Desire Me

by Robyn DeHart

  The woman inside her wanted desperately to smile. Max was normally so charming, so smooth, she sometimes had difficulty seeing past the debonair role to the man beneath. Until this moment, she had not gauged the depths of his desire. She knew she had intrigued him, knew he wouldn’t say no to a dalliance. But she’d been uncertain if he craved her as she craved him, or if she’d merely been a convenience. Just now, however, she’d seen pure lust in his gaze. Desire pooled through her body in response.

  But Agnes’s life was in danger. The Chosen One had stolen the elixir from both of the other two guardians, and Agnes had all that was left. Sabine could not afford to be distracted and risk failure in this quest. Firming her resolve, she waited by the gate until Max had collected the items from the stable boy.

  The church sat at the very top of the cliff overlooking Lulworth Cove. Walking along the darkened road, all was quiet with only their breath and footfalls to break the silence. They began their climb and immediately she was thankful for the clothes Max had brought her. Her dress would have increased the challenge tenfold. The rocky hill would not be easy to navigate in sunlight. But with only a lantern and the moonlight, it was treacherous. As they climbed, the wind became so frigid, she might have frozen without the pants covering her legs.

  The farther they climbed toward the church, the nearer they came to the coastline. Suddenly the wind picked up and wailed around them. The salt air brushed against her face, leaving a stickiness in its wake. Stray hairs escaped the confines of her bun and whipped around her face. The cottage she had shared with her aunts in Essex was near the ocean. The scent of saltwater brought a wave of nostalgia over her, and she found herself longing for the simple life she had led in their village.

  Max carried the lantern and walked in front of her, holding his other arm behind him to help guide her along. His grasp was firm and warm, and she had no doubt that he would catch her if she stumbled. Still, she concentrated on her steps so she would not fall. The rocks and cratered landscape beneath her boots made the trek awkward.

  Eventually they reached the top and found themselves on a trail that led toward the hollow ruins of the old chapel. The stones to their left sat in piles as if the wall had simply melted into the earth. The grass, uncut for many years, stood long and reedy and clung to their pants as they made their way to the back of the churchyard. A rusted iron fence lined the cemetery and the aging gravestones.

  “We’ll look here first and then go inside if we need to,” Max said.

  “What are we looking for?” she asked.

  “You tell me. You’re the one from Atlantis. If you see something that looks like it’s from your homeland, then we’ve found it.”

  “That’s so helpful,” she said.

  Waves crashed on the rocks below them. Because of the darkness, it was difficult to determine precisely how high up they were above the surging ocean below.

  “You Atlanteans seem to favor cliffside coastlines,” he said. “I found the map in a cave at the base of a similar cliff.”

  “I suppose that after they watched their homeland sink into the ocean, they wanted to be as high above the sea as possible,” Sabine said. “How did you know where to look for it?” she asked.

  “Determination and a heavy dose of luck.” Max laughed. “I had learned about some of the early villages of the Atlanteans, and I went and spent an enormous amount of time in the pubs. Not to mention a hefty sum buying blokes drinks to keep them talking. One night I ran into the right fellow, and he said something so simple, he probably didn’t even know how important the information was.”

  Because Max didn’t always act the part, she often forgot he was a scholar of Atlantis, someone who’d studied her people and their ways and had worked extremely hard to find their greatest artifact. There was something attractive about his dedication.

  “What did he tell you?” Sabine asked.

  “That people had never found the map because the cave disappeared. His words made no sense to me for a long time. But then I happened to be reading an old text and came across a reference to a certain cave that, because of the ocean’s tides, only appears every now and again. I tracked the tides and”—he shrugged—“well, we know how that one turned out.”

  After stepping over the broken gate, Max asked, “What have you heard of this area?”

  “Only what I was told in childhood stories. The first of my ancestors came to shore here, and they built this village.”

  “So these people here”—he motioned to the graves surrounding them—“they are Atlanteans as well?”

  She stepped over a broken tree limb that had fallen to the ground. “I believe so. The village changed a lot during the Crusades. But this,” she said, motioning to the dilapidated church to their right, “was always my people’s chapel.”

  “A temple to Poseidon?” he asked.

  She smiled. “No. A chapel just as any other in England would be.”

  They continued walking through the cemetery, trying their best to avoid walking directly on the graves. The tombstones weren’t laid out in a grid, though, so that was a challenge. One moment, the wind whipped through the trees, shaking the leaves and emitting a low howling noise, and then it would settle and silence would shroud them. The combination added an eerie feel to the darkened night. Gooseflesh scattered up her arms, across her neck, and then down her body.

  “We could get arrested,” she said, thinking of a recent article in the Times Lydia had told her about.

  “For what?” Max asked.

  “Stealing bodies for medical research.” Sabine looked behind them, but in the darkness she could not see anything but shadows. “They reported in the Times just last week about two men who were arrested doing this very thing.”

  Max stopped walking and turned to face her. He chuckled. “Yes, but in London where there are fresh bodies to steal. No one has been buried in this cemetery in nearly seventy years.” He tapped the shovel on the tombstone below them, and the sound echoed across the hill. “There is nothing valuable for medical research here, except perhaps the two of us. Besides, I’m fairly certain we’re the only two people mad enough to climb up that hill in the dark.”

