Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1)

by Jordan Elizabeth

  Clark shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for the tour.” He could explore the cellar that night. Since Donald hadn’t shown him, it would be a good excuse if he were caught.

  “What about the cellar?” Amethyst asked.

  Clark gritted his teeth. The question seemed too obvious.

  Donald narrowed his eyes for a second before his smile took reign again. “It wouldn’t interest you. My prized wines I keep up here in my closet—you can pick one for supper. The cellar is more for storage.”

  “I’m sure we’d still enjoy seeing it—” Amethyst began.

  Clark coughed to hide her squeak as he pinched her arm. “A man’s privacy is sacred. I’m sure we’ll both enjoy some time to relax. I’ll help my sister to her bedroom.”

  “Do that.” A coldness crept into Donald’s voice. He couldn’t suspect anything. It had to be Clark’s imagination.

  The hallway on the second floor lay empty of servants. Clark had only counted seven, and Donald had said he’d hired extra for the evening. Fewer help would mean an easier chance to steal the guns.

  Amethyst jutted her lower lip. “I was trying to help.”

  “And you’re excellent at it.” He slid his hands around her waist and backed her into the wall, pressing his hips into hers. When she gasped, he kissed her mouth. “Such a good little girl you are.”

  She turned her head away so his lips descended on her neck. She tasted of lavender soap, the scent toying with his nose.

  “Tonight,” he murmured against her ear, “you’ll be the star of the ball. Make yourself into a spectacle. Make sure everyone notices you and not me. I’ll sneak into the cellar.”

  Amethyst sashayed into the garden. Lanterns had been hung between the trees to light up the stone pathways. People mingled around the fountains and benches. Her mother stood near the eatery table sipping a glass of champagne.

  Hmm, no photographer in the crowd. The men wore suits and top hats, pocket watches hanging by chains on their jackets. The women had sleeveless gowns and feather fasteners in their hair. While everyone looked presentable, no one stood out. These would be people in the neighboring towns who might not be well off. They could be ranchers or bankers or shopkeepers or lawyers, but not wealthy per se.

  Amethyst lifted her hands. White lace gloves decorated with pearl beads stretched up to her elbows. She’d added rings over her fingers and three silver bracelets per wrist. Her white skirt had six layers of lace and two of silk; no need for a hoop. The beaded bustle in the back bounced each time she swayed her hips. On top, she’d chosen a black corset decorated with miniature key charms. Without a shirt underneath, it made more of a statement.

  She could be the one to stand out.

  “Hello,” she sang as loud as she could. Without wind, her unbound hair, teased with sugar water to make it poof, didn’t stir. “Who would like to bring me a drink?”

  Her mother glanced her way with raised eyebrows. She would have to be careful to refrain from the wild edge. Georgette would stop it and ruin things for Clark.

  “I’m just making friends, Mother.” Amethyst sauntered to the eatery table. The heels of her gold slippers clicked on the stones. “You love it when I’m like that.” She would have to find someone to talk to, loudly, and make it extra exciting to lure others over. That should cause enough distraction to keep people from noticing Clark’s absence. “Who would like to hear about my life in the city?”

  Clark eased the cellar door open and lifted the lantern to spill light across the narrow wooden steps. His father floated ahead of him, past the kegs and crates. Clark shut the door and hurried after. Violin music drifted from the garden. He couldn’t be too long. If he had to, he would just scope the scene and return later.

  Eric headed to a wall in the back and pointed. “Wiggle that panel open.”

  Clark set the lantern on the dirt floor and pressed the wall. The wood shifted where his father pointed. Frowning, Clark worked it open to reveal a panel with buttons labeled with numbers.

  “I invented that.” Eric beamed. “The code is 35-41. Push it.”

  Clark pressed on the buttons in that code and the door shifted sideways. He pushed it the rest of the way and used the lantern to fill the space with light.

  A table stretched across the far wall, covered by a lumpy sheet. No other furniture decorated the closet-sized room.

