Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [105]
Her bedazzled senses whispered that not all of the energy in the room came from the mirrors. The antiquities around her were infused with power.
It occurred to her that the relics were very likely the source of the fire in the mirrors. Over time the looking glasses had absorbed the paranormal radiation that emanated from the antiquities.
One of the display cases sat on the floor. It was roughly the size and shape of a coffin. The case was draped in a white-velvet cloth. Virginia’s intuition told her that she probably did not want to see what lay beneath the velvet covering.
She looked around, but there was no obvious way to tell which mirror concealed the door. There was always a slight draft across a threshold, she reminded herself. Perhaps if she walked the length of the gallery she would be able to detect a shift in the flow of air.
She made her way slowly through the room, the low heels of her walking boots ringing on the mirrored floor tiles. Each artifact she passed called to her senses. It took willpower to ignore the silent summons of an ancient urn fashioned of cobalt-blue glass. She had to force herself to look away from a gleaming obsidian dagger that reeked of dark glasslight.
Farther along the gallery she glanced into a case and saw a small statue of Pan formed of opaque green glass. She could have sworn that she heard the faint, lilting notes of the god’s flute. The paranormal music was as unnerving as it was erotic.
But it was the long coffin-shaped case covered in white velvet that tugged most powerfully at her awareness.
She tried to ignore the pull of the covered case and moved on quickly, seeking the slight draft that would indicate a door. She passed another display case and saw that it contained a glass-plate photographic negative.
She told herself that she should not look at the image on the plate, but she could not resist. She glanced down and saw a picture of a woman. At first there did not appear to be anything extraordinary about the negative. Then she realized that the eyes of the woman in the picture glowed as though lit from within. The heat in the subject’s eyes grew brighter and hotter the longer Virginia studied the image.
When she realized that she was reaching out to open the glass case, she gasped and stepped back quickly. The compulsion to touch the negative faded.
She turned away quickly and found herself staring, yet again, at the case draped in white velvet. She knew then that she could not escape the chamber until she had discovered what was concealed inside.
She crossed to the case, grasped a handful of the velvet, took a grip on her nerves and pulled the cloth aside.
She was prepared for the sight of the glass coffin. But it was the body inside that horrified her.
“Mrs. Crofton.”
The housekeeper was dressed in the serviceable gown that she had been wearing when she left the house that morning. Her eyes were closed, as though she were asleep.
The knowledge that Mrs. Crofton had been murdered because she had become involved in the investigation sent waves of crushing guilt and rage crashing through Virginia.
Anguished, she raised the glass coffin lid.
Mrs. Crofton snored gently.
Light-headed with relief, Virginia reached inside and shook the housekeeper, gently at first.
“Wake up, Mrs. Crofton. Can you hear me? Please wake up. We must escape this place.”
Mrs. Crofton grimaced in her sleep. Virginia shook her again, more forcefully this time.
“Mrs. Crofton, wake up.”
This time Mrs. Crofton stirred, raised her lashes and peered up at her with glazed eyes.
“What?” she mumbled in a thick, drugged voice.
“We have to get out of here,” Virginia said.
“So sleepy,” Mrs. Crofton murmured. She closed her eyes again.
“For pity’s sake, you are lying in a coffin, Mrs. Crofton. Unless you wish to be buried, I strongly suggest that you resurrect yourself immediately.”
Mrs. Crofton’s eyes popped open again. “Coffin? Made