LEGACY IN DEATH
Egypt, 1908
University student Lizzie Charters accompanies her mentor, Dr. Emeryk Quintillus, on the archeological dig to uncover Cleopatra’s tomb. Her presence is required for a ceremony conducted by the renowned professor to resurrect Cleopatra’s spirit—inside Lizzie’s body. Quintillus’s success is short-lived, as the Queen of the Nile dies soon after inhabiting her host, leaving Lizzie’s soul adrift . . .
Vienna, 2018
Paula Bancroft’s husband just leased Villa Dürnstein, an estate once owned by Dr. Quintillus. Within the mansion are several paintings and numerous volumes dedicated to Cleopatra. But the archeologist’s interest in the Egyptian empress deviated from scholarly into supernatural, infusing the very foundations of his home with his dark fanaticism. And as inexplicable manifestations rattle Paula’s senses, threatening her very sanity, she uncovers the link between the villa, Quintillus, and a woman named Lizzie Charters.
And a ritual of dark magic that will consume her soul . . .
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Books by Catherine Cavendish
Nemesis of the Gods
Wrath of the Ancients
Waking the Ancients
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Waking the Ancients
Nemesis of the Gods
Catherine Cavendish
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
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Copyright © 2018 by Catherine Cavendish
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First Electronic Edition: April 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0486-4
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0486-2
First Print Edition: April 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0489-5
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0489-7
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
To Colin, without whom…
Acknowledgments
Massive thanks to friend and fellow horror author, Julia Kavan for her time, patience and unfailing ability to spot the errors of my ways. Huge thanks too to my tireless editor, Tera Cuskaden and all at Kensington-Lyrical.
Prologue
The man looked down at his scattered ashes. “I am growing tired of waiting. When will I be free of this prison?”
“Soon.” The woman moved away in that fluid, ethereal manner of hers. Her scarlet gown flowed around her. An armlet shaped in the goddess Isis’s symbol—a coiled cobra—gleamed. Heavy black kohl rimmed her eyes, emphasizing the deep violet of her irises, while her long, black hair, set in many tight braids, reached her waist. “You must be patient,” the woman said. “I told you I would help you get what you desire.”
“But that isn’t possible. She is back in her body. Back in her tomb.”
“All is possible. I have the power. Haven’t I proved it? Aren’t you the proof of it?”
“I still don’t live.”
“Your spirit lives.”
“My spirit cannot touch her.”
“But it can touch her spirit. Mate with her spirit if you so desire.”
“And why would you do this for me?”
“My revenge is incomplete. My murdering sister rests while I am forced to wander in spirit with no substance of my own.”
“And how will it be done? I am in your hands. This is not comfortable for me. I am always in control.”
The woman threw back her head and laughed, showing black, rotten teeth. Stinking, no doubt, if he could smell anything.
“You have not been in control for a long time. The god I serve is Set, and he is in control. He will come and he will work through me. More powerful this time, for Sekhmet will bring him.”
“And I will have my queen?”
“You will have her.”
“She will be in the one who is here now?”
“That is to be determined.”
“But this one is not of the blood.”
“She will not be possessed, but transformed. We do not need a blood relative.”
“That has been tried before. And failed.”
“The rules were not properly followed. You cannot possess all of her. You have seen that. The gods will not allow it. Her spirit must be divided. Some of it must remain with her body—and lie cold in her tomb. Waiting. Always waiting. In that way, the gods are appeased and my price is also exacted.”
“So part of my queen will still wander, looking for her lover, but enough of her spirit will be released to come to me.”
“Now you understand. You will have all that you desire, and my revenge will not be compromised.”
“And I can be with her. For all time.”
The woman didn’t answer. She gave the merest hint of a smile and passed on.
In his world of shadows, Dr. Emeryk Quintillus waited.
Chapter 1
Vienna, Austria, 2018
“Count Markus von Dürnstein was the last member of the family to actually live here.” The estate agent’s English hinted at an expensive education. Barely an inflection to show he was Austrian.
Paula Bancroft smoothed her long, dark hair—a habit she was trying to break. As a child, whenever she had been scared or anxious, this gesture had brought her some comfort. She hadn’t done it for years, but this past week, since arriving in Vienna, she had caught herself doing it time and again. It would all be better when she had settled down. Even more so when she had mastered enough of the language to at least get by.
She gazed around at the splendid marble-columned hallway. Recently restored, like the rest of this grand house, it looked fresh, bright, and clinically clean, to a point where its personality had been eradicated.
