Gift of Fire (13 page)

“Do you think that piece of crystal on the desk is the one Digby Hazelhurst found a few years ago?” Verity asked softly.

“It’s possible. It fits the description.” Jonas studied the frozen image for a few more minutes. Then he moved back to stand beside Verity. “It’s just not a normal corridor image.”

She shivered. “How can you say that anything in this corridor is normal?”

“It has its own rules and its own physical laws, you know that. You’ve been in here often enough with me. This vision doesn’t fit the rules we’ve learned. We’re not looking at a scene of violent action. Nothing is moving within the image, and there are none of those energy snakes that always pour out of the scene and try to lock onto me.”

“It’s as if whoever is sitting there has reversed the usual way things work in here,” Verity agreed.

“Christ, I learn something new every time I step into this crazy place.” Jonas shook his head in bemusement. “Wish I knew what the hell this all means.”

“I think,” Verity offered slowly, “that if that’s the crystal Digby eventually found, there might be some truth to the legends of a treasure buried here in this villa. Look at the chest behind that man. It’s heaping with gold and jewels. Maybe that guy in the cloak is the one who originally owned the treasure.”

“I wonder if this piece of metal I’m holding was the hilt of that sword the man in the image is wearing. In the past, the object that took me into the corridor has always appeared in the vision. Something is very, very different here, honey.”

Verity’s intuition was prodding her. “I think we ought to get out of here, Jonas. I really do not like this whole set-up, not one bit. This psychic thing has always been pretty weird, but this is stranger than ever.”

“Okay. I want to see where this passageway goes. Guess we’d better get going.” He dropped the hilt of the sword.

It clattered on the stone floor of the real-time corridor, and the psychic corridor vanished. A cold draft made Verity tighten the sash of her robe again.

“You take the sword hilt,” Jonas said. “It’s got a strong pull. If I pick it up again, we’ll jump right back into the corridor.

Verity scooped it up. “Got it.” She was about to comment on the dirt encrusting the ancient metal when the faint shaft of light that had been seeping into the passage from the bedroom dimmed. An ominous creaking sound from around the corner of the passage warned her too late of what was happening.

“Jonas, I think the door is closing!”

“Shit.” Jonas raced passed her, his face grim behind the flashlight.

Verity limped after him, her heart pounding as the distant angle of light narrowed, then vanished completely. They rounded the corner of the passageway in time to see the heavy door slide into place with a very final thud.

Something clattered eerily in the darkness behind the closing door. It sounded like a handful of kindling being tossed against rock.

Or bones being dragged across stone.

Jonas raised the flashlight and Verity sucked in her breath at the sight of the skeleton. It lay just behind the massive door. The bones were bound together by the remnants of what had once been a natty pair of pleated trousers, an oxford cloth shirt, and a corduroy sport coat with suede patches on the elbows. A pair of gold-rimmed spectacles glittered in the dust near the skull. The sleeve of the jacket had gotten caught under the closing door and had jarred the bones, thus causing the unnerving rattle.

“Oh, my God, Jonas. It was there all the time! We didn’t see it because the door was open.”

Jonas ran the flashlight beam over the inside wall. There was no handle, knob, or other obvious means of reopening the stone gate. “We’ll have to assume that whoever built this place didn’t want to get accidentally trapped inside here himself. There’s got to be a simple way out.”

“Apparently our friend here didn’t succeed in finding it,” Verity said grimly.

Jonas looked down at the tangle of cloth and bones. Metal shone dully as the flashlight wandered over the remains of the body. Jonas knelt beside the bones and studied the blade that was projecting through the corduroy sport coat.

“I don’t think our pal died of natural causes. And it doesn’t look as if he starved to death in this corridor.” He probed the pocket of the pleated trousers.

“What are you doing?” Verity demanded.

“I was just wondering who he is—or was. Ah, here we go.” Jonas tugged a stiff, scratched leather wallet out of the trouser pocket. He flipped it open and studied the driver’s license photo of the bald, smiling man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.

“Well?” Verity prompted. “I don’t think I can stand any more suspense. Anyone we know?”

“It’s Digby Hazelhurst.”

