The clanking, thumping and rattling of the clockwork mechanism muffled the sound of the footsteps behind her until it was too late. She caught a whiff of a sweet, flowery scent just before the chloroformsoaked cloth covered her nose and mouth.
A man’s arm wrapped around her throat and wrenched her back against a hard chest. She reached upward, trying to claw at her captor’s eyes. Her fingers closed around a pair of spectacles. She ripped them off and dropped them to the floor. There was a sharp crack when the lenses shattered.
“You stupid woman,” Jasper Welch snarled. “Why do you have to make things so bloody difficult? You have come close to ruining my great work.”
She held her breath, but she had already inhaled some of the vapor. Her head was spinning, and the world was disappearing into a fathomless fog. She tried to struggle—at least, she thought she struggled—but she could not be certain.
She fell into an endless night.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Flames smoldered deep in the mirrors.
Virginia sensed the paranormal heat before she was fully awake. She knew glasslight the way she knew sunlight or rain. She did not have to look into the mirrors to know that they surrounded her and that they were infused with energy unlike anything she had ever experienced.
The power in the looking glasses called to her, triggering frissons of awareness, summoning her out of the darkness.
Warily she opened her eyes and beheld a dazzling, glittering wonderland of ice lit by massive glass chandeliers. For a few seconds she wondered why she did not feel the cold. It took her some time to realize that there was no ice. She was lying on a low bench in a long, highceilinged chamber that was entirely paneled in mirrors.
The room reminded her of the terrible chamber in the basement of the Hollister mansion, but this hall was fashioned on a far larger and grander scale, a palace room of mirrors. There were no windows, no obvious door.
The brilliantly reflective surfaces were everywhere. They covered the walls and clad the stately columns. An elaborate mosaic of tiny mirrored tiles patterned the coved ceiling and accented the decorative molding.
And all of the mirrors simmered and seethed with the paranormal fires trapped inside the glass.
She struggled to a sitting position and discovered that the bench on which she had awakened was padded in white velvet. She was still wearing the day gown she had changed into before she was kidnapped. The small chatelaine purse dangled at her waist.
For a moment she sat there, entranced and intoxicated by the energy that flooded the gallery. After a while, she gathered her nerve, heightened her senses and looked deeper into the mirrors.
She was braced for dreadful visions of death, but there were no afterimages, no visions that indicated that people had been murdered in the glittering chamber. All she perceived was power, an enormous quantity of it, locked inside the looking glasses.
She had been reading mirrors since the age of thirteen, but she had never seen or experienced anything like what she was viewing now. She could not imagine how so much raw energy had been trapped in the mirrors.
Slowly, cautiously, she got to her feet and discovered that she was in a museum gallery. All of the artifacts and antiquities were fashioned of mirrors and glass. Each relic was displayed on a mirrored pedestal or inside a glass case. Combined with the mirrored walls, floor and ceiling, the effect was visually disorienting. She had to elevate her talent slightly in order to maintain her balance.
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 of glass?”
“Yes.”
“I remember bits and pieces now. I think.”
“You can explain later. We need to get out of here.”
“I’ll not quarrel with that plan.”
Mrs. Crofton sat up, still noticeably groggy. With Virginia’s help, she managed to scramble awkwardly out of the glass coffin. But it became clear at once that she could not stand. Virginia tried to steady her. Together they staggered a few feet.