A Change of Worlds

Book 5 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 8

The phone was ringing as I came into the office the next morning. I climbed over a pile of lumber, fought my way under a drop cloth covering my desk, and sputtered through a cloud of sawdust — only to have the call go to voicemail before I could get to it. I flopped into the chair, raising another cloud of dust and setting off a coughing fit.

"I thought I heard someone out here," Novak said, sticking his head through his office door.

I looked up in surprise. "Hey. I didn't think you were here. Why didn't you answer the phone?"

"Damn thing's been ringing off the hook all morning. It's people wanting to schedule appointments for interviews. I figured I'd leave that to you."

"Gee, thanks," I responded dryly.

"That's why I pay you the big bucks."

"When should I set up the appointments?"

"I have Thursday free, if that's okay with you."

"Why does it matter if I'm free?"

"I want you to be here for the interviews. You're going to be working with whomever we hire just as much as, if not more than I will. In fact, you'll probably be doing most of the training, so you'd better be able to get along."

"Oh, that makes sense. Thursday's good for me."

"Great. Thursday it is. Schedule the first one for around ten and every half hour after that, with a break for lunch. Nothing after three." The phone rang just then, and he took the opportunity to duck back into his office.

The call turned out to be from another applicant. I got him scheduled, then checked the messages and returned calls for a while, setting up a few more appointments. I had four people lined up by the time I finished.

I was able to weed out several on the phone.

For instance, I politely turned down the woman who wanted to know if she could bring her Doberman to the office with her. "He gets so lonely when Mommy leaves," she'd cooed. "Don't you, Snookums? Why just last week he got so upset when I went shopping that he ate the neighbors' cat. They were so angry! They wanted to put him down!" Her voice was actually filled with righteous indignation, as if she couldn't understand why her neighbors would be upset that her dog had used their cat as a chew toy. "They just don't understand you, do they? Do they?"

Once I'd managed to hang up on the kooky canine lady, I got about half an hour of work done before the construction crew arrived. At that point, all hope of accomplishing anything was pretty much blown.

I was on the verge of retreating into Novak's office when Lily called me on my cell. "I just finished speaking with Professor Healy," she reported. "Everything is arranged. They're expecting you to drop by today."

"Great! Any particular time?"

"No, just whenever."

"What did you tell them about me?"

"That you're a reporter doing a story about local archaeology."

"Okay, so I'll make sure to ask lots of general questions."

That wouldn't be too hard. I had a genuine interest in the subject. I didn't really like lying, but it was often an unfortunate necessity in this business. I tried to think of it more as playing a role. Luckily, I was a pretty good actor. Theater was one of my favorite classes in school.

"Sounds good. You're the professional."

"Where is the excavation? I know it's on your property, but that's about it."

"Oh yeah, I guess that information would be helpful, wouldn't it?" She chuckled. "Tell you what, meet me at Dad's house and I'll take you there and introduce you, then leave you to your sleuthing. When are you available?"

Before I could answer, one of the construction workers started up a saw, drowning out my response. I shot him a dirty look, which he didn't notice since he was busy attacking the wall. I couldn't see that they had done anything since the previous Friday except make a mess, so I supposed construction workers got the weekend off.

I moved quickly to the hallway where it was a little quieter. "I'm free now. My office is under siege. Soon my desk may disappear beneath a mountain of sawdust."

"Are you renovating?"

"Remodeling. We're expanding into the neighboring office. Is this a good time for you?"

"Yeah, let's do it. I'll meet you at Fletcher's in a few minutes."

"See you there."

I braved the office once more to let Novak know I was leaving, then drove over to Fletcher's place. Lily hadn't arrived yet, but Jacy came around the corner of the house as I climbed from the car.

"Hey," he said, breaking into a smile. "Are you here for your first lesson?"

"Lesson?" I asked in confusion. "Oh! No, I'm meeting Lily. She's supposed to show me to the excavation site."

"I could have done that. She didn't have to drive all the way over here."

"It was her suggestion. I just assumed you'd be at work. How is Fletcher feeling?"

He rolled his eyes. "He must be feeling better. He's just as ornery as he ever was and he's getting impossible to deal with. He's still supposed to be resting, but I keep catching him up and working with his herbs. He says boredom will kill him quicker than his heart."

