Now, that was unexpected. What was the woman insinuating?
“Come, come.” Gil herded the Woolseys around the sofa and practically pushed them down onto the cushions. “Let us have Miss Dalton regale us with a tale of Egyptian horror.”
She shook her head, a curl of hair breaking free of the pins and cascading over her shoulder. “I’d rather not, Mr. Fletcher.”
“Yes, let’s play charades instead.” Violet pursed her lips into a pout.
“What a perfectly stodgy idea.” Gil snorted. “No, no. We must have a haunting tale to take to bed with us. Go on, Miss Dalton.”
Her jaw stiffened, a distinct sign she was clearly irritated at Gil’s insistence. Edmund tamped down the urge to intervene, curious as to how she’d respond.
“Reducing Egyptian culture to a trivial bit of entertainment seems rather disrespectful, Mr. Fletcher. And so I once again decline.”
“Balderdash! Don’t be such a killjoy. It’s not disrespect at all, just a bit of thrilling diversion. Think of it as”—he twirled one hand in the air—“keeping their culture alive.”
“I do not think of it in such terms.” Steel sharpened her tone.
Edmund circled to the hearth, stationing himself next to Miss Dalton. “The lady has told you no, Gil. Leave her be.”
“Very well.” He spun in a circle, making eye contact with them all. “Then I shall have to tell a chilling tale of my own invention. Perhaps I’ll even pen it down later tonight and have it sent to Mr. Kane. He may pay to publish such a story of intrigue.”
Annoyance rippled on Miss Dalton’s brow. Violet scooted closer to her father, patting the cushion next to her with an arched brow at Edmund.
Oh no. He’d not get tangled in her claws again. He set his glass on the mantel, the clink of it breaking the silence. “The hour is late. Perhaps we should call it a night.”
“Oh, let the man regale us, Price.” Lord Bastion draped his arm along the back of the sofa. “It shouldn’t take that long.”
“And so it begins!” Gil clapped his hands, the report as sharp as a gunshot. Unease permeated the air, as if the very house braced itself for the impending horror story. “Once, in the heart of ancient Egypt, stood a temple. Magnificent in beauty. Lethal by design. For inside, buried deep within an unholy labyrinth, lay a sacred artifact known as the Amulet of Death.”
Miss Dalton rolled her eyes.
Edmund agreed.
Violet uttered a scared yip.
A wicked grin spread on Gil’s face, teeth white in the shadows. “And there the amulet stayed for centuries, for you see, anyone who laid hands on this trinket would be forever bound to the realm of darkness. But that didn’t stop the villainous Dr. Spencer from seeking its power. He crept through the treacherous passageways to reach the hidden chamber.” Curling his hands like claws, Gil pranced about their circle.
Edmund angled his head, studying the man, unnerved. Something wasn’t right about the twist of his partner’s mouth or the wild gaze in his eyes. Was this a mere performance, or was Gil unraveling right here in the sitting room?
“It was dark!” Gil shouted, then whispered, “so dark. And cold. Bone-chilling. Enough to leach out your soul and leave it to die alone.”
The Woolseys, Bram, even Miss Dalton seemed engrossed. Edmund shook his head slightly. He’d had no idea Gil was such a spinner of tales. The room vibrated with a macabre sort of energy, as if the taut string of reality were about to snap.
“At last Dr. Spencer came upon the golden charm and rubbedhis finger over the raised skull atop it. That’s when the whispers began. Can you hear them? Listen,” he hissed.
Miss Dalton swiveled her head to Edmund, pleading in her eyes—and it pleased him that she’d sought him out to end this charade instead of Bram.
He stepped from the mantel, grabbing Gil by the arm. “Your story is over.”
Gil wrenched away, pointing a finger at each one of them in turn. “I may be finished, but remember, my friends, the moral of this story is that you must be cautious with relics that bear the weight of a troubled history, for there is a thin line between sanity and madness.”
“What a horrid tale!” Violet flounced back against the sofa, arms clutched tightly about her. “I shan’t sleep a wink tonight.”
“Perfect!” Gil grinned. “Fear is a delightful companion in the night. Keeps you on your toes.” He winked. “Nevertheless, allow me to make you a drink to calm your nerves, Miss Woolsey.”
“I think turning up the lights would do so more quickly.” Edmund strode to the nearest sconce, his frustration aimed squarely at his business partner.
No sooner had the words passed his lips than Gil’s voice sliced through the air, stabbing him between the shoulder blades. “Gas lamps won’t keep out the demons, old man. As you’ll remember, Lucifer himself was an angel of light.”
