One With the Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page A

treasure box contained.
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    Kate turned up the lamp at the scarred writing table with shaking hands. She threw back her veil. It was all she could do not to rip the box open. Instead, she brought the box up where she could examine it. It was made of ornate silver, about three inches square. The chased filigree had an Oriental flavor to it, with crescent moons (or were they scimitars?) and what looked like ornate writing. Perhaps Arabic? The box itself was worth at least a hundred pounds. Not enough to escape her life, but then again, she hadn’t even looked inside yet. What might such a box hold?
    Holding her breath, she pressed the simple catch. She raised the lid, fingers quivering.
    What first appeared was black velvet, scrunched into a nest. She opened the lid wide. In the nest lay an emerald.
    Dear God in heaven. It was the emerald from her vision tonight. Had she really foreseen it? Impossible. As impossible as the stone before her. The thing was two inches across. It was cut, not in the fashionable square, but cabochon, smooth and elliptical on one side, flat on the other. But there must be facets somewhere, for the thing glinted and flickered.
    It was almost … hypnotizing.
    Her fingers seemed to reach for it of their own accord. She touched it gingerly, as though it might spark green lightning from its core and stun her. She lifted it from its bed and held it to the light, fascinated. Inside the great stone, light flashed in ripples. How could the light … move? It was as if a great snake was uncoiling, its scales catching the light and sparkling as it rolled. The stone seemed alive—alive with possibilities, if only one could read them. She gazed, unblinking, as the coils moved and flickered. They seemed to whisper to her, and what they whispered made her shudder, even though she couldn’t understand the words. She looked closer, peering into the depths. On each glinting scale was writ … What were those? Tiny moving pictures? She couldn’t make them out. They flashed like cards being shuffled, so quickly. She had an impression that each was a variation on the last. It made her queasy. She couldn’t think.
    And then the impression drained away. Her stomach settled.
    She shook her head. How long had she been staring here? Light was leaking in around her curtains. Carefully she put the emerald back in its nest and closed the box.
    There. She felt lighter.
    Still, this was a pretty problem. All the answers to her prayers were here inside this box. This stone was worth enough to buy a cottage and keep her solvent even if she lived a hundred years. Escape, fulfillment, peace, lay right in her hands.
    But not in its current form. To fuel her future, she must sell it. But who would buy such a unique stone without provenance or receipt? No one would believe she could own a stone like this. Whoever bought it would know that the true owner would come looking for it.
    One man might come looking for it very soon. How long before he realized that a casual bump in the street had cost him his most precious possession? Could he track her down? Did they cut off hands for stealing in Italy?
    The gem had to be cut. And she must do it today.
    Her mind began to race. Jewelers would know who could cut a jewel. Dialogue began racing through her head. I have a necklace, from my mother. Much too large for current fashions, more’s the pity. I want only the best to cut it, you know. Her cache of money must be sacrificed to pay for the work. The cutter might also try to blackmail her for a share of the resulting stones.
    So be it. Even part of the proceeds would make her dream a reality.
    She should be exhausted, but a strange exhilaration rolled through her. Today, this very day, she might escape this public display of her scars, and her precarious existence one step away from a brothel. She packed the stone into its box and took it into the sitting room. She glanced around as a prickle ran down her neck. A strange