I laughed. "Maybe I should duck in and say hi while I'm waiting for Lily."

"He'd like that. He thinks a lot of you."

"Really?" I was surprised and a little puzzled. I'd only met the man a couple of times.

"Yeah. My grandfather's a great judge of character, so if he says you're a good person, then you must be."

I felt a blush creeping up my cheeks, but luckily Lily pulled into the driveway at that moment. I turned to greet her, thankful for the distraction.

"You beat me," she said as soon as her car door swung open. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

"I just got here. Jacy and I were talking."

"Yeah, you didn't have to come over. I could have shown Killian to the site," Jacy chipped in.

"Well, I wanted to introduce him to everyone. Besides, my kiln is acting up so I can't do anything at the studio today. Are you ready, Killian?"

"When you are."

"Let's go." She set off towards the back of the house with long-legged strides, leaving me trotting along behind her like an eager puppy.

Lily generally moved with purposeful, solid movements, but when we reached the edge of the woods it was as if she had suddenly transformed into another person, graceful and fluid. Although she followed no discernible trail as far as I could see, she seemed to know exactly where she was going.

Never having been much of a woodsman, I felt like a flailing incompetent in her wake. She moved almost silently, ducking under branches and avoiding brambles with practiced ease. I had to stop every few feet to untangle the sharp thorny vines from my pants and shirt.

"How do you do that?" I finally asked after a particularly nasty thorn raked over the back of my hand, leaving a bloody welt to mark its passing.

She stopped and looked back at me, her face registering surprise at how far behind her I'd fallen. "I'm sorry. I forget not everyone had Fletcher around when they were children, to teach them how to move in the forest."

I looked at her curiously while I rubbed my hand. "Do you mind if I ask a personal question?"

"Why do I call my father Fletcher?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry if that seems nosy. I asked Jacy and he said it was your story to tell."

"Did Jacy explain anything to you?"

"He said he never knew Fletcher growing up, that he thought his grandmother's second husband was his biological grandfather. When he went looking for the truth about his family, you were the one who told him."

She nodded. "Right. I was pretty young when Fletcher and my mother got divorced. She remarried soon after. Fletcher moved away, and we didn't see much of him for quite a while, so her husband became the only father I really knew. My only real memories of Fletcher as a child are of his teaching me how to move in the forest. He was always very into respecting nature and embracing our culture, even before he became an herbalist.

"When Fletcher moved back to this area about fifteen years ago, my sisters refused to have anything to do with him. By that time, I was old enough to understand his reasons for leaving and I sympathized, being gay as well. I'm really the only one who has any contact with him. My younger sister Jasmine sees him from time to time, but they aren't close. Rose, Violet, and Daisy all refuse to even speak to him. Rose, Jacy's mother, doesn't speak to me either. She's a little...thorny, if you'll excuse the pun."

"Five girls and you all have flower names?"

She grimaced. "I've never understood what they were thinking. You ready to move on? It's not much farther."

"Sure, just take it a little slower this time, huh?"

She chuckled and started moving again.

"So where do the archaeologists park? I didn't see any cars at the house."

"What? Oh. On the other side of the woods. There's a tax ditch, which the county keeps cleared, that comes fairly close to the actual dig. If they drive their equipment in on four-wheelers, they don't have to walk as far with it."

"How many of them are there? Do they all have four-wheelers?"

"I think there's about eight of them, but I'm not sure. And no, they don't all drive up. Most have to walk. It's a little farther from their side, but they prefer to park together. That's fine with us. At least Fletcher's yard isn't full of cars."

The deeper we moved into the woods, the more uneasy I began to feel, as if many eyes were on me. A prickling sensation attacked the back of my neck, and the hairs on my arms stood up. The farther we went, the worse it got, until it was almost unbearable. I came to an abrupt stop and stared intently into the trees around me. The only other living thing I could see besides Lily and me was a plump gray squirrel chattering at us angrily for invading his territory — and yet, the feeling of being watched remained, as strong as ever.

Lily stopped and turned back. "Are you okay? Was I going too fast again?"

I continued searching the trees. "No, you're fine. It's not that."

