The Pharaoh's Eye

by Cate Dean

  “He’ll alert the thief, Mags, and we’ll lose him again before we even get there.”

  “We’re not going near him, Spencer Knight.” Maggie smacked his arm, forgetting until after she did it that Kit was in the back watching and listening. “This ghost is going to identify him, then we’re going to call Ian. Got it?”

  “Her name is Josephine, Mum, not this ghost.”

  “Is she—here?”

  “Not at the moment.” Kit sounded offended for her.

  Maggie wanted to smile, but she was too worried to do more than nod at him. “Can she appear at the manor?”

  “If the necklace is there,” Spencer said, his focus on the narrow road. “You already know that, Mags, from dealing with Anthea.”

  “Right—sorry. I’m just,” she lowered her voice. “I’m scared, Spence. I don’t want Kit part of this.”

  “We’ll keep him safe.” He glanced over at her. “If Kit sees Mrs. Cameron, then we’ll know the necklace is there, and we can call in the troops. No need for Kit to get involved at all—he can sit it out in Mr. Barnes’ kitchen, eating cookies.”

  “Okay.”

  Maggie reached back and took Kit’s hand, squeezing for a few seconds before she let go.

  A serious boy sat in the back seat now, no longer young, but still not old enough for her to trust herself to let him run free. What happened to the little boy who followed after her and Martin, constantly asking questions about everything that came into his head? She stared out the window, mourning what she knew she’d never have again.

  “Mum?” Kit’s hand closed over her shoulder. “I’m not grown up and gone yet.”

  “I’m aware of that. I just—I’m not ready for you to deal with something that would be hard for an adult.”

  “I’ve been seeing ghosts all my life. It’s not something I have to deal with.”

  Maggie turned in the seat so she could look at him. “How long have you been able to hear them?”

  He hesitated before he answered. “Since I fell. Stop staring at me like I’m about to sprout a second pair of ears. I never told you or Dad because there was nothing you could do. They don’t really bother me. Much,” he muttered.

  “How many have you talked to?”

  “A few,” he mumbled, staring at his hands. “I never felt threatened by them, Mum. Just annoyed at times, when they wouldn’t stop pestering me.”

  “Oh, Kit. I really wish you would have told us. Your dad spent his life dealing with ghosts, and could have given you some advice.”

  “I guess—you’re going to tell him now.”

  “No, my dear son. You are going to tell him.”

  “Oh.”

  Maggie bit back a smile at the glum look on his face. “We can tell him together. He’s probably going to be thrilled, and only mad that you didn’t share with him sooner.”

  “He can’t see them anymore, can he?”

  “No, sweetheart.” Maggie’s heart ached, again, for the loss. Except for Anthea, Martin hadn’t seen a ghost since speaking with his mother, while he was dying in a storage room in the museum—

  She cut off the thought and closed her eyes. He didn’t die, and losing that ability seemed to ease some of the grief for his mother. Probably since he wouldn’t be able to see her again.

  “Mum?”

  “Okay, Kit.” She forced a smile she hoped looked genuine and turned around.

  Blakeney Manor stood near the edge of the cliffs, proud and elegant in the rough landscape. Maggie had poured her heart and her money into the restoration. Kit had been born in one of the upstairs bedrooms—completely unplanned, but a story he loved to tell.

  He started bouncing on the back seat as they approached. “Can we see my birth room, Mum? It isn’t part of the bed and breakfast, is it?”

  “Yes, and no.” His enthusiasm had her smiling—a real smile this time. It faded with her next words. “Let’s see what happens with the proprietor, and take it from there.”

  He settled right away. “All right.”

  She hated that she had subdued his excitement at visiting the manor. But if the thief was here, she planned on dragging him out of there faster than he could protest.

  ***

  Kit tensed when they walked into the manor, waiting to feel the cold brush of air, or see Josephine floating in the foyer.

  It was ghost free.

  He let out a relieved breath and turned to Mum. “She’s not here.”

  “Good.” Mum looked as relieved as he felt. “Let’s go see Mr. Barnes.”

