Born of Treasure (Treasure Chronicles Book 2) (24 page)

Something in the cabinet rattled. Amethyst pulled open the lower drawer and breath caught in her throat.

Tiny vials of green liquid filled the drawer, apart from a wooden box. The green shade reminded her of absinthe.

Clark had told her he’d drunk the tonic just for that reason. She popped the lid on the wooden case and widened her eyes at the brown paper packets stuffed inside.
Hertum
had been scrawled across the fronts. When he’d breathed in the mineral, the tonic had taken effect.

If she had the same ability, she could save lives. She wouldn’t have to rely on Clark and she could keep it a secret from Senator Horan. If Clark could talk to ghosts, then so could she. Eric could help her escape, and she could communicate to Clark through him.

Amethyst lifted out a middle bottle and popped the cork. A metallic odor wafted from the interior, making her throat clench. Before her stomach could rebel, she tossed the liquid down her throat as she would have if she were in a club. It burned and scalded, and she coughed, doubling over. She backed into a settee and sank down, still coughing. It seared up her nose and through her chest as though it were fire. Her eyes watered and she wiped them on her sleeve.

After shoving the cork back inside, she replaced the bottle and took out one of the packets. She shut the wooden box and closed the drawer. A vial might not have been filled, but an empty packet would look suspicious. She grinned, realizing how much she sounded like Clark.

She cracked the wax seal on the envelope and peered at the gray powder inside. He’d said he’d inhaled it, so she couldn’t eat it. Amethyst tossed the powder into the air and inhaled. It roared down her throat like a lion, constricting her lungs. She coughed, and waited until her airways calmed, before repeating with more powder. The government wouldn’t keep stashes in envelopes if the victim wasn’t supposed to take it all.

Some powder drifted across her front and the floor. She scraped her shoe across the ornate carpet until the grayness wore into the yellow swirls and red triangles. Stuffing the envelope with ash from the fireplace—it did look close enough to hertum, she settled back onto the chair by the window. The secretary couldn’t really have expected
the
infamous Amethyst Treasure to sit still.

She pulled the brocade curtain aside to peer at the outdoors, a bit of grass and an iron fence, and beyond that, desert. Some of the sand and rock had worked its way past the fence to murder the lawn.

The office door opened to a man with a gray mustache and the secretary pushing a mahogany cart.

“My dear.” The man bowed to Amethyst.

She rose, her chin tilted upward, and held out her hand. “Sir.” She let sarcasm seep into the word.

He stiffened, but kissed her knuckles and stepped back.

“I suppose you’re Senator Horan?” She allowed her words to drawl. If he wanted to keep her a prisoner, she could flash him her people skills. The media didn’t adore her for nothing.

“I am. You’re Miss Treasure.” Thick eyebrows shaded his hazel eyes. Wrinkles lined his forehead, but his cheeks and eyes remained smooth. He didn’t smile, then.

“Amethyst Treasure. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” She spread her skirt and sat, and her lungs sent a spasm into a cough.

“Are you unwell? The guards were instructed to keep you safe from the foul humors of the prison.”

But he had no qualms sending her family there. “This dry desert air does nothing for my composure.”

“Some tea.” Senator Horan waved to the secretary, who curtsied and pushed the cart closer. He sat in the chair across from Amethyst, a marble table between them. “Would you prefer orange pekoe or raspberry mint?”

He’d thrown in an exotic flavor. “I normally take my tea with tapioca in it, or apple peelings. Sometimes, my tastes run toward white tea with ginseng.”

Senator Horan smoothed his hands over the velvet armrests. “Those aren’t available.”

“How primitive.” She wrinkled her nose at the two porcelain teapots. “I’ll take rum then, or vanilla vodka.”

The secretary flushed beneath her rouge. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I only brought the tea.”

“That’s fine.” Amethyst folded her hands in her lap. “I’ll wait.”

“Miss Treasure.” Senator Horan raised his voice. “It’s rude to request something that isn’t offered.”

“
Mr
. Horan,” she countered. “I am perfectly aware of what I would prefer and what counts as common decency.” In the city, whatever she requested was brought posthaste.

He cleared his throat. “Cheryl, serve us the orange pekoe. Now then, Miss Treasure, there are many things I would like to discuss with you.”

She coughed again, and this time she tasted something metallic in her mouth, a tart flavor like the vial. Would she vomit it all over the senator? It would serve him right.

“How much did your brother Clark tell you about his abilities?”

“He outright showed me.” She smiled. “He’s an excellent shot. He could shoot an apple from a tree. You should see him go after cans.”

The senator drew a deep breath. “I don’t mean those abilities, Miss Treasure.”

