Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1)

by Jordan Elizabeth

  Someone waved the bottle from the general’s pocket in front of Clark. His eyes wouldn’t focus on it despite how many times he blinked.

  Mable had told someone he’d had it. She’d given him away. How many coins had the army promised her?

  “Looks like he did drink it up.” The general client spoke from the right. “Must’ve interacted with all that bloody hertum. Look at ‘im, he’s bleeding already.”

  “What’s it gonna do to him?” the guard from the morning asked.

  “Lots of stuff.” The general laughed. “When he touches the dead, he’ll be able to bring them back, and exchange that life for another. Perfect soldier, huh? We only have one vial ready and I was going to give it to a lucky fellow. Guess it will be this boy.”

  “Whatcha gonna do with him?” The guard snickered.

  “Have to be a test subject,” the general said. “Sure thought it was that Judy who stole my bottle. Pity I killed her. She sure knew how to make my pecker sing.”

  Judy.

  Clark’s mother.

  Clark bolted off the ground and ran. He could hide in the hole under the shed behind the brothel. Mable never found him under there. He might be cursed with raising the dead—he’d already done that to the poor mine worker—but it didn’t mean he’d let them take him for tests.

  Two Years Later

  methyst tossed the six dice into the velvet-lined gully in the center of the table. They struck each other with tiny taps as they rolled. Each side of the die contained carved images of cogs to symbolize their worth. She held up her crossed fingers and flashed a smile at the crowd. “I hope for sixes!”

  Some of the young men and women cheered; others held their breath, leaning over the table beside her.

  The dice stilled.

  “Five sixes and one two,” the Game Master announced.

  “I won!” Amethyst bounced into a twirl, waving her hands overhead. Joseph caught her with a hug to swing her off her feet. She bent her knees, leaning into him; he smelled of sandalwood and musk, exotic. The gold buttons on the front of his jacket pressed into her cheek.

  “Amethyst Treasure, a picture?” A photographer pushed through the crowd. He cradled his camera against his chest with its metal legs stabbing the onlookers. Green-lens goggles covered his eyes beneath a brown top hat.

  “Certainly,” Joseph answered for her. He set her down and her heeled slippers clicked the marble floor. She leaned against his chest and he rested his arm over her shoulders as the photographer steadied his camera on its tripod.

  “What does it feel like to have just won four hundred dollars at Sixes?” The photographer fiddled with the camera’s dials and levers to get the settings correct. Chains on his leather armbands jingled.

  Amethyst smiled, her classic look: the wide eyes to keep wrinkles at bay, lips parted to show the perfect teeth she paid to have straightened and whitened, the chin tipped to make her neck appear longer. She could’ve said that she’d lost almost five hundred earlier in the evening, so she’d almost broken even, but the photographer must’ve missed those rounds. She might’ve commented on how Sixes was the only game women were allowed to play at the club.

  “That’s what we Treasures do. We win.” She tossed a yellow ringlet over Joseph’s arm to give the picture flair. Her father’s latest gift, a sapphire as large as her thumbnail, hung around her neck above the top of her silver corset.

  Gift? She refrained from flaring her nostrils in disgust. The necklace had been more of a bribe.

  “One moment.” The photographer ducked beneath his robe and lifted the flash pump.

  The flash blinded her. As she blinked to clear the stars in her vision, Joseph kissed her cheek. His breath smelled of absinthe.

  Tomorrow’s headline in the city’s top selling newspaper: Treasure Heiress Wins Big at Star Club.

  “You’ve come every summer to my beach house.” Joseph’s lips felt like velvet against her rouged cheek. “This year will be extra special.”

  Her heart thudded and she stepped back. The gas lamps cast shadows over his sharp features. Would this be the year Joseph proposed? At sixteen, she was old enough, and he would be twenty-five come winter. Did she want to give up flirting already?

  A girl with a peacock feather protruding from her chignon bumped her arm. “Amethyst Treasure! I’m so excited to meet you. Can I get your autograph?” The girl pulled a miniature, leather-bound diary from her silk reticule and stabbed it toward Amethyst. “I have a stylus, too.”

