The Ancient Spirits of Sedgwick House (Grayson Sherbrooke's Otherworldly Adventures Book 3)

by Catherine Coulter

“Sadek did. He tried to kill him. He attacked him with a knife. I dreamed it, Nefret.”

  She grew very still. She was trembling. He stayed silent. In truth, he didn’t know what to say.

  She said finally, “He tried to kill him. He nicked his arm, but I used a healing cream and bandaged it for him.”

  “Where is Jabari?”

  She shook her head, then whispered, “I was told he drowned. I myself spoke to his men. They told me he drank his barely beer, then grabbed his throat and fell over the side of his boat into the Nile. None could swim and save him. It was only thirteen days after he gave me the cuff.” She straightened, pulled her shoulders back. “I miss him. I will always miss him, but he is gone. I do know that his heart weighed true and he is in the afterlife.”

  “When I heard your thoughts you were worried. You did not want to tell Jabari something. You did not think what it was to me.”

  “What you say, it cannot be true. You are a spirit here to torment me.”

  “No, do not be afraid. I am not evil, I promise you. I am no magician. I told you, your cuff brought me here to you. So now it is you who must help me understand. Keep your secrets about Jabari; there is no need for you to tell me about him.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “What I really must know is how your brother Kiya became a demon as the king of Nubia told Sadek. Please, I swear I mean you no harm.”

  She was pale, but calmer. Now she was studying him, assessing him. He stood perfectly still, waiting, and then he heard her clearly in his mind: It is too much. I must show him, but how? I have not the power.

  Your cuff will make it happen, he thought clearly back to her.

  Slowly, she nodded. This young girl was both real and unreal, pulsing with life in front of him, and long dead. She could speak and think her thoughts to him, and he could understand her. And now she trusted him enough to believe he could show her. “Hold the cuff closely, Nefret.”

  She held it against her breast. “It beats with the beat of my heart. It is so very warm.” She licked her lips. “How can this be, Gray-son? I never felt this before.”

  “I honestly do not know, but I do know that somehow the cuff will allow you to show me.”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” She put her fingers to her lips, turned, and dropped her bathing cloth, uncaring she was naked. She pulled on a white robe and belted it with a narrow golden belt. She leaned down and slipped her feet into papyrus sandals. Grayson didn’t know how he knew, but he accepted that this time so far in the past, so alien to him and his world, was somehow letting him enter. Then she walked quickly from the bathing room, her cuff still held against her heart, and beckoned him to follow her. She took his hand, and they walked silently down long, ornately decorated corridors—marble, painted plaster, rich benches, statues of Egyptian gods. They passed both closed and open doors, and he heard people speaking, saw the occasional flash of a white robe, a jeweled hand. Why were there no people in this long corridor?

  Finally they came upon two older ladies dressed in fine linen and jewels, their eyes lined in kohl, their hair elaborately fashioned atop their heads in rich loops and coils. One was speaking in a low voice; it seemed she was sharing a confidence with the other. He saw the other woman slowly nod. She looked very grave. To his relief and surprise, they hadn’t seen either him or Nefret. Evidently, since Nefret held the cuff, she had become part of this strange vision. But Nefret’s serving girl, Raia, had still seen her mistress speaking to him, hadn’t she? But she’d seen only her mistress. He didn’t understand, but he would worry about it when he returned to Sedgwick House—if he ever returned to Sedgwick House. But knew he wouldn’t be trapped in this vision of long ago, knew that whatever the cuff was, it had meant for him to come, to understand, and return to the present. To do what? He knew he’d find out.

  The cuff still held against her breast, Nefret eventually led him through an open door at the end of the long corridor. They stepped onto a stone-covered walkway that wound its way through a magnificent garden. He saw a large pond, with lotus blossoms floating on top and the flash of colorful fish. Around the pond were rows of trees—sycamores, palms, and others he didn’t recognize, rows of them, alternating with brilliantly blooming flower beds. The stone paths wove among an orchard of date palms, and fig, olive, and peach trees, and others he didn’t recognize. He saw walls and pergolas covered with grape vines, shading benches beneath. He paused and breathed in the fragrant air. It was so very real he forgot for a moment he was a visitor in a magical place, out of time and place. He watched Nefret close her eyes, hug the cuff tightly, then slowly nod.

