The Prophecy (Daughters of the People Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

off against the loose cotton of her cargo pants. Dani’s grin
held smug satisfaction, an emotion Maya could hardly deny the younger Daughter.
It was welling up in her own chest, even as she tried to tamp it down. Hope
could do funny things to a Daughter, and here was hope in its highest form, a
possible clue to the lost prophecy contained in one of the most ancient symbols
of the People, a symbol associated specifically with that prophecy.
    Maya glanced
from Dr. Lindberg’s weathered face to James’ smiling one. “Take me to the
artifacts,” she said, and crawled out of the pit.
     
    * * *
     
    Three hours
later, Maya stood in front of the bathroom’s mirror towel-drying her hair. As
soon as they’d arrived back from the dig, still burning with excitement, she
and Dani had retreated to their separate rooms to clean up. Jet lag would kick
in soon, but for now, adrenaline kept them going.
    Moisture fogged
the mirror. Maya swiped a hand towel over it and cleared a space big enough to
work, preparing for the night ahead. She smoothed an anti-frizz product through
her hair. The tightly coiled curls relaxed slightly then sprang into shape. As
a young woman, she’d wished for any kind of hair other than the slightly
coarse, kinky brown headful she’d inherited from her mother. Long silky hair
like Indigo’s or wavy curls like Dani’s. Anything. Nostalgia plucked at her.
Young girls always wanted to be different, no matter the era.
    Maya leaned
forward and applied eyeliner to her almond shaped eyes, then brushed mascara
over the thick, black lashes. She’d inherited those features from her mother,
along with the high, arching eyebrows, the wide, full lips, and pixie face. The
aristocratic nose came from her father and seemed out of place covered by her café
au lait skin. A sharp pang hit her, regret mingling with sorrow. She’d had
them for such a short time. What she wouldn’t give to have known them better.
    She paused,
gazing at herself in the mirror. Her mind rarely drifted to her parents. They
were both long dead and, except for the night of their brutal murders, she
remembered very little about them. Sometimes a smell reminded her of her
mother’s embrace or she’d hear her father’s voice in the timbre of another
man’s. Their kindness, their love; those were the things she’d clung to during
the long, lonely years of her childhood.
    She shook the
memories away and checked her watch, set to local time as soon as they landed.
After a quick mental calculation of the time difference between Sweden and the
IECS, she called Director Upton. The director’s receptionist answered on the
second ring, then patched Maya through.
    “Maya.” The
voice was smooth, cultured, and well-modulated. Rebecca Upton appeared to be in
her early fifties, but she was much, much older, and had the political and
business savvy to prove it. Maya closed her eyes and imagined the director as
she usually was in the middle of the afternoon on a workday, wearing a tailored
power suit, bold but tasteful, with spike-heeled shoes in a matching color, and
just the right touch of accessories. Her ash blonde hair would be twisted into
a chignon, not a strand out of place, and her delicate features would be
artfully enhanced with barely-there makeup.
    To the world,
Rebecca Upton was a successful business woman who ran the Institute for Early
Cultural Studies with the precision and strategy of a battlefield general. Few
knew that she was in reality a centuries-old warrior and had once literally
been the equivalent of a battlefield general. Few among the Daughters were as
canny, or as powerful.
    “Director
Upton.” Maya wandered to the lone window and flicked the curtains closed as she
briefly outlined the status of their trip and relayed the information they’d
gathered on the dig: The condition of the other skeletons, unmoved after the
massacre; the discovery of jewelry and other artifacts, also left by the
marauders; and the threat of