  Amethyst stepped back into Joseph and smiled at the younger girl. “I don’t do autographs.” It always felt sweeter when they begged.

  The girl’s eyes widened and Amethyst swore she saw tears in them. “Please? It would mean so much.” Her painted lips trembled.

  Amethyst sighed and shot Joseph a patronizing look. “If you insist, but only this once.”

  “Thank you!” The girl grinned as she thrust the book toward her. She yanked an electronic stylus from her bag. “My name’s Drusilla.”

  Amethyst opened to a page in the middle rather than searching for the next clean one, and signed her name with a dark swirl. She added To and glanced up. “Debbie, you said your name was?”

  “No, Drusilla.”

  “Of course.” People reacted so well when she teased them about their names. To Drewciluh. She hoped that was the correct spelling as she handed back the book. “Our secret.” She winked.

  “Right, of course.” Drusilla clutched it to her chest before scampering into the crowd.

  She would tell the first person who would listen.

  Shrugging, Amethyst turned back to Joseph. “I’m sorry about this summer. You know I love spending time with you.” She trailed her fingertip up his jacket and tapped his chin. “My father has such crazy ideas.”

  If Joseph really wanted to propose, he would find a way. Maybe he would prepare a ball in her honor. Chandeliers and gas lamps. Dancing until dawn. In front of everyone, he would kneel before her and lift a diamond ring on a satin pillow.

  “I’ll be back for winter,” she added. He needed to understand she didn’t leave him by choice. Maybe this absence would help him realize he needed her in his life. Forever. The Treasures would unite with the Velardis, two of the most prominent families in the kingdom. Apart from royalty, of course.

  Amethyst laughed. Most people considered her father equal with royalty. He was the fourth richest man.

  “It seems so far away.” Joseph tucked a yellow curl behind her ear, so she batted her painted eyelashes. Two could play at flirting. This must’ve been why her parents left her in the city when they moved out west—so she could find an appropriate husband.

  “You’ll have to visit me.” To keep him aching for more, she twirled away and grabbed a champagne flute off a passing waitress’s tray. The bubbles tickled her nose and made her tongue tingle. A buzz started in the reaches of her brain. Perhaps it should be her last alcoholic beverage. She could always ask for a goblet of ice water.

  The band struck up a song in the next ballroom. The drumbeat vibrated through the wooden walls, painted white with gold-embossed wainscoting. A violin and flute added to the upbeat tempo, followed by a young man’s strong voice.

  “I’ll sing for you,

  “If you sing for me.

  “I would dance with you,

  “If only you would dance with me.”

  Amethyst drained her glass and set it on the nearest card table. “I love this song!”

  In the adjoining room, people clapped and stomped their feet in time to the beat. She grabbed Joseph’s hand to tug him toward the doorway. A waiter in a black suit with an emerald green bowtie stood with a tray of red wine in crystal goblets. Joseph accepted two and handed her one.

  “Here’s to your farewell night.” He kissed her cheek.

  “Here’s to a grand time.” She clinked her goblet against his before gulping a mouthful. The buzz grew harsher. The gas lamps and candlelit chandelier cast bright glows acros
s the public, but the shadows lingered, hiding the distinctness of faces.

  Bugger it. Joseph would be certain she got home even if she passed out. She finished her drink and dipped her finger in a lingering droplet. Giggling, Amethyst smeared the wine across her lips. Most of the rouge had worn off. Now she would get back that pouty look.

  “May I have another?” She staggered on her feet and laughed louder. The music picked up its beat, so she nodded her head and waved her hand along with the other cheering listeners.

  She should live the party to the fullest. Who knew what excitement lingered in the wilderness out west?

  he scream fired from Jeremiah Treasure’s lungs so harshly it burned his throat. A hawk took to the sky with a cry just as ragged.

  If only the noise could reach his father. Instead, it faded into the desert. His horse nickered from behind, but Jeremiah screamed again. His throat and lungs throbbed, his heart raced, and sweat coated his palms. He should feel better, but the irritation lingered.

