h.e.l.l, I'd say it out loud.

"Liar."

"Yes, I am."

Again, the puzzled look. This, too, was ground we'd already covered.

Arbor weaved in and out of traffic. It wasn't quite rush hour yet, but the streets of downtown Denver were still crowded. He didn't use a GPS, didn't have directions. Apparently this was familiar territory. We pa.s.sed the public library, Civic Center Park and the burnished gold dome of the Capitol building. There was a parking garage just ahead. We pulled in, took our ticket and got out. Soon we were alive and free on the streets of Denver, late afternoon sun splashing into our eyes across the backs of the now distant mountains.

It was a warm day. Arbor rolled the sleeves of his flannel shirt up and caught my hand, electrifying it. We walked across the park, under the shadows of bronze cowboys and monuments to long-dead war vets. People were getting out of work; a sense of camaraderie and lazy contentment pervaded the streets. I even saw some smiles in the bus line.

On the other side of the park, there was a large gray building. It looked like a grounded battleship. A relic of some ancient war.

"You're taking me to the Art Museum?"

He shrugged. "I thought you might care to see the special exhibit," he said. "And I know someone who can get us in for free."

The air turned chilly as we came up to the cold brick. Despite myself, I drew closer to Arbor as we pushed through the doors into the s.p.a.cious main hall of the museum.

"The last time I was here was in third grade," I said. "For a field trip."

"Then it's been far too long."

There was a short line of hardcore art appreciators waiting to buy tickets a I can't imagine Tuesday nights are very busy. We bypa.s.sed the line and went straight to the membership desk, where we were greeted by one of the strangest looking people I've ever seen.

He was small, perched on his chair like a delicate bird. His skin was white. Not merely pale, like Arbor's, but the sickly, chalk white of bones bleached in the desert sun. Red pouches under his eyes contributed to the overall impression of ill health. Dusty gray irises in search of color; fleet white hair like a snowfall. But he was not old. No, in fact he looked to be about our age.

I realized with a sudden shock that he was an albino. He held a bright-hued parasol above his head, as variegated and ragged as a crazy quilt, protecting himself, I suppose, from the hint of natural sun that filtered down through the museum's tinted skylights.

He smiled as we approached.

"Arbor, my dear." He held out a thin hand, each finger hosting one or two colorful, fake-jeweled rings. He had an accent I couldn't quite place.

Arbor took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Bram Snepvangers," he said, "meet Evangeline Wild."

"Ah. So here she is at last. Turn around, darling, and let me look at you."

I did as he asked, but not gracefully. I had the feeling I was being evaluated. My stock taken account of. When I stood facing Bram again, his withered eyes traveled across my face and he p.r.o.nounced his verdict.

"Glorious."

Well what was I, a piece of meat? Definitely creeped out, but I couldn't help feeling a tiny bit pleased. Bram was just so non-threatening.

Arbor simply got out his wallet and asked for two tickets to the special exhibit. Bram waved him away wearily and leaned in, pulling what looked to be a purple silk kimono more tightly around his emaciated shoulders.

"I will allow you to enter gratis," he said, "if Evangeline Wild can answer one question correctly."

Arbor nodded. "Agreed."

"What? But..."

Bram smiled serenely and fluttered his long, white lashes. "Don't worry, cupcake. You will know this." He closed his eyes for a moment, as if in meditation.

"He is the Mower for the Sower and the end of a friend; The First Certainty; Daily he comes, and yet only once in a lifetime. Who is he?"

Arbor smirked. I frantically repeated the words in my head so that I wouldn't have to ask for them again. Voices echoed down the marble hall and up to the lofted galleries above as I pondered. There was an answer. I had one, but was it right? Time was slipping away and so I spoke, not wanting to take too long.

"He is Death?"

Bram nodded. "I could see that you had it in you to answer correctly. And I am never wrong."

He keyed something into his computer and two tickets shot out of a slot in the counter. I checked the name of the exhibit. It was something called "Ancient Masters."

"Enjoy."

He waved us away, parasol twirling lazily. We left him and climbed the wide staircase to the second floor, where I could see people studying carvings and pottery in a large gla.s.s room.

"How do you know Bram?" I asked.

"He's an old friend."

So this wasn't Arbor's first time in Colorado...

Our tickets were ripped at the top of the stairs, and we were guided into a warmly lit hall. "What is this exhibit? Why are we here?"

"Can't you read?" asked Arbor. He pointed me to a bit of dirty marble mounted on the wall. I squinted. The letters all ran together, but...

TERENTIAESECVNDILLAEVIXAXVIIIMVIIVLIVSATHENODORVS.

"Holy c.r.a.p, it's Latin!"

"That's right," said Arbor. "Ancient Masters is an exhibition of Greek and Roman art. This is a gravestone from the first century CE."

"Someone named Terentia."

He nodded. "Look," he pointed to the lower part of the stone and brought me closer. "Sometimes even the dead can speak. Maybe there you can read what she says."

I bit my lip. The words all ran together; didn't the Romans know about punctuation? But I slowly pa.r.s.ed, "Viator, viator. Quod tu, et ego. Quod ego, et omnes. Okay, so it says, um, 'traveler, traveler!' What you... um..." I sputtered out. "There's no verb."

