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Hester Harp was right, Leona thought. Thacker was doing some serious self-medicating with some interesting herbs. Either that or he was delusional. Probably both.

Uncertain how to respond, she looked at Oliver for direction. But he was no longer in his antiquities-expert role. In its place was something very scary. He watched Thacker intently, cold fire burning in his eyes.

“What in green hell are you talking about, Thacker?” he said.

Thacker flinched and blinked a couple of times, unnerved. He made a visible effort to pull himself together.

“I d-didn’t believe Ms. Harp when she told me that people in t-town were saying the bride had arrived,” he stammered. “I was sure it was just another l-legend, you see. When it comes to Vance there are so many tall tales, aren’t there?”

“Explain,” Oliver said softly.

Thacker swallowed hard. “Surely you know the legend of the bride and the key?”

“No,” Oliver said. “Please enlighten us.”

This was not going well, Leona thought. Oliver was terrifying the poor man. Thacker looked as if he might faint from fright at any moment. That would only make things worse. Time to take charge.

“Don’t pay any attention to Mr. Rancourt,” she said, moving to step in front of Oliver. “He tends to get very intense when it comes to the subject of Vincent Lee Vance. Obviously he was not aware of the legend. I must admit I’ve never heard one regarding a bride and a key, either. Perhaps you could tell us more about it?”

Thacker tore his nervous eyes off Oliver and focused on her. She gave him a reassuring smile and he steadied.

“Yes, of course,” he said, pulling himself together. “I just assumed both of you were aware of the story. Everyone here in Lost Creek knows it, but personally, I never put much credence into it. There are a great many conspiracy theories that feature Vance.”

“Very true,” Leona said. “Please go on.”

She was aware that Oliver was waiting, as motionless as a crouched specter-cat, behind her, but he had the good sense not to interrupt.

“Yes, well, there are very few written records regarding the bride and the key,” Thacker said. His self-confidence returned as he talked. “In fact, the only document I’ve viewed personally is a certain letter I found quite recently here in the house.”

“I must admit I’m surprised you can locate anything in this collection,” Leona said. “You obviously have a very unique filing system.”

Thacker chuckled. “It does appear somewhat chaotic, doesn’t it? I’m afraid it was like this when I took possession twenty years ago and it’s only gotten worse. It’s so hard to resist the impulse to add to the collection. I have been working my way through the various rooms, trying to identify the most important artifacts and documents. Whenever I find one, I make a point of relocating it here in the vault.”

“Do you have the letter?” Oliver asked, impatience edging his voice.

“Yes, indeed.” Thacker turned away and plucked a slim file off a shelf. “It was written by Vance himself.”

Leona stilled. Behind her Oliver abruptly dropped the intimidating aura and slammed back into what she thought of as the real Oliver persona, that of a passionate researcher who hungered for answers. He had priorities. Evidently a genuine Vincent Lee Vance letter ranked a lot higher than the need to frighten Thacker. She smiled, amused by the quick shift.

“It was addressed to his followers here in Lost Creek,” Thacker continued. “He called them the Guardians, you know.”

“Provenance?” Oliver asked sharply.

“According to the notes in this file, it was found in the local post office a few months after the rebellion had been put down by the Guilds,” Thacker said. “By then Vance had disappeared into the tunnels and was presumed dead.”

“But the rumors and predictions of his eventual return were already getting traction among conspiracy buffs,” Oliver observed absently. He did not take his eyes off the file folder.

“Indeed,” Thacker said. “The rebellion fell apart immediately after the Last Battle of Cadence. Suddenly there were no more idiots running around claiming to be Guardians, that’s for sure. No one here in town knew what to do with the letter, so my ancestor took it and filed it here in his collection. That’s all I can tell you about the provenance.”

“You said you only recently found it?” Leona asked.

“Yes,” Thacker said. “It was pure chance. I was showing some Era of Discord documents to a visiting collector, an elderly woman from Frequency, and there it was, stuck in with some unrelated materials. I assumed it was just another example of Vance’s rantings and ravings. By all accounts he was quite delusional toward the end. But I must admit I am now very intrigued and more than a bit concerned, truth be known.”

“May I read the letter?” Leona asked.

“Certainly.”

Thacker handed her a pair of white gloves. She pulled them on with practiced ease and took the letter from him. Oliver leaned over her shoulder to get a closer look. She was intensely aware of his prowling tension charging the atmosphere.

She did a quick visual examination. The paper appeared authentic to the era. So did the faded ