No Escape (22 page)

“They say—though it was never proven—that Tante Simone taught Abigail as much about the dark arts as she did about the healing ones. They say—though this, too, is disputed in legends and stories—that Abigail took her husband’s life because he had taken her from her home and caused the drowning deaths of her family during an ocean voyage to visit Abigail.”

Heath sipped his beer and watched the crowd.

“Eight years into Abigail’s widowhood, a storm struck Agony House and caused massive damage. It looked like Abigail was going to lose her house because she couldn’t afford to rebuild it. So she sought out a rich suitor named George Bascombe—seduced him through voodoo, some said—and brought him home. Repairing the house drained the man’s wealth, and it was said Abigail stole Bascombe’s life.”

Lydia waved to the back of the hotel. “The graves of Abigail, her husbands and some of the slaves who died here have been relocated, but they still exist. During the day, or tonight, if you dare, you’re welcome to visit the cemetery. Just don’t take anything. No keepsakes or mementos.” She paused. “You can never be sure of what might follow you home. There are reports, never verified, however, of visitors to Agony House that returned home and found they’d brought a ghost with them. The dead still live here among us, after all. Every now and again, they reveal themselves to us.”

Inside the house, everyone was silent.

Even though Heath knew most of the story from Lauren’s briefing earlier, he discovered he felt a little uneasy. He chalked the feeling up to knowing that Gibson was going to be there.

“Tonight, Agony House welcomes a most special guest.” Lydia smiled at the crowd. “I know you’ve all heard of the Amazing Gibson, one of the foremost magicians in the world these days.”

A few of the people surrounding the crowd started clapping, but Heath thought maybe they were hotel employees salted among the rest of the guests because they appeared to be sober and not cowed by the retelling of the legend. The other guests picked up the applause till the grand room vibrated with the thunder of it.

The lights went out again, then a detonation exploded sharply enough to make Heath’s eardrums ache. A pall of gray fog rolled onto the top of the stairs. When the baby spotlight flared to life again, going almost nova in its intensity, the bright light hit the fog and turned it into a white cloud.

Then Gibson stepped through it, clad in his trademark black suit. He regarded the audience quietly, then held up his black-gloved hands. Putting his hands together, he moved them as if he was kneading dough. Something white appeared between his fingers and grew rapidly. His hands suddenly shot up high over his head and separated.

A white dove exploded from his hands and beat its wings frantically, causing the audience to duck before the bird flew through the main doors and between the hotel employees who held them open. The lights came on in the hotel so the bird could be more easily seen.

When the audience turned back to Gibson, he breathed flames into the space over their heads. Then his hands plucked unseen things from the air, and he tossed shining silver discs into the crowd. Gleefully, the audience grabbed the coins or chased them on the floor.

Heath knew without looking that they were the signature coins Lauren had told him about earlier, the ones with Gibson on one side and him vanished on the other.

Finished with his coin trick, Gibson spread his hands in invitation and nodded graciously.

Lydia climbed the stairs to join Gibson. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight Gibson has graciously agreed to act as your host for the tour. He, too, knows much of the history of this house.”

Gibson took her hand and kissed it, bowing slightly. “I know some of the house’s history, but I don’t know it all. You are the expert in that area, dear lady. I am but a shadow from a passing flame.” He turned over his hand, and suddenly he was holding a lit candle.

The audience clapped appreciatively as Gibson held the candle aloft briefly before handing it off to an assistant who stepped over to him.

Heath finished his beer and handed the bottle off to a passing server.

Lydia took Gibson’s arm and waved to the audience to come up the stairs. “Come along. The original Agony House may be gone, but its memories live within these walls.”

Hesitantly, then with growing speed, the audience followed.

* * *

Finally, at the end of the forty-five-minute-long tour, with Gibson doing sleight of hand tricks and extolling the history of the house, they ended up at the library.

“Come inside.” Lydia waved to the group, urging them to step into the large room. “This is the most completely salvaged room in Agony House. The walls, the floor and the books were rescued from the original house and moved here, where they have stayed ever since. Several of our guests have often claimed to have seen Benjamin Hervey in this room.”