  “I should call you Clark Grisham, shouldn’t I?” Donald stepped out from behind a keg and clapped, his cane slung over his arm.

  lark set his lantern beside his feet and rested his hands at his side in case he had to grab his pistol. “Sir.”

  Donald whistled. “I can’t rightly decide what game you’re playing. There’s no need to lie to the Treasures. They’d take you in just knowing you’re Eric’s son. Bloody gears, I’d take you in too for that alone.”

  Clark shifted his stance. In the flickering light, Donald frowned at him. If he told the man too much, he might report him to the army.

  “How do you even know the code?” Donald nodded at the door panel. “Eric and I are the only ones. I watched you, boy, and you didn’t try different combinations. You didn’t hesitate.”

  “Trust him,” Eric said from behind. “He won’t hurt you.”

  “Eric’s been dead eighteen years about,” Donald continued. “He couldn’t have told you.”

  Clark drew a deep breath. If he didn’t admit it, the consequences might hurt worse. “Did you know that Eric was working on a powder that would react with hertum?”

  Donald rolled his shoulders. “Make it so the person could maneuver the dead.”

  Maneuver. Right. “My mother and I lived in Tangled Wire. I worked in the mine. She always told me Garth Treasure was my father, never mentioned Eric.” For better or for worse. “I got exposed to the powder and hertum. Sir, the army wants to use me. I’ve been running since then. They can’t get me.” An edge crept into his voice. “I’m not for them to play with.”

  Donald took a step back, but he kept his arms down. “You and the dead…?”

  Clark nodded. A breeze trickled through the cellar to make his skin tingle. “I can talk to them. Bring people back if they just died. If I bring someone back, I can take someone away.”

  “That’s how Eric….” Donald turned in a circle. “Is he here now?”

  “There.” Clark pointed at the ghost shimmering near a casket of wine.

  “Tell him I say thank you,” Eric murmured.

  “He wants to say thanks,” Clark offered. The man had kept his father’s secret for eighteen years. He could be trusted.

  He had to be trusted.

  “What does he want with the weapons?” Donald shook his head as though trying to focus.

  “Me to take them. To protect them. Keep them from Horan.”

  “They’re safe here.” Donald glanced at the casket.

  “I want them for my son.” Eric shimmered. “I never wanted to involve too many people in this. The less, the safer we are.”

  Clark licked his lips. “Eric said he wants me to have them. I’ll protect them, sir. He wants me to collect all of his belongings.”

  Donald stepped toward the hidden room while watching the casket. “You can tell me more about what’s been happening with you while we pack up.”

  He might mean Clark or Eric, but Clark sighed. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone as strong in society and honor as Donald as an ally.

  Amethyst leaned over the bar table and held out her glass. “More wine, suh. Keep it flowing!” She bit back a giggle. It had only been two glasses so far. She couldn’t be too tipsy.

  The bartender took her glass and silently filled it from a bottle of red wine. Yum, the rich stuff. If she were in the city, she and her friends would be dancing on the table. She might take off her shoes to have better balance, or make it fun by spilling into a stranger’s lap.

  Amethyst tipped the glass to her lips and a girl from town bumped her elbow. Wine sloshed over her chin.

  “S
orry,” the girl said.

  Amethyst narrowed her eyes as she wiped her mouth with her handkerchief. In the city, the wretch would be begging her forgiveness. Instead, the girl pursed her lips as though she disapproved.

  Of drinking?

  “Do you know who I am?” Amethyst wadded the linen in her hand.

  “Sorry, Miss Treasure.” Sarcasm. The nerve!

  The Treasure name had to still count for something. Her father owned most of the shipping companies, almost all of the mines, a great deal of farmland… She’d never paid attention to those things, but the list had to go on.

  A hand brushed across her back and she turned, her mouth open to scold.

  The other Horan brother stood with a glass tipped forward. “To meeting again.” When he smiled, she noticed a gold tooth in his mouth.

  The linen dropped from her hand. He shouldn’t be there. His brother had said he was back at the ranch.

  “No,” she whispered as her heartbeat thudded. A pain stitched in her side. If he was there….

