Burning Lamp (16 page)

“I’ve spent over a decade with that lamp,” she reminded him. “Believe me when I tell you that I know every nuance of the heavy dreamprints on it. You are certainly a descendant of Nicholas Winters but you are your own man.”

He sensed that there would be no arguing with her on the subject, so he let it drop.

“What else do the dreamprints on the lamp tell you?” he asked instead.

“Among other things, there was a very strong bond between Winters and the dreamlight reader, Eleanor Fleming.” Adelaide hesitated a second before adding, “It was a bond of passion.”

“I told you, they were lovers. She bore him a son. He betrayed her. She wanted revenge. It is an old and oft-told tale to be sure. The only thing that marks it as different from other such stories is that instead of trying to murder Nicholas, Eleanor used the energy of the lamp to destroy all of his talent.”

“It was a harsh vengeance and she paid for it with her life,” Adelaide said. “The energy unleashed by the lamp killed Eleanor, even as it shattered Nicholas’s senses.”

“Yes.”

“She was a fool to trust him.” Adelaide shook her head. “Nicholas Winters would have betrayed any woman. His real mistress was his obsession with power. Acquiring it was all he cared about until, at the end, he took up a new obsession.”

“Revenge against the entire line of Sylvester Jones.”

“Yes.” She tapped the journal. “It is all here. Nicholas is nothing if not clear about his intention to destroy everything that Jones hoped to create even if it took generations upon generations to do so.”

“Never let it be said that my ancestor did not make grandiose plans.”

“He knew when he went to confront Sylvester for the last time that he would not survive the encounter,” Adelaide continued. “Judging by what he wrote, I think he wanted Jones to kill him. It was a form of suicide.”

“His senses were deteriorating rapidly because of what Eleanor Fleming had done with the lamp. He was sinking into insanity. Death was all that was left for him.”

“Or so he believed.”

Griffin looked at her. “When will you work the lamp for me?”

She glanced uneasily at the journal. “There is a great deal here that is not explained.”

“You noticed that, did you? I told you, the old bastard was an alchemist. He was obsessed with secrecy. I did my best to decipher the code that he used in that journal, but it is possible I missed some vital element. I will never know for certain until you work the lamp.”

“Do you have any idea what he meant when he wrote about the key in the lock?”

“I assume it’s a warning. If things go wrong, there will be hell to pay.”

She opened the journal and read aloud:
“The third talent is the most powerful and the most dangerous. If the key is Not turned properly in the lock, this last psychical ability will prove lethal, bringing on first insanity and then death.”
She looked up. “He seems to be convinced that those of his line who inherit his powers will be able to handle the third talent but only if it is unlocked properly.”

Griffin contemplated the pond. “Never forget that he was likely already quite mad when he wrote that.”

“Or so legend has it.” Adelaide closed the book again.

“As far as I’m concerned, the critical line in the journal is the one concerning a woman who can work dreamlight energy,” he said.
“Only such a female can halt or reverse the transformation once it has begun.”

“He didn’t like that, did he?”

“Knowing that the powers of the lamp cannot be accessed without the help of a woman who can manipulate dreamlight? No. He did not like that bit at all.”

“It was his own fault. He’s the one who created the device.”

Griffin almost smiled. “True.”

“No doubt he assumed that he could control the woman whose assistance he required.”

“Nicholas may have been a psychical genius but he did not know much about women.” Griffin looked at her. “Well, Adelaide? Do you think you can manipulate the power of the Burning Lamp?”

“Oh, yes.”

Anticipation flashed through him.

“You can reverse the transformation?” he asked.

“I’m not at all certain about that aspect of the thing.”

He exhaled heavily. “I hesitate to say this because you already think me inclined toward melodrama, but the truth is, you are my only hope.”

Her intelligent, captivating face was shadowed and solemn. “If ever there was a situation that called for melodrama, this may be it. You do realize that if I work the lamp, it is quite possible that I will kill you in the process?”

“Yes.”

“Do you truly wish to take that risk, sir?”

“I find it preferable to the alternative.”

“You are so certain that you are destined to become mad if the transformation continues?”

He glanced at the journal. “All I have to go on is what Nicholas wrote in his notes and the legend as my father told it to me. You see my predicament, Adelaide.”

“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

“Well, then?”

“Tonight,” she said. “Dreamlight energy is more powerful during the nighttime hours.”

 

 

 

SHORTLY BEFORE MIDNIGHT ADELAIDE TUCKED THE JOURNAL into the crook of her arm and went to the door of her bedroom. She let herself out into the hall. The ancient stone walls seemed unnaturally still around her. Mrs. Trevelyan had retired to her bedroom after dinner and was presumably fast asleep. Delbert, Leggett and Jed were also abed.

After so many nights spent in the Abbey, Adelaide was now familiar with the evening rituals of the household. They all involved protection. Like sorcerers setting magical wards against supernatural forces, the three enforcers walked through the very modern locks and elaborately designed alarms. The dogs, the first line of defense, according to Jed, were turned loose in the garden.

She went down the shadowed staircase. When she reached the front hall she turned and made her way to the library.

Griffin was waiting for her. He stood in front of a low-burning fire, one hand on the mantel. Energy shifted in the atmosphere around him. It seemed to her that she could literally feel tendrils of his power reaching out to encircle her and draw her to him. The sensation stirred her senses. She had to suppress a sudden, nearly overwhelming desire to run to him.

Her fingers tightened on the journal. She must remain fully in control tonight, for both their sakes.

Griffin was dressed in dark trousers and a white linen shirt. The collar of the shirt was unfastened and the sleeves were rolled up on his forearms. He had not cloaked himself in his talent, yet there was a sense of darkness and shadow around him, as though he were about to go into a battle, which was, she thought, uncomfortably close to the truth.