A clutch of plush sofas occupied a baroque area rug in the center of the room. A writing desk sat to the left, on the opposite side of the room from the massive wall of books.

So far Gibson had given no indication of seeing Heath, and Heath believed that was because the man was so intent on soaking up the attention. The guy was definitely a glory hound around an audience, and that need for attention also explained the White Rabbit cards he mailed after the murders. Going into seclusion must have been hard on him.

Or maybe that was when he picked his next victim and prepared to deliver his next trick.

Gibson swung his arm to take in the room. “Imagine her, if you can, sitting in this room, locked away with stories of outlandish monsters and ghosts. Perhaps even a premature burial or two.” His candle winked out and the room was shrouded in darkness.

An eerie female voice spoke in a heavy accent from one of the back corners of the library. “You don’t have to imagine her in this room. You can hear her if you wish. If you have the nerve.”

A chill crept up Heath’s neck, and he had to check a shiver.

A small flame dawned in the corner and was reflected on the writing desk there. The desk faced the wall, and the light illuminated the figure sitting in the chair. She was dressed in a black mini-cocktail dress that showed off her figure, a hood over her head, and thigh-high black boots.

Heath’s radar went off with a sonic boom inside him as he took in the trim figure, the legs encased in black lace stockings. Even though he had spent a lot of time with her the past couple days, it took him a moment to recognize the woman.

Lauren
.

His mouth went dry at the sight of her, and he couldn’t help staring. Then, somewhere in the dim recesses of his totally blown mind, he realized that they could both be in a lot of trouble.

Lauren tilted her head just enough for the candlelight to illuminate her mocking smile and left her eyes a mystery. “Do you wish to speak to Abigail?”

Lydia made her way to the tour group, which had evidently decided to keep a respectful distance. The candlelight managed to pick Gibson out of the crowd, as well. He looked like a malevolent shadow, and only the hard planes of his face stood revealed. His eyes were black pits above sharp cheekbones.

“I demand to know who you are.” Lydia stood her ground, but she stood it a few feet away from Lauren.

“My name is Mistress Tereza.” Heath couldn’t believe the voice belonged to Lauren because it sounded so different.

“You’re not supposed to be here. You’re trespassing.”

“No, I
am
supposed to be here. I was called by Abigail.”

Hesitantly, Lydia turned to look at Gibson. The magician stood stock-still in the shadows and made no response.

Okay, she just blew his mind, too.
Heath thought that was funny, but he was too anxious over the trouble Lauren might be in to enjoy the moment very much. But mostly he was drawn to Lauren, unable to decide if she was more sexy or more spooky.

“I’m going to call security.” Lydia started to walk toward the door.

“If you do, you’ll miss what Abigail came here tonight to say. You know that she talked to your grandmother, but has she ever talked with you? Would you forego that opportunity?”

Heath held his breath, knowing that Lauren had to be running a bluff.

Chapter 18

L
ydia stopped at the library door, then walked back into the room. “All right, prove it.”

Lauren spoke in a whisper. “Be careful challenging the spirits, Ms. Cranmer. Your grandmother warned you about such things. There are too many evil presences still associated with this house to risk their anger.”

Face blanching a little, Lydia stepped back.

With every eye on her, Lauren walked to the coffee table in the middle of the room. She pointed to the sofa on the other side of her as she sat. “Please, sit. Together, Abigail and I will reveal to you that story.”

Heath’s breath was tight in his chest. He didn’t know how Lauren was going to pull this off.

A few of the women in the tour group urged Lydia to sit when they saw that she was reluctant. Finally, probably more out of being a good hostess than anything else, she sat.

Lauren pulled two lighted candles from the air and set them at opposite sides of the coffee table. Heath knew the candles had to be the result of sleight-of-hand, but he hadn’t seen them coming till they were there. She’d gotten his wallet without him knowing, though, so he knew she was good. Just not this good.

With the candles in place, Lauren looked at Lydia. “This knowledge isn’t just coming from me, Ms. Cranmer. Abigail has touched those of your party. They have the answers, not me.”