  They headed down a long hallway, leading to a secondary lounge. This lounge had its own entrance, for guests of the small bed and breakfast. Mum had also added a small but well-equipped chef’s kitchen, and a private bedroom and sitting room for the proprietor.

  She pointed to the lounge. “Wait there for us.”

  He let out an impatient sigh, but he nodded. Arguing would only earn him extra chores when they returned home.

  After Mum and Spencer headed down the hall to the kitchen, he wandered the lounge. It was long, running the length of this part of the manor, with chairs in groupings, and small tables displaying antiques from the main house.

  No one sat in any of the chairs, but he spotted a cup and saucer on a small side table, heat curling above the cup. Someone had been here, and left their still hot tea; Kit could smell the bergamot that told him it was Earl Grey.

  Maybe once they finished talking to Mr. Barnes, he could talk Mum into staying long enough for a cup...

  His thought faded when he saw the glove on the arm of the chair. A single black glove.

  Swallowing, he moved closer, and his heart skipped at sight of the B, stitched on the cuff.

  “It’s the same glove,” he whispered. “Mum—I have to warn Mum—”

  He spun toward the entryway—and straight into the barrel of a gun.

  Six

  “How the bloody hell did you find me?”

  Kit’s eyes widened as he recognized the voice. It was the man from outside The Tea Caddy, who had been arguing with his companion.

  “I—”

  “Just a kid. A bleeding kid.” He pressed the gun against Kit’s chest and Kit stumbled backward, not taking his eyes off the weapon. “Stay here, don’t say a word, and we can both live long, healthy lives.”

  “Why did you take the necklace?” Kit clapped one hand over his mouth. The question had popped out before he could stop it.

  “Nosy brat, aren’t you?” The man smiled, and Kit swallowed, wanting to hide in a dark, safe place. “I can tell you,” he leaned in, “but then I’d have to kill you.”

  His laughter chilled Kit more than his smile.

  An icy blast warned Kit just before Josephine appeared between them, facing the thief. Fury poured off her, leaving the room so cold Kit could see his breath.

  The thief stumbled back. “What the—how did it get so cold in here?” He glanced at the door.

  He couldn’t see her.

  “Lyle Bootham.” She snarled the name. “I would know that ugly face in a dark alley.”

  “Lyle Bootham?”

  The man glared at Kit. “How do you know—” Before Kit could react the man grabbed his arm and hauled him forward. “Who told you my name?”

  Kit decided to give him the truth. “Josephine Cameron,” he whispered.

  Real fear lit Lyle’s dark eyes. “She is not real. It’s a story, made up by locals to bring in the bloody tourists.” He shook Kit. “Tell me.”

  Josephine popped into sight next to Kit, rage swirling around her. “Let him go.”

  Lyle shook Kit again—so hard his bones threatened to rattle. “Tell me!”

  “Let him go.”

  His eyes widened as Josephine dove straight through Lyle.

  With a pained gasp, he freed Kit and grabbed his chest, dropping the gun as he fought for breath. Kit gasped as a huge, emerald necklace appeared behind Lyle, inches from Josephine’s hand. If someone couldn’t se
e her, they would think the necklace was hanging in the air, all on its own.

  His gasp drew Lyle’s attention. Lyle braced both hands on his knees and followed Kit’s gaze.

  “What—” He patted his coat pockets, his harsh breaths panicked. “How—you.” He turned his anger on Kit. “You brat—how are you doing this?”

  He reached down for the gun. Josephine kicked it and it skidded across the wood floor. Kit had never seen a ghost manipulate objects like she did.

  Lyle chased after the skittering gun. Josephine kicked it again before turning to him.

  “Run, Kit! Find your mother!”

  He backed toward the entry, afraid to let Lyle out of his sight—and tripped over a protruding table leg. With a cry, he lost his balance and fell.

  Lyle managed to snatch up the gun. Snarling, he stalked over to Kit and hauled him up.

  “Tell her to give me the necklace.”

  Kit swallowed. “She’s right here. You can tell her yourself.”

