“I shall inspect your work and if I am satisfied I shall pay you today.”
The man nodded. “I can promise you, you won’t be unhappy. I take a pride in my work. All my customers know that.”
The man was gabbling. He seemed ill at ease and a long way from the confident, almost cocky, young man who had taken on the job.
“Come along then,” Wilhelm said. He strode across the room.
“Oh, I’d as soon wait up here if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind. Come with me. Show me where the switches are.”
“You can’t miss them. They’re—”
“I said, come with me. If you wish to be paid, that is.”
Incredibly to Wilhelm, the man actually seemed to be weighing up which course of action to take. Wilhelm stood by the entrance to the basement, tapping his foot.
Eventually the man shrugged, inhaled deeply and joined him.
The electrician led the way. He practically raced down the steps, as if he couldn’t wait to be done and out of there.
He waved his arms, pointing out switches on the walls and throwing each one in turn, so that light flooded from the overhead bulbs.
Finally, they stood in front of the portrait. “So you see sir, I have done exactly as you asked me. Could you pay me now, sir, please?”
“My goodness, you are in a hurry. What is your rush?” Wilhelm’s eyes were riveted by the portrait, revealed in light that made the gold gleam and her eye shine with violet fire.
“I…I would really like to get off now, sir. If you don’t mind.”
Wilhelm reached into his pocket and pulled out a wodge of notes. He peeled off a few and counted them out into the electrician’s shaking hands.
“I believe that is the sum we agreed.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll be off then.”
“Yes, yes, away you go then.” Wilhelm made a shooing gesture with his hand and the man scurried away as if a demon were after him.
A sudden cold draft wafted through the room.
Just like before.
An audible, deep sigh. The hairs on Wilhelm’s neck prickled.
I’m becoming as fanciful as that damned electrician. I’ll be imagining I’m hearing voices or seeing strange men with long hair in top hats like his predecessor.
Wilhelm smiled at the portrait. She seemed so real. She looked like she could have spoken if she had chosen to.
“But you won’t, will you?” he said to her. “Or you’ll have me charging out of here like those workmen.” He laughed and thought he heard an echoed response.
I’m letting the atmosphere down here get to me.
Reluctantly, he tore himself away but, in that second, he could have sworn he saw the face turn, ever so slightly. He stared hard, but the profile remained, exactly as it should be. Static in its frame.
Wilhelm looked briefly for the pile of ash, but it had been scattered thinly across the floor, probably by the heavy boots of the electricians. No matter, the room could do with a damn good clean anyway. He’d tell the housekeeper to send one of the maids to do it.
He stepped out into the corridor and flicked off the light switch. He turned…a sudden icy blast, and the door slammed in his face.
Puzzled, he hurried back up to the library and, once again, turned the key in the lock, surprised at how his hand shook.
A tray containing brandy, a glass, and a jug of water stood on an occasional table by the fireplace. Today was too warm for the fire to be lit, but Wilhelm felt chilled throughout his body. He sloshed brandy into the glass, reached for the water, changed his mind, and downed the neat spirit in one gulp. The fiery liquid burned away the chill and soothed his anxiety. He smiled while he refilled his glass. One day he and Irina would have a good laugh about this. After she’d seen the portrait of course.
* * * *
“Irina, you simply must come down here. You’ll love this room.”
Irina von Königsberg hesitated at the top of the stairs leading from the library to the basement. Her husband’s handsome face smiled up at her from the entrance to the room beyond. “Now we’ve got electric light down here, it’s amazing. The hieroglyphics…and there’s a wonderful portrait. Looks like it could be of Cleopatra. It’s by Gustav Klimt for heaven’s sake. What on earth it’s doing down here, goodness only knows. I’ll bring it up later and it can hang in the library. It’ll look wonderful there with that ceiling. Oh do come and see, Irina.”
“I don’t like cellars. They’re so….so…” Even after ten years, Irina still found German a trial. The temptation to lapse into her native Russian pulled at her, but Wilhelm wouldn’t approve and, in any case, his Russian was basic at best. She stroked her fashionably shingled black hair and found the word she was looking for.
“Creepy. They are too creepy. I think a ghost might leap out at me.”
Her husband, Wilhelm, let out a bellow of laughter. “Oh, Irina, you beautiful goose. The only thing that’s going to leap out at you will be me.”
Irina put the toe of her expensive, silk-covered shoe on the top step and bit her lip. “If you are sure it is safe.”
“Of course it is, you silly thing. You’ve been listening to too many of the housekeeper’s stories.”
Irina clung to the handrail while she made her uncertain descent. “I think they are not silly stories. I think these things happened.”
At the foot of the stairs, she took her husband’s hand and he led her into the room. She gasped at the red-painted hieroglyphics adorning the wall. Then she caught her breath at the sight of the portrait. Below it, on a purple-draped altar, stood the small gold statue Wilhelm had given her ten years earlier.
“Why do you bring that down here? It belongs in the library.”
“I borrowed it from there to put it with all the other Egyptian stuff in here. It looks right, doesn’t it? Anyway, once I remove the portrait and take it up to the library, it could hang above the fireplace and the statue could stand on the mantel below it.”