  Another veil lifted, he thought as he watched the beautiful garden disappear. Now they stood beside the banks of a wide, swiftly flowing river. He felt shock, a punch of fear, then settled himself. He had to accept that here, now, in this ancient land, both he and Nefret had become magical with the cuff. Or was it possible Nefret’s brother Kiya had somehow brought them together to the banks of the Nile using the cuff? To show Grayson something important? Would he come to understand what he was meant to do with the sarcophagus in the present?

  He looked at the wide river, smelled the water, heard it roiling and tumbling, knew if he touched it his fingers would be wet. Was he really seeing the Nile from three thousand years ago? Longer? He didn’t know.

  Nefret stood stiffly beside him, clutching the cuff to her breast. Grayson saw the actual boy painted on the side of the coffin. He looked to be Barnaby’s age, perhaps a bit older, but he was well made, a handsome child, small, laughing, and he was hurling a silver disc to a man. Like the boy, the man was dark, black-haired, his black eyes lined with kohl, wearing a white linen wrap belted at his lean waist by a gold belt. He wore a cloth headdress and a narrow collar. The boy’s father? No, he seemed too young, but who knew in this ancient culture with its strange customs and mores? The boy turned back and stared directly at him and Nefret, only now his face was utterly blank of expression, as if he was in a trance, and he moved as a puppet moved, controlled by the hands of the master. The boy turned away from Grayson, away from Nefret, back to the man, but he didn’t throw him the strange silver disc, he hurled it into the Nile. It floated away, dancing just above the waves. Then the boy broke into a run after it.

  Nefret yelled, “Menhet! Stop him, please. Don’t let Kiya get away!”

  But the boy was running fast through thick water reeds along the shore, chasing the silver disc, Menhet shouting after him, running to catch him.

  The air stilled. Time stilled. Nefret stood silent, looking out over the Nile, her breathing too fast, too loud. “Of course Menhet could not stop Kiya. He said Kiya simply disappeared. He led searches, many men led searches, but Kiya was never found. As I told you, the pharaoh received word from the king of Nubia that Kiya was dead. He sent Sadek to Nubia to fetch him home.”

  “Nefret, why do you call your father the pharaoh?”

  She cocked her head at him, her look bewildered. “But of course he is the pharaoh. He is a god, he is a ruler. It is what he is.”

  She held the cuff still pressed against her heart. “No matter who or what you are, Gray-son, what happened cannot be undone. You and I saw it, somehow, I know not how, only that you made it possible for us to see it. My timeless cuff. My magical cuff. To see Kiya one more time, it brought me great joy.” She lifted the cuff and kissed it, then stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for appearing in my bath.”

  He smiled. “I really had no choice.” He lightly touched his hand to the cuff. It still glowed warm. He said, “Nefret, the pharaoh withdrew into himself? What happened?”

  She shaded her eyes with her hand against the brilliant sun, and her voice sounded broken. She raised her dark eyes to his face. “When Sadek returned from Nubia, he told the pharaoh that he had consulted the black smoke and was bidden to tell him the whole truth. Sadek said Ammut, the devourer of the dead, had fashioned the silver disc and entranced Kiya so he had no choice but to follow it. Sade
k said the disc led him into Nubia, where Ammut put his brother demons on him and they turned him into one of them. He promised the pharaoh that Kiya had nothing to do with this, he was a victim of the demons, that his goodness hadn’t been enough to overcome Ammut and his plans.” She closed her eyes and remembered, and thought to him:

  “But why,” the pharaoh asked him.

  Sadek bowed his head and whispered, “Ammut hated Kiya, knew he and his demon brothers would suffer greatly in the future when he became pharaoh. They wanted to destroy him and thus entranced Kiya and the disc.

  “What the demons made of him, sire, Kiya was no longer your son. I saw it in the sacred black smoke. He became something else entirely, like the other demons, evil and malignant. You must believe me, sire, Kiya remained good. It is one of the Others who is imprisoned, a demon of great power, and thus I fashioned the curse.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him squarely. “That happened three years ago, Gray-son. I have shown you what my cuff allowed us to see of what happened to Kiya. Can you tell me if Sadek told the truth? Did Ammut and his brother demons change Kiya, make him into one of them? And the king of Nubia knew of this?”

  “I do not know, Nefret.” He hated to say it, but it was the truth.

  “It matters not now. The pharaoh has accepted what Sadek told him. But when I think of Kiya, I remember innocence and happiness. And so much goodness. His goodness was the reason the demons wanted to destroy him? If it is so, if demons can destroy the son of the pharaoh, himself a god, then there is no order in the world, there is only capriciousness and unchained wickedness.”

  She cocked her head at him. “Gray-son, you recited the curse, which means you must indeed have the coffin, and thus I am forced to believe you can do anything.”

  “No,” he said. “I am sorry I am not myself magic, Nefret. I wish I were so I could tell you about Kiya, but I cannot.” He stilled, realizing he did understand things, even accept other creatures such as the demons he’d killed at Vere Castle. As to what was happening now? Something about him must have triggered the vision when he touched the cuff.

  When they walked through the opulent corridors once more, empty of people, Grayson said, “Tell me more about the magician Sadek.”

  “I believe he poisoned Jabari’s beer, and that is why he fell overboard. You are the first I have told of this. There was no other to share my confidence. As for Sadek, he is the pharaoh’s confidant, his seer. He gives him prophesies from his black smoke, and many times what he has predicted has come to pass. Gray-son, I do not want to believe what he said about Kiya and what happened to him. And I wonder if Kiya is indeed inside the coffin, placed there by Sadek himself, the curse meant to make people believe what he said, make the pharaoh believe it. I suppose I will never know.”

  “Nefret, Kiya’s face when we saw him—there was no expression, as if he were indeed entranced.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you believe Kiya is buried in the coffin?”

  “As I said, I do not know.” She lightly placed her hand on his arm. “I do not know how much longer than three years the coffin has existed, but I am willing to believe you now.” She paused, and he saw a tear streak down her cheek.

  “What is it? What is the matter?”

  “The pharaoh has no heir. He announced I was to wed Sadek in seven days. I have told him, begged him, but he will not listen to me. I am afraid, Gray-son.”

  A small frightened voice sounded loud in his ear.

  “Papa? Why are you in here? Why are you speaking to that bracelet?”

  Grayson dropped the cuff, but he managed to catch it before it hit the floor. He quickly set it back upon its velvet cushion. His fingers tingled. He was breathing fast, his heart racing. He was here, now, back in the present, in Lord Lyle’s treasure room, and curse him, he hadn’t locked the door.

  He got himself together and turned to see Pip in his nightshirt, his small feet bare, looking scared.

  “Papa? Are you all right?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Grayson couldn’t believe it. The treasure room was a pearly gray, exactly how it had been when he’d first come in. Had no time passed during his vision? Evidently not. What to say? “Pip, is it raining?”

  His son stared at him and slowly shook his head. “I looked outside when I woke up again. But there are lots of dark clouds. It doesn’t look good. I’m cold, Papa.”

  Grayson breathed in deeply. He was here, in Bowness-on-Windemere, Lord Lyle’s houseguest, and it was now 1841, not in ancient Egypt, in an Egyptian garden, not standing on the banks of the Nile. Not with Nefret.

  “Good morning, Pip. Cold, are you? Come here.” Pip ran to him and Grayson leaned down to catch him up in his arms. He kissed him soundly and closed his warm hands around his small feet. “This is the second time you’ve come in on me unexpectedly. Why are you here?”

  Pip pulled back in his father’s arms, then leaned close again and whispered against Grayson’s ear. “I heard something, Papa, and I was afraid something escaped from your nightmare. You weren’t in bed, so I looked for you.” His son regarded him, his brown hair standing straight up, his head cocked to one side, mirroring how Grayson did it. Pip kissed his whiskered cheek. “Why did you come in here, Papa? This is the treasure room. Why were you holding that bracelet?”

  Grayson looked at the gold cuff, shining bright in the dim light. He fumbled, then said, “I couldn’t sleep after my nightmare, Pip, and came down here.”

  “What is that gold thing you’re holding, Papa?”

  “It’s jewelry. It’s called a cuff. You slide it up your arm until it’s snug.”

  Pip stuck out his arm. “Will it fit me?”

  Grayson didn’t want the cuff anywhere near Pip. Then, he wondered: What could happen? He slipped the cuff up to the top of Pip’s small arm.

