He stared at her, his cold eyes turbulent with anger. “Don’t you think you owed me that?” He broke the contact sharply. “I’ll go over there. You look through that door.”
Sofie was relieved to be free of Archie. His presence menaced her, his anger a reprimand to her for her behavior, as though she had done wrong on that terrible night in Tintagel. She moved on to the next department, African art.
Glass cases holding masks and statues in a style completely foreign to Sofie. She had never studied this area, and found the figures repulsive in a visceral way she’d never been unable to understand. She was anxious to escape from here, and began to visually search the floor. This was where she had managed to lose herself before, hurrying through here and going through the wrong door in her desire to escape. Sightless eyes followed her every movement, waiting for something. There was no one in here now. Sofie felt for her mobile, but it had gone. Had she dropped it? She must have done. It wasn’t her day for finding things.
There was a clunk and the main lights went out, to be replaced by dim spotlights. The museum had closed for the night. While this didn’t faze her, or at least she told herself so, Sofie didn’t like it here. The walls, a dark brownish maroon seemed to close in on her. The masks laughed at her, their open mouths mocking her dilemma.
Sofie tried to concentrate on finding the whistle, searching for a silver gleam under the cases, between them. It must be here somewhere, it must!
When she stood it seemed as if one of the masks had moved. She was sure that particular case had an empty space where a pale brown African mask now sat. Moving away quickly she turned her ankle and fell heavily. A face stared at her, ebony, elongated face, above a body so stick-thin it could never have existed in real life.
Except that it did. Dark eyes glittered behind the mask. There was no space for a human being to hide. She watched, unable to take her eyes away, sitting up and reaching for her ankle. Every cell in her body screamed for her to get away, go now, run!
When she glanced away a movement caught her eye. She turned back. A figure was closer to her than it had been a moment ago. She was sure of it. The ivory face stared at her with living eyes, the only live thing in the face.
Sofie caught her breath but couldn’t scream. Her voice had gone, her breath with it. When she looked in another direction another statue seemed to have moved. Then she turned her head to look behind her.
The ebony statue loomed over her, eyes glittering bright in the unforgiving, stiff face.
This was no time to panic. Sofie took a deep breath, then another, listening, trying to hold her thoughts together. A rattle told her when the ivory figure moved. She didn’t look around this time, fully aware of what she would see. Instead she tested her ankle, pressing her heel against the floor. It held. Just a twist, then. Drawing her good foot under her she got to her feet. A twinge of pain, but the foot held. She could get out of here.
That was better. She was taller than all the figures. They clustered around her, creaks and rattles informing her when they moved. Reaching out with her senses she felt them moving closer. When they got too close she turned. Something told her that when they touched her it would be over. Could she jump over one? It seemed to be her only chance of getting away. She bent, ready to spring, trying not to think of failure.
“I wouldn’t.” The voice came soft and amused. Sofie turned her head to see Archie leaning against an opening. “The slightest touch and you’re lost.”
“They’re just statues.” Sofie was pleased there was no quaver in her voice. Another rattle told her the ebony statue had moved closer. She had barely a square foot of ground now.
“They’re receptacles.” Archie’s voice, deepened from his usual musical tenor, gained a harsh edge. “They hold lost souls.”
“What?” Sofie worked hard at keeping her voice steady. She couldn’t control the pitch, and it came out too high. “They’re artifacts. Just figures, carved in Africa.”
“Useful receptacles for lost souls.” Archie lifted his hand and the rattling stopped. The figures no longer moved forward, although the eye sockets still glinted with wicked life. “There are many useful receptacles in this place. Caskets, goblets, flasks. Any hollow vessel will do. Once you learn the trick, it’s easy. You kill the body, and save the soul, placing it in another vessel and binding it before it escapes. It happened to me, and now I do it to others. It will never happen to me again.”
He moved closer. Before Sofie’s horrified gaze he seemed to shrink a couple of inches. His hair darkened in the glimmering light, grew to touch his shoulders, tendrils reaching below as though grasping for her. Medusa locks.
