Start your summer off with a touch of action-filled magic!
In late 1700s Paris, a young but promising illusionist dabbles in the arcane art
of phantasmagoria. But at his moment of greatest triumph—unveiling a magical
lantern said to open a door to the Chinese spirit world—he is violently struck
down by a vengeful phantom….
On assignment in London, archaeologist Annja
Creed is hunting down a man who claims to have discovered the Jekyll and Hyde
potion. On the trail of one curiosity, Annja finds herself pulled toward another
mystery…the origin of a strange, old-fashioned projector once used by
eighteenth-century illusionists. As Annja delves into its rich history, a dark
past begins to emerge. And someone wants to harness the power of this cursed
artifact…risking everything for the treasures it promises.
But Annja has
a little magic trick of her own. One that she wields with deadly accuracy….
"Couldn't you have worn something a little more…revealing?"
Annja Creed frowned as she considered the question over the Bluetooth
earpiece that linked her with her satellite phone. She stood in the middle of a
dank alleyway stinking with rotting garbage and Chinese takeout. Dark rain
clouds hung in the sky visible between the buildings. Sporadic smog patches
drifted past.
"Doug, I'm way underdressed for a potential mugging as it is." Annja wore a
silver calf-length duster over black pants and a pearl-gray silk tie-waist
blouse. Slouchy microsuede boots pushed her five-ten up to something over six
feet. The boots were comfortable, stylish, and she could run for her life in
them if she had to. She wore her auburn hair clipped back.
"This guy's not a mugger." Doug Morrell sounded put out. The producer of
Chasing History's Monsters—the syndicated television show Annja costarred
in with Kristie Chatham—was twenty-two, young and driven by all things Twitter.
Despite the fact that he wasn't really interested in history or archaeology,
Annja genuinely liked Doug. He was like the younger brother she'd never had.
"I know he's not a mugger." Annja walked through the alley with her hands in
her pockets. "He's killed three women that the Metro police know about."
"I saw those reports, too, which is why I want you to be careful."
"Careful, but less dressed."
Doug hesitated only a moment. "Yeah."
"Not happening."
"You could at least get rid of the jacket."
"And give it to Igor to carry?"
"Don't make fun of your bodyguard."
Annja resisted the impulse to look back at Ray Venard, the guy Doug had hired
for the shoot tonight. Venard was a large, hulking brute who had played
professional rugby before he'd gotten caught shaving points, then was injured by
outraged fans. He'd gotten through the court system unscathed, but the fans had
left him with a knee that would never be the same.
"I thought he was a cameraman."
"He is. He's both. Kind of like a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Bodyguard and
photographer."
"Did I mention to you that when I met him in his office he was taking
pictures of women for a skin magazine?"
Doug sighed. "You did."
"So not only am I
not going to take my coat off to be more revealing
in this cold, rat-infested alley, I'm also not going to take it off in front of
Igor."
"I only mention the coat because it could help ratings."
"The ratings are fine. We just got a two-year renewal."
"So we could work on the next two-year deal."
Annja kept walking. Working for the television show was sometimes a pain, but
mostly it was fun. And there was Doug and a few of the other people she liked
who were connected to the production. Not only did she get to travel, but the
salary and bonuses were nice and allowed her to follow up on other explorations
and digs.
She watched the shadows carefully. Detective Chief Inspector Westcox hadn't
been happy when she'd come to his office to discuss the recent murders that the
media was attributing to "Mr. Hyde." Of course, the reporters were only doing
that because "Mr. Hyde" had written in, claiming responsibility for the murders.
Westcox had shown Annja the morgue photos of the victims. The DCI was
closemouthed and professional, and he'd thought to frighten her off with the
brutality of the killings. The victims had been stomped to death, their faces
pulped by size eighteen Rufflander work boots.
What DCI Westcox hadn't known was how much violence Annja Creed had seen. The
police inspector had assumed she was a young woman inquiring into things much
too bloody for her.
"I'm keeping my clothes on for the next two years, too."
Doug whined. He was a good whiner when he wanted to be, but Annja was
impervious.
"You have Kristie for the T and A ratings. With me, you've got history and
archaeology ratings."
The fact that Kristie Chatham was the fan darling because of her habitual
loss of clothing and "wardrobe malfunctions" bothered Annja more than she would
ever tell anyone. But she accepted it. She had her fans, too.
"Would Kristie agree to walking in a rat-infested alley at midnight so a
serial murderer could leap out of the shadows and murder her?"
"No, of course not. If she got hurt, she wouldn't be able to work."
"And I would?"