"Then what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I winced, but quickly attempted to cover with a weak smile. "It's nothing. I think my nerves are getting to me."

Lily gave me an odd look. "What's going on, Killian?"

"It's just... I feel like...we're being watched."

She raised one eyebrow. "Oh really?"

I tried another smile, but I doubted it was any more successful than the first.

"What exactly do you sense?" she pressed.

I shrugged. "I just sort of... It's almost like there's someone out there — or a lot of someones, maybe — and they're not happy that I'm here."

Lily studied me for several seconds before nodding slowly. "I guess Fletcher was right about you."

I felt my eyes widen. "So we are being watched?"

She shrugged. "Fletcher would say it's the spirits of the ancestors. Personally, I don't feel anything."

Just then, a slight breeze rustled through the leaves, and I thought I heard the indistinct sound of voices floating on the wind.

Lily seemed to hear it too. "That's them now," she told me.

"The spirits?"

She laughed. "No, the archaeologists. If the spirits are speaking, I won't be the one to hear them. I don't have any gifts, remember? Come on. Don't let them spook you."

We started off again, and soon the site came into view, looking eerily like the ghost of an Indian village rising from the past. A dusty, gray tent and two makeshift canopies had been set up around a small clearing. Under one canopy stood several tripods, each bearing a large, shallow box suspended on chains. The other canopy sheltered a few folding lawn chairs, a large ice chest, and a folding plastic table — obviously the rest area. I couldn't see what was in the tent. An enormous tarp was piled off to one side, revealing the actual dig in the center of the clearing.

It looked much like what I'd expected from watching TV. Metal rebar spikes and white twine had been used to lay the area out in a precise grid, with excavation under way in several of its squares. I quickly counted seven people. Four of them were down on their hands and knees wielding trowels, while the other three appeared to be supervising. From what I could see, most of them seemed to be around my own age. One man was definitely older than the others. I guessed him to be in his mid-forties. He was quite tall, with faded red hair and abundantly freckled skin. Another woman seemed to be a little older as well, maybe in her early thirties.

The older man looked up as we drew nearer and raised a hand in greeting. "Hello, Ms. Snyder," he called loudly, causing everyone else to glance in our direction.

"Hello, Professor Healy," Lily replied. "The excavation seems to be going well."

"Yes, the weather has been cooperating lately. The rains have held off, for which we are eternally grateful. May I assume this is the reporter you called about earlier today?"

"Yes. Professor Quinn Healy, this is Killian Kendall. As I said, he's writing an article on local archaeology."

Professor Healy eyed me suspiciously, making me wonder briefly if Lily had been wise to use my real name. His lips formed a smile that never quite reached his steely blue eyes as he held out his hand to shake mine.

"How did you learn of the excavation?" he asked. "I thought we had done a fine job of keeping this under wraps. It prevents the riffraff and rubberneckers from interfering, you understand."

"I know someone in the tribe who mentioned it to me," I prevaricated. Well, it wasn't a complete lie. "Don't worry, I won't reveal the location of the site or give any landmarks that would help locate it for the readers."

His smile became a little warmer and he nodded. "That would be much appreciated. Let me give you a quick tour. Afterwards, I'll introduce you to the crew, and you can ask some questions."

"I'll just leave you to it," Lily interjected. "I need to get back to the house." She turned to me. "Will you be able to find your way back?"

I wasn't at all sure I could, but before I was able to respond, Professor Healy stepped in smoothly. "If not, we'll make sure he has a guide to help him find his way."

"Thank you." Lily set off silently into the trees.

The professor watched her go, a thoughtful expression on his face, before turning his attention back to me.

"Is this the first time you've ever been on the site of an archaeological excavation?"

"Yes, it is, although I've done a little research on the subject."

"Like any good reporter," he said approvingly. "Then I'll assume you have a rudimentary knowledge of the subject. All the same, I'll review the basics quickly. Work started long before we actually arrived with trowel in hand. After the Snyders contacted us and we decided this was a viable site, we began our surveys. A base map was drawn showing the location of the excavation in order to pinpoint elevations and features such as trees, rocks, et cetera — in this case, mostly trees. During the excavation, we add to it to show where we've excavated and where any artifacts are found."