  He gripped her elbow and shifted her toward the back of the garden, where the landscape gave way into the fields. Amethyst grabbed the edge of the table and leaned away from him.

  “I’m entertaining.” Her smile had better look genuine while her heart raced. “We can go for a walk later.” As with flirting, if she gave him a little, it would keep him thinking there would be more to come later.

  She would find Clark to warn him.

  The Horan boy tightened his grip and tugged her just hard enough to make her stumble. “We won’t be gone long. I just want to talk.”

  Amethyst glanced at the people, but no one looked at her. In the city, everyone looked at her. She could scream and that would get attention.

  He swayed close enough to leave his hot breath against her jawline. “What happened to my brother?”

  Her legs wobbled as he directed her toward the vineyard. She would have to twist away without throwing a fuss. She had to make it seem as if she didn’t understand. “Surely back at your home. I didn’t realize you’d be invited to this. Donald must be good friends with your father.”

  “You should be dead.” He nodded to a group of men smoking cigars. That sickening smile on his face made her belly clench. He wanted her gone.

  “Evening, Jeff,” one of the men said.

  “I’m alive as ever.” She laughed to make it seem unimportant. “I’m still a young woman.”

  “Who Adam shot. That bullet should’ve taken your life, but here you are.” They’d reached the edge of the patio. The Horan boy, Jeff, kept along the brick-edged path. Amethyst glanced over her shoulder, but everyone talked and chortled together, while the music played a sweet melody.

  Gravel crunched beneath their shoes.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If she made too much of a fuss, Jeff might report on Clark. She would have to see how much he knew. If she screamed, they were still close enough to garner assistance.

  “Where is my brother?” Jeff pulled her closer to his side.

  “How should I know?”

  “We were both at the river, little girl. You’re the bitch who can talk to the dead.”

  She laughed to be loud, hoping someone would notice and follow to be part of the fun. “I told you. I’m still young. No need to be dead.” How could Jeff know? Adam couldn’t have notified him that fast.

  “My brother was supposed to bring you to the warehouse. He never showed.” Jeff’s fingers bruised her elbow. She twisted, but he only tightened. She bit back a yelp.

  “He said it was only—”

  “Why would he tell you everything?” Jeff snarled. He turned them down another path where the darkness of night drifted over the vineyard. Behind them, the sounds of the party faded.

  “I’m not who you think.”

  He seized her shoulders and shoved her against a wooden archway. To the left lay the backyard and to the right, the wild tameness of the orchard, neat rows of grapevines crawling over wooden poles. A gold broach flashed at the knot in his crimson cravat.

  “Where is my brother?”

  “I don’t know!” She lifted her voice in a scream. It wouldn’t work to weasel her way free. Help would need to come.

  His thumbs beat into her throat. She clawed at his wrists as she gasped. He would strangle her?

  “Bitch,” he growled. “You had something to do with his disappearance? Did you kill him?”

  Darkness stung the edges of her vision. She tipped her head back, rasping, her legs kicking and her muscles twitching. Would Clark come? He was in the cellar…would anyone come? Would they find her body?

  If he came quickly, Clark could bring her back again…

  The murdering hands shifted to her hair. She tumbled forward and Jeff clenched his arms around her back.

  “You’re such a spoiled bitch.” Keeping her pinned against him, he headed into the vineyard. “Let’s just watch you come back. Can you do that? Save yourself?”

  “You won’t know…what happened…to him,” she rasped, “if you…hurt me.” That knowledge might be her only leverage.

  He laughed. “I’m not stupid. I’ll figure it out. If you’ve killed him, I’ll haunt you in death. Father will give me some of the potion and I’ll have your same powers.”

  She sagged against his chest as she panted. Her hand fell against his waist, brushing against his holster.

  Amethyst seized the handle of his pistol and kneed his groin. He sputtered, staggering back.

  “Bitch!” His arms flailed at her.

