Regardless of the intentions of the hypnotist, the business was said to require a tranquil atmosphere and a quiet, willing subject. She had never heard of a practitioner of the art who could freeze a man in his tracks with only a few words.
“You are in a place of complete stillness,” the hypnotist continued. “You are asleep. You will remain asleep until the clock strikes three. When you awaken you will remember that you found Molly murdered but you will not remember that you saw me or the woman who is with me. We had nothing to do with the murder of Molly. We are not important. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Leona glanced at the clock positioned on a nearby table. In the light of a nearby sconce she could just barely make out the time. Two-thirty. The hypnotist had bought them half an hour in which to make good their escape.
He turned away from the frozen man and looked at her.
“Come,” he said. “It is past time to leave this place. We must get out of here before someone else decides to wander up those stairs.”
Automatically she put one hand on the surface of the altar to push herself to her feet. The instant her skin came in contact with the stone another unpleasant sensation, almost electrical in nature, swept through her. It was as though she had touched an old coffin, one in which the occupant did not lie in peace.
She snatched her hand away from the altar, rose and hurried out from behind the relic. She stared at the gentleman standing statue-still in the center of the gallery.
“This way,” the hypnotist said. He went swiftly toward the door that opened onto the servants’ stairs.
She jerked her attention away from the entranced man and followed the hypnotist down an aisle lined with strange statues and glass cases filled with mysterious objects. Her friend Carolyn had warned her that there were rumors about Lord Delbridge’s collection. Even other collectors as obsessed and eccentric as his lordship considered the artifacts in his private museum extremely odd. The moment she had arrived in the gallery she had understood the reasons for the gossip.
It was not the design and shape of the artifacts that appeared peculiar. In the dim light she was able to discern that most were ordinary enough. The gallery was crammed with an assortment of ancient vases, urns, jewelry, weapons and statuary; the sort of items that one expected to encounter in any large collection of antiquities. It was the faint but disturbing miasma of unwholesome energy swirling in the atmosphere that stirred the fine hair on the nape of her neck. It came from the relics.
“You feel it, too, don’t you?” the hypnotist said.
The soft question startled her. He sounded curious, she thought. No, he sounded intrigued. She knew he was referring to the dark energy. Given his own talents it was not surprising that he was as sensitive as she.
“Yes,” she said. “I feel it. Quite unpleasant.”
“I have been told that when you cram a sufficient number of paranormal relics into one room the effects are noticeable even to those who do not possess our sort of sensitivity.”
“These objects are all paranormal?” she asked, astonished.
“Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that each has a long history of having been associated with the paranormal. Over time they absorbed some of the energy that was generated when they were used by those with psychical abilities.”
“Where did Delbridge find all these strange relics?”
“Can’t speak for the entire collection, but I do know that a fair number were stolen. Stay close.”
She did not need the command, she thought. She was as eager to get away from this place as he was. She would have to return another time to find the crystal.
The hypnotist was moving so quickly she had to run to keep up with him. It was only her men’s clothes that made it possible. She would never have been able to move so swiftly in a woman’s gown with its layers upon layers of heavy fabric and petticoats.
Her senses tingled. More energy. It came from one of the objects around her but the currents were decidedly different. She recognized them immediately. Crystal energy.
“Wait,” she whispered, slowing to a halt. “There is something I must do.”
“There is no time.” The hypnotist stopped and turned to face her, black coat whipping around his boots. “We’ve got half an hour. Less, if someone else comes up those stairs.”
She wriggled her fingers, trying to free her hand. “Go on without me then. My safety is not your affair.”
“Have you lost your senses? We have to get out of here.”
“I came here to recover a certain relic. It is nearby. I am not leaving without it.”
“You are a professional thief?”
He did not sound shocked. Most likely because he, too, was in the business of theft. It was the only logical explanation for his presence here in the gallery.
“Delbridge has a certain relic that belongs to me,” she explained. “It was stolen from my family several years ago. I had given up hope of finding it tonight but now that I know it is close at hand I cannot leave without looking for it.”