He walked over closer to the dig area with me trailing behind, then crouched down and plucked the taut string. "We established a grid based on the cardinal points of the compass, using extremely accurate measurements taken with surveying instruments. This is all very important for future scientists and archaeologists. The grid is laid out with spikes and twine, then the squares are assigned coordinates by counting the number of units — feet or meters, we use feet — north and east of the datum point, which is located in the southwest corner of the site."

I was beginning to feel as if I were back in class being lectured to by one of my drier professors. This would all be good information if I had been writing for a science journal, but he was talking so fast I could barely keep up with my note-taking. I finally decided to forget about the notes for the moment and use the opportunity to study the other crew members.

The woman in her thirties kept stealing curious glances in our direction. She was about average height, thin, with ropy muscles in her arms and legs. Her dirty-blonde hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she wore no makeup. Like most of the other crew, she wore khaki shorts, a dirt-stained t-shirt, and grime-encrusted sneakers. Her appearance made it obvious she worked right along with her colleagues.

This was in striking contrast to Professor Healy, who was almost spotless in his fashionable jeans and button-down oxford, with its sleeves rolled industriously up to his elbows. Apart from having his hair ruffled by the wind, he looked as if he were there for a photo shoot rather than for any actual work.

The remaining crew members all appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties. Upon closer inspection, I decided the other person I'd guessed to be a supervisor was probably a little older than her companions, maybe in her mid-twenties. She was short and stocky, with close-cropped, curly, dark hair and intense brown eyes. She wasn't paying much attention to the two of us — unlike the pretty blonde girl she was assisting, who was watching us more than what she was doing. I saw the darker woman catch the girl's wrist and point something out in the dirt. They both bent over it as she poked gently with the point of her trowel. It must not have been anything important, however, because after closer inspection she dropped it into the plastic five-gallon bucket where all the excavated dirt was being deposited.

In another square, a tall, well-toned black man with a shaved head was laboring diligently, while in the square next to him, a slightly pudgy Asian man also paid us no heed. The remaining crew member had pretty much given up any pretense of being busy and was simply watching us with a blank expression. He was of average height and weight, with straight brown hair that hung down over his pale blue eyes.

"Sometimes only a few test pits are dug," Professor Healy was saying, "but we'll be excavating the entire site over the course of several years, assuming this first season goes well and the Snyders and Pomocatan tribe are agreeable."

"Why wouldn't they be agreeable?" I asked.

As if surprised that I had interrupted his lecture, he seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds — a state to which I suspected he was not accustomed.

"Well," he finally said slowly, as if measuring his words carefully, "they may not feel we've accomplished what they expected. Archaeology is a science, and a meticulous and slow moving one at that. We rarely know what we will find when we start digging, and we don't always come up with things that would be exciting or interesting to the layperson. We gain knowledge with every excavation, but it's not always what others expect."

When I accepted his answer with a nod, he blithely settled back into his lecture. "I don't know how much you know about soil, but it is divided into layers, or strata."

I wanted to point out that we'd learned this in elementary school, but I bit my tongue and let him prattle on.

"The effects of human and natural actions over a long period of time cause visible changes in the color and texture of the soil, forming these strata. Each separate stratum, or layer, is excavated separately. We start at the top and work our way down. Each layer is completely excavated within the designated square before the next is begun."

He stood up and stalked toward the tent. "As artifacts are found, they are collected and carefully recorded in a log. Then they are placed in a bag marked with the grid coordinates and the layer number. This is known as their provenance."

"Have you found many artifacts since you started?"

Once again, he looked a little disgruntled at my interruption. "Ahem. Enough to show that this will be a worthwhile project."

"Like what?"

"Several projectile points, both whole and broken, some shell material, pottery shards, and quite a bit of lithic material so far."

"Lithic material?"

"Stone flakes and chips left over from knapping a projectile point or tool," he explained somewhat impatiently. "I'll show you later. As I was saying, we also encounter features — areas — which appear different from the surrounding soil because the ground was disturbed in the past. In this case, these could indicate postholes, trash pits, storage pits, burials, et cetera."

Having apparently come to the end of his lesson plan, he stood staring at me expectantly.

