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She whirled on Eric in confusion. “Did he just say ‘sleep well’?”
Her companion shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he did.”
Melody shook her head as if to clear it. She was suddenly very sober. A bit groggy but otherwise okay.
“What about the ball?” she asked. “The cotillion?” When Eric shrugged again she turned to ask the Colonel the same question. “Isn’t there a ball tonight? Aren’t we—”
“The ball!” the Colonel laughed. “Ah, yes. The ball!”
He got up and pretended to dance, smiling and laughing and holding his arms out as he waltzed himself around the room in spinning circles. When he reached the exit he danced himself through the archway and disappeared.
When Melody turned back around she noticed half the table was gone too. It had all happened so fast, when she wasn’t even looking.
“Where’s everyone going?” she asked. She reached reflexively for her phone that wasn’t there. “W—What time is it anyway?”
No one answered. No one even looked at her.
“Excuse me,” she asked the younger man on his way out. “Do you happen to have the time?”
He turned halfway around, only to stare blankly back at her. Where there should’ve been youth, and vigor, and near limitless stamina, there was a cold emptiness that seemed hollow and strange. The young man appeared very weary, exhausted even, when he finally answered her question.
“No one does,” he said, before slinking away.
8
Melody lay in her bed, drenched in sweat.
No heat she’d ever felt had been this bad, had made her this uncomfortable. The humidity was oppressive. It hung over her like a wet blanket as she stared at the ceiling, stifling each breath she tried to take. She’d thrown off her covers long ago. Stripped down to practically nothing, and yet still she was still too hot.
A big part of it was the room’s single window; no matter how hard she pulled on it, she couldn’t get it open. She had no idea what time it was. It could’ve been eight o’clock. It could’ve been two in the morning. She had no way of knowing.
I wonder if my driver is still there?
At some point the man would leave, obviously. He’d realize she was staying the night, and report it back to Xiomara. Melody didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. All she knew was she’d been sent to Evermoore for a specific reason, and so far all she’d done was eat ‘supper’.
She flipped over and over, restlessly. Already she was regretting their decision to turn in early and start looking for the egg in the morning. At the same time though, it seemed everyone else in the mansion had gone to bed. She and Eric had walked most of the first floor on the way back to their rooms, passing through nameless chambers filled with fantastic, vintage furniture. Every room was dim. Everything hardly lit… but still illuminated.
“Get some sleep,” he’d told her. “We’ll start early tomorrow — before everyone else is up. Find this thing and be out of here before anyone even knows we’re gone.”
It had sounded good. Felt good, especially with his hands gripping her shoulders. Eric had stripped down to a T-shirt before going to bed, and Melody found herself staring at the musculature and definition in his arms and chest. Intrusive thoughts came. Thoughts of him pulling her into him, against him. Wrapping himself around her…
Get up.
The little voice in her head was firm and motivational.
Get looking. Now.
She sat up, finally glad at having made a decision. Finding the egg was her job. Her assignment. She was grateful for Eric’s help — and especially his company — but if she managed to accomplish the task without him, all the better.
Melody wriggled back into her undershirt. That, and her underwear, were all she had. She glanced over at the heavy ball gown, hung from a peg on the wall. If she put it on now she’d pass out. No way.
The door opened into the hallway with a rush of cool air. The breeze was almost orgasmic. Melody paused for a moment to bask in it, then stepped out and began padding barefoot along the darkened corridor.
She had no idea where she was going.
The egg wasn’t big, but it wasn’t tiny either. And it was beautiful enough that it would probably be on display. She thought about this as she padded silently downstairs, grateful that the treads were well-carpeted. She’d seen a trophy case in the conservatory — or whatever the room with the piano in it had been referred to. She’d start there.
The first floor was wide and spacious. Dim moonlight filtered in through tall windows as she made her way along. She stopped only once at a pair of double doors that opened into the grand ballroom — a tremendous stretch of parqueted floor and vintage draperies that formed the very heart of the house.