Drawn by the soft voice and the promise of a brush with the supernatural, the crowd hovered closer. Only Gibson, Roylston and Heath remained back, and the magician’s attention was resting solely on Lauren.

“Do you remember when your grandmother told you she’d seen Abigail?” Lauren focused on Lydia.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Lauren waved an arm over the coffee table. Fire leaped from her fingertips for just a moment, blinding Heath for a second. When he blinked to clear his eyes, he saw that a small crystal ball had appeared on the table.

The audience murmured in appreciation and there was scattered applause.

“Please.” Lauren looked at the crowd. “This is not a spectacle. Do not offend the spirits.” She focused on one man in a loud Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. “You, sir, you know part of the date when Prudy Cranmer revealed to her granddaughter the conversation she had with Abigail. Tell me the month of your birth.”

The man hesitated for just a moment. A stocky woman beside him slapped him on the arm. “Tell her, George.” She turned to Lauren. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, now you know what I have to deal with on anniversaries. His birthday is August ninth.”

Lauren smiled and nodded her thanks. “August is the correct month, is it not, Ms. Cranmer?”

As if dazed, Lydia bobbed her head. “August, yes.”

“But the ninth is not the correct day, is it?”

“No.”

Heath kept an eye on Gibson, noticing the magician stood ramrod straight. Finally, he shook his head. “This is just cheap theater, Lydia. Don’t buy into this.”

Agitated, Lydia glanced back over her shoulder at him.

Gibson grinned and shook his head. “This is just a show. Vaudeville, nothing more.”

“Is that what you truly believe?” Lauren locked eyes with the magician.

“Yes.”

“So you do not believe in the spirits?”

Gibson grimaced and Heath wanted to grin. The magician had stepped right into that. “Of course I believe. I came here tonight to show these people the spirits that walk through this house.”

“Then do so. Give me the date when Prudy Cranmer told her granddaughter of her visit from Abigail.”

Shaking his head, Gibson grinned again, but there was no mirth in the expression. “You have the floor,
Mistress Tereza.
Why don’t you do the honors?”

“Because I cannot do this thing without you.” Lauren stood and held out her hand. “Take my hand.”

Gibson held up his gloved hands. “I don’t do that.”

“Is there someone here that you trust?” Lauren turned a hand over toward Lydia. “Our hostess, perhaps?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“There must be someone.”

Gibson jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Roylston. “Him. Him, I trust.”

“Very well.” Lauren moved her hand over in Roylston’s direction. “Take my hand.”

The bodyguard looked at Gibson, who nodded. Gibson watched everything as Roylston took Lauren’s hand. Heath tensed, thinking that the bodyguard or Gibson might recognize her from the other day, but she looked so different, and the lights were dim. Still, Heath’s hand wasn’t far from the gun holstered at his hip.

“Now, take Mr. Gibson’s shoulder with your other hand.”

A grimace twisted the magician’s face. Obviously he preferred “The Amazing” to “Mr.”

Roylston looked at his boss, and Gibson nodded again. Gingerly, the bodyguard rested his hand lightly on the magician’s shoulder.

Lauren looked at Gibson. “I need you to first clear your mind. Empty it of everything.”

Gibson looked impatient and gave a quick nod. “Mind’s cleared.”

“I do not think you have cleared your mind.” Lauren continued looking at him. “I will ask Abigail to speak louder to you.”

He shook his head. “You’re not going to blame the failure of your little parlor trick on me.”

“I will not fail because you will not fail Abigail. She will not allow it.” Lauren turned back to Lydia with a small envelope in her hand. “Ms. Cranmer, please take this envelope. Inside is a card. Write down the date that your grandmother talked to you about Abigail’s visit. Just the day, not the month.”

Lydia reached into her clutch and took out a pen and wrote quickly.

“Please put the card back into the envelope and await further directions.” Lauren turned to Gibson. “They say that you can touch the spirit world, that you too can know the unknowable. I only need access to your power for a moment.”

Gibson didn’t say anything.

Lauren handed him a card and envelope.