"Fascinating," I said.

And in truth, the information itself was fascinating. Its presentation had been something less than sparkling, however. I was very glad I didn't have any classes with Professor Healy.

He gave a satisfied nod at my compliment, as if it was the answer he'd been expecting. "A quick overview of how the excavation works. Now then, let's introduce you to my crew."

He walked towards the dirty-blonde woman, leaving me to follow.

"Elyse, this is Killian Kendall. He's writing an article about local archaeology. Mr. Kendall, this is Elyse Pike, my field assistant and former student. Ms. Pike now teaches a few courses at the college."

Elyse Pike gave me another one of those curious stares as we shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Kendall."

"Please, call me Killian."

She smiled back. "And you may call me Elyse. If I can help you with anything, just let me know."

She gave me a quick wink.

Was she flirting with me? Did she have something in her eye? What did the wink mean? I tried not to show my confusion. I thanked her politely, but did not return her wink.

Professor Healy moved on, dismissing Elyse without a word. "Our other project assistant is Susan Urban," he said, and the stocky, dark-haired woman looked up. "Susan is a masters candidate and has worked with me on various projects. Susan, this is Killian Kendall, a reporter."

I shook hands with Susan as Professor Healy went on to introduce the other crew members in one fell swoop. I guessed they didn't rate individual introductions. "The young lady Miss Urban is assisting is Bridget Foxwell. This is her first dig." The blonde girl around my age smiled and waved.

"The young man over there," he indicated the well-built black man, "is Israel Meeks. The gentleman next to him is Ricky Wong." Israel looked up from his work and nodded in greeting, and Ricky sketched a slightly mocking salute. As he did, a flash at his wrist caught my attention. I looked closely and saw he was wearing a watch with a thick leather strap and a gold face. A large, bright stone—was it a ruby? a garnet?—was set where the hands met, winking in the sunlight. The jewelry seemed out of place out there in the dirt.

The professor cleared his throat, and I shifted my attention to the last crew member. The young man hadn't taken his eyes off of us since I'd arrived. "The fellow who seems to be taking a break is Alexander James."

Alexander flushed crimson and ducked his head as he went back to excavating.

"Except for Elyse and me, the rest of the crew is made up of volunteers," he explained, "mostly students majoring in archaeology or history. Bridget, Israel, Ricky — and now Mr. James — are excavating their squares. If they find an artifact, it will be photographed, then collected and carried into the tent over there."

The professor seemed to be gearing up for another lecture. I glanced back at Elyse to find her still watching me with a curious expression. I looked away quickly before she could wink again.

"As the crew removes the soil," Healy droned on, "it's placed into the white buckets you see. When the buckets are full, their contents are sifted through these screens." He walked over to the tripods, and I realized the shallow boxes hanging from them had wire mesh bottoms. "That's to ensure we don't miss any small artifacts or fragments."

He headed for the tent and ducked through the entrance flap. I stepped in behind him to find another folding table holding a couple of boxes of plastic zip bags, several black felt-tip markers, a slightly battered laptop computer, a stack of paper, a large cardboard box, a few labeled bags holding artifacts, and a light scattering of dirt. Another box sat on the ground under the table. The air inside the tent was stale and smelled of mildewed plastic. My nose wrinkled in protest and I stifled a sneeze.

"This is where we catalogue and bag the finds," the professor continued.

I leaned over the table to examine the bags. They were hand labeled with numbers and letters followed by a brief written note. The one on top said, "Projectile point, brown chert." Healy reached over my shoulder and picked up the bag. He dumped its content into his palm, then held it out for me to see.

"It's an arrowhead," I guessed.

"More accurately, it's a projectile point," Healy corrected with a condescending tone. "Judging by its size, it was more likely used on a javelin than an arrow."

"How old do you think it is?"

"We suspect we may be dealing with a late archaic, early woodland site, which would make it roughly 3,000 years old. Of course, that's not official. So far we haven't found anything we can accurately date, but the shape and size of the point, together with the pottery fragments we have, indicate that time frame."

"So all of this will be studied more closely after the excavation is complete?"