  Panting, he sank onto the dirt beside the pond—or, watering hole, as his father called it. The trees surrounding the area cast shadows across the brownish water. Jeremiah grabbed a rock and skimmed it over the surface, sending ripples to scatter the shadows. It sank with a gurgle.

  Why did his brother get to be the one to go to war against the natives? Jeremiah was older by two years. He should get to kill those savages. He should be the hero that navigated the peace between the upper and lower classes.

  He stood and kicked his knee-high leather boots through the dust. Jeremiah could still be his father’s heir, even if he became a soldier. Of course, his father ignored that idea.

  Scowling, Jeremiah pulled his brass watch from his jacket pocket. He still had fifteen minutes until noon, when his sister’s train was due to arrive in town. His parents would want him back at the ranch house when she returned. He would have to smile, laugh, and pretend he’d missed her shallow ways. The wisest thing his father had done in the past ten years had been to leave Amethyst in the city. She didn’t belong in the wilderness.

  His horse whinnied and swung his head toward the field. Jeremiah stood, brushing his palms across his denim slacks. Perspiration dotted across his brow from the sun in the cloudless sky.

  The low rumble of a steamcycle reached his eardrums and he frowned. No one should be on Treasure property except for the hired hands, and he hadn’t assigned anyone to work these fields today.

  Jeremiah stalked to his horse and laid his gloved hand against the neck, sensing strong muscles beneath the flesh. He pulled a hay stalk from the ground and chewed the end of it to calm his nerves.

  The rumble grew louder and the knee-high hay swayed as the rider approached. Wire protruded from along the cycle’s sleek metal body, with black handlebars and a leather seat. Much too city-like for ranching.

  Jeremiah ground his teeth; the fool ruined the field. He could have him arrested for that, make him pay for the spoiled crop. What if the driver didn’t stop? Jeremiah gripped the leather reins. He could mount within a second and chase after the intruder. Although a steamcycle could outrun a horse, the hay would slow down the wheels. Plus, the idiot wouldn’t know the dips in the land.

  The driver turned his cycle toward the watering hole and stopped alongside Jeremiah. Jeremiah stepped forward, while keeping hold of the reins in case the intruder darted off.

  The young man on the steamcycle pulled off his hat and pushed his goggles onto his forehead. Yellow hair, long enough to brush his broad shoulders, stuck to his sweat-soaked forehead. His black, leather jacket had tears in the elbows and the front of his white shirt was missing buttons. Patches covered the knees of his denim pants, with the hems tucked into the tops of his ankle-high boots.

  “You can’t ride on this field,” Jeremiah said when the youth switched off his steamcycle. Since he didn’t look familiar, he might be a new hired hand for one of the neighboring ranches.

  “I’m lookin’ for the Treasure Ranch. Fella in town told me to come this way.” The young man pulled a crimson bandana from his jacket pocket and wiped sweat off his upper lip. Pale stubble decorated his jawline.

  Jeremiah frowned. “What you want with that?”

  “Some old business. Name’s Clark.”

  New to town, then, and looking for work. Someone who didn’t know enough not to ride through hay fields didn’t belong with the Treasures. “Going the wrong way.”

  Clark wrinkled his long nose. “You sure? Fella told me—”

  “Positive,” Jeremiah interrupted. “If you turn around, keep going until you reach the main road.”

  “Just came from there.”

  Impertinent goof. He couldn’t be much older than eighteen, if even that old.

  Jeremiah snorted. “You listen then. You keep heading right. Bound to reach the Treasure Ranch.” The right way that wouldn’t cause any trouble to the land. It would take him an extra hour, too, since the road wound along the stream and followed the fields.

  Did he really want the idiot to show up?

  Jeremiah chuckled, patting his horse’s neck. They could all laugh as Jeremiah’s father kicked the idiot back into town.

  “I dunno….” Clark squinted. “How long will that take?”

  “Not too long. It’s really the only way.” Jeremiah shrugged. He would have to look into putting up a fence along the main road to keep other trespassers out.

  “Well”—Clark snapped his goggles back into place—“thanks for your help, mister. I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “See you,” Jeremiah echoed.

