Second Sight Page 2

  Gabriel lowered himself beside the strongbox again. “If he felt that strongly about his privacy he should not have left clues to the location of this place in that series of letters he wrote before he died.”

  The letters had sat moldering away in the society’s archives until he had dug them out several months ago and succeeded in deciphering the alchemist’s private code.

  He tried the key in the lock and knew at once it was not going to work.

  “Too much rust,” he announced. “Get the tools.”

  Ten minutes later, working together, they managed to pry open the strongbox. The lid rose reluctantly. Harsh grinding groans emanated from the hinges. But there were no explosions, flashes of fire or other unpleasant surprises.

  Gabriel and Caleb looked down into the box.

  “So much for the notion of finding a hoard of gold and jewels,” Caleb said.

  “Fortunately we did not carry out this expedition with the hope of discovering a treasure,” Gabriel agreed.

  The only object inside the strongbox was a small leather-bound notebook.

  He picked up the book and opened it with great care. “I suspect this will contain the formula that the alchemist hinted at in his papers and letters. He would have considered it vastly more important than gold or jewels.”

  The yellowed pages were filled with the alchemist’s precise handwriting, all in cryptic Latin.

  Caleb leaned forward for a closer look at the seemingly meaningless jumble of letters, numbers, symbols and words that covered the first page.

  “It’s written in another one of his damned private codes,” he said, shaking his head.

  Gabriel turned one of the pages. “A love of secrecy and codes is a tradition that the members of the Arcane Society have maintained with great enthusiasm for two centuries.”

  “I have never encountered a greater bunch of obsessive, reclusive eccentrics in my life than the members of the Arcane Society.”

  Gabriel closed the notebook with great care and met Caleb’s eyes. “There are some who would say that you and I are just as eccentric if not more so than any of the members of the society.”

  “Eccentric is probably not the right word for us.” Caleb’s jaw tensed. “But I’d just as soon not try to come up with a more appropriate term.”

  Gabriel did not argue. When they were younger they had reveled in their eccentricities, taking their special sensitivities for granted. But maturity and adulthood had given them a different, far more cautious perspective.

  Now, to make life even more difficult, Gabriel thought, he found himself dealing with a modern-thinking father who had become an enthusiastic supporter of Mr. Darwin’s theories. Hippolyte Jones was determined to see his heir married off as soon as possible. Gabriel had concluded that his sire secretly wished to discover if the unusual sort of paranormal sensitivity his son possessed would prove to be an inheritable trait.

  Damned if he would allow himself to be coerced into participating in an experiment in evolution, Gabriel thought. When it came to finding a wife, he preferred to do his own hunting.

  He looked at Caleb. “Does it ever concern you that we are members of a society that is populated by secretive, reclusive eccentrics who are obsessed with the arcane and the uncanny?”

  “Not our fault,” Caleb declared, bending to study one of the old instruments on the workbench. “We were merely fulfilling our filial obligations when we allowed ourselves to be inducted. You know as well as I do that both of our fathers would have been outraged if we had refused to join their precious society. Besides, you are in no position to complain. You were the one who talked me into agreeing to go through with the damned ceremony.”

  Gabriel glanced down at the black-and-gold onyx ring that he wore on his right hand. The stone was embossed with an alchemical symbol for fire.

  “I am well aware of that,” he said.

  Caleb exhaled heavily. “I realize that you felt an enormous amount of pressure to join the society, given the circumstances.”

  “Yes.” Gabriel closed the heavy lid of the box and studied the cryptic words engraved on the gold sheet. “I certainly hope this isn’t some alchemical curse. He who dares open this strongbox will die a dreadful death by sunrise, or something along those lines.”

  “It probably is a curse or at least a warning of some kind.” Caleb shrugged. “The old alchemists were notorious for that sort of thing. But you and I are men of the modern age, are we not? We don’t believe in that kind of nonsense.”

  T HE FIRST MAN DIED three days later.

  His name was Riggs. He was one of the villagers Gabriel and Caleb had hired to pack up the contents of the alchemist’s tomb and see the crates safely aboard the wagons for transport.

  The body was discovered in an ancient alley near the docks. Riggs had been stabbed twice. The first strike had pierced his chest. The second slashed open his throat. A great deal of blood had pooled and dried on the old stones. He had been killed with his own knife. It lay beside him, the blade darkly stained.

  “I am told that Riggs was a loner who had a penchant for drinking, whoring and getting into tavern brawls,” Caleb said. “As far as the locals are concerned, he was bound to come to a bad end sooner or later. The assumption is that he finally got into a fight with an opponent who was either faster or luckier than he was.”

  He looked at Gabriel; waiting, not speaking.

  Resigned to the inevitable, Gabriel crouched beside the body. Reluctantly he picked up the knife by its hilt, focused his attention on the murder weapon and braced for the shock of icy awareness that he knew awaited him.

  There was still a great deal of energy left on the knife hilt. The murder had been committed only a few hours ago, after all. Strong sensations still clung to the blade, enough to ignite a dark thrill deep inside him.

