8
Melody lay in her bed, drenched in sweat.
No heat she’d ever felt had been this bad, had made her this uncomfortable. The humidity was oppressive. It hung over her like a wet blanket as she stared at the ceiling, stifling each breath she tried to take. She’d thrown off her covers long ago. Stripped down to practically nothing, and yet still she was still too hot.
A big part of it was the room’s single window; no matter how hard she pulled on it, she couldn’t get it open. She had no idea what time it was. It could’ve been eight o’clock. It could’ve been two in the morning. She had no way of knowing.
I wonder if my driver is still there?
At some point the man would leave, obviously. He’d realize she was staying the night, and report it back to Xiomara. Melody didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. All she knew was she’d been sent to Evermoore for a specific reason, and so far all she’d done was eat ‘supper’.
She flipped over and over, restlessly. Already she was regretting their decision to turn in early and start looking for the egg in the morning. At the same time though, it seemed everyone else in the mansion had gone to bed. She and Eric had walked most of the first floor on the way back to their rooms, passing through nameless chambers filled with fantastic, vintage furniture. Every room was dim. Everything hardly lit… but still illuminated.
“Get some sleep,” he’d told her. “We’ll start early tomorrow — before everyone else is up. Find this thing and be out of here before anyone even knows we’re gone.”
It had sounded good. Felt good, especially with his hands gripping her shoulders. Eric had stripped down to a T-shirt before going to bed, and Melody found herself staring at the musculature and definition in his arms and chest. Intrusive thoughts came. Thoughts of him pulling her into him, against him. Wrapping himself around her…
Get up.
The little voice in her head was firm and motivational.
Get looking. Now.
She sat up, finally glad at having made a decision. Finding the egg was her job. Her assignment. She was grateful for Eric’s help — and especially his company — but if she managed to accomplish the task without him, all the better.
Melody wriggled back into her undershirt. That, and her underwear, were all she had. She glanced over at the heavy ball gown, hung from a peg on the wall. If she put it on now she’d pass out. No way.
The door opened into the hallway with a rush of cool air. The breeze was almost orgasmic. Melody paused for a moment to bask in it, then stepped out and began padding barefoot along the darkened corridor.
She had no idea where she was going.
The egg wasn’t big, but it wasn’t tiny either. And it was beautiful enough that it would probably be on display. She thought about this as she padded silently downstairs, grateful that the treads were well-carpeted. She’d seen a trophy case in the conservatory — or whatever the room with the piano in it had been referred to. She’d start there.
The first floor was wide and spacious. Dim moonlight filtered in through tall windows as she made her way along. She stopped only once at a pair of double doors that opened into the grand ballroom — a tremendous stretch of parqueted floor and vintage draperies that formed the very heart of the house.
But it was thoroughly empty.
No prom for you, she thought with a nervous laugh, and now no cotillion either. You’re batting a thousand, Melody.
She’d missed her senior high school dance, ironically, due to her ‘gift’. It turned out that while it was somewhat advantageous to read someone’s thoughts and feelings, it wasn’t always fun. Especially not when your boyfriend Jason inadvertently reveals he’s been sleeping with someone else — one of your closest friends, to boot — just hours before the big night.
The realization had been bitter, the confrontation even worse. It had ruined any chance Melody had of finishing her senior year with any degree of happiness, but at least it had made the decision to go to New York that much easier.
She sighed, thinking back on what the pseudo-gypsy had said to her about sorrow. Her abilities were both a blessing and a curse, and they didn’t always come when she needed them. Sometimes they were outright useless, too. Melody would try to determine if someone were lying about something, only to read a recipe, or a reminder to pick someone up at the airport, or the random memory of pure ecstatic joy from hugging a puppy.
Bits and pieces. That’s all she got. Fragments. Shadows. And sometimes, she’d learned bitterly? Getting half a story from someone’s mind was worse than nothing at all.
A minute later she was in the conservatory, standing in front of an elaborate glass trophy case. Tiny crystal birds filled the first two shelves. Melody saw a beautiful vintage music box — she knew it from the treble-clef on its front, and because she owned a similar one herself. Her father, a gifted violinist, had given it to her on her eighth birthday. He’d given her her name, too.
Focus.
Above, on the higher shelves, she saw more gold and silver trinkets. There was a small spoon collection. An antique dueling pistol, set in a wooden stand. Melody stood on her tiptoes, straining to see. She saw a drinking — no, a powder — horn. An engraved flask. A scrolling filigree box with the cameo of a woman on the front. It was too small to hold the egg though, she decided.
SKRIIIIIIT!
Melody’s heart leapt into her throat. Something moved. Something in the shadows, on the other side of the room.
She recoiled immediately, crouching down and curling into a ball. She felt vulnerable and naked in only her underwear. She was torn immediately between hoping she wouldn’t be seen, and wanting to run as fast as she could.
For now, she stayed put.
SKRIIIIIIT!
It was a shifting noise. A dragging sound. Like someone scraping a dried branch against a stone floor.
Get out of here! her mind screamed. Go!
She was up and out, moving in one fluid motion. At the base of the staircase she turned to look back. It was horrible, staring into the darkness of the previous doorway. Wanting but not wanting to see what might come through it…
SKRIIIIIIT! SKRIIIIIIT!
She took the stairs two at a time. And then she was back, back in the hallway. Back in her hallway, standing at the door to her room. Melody grabbed the knob. Turned it…
But the knob didn’t move.
The key!
She’d forgotten to take it with her! It hadn’t even occurred to her that the door might lock behind her.
Another noise reached her ears. This time, it was more of a bump. A thump. A double-thump…
Someone — or something — was coming up the stairs.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit…
Melody ran past the next door and stopped at the second one. How many doors down was Eric’s room? Two? Three? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember. Tried the knob gently, but it didn’t move.
This is it. It’s gotta be it.
She curled her knuckles against the door. Just before knocking, she heard another sound — this one from the other side.
The sound of a man weeping.
All the blood in her veins went to ice. The long, wracking sobs on the other side of the door were borderline hysterical. They came with an intermittent wailing that sent shivers down Melody’s spine.
Not this door…
The thumping sound ended. Whatever was coming had finished climbing the staircase…
Melody turned away, scrambling frantically over to the next door. But before she could do anything, her entire body froze again.
There was man at the other end of the hall.
He was seated. Motionless. Sitting and just staring at her. Staring straight at her, but not really seeing her.
Lurch!
The realization was chilling. Lurch was seated upright in a high-backed chair at the opposite end of the hallway. The window behind him cast the rest of his face into shadow, but his eyes were still open. The irises seemed to glow with a dull, translucent silver…
The thumping sound came again, from somewhere behind her. Melody whipped her head around, checked the other end of the hallway, then whirled back again.
Lurch still faced her, but those eyes registered nothing. They were dull and lifeless. Almost like…
Like a golem.
The word had somehow jumped into her mind. It described the man perfectly. His skin was a mottled grey in the filtered moonlight. His face, sunken. His cheeks—
THUMP…
Melody turned again, and this time something was there. A hunched figure stood silhouetted against the other end of the hallway. It shifted forward, dragging something behind it. She saw hair, hanging down like straw, grey and unkempt. A terrible smell washed over her all at once. A familiar, musky smell…
“OH!”
Something in her hand moved, and Melody jumped. It was the knob. The door opened abruptly and Eric was standing there, shirtless, rubbing his eyes…
She flung himself into his arms and kicked the door closed behind her.