"Marble surfaces were kind of at a premium," explained Arbor. "Verbs are implied." He cleared his throat. "Traveler, traveler! What you are, I was. What I am, we all will be."

"So," I said. "Cheery."

"Isn't it?"

We moved on, pa.s.sing a few shards of pottery decorated with faint geometric designs.

"I would have taken out a viator and put in a verb."

"We can't all be poets, I suppose."

"Shut up." I punched him in the arm, realizing too late that I wasn't with Ellen. "Oops! Um... Sorry. I'm sorry."

He rubbed his bicep. "Not to worry. As I said, I'm getting used to America's violent self-expression."

We wandered on, gazing at a row of black pottery, each piece crowded with tiny red figures. I pointed at one. "Aw, look. Little men, doing battles."

"It stands to reason you would like that one," he smiled. "I think the 'little man' with the club is Hercules."

"Sweet."

Next up was a forest of cool marble statues, staring blankly at us with white eyes.

"Look closely," said Arbor. "You'll see traces of paint on some of them. They were colored rather garishly, back then. Rome was a riot of color. I remember the..."

He stopped abruptly. Grimaced and put a hand to his chest. "Never mind. Here's something older. In Greek, do you see?"

I haven't learned most of the Greek alphabet yet. The letters looked kind of like weird slashes, but I did recognize a sigma or two from Math (ugh). Arbor was pointing at a tall white post with a man's head carved in the top. There were two lines of official-looking writing underneath his chin, and then a rough spot further down where something had been broken off.

"What is this?" I asked. "Another gravestone?"

"More like a boundary marker," he said.

I indicated the rough spot. "What's missing?"

His eyes twinkled suddenly. "You tell me, Evangeline. A projection. Firm. Erect. But sadly brittle..." He shook his head ruefully.

I realized what he was talking about.

"Ewww. Really? They put that up in public?"

He blinked. "Why not? It certainly warned trespa.s.sers away. An erect phallus is a sign of aggressive fertility. Quite appropriate for the border of a field or an orchard."

"Weird. It's like people back then were aliens or something."

There was more writing underneath the rough spot where the p.e.n.i.s should have been. The letters were uneven, wavery. Carved by a less than practiced hand.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Graffiti," Arbor answered. "It basically says, 'Up yours, Diodoros.'"

I laughed a little too loudly. "Okay, maybe they're not so alien after all."

Arbor grinned. "I'm sorry," he said, "This whole thing is a bit nerdy, isn't it? You'd rather I take you out to a concert or a nice dinner."

"No," I impulsively took his arm and snuggled into his warmth. "This is nice. And, just to be clear, we're on a date?"

"Yes," said Arbor, with a definitive nod. "To be clear, yes we are. And I haven't done this in a while, so... I'm not sure how it's going."

"Considering our mostly silent car trip, the nice little walk outside, your weirdly charming friend, the odd death theme and the fact that everything you say is slightly menacing... Yeah, it's going fine."

"Good. Because this is the piece I really brought you here to see."

We turned a corner and entered a room that was bare except for one monumental statue, viewable from all sides. A woman. Lying on a pyre, long knife tearing into her gut.

"Dido," I breathed.

"Right again, Evangeline."

I stepped up to her. Her tattered dress was tangled around her feet; her hair loose, ripped out of whatever austere up-do had held it in check before. The nameless sculptor who'd carved her had done a magnificent job of making marble flow. I could see the pain in her eyes. I could see my mother.

My body chilled. "Arbor... why did you bring me here?"

"I'm afraid that's another riddle." He guided me around the statue. She was perfect from all sides. "Some say it wasn't suicide, you know."

"Really?"

He gazed at me steadily. There was something in his expression. Some message he was trying to get across.

Lying.

I shivered. "Let's get out of here."

"That might be tricky," he said, "since we're being followed."

"What?"

He tilted his head and rolled his eyes off to the right. Using his body to shield myself, I stood on my tiptoes and peeked over his shoulder. "Oh, for the love of a "

I stomped over and tugged the hoodie off her head. "Ellen! What the h.e.l.l?"

"Oops? How did I..." She put her hands to her temples and acted confused. "Where am I? The last thing I knew I was at school..."

I noogied her in the arm. "Quit it. You're spying on me."

"Well you gave me no choice! I'm not just going to let my best friend wander off with a possible-murderer-definite-weirdo. Evi, you know you'd do the same for me."

I crossed my arms and jiggled my heel for a moment, like an exasperated mother. Then I sighed. "Yeah, maybe so. But I'd get a better disguise."

"h.e.l.lo, short notice! And my car broke down on the street right outside the parking garage, and it's started raining and I don't know how I'm going to get home, and this weird guy let me in here for free because I answered a riddle..."

"Me too!"

"I wonder if the museum knows he's doing that."

"Come on," I snagged her arm and started marching toward the exit. "We'll call someone to get your car to a garage and then you're coming home with us."

Arbor escorted us out, and we ran across the park together through the downpour. The sky was dark and threatened thunder. No smiles in the bus line now. My shoes were soaked through by the time we crossed Lincoln and dragged ourselves, dripping, into the dank cement confines of the parking garage. I got on my cell and dialed Britta, who was thankfully in front of her computer and looked up the number of a towing company for us.