To look Medusa in the eyes meant death. Sofie’s breath hissed through her teeth as she recognized compulsion in his dark gaze. His eyes were no longer blue. They looked black in the dark light, the gaze fixed on her face. “Archie, what are you doing?” This time she kept her words steady and clear.
“You may stay here with your little friends, or you may come with me.” The grating voice wasn’t like Archie’s at all now. Even his slight Scottish lilt had gone.
“What happens if I come with you?”
“We find that whistle, of course.” There was a pause, while Sofie waited. Evan, where are you? Didn’t he say he had a gift? Not a gift they had shared, she remembered. Could he hear her in any case? Cristos! She knew Cristos had the gift of telepathic communication, but could he hear her now?
No response came. She was on her own. She stared at Archie, avoiding meeting his gaze directly. The image didn’t stay stable, flickering in and out, hair gleaming darkly, then a golden strand meeting the light. Like a candle, guttering before going out. But there was always a bright flare before it disappeared. A flare that might take her with it.
“After we find the whistle, we adjourn to my office and discuss our future. Sofie, you didn’t mean to leave me, did you?” The voice became low and monotonous, the harsh edge almost disappearing. “You meant to teach me a lesson.”
Sofie searched her mind for something to keep him busy. While he talked, the statues were still. Someone might come, or she might think of something. “Where’s Gwynnie?”
“I left her in England. I didn’t really want her, you know, not above a night or two.”
“I didn’t think you wanted me back.”
He shrugged. “It might be amusing. You know where that whistle is, Sofie. You own it, you control it. Had I not given it to you, it would be mine.”
“What’s so important about that thing? I thought it was modern, just an old ARP whistle.”
The whistle seemed to dominate Archie’s thinking. There must be something about it, something he wanted. Could it be the scratches?
“It’s not the whistle. It’s what it brings with it.”
“What’s that?”
He smiled, the ends of his thin mouth turning up in a cruel sneer. “You think I’ll tell? Are you wearing a listening device or something?” The smile faded. “Are you?” The edge returned to his voice, the note of compulsion disappearing.
She’d worried him. Sofie tried a step but a rattle told her the guards were still on duty. “You’ll have to come here to find out,” she said, lowering her own voice. She couldn’t hypnotize, but she could try to sound seductive. If he still wanted her she had that weapon.
He moved closer, and a blue gleam danced in the depths of his eyes. Sofie tore her gaze away, realizing what he was trying to do, some kind of hypnotism. He moved closer, and one of the figures moved away. She saw it step back with a jerky rhythm. “Touch them and you’re lost,” he said, smiling. “They’ll draw you in, like dust to a vacuum cleaner.”
The image was horrible. Thoughts of her gut being sucked through a tube, until only her skin was left to collapse on the floor. She saw the vision, felt sick. This was like the dreams she’d been having. What was wrong with her? Was this happening, or was this a dream as well?
It felt real. The figures stood perfectly still, but th
eir eyes glinted at her, their whites catching the light. Archie stood before her, the stranger and the man she knew alternating, flickering as though the lights weren’t steady, as though something else was lighting him. If this was science fiction, Sofie would have expected him to be a hologram.
She reached out a hand and touched him. He was no hologram. Growling he grabbed her arm and pulled her close, against his chest. “Where you belong. At least for now.” He bent his head to her mouth.
*
Evan came to, shaking his head to rid himself of the cobwebs. He must have dropped off to sleep. He sat on the sidewalk in front of a side entrance, his bike up on its stand in an alley close by. How could he have done such a stupid thing? Twenty minutes he’d said, but dusk was falling fast. He pulled out his cell phone and checked the time as he hit the button to dial Sofie. An hour. She’d been gone an hour.
He couldn’t get a response. He set the phone to redial, so when she moved out of her blind spot it would ring her straightaway and then went in search of an open door.