But there were other powerful currents in the room, freighted with sexual awareness. Impossible though it seemed, Adelaide got the strange feeling that the wavelengths of desire were somehow resonating with the ominous energy leaking out of the Burning Lamp. The realization brought her to a halt just inside the doorway.

Griffin looked at her. “Come in, Adelaide.”

That was all he said, but the husky sensuality in his voice sent a rush of excitement through her. He had never made any attempt to hide the fact that he was physically attracted to her, but even if he had tried to do so, she would have known. Just as he was surely aware of her desire for him, she thought. Such strong, primal forces generated a great amount of energy across the entire spectrum. Even people without much talent could usually sense the hot currents of passion. When such energy resonated between two individuals endowed with strong psychical sensitivities, it was impossible to conceal.

But that did not mean that one abandoned oneself willy-nilly to such elemental, potentially dangerous emotions, she reminded herself. She straightened her shoulders, closed the door and walked resolutely into the center of the room.

The heavy curtains were drawn closed against the night. Only a single gas lamp was turned up, leaving most of the library drenched in flickering shadows cast by the fire.

The artifact stood on a small round table in the center of the space. The gold-toned metal gleamed dully in the light. The crystals in the rim were cloudy.

“I have left instructions with the men that we are not to be disturbed under any circumstances,” Griffin said.

For some reason that unnerved her as nothing else had. “They know we are meeting here tonight?”

“Yes.”

“You told them what we planned to do with the lamp?”

“No, of course not,” Griffin said. “I did not want to alarm them with talk of psychical experiments.”

“Then what on earth will they think we are about?”

In spite of the tension in the room, he was amused. “What do you imagine they will conclude?”

She flushed. “Yes, of course. How . . . awkward.”

“It is only natural that they believe us to be lovers, Adelaide.” Impatience edged his tone. “They know full well that I have never before brought a woman into this house.”

“Why not?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Because this house holds far too many secrets.”

She nodded, understanding at once. “You allow no one inside who cannot be trusted.”

“The rule tends to limit houseguests quite dramatically.”

“No doubt.” She paused. “But you brought me here. And I summoned Mrs. Trevelyan.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up in grim amusement. “And the next thing I know I’ve got a Jones under my roof: Mrs. Lucinda Bromley Jones, noted poisoner and one of the founders of Arcane’s new psychical detective agency. You see what happens when the rules are broken?”

“I thought we had agreed that Jones and Jones was not an immediate threat.”

“That does not mean I intend to make a habit of inviting the proprietors of the firm to tea.”

“Mrs. Jones didn’t stay for tea.”

His brows rose. “Don’t tell me you invited her?”

“It seemed the polite thing to do.”

He shook his head in a resigned manner but he refrained from further comment on the subject.

“Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Jones are not here now,” he said. “There is only you and me and the lamp. Let us get on with this business.”

The words aroused old memories. Thirteen years ago Mr. Smith had said the same thing.
Let us get on with this business
. It was her intuition speaking tonight, she thought, warning her of danger. But, then, she already knew that what she and Griffin were about to attempt was very dangerous, indeed.

Griffin walked past her to the closed door. She heard the harsh rasp of iron-on-iron when he turned the key in the lock. There seemed to be an air of finality about the sound, a signal that there would be no turning back, the thought of which made her shiver and raised the hair on the nape of her neck. Dread? Fear? Foreboding? Whatever it was, there was no denying that it was tinged with excitement.

After all these years, she was about to discover the mysteries of the artifact that she had guarded for so long. A feverish surge of anticipation pulsed through her. She had been waiting for this moment, she thought.
And this man.

She pushed that last thought aside. Tonight she must not be distracted. She had to concentrate solely on the work at hand. Griffin’s life and her own, not to mention their senses and their sanity, hung in the balance. Everything would depend on her ability to control her talent.

She set the journal on a nearby table.

“Please turn down the gas lamp,” she said. “I find it easier to focus on dreamlight when my senses are not too distracted by other forms of illumination.”

Griffin did as she asked, plunging the room into even deeper shadows. “What of the fire?”

“That will not be a problem,” she said.

Griffin crossed the short distance to the small table where the artifact stood.

“What now?” he asked.

“I have concluded after reading the journal that you were right when you deduced that there must be some physical contact between us in order to light the lamp and control the currents within it,” she said. She reached across the table. “Take my hand, sir.”

His fingers closed tightly around hers. Cautiously she put her free hand on the rim of the artifact, just above the crystals.

“Now touch the lamp with your other hand,” she said.

He did as she instructed.

“I told you, I can make the lamp glow a little,” she said, “but I am certain that only you can actually cause it to ignite.”

“How do I do that?”

“I think it will be an intuitive thing,” she said. “Start by opening your senses fully and feel your way into the pattern of the lamp’s wavelengths.”

“What will you do?”

“My task, as I understand it from the journal, is to make sure that the center holds. If the currents are not kept under firm control, they will become wild and chaotic. If that happens I doubt that we will survive.”

“It occurs to me that neither one of us knows what we are about here.”

“I had the same thought,” Adelaide said.

She also knew that neither of them was going to suggest that they halt the experiment.

Griffin looked down at the artifact, his alchemist’s face etched in the stark shadows cast by the fire. He said nothing but she felt energy pulse higher in the atmosphere. As yet his talent was unfocused so the extraordinary amount of dreamlight he generated crashed and roiled in harmless invisible waves in the space around them. The enthralling aura of his power threatened to further agitate her already aroused senses into a storm of sensual urgency. She struggled to control her response. She knew that Griffin was waging the same internal battle.

“It’s the lamp,” she informed him smoothly, as if she actually knew what she was talking about. “The energy it emits, even in the unlit state, appears to have a rather odd effect on our physical senses. Just ignore it.”