"Yes. Each artifact will be cleaned at the lab, then sorted and stored until it can be analyzed. Once all the analyses are complete, that information must be interpreted and written into reports. It's estimated that for every hour of excavation, it takes at least twenty hours of laboratory and other work to complete an analysis and report." He dropped the point back into the bag, which he resealed before placing it on the table again.

"Here's something else you'll find interesting." He reached into the box and pulled out a larger bag, this one holding a grooved stone tool.

"A tomahawk?" I guessed.

"A stone axe," he corrected. "It's our largest find so far, quite an impressive piece."

"I'd assume something like that must be fairly valuable," I said, sensing an opportunity to ask some of the questions I really wanted answered. "What kind of security do you have here?"

He frowned and cleared his throat. "Well, to be honest, we don't have any security except for our isolation and anonymity, which is why we're relying on you not to reveal the location of the excavation."

"No security at all?"

"No. That's not uncommon at all for university-funded projects," he went on defensively. "We're working with a very limited budget, consisting almost exclusively of grants. We simply can't afford any security measures."

"But..."

"Professor Healy!" someone called. I thought it might be Elyse.

He carefully replaced the axe in the box before sticking his head out the tent door. "Yes?"

"We found something I think you might want to see," she responded. Her voice was tight with excitement. "Bring the camera."

He stepped back inside, rummaged through the box under the table, and pulled out a dusty digital camera. "Excuse me," he said, ducking through the door.

I took his place at the entrance and watched as he approached Elyse and Ricky Wong, who looked as excited as Elyse sounded. Healy crouched down next to them and gazed intently at whatever it was they had found.

An eerie silence had fallen over the group. I realized that since I had arrived there had been a constant backdrop of the various sounds of work — low conversation, the soft scraping of trowel on soil, dirt being dropped into plastic buckets and sifted through screens. The sudden quiet added to the sense of anticipation as everyone waited with bated breath.

While I had been talking to, or rather listening to, the professor, I'd been distracted from the sensation of being watched. It suddenly returned with a vengeance, causing a shiver to run up my spine. I looked around again, but there was still nothing to be seen except trees.

"Is it what I think it is?" Elyse asked, breaking the oppressive silence.

"What do you think it is?" Healy answered carefully.

"It looks like a copper bead to me," she said, and excited exclamations went up from several in the group.

I wondered what the significance of a copper bead was, but that didn't seem like the best time to ask.

"It would appear you are correct." There was now an undercurrent of excitement in the professor's voice as well. "We must proceed very cautiously from here. It could be a single bead, or it could be a strand." He sat back on his haunches and allowed himself a small grin. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's too soon to tell, but we may just have another Nassawango site on our hands."

Now that he was speaking another language, I decided to act my part and ask a question. "Nassawango site?"

Professor Healy glanced up at me with a surprised look on his face, as if he'd forgotten I was there. "Ah, yes, the Nassawango site was a rather famous archaeological discovery made near Snow Hill, Maryland, in the '70s. It yielded a veritable treasure trove of artifacts and prehistoric knowledge — perhaps most interestingly, evidence of Adena culture predating that of other similar sites on the Eastern Shore."

I still wasn't at all sure what he was talking about, but jotted some quick notes in my book and decided to look it all up later.

The professor continued, "I hate to appear rude, but this discovery will probably have us all pretty busy for the rest of the day. Perhaps you can return another time?"

"How about tomorrow morning?" I suggested.

"That's fine," he said distractedly, his attention on the pit once more. He bent over and began taking pictures of the bead. I got the impression he'd already forgotten I was there.

I started to head back to the house, before realizing I had no idea how to get there. "I, uh, could use that guide back to the Snyder's, if it isn't too much trouble."

Healy looked up in irritation, but before he could reply, Elyse stood. "I'll take him," she volunteered.

The professor seemed surprised, but shrugged appreciatively and went back to the work at hand.

Elyse started into the trees. "It's this way," she said over her shoulder. "I don't blame you for wanting a guide. These woods can be confusing until you get a sense of direction."

She walked quickly and confidently, but with none of Lily's grace.

"I'm not known for my sense of direction," I admitted.

"No, you're known for other things."

I stopped walking and eyed the woman suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

She stopped as well and turned to face me. "I know who you are. I know you're a private eye. Now, why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

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