Paula’s husband, Phil, gave her a reassuring wink. “Why don’t the family live here anymore?” he asked.
Did she imagine it, or did Stefan—the agent—deliberately avoid eye contact?
“I’m not sure exactly, but I believe they did not wish to stay in Vienna. The family moved to Salzburg more than forty years ago. They have let the house ever since, more or less. It is beautiful, yes?”
Paula nodded. She would definitely have to find some pictures to put on these stark white walls.
“I understand your contract with the United Natio
ns here is for three years?” Stefan asked.
“That’s right,” Phil replied. “Dream come true, really. I’ve always loved Vienna. Used to come here a lot when I was a boy. I had relatives here, but they’ve died now, sadly.”
“I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Bancroft.”
Phil shrugged. “It was a long time ago. What do you think, Paula? Pretty magnificent, isn’t it?”
As long as it isn’t all like this, Paula thought. Out loud she said, “Let’s have a proper look round.”
Stefan smiled. “Of course. We will start with the library.” He opened the polished oak door and Paula gasped at the sight ahead of and above her.
“That ceiling is amazing,” she said. “It looks like Klimt’s work.”
Stefan smiled. “You know your art, Mrs. Bancroft. Yes, Gustav Klimt was commissioned to paint this by a former owner, an archaeologist called Dr. Emeryk Quintillus. He had a passion for Egyptology, and the painting depicts the arrival of Cleopatra at Tarsus. You see her in her golden barge, attended by her handmaidens. I understand it was painted in 1905, when Klimt was at the height of his talent. You can tell by all the gold leaf he has used. Of course, you know his most famous painting, Der Kuss?”
“The Kiss? Yes. It’s hanging in the Belvedere Museum, isn’t it?”
Stefan nodded. “Along with a number of his paintings. Most galleries in Vienna have their share of Klimt originals.”
“I shall make it my job to visit them.” Paula tore her eyes away from the opulent queen on her lavish barge. “There must be five thousand books here.”
“More, I believe.”
“You won’t be lost for something to read on the long winter nights when I’m in New York,” Phil said.
Paula grimaced. “I’ll be a bit stuck until I can speak more German.”
“Ah, but Dr. Quintillus—and this is his collection—spoke many languages,” Stefan said, “including fluent English. I believe he spent some years working at Oxford University. The books in English are up on the second level. You go up the staircase.” Stefan indicated a wrought iron spiral stairway in the corner of the room.
“Was Dr. Quintillus a relation of the von Dürnsteins?” Paula asked. “I was wondering why all his books are still here.”
“No, he doesn’t seem to have had any relatives. When he died, I understand the house was briefly occupied but then left empty for some years, until it was bought by an uncle of Count Markus. He mysteriously disappeared one night, along with his wife. It is a strange story. They were never seen again and, having no children, the house passed to his nephew as next of kin. Through every change of occupant, the books stayed. It is quite a collection.”
“It certainly is. I shall enjoy myself in here.” Paula pictured herself spending many happy hours surrounded by what promised to be an eclectic collection of literature.
“Come on, let’s see the rest of the house,” Phil said. “You’ll have all the time you want to spend in here but Stefan will have to get back to the office.”
Paula reluctantly allowed herself to be led out of the library and into room after room, all furnished with traditional, dark wood furniture. A dining room with a long, polished mahogany table and eight chairs, a living room with wood-block floor, thick-pile red rugs and a comfortable-looking suite. A massive flat-screen TV mounted on one wall and an open fire stacked with sweet-smelling pine logs promised cozy nights curled up with a glass of Blaufränkisch wine.
On the next floor, corridors led off either side of the staircase, and Stefan opened one door after the other. Most of the rooms stood empty. Three contained contemporary furniture and comfy-looking double or king-sized beds.
“This one has traditionally been used as the master bedroom.” Stefan opened the door and, for a second, Paula caught a faint whiff of lilies. Gone as soon as it had appeared, she dismissed it. Furniture polish, probably. Goodness knew there was certainly plenty of polishing to be done, especially downstairs. Still, she had been promised some help. She might not have a job here, but she certainly didn’t intend to swap the life of a history teacher for one of a domestic housewife.
She tested the bed with her hand and sat down on it. “We should sleep well on this,” she said. “The mattress is good and firm.”
Phil picked up a fluffy white pillow. “And we can have pillow fights.” He threw it at her and she ducked. It flew over her head and landed on the floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, Paula caught Stefan giving them an odd look. No doubt he wasn’t used to seeing forty-somethings playing and giggling like schoolkids. Paula stood, and Phil retrieved the pillow.
“You will see the room has been recently decorated,” Stefan pointed at the walls. “I hope you like the color. I chose it myself.”
“Very nice,” Paula said, not totally sure she liked the gray in so much abundance in a bedroom. It seemed more in keeping with a living room, but she could live with it.
“Love the carpet.” She stroked it with her foot. Soft, thick pile, with a contemporary design in shades of gray and lilac.
“The en suite is through here.” Stefan opened a door and snapped on the light. Paula took in the stunning black-and-white marble walls and the generous sized bath. Ideal for a luxurious, long soak.
A shadow flitted across the periphery of her vision. She shivered. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her.
“You cold?” Phil asked, joining her. He put his arm around her.
“No. I don’t know why I did that. You know that old saying—a goose just walked over my grave? Well, it felt like that. Seriously like that.”
“Apart from random wandering wild fowl, what do you think of Villa Dürnstein?”
“I like it.” Paula told herself she meant it, but somewhere deep inside her, the same instinct that had made her shiver now began to worry at her. She dismissed it.
“What’s on the top floor?” she asked.
Stefan looked surprised she had posed that particular question. But surely anyone would be curious?
“Just more rooms. Originally the servants lived up there. I believe it is all empty now. You can use it for storage, or maybe put anything you don’t require in one of the spare rooms on this floor.”
“It seems such a shame,” Paula said. “I mean, a lovely big house and only the two of us rattling around. A place like this should have a large family, loads of kids running up and down these corridors.”
She hadn’t imagined it. The estate agent flinched when she said that. In that moment, she was sure he knew something he wasn’t telling them—and that thought bothered her more than a little.
“When we arrived, I noticed there were windows below street level,” she said. “So there’s a basement, right?”
“Yes, there is a basement. The old kitchen is down there. About forty years ago, the family installed a new kitchen in one of the rooms on the ground floor. For modern convenience, of course. You wouldn’t like your food to get cold.”
“Of course.” Paula was beginning to dislike this man. He was too smooth, and right now she wouldn’t have trusted him to direct her in a straight line. “I’d like to go down there, please.”
“Paula!” Phil said. “Now? Really? You can explore all the nooks and crannies when we’ve moved in, surely.”
Paula shot him a look. “I’d like to investigate now, while Stefan is still here. That way if anything’s wrong, or we have any questions, we can get them answered straight away.”
“Well, I suppose that makes some sort of sense,” Phil said. “Stefan, would you mind?”
Again, the oily smoothness dripped off him. Yet it didn’t seem to bother Phil at all.
“Not at all,” Stefan said. “I would show you down there if I could.” A hint of a smile played around the corners of his lips. Paula didn’t like that smile. Sly. She guessed what was coming next.
“The problem is,” he said, “I don’t have a key to the basement. I am not sure if my company has one, either. No one has ever asked to go down there.”
“Really?” Paula couldn’t remove all trace of sarcasm from her voice. Phil looked at her questioningly. “I would have thought anyone living here would want to get to know every inch of it. It’s an intriguing old house, and basements are usually where you find the most interesting bits. All the forgotten detritus. This one has the added advantage of housing an old kitchen, presumably with at least some of the original utensils and cooking devices still intact. I would find that fascinating.”
“My wife paints. She’s an artist.” Paula wished Phil didn’t sound as if he was attempting to explain her reaction.
“Then you are in the right city, Mrs. Bancroft. Have you exhibited yet?”
Before Paula could respond, Phil chipped in. “She’s won prizes for her paintings and sold a few.”
“It’s a hobby of mine. I like to paint landscapes and interesting buildings. That’s why I’m so interested in the basement.”
“Yes, I can understand that. Wait until you see the garden. You will want to paint that, I am sure.”
Paula smiled at him but was determined not to let Stefan off lightly. “When do you think you would be able to locate a key?”
Again his eyes avoided her. There was no mistaking it this time. What was he hiding?
“I’m not sure. I will have to contact the family. Maybe it is lost.”
“If that’s the case, we’ll need to get a locksmith in and have the lock changed. That won’t be a problem, will it?” She smiled, determined to match his smoothness with her own.
Stefan said nothing. Phil frowned. “Come on, let’s get back to the hotel. Our trunks will be arriving here tomorrow and we need an early start.”
They made their way downstairs, and Stefan handed Phil the keys. Paula returned to the library for one last look at Klimt’s painting. “Dr. Quintillus,” she said. “Who were you, I wonder?”
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