He raised his free arm and wiggled his newly banded ring finger at it.

Fiona smiled widely at his gesture, then clasped the back of his head and guided his lips back to hers.

The full moon outside cast soft shadows about her husband's childhood bedroom but Fiona could see his expression clearly when he pulled back to gaze down at her. His smile was a quiet one as he began spreading her curls out onto the pillow.

"Today was something else, wasn't it?" he said.

She reached up and tickled the scruff on his cheek with her fingers. He rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest and she started to play with the coppery curls between his pecs.

When next the phone let out a voicemail chime, Conrad's gaze shot over to the Louisville slugger mounted on the wall.

"You've already slid into home plate," she whispered, trying not to laugh at the grin he flashed. "Maybe you should just check who it is?"

He reached over only for Fiona to tug him back to her for a quick peck. Then she let him go and he did a quick grab and glance at the illuminated screen.

"Oh, look at that face." She laughed. "Go on. It's ok. Call Franklin. I'm dying to know too."

"Could be nothing. But why don't I put it on speakerphone."

The outgoing dial out only had the chance to ring once.

"It's some kind of sophisticated astronomical calendar!" Franklin's voice exploded over the line before Conrad could say a word. "Gabriella says it looks like something even more precise than the Mayan one to her! Some of the symbols could be evidence of a writing system too! This find is going to change the books on everything about the inhabitants' culture and level of civilization. Life's looking pretty damn good at the moment, my man."

Conrad's grip on the phone tightened.

"You're gonna be famous, Conrad! We're going to be able to publish for the next decade! Oh, and the head of the university board wants a meeting asap. She wants to take you on full time. If this fragment exists, there has to be other pieces somewhere."

Conrad slowly turned to face Fiona.

He took a deep breath.

"It's going to have to wait a bit, Jerry. Life's already pretty damn good at the moment and I've got a honeymoon to go on... asap. See, we're taking a riverboat cruise along the Mississippi. Going to Huck Finn our way along the Ol' Man River til we reach New Orleans. History buff that my wife is, Fiona's dying to check out the Garden District with its French Quarter and Lafayette Cemetery, and I'm looking forward to taking her to Preservation Hall for the live jazz music. I'll call when I get back in three weeks, Jerry."

He hung up and returned the phone to the dresser. He reached for her and tucked her into his side as he lay back down.

Fiona was at a loss for words for a time.

"Are you... Are you sure, Con? I mean, the honeymoon can wait. I have a few interviews lined up but there are still a few places I want to look into for teaching posts."

He remained silent for a long while. Then pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Do you regret anything about our adventure together, Fiona?"

She frowned. Why was he asking her this now? Before she could answer, he spoke again.

"Because I don't. Not even the bad moments. No amount of Paul, of Jackson, of psycho mandalove–may she forever look drab in prison orange– was going to be enough to make me miss this moment, make me miss meeting you. Do you believe me?"

She nodded. "Yes, it's the same for me."

"Franklin and the tablet and the university board can wait. None of them is going anywhere. See, the way I figure it, I've already discovered the greatest treasure of my life, and she's right here, soft and warm in my arms."

"And I have a wonderful learning experience ahead being with you, Con. Learning all the ins and outs of being in love with a sweet dancing, show tune singing mid-western boy who ended up stealing a precious artefact from me after all."

"Oh? What was it I stole?"

"My heart."

She snuggled into his embrace, then grinned when she pressed one of her bare feet onto his calf and his body jerked. His hand caressed her collarbone and he began singing lines from the tune she'd hoped he would, one of her favourites he'd introduced to her...

"Popsicle toes–"

Fiona laughed as she listened to Conrad sing about her having a nice North America all the way down to a warm Brazil.

Right then. Enough with the globetrotting.

His words were swallowed by her mouth pressing down on his as she shifted over to straddle his hips.

And in the quiet moans that followed, neither noticed the brown spider that quickly dashed across the window sill towards a silvery web gently tossing in the breeze.

~Finis~