  Clark revved the engine and the steamcycle rumbled forward. He turned it in a wide arc, crushing more of the hay stalks, and headed back the way he’d come. At least he knew enough to follow his tracks instead of making fresh ones.

  As soon as he’d become a speck in the swaying hay, Jeremiah swung into his saddle. “Hi-yah, boy. Best get back before Father comes home with Amethyst. You’re going to love her. From what I recall, she’s scared crazy of horses.”

  The steamcoach pulled into the gravel circle in front of the Treasure mansion. Sunlight glinted off the brass decorations and glass windows. The mutt who hung around the stables ran to meet it, yipping at the metal wheels as they rolled over the gravel pathway.

  Jeremiah leaned back in the white wicker chair and rested his ankles on the porch’s railing. Dirt flaked off his knee-high boots onto the white paint. More filth caked around the buckles on his ankles. He would have to get one of the servants to clean them before his mother saw it.

  His mother and Zachariah stood waiting for the steamcoach on the top steps, clutching hands as though the world were about to crack open. He’d never seen his mother so pale beneath her face paints before; as for Zachariah, did his brother really think their sister would be happy? Amethyst would return to the city within a week.

  Jeremiah grinned. He had a bet going with the barn hands. They’d all assumed she would obey Master Treasure’s wishes and remain on the ranch. Jeremiah chuckled. He knew far better how Amethyst acted.

  The steamcoach halted and the driver hopped down from his front bench to open the side door. Master Treasure stepped down, dressed in his black suit with the brocade necktie. His top hat hid his thick, wavy hair. Jeremiah patted his own, glad he’d inherited that trait. Perhaps he should’ve put on a hat, too. Zachariah wore his army cap, with the brass symbol on the front. He polished it every morning and evening, as if he would perish if it dulled. No wonder Amethyst got along best with him.

  Their father, his face covered by a smile, reached into the steamcoach. From the dim interior, a tiny hand emerged, clothed with a white silk glove. She wrapped her fingers around his and descended the stairs attached to the side of the blue coach.

  Ah. Amethyst. How long did she think white would last in the territory of Hedlund? Even their mother had given up her pale colors in exchange for dark cottons.

  His sister left the hood of her red velvet cape over her head, but yel
low curls long enough to reach her waist cascaded down her chest. A robin’s egg blue dress peeked out, with silver embroidery along the hem.

  “Amethyst!” Their mother stepped down the front porch to the driveway with her arms outstretched. She stopped once she reached the gravel, as if expecting her daughter to come to her. “How I’ve missed you. It’s wonderful to have you here.”

  Amethyst slid her hand from her father’s grasp, but remained beside the steamcoach, smoothing her cape. “It’s dreadfully hot here. What do you suppose the temperature is?” She tipped her head toward their father. “One hundred degrees? One hundred eighty?”

  Jeremiah snorted. Could she be serious? They would be cooked if the temperature reached one-hundred and eighty degrees Fahrenheit. She still had that annoying lilt in her voice, too, where she accentuated the start of each word and heightened the end of her sentences, as if everything counted as a question. Snob.

  Their mother coughed, probably from the dust, and strolled to Amethyst. “Afternoons are always warmer here. You needn’t wear such a heavy thing.” She pushed back her daughter’s hood. “There, darling. Much better.”

  Amethyst had lined her eyes in thick black kohl, and her lips were so red they seemed to gush blood. She’d left her curls down, with the front sections pulled back in a braid. Didn’t she know hair needed to be tied back on a ranch? It was too dangerous to leave it down. One of those curls might be caught in farm machinery and rip off her scalp. Jeremiah had seen it happen to one of the serving women last year.

  “I’m glad to be here.” Amethyst’s words sounded rehearsed and her smile barely moved her lips.

  “It was a tiring train ride,” their father said as the driver drove the steamcoach toward the barns.

  “How many hours?” Zachariah sauntered to them and kissed Amethyst’s cheek. She stiffened, but at least she didn’t wipe it off.

  “Three days.” She glanced at their father. “Thank you for purchasing a private bunk for me. It made the journey much more relaxing.”