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it? It was worn by a princess a very long time ago.”

  “You mean Aunt Alex? When she was young?”

  Grayson laughed, couldn’t help it. “No, your aunt Alex is a countess, not a princess. This particular princess lived a much longer time ago. Her name was Nefret. Do you remember I told you stories about the Vikings and the Romans?”

  Pip cocked his head to one side. “You showed me pictures. They wore togas and talked funny.” He paused, frowned. “They were always fighting and eating—and other things you wouldn’t talk about.”

  “That’s right, mostly. The princess who wore this gold cuff on her arm lived much farther back than even the Romans.”

  Pip frowned at this, stared at the gold cuff, and moved it up and down his arm. “It’s heavy. I don’t like it.”

  Grayson was relieved Pip had felt nothing else and saw nothing else, like Nefret rising from her bath. He quickly slid the cuff off Pip’s arm and set it back on its velvet stand. He manufactured a yawn. “Let’s go back to bed. No one is up and about yet.”

  “Marigold is,” Pip said. “I heard her humming. She was setting a fire in Barnaby’s bedchamber. And I heard Mrs. Minor in the kitchen. Papa, that big gold box over there—why is it glowing?”

  Grayson’s heart stopped. He turned slowly. The small coffin wasn’t glowing, thank the good Lord. No, it stood stark and alone in the dim dawn light. “You think it’s glowing, Pip? What do you mean?”

  Pip yawned and tucked his head against his father’s neck. “A little glow. Oh, it stopped. I’m cold, Papa.”

  Pip began sucking on his fingers, something he hadn’t done for nearly a year now.

  “If Mrs. Minor is in the kitchen, she’ll make us tea.”

  He locked the treasure room door and carried Pip to the nether regions, to the big kitchen with its row of three large windows that gave onto a garden, a hill behind it, sheltering it.

  The kitchen was blessedly warm. It was nearly full-on morning now, and sure enough, there was Mrs. Minor, stretching as she poured water into a pan. She turned and gave them a big smile. “Ah, Mr. Sherbrooke and young Pip
, a good morning to you. Tea you’ll be wantin’. A small moment. Sit down and I’ll slice you some bread.”

  Grayson wasn’t surprised when Barnaby and P.C. soon appeared, both in their nightshirts, slippers on their feet. They weren’t papyrus, not like those Nefret was wearing. He shook his head at himself and listened to Pip telling them about a gold cuff in the treasure room that had belonged to a princess who lived even before the Romans, a huge long time ago, and a big box that glowed. Grayson wasn’t about to correct his son, to tell him it was really a coffin. Had it really glowed? He didn’t want to think about that.

  He didn’t stop Pip from telling P.C. and Barnaby about the sarcophagus since the result would likely be ghoulish delight. Pip’s involved recital gained some interest, but Grayson soon realized neither P.C. nor Barnaby believed Pip. They thought he’d dreamed it—no wonder, after Mr. Grayson’s nightmare.

  Grayson sat back, watching the children laugh, drink their tea, and cram down Mrs. Minor’s bread and butter with her special huckleberry jam, telling each other it wouldn’t rain, ignoring the black clouds gathering outside the kitchen windows, making plans to feed the swans down at the water’s edge, then go exploring. That wouldn’t happen, not without him or Miranda.

  He listened to Mrs. Minor tsk and shake her head sadly as she looked out the window. She said, “No more toast for you, my pets. I’m making you nutty buns for breakfast.”

  Pip gave a shout, then told Barnaby and P.C. his grandmama loved nutty buns, and he kept bouncing up and down.

  “Indeed she does,” Grayson said. “Now, children, go back to your bedchambers, bathe, and dress. P.C., you’re in charge. Clean hands and faces or no nutty buns.”

  The three children raced out of the kitchen, shouting at the top of their lungs. Grayson didn’t move. He continued to sip his tea, inhaling the smell of the cinnamon Mrs. Minor was sprinkling on the nutty bun dough. He pictured young Nefret, the strange walk through the empty palace corridors, out into the magnificent garden—and then, suddenly, he and Nefret saw Kiya as Grayson had seen him painted on the side of the sarcophagus. It had seemed real, so very real, but it was really a vision, a magic vision, it simply had to be.