Farther along the gallery she glanced into a case and saw a small statue of Pan formed of opaque green glass. She could have sworn that she heard the faint, lilting notes of the god’s flute. The paranormal music was as unnerving as it was erotic.

But it was the long coffin-shaped case covered in white velvet that tugged most powerfully at her awareness.

She tried to ignore the pull of the covered case and moved on quickly, seeking the slight draft that would indicate a door. She passed another display case and saw that it contained a glass-plate photographic negative.

She told herself that she should not look at the image on the plate, but she could not resist. She glanced down and saw a picture of a woman. At first there did not appear to be anything extraordinary about the negative. Then she realized that the eyes of the woman in the picture glowed as though lit from within. The heat in the subject’s eyes grew brighter and hotter the longer Virginia studied the image.

When she realized that she was reaching out to open the glass case, she gasped and stepped back quickly. The compulsion to touch the negative faded.

She turned away quickly and found herself staring, yet again, at the case draped in white velvet. She knew then that she could not escape the chamber until she had discovered what was concealed inside.

She crossed to the case, grasped a handful of the velvet, took a grip on her nerves and pulled the cloth aside.

She was prepared for the sight of the glass coffin. But it was the body inside that horrified her.

“Mrs. Crofton.”

The housekeeper was dressed in the serviceable gown that she had been wearing when she left the house that morning. Her eyes were closed, as though she were asleep.

The knowledge that Mrs. Crofton had been murdered because she had become involved in the investigation sent waves of crushing guilt and rage crashing through Virginia.

Anguished, she raised the glass coffin lid.

Mrs. Crofton snored gently.

Light-headed with relief, Virginia reached inside and shook the housekeeper, gently at first.

“Wake up, Mrs. Crofton. Can you hear me? Please wake up. We must escape this place.”

Mrs. Crofton grimaced in her sleep. Virginia shook her again, more forcefully this time.

“Mrs. Crofton, wake up.”

This time Mrs. Crofton stirred, raised her lashes and peered up at her with glazed eyes.

“What?” she mumbled in a thick, drugged voice.

“We have to get out of here,” Virginia said.

“So sleepy,” Mrs. Crofton murmured. She closed her eyes again.

“For pity’s sake, you are lying in a coffin, Mrs. Crofton. Unless you wish to be buried, I strongly suggest that you resurrect yourself immediately.”

Mrs. Crofton’s eyes popped open again. “Coffin? Made of glass?”

“Yes.”

“I remember bits and pieces now. I think.”

“You can explain later. We need to get out of here.”

“I’ll not quarrel with that plan.”

Mrs. Crofton sat up, still noticeably groggy. With Virginia’s help, she managed to scramble awkwardly out of the glass coffin. But it became clear at once that she could not stand. Virginia tried to steady her. Together they staggered a few feet.

“Can’t,” Mrs. Crofton whispered. “You must go on without me. Hurry. Before they come for you.”

“I’m not leaving you in this place.” Virginia got her to the bench and lowered her down onto it. “But I will be able to locate the door more quickly if you wait here.”

Mrs. Crofton groaned, folded her arms on her knees and lowered her head.

Virginia rushed through the room, ignoring the pull of the artifacts.

A draft whispered beneath one of the mirrored panels.

“I found it,” Virginia said.

Mrs. Crofton looked up, brightening a little.

“There must be a concealed lever, but I don’t have time to search for it,” Virginia said. “I will have to shatter the mirror to reveal the doorknob.”

She went back across the room and picked up a heavy glass statue of a cat. Frissons of energy crackled through her. She paid no attention.

The mirrored panel swung open just as Virginia started toward it with the statue.

For a heartbeat she dared to hope that Owen would enter the room, coming to the rescue as he had the night he found her in the Hollister mansion.

But of course it was not Owen who walked into the mirrored chamber. One did not get that sort of good luck twice, Virginia thought.

A woman stood in the opening. She was tall, with a face that would have been quite pretty, had her eyes not been so ice-cold. Her dark hair was swept up into an artful chignon. Her elegant silver-grayand-black gown was trimmed with glittering black glass beads. Strands of black glass gems sparkled at her throat and wrists. Obsidian earrings dangled from her ears. She gripped a pistol in one hand.

Virginia recognized her in spite of the fine clothes and expensive jewelry.

“Mrs. Hollister’s paid companion,” Virginia said. “I congratulate you on your wardrobe. It is certainly of a much finer quality than it was the last time we met.”

“Good evening, Miss Dean. Allow me to introduce myself properly this time. I am Alcina Norgate. You are, of course, acquainted with my brother, Jasper.”

Jasper Welch bustled into the room. He had a pocket watch in one hand. “It is nearly midnight. Time to ignite my Great Engine.”

Alcina smiled at Virginia. “I’m afraid Jasper requires a contribution from you in order to complete his project. His grand experiment ought to have been concluded by now, but things did not go as planned that evening at the Hollister mansion. We have taken pains to ensure that this time matters will turn out quite differently.”

“Quite differently, indeed,” Welch said. He snapped the pocket watch closed. Reaching into another pocket, he produced a set of iron wrist manacles. “Only one set, I’m afraid. We didn’t plan on two of you being present for the final phase of the experiment. But there’s no reason you and your housekeeper can’t share these.”

THIRTY-NINE

Gilmore Leybrook was in his library, going over the latest financial reports for the Institute, when he sensed the ominous currents of energy. They rolled through the room like the waves of a dark, cold sea. Alarmed, he surged to his feet. He was suddenly sweating profusely. His heart beat too fast. Instinctively he looked around, searching for the source of the deadly danger that had invaded the room.

At first he saw nothing, but before he could assure himself that his imagination had overreacted, Owen Sweetwater came through the doorway, the wings of his long black coat flaring around him.

Gilmore stared at him, unable to breathe. He had never been so frightened in his life.

“I need an address, Leybrook,” Sweetwater said. “You will provide it to me.”

Anger surged through Gilmore, momentarily offsetting the raw terror that was roiling his guts. “Now, see here, I don’t know who you think you are, but you have no right—”

He broke off, choking on another wave of panic.

“You will give me the address,” Sweetwater said.

Gilmore crumpled back down on his chair. “Yes.” He sucked in a breath. “Who are you looking for?”

Sweetwater told him. Gilmore gave him the address.

Sweetwater turned and went toward the door of the library. He paused briefly to look back at Gilmore.

“There will be no more threats to Miss Dean’s career,” Sweetwater said. “If I hear so much as a whisper of gossip I will assume it came from you, and I will come for you.”

He did not wait for a response, which was just as well because Gilmore doubted that he was capable of speech.

He sat at the desk for a long time, collecting his nerve. After a while he got up, crossed the room to the brandy decanter and poured a large measure of the strong spirits into a glass. He downed the brandy in three swallows. Then he poured another glass.