Desire Me (22 page)

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.”

C
assandra 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?”

“The sample.” She ran a hand over his extraction
equipment. “You said you purchased another, but I don’t see any new jars.
Did you leave it at the store?”

“Please don’t touch that.” He hovered over the machine much as a mother bird protects her young. He pointed to the empty jar
to his left. “It’s right here.”

She loathed liars, especially if she was paying them to do a job for her. “I see. Then why were you seen leaving the store
empty-handed?” She walked over to him, grabbed his tie, and tugged forcefully on it. “You are lying to me, and I do not care
to be lied to by anyone. Especially an employee.
What
were you doing there?”

She stood nearly a head taller than him, and under her gaze, she could see the man’s will give way. People did not often succeed
in deceiving her. She tended to persuade them that honesty was a far better choice.

“I went to speak with Miss Tobias,” he said quietly.

“And?”

He shook his head. “She would not give me any information.”

Cassandra laughed. “You asked her for the recipe?”

“I offered to pay her,” he said shallowly.

“You offered to pay her. Now don’t you think, were that an option, I would have simply done that instead of hiring you?” She
paused a moment, waiting for him to give another excuse, but he said nothing. “I was told you were unmatched in your abilities.
Evidently someone lied about that as well.” She jammed her finger into his chest. “You are an idiot.”

“No, I am unmatched. I am the best,” he said.

“I have yet to see proof of that.”

“Madam St. James, please. I can figure out the formula, I promise. I merely need more time.”

“I’m afraid it might be too late for that. We’ll see.
Perhaps later I’ll be feeling more generous. Right now, however, I’m
feeling rather inhospitable,” she said.

He straightened his shoulders and tried his best to add height to his pitiful frame. “I am not without threats of my own,
madam,” he said, his voice wavering. “I might not be able to threaten you with bodily harm as I don’t keep company with those
thugs you employ. But I do know people, people who would be interested in what you’ve been up to.”

“Is that a fact?” she asked. But he knew nothing. She’d told him she was interested in that crème because a friend who owned
a French cosmetics shop had believed her product had been stolen.

“The fountain of youth,” he said firmly.

She narrowed her eyes at the man. “If you think—”

“I know precisely what you’ve been looking for. I do not accept employment from people without thorough research. I know of
your previous association with the Marquess of Lindberg and his search for Atlantis as a member of Solomon’s.” He boldly jammed
a finger into her chest. “I can destroy you.”

“Don’t touch me again,” she said slowly. “You know nothing.” But the nasty little man did. He’d uncovered her secrets, and
she could not have anyone know what she was after. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Olney.”

She walked back over to the door and slammed it behind her. He couldn’t do anything to her, she reminded herself. Still, it
would seem that he knew more than he should. She needed to call Johns. There was a mess here only he could clean up.

“Well, open it,” Sabine said. “What the devil are you waiting for?”

Max shrugged. “I thought you might like to warn me about what could happen if I pulled the latch.”

“There’s no time for warnings,” she said.

“Here goes.” He smiled and yanked hard. The wood creaked and moaned as it loosened and opened to reveal a staircase.

Their eyes met. She nodded and he stepped in, putting one foot on the step.

“Seems sturdy enough,” he said. “Though it’s going to be a tight squeeze.”

He was correct in his assessment, as he had to shift his body to get his shoulders through the opening. She followed him down.
Their lantern lit the area around them enough for her to see that they stood in a small, carved-out room.

“Ah, perfect,” Max said. He stepped away from her, leaving her momentarily shrouded in near darkness. But soon light filled
the area. “Torches,” he said with a smile as he lit a third one. “Always useful.”

The wooden walls of the shelter were plain and solid, with no markings or cutouts. The ceiling, aside from the hole at the
entrance, was much the same. On the floor, however, lay stone tiles of different sizes, all painted with images. The brightly
colored floor stood out against the rest of the surroundings.

“What is that?” Max asked, pointing to something in a corner of the room.

She followed his movement and found a pole with a small wooden box perched atop. She looked back at the floor, then felt for
the leather bag in her pocket. “It’s a game,” she murmured as she poured the stones into her palm.

“This doesn’t look like a game,” Max said. He bent
to the floor and ran a hand over one of the painted tiles. “They’re reminiscent
of stained glass. This looks more like a tomb or monument of some sort.”

“No, it’s Thistle. I know this game,” she said.

“You’ve played before?”

No, she’d never played it before, but she’d watched the other children in the village for hours. Nose pressed against the
window, she’d sat and stared at them while they’d laughed and skipped and tossed their rocks, until her breath would fog the
glass. She’d longed to play as the other children had, but she had been born to a guardian so she’d had studies. And she’d
had to be protected from injury and accidents that marked others’ childhoods with tiny scars and scuffed knees. Though all
of that sacrifice had seemed foolish and presumptuous when she hadn’t been selected guardian.

She took a steadying breath. “Not precisely.”

“This is an Atlantean game?” Max asked.

“Yes, and I’ve seen it played many times.” She looked directly at Max. “I can do this.”

He opened his arms in a welcoming motion, then stepped away from the painted tiles.

She took another look at the small rocks in her hand, and then she released them into the box. They scattered and rolled until
eventually they stilled.

“Three,” she said. She moved over to the painted tiles and studied them. Max was right. They did resemble stained glass, with
their portrayals of people in everyday life. On one, a woman hung laundry on a line to dry. Another showed people harvesting
in a field. “Three,” she said again.

Before she began, she looked at Max. “Whatever happens, don’t touch the tiles until I’ve completed the game.”

He nodded.

She stepped forward onto one of the tiles. Then moved to the next. Before each move, she studied the images, always choosing
ones with patterns of three, to select her next step.

Max stood quietly, watching her every move.

In her mind, she could see the girls and boys playing together, laughing and teasing. Some days they had waved to her, sitting
in her window. But most days, they’d simply ignored her.

Another four moves, and she was halfway across the board. She examined the next option.

She shifted one foot forward to touch the next tile, the image of children playing with three balls. As her foot touched the
stone, it shattered and fell below, leaving a gaping cavern in its wake. Her balance shifted, but Max caught her, holding
her steady without walking onto the game board himself.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Wrong move,” she said, her voice shaky. “I must have missed something in that picture. An extra ball, perhaps.”

“Does that always happen if you mess up?”

“No, normally you die, meaning you lose your turn. This one seems a little different from the Thistle the children play. Here
it doesn’t seem to be a metaphorical death.”