A Curse of the Heart

For a moment, he felt deprived of air and had to shake his head to regain focus. These were precisely the sort of temptations he chose to avoid. The sort of distractions that appeased the body but plagued the mind.

This lady was dangerous, and he needed to get rid of her now.

It should not be too difficult to convince her of her error, to prove her fears were a result of her own creation. Once he had examined all the facts, there would be a rational explanatio

n.

“This ancient scroll you mentioned. The one you read from. How did you come by it?”

“I found it in a wooden crate,” she said, her eyes reflecting a level of gratitude that he had bothered to ask the question, “along with the staff. Most of my father’s objects are on display at the museum, but there are still some items in the storeroom that need sorting and recording. I found the crate in there.”

Her father’s objects?

Gabriel knew the location of all the genuine Egyptian relics. He scoured the recesses of his mind in a bid to recall someone with the same surname who had an interest in Egyptology. “And your father is —”

“Dead, Mr. Stone. My mother, too.”

He felt an instant tug in his chest. The feeling one gets when meeting someone whose fate had followed a similar path to one’s own.

“As are mine,” he replied for no other reason than to acknowledge the similarity.

Her eyes searched his face as though looking for a sign that the thought still pained him. “I do not recall seeing the scroll on the list of inventory,” she said, returning to the matter. “Indeed, I have never seen it before. Perhaps that’s why I doubted its authenticity. Why I foolishly read from it without fear of reprisal.”

“We are all guilty of foolishness,” he found himself saying, wondering why he felt the need to offer comfort. Particularly, when he was still trying to fathom out why a woman with her intelligence would believe in such a ridiculous notion.

Miss Linwood managed a weak smile. “But I should have known better. I should not have doubted the power of the dead to exact their revenge on the living.”

The rattling of the door handle drew his attention, the sudden noise causing Miss Linwood to jump, her hand flying to her chest as the other grasped his arm.

“There is nothing to fear, Miss Linwood,” he said, trying to determine which thought disturbed him the most. Was it the thought that such an erratic action was a sure sign she truly was suffering from a curse? Or the fact he felt desire shoot through his body at the speed of a lightning bolt.

When the door burst open, even he was relieved to see the curious gazes of a young lady and her male companion. What was he expecting, the towering figure of Anubis dangling a pair of weighing scales?

Witnessing the room was occupied, and with a fit of the giggles, the lady dragged her admirer back out into the corridor.

Miss Linwood breathed a sigh of relief and promptly let go of his sleeve. “Forgive me, Mr. Stone. I’m afraid my wits appear to have abandoned me.”

His wits had all but up and left him, too, and it was imperative he focused on the task. “If you read from the scroll, can I assume it was written in English or Coptic?”

“English,” she nodded. “It was written in English.”

“Was it written on papyrus, parchment, vellum?”

Tiny furrows appeared on her brow and after a brief silence, she said, “No, Mr. Stone. It was not written on papyrus or vellum.”

Gabriel shrugged his shoulders and threw his hands up in the air. “Well, there you have it then. The scroll does not appear to be Egyptian at all. And if it is not Egyptian, then there can be no curse.”

There. Now he had solved the problem he could put this tempting lady far from his mind and continue with his research.

Miss Linwood simply stared at him, her face ghastly pale as though drained of all blood. She blinked a few times, and he noticed her eyes brimming with tears. “Then I am sorry to have troubled you, Mr. Stone. I am sorry to have wasted your time.”

She turned abruptly, picking up her green silk skirt as she hurried towards the door and before he knew what was happening, he caught her by the arm and pulled her back around to face him.

“Surely, you understand the logic in my questioning,” he said, feeling a strange urge to banish those tears, to see her eyes bright and bold once again. “Surely, you understand how the mind can play its tricks. How easy it is in times of fear to believe in the illogical.”

“I do,” she replied, “but you have not heard the cries. You have not felt your bed shake, felt the floor shudder beneath your feet.” She sucked in a breath, and he could see she was shaking. “People almost died, Mr. Stone, and it is all my fault.” Anger surfaced as she yanked her arm free from his grasp, anger mixed with a look of disappointment and she struggled to meet his gaze. “It is not your concern,” she said. “I was mistaken. You are not the man I hoped you would be.”

Gabriel let her go, watched her run through the door and did nothing.