  “Give it over, woman.” Lyle’s voice shook, but he kept a tight grip on Kit. “My family earned every emerald, bowing and scraping to yours for bloody decades.”

  Josephine appeared at the far end of the lounge, holding the necklace. “Remind him of the curse, Kit.” She floated forward, out of reach, but close enough to have Lyle grabbing for the necklace, without success.

  “Give it over!”

  Josephine levitated, taking the necklace with her. “Tell him. I will not let him harm you, my dear young man. You have my word.”

  “She wants—” Kit cleared his throat, forced himself to calm. “Josephine wants me to remind you about the curse.”

  “I don’t believe in the bloody curse.”

  “You didn’t believe in her, either, but now you’re talking to her.” When Lyle glared at him, he hunched his shoulders, but kept talking. “No man can own the Pharaoh’s Eye—not without paying a high price. Do you think you’ll be the first?”

  “I don’t plan on keeping the necklace, boy. Those emeralds will fetch a high price, once I separate them from their ugly setting—”

  Josephine’s shriek bounced off the walls.

  “What the bloody hell was that?” Lyle yanked Kit in front of him, pointing the gun in one spot, then another as he searched the lounge.

  Kit knew he should keep quiet, but he opened his mouth anyway. “That was Josephine, expressing her displeasure at your plans for the necklace.”

  “Tell her to give over the necklace, or,” he pressed the gun into Kit’s side. “You pay the price.”

  Josephine disappeared, and the necklace dropped to the floor.

  Dragging Kit with him, Lyle bent down to grab the sparkling emeralds. He had to use the hand that held the gun to reach for it.

  Kit saw movement to his right—just as Josephine flew at Lyle. The closer she got, the more solid she looked, and Kit tried to jerk free, braced for a collision.

  “Stop squirming, boy, I’ve almost—” Lyle looked up, and let out a high-pitched scream, right before Josephine crashed into them.

  Seven

  Impact knocked Kit out of Lyle’s grip, and he hit the floor, skidding over the polished wood. Something smacked into his leg. He pushed himself up, and his breath froze in his throat when he saw the gun.

  Lyle staggered to his feet, already recovering, and snarled when he spotted Kit. His snarl changed to an ugly smile. When he raised his hand, Kit understood.

  The Pharaoh’s Eye glittered against his fingers.

  “Time to go, boy.”

  “No—” Kit scrambled to his feet, slipping on the floor more than once. “You have the necklace—”

  “And now I have insurance that no one will follow me.” He strode forward, grabbing for Kit, let out a curse when Kit ducked under his hand. “Don’t force me to hurt you, boy.”

  Kit stumbled back—and hit up against one of the display tables lining the long wall. This one had been tucked in an alcove, which meant Kit had trapped himself. He swallowed, ready to barrel into Lyle if that was what it took to escape.

  His hand brushed the top of the table—and his fingers caught on a long, metal object. Without thinking, he closed his fingers over it, and realized what it was. A spying glass.

  He whispered a prayer that it wasn’t too valuable, hoped Mum would forgive him if it was, and braced himself. Lyle would have to be close before he could use his makeshift weapon. If this didn’t work—

  He shoved the thought aside and waited.

  “Caught yourself in a dead end, didn’t you, boy?” Lyle grinned, crossing the last few feet that separated them. “Looks like the curse passed me by, eh?”

  He reached out—and Kit shoved off the table, swinging the spyglass.

  The wide end cracked against Lyle’s jaw. His head snapped sideways, the rest of him following. Kit sprinted past him, ready to strike out again if he tried to grab—

  “Kit!” Mum raced into the lounge, straight past him. He turned in time to see her swing her fist and punch Lyle right in the nose. He staggered backward, and lost his balance, toppling to the floor. “Stay down, you bastard, or so help me—”

  She swung her fist again.

  “Maggie.” Spencer ran past him, grabbing her wrist. “I believe you have him right where you want him.”

  He was right; Lyle huddled on the floor, groaning and cursing, one hand pressed to his nose. Blood dripped between his fingers.