Irina caught Wilhelm staring at her intently. It made her uncomfortable. Everything about this room made her nerve-ends prickle.
The hairs on the back of Irina’s neck stood and goosebumps erupted along her arms. A breeze wafted over her. She could have sworn she’d heard the lightest of whispers. A woman’s voice speaking in a strange tongue. She shook her head. Cellars were creepy. She’d said so herself. And she probably had been listening a little too much to that strange housekeeper’s stories.
The woman had come with the house and Irina hadn’t the heart to throw her out when they moved in. She’d told them she had lived all alone in the increasingly derelict mansion since before the war and, besides, she was efficient and hardworking. The house was beautiful again and the woman proved herself dedicated to keeping it that way, but that didn’t make her any less odd. The way her eyes would seem to lose focus, as if she saw something no one else could…
Wilhelm still gazed intently at her. Irina felt self-conscious and touched her hair again, but every single strand was securely in place, forming a modish glossy black helmet. Still, there had to be a reason for her husband’s intense gaze.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.
“It’s quite remarkable. You didn’t pose for that portrait by any chance, did you?”
“Of course not.”
“You must admit, she is the image of you. It makes me wonder if your family’s stories are true after all. Maybe you are related to Cleopatra.”
This time she knew it was real. The breeze even ruffled her hair and, judging by the way he flinched, Wilhelm also appeared to have felt it.
“Is it my imagination or has it grown much colder in here?” he asked.
The woman’s voice startled them. “You are not imagining it.” She stood in the entrance. “It would have been
better for you never to have come to this place.”
Irina and Wilhelm stared at their housekeeper, who glared at them.
Irina moistened her lips. “What have you done to yourself?”
Gone was the housekeeper’s demure black dress and tidy bun. She had arranged her hair in a cluster of tight, long braids and dressed in a long, white sheath dress. Her eyes were heavily outlined in kohl.
Irina stared at her and repeated her question. “What have you done to yourself?”
The woman shook her head. “If you had possessed the scroll, you would have known. You have brought the statue back here. Her tomb dust is also here— in the oil paint of the portrait.” She pointed at the picture. “The statue and her remains, when present together, are a force more powerful than you can imagine. What is to be done, will be done. I cannot help you.” She turned and left the stunned couple.
Irina and Wilhelm stared after her, too stunned to speak. Finally Irina broke the silence. “What is she talking about? What scroll?”
Wilhelm shrugged. “I have no idea.”
The lights dimmed until a mere glow illuminated the room. It cast deep shadows. On the far wall, a shape emerged.
Irina screamed and pointed. “What is that?”
The tall figure moved forward.
“His eyes!” Irina collapsed against her husband, who clung to her, unable to make his legs work.
The hideous intruder’s mouth opened and words hissed from within. He spoke in perfect, but brittle German. “Let her go. She is mine now.”
“Irina is my wife.”
“She is my beloved queen. Reborn. You have brought the statue of Set back to its rightful place, to be with the essence of my queen.”
A sickening crack of dry bones. The man—if he was a man—turned his head toward the painting.
Bile shot up into Irina’s throat. Her head buzzed and she struggled to remain conscious. She clung tighter to Wilhelm.
His voice trembled as he spoke. “Who…who are you?”
“Dr. Emeryk Quintillus. This is my house.”
“But I…” Wilhelm stopped.
“You have the scroll?” Quintillus asked.
“What scroll? We know nothing about a scroll.”
Quintillus couldn’t be staring at them. The black holes in his head where his eyes should have been told her that. Yet Irina was certain he could see them and that, right now, he was staring at them keenly, searching for any sign they might be lying.
“All is told in the scroll, but it is incomplete. If it were not, I should not be in this…condition. But all will be well now I have the statue—and the portrait.”
Again the awful cracking of those dry bones as he turned his head—this time to stare at the picture.
Irina cried out.
The figure in the portrait moved. Almost dissolved, only to re-emerge full face. The kohl-rimmed dark eyes stared outward, unblinking. As if painted that way. The lips were set in a haughty, regal pose, but nevertheless appeared full, moist and sensual. Now Irina knew why Wilhelm had stared at her so intently. She could have posed for that portrait.
Quintillus looked from the picture to the woman and back again. “Soon you will return, my queen. Soon we will be together and I shall be reborn.”
Wilhelm clung to Irina. “This is my wife. She is not yours to take.”
Quintillus raised his hand to strike out, but lowered it again. A slight smile turned up the corners of his lips and a green glow began to pulsate and grow. It cloaked the portrait.
The portrait shook violently and suddenly crashed to the floor, shattering the frame. The paint began to run and separate. Gray dust collected in a pile.
A gust of wind whipped up around Irina. It knocked Wilhelm across the room and swept her up. She fought against it before it hurled her against the wall.
Quintillus’s voice echoed around the room. “Come to me, my beloved queen. Come to me, Cleopatra.”