"You're not going to get hurt. You have Igor. Besides, you're only there
tonight to shoot a little mood footage. Igor also tells me the fog is going to
have to be enhanced. Says it's really weak."
Annja looked back over her shoulder at the lumbering shadow that trailed her.
Igor carried a portable video camera in one giant paw. "You're talking to him?"
"Texting. I'm talking to you."
"Great. So you're distracting my bodyguard."
"He'd probably be more focused on you if you weren't overdressed."
Turning her attention back to the alley ahead of her, Annja shook her head.
Sometimes—
most of the time—Doug had a one-track mind. "About the Mr. Hyde
thing."
"You said you loved the Mr. Hyde thing," Doug said, instantly wary. "You said
the Mr. Hyde thing was awesome. You couldn't wait to do the Mr. Hyde thing."
Annja had said that. But that had been when she'd thought her schedule wasn't
going to be so tight. She'd hoped to get out to Hadrian's Wall. That had been
the site of her first dig, and the place still held a special spot in her heart.
Then, when she'd seen those poor women in those police photographs, she
realized that the "investigation" bordered on sensationalism. That the women
were going to be fodder for the conspiracy mill
Chasing History's
Monsters routinely set into motion didn't sit well with her.
"You do realize Mr. Hyde isn't real."
"When you meet Mr. Hyde, tell him that. Either we've got one of London's
oldest and eeriest monsters returned from over a hundred years of being missing,
or we've got someone who rediscovered Dr. Jekyll's secret potion. I don't care
which it is. It's a great story."
"That's what it is—a story.
Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
was a novella written by Robert Louis Stevenson. An allegory some say was based
on Victorian views of sex."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You told me that already. And I agreed that you could put
that stuff in there. As long as there's not too much of it. Which is why we're
picking up the tab on your date with Professor Beeswax."
"Professor Beswick. And it's not a date. He's an expert on film, literature
and myth."
"I suppose it doesn't hurt that Professor Beeswax is good-looking, though. I
ran a Google search on him. I see what you saw."
"Really? You thought Professor Beswick was attractive?"
Doug nearly choked. "No! That's not what I said. Are you recording this?" He
cursed. "Now I've got Diet Coke up my nose. Don't
do that."
Annja chuckled. Doug was easy to set off.
"As for this Mr. Hyde thing, I got a very convincing email stating that the
Dr. Jekyll formula had been discovered on the internet and someone had
re-created it."
"Who was the email from?"
"An anonymous source."
"Doug, it's me and you. You can tell me."
"I can't. That's how the writer tagged the email."
"And you bought into this based on that." Annja couldn't believe it, then
reminded herself she'd been in the same situation with Doug dozens of times
before.
"Sure. There are the three murders. Mr. Hyde claims to have done them."
Annja bit her tongue. She was looking forward to her stay in London and
dinner tomorrow with Professor Beswick appeared promising.
Ahead, one of the doors suddenly banged open and four figures spilled out
into the alley. Three of them were young Asian males dressed in dark clothing
backing out of a restaurant. One of them held a young woman trapped with an arm
across her neck. Her eyes rolled fearfully and she hung on to the man's arm to
keep her balance.
The woman was dressed in black pants and a white shirt, the typical server's
uniform for a lot of restaurants. Light shined from the open doorway and
revealed tattoos on the necks of two of the men. All of them carried pistols. A
handful of pound notes drifted from the cloth bag one of the guys fisted.
"Doug, I'm going to have to talk to you later." She unclipped the Bluetooth
earpiece and shoved it into her pocket. Annja was calm as she surveyed the
scene. Her heart went out to the frightened young woman.
An older man in a suit raced through the back door and quickly stopped when
he saw the gunmen.
"Laurel."
"Get back, old man." One of the youths took a step forward and pointed the
gun at the businessman.
"Please. You have the money. Don't take my daughter."
The youth opened fire. Annja didn't know if he was trying to hit the man or
not, but one of the bullets chewed into the door and the other went through the
doorway.
The man dropped to the ground, covered his head with his arms and screamed
for his daughter.
"Papa!" The young woman cried out in fear and tried to free herself. One of
the men not holding her backhanded her across the face.
"Hey!" Igor's loud voice thundered in the alley. "You blokes want to put the
guns down before you get hurt?"
Glancing back, Annja saw that Igor had a gun in his own hand instead of the
camera now. He stood holding the revolver like he knew what to do.
Unfortunately, so did the three Asians. Two of them opened fire while the third
hung on to their hostage.
Annja pressed herself flat against a building.
The bullets drove Igor back into cover....