  She glanced around them to again ensure that they were alone, then nodded.

  “Take a deep breath, Sabine. We’ll make it through the evening unscathed. I promise.”

  As they moved through the grounds, the earth shifted beneath them. She was careful to match her steps with Max’s so she would not fall. She scanned the names on the grave markers, hoping that one would sound familiar or trigger something, but nothing came to mind.

  “Why are we not looking inside the church?” she asked.

  “Ah, churches are precarious hiding places.” His deep voice rumbled through the still night. “Political power shifts. Factions within the church rise and fall. If you have a nosy parishioner offer to dust the rectory, anything could happen. No, churches are useful for hiding treasures short-term. But if you wanted to protect something, keep it safe for a very long time, what would you do with it?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment before answering. “Probably bury it,” she said.

  “Precisely.” He nodded.

  She scanned the tombstones as they walked, searching for anything that resembled a dove on a carving or a relief, perhaps even something in the Atlantean language that would translate to “dove.” She recognized some of the surnames, but nothing that indicated it would lead to the dove.

  Max walked slightly ahead of her, but close enough that they could share the lantern’s light. He brushed grass away with his boot so she could better see the tombstones. They had moved through the entire cemetery when they finally got to a grave resting against the back fence. The waves were louder here, but Sabine still couldn’t see the cliff’s edge.

  Something rustled in the shrubs behind them. They both stopped walking, and Max reached around to pull Sabine close. This near to him, she could feel the steady thump of his heart beat
ing beneath the warmth of his chest. He held the lantern out in front of them and turned the knob to widen the swath of light.

  “Hello,” he called. With his other hand, he handed her the shovel, then retrieved his pistol.

  The rustling increased. He aimed his gun, just as a large doe walked out from behind the bush. She looked directly at them, chewing. Her eyes glowed in the lantern’s light.

  Sabine sighed as relief washed over her like warm water.

  “Damn deer,” Max muttered as he put the gun back in his waistband.

  Together they turned back to the grave, and Max held the lantern up so that Sabine could read the name. “I think this is the last one,” he said.

  But there was nothing remarkable about this grave either. She glanced back at the church.

  Together they walked toward the chapel. “We could go in there tonight,” Max said, indicating the church. “But without being able to see clearly, and the risk of rotting boards…”

  “It seems unsafe,” she finished his thought. Still, there was a deadline to consider, but that wouldn’t matter much if she fell and broke her neck trying to maneuver through a dilapidated church. “Perhaps we should come back in the daylight. It’s only a few hours away.” Then as if the mere thought of falling caused it, she tripped, her ankle turning beneath her.

  Max caught her arm and prevented her from hitting the ground. “You all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She placed her hand on the cold ground to give herself leverage, and she felt something hard beneath her fingertips. “Wait a minute,” she said.

  Max moved closer, bending next to where she knelt. The lantern’s soft glow illuminated an old grave marker, lying flat on the ground, mostly buried by overgrown weeds and grass.

  “‘William Travers,’” Sabine read aloud. She shook her head. “That doesn’t sound familiar either.”

  “Move the grass aside,” he said. “There’s more written on the stone.”

  She did as he bade, pulling up grass and weeds.

  Once he’d moved the light closer, the glow illuminated the entirety of the stone.

  “There. See? That’s a bird,” Max said, pointing to a rough image carved beneath the dates. “Perhaps even a dove.”

  Excitement coursed through her. “Yes, it is.”

  Max handed her the lantern, then reached for the shovel.

  She grabbed his arm to still him. “What are you going to do?”

  “Dig up the grave,” he said simply. “Sabine, do you suppose we’re to whack the Chosen One on the head with the tombstone?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “Remember, you said yourself you’d bury something to hide it. And perhaps there is no Mr. Travers, and this is merely a false marker.”

  The shovel hit the old earth, slicing through the ground as if it were nothing more than warmed butter. Sabine concentrated on holding the lantern to provide enough light for Max’s work, but she kept an ear out for any sounds around them. That deer had set her on edge and heightened her sensitivity to noise. But the only sounds were the wind, the hiss of the waves pounding the cliff below, and Max’s digging. Soil mixed with chalk as he turned the ground over in a pile opposite Sabine.

  Max stepped on the shovel to leverage it deeper and hit wood. “Perhaps I was wrong, and this is an actual grave. I believe we’ve found Mr. Travers.” Max looked up at her and grinned. “Hope he didn’t die of the plague.”

  Sabine eyed him. “You’re not amusing.” Though she smiled in spite of herself.

  He flashed her a brilliant smile. “I think I am. And I’ll have you know many others do as well.” He kept digging, removing the dirt that covered the wooden coffin. “Particularly others of the female variety.”

  “I don’t believe your sense of humor is what attracts them,” she said tartly.

  “My rugged good looks then? My virility?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yes, that must be it. Watching you wield that shovel has me positively swooning.” With her hand, she pretended to fan herself.

  “You were looking rather peaked.”

  “Finish up,” she said.

  It took him another five minutes to finish digging around the coffin, then he fell to his knees. “Get down here with me so I can see what I’m doing.”

  Together they knelt above the grave. She held the lantern close as he scraped dirt away from the coffin. Sabine tried to ignore the thundering in her heart. She’d seen enough dead bodies in the last couple of days to last a lifetime. Yet here she was about to see another one, and this one without any skin. She shivered in trepidation. It seemed wrong to violate a man’s final resting place, despite their good reasons.

  Max used the shovel as a pry bar to leverage the lid up off the coffin, and with several rusty creaks, he was able to pull it open. There wasn’t much left of Mr. Travers. The insects had cleaned off not only his bones but most of his clothes as well. Earth settled around his remains, telltale signs of worms using his final resting place as their new home.

  “Perhaps the bird was merely decoration,” she said.

  “Certainly you’re not ready to give up just yet.”

  “You’re enjoying yourself,” she accused.

  “Of course I am,” he said.

  “No, I’m not ready to give up. I was just stating my observation.” Her hand hovered over the body. She had touched enough wounds, injuries, and infections that nothing should make her feel squeamish. Yet these lifeless bones gave her the shivers. Finally she swallowed her fear and reached into the grave.

  Often Atlanteans were buried with possessions from their lives—trinkets and treasures they’d valued. She searched first around the feet and legs, but found nothing.

  “Have you done this before?” he asked.

  She leaned back and eyed Max. “Desecrated a grave? Absolutely not.” She paused, considering him. “Why? Have you?”

  “Let’s just say that the fine art of searching a grave is not unknown to me.” And then he had the impertinence to wink.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

  The bones shifted and fell away from their previous position as they searched around the body. There were no pockets in what remained of his clothing. Mr. Travers had lived before that convenience. Max checked beneath the body’s torso. He found nothing until he moved Mr. Travers’s head. The skull turned toward her, the empty eye sockets locking onto hers, and the lifeless stare pierced her heart.

  She swallowed, but could not look away.

  “Here we go,” Max said. He leaned back, holding a small leather pouch. “Hold out your hand.”

  Her hands instinctively fisted at her sides. But she forced herself to splay a hand out in front of him. He upturned the bag and poured seven rocks into her palm.

  “Rocks,” Max said. He looked up at her, confusion furrowing his brow. “Rocks?”

  Excitement dissolved in her gut, leaving in its wake the sting of disappointment. “That can’t be all,” she said.

  She poured the rocks back into the bag and shoved it into her trouser pocket. Then she reached back into the coffin. This time, she forgot all about their disrespectful treatment of Mr. Travers’s remains. She ran her palm against the bottom of the coffin, giving no thought to the prospect of splinters. She paused.

  “Max, should this wood have seams in it?” she asked.

  “Where?” He moved the remaining portions of the body out of the way to where her hand lay. With his finger, he ran along the tiny crevice she’d found, and there in one corner, he discovered a small latch. “This is a door.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cassandra St. James stepped into the dimly lit room and paused at the mess. The man she’d hired was rumored to be brilliant, but so far his mind did not make up for the fact that he was rather disgusting. The long table he worked on was littered with small glass dishes and bottles. And the contraption he used to break down the crème looked more like a small torture device than something a scientist would use.

 
She stepped over a pile of books, and something that appeared to be a moldy chunk of bread, as she moved closer to his work space. “What have you discovered, Mr. Olney?”

  He jumped at the sound of her voice. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He looked up at her, his eyes wide and glassy. “I’ve broken down all of the key ingredients again. Now I am trying to re-create the material.”

  “You have been working on this for more than three days,” she said. “What could possibly be taking you so long?”

  Why must she always wait? She’d searched for this elusive “fountain” ever since Max had told her about it nearly ten years before. The allure of eternal beauty and youth had been too tempting to resist. Women had no power without beauty. Her mother had warned her of that many times. Cassandra had been blessed with a lush body men craved and a face that made other women fume. But time was beginning to take its toll. Lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth, and the soft, smooth texture of her skin was now patchy and ruddy in places.

  “It’s a complex procedure,” he said, his thin voice wavering. “I’ve had a few setbacks.” He glanced at the table in the corner at some mysterious material that had solidified in a jar.

  Cassandra’s nostrils flared. “I don’t have forever.” Lately it seemed the skin on her hands had begun to thin, and she’d noticed gray sprinkled throughout her blonde locks. Fortunately for her, her hair was so pale to begin with, few would notice, at least initially. Still, she was concerned. “I’m paying you a large sum of money for this tiny task. You are supposed to be the best!”

  “Yes,” he said.

  She picked up a bottle of gray liquid, sniffed it, then set it down. “I’m told you visited the Tobias shop.” With two painted fingernails, she tapped his chest. “What were you doing there?” she asked.

  “I… I was buying another sample,” he stammered, then averted his eyes back to the contraption in front of him.

  “Indeed.” She glanced around. “Did you forget it?”

  A frown creased his high forehead. “I beg your pardon?”