* * * *
The statue of Set glowed. The sound of a woman chanting filled the small room. Irina’s lips moved. Still unconscious, she took up the chant. Her eyes stayed closed, but gradually, her expression changed. Her jaw became set, her lips fuller.
Quintillus writhed, every movement creaking and rustling. The dust from the painting swirled into a tornado. Some rained down on him. He slammed his hands against his face and toppled forward. He fell to his knees.
Wilhelm struggled to get to his feet, but some unseen force held him there. His arms and legs refused to obey him.
Quintillus’s hands changed. No longer withered and dry, they pulsed with life. Fresh skin spread in a clear pink wave. Veins flowed with life-giving blood.
More dust rained down—this time on Irina, instantly absorbed by her skin and through her silk dress. She stirred, opened her mouth and spoke. Words Wilhelm didn’t understand. In a language he had never heard before. She opened her eyes and stared straight through her husband. Her lip curled. Unintelligible anger spewed from her lips.
Wilhelm’s tears poured down his face. “Irina. Forgive me. I didn’t know!”
Irina shut her eyes and slumped forward.
Quintillus removed his hands from his face and stood, staggering a little. Wilhelm stared at the hate-filled dark eyes, newly emerged from the empty sockets.
The force that had held him fast released Wilhelm and he took an uncertain step toward his unconscious wife. Quintillus reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“I want my wife,” Wilhelm said, making another move.
Quintillus opened his mouth and let out a guffaw of laughter. “Your wife? Your wife is dead. My beloved queen inhabits her body now.”
“You’re mad. I don’t know what kind of hellish charade is going on here, but you are mad.”
Quintillus withdrew his hand from his pocket and pointed the small pistol at Wilhelm’s heart.
“Your wife has no further need of you.”
One single shot felled Wilhelm. Straight through the heart. Dead.
* * * *
The woman on the floor stirred. She opened her eyes.
Quintillus knelt before her and took her hand. He placed it to his lips.
“My queen. My beloved.”
Cleopatra’s eyes focused. She wrenched her hand free, leaped to her feet, then staggered. She appeared uncertain of her new body. She backed away from Quintillus, then spun around. A familiar voice rang out from the corridor.
“I see you are both here,” the housekeeper said. “And you have murdered the poor Count, Herr Doktor.”
“I had no use for him.”
“No, of course. And now you believe you have all you desire.”
Dr. Quintillus smiled. “I do.”
“Such a shame. My sister will never forgive you for what you have done. But you will have time beyond imagining to try to persuade her.”
Quintillus’s expression darkened. “What do you mean? She is restored, in the body of her descendant. She is born anew. The curse that drained my body of its life has been lifted. All that the scroll described has been fulfilled. We will live together, for eternity.”
“No!” Cleopatra lashed out at Quintillus. “What have you done? You have taken me from my resting place. You have taken me from the only man I ever loved.”
Quintillus took a step toward her. “My beloved queen. I have waited my whole life to be with you. I have been cursed to walk here these past years, neither dead nor alive. Unable to leave, my only hope that somehow my destiny could still be fulfilled. I took some of the dust from your remains. That much is true.”
“You stole the statue of Set from out of my hands, where it lay to give me protection from this.” She flung out her arm toward the woman in the doorway. “Arsinoe. My treacherous sister.”
Raucous laughter echoed from the woma
n who stood watching the exchange.
Quintillus took another step closer. “My beloved Cleopatra. Everything I have endured has been for you. I have murdered for you. I forfeited my life for you.”
Cleopatra opened her mouth and hissed at him. “You didn’t know that would happen. The scroll was damaged. I tore off the last section. You didn’t know the spirits of the dead would come to you and drink your blood and drain your body. Tell me, how did it feel to be drunk dry?”
Quintillus shuddered. “Why did you destroy it?”
“To make sure anyone who tried to part me from my beloved Mark Antony would never live to enjoy it.”
“Yet here I am, my beloved queen. Restored and whole. For you.”
Cleopatra sprang forward and raked her nails down his face. Rivulets of fresh blood streamed down his cheeks. He ignored them and clutched her shoulders. But her strength was unexpected. She wrenched herself free of his grasp.
“You will never possess me. Never!”
Arsinoe began a slow handclap.
Cleopatra turned on her sister. “As for you, I curse you. By the power of Set I curse you.”
Arsinoe stopped clapping and shook her head. “You cannot curse me, for I am already cursed. Set has heard me. While you held his image in your dead hands, you had his protection. He would do nothing to harm you. Once this man—” she pointed at Quintillus, “—took the statuette away from you, the protection was gone. I could enter from the dark world where my soul has wandered for centuries, waiting for my chance. I should thank the doctor for giving it to me.”
Quintillus’s hands dropped to his sides.
Arsinoe continued. “Finally, after all these years, justice will be done. At first I wanted you dead, your soul left to wander among the shades of the soulless for all eternity. But this is a more fitting revenge. Set will grant my wish and you, dear sister, will be trapped here with a man you do not love. Conscious, alive, but unable to leave this place. Either of you.”
“You have not the power,” Cleopatra spat the words out.
Wrath of the Ancients Page 16
