Edmund reached for the gas knob, eager to banish the eerie shadows.
Yet all the while he wondered if there was more to Gil’s tale than mere fiction.
A scream blasphemed the night, yanking Ami from a deep sleep. She bolted from her bed, snatching her robe as she dashed across the room. Only she and Violet slept in this wing of the house. Was someone attacking her? Heart racing, Ami swiped up the letter opener on the desk. The silver blade was no dagger, but could anyone really tell in the dark?
She jerked open the door and ran pell-mell toward Violet’s bedchamber, gaze snagging on a dark figure at the end of the corridor. Her step hitched as she squinted into the shadows. Was that someone running off, or were her eyes playing tricks?
“Who’s there?” she called.
The only answer was another scream from Violet’s room.
She sprinted to the woman’s door and shoved it open. “Miss Woolsey? Are you all right?”
Violet’s face was a stark white against the dark counterpane that she clutched in handfuls to her chest. She panted like a frightened deer, and even from steps away, the vibration of her shivering could be seen rippling the bedclothes in the dark.
Ami sank beside her. “What happened?”
Violet stared straight ahead, eyes fixed, the whites of which were huge, her pupils tiny dots. A medicinal stink tinged her breath.
“Miss Woolsey?” Ami tried again.
Even more colour drained from Violet’s face. If she didn’t bring the woman to her senses soon, the lady would swoon dead away.
“Violet!” Grabbing hold of her arms, Ami shook her like a mouse in a cat’s maw.
With a great cry, Violet wrenched away. One of her arms snaked out from beneath the covers and raised an accusing finger, pointing across the room like the grim reaper come to call. “There. Right there!”
Hand covering the letter opener in her pocket, Ami tracked the imaginary line all the way to the closed white draperies. A dressing table graced the wall next to them. A chair. The hearth. Nothing seemed out of place.
But for good measure, she scanned the other shadowy corners before turning back to Violet. “You’ve had a bad dream, that’s all.”
“No!” She grimaced, skin taut against the bones of her face. “I saw the Amulet of Death, the black eye sockets, the grinning skull. It floated like a ghost in front of the draperies, and nowI’m going to die because no one can see it and live. No one!” She yanked the covers over her head, wailing.
“Calm yourself. You and I are the only ones in here, I promise.” Ami eased down the counterpane. “Chin up, now. There is nothing to fear. I shall prove it to you, all right?”
Rising, she padded barefoot across the carpet, praying her encouragement had been true. What if someone—or something—hid behind those draperies? She eased out the letter opener, taking care to hold it from view so Violet wouldn’t go into hysterics. Moonlight crept beneath the curtains’ hem. A thin line of promise ... as long as she didn’t see the tips of any shoes bumping out along that edge. Thankfully, none did.
But she’d seen stranger things happen during a midnight relic purchase.
Wrapping her fingers around the center seam of the drapery, she tugged. Curtain rings screeched. Silver light poured in, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. The windows were shut, but just to be certain, she gave them a tug as well. Locked.
She turned back to Violet with a smile. “See? Nothing whatsoever to fear.”
But was that a lie? Had she seen a figure fleeing the scene?
Violet moaned as she buried herself deep against her pillows. “But I saw it. I know I did. I won’t live until morning. I won’t live to see my Christmas wedding!” Sobs broke, and the lady bowed her head into her hands, shoulders shaking.
Ami frowned. What was she to do about this? Her father had always comforted any stray bouts of her weeping with a mechanical pat on the head and a swift recitation of an ancient Egyptian text ... which probably wouldn’t work here.
She grabbed a nearby glass off a side table and filled it with water. “Have a drink, Miss Woolsey. It will help you feel better.”
Violet shoved away the offering without even looking at it.
Well. That’d gone over as nicely as a rousing narration ofThe Instructions of Amenemhat.
Ami set the glass on the bedstand. “How about I retrieve your maid and have her sit with you? I won’t be a minute.”
A hand snagged out and grabbed her robe as she passed by the bed. “No! Don’t leave me. Please. I ... I’m afraid,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like being alone. I’m always left alone.”
