The Forgotten Locket Read Online Free PDF Page B

smoothed away. “What are you doing here?” he snapped. Without waiting for an answer, he turned to his smaller companion. “Why didn’t you tell me of this, Domenico?”
     
    “I . . . he . . .” the small man stammered. “He wasn’t here before. I swear.” His eyes darted to the black door in the center of the room, and his face paled even more.
     
    The words the men spoke sounded odd to my ears. I could understand them perfectly, and yet, there was a part of me that insisted the men were speaking a different language. But how could that be?
     
    The man sitting on the floor suddenly rocked to his heels and stood up, his body tall and straight. He held his hands loose by his sides, but I could sense the power coiled in his limbs. He was strong. And clearly not someone to cross.
     
    I noticed his wrists were black with marks that looked like chains. The sight of those chains stirred something in me, but not fear or unease. I felt a shiver of memory brush past, leaving behind a sense of calm and confidence. Whatever was going on, I felt like I was where I was supposed to be. And with a person I was supposed to find.
     
    I took a small step, but the table was in the way. As I bumped into it, the scales tipped over, the metal making a small clang as it hit the wood.
     
    The attention from all three men snapped to me.
     
    “Who are you?” the tall man demanded of me. He gestured sharply to his assistant, and the small man trotted around the room, lighting the extra candles, the flames flickering madly in his haste to illuminate the space.
     
    “How did you get in here?” The tall man took a step in my direction, his eyes dark and angry.
     
    Orlando shifted to block his approach, his slack hands tightening into fists.
     
    “What is your name?” the newcomer demanded of me.
     
    My ears rang with the sharpness of his question and underneath the noise, I heard the memory of another voice asking me the same question. Testing me.
     
    But unlike last time, now a name hovered in my mind. My name: Abigail. I held it to me like a treasured gift. I didn’t want to tell it to these strangers, though; I didn’t want to let it go. It was the one thing I could hold on to against the shifting tide of my unsteady memory.
     
    I swallowed, forcing my body to stay still and my mouth to stay closed. My eyes met Orlando’s and in his blue eyes, I saw an unexpected calmness. An invitation to trust him.
     
    “I did what you wanted,Angelo,” Orlando said to the man in the green coat, positioning his body so he stood between me and him. “I went through the machine, and I came back. It’s time for you to honor your promise.”
     
    Angelo weighed Orlando with his gaze. His mouth twisted into a frown. “We’re not done with you yet.”
     
    “You promised—” Orlando began.
     
    “I know what was promised. What I don’t know is what happened to you. How did you return here? And when? We were not scheduled to open the door until tomorrow.”
     
    Orlando flicked a glance at the black door that filled the room with its silent presence. He tugged at the blood-stained cuffs of his shirt, pulling the sleeves down over his hands, hiding his chains. “I came home another way,” he said quietly. “The place where I was . . . it was not safe.”
     
    At Orlando’s words, I had a moment of sensory overload: gray light, a landscape that stretched beyond the horizon, the sound of water falling like broken glass. I pressed my hand to my forehead, but the memory was gone.
     
    “And where—exactly—were you?” Angelo strode forward to the high table, past Orlando, past the black door. He didn’t seem disturbed by its ominous nature; he seemed to treat it like it was just another piece of furniture in the room. I didn’t think that was wise.
     
    As he approached me, I sidestepped away, skirting the edge of the freestanding door until I was standing close to Orlando. Though I didn’t know exactly who he was, I felt like