  All of his senses sharpened. It was as if he were suddenly more alert in some indefinable metaphysical fashion. The disturbing part was the elemental desire to hunt that heated his blood.

  He released the knife quickly, letting it clatter on the stones, and rose to his feet.

  Caleb watched him intently. “Well?”

  “Riggs was not killed by a stranger who was in the grip of a sudden rage or panic,” Gabriel said. Absently he made a fist out of the hand he had used to grip the knife. The gesture was automatic, a futile attempt to exorcise the lingering stain of evil and the urge to hunt that it excited in him. “Whoever met him in this alley came here with the deliberate intention of killing him. It was all very cold-blooded.”

  “A cuckolded husband or an old enemy, perhaps.”

  “That’s the most likely explanation,” Gabriel agreed. But he could feel the prickles of awareness raising the hair on the back of his neck. This death was no unconnected event. “Given Riggs’s reputation, the authorities will no doubt come to that conclusion. I think, however, that we should inventory the contents of the crates.”

  Caleb’s brows rose. “Do you believe that Riggs may have stolen one of the artifacts and attempted to sell it to someone who then murdered him?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I thought we agreed that there was very little in the alchemist’s laboratory that was worth a lot of money, let alone a man’s life.”

  “Let’s notify the local authorities and then open the crates,” Gabriel said quietly.

  He turned and started swiftly toward the narrow mouth of the alley, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the spoor of violence as possible. The desire to hunt was still under control but he could feel it whispering darkly, urging him to open himself to that other aspect of his nature, the part of him that he feared was anything but modern.

  I T TOOK SOME time to check each of the relics that had been carefully wrapped and prepared for shipment against the list of artifacts that Gabriel and Caleb had made. In the end only one item was found to be missing.

  “He took the damned notebook,” Caleb said, disgusted. “It will not be amusing to
explain the loss to either one of our fathers, let alone the Council.”

  Gabriel contemplated the empty interior of the strongbox. “We made it easy for him because we had already pried the lid open. He didn’t have to work very hard to retrieve the notebook. But why would anyone want it? At most it’s merely an interesting scholarly artifact filled with the deluded ramblings of a mad old alchemist. It’s of historical significance only to the members of the Arcane Society and then only because Sylvester was the founder of the society.”

  Caleb shook his head. “It would seem that there may be someone who actually believes that the formula will work. Someone who is willing to kill for it.”

  “Well, one thing is certain. We have just witnessed the start of a new addition to the legends of the Arcane Society.”

  Caleb winced. “The Curse of Sylvester the Alchemist?”

  “It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

  1

  Two months later…

  HE WAS THE MAN she had been waiting for, the lover who was destined to ruin her. But first she wanted to photograph him.

  “No,” Gabriel Jones said. He crossed the richly appointed library, picked up the brandy decanter and splashed a healthy dose of the contents into two glasses. “I did not bring you here to Arcane House to take my picture, Miss Milton. I employed you to photograph the society’s collection of relics and artifacts. I may appear to be in my dotage to you, but I like to think that I am not yet ready to be classified as an antiquity.”

  Gabriel was no aged relic, Venetia thought. Indeed, she sensed in him the power and confidence of a man in his prime. He gave every appearance of being just the right age to sweep her off her feet into the thrilling fires of an illicit passion.

  She had waited long enough to find the right man for the task, she thought. By Society’s standards she was past the age when a lady could reasonably expect to contract a marriage. The responsibilities thrust upon her a year and a half ago when her parents had been killed in the train wreck had sealed her fate. Few respectable gentlemen were eager to take to wife a woman in her late twenties who was the sole support of two siblings and a maiden aunt. In light of her father’s behavior, she had grave misgivings about the institution of marriage, in any event.

  But she did not want to live the rest of her life never knowing genuine physical passion. A lady in her situation, Venetia thought, had a right to engineer her own ravishment.

  The project of seducing Gabriel had been a great challenge because she possessed no practical experience in the business. True, there had been a few minor flirtations here and there over the years but none had resulted in anything more than some experimental kisses.

  The truth was, she had never encountered any man who was worth the risk of an illicit affair. Following the death of her parents, the need to avoid a disastrous scandal had become even more imperative. The financial security of her family was entirely dependent upon her career as a photographer. She must not do anything to jeopardize it.

  But this magical time at Arcane House had been literally dropped into her lap; a gift that she had never expected to receive.

  It had come about in the most mundane way, she reflected. A member of the mysterious Arcane Society had viewed her photographic work in Bath and recommended her to the society’s official governing Council. The Council, it seemed, had determined to have the contents of their museum recorded in photographs.

  The lucrative commission had offered her an unprecedented opportunity to live out her most secret romantic fantasies.

  “I would not charge extra for taking your portrait,” she said quickly. “The fee that was paid in advance will cover all expenses.”

  And a good deal more, she thought, trying not to reveal her satisfaction. She was still dazzled by the incredibly handsome sum the Arcane Society had paid into her account at the bank. The unexpected windfall was literally going to change her future and that of her small family. But she did not think it would be wise to explain that to Gabriel.