  “Kit—” She jerked out of Spencer’s grip and ran over to him. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m all right, Mum.” He looked down at the spyglass, afraid to check for damage. “I think I may have broken it.”

  She took the spyglass. “You hit him with this?”

  He swallowed, then nodded. “I know it must be valuable, but I—he—”

  “Oh, Kit.” Mum pulled him forward, her arms shaking as she hugged him. “If this spyglass is what saved you from him, I’ll frame it, broken parts and all.” She cradled the back of his head. “Did he hurt you?”

  Kit shook his head, the knowledge that he had protected himself, that it was over, leaving him exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. He knew it was the adrenaline rush draining away, and that he would probably have bruises he couldn’t feel now.

  “Ian is on his way,” Spencer said. He picked up the gun and aimed it at Lyle. “I’ll keep watch over him if you want to take Kit out of here.”

  “No. I’m fine, really, Mum.” He eased out of her embrace. “DI Reynolds will want to ask questions.”

  “You’re going to at least get out of range.” She led him over to a chair at the far end of the lounge, and waited until he sat. “When we heard that scream, I thought my heart would stop.” She crouched in front of Kit, gently running her hands over him. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart.”

  He did, trying to emphasize that he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and didn’t go looking for trouble.

  “Josephine is the reason I was able to fight back.”

  “Is she—is she still here?”

  Kit shook his head. “Whatever she did to make herself solid—I think it may have drained her. I haven’t seen her since she knocked Lyle over.”

  “Kit, I—” Mum stood and hugged him again, hard. This time, he felt the bruises. “Don’t scare me like that again, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mum.” He braced himself for a lecture, but DI Reynolds arrived, several constables behind him. They took Lyle into custody, DI Reynolds relieving Spencer of the gun before he headed over to Kit. “Sir.”

  “I understand you had a bit of an adventure, Kit.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you up to talking about it?”

  “I—”

  “He’s going to rest first, Ian,” Mum said. “Then have the clinic doctor look at him. I’ll bring him to the station to make a statement.”

  DI Reynolds ran one hand over his bald head. “All right, Maggie. I will need that statemen
t today.” He laid one hand on Kit’s shoulder. “You did well, son.”

  “Thank you, sir.” What he had done finally hit him, and tears stung his eyes. He managed to hold himself together until DI Reynolds walked away. “Mum—”

  She gathered him into her arms, and tightened her grip as he shook, tears sliding down his cheeks.

  “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

  He closed his eyes, and just held on.

  Eight

  The questions with DI Reynolds took longer than Kit thought, and he was numb with exhaustion by the time he walked out of the small interrogation room.

  Mum and Spencer waited for him, Mum pacing the length of the tiny waiting room. Kit had requested to speak with DI Reynolds alone; he didn’t want Mum to hear every detail. She had been scared enough, without knowing exactly what happened.

  “Kit—” She rushed over to him, wrapping one arm around his waist as she glared at DI Reynolds. “When I let you talk to him without me, I didn’t think you’d spend hours interrogating him.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. In order to add attempted kidnapping to Bootham’s charges, I needed a full statement from Kit.” He smiled at Kit. “Thanks to you, he will be going to prison for a good long stretch.”

  “Will Kit have to appear at court?” Mum sounded worried. Kit thought it would be incredibly cool to be a witness.

  “I doubt it. Lyle Bootham has a long history with the London police. I would be surprised if this went beyond the interrogation.”

  “Thank heavens. We’re leaving tomorrow, unless you need Kit to stay.”

  “I can always phone you with any follow up questions. Good night.” He headed back to his office.

  “Are you hungry, Kit?” Mum squeezed him before she let go. “You must be starving.”

  “We’re really staying tonight?”

  “It’s too late to head back to York. I’d rather stay here with Spencer, than in an overpriced hotel in London.”

  He grinned at Spencer. “I agree.”

  They headed out of the station, turning up the high street, toward the old Victorian. The sun had set while Kit was in the station, and the ornate streetlamps lit their way. Kit loved it here, and wished every visit that they had been able to stay, that he had grown up here, instead of in York.