“Good heavens! He’s supposed to have disappeared while swimming or something.”

“Sailing.”

“That poor man. What an awful way to die! I think I’ve got a new definition of Hazelhurst’s Horror. Imagine being trapped in this passageway…” Verity broke off as reality hit her. “Uh, Jonas, you do think you can find the mechanism that opens the door from the inside, don’t you?”

“I’m good at manual labor, remember? Relax, boss. We’ll get out. But I don’t want to make the same mistake Hazelhurst made.”

“What mistake? Oh, you mean that blade sticking out of him? You think it might have been another booby trap?”

“It’s possible. The metal is old and heavy. Probably early sixteenth century. Let’s see if we can get a clue as to which direction it came from.” He reached down and picked up the blade.

“Jonas, I’m not sure I’m ready for another one of these trips,” Verity began hurriedly, but it was too late. The flat stone walls around her were already curving into the familiar vision of the endless time corridor.

“Verity?”

“Right here, Jonas.” She turned at the sound of his voice. In the dimension existing inside the psychic corridor he was standing a short distance away. With an effort Verity could control both realities simultaneously. She could keep her awareness of the real, solid passageway, and at the same time concentrate on the psychic tunnel. It was a somewhat disorienting sensation, but she was getting better at maintaining the two realities.

“There. Straight ahead.” Jonas took a step closer to her, indicating a misty vision materializing ahead of them in the psychic corridor. His expression was grim. “It’s pretty vague, isn’t it? Probably because it’s relatively recent in time.”

Verity followed his gaze, aware that the visions were sharper when he dealt with older events, especially those of the Renaissance. This was definitely a recent act of violence. “Oh, no,” she whispered helplessly as the short, violent drama unfolded in front of her.

There was nothing to be done and she knew it. It was like watching a film—a never-ending instant replay of the sudden demise of Digby Hazelhurst, gentleman scholar and lifelong treasure hunter.

The scene wavered indistinctly, as if it lacked sufficient power to project itself. In the weak vision, the man whose picture they’d seen in the wallet was clawing at the wall of the stone corridor. He had a look of breathless terror on his features. His fingernails raked along a line of mortar between two stones just as a dark, tarnished blade was plunged into his back. A hand was clutched around the hilt of the stiletto, and on one finger of the hand was a magnificent ruby ring.

Verity barely had time to notice the ring before curling tendrils of terrifying color and hideous light began to flow from the image. The ribbons writhed blindly for a moment, as if seeking a target. Then they headed straight for Jonas.

Then, as always, they seemed to sense Verity’s presence.

She held her breath, as usual a little unnerved when the ribbons of mindless emotional energy began to swarm restlessly about her ankles. They didn’t touch her skin, but they swirled violently around her. Jonas was left free to study the vision.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I think we’ve seen enough.” Jonas released the old stiletto. It clattered to the floor.

The vision and the psychic corridor vanished instantly, leaving Verity and Jonas alone in the all-too-real tunnel.

Verity looked at Jonas. She could barely see his features. He had the flashlight trained on the part of the wall where Digby Hazelhurst had been scratching when the blade was plunged into him.

“Jonas, Digby didn’t die because he accidentally triggered a hidden mechanism somewhere around here. There was a hand wrapped around the handle of that stiletto.”

“I know, Verity. Now keep quiet for a few minutes,” he added gently. “I have to concentrate.”

Verity bit her lip and watched as Jonas trailed his sensitive fingers along the section of wall Hazelhurst had tried to reach as he died. A moment or two later something shifted deep within the stones.

“Here we go,” Jonas said with soft satisfaction. “I’ve got it. Leave that sword hilt in here. It’ll be safe. No one will see it and ask awkward questions. Leave the stiletto behind, too. I don’t want to have to explain it to anybody yet.”

Verity dropped the tarnished metal hilt on the stone floor as the heavy door swung open. “I don’t mind admitting I’m somewhat relieved. Not that I doubted for a moment that you’d get us out of here, of course,” she added with instinctive loyalty.

“Of course.” Jonas patted the stone door affectionately. “I tell you, there is nothing as refreshing and interesting as the Renaissance mind.”