The hypnotist went very still. “How do you know that the relic you seek is nearby?”
She hesitated, uncertain how much to tell him. “I cannot explain but I am very sure.”
“Where is it?”
She turned slightly, seeking the source of the small pulses of energy.
A short distance away stood a large, elaborately carved wooden cabinet.
“There,” she said.
She gave one last tug on her wrist. This time the hypnotist let her go. She hurried to the cabinet and examined it closely. There were two doors secured by a lock.
“As I expected,” she said.
She reached into her pocket, removed the lock pick that Adam Harrow had given her, and went to work.
The process did not go nearly as smoothly as it had when Adam had supervised her practice sessions. The lock did not yield.
The hypnotist watched in silence for a moment.
Perspiration dampened her forehead. She angled the pick in a slightly different direction and tried again.
“Something tells me you haven’t had a lot of experience at this sort of thing,” the hypnotist said neutrally.
His condescension sent a jolt of anger through her.
“On the contrary, I’ve had a great deal of practice,” she said through her teeth.
“But evidently not in the dark. Stand aside. Let me see what I can do.”
She wanted to argue but common sense prevailed. The truth was her practice with the lock pick consisted of only a few days of hurried experimentation. She thought she had displayed considerable aptitude but Adam had warned her that picking a lock when one was feeling pressured was a different matter entirely.
The ticking of the clock on the table was very loud in the quiet gallery. Time was running out. She glanced at the frozen figure waiting to come out of his trance.
She stepped back from the cabinet, reluctant, and mutely held out the pick.
“I brought my own,” the hypnotist said.
He produced a small, slender strip of metal from the pocket of his coat, fitted it into the lock and went to work. Almost immediately Leona heard a faint snick.
“Got it,” the hypnotist whispered.
To Leona’s ears, the squeak of the hinges was as loud as a train. Anxiously she looked back along the gallery toward the main staircase. But there was no shifting of the shadows at that end of the room; no footsteps reverberated along the gallery.
The hypnotist looked into the depths of the cabinet. “It appears that we both came here on the same errand tonight.”
A new and different chill went through her. “You came here to steal my crystal?”
“I suggest we save the topic of the legal ownership of the stone for another time.”
Outrage sparked, overriding her fear. “That crystal is mine.”
She started forward, intending to retrieve the crystal, but the hypnotist blocked her path
. He reached into the cabinet.
It was difficult to make out his movements in the darkness, but she knew immediately when disaster struck. She heard his sudden, sharp exhalation followed by a low, muffled cough. Simultaneously she caught a faint whiff of some unfamiliar chemical.
“Get back,” the hypnotist ordered.
There was so much intensity in the command that she found herself obeying without stopping to think.
“What is it?” she asked, retreating a few steps. “What’s wrong?”
He turned away from the cabinet. She was amazed to see that he was staggering a little, as though he was having trouble maintaining his balance. He held a black velvet pouch in one hand.
“Delbridge will most likely be very busy dealing with the police after the woman’s body is discovered,” he said quietly. “With luck it will be a while before he can start searching for the stone. You will have time to escape.”
A flat, grim quality laced the words.
“And so will you,” she said quickly.
“No,” he said.
A terrible dread welled up inside her. “What are you talking about? What’s wrong?”
“Time just ran out.” He seized her wrist again and hauled her toward the servants’ stairs. “We cannot delay another second.”
A moment ago she had been furious with him, but now panic was beating through her veins. Her heart pounded.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, but not for long.”
“For heaven’s sake, tell me what occurred when you took the crystal out of the cabinet.”
He opened the door that led to the spiral staircase. “I triggered a trap.”
“What sort of trap?” She peered closely at his hands. “Were you cut? Are you bleeding?”
“The crystal was inside a glass case. When I opened the case, I got a face full of some noxious vapor. I inhaled a quantity of it. I suspect it was a poison.”