  “Adam died.” She aimed the pistol at his skull and pulled the trigger.

  methyst’s hands trembled around the handgun as it butted into her thumb. The barrel wavered up and down, to the side. Jeff pitched forward, clasping his shoulder. Blood ran through his fingers and stained the front of his pale shirt. Had it been white in the backyard’s firelight?

  “Get away from me.” Her voice shook. “I won’t let you hurt me.” People in the city didn’t want to kill her. They wanted to be photographed with her, to be her. Here, she hadn’t paid attention and been murdered and kidnapped. Never again.

  “Bitch!” Didn’t he have anything else to say?

  She stepped back and her heel crunched on the ground. Someone would come from the party. “Someone will have heard that. You’ll be arrested.”

  Jeff swung toward her, his hand out and the fingers curled like claws. “Did you hear a gunshot?”

  She kept stepping back, stumbling on the uneven dirt alongside the path. Had she? Her blood still pounded in her ears.

  “I always use a silencer.” He leered at her, blood on his cheeks. “No one’s going to come rescue you.” The hand not holding his wound pulled another pistol from his belt.

  Rusty gears! She hadn’t considered he’d have two! She’d been practicing with Clark, but Jeff would’ve grown up with guns. He wouldn’t miss like she had.

  Amethyst aimed the weapon and pulled the trigger. The bullet jerked from the barrel, past the silencer, with a hiss. Right, no bang. She pulled it again, and again, squeezing her eyes shut as Jeff jerked. Something hot and wet struck her cheek.

  After four rounds, the gun clicked, but no other bullets fired. Amethyst’s eyelids flew open and she panted, a pain coursing through her side toward her thudding heart.

  Jeff lay in the path with his head back, legs bent, one arm thrown over his chest and the other stretched to the side. Darkness covered him, blending with the dirt.

  “Jeff?” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “Are you all right?”

  Music reverberated from the party and an owl hooted farther off in the other direction. Jeff didn’t move. She dropped to her knees, her fingers refusing to loosen on the pistol. He’d meant to kill her. She’d taken his life instead.

  “Amethyst!” Footsteps pounded on the dirt. Her name came again through the haze in her mind and Clark’s arms wrapped around her. She gasped. When had she taken to holding her breath?
r />   “I…I killed him.” She stared at the grapes instead of at the body, Jeff no longer.

  “Shh, its fine.” Clark wiped a handkerchief over her face. The man’s blood must’ve gotten on her.

  “He was going to kill me.” Her voice held steady. How odd. She almost laughed, but a sob lodged in her throat.

  “I know.” Clark’s lips touched her forehead. “I can bring him back—”

  “No!” She dropped the gun and whipped sideways to seize his arm. With the moon behind him, his face lay in shadow. “He’s evil.” She could say so many other things about him, but that summed it well. Maybe when her nerves slowed, she’d be more articulate.

  Someone else stood behind Clark, a tall man with a top hat.

  “What happened?” Donald’s voice, calm and deliberate.

  Amethyst stared at him, hoping she met his gaze since she couldn’t see his eyes. “His brother tried to kidnap me. This one wanted to kill me.” If he wanted details, she wouldn’t know what to provide without giving away Clark’s secret. Donald would press for answers. Clark could make up something.

  “I have loyal servants,” Donald said. “I’ll see the body buried where no one will notice a fresh mound.”

  Clark eased his hands under her armpits to lift her. “I’ll say that you’ve developed a headache.”

  “No.” Amethyst shook her head while leaning into him. “We’ll go back. Nothing will be amiss.” No one should suspect anything. They shouldn’t give anything away. “How did you know to find me?”

  “Eric said you were in danger.”

  She glanced at Donald, his expression still hidden. “He…knows?”

  “I’ll talk to you at the party. We’ll smile. We’ll laugh.” Clark cupped her face between his hands. “We’ll be fine.”

  In the morning, Donald faced them across the desk in his study. Clark leaned back in the chair, the plush seat welcoming his bottom, and kept one hand clasped around Amethyst’s. She sat beside him, tugging on a curl. She’d left her hair down in waves, no ribbons or beads. He’d never seen it so unbound. As long as he held on to her, she would know he protected her.