It took him ten minutes to find one. Ten minutes of increasingly frantic searching. Evan couldn’t understand why he couldn’t find a security guard. This place was full of priceless treasures. Wasn’t it ringed with guards?
When he found an open door it was one of the smaller ones. A guard sat slumbering peacefully in front of a bank of screens, all showing different parts of the museum. Eerie, to see the galleries clear of people. He cleared his throat. The guard snored. “Hey!” he yelled, almost in his ear.
The guard slumbered on, hands folded over his chest. There was something wrong. Had that been why he fell asleep?
His heart in his throat Evan vaulted the counter to land beside the guard. He must find Sofie, and then get out of here. His instinct was to race off, shouting for her, but this building was huge, and even if it was full of alert, bright security guards it would take time to find her. Time he didn’t have. How he knew that he wasn’t sure, but tension coiled in his stomach.
Evan sat down at the keyboard and punched a few of the buttons. The views changed. There was no one to be seen in any of them. No guards, no other people. Something was wrong, badly wrong. He scanned the rooms as quickly as he could. Now he knew the guards were out, he could move faster. Any movement would do. Flicking through the static screens he hit the keyboard without looking, all his attention on the screens before him, moving his head to scan them steadily.
Sofie! Where are you?
He heard her. In his mind, he heard her calling his name. Nothing else, just her voice, as clear as if she was standing next to him. Evan!
Then he saw her on a screen. The room was dimly lit, and small, stiff figures surrounded her in a circle. They didn’t look human. They weren’t human. He peered, leaning closer, trying to decipher the figures, but he couldn’t see. A shadow moved in the corner of the screen. There was someone else in the room with her. Oh God!
He checked the location of the room on the keyboard. Behind him lay a stack of floor plans. He grabbed one, thumbing through to find the location, then stuffed another one into his pocket, just to be sure he wouldn’t get lost. Taking one more look at the map Evan took off past the slumbering security guard. He vaulted the counter again and headed for the stairs.
His footsteps were the only thing he could hear. Occasionally he passed a guard, always asleep, slumped in a chair or propped up against the wall. It was like Sleeping Beauty’s Castle. He hoped to God that Sleeping Beauty was still awake.
Up the stairs he went and into the first of the rooms on that floor, cavernous, lit only by small spotlights set into the walls. Spooky. He suppressed his shudders and slowed down, stopping to consult the map.
He cursed when he saw how far he had to go. He was at the wrong end of the floor. He could feel it, the tension, drawn tight, like the air just before lightening struck. He raced across the floor of the department, dodging around the cases that contained priceless works of art, trying to construct some kind of strategy.
It looked to him like a hit, some kind of burglary. Sofie could be in the room with an armed thief, and those guys didn’t take prisoners. Any moment he might hear the shot. With all the guards asleep there was no need for extra stealth.
Pausing just for a moment Evan strained his ears to listen. At first he heard nothing. No feet on the floor above him, no conversation, no movement. Then he heard a murmur. A harsh male voice with a British accent, one he’d never heard before. He was too far away to hear what the man was saying.
He would have a better advantage if the man didn’t know there was anyone else. If he hadn’t been heard racing up the stairs then they wouldn’t know he was here. What was in his pockets? Rifling through his pockets for a weapon he found small change, his keys, and right at the bottom of the pocket of his leather biker’s pants, his penknife.
Breathing a sigh of relief he drew it out and extended the blade. He kept it in his pants pocket because it had a few useful tools on it he could use on his bike if he needed to – a screwdriver, a spike, the knife itself, now blunt, but better than nothing. His father had given it to him, so perhaps utility was stretching it a bit too far.
Winging a silent prayer of thanks up to his Dad, wherever he was, Evan went forward. His boots creaked a little, but stopping to undo all the buckles would make even more noise. With all the stealth training he’d received, too little it seemed to him now, he approached the room where he could hear voices, the room where he’d seen Sofie earlier, surrounded by those grotesque little figures. And the shadow.