“Dear God. Are you certain?”
“There is no doubt.” He struck a light and then gave her a firm shove that sent her plunging down the ancient stone steps. “I can already feel the effects.”
She looked back over her shoulder. In the flaring light she saw him clearly for the first time. Jet black hair, unfashionably long, swept straight back from his high forehead and fell behind his ears to brush the collar of his shirt. His features had been ruthlessly hewn by a sculptor who had cared more about portraying power than good looks. The hypnotist’s face suited his mesmeric voice; haunting, mysterious and dangerously fascinating. If a woman looked too long into those fathomless green eyes she risked falling under a spell from which she might never escape.
“We must get you to a doctor,” she said.
“If the vapor is what I think it is, no doctor will know how to counteract it. There is no known cure.”
“We must try.”
“Listen closely,” the hypnotist said. “Your life will depend upon following my orders. In a very short period of time, perhaps fifteen minutes at most, I will become a madman.”
She struggled to take in the terrible meaning of what he was saying. “Because of the poison?”
“Yes. The drug produces hellish hallucinations that overwhelm the victim’s mind, causing him to believe that he is surrounded by demons and monsters. You must not be anywhere near me when the stuff takes control of my senses.”
“But—”
“I will become a grave threat to you and anyone else who happens to be nearby. Do you comprehend me?”
She swallowed hard and hurried down a few more steps. “Yes.”
They were almost at the bottom of the staircase. She could see the crack of moonlight under the door that opened onto the gardens.
“How do you intend to leave this place?” the hypnotist asked.
“My companion is waiting for me with a carriage,” she said.
“Once we are clear of the gardens you must get as far away from me and this damned mansion as possible. Here, take the crystal.”
She paused on one of the worn stone steps, half turning. He held out the velvet pouch. Stunned, she took it from him, aware of the slight tingle of energy. The gesture told her more clearly than his words that he truly did not expect to survive the night.
“Thank you,” she said, uncertainly. “I did not expect—”
“I have no choice but to give it to you now. I can no longer be responsible for it.”
“Are you absolutely certain there is no remedy for the poison?”
“None that we know of. Pay close attention. I understand that you feel you have a claim on that damned crystal, but if you have any common sense, any care at all for your personal safety, you will return it to its true owner. I will give you his name and address.”
“I appreciate your concern but I assure you there is no way Delbridge will be able to find me. You are the one in danger tonight. You said something about hallucinations. Please, tell me precisely what is happening to you.”
He dashed the back of his sleeve across his eyes with an impatient movement and then shook his head as though to clear it. “I am starting to see things that are not there. At the moment I am still aware that the images are fantasies but soon they will become real to me. That is when I will become a threat to you.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I believe that the vapor was used twice in the past two months. Both victims were elderly collectors. Neither was prone to violent outbursts. But under the influence of the drug they attacked others. One of them stabbed a loyal servant to death. The second tried to set his nephew afire. Now do you comprehend the danger you are in, madam?”
“Tell me more about these hallucinations you say you are starting to see.”
He put out the dying light and opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell. Cold, damp air greeted them. Moonlight still illuminated the gardens but rain was coming.
“If the reports are accurate,” he said evenly, “I am about to be consumed by a waking nightmare. I will likely soon be dead. Both of the other victims died.”
“How did they die?”
He stepped outside and drew her with him. “One threw himself out a window. The other suffered a heart attack. Enough chatter. I must get you safely away from here.”
He spoke with a cool detachment that was almost as worrisome as the prediction. He had accepted his fate, she realized, yet he was making plans to save her. A thrill of astonished wonder came over her, leaving her breathless. He did not even know her name, yet he was determined to help her escape. No one had ever done anything so heroic for her in her entire life.
“You will come with me, sir,” she said. “I know something of nightmares.”
He dismissed the promise of hope out of hand, not even bothering to respond.
“Keep your voice down and stay close,” he said.
Jayne Ann Krentz, White Lies
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