I never slept. Without a physical body, I had no need of sleep. But I had learned over the past year to push myself into a sort of self-induced meditative state. It was another way to pass the time when living a sleepless life.
I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to drift off. Sleep but not.
Behind my eyelids, I remembered. Scenes wandered through my memory.
My mother giving me a kiss goodnight before pushing me toward my nurse, her gentle tone promising me I could ride my pony tomorrow if I was a good boy.
My father’s booming voice, recounting stories of lost treasure and his escapades to uncover Etruscan artifacts.
Playing hide-and-seek with my younger brother and three older sisters, screaming and laughing as we raced through the house, light gloomy from the constant rain.
Twenty years old in London and just down from Oxford. I spent the evening dancing at Almack’s, matchmaking mammas and their blushing daughters vying for my attention, making me feel like a horse going to auction at Tattersall’s.
Arriving in Florence several years after my father’s death, intent on continuing his legacy of archaeological discovery.
Seeing Sofia D’Angelo for the first time . . . rimmed in sunlight in her family’s drawing room. How I had known, in that small moment—
Thesnickof a door opening jerked me fully back into the present. Someone said my name.
Jack Knight-Snow.
My body bounced into instant readiness, the sense of weakness already having faded.
What just happened?
I used the two senses I did have—sight and sound.
I could see nothing unusual in the dim light.
I heard the TV still babbling in the drawing room.
Jack Knight-Snow, the mysterious explorer and treasure-hunter behind the extraordinary Sassari horde excavation, has been unavailable for comment . . .
All right. That explained my name.
But . . . I had heard a door opening, too.
I walked through the ground floor, looking through every room. Nothing appeared disturbed. The TV continued to ramble.
The items from the Sassari Horde are set for display in the Vatican Etruscan exhibit starting later this Fall. The story of how Jack Knight-Snow and D’Angelo Enterprises raised the incredible artifacts—
“STOP!”
Chiara’s sudden voice behind me sent my ghostly body a solid foot in the air. If I had a functional beating heart, it would have stopped right then and there.
I whipped around, expecting to see her laughing face.
She stared straight ahead, eyes wide and unfocused. Dressed in loose pajama bottoms and a Wonder Woman top, she clutched a ratty pink bear in one arm.
“Chiara?”
She didn’t react. Her eyes darted around the room, tracking unseen things, looking a bit like Tennyson in one of his trances. Only this wasn’t some sort of vision.
What was happening?
Apprehension skittered down my spine.
The site of the wrecked ship which housed the horde has been kept secret, as well as Mr. Knight-Snow’s method of extraction. From unofficial reports, the shipwreck lay under hundreds of feet of murky water . . .