“
Oh
.” She smiled wider. “You mean his dancing skills. He knows some fascinating dances.”

“I mean, Miss Treasure, his ability to rouse the dead.”

“Oh, that.” She rolled her eyes as if that didn’t matter. “Can everyone do that?” The metallic taste rose thicker in her throat and she gulped, ruining the sarcasm.

“No, Miss Treasure. Not everyone. Was your brother, Jeremiah, aware of the abilities?”

“How should I know? He never told me. We don’t talk.”

“Clark never told you?”

“Jeremiah never told me. He’s a righteous, pompous fool.”

“And you’re not?”

She rose to her feet and clenched her hands into fists. “I request you take that back.” If she were in the city, hundreds of people would rush to her side to defend her.

Another cough rose and blood splattered from her mouth. Gasping, she sank back into the chair, and choked on more blood.

“Miss Treasure?” Senator Horan held a handkerchief toward her. “Are you sure you’re well?”

Had he asked her before if she was well? Had Clark suffered the same consumption? Had she caught actual tuberculosis on the train? Her hand shook as she wiped her mouth on the scrap of linen. “I’d… like to sit down.”

“Cheryl, take Miss Treasure to the guest room. We’ll have to finish our discussion later.”

Her world spun as she stood, leaning against the secretary’s arm.

A man stood in the doorway. She started to point at him, tell him to get out of her way, but she noticed a gaping black hole in his chest.

He wasn’t alive.

methyst’s breathing calmed and her throat loosened, the metallic taste fading from her tongue. She pulled the wet cloth off her forehead and blinked at the ceiling. The painting of a cherub greeted her eyes and she frowned. She’d assumed only city people had ceiling murals.

She sat up on her elbows to glance around the guest bedroom. Cheryl had left a cup of tea on a saucer beside the bed. How kind of her, knowing how much Amethyst didn’t want it.

She swiped her hand across the bedside table to knock the supplies onto the hardwood floor. Tea splashed over the boards and the dishes cracked. She wiped the corners of her mouth on the sheet; it came away with a rusty streak.

A fireplace with a bare mantle, an armchair by the window, and a bookshelf by the door. Senator Horan had to like light coming in from over his shoulder.

A figure shimmered into existence at the foot of the bed. Amethyst yelped, jerking the white sheet toward her throat. The hole in his chest let her know he was the same one from the office.

“Who… who are you?” Her voice cracked. “Are… you going to hurt me?” Clark hadn’t mentioned whether the ghosts ever attempted to attack.

The spirit hovered closer. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Grisham.”

“How…?”

“I’m Eric Grisham.” He lifted his hand, but it passed through hers, and he sighed using lungs that couldn’t hold breath.

“Clark’s father.” She licked her lips. “I feel as if we already know each other.” How many times had she made Clark transfer what his father said? He’d accompanied them across Hedlund, an invisible companion.

“You took my potion. Was it tasty?”

“You seriously want to ask me that?” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her foot bumped one of her boots, knocking it over. “Didn’t Clark tell you its foul?”

Eric chuckled. “He didn’t, but others did.”

She frowned. “If other people have taken it, why is Senator Horan so obsessed with Clark.”

“He’s the only one to survive.”

She grabbed her throat with both hands. “It’s going to kill me?”

“The potion doesn’t. How soldiers handle having the new ability is what can do them in. Some aren’t able to adjust. It will change your life. I won’t be the only ghost to appear for you.”

Amethyst slid her hands away. “If Clark can do it, I can do it. Will you take him a message?”

“Hi, son.” Eric’s voice came in the darkness.

Clark did his best to shift his cold, numb hands. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key and be able to use it, would you?”

“No, but I have a message from your wife.”

Clark lurched upright and yelped when the chains jerked on his arms. “Brass glass. Is she hurt?”

“No.” A hesitation. That couldn’t be a good sign.

“Where is she?”

“Senator Horan has her as a prisoner in his house. I overheard him talking to some of his advisors. He’s going to use her as leverage.”

“Against me.” Clark slumped onto the cot. “What is her message? Did she know you were there to overhear?”

“She knew. Garth’s girl has spunk. That’s what I’m going to call it. She went through Horan’s things and found the tonic.”

“What tonic?” He pictured the bottles of white liquid sold as hair tonic. The most it did for balding men was make their heads reek of sulfur.

“She’s like you now. Cursed by the government and blessed by humanity.”

Clark choked on his breath. “She can save people? Did Horan find a way to make it work without hertum?”

“He has packets of that with the vials.”

“Why would she do that? Brass glass, don’t answer that. Why does Amethyst do anything?” Out of everyone he knew, only she would drink the serum and huff the powder, or whatever she’d done with it.