He could hear them now, but he didn’t wait to listen.
Sofie stood locked to a man, a tall man with blond hair and a strong, muscular body. His head was bent to her, and they were kissing.
Now Evan felt foolish. Perhaps Archie had persuaded her, after all. He would be disappointed, but it seemed his life was one disappointment after another. Why should this be any different?
He took a breath and sauntered forward. No need for stealth now. While he’d been having a heart attack thinking God knew what, Sofie had been reconciling with her old boyfriend. All he could do was remind her to collect her things in the morning and make a graceful exit. Pity.
As Archie lifted his head and looked around Evan remembered the sleeping security guards, just too late.
Archie went for him. Head down, charging like a bull in heat. Which he probably was. Sofie gave a small scream, then he saw the tears in her eyes, wet tracks on her cheeks glistening in the pale light, and Evan knew this was no reconciliation.
Evan only just had time to dodge aside, and watch Archie spin around, ready for him. But this time Evan was ready too. Archie’s blue eyes glittered ferally in the dim lights. “Perfect,” he growled. “Both of you at once. Come here, little man. Sofie, have you ever seen a man die before your eyes? You’ve seen plenty of bodies, but never one that was alive one moment and dead the next. It’s one of the thrills of your life, seeing that. And once seen, never forgotten.”
The men faced each other. Evan remembered his training, formal and informal. In situations like these the training he’d learned the hard way, in jail, was always best. He took a stance, feet wide apart. “You don’t get to Sofie any other way,” he said. He didn’t take his attention away from his adversary. Archie was heavy but he knew from their previous encounter that his fighting was without guile.
Archie came at him, fists up, head down. Evan was ready for the swing. If it had connected it would have been a punishing right, perfectly balanced. A boxer’s punch. Evan countered with martial arts. Smaller than Archie, but not by much, and a lot more agile, Evan put all his training, clean and dirty, into practice.
Ducking under the punch Evan went for the jugular. Or rather, the balls, jabbing out with a swift, hard chop, but Archie twisted and the blow landed on his thigh. He still had the knife, but a useless stab into the meat of Archie’s leg might leave Evan unable to wrench it out, and a stab to the stomach would probably kill his op
ponent. He had no desire to be sent back to jail for killing a man he despised. He kept the knife in his right hand, but used his left to deliver another blow as he turned around.
Archie’s next punch landed just above the stomach, knocking Evan off his feet. He heard a “Stop it!” from behind him, but ignored it. He saw in Archie’s eyes that the only way they would get away was if he stopped Archie from following them. He had no time to wonder what was going on, no time to see if Sofie was all right. There was only this man with murder in his eyes.
Looking for an advantage Evan concentrated on riling Archie. “Did she say no, Archie? Not surprising. Can’t keep a woman can you? Gwyneth didn’t follow you and Sofie doesn’t want you any more.”
A dark flame flickered in Archie’s eyes, taking Evan unawares. That flame didn’t belong to Archie’s light blue eyes. It couldn’t have been a reflection. It was something else, something darker. Something to fear.
No. Only if he let it. Evan watched for Archie’s intent. It showed first in his eyes. Archie reached into his pocket and drew out an object he touched, extending a gleaming steel blade. A flick knife. It easily outclassed Evan’s short, blunt penknife. Evan took a brief moment to assess the blade and the way Archie held it. While he looked, the grip changed from something clumsy to a professional grip, thumb along the blade, ready to swing the lethally sharp dagger where it was needed.
Archie smirked, death in his eyes. Evan gave him no more chances but went in.
Flipping his knife from one hand to the other Evan took Archie by surprise, going in with his hand open, catching Archie’s forearm, the one that held the flick knife. He pushed, using balance and surprise to bring his right arm forward and this time he hit his mark. Right in the balls.
The response was the instinctive one of every male. Archie’s arms swung towards his stomach.
Lynne Connolly Page 11
