Ryan thumped the bed. “Are you insane? This child is going to need therapy for the rest of her life if you carry on like this.”
“Ryan. I’ve seen this man. Heidi’s seen this man. He’s still here for a purpose and whatever that may be, I have every reason to believe he doesn’t exactly have our backs. Heidi’s only nine. She’s more susceptible than you or me. A soft target. If we’re going to have a normal life—or at least something more normal than this—we have to find out what we’re dealing with. This lady, Paula…”
Heidi spoke. “They left her. In the basement with the other woman.”
No denying it now. However crazy. Yvonne really had been there. Those bodies were lying down in that basement. Rotting. Her fear threshold had been breached. What other horrors did Heidi know?
“Who was the woman?”
“The one who tried to drive the man out of the house when Paula lived here.”
“I can’t listen to any more of this.” Ryan made to leave the bedroom.
Yvonne stopped him. “No, Ryan. Please. Stay and listen with me. What Heidi’s saying… Look, I saw those bodies, too. I thought I’d had a nightmare, but now…”
Ryan sighed deeply and sat down on the other side of the bed.
“Now, tell me again,” Yvonne said, taking both Heidi’s hands in hers. “The woman inside you—Paula—she brought someone in to cleanse the house of the man in the basement.”
“Only he wasn’t in the basement then, but, yes.”
“And she and Paula were killed and their bodies are still in the basement?”
Heidi nodded.
“Dear God,” Yvonne breathed.
Heidi yawned. Her eyes were closing and she leaned against her mother.
“Okay, love. That’s it for now,” her mother said, lifting her up. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
When Yvonne returned from tucking her daughter in, Ryan lay on his side, snoring lightly. What was it about men? Even in a crisis, they had no trouble sleeping. Yvonne lay awake, praying that in the morning it would be Ryan by her side and not a one-hundred-year-old corpse.
* * * *
The rain splashed against the windows and streamed down them in rivulets. Trees swayed outside and leaves swirled in the wind. Yvonne turned back from the library window and handed the note she had found the previous day to Ryan.
“What do you make of that?” she asked.
He peered at it, turned it over and set it down on the desk.
“A letter from Dr. Emeryk Quintillus to Miss Gabriele Ziegler requesting the pleasure of her company for coffee at a café near the Lorenz Museum in Berlin.”
“But what is it doing here? I found it last night as if someone had just put it there.”
“Maybe it fell out of a book you were reading.”
“I would have known if it had and I haven’t been reading at this desk.”
“Well, however it got there, it’s precious little use to anyone now. The two participants are both long dead and the café probably hasn’t existed since Berlin was bombed during the war, even assuming it lasted that long.”
“I wonder if she made it.”
“Who?”
“Gabriele Ziegler. I wonder if she met Dr. Quintillus that day.”
“Who knows? What I’m concerned about is what we’re going to do about Heidi.”
“She’s telling the truth. I’ve seen Quintillus and the bodies. How can you still think they’re mere fantasies? Continuing to deny the facts isn’t helping, Ryan. You remember when we went down to the basement. That sudden rush of wind. The awful smell and what happened after we came back up. You experienced that, too. And the picture…” She looked at the blank wall with incredulity. “It’s gone.”
“What’s gone?”
“That small Klimt portrait.”
Ryan ran his hand over the wall where it had hung. “Nothing. There’s not even a mark where the picture hook was.”
“But we both saw it there.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”
“I mean we can’t have seen it. There’s nothing there now.”
“Oh, come on, Ryan, that’s stretching things too far. We didn’t have some mass hallucination: it was there and now it isn’t. Explain that if you can.”
“I admit I can’t. I’m as much at a loss as you are, but I’m not yet completely ready to ascribe all this to the supernatural. I agree there is something wrong with this house. I said as much. But science can usually explain the apparently inexplicable. I’ve set up that tape in Heidi’s room and I’ve found someone who can translate ancient Egyptian so let’s wait and see.”
“You know the door to the basement is locked again. We need to explore that far room. I should imagine that’s locked again as well. Maybe then you’ll be convinced. When you see for yourself what’s down there.”
Ryan sighed. “Let’s wait another day. See if the tape registers anything and let’s try not to wind Heidi up any more than she already is.” He looked around. “Have you seen that cat recently?”
“I think she’s up in Heidi’s room. She’s certainly a loyal little thing.”
“Let’s hope so.”
* * * *
For once, Yvonne slept through that night without disturbance and woke to a brilliant sunny morning, birds singing as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
She drew back the curtains, opened the windows, and inhaled the sweet, dewy air. Trams clattered a short distance away, and below, she caught a glimpse of Sekhmet prowling the lawn. The cat looked up at her, blinking her eyes. She stretched her paws lazily and yawned before slinking away into the undergrowth.
“Mum?” Heidi came into the bedroom. “Has Dad gone to work?”
“Yes, love. I’ve just seen your cat in the garden. She’s certainly made herself at home, hasn’t she?”
Heidi smiled and nodded. “She’s so clever. She knows so many things. And she’s lived so many lives.”
“I hope she hasn’t used them all up. She’s only allowed nine, you know.”
