Black as night, the edges of the door glowed with a cold light as Claude and I drew near. The last of the ghostly orbs swirled briefly across it before fading away, and the encroaching darkness almost engulfed the light from the only lamp we carried.

Somehow, I felt that I had just stepped into a new chapter of this waking nightmare. The key that Arthur kept secret from the demon's eyes and paid for with his life, the seemingly sentient orbs that welcomed us, both had led us to this door. Will we find the answers on the other side? I can't help but feel a glimmer of hope.

I glanced at Claude. His eyes were fixed at the entrance as if he was drawn to it, his face set in a determined line.

Just before the doors, he turned to me with a reassuring smile, as if he sensed my trepidation. I nodded, trying to muster up courage. It's just another room. Lord knows I've seen far worse on this job! I told myself. But why does my heart feel like it's about to leap out of my chest?

Claude's hand brushed the door panel lightly, its smooth black surface solid and unyielding. He turned the ornately carved handles, and the door swung slowly inward.

Filtered light spilled from the tall, beveled windows, framed by dark, heavy curtains. It was a large, elegant room trimmed in blue and silver, lavishly furnished—a bedchamber fit for the master of the house.

"This—none of this is real," Claude whispered with a catch in his throat, his eyes taking in the breadth of the chamber. "It looks just like the day I had left it, the day of the concerto."

"Your bedroom?" I saw him nod from the corner of my eye as I walked a few steps to the center of the room, looking around in the sparse light.

He was right. The passage of time seemed not to have affected this place. The furnitures, the rugs, everything looked new, although we were both aware over a hundred years had passed. 

At the far end of the chamber, a large four-poster bed was barely visible in the shadows, canopied in midnight-blue damask drapes, which had been drawn to let in the moonlight. But the opaque, overwhelming darkness surrounding the bed swallowed up any external light.

As Claude and I drew close, I tensed as that unnatural darkness seemed to stir from its slumber. It slowly crept toward us, as if it recognized our presence. It was all I could do not to bolt right there and then, seeing that inky blackness inch over the floor.

When the shadows stopped just outside the circle of our light, I let out a shuddering breath.

Claude raised the lamp up higher, illuminating the bed.

I heard his gasp of surprise a second before mine.

A soft white light emanated from the bed's interior where the drapes had been drawn, and on the bed, lay the still form of a man.

My eyes widened disbelievingly as I stared at Claude's body. Dressed in black formal attire, he looked as if he was sleeping, save for the unnatural position of his arms crossed over his chest and the deathly pallor of his skin. A thin, white light encircled his form, flickering against the surrounding dark.

I had seen death many times, and in so many forms, that it no longer bothered me. But this—seeing his lifeless body—shook me to the core.

This can't be!  My mind spun as I tried to make sense of the improbable scene before me.

An audible, choking sound made me turn around. Claude was doubled over, fighting for breath. He fell forward on his knees.

"Claude!" I grasped his arms, supporting him. "What's happening?"

"Something is—pulling me away—" he rasped, struggling to speak. "It feels like it's tearing me apart."

My thoughts raced. Did seeing his mortal body trigger something forbidden, something that he can't witness or be a part of?

His face and eyes shown with so much pain as he tried to resist the pull of that unknown force. His mouth opened, desperately trying to tell me something, but no words came out. I felt my hands slipping from their grasp as his form started to fade, becoming more and more transparent by the second.

"No!" I cried. I can't lose him now!

His gaze locked into mine as he tried with one last effort of breath—

"I'll find you—no matter what. The truth—don't—turn your eyes away—"

"I won't, I promise—" Just please, stay with me!

But he was gone.

I stared at my hands as they shook uncontrollably. The room seemed to close in around me, mocking my helplessness.

Clenching my hands into fists to stifle the shaking, anger and frustration rose in me as I swung my gaze around, to where the 'other' Claude lay, but all I saw before me was red.

Claude's body, the bed, the entire chamber had disappeared. What in hell is going on?

I knelt on a rug with a reddish color, edged in gold, that spanned the length of the room. My eyes slowly crept up to couches and chairs embroidered with crimson roses, to walls of burnished red. I drew a sharp breath as cold fear washed through me. I knew exactly where I was—but how did I get here?

I was back in the Red drawing room—where it all started. I added a string of curses to the already accursed chamber.

Across from where I crouched, the back casing of a grand piano loomed above me. Its black, lacquered surface gleamed; the raised lid reflecting the light from the chandelier above. Behind the piano, the soft glow of twilight shone through the tall, bay windows.

The crimson colors, dark mahogany furnishings, and paintings in their bronze frames weren't faded with age, as if I had stepped back through time, to those days when the mansion had stood with all its grandeur.

A full, sustained note from the piano filled the spacious chamber.

I froze from where I knelt on the floor, staring wide-eyed.

A series of notes followed, melodious and out of this world.

Someone was sitting behind the piano.

I hastily got up, holding my breath and daring to hope—

Relief flooded in me as I gazed at Claude's familiar face, his dark hair that curled at the tips, his skin as pale as moonlight. Dark lashes framed silver eyes that looked down intently on the keyboard.

He appeared dressed for a performance, wearing a black tuxedo jacket over a crisp white shirt and bow tie, and black trousers. I must admit, seeing him for the first time at the piano with his hands flying over the keys, I was captivated by his strong physical and charismatic presence. Like a moth to a flame, I was helplessly drawn to him, as I was certain his patrons were, all those years ago.

My steps faltered as his music transfixed me, the notes sweetly blending and weaving together so perfectly that it lifted my heart and brought tears to my eyes. His long, slender fingers touched the keys like a caress, the very source of the melody that soared with so much joy and feeling.

He truly was the genius of his time.

A part of me didn't want Claude to stop, but there was something odd about him and this entire scene. As I walked toward him, he never once looked up to acknowledge my presence.

"Claude--" I called out softly.

But he continued playing as if there was no one else in the room. Could it be that—like the scene before—this was another vision of the past?

I wasn't sure at first, when I went through the black door into Claude's room and saw his lifeless body. Now I'm certain that I was looking at glimpses of the past— a silent witness to events that occurred more than a century ago.

The key, the strange orbs of light, the door—Arthur, or possibly someone he knew, had taken great lengths to reveal these events in a way that defied all reason. Having experienced the occult for most of my life, I now realize that these visual revelations could only have been possible with the use of powerful magic—or sorcery.

As my thoughts delved into these possibilities, the door suddenly opened and I took a step back, surprised to see a young man walk into the room.

He looked to be around my age, and was similarly dressed in formal attire. His features closely resembled Claude, save that he was slightly taller and had light brown hair, a ruddier complexion, and arresting green eyes.

A smile of anticipation played across his lips. I knew without a doubt this was Claude's younger brother—

Alastair Elburke.