“You ought to know,” Verity said as she stepped out of the corridor into the safety of the bedroom. “You’ve got one yourself.”

Chapter Seven

Jonas
followed Verity out of the stone passageway feeling more relieved than he wanted to admit.

Hazelhurst’s dying clue revealing the location of the door mechanism had been very welcome, to say the least. Jonas knew he could have spent a long time trying to find it on his own.

As he stepped into the relative warmth of the bedroom he thought he could hear echoes again, echoes of ancient laughter. He started to close the stone door.

“What are you doing?” Verity asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing? You want to spend the night staring at old bones?”

“No, of course not, but what about poor Hazelhurst? We have to tell someone we found him.”

“He’s been in there for a couple of years,” Jonas observed as the door groaned shut. “He’ll keep awhile longer.”

Verity’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re not going to tell anyone we found him?”

“Not just yet. If we report it now there’ll be an investigation. Things will be disrupted around here for days, maybe weeks. Rumors of the treasure will leak out, and the place will be overrun with reporters, fake psychics, and God knows who else. We’ve only got a week, Verity. I want to spend it getting some answers. Something very important is hidden in that corridor.”

“But someone killed Digby. He didn’t die by accident—murder took place in that corridor.”

“I know. But the murderer has been gone for over two years. Hell, he might even have died in that passageway himself, trying to find a way out. For all we know he’s lying at the other end of the tunnel.” Jonas stopped talking, hoping she hadn’t noticed the rest. He should have known better. The woman had eyes like a hawk.

Verity wandered over to the window. “The hand that held that stiletto had a ring on it. A big ruby ring.”

“I know. I saw it.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It looked very old, Jonas. In fact, it looked like it could have been part of the jewelry collection in that treasure chest in the vision, or it could even have been one of the rings the man in the image was wearing.”

“There was a certain resemblance,” Jonas agreed carefully. He saw the expression in her eyes and walked over to put an arm around her shoulders. “Hey there,” he said softly, giving her a slight shake. “Don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

“You know what I’m thinking?”

“Yep. You’re wondering if the four-hundred-year-old man in the frozen vision managed to come alive long enough to kill old Hazelhurst. It’s utterly and completely impossible.”

“Jonas, you’ve said yourself that you learn something new every time you explore that psychic corridor. You don’t know everything about how reality works in there. And you’ve admitted there was something very strange about that first vision. What if he figured out a way to survive in the time corridor, and he’s been sitting there all these years protecting his treasure?”

Jonas felt a shudder run through her and he tightened his comforting grip around her shoulders. “Not a chance. Relax, honey. There are no
ghosts in that corridor, just small scenes from the past. Postcards caught in time. That’s all.”

“The postcard of that man seated at the Renaissance writing desk didn’t look like it had ‘wish you were here’ written on the back. I got the feeling that guy didn’t want us around.”

“That vision was different from anything we’ve seen before in the corridor, I’ll grant you that. But that doesn’t mean a lot at this point. You’ve got too much imagination for your own peace of mind, honey.” He blew a fiery ringlet away from her temple and kissed her there. She smelled sweet and felt warm. He could feel himself getting hard, not an unusual reaction after a trip into the psychic corridor—not an unusual reaction around Verity at any time, for that matter.

“Someone killed Digby,” she reminded him stubbornly.

“Yes. But it was a long time ago. You want my best guess?”

She nodded quickly.

“I think he had a companion helping him in the treasure hunt. Someone he trusted enough to take into that passageway. Maybe someone he even trusted with the crystal.”

“And maybe that someone figured that as long as he knew about the passageway and the crystal, he no longer needed Digby?”

“Makes sense.”

“But where is that person now?” Verity persisted. She leaned her palms against the wide stone window ledge and gazed out into the rainy darkness.

“Who knows? There’s no mention of Hazelhurst discovering the hidden corridor in his diary, which means he must have found it shortly before he was killed. Either he never got the opportunity to write it down or the information is in those missing pages. I haven’t come across any reference to a companion either. Our best bet may be to talk to Maggie Frampton. She might know if Hazelhurst had involved anyone else in the treasure hunt.”