“No, she isn’t. That’s a silly superstition. Sekhmet told me so. She’s had nine hundred so far.”
“Nine hundred? Goodness.” Where was her daughter getting this from? It could almost be from the cat.
“When did she tell you all this?”
“Last night.”
Yvonne remembered the voice recorder. “Tell you what, why don’t you go and find Sekhmet and play in the garden for an hour or so? I can get on with some work and then we can do something together for the rest of the day?”
“That sounds good.” Heidi trotted off happily.
Yvonne stood by the window for a few minutes until she saw Heidi come into the garden, closely followed by the cat, who rolled on her back to have her tummy tickled.
Yvonne smiled and made her way to Heidi’s room. She quickly found the recorder where Ryan said it would be and took it back to her room. She rewound it and pressed Play. Heidi’s voice came over loud and clear. “How old are you, Sekhmet?”
Yvonne held her breath and waited. Sounds of shuffling and a short purr had almost reassured her. Until.
A soft feminine voice spoke words Yvonne had no way of understanding. Heidi replied in the same language. Yvonne switched off the recorder and stuffed it in her purse. She took out her cell phone and called Ryan. He picked up on the second ring.
“I’ve got the recorder. You’re going to need that linguist.”
There was a short pause and a sharp intake of breath. “You’re serious?”
“Never more so. Heidi and…someone else…are speaking in some language I have never come across.”
“Good grief.”
“Now will you believe me?”
“Let’s see if it really is ancient Egyptian.
I’ll be home early and take it over to Yasmin for translation. Assuming it is translatable. It couldn’t be that Heidi was speaking rubbish in two different voices? Inventing her own language? Kids do that.”
“Not this time. I can’t see how. The other voice was entirely different. Older. More mellow.”
“Okay. We’ll see what Yasmin makes of it.”
He hung up. Despite the warm day, Yvonne shivered. Goose bumps broke out over her arms and a now-familiar feeling of dread came over her. Outside, she caught Heidi once again chattering to the cat in that strange tongue. She stopped as soon as she became aware of her mother. Sekhmet sat upright, paws perfectly together, looking regal and slightly haughty.
“What are you two talking about?”
Heidi avoided her eyes. “Nothing much.”
Yvonne hesitated, in case Heidi decided to be more forthcoming. She didn’t.
“Right. How about a trip to the Prater this afternoon? We could go up on the Riesenrad. The views over Vienna must be stunning on a day like this.”
“That’s the giant wheel, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s very famous.”
“I’d like to see it. It’s a shame we can’t take Sekhmet.”
“She wouldn’t enjoy it. Cats like to choose their own method of transport, and it’s usually on the ground with all four paws.”
“Sekhmet isn’t like other cats.”
Observing the steady gaze of the black cat, now transfixed on her daughter, Yvonne believed her.
* * * *
They arrived at the Prater at a relatively quiet time. The queue for the ever-moving Riesenrad was short and within minutes they were shepherded into an empty cabin and joined by four other people. The giant wheel moved slowly, climbing high above the rooftops of Vienna. On such a clear day, the view seemed almost endless, over houses, apartment blocks, churches, and parks, out toward the dark Wienerwald—the fabled Vienna Woods. Heidi’s eyes grew wider and more fascinated the higher they ascended.
Yvonne marveled at the beauty of the city spread out all around them. All the strange events of the past few days faded into the distance.
Heidi, too, seemed to relax. The furrow between her eyebrows became less pronounced, she was more like her old self. At no time were the events of the past few days mentioned.
* * * *
“I had no idea there was a Madame Tussauds here,” Yvonne said. “Shall we go in?”
Heidi nodded enthusiastically and her smile lit up her face. Once in, Yvonne marveled at the detail on the exquisite features of the Empress Elisabeth—known in her family and now to the world as Sisi. She took Heidi into the special exhibition dedicated to the tragic empress whose legend lived on more than a century after her assassination.
“She was so beautiful, Mum. Why would anyone want to murder her?”
“Why indeed?”
After the exhibition, they passed by Sigmund Freud looking studious and thoughtful in his consulting chair, Einstein with his unruly mop of hair, Elvis, Marilyn Monroe placing her handprints on Hollywood Boulevard, Angelina Jolie, Barack Obama, Freddie Mercury. So many famous faces, some more accurately depicted than others, it had to be said, but still a fascinating collection drawing a fair-sized crowd of admirers.
They had been wandering around the museum for nearly an hour. Heidi jumped on stage with Lady Gaga and Katy Perry and demanded a photo each time. They had to wait a few minutes for Justin Bieber to be free so that Heidi could put her arms around him.
Further on, Yvonne lingered in front of Gustav Klimt, whose frown indicated he had been somewhat reluctantly interrupted in the middle of painting. If only that figure were real, so many of her questions could be answered. But the glass eyes stared back at her, unseeing and inanimate.
Yvonne snapped away with her phone and Heidi’s giggles seemed unending. Until…
In a quiet part of the museum, a figure looked strangely out of place. As soon as Yvonne saw it, her heart almost stopped.