  Image was everything in her profession, as Aunt Beatrice never hesitated to point out. She must give her client the impression that her work was worth every penny of the huge sum that had been paid.

  Gabriel smiled his cool, mysterious smile and handed her one of the brandies. When his fingers brushed against hers, a little thrill tingled along her nerves. It was not the first time she had felt the sensation.

  She had never met a man like Gabriel Jones. He had the eyes of an ancient sorcerer. They were filled with dark, unfathomable secrets. The flames that flared on the massive stone hearth cast a wash of golden light across the planes and angles of a face that had been carved by strong, elemental forces. He moved with a dangerous, predatory grace, and he looked incredibly masculine and elegant in his beautifully tailored black-and-white evening clothes.

  All in all, she thought, he was quite perfect for what she had in mind.

  “Cost is not the issue, Miss Milton, as I’m sure you’re well aware,” he said.

  Embarrassed, she took a quick swallow of brandy and prayed that the shadowy lighting would conceal her blush. Of course cost was not the problem, she thought, chagrined. Judging by the furnishings that surrounded her, the Arcane Society was evidently sustained by a comfortable fortune.

  She had arrived at the crumbling heap of stone named Arcane House six days ago, conveyed in a modern, well-sprung private carriage that Gabriel had dispatched to meet her at the train station in the village.

  The massively built coachman had been a dour sort who had spoken very little after confirming her identity. He had hoisted the trunks that contained her clothes as well as her dry plates, tripod and developing chemicals as easily as though they contained nothing but feathers. She had insisted on carrying her camera herself.

  The journey from the station had taken nearly two hours. Night had fallen and Venetia had been uneasily aware of the fact that she was being driven deeper and deeper into a remote, seemingly uninhabited landscape.

  By the time the taciturn coachman had drawn up in front of an old mansion that had been built upon the ruins of an even more ancient abbey, it was all she could do to conceal the jittery sensations that coursed through her. She had even begun to wonder if she had made a great mistake by agreeing to take the exorbitantly lucrative commission.

  All of the arrangements had been conducted by post. Her younger sister, Amelia, who worked as her assistant, had planned to accompany her. But at the last minute Amelia had contracted a bad cold. Aunt Beatrice had been anxious about Venetia going off on her own to complete the commission but in the end financial necessity had won out. Once the grand sum of money had been deposited into the bank, Venetia had never once considered declining the project.

  The isolated location of Arcane House had generated more than a few doubts but her first encounter with Gabriel Jones had quelled all of her private concerns.

  When she had been ushered into his presence by the near-silent housekeeper that first evening, she had been nearly overwhelmed by a rush of astonishing awareness. The sensation was so acute it had aroused and excited all of her senses, including the very special kind of vision that she kept secret from everyone except the members of her own family.

  That was when the inspiration for her grand plan of seduction had struck.

  This was the right man, the right place and the right time. After she left Arcane House she was highly unlikely to ever again encounter Gabriel Jones. Even if by some chance they did happen to cross each other’s path in the future, she sensed he would be gentleman enough to keep her secrets. She suspected that he had a few of his own.

  Her family, clients and neighbors in Bath would never know what took place here, she thought. While she was at Arcane House she was free from Society’s strictures in a way that she never would be again.

  Until today she had dared to hope that, in spite of her lack of practical experience, the seduction of Gabriel Jones was going well. She knew from the occasional glimps
es of heat that she surprised in his eyes and the exciting aura of energy that enveloped them when they were in the same room that he was attracted to her.

  In the past few days they had sat down to long, intimate dinners and stimulating, wide-ranging conversations by the fire. They had breakfasted together in the mornings, served by the taciturn housekeeper, and discussed the day’s photography plans at length. Gabriel seemed to enjoy her company as much as she did his.

  There was just one problem. This was her sixth night here at Arcane House, and thus far Gabriel had made no attempt to even take her into his arms, let alone carry her upstairs to one of the bedrooms.

  True, there had been many small, fleeting, incredibly exciting little intimacies: his warm, powerful hand on her elbow when he guided her into a room; a casual, seemingly unintended touch; a sensual smile that promised more than it delivered.

  All extremely tantalizing, to be sure, but not what one would call definitive indications that he desired her enough to make mad, passionate love to her.

  She was starting to worry that she had fumbled the business. In a few more days she would depart Arcane House forever. If she did not do something soon, her dreams would remain unrealized.

  “You have made excellent progress with your work here,” Gabriel said. He went to stand in front of the windows, looking out into the moonlit night. “Do you feel that you will be able to finish on schedule?”

  “Most likely,” she admitted. Unfortunately, she added silently. She would have given a great deal for an excuse to linger. “With all the sun we have enjoyed these past few days I have had very few problems with the lighting.”

  “The light is always a photographer’s greatest concern, is it not?”

  “Yes.”

  “The word from the village is that the weather is expected to hold.”

  More bad news, she thought glumly. Poor weather was the only reason she could think of for prolonging her stay.