The figure’s skin lacked the living quality the wax brought to all the others. Instead of healthy and vivid, this figure looked gray and withered. She took in the long black jacket, elaborate purple cravat, flowing black hair, and stovepipe hat, but the figure’s eyes… Surely this model was unfinished. It had no eyes. Like the hideous figure in her bed. Why would Tussauds have a waxwork of him here? She looked quickly around. Heidi hadn’t seen it, and Yvonne didn’t want her to.
Too late. Her daughter turned around and her expression changed from happy to scared. She pointed at it, put her hand to her mouth, and all the color drained from her face. Yvonne looked back.
The figure wasn’t made of wax. It was Emeryk Quintillus, and he moved.
Yvonne screamed and then she was opening her eyes, looking up from where she had fallen on the floor.
Heidi’s white face stared down at her. “Mum, you fainted.”
A small crowd had gathered. Tourists mainly, by the different languages she heard. A young male official in a uniform came over to her.
“Madam, are you all right? Can you stand?”
Yvonne took the proffered hand. “Yes, I think so.” She struggled to her feet, wondering why she was swaying so much.
“Please, you sit for a little bit,” the official said. “I bring you water to drink.”
He guided her to a chair and she sat across from a beatific Dalai Lama.
There was no sign of Quintillus.
Heidi knelt down next to her mother and held her hand. The official returned and Yvonne accepted the water gratefully, drinking half the glass in one go.
“Is there something else I can get for you?”
“No, thank you so much for your help. I shall be fine in a minute.”
The small crowd had dispersed and Yvonne squeezed Heidi’s hand. “Did you see him too?” she asked.
“Yes, and so did the lady inside me. She became very scared.” She looked up at her mother and the fear in her eyes clutched at Yvonne’s heart. “Mum, I think he wants to hurt us. He was here today to let us know we cannot escape from him. Wherever we go he will follow us. He’s no longer forced to stay in the basement or even the house.”
“But I don’t understand what he wants.”
“I do. It’s me. He wants me.”
Berlin, 1900
Chapter 12
Hermann Ziegler lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the fire. He liked his office. It gave him a sense of peace in an increasingly mad world. His window looked out over the calm waters of the Spree River with the buildings of central Berlin stretching out along the banks.
His thirteen years at the Lorenz Museum had been rewarding, both personally and professionally, even if it had meant working with some less-than-honest people and even some decidedly disturbing characters. And they didn’t come much more disturbing than Emeryk Quintillus.
Ziegler shuddered. What was it about that man? He seemed to pollute the very air around him. The piercing stare and eccentric manner of his dress and the constant nagging doubts as to the legitimacy of how Quintillus obtained his finds all contributed to a general unease and discomfort that he never experienced in any other’s presence.
But the man continued to find and offer such premium-quality artifacts. Solid gold statuettes of such exquisite design and intricacy. Jewel-encrusted necklaces and diadems—many of which had no equal in his experience. How could he pass them up simply because he found the supplier so disagreeable?
A knock at the door gave Ziegler a start and it was already opening when he called, “Enter.”
The tall man removed his stovepipe hat and strode into the room, his gait almost a swagger. He carried a gladstone bag, which he placed carefully on a highly polished mahogany table.
“Good morning, Herr Doktor,” Ziegler said, the words catching in this throat.
Quintill
us nodded. “Herr Ziegler.”
“What have you brought for me today?”
Quintillus opened his bag and removed a cloth-covered package. “Early findings from my first dig at Taposiris Magna. A statuette. Almost certainly of Cleopatra herself.”
He unwrapped the package and revealed an almost perfect alabaster statuette about eighteen inches high.
Ziegler took it from him and held it up to the light. The little statue was brightly decorated, its eyes outlined in black, its lips cherry red. “You say you found this at Taposiris Magna?”
“Indeed. My research has led me there. I expect to find Cleopatra’s tomb there one day.”
Ziegler stared at him. “Whyever would she be there? She died at Alexandria, surely.”
“I believe not.” The response was curt, brooking no disagreement. Ziegler let the subject drop. He had no energy for an argument with this man. Especially not today. Today he would be meeting his daughter off the train from Vienna. A short visit, but a most welcome one. Nothing, not even Emeryk Quintillus, should be allowed to spoil the anticipation of seeing his lovely Gabriele.
Ziegler continued to examine the piece. “You obtained the papers to export this from Egypt?”
“Everything is taken care of, rest assured.”
Why did he feel Quintillus had just sidestepped the answer? He pushed his doubts to one side. His role was to obtain the finest antiquities for the museum, and this beautiful object would be a worthy addition to the steadily amassing wealth of treasure from ancient Egypt, which was fast making the Lorenz a hugely popular tourist destination and Quintillus a wealthy man.
“There is more.” Quintillus reached into his bag once more and withdrew another cloth-covered package. This time, gleaming gold.
The statue was of a god with tall ears and a long, curved snout. He carried a delicate-looking staff in one hand and an ankh in the other.
“Set,” Ziegler said. “God of chaos and war.”
“Among other things. I have reason to believe there were originally two of these but, as yet, I have traced only one.”
Ziegler picked it up and a shock coursed up his arm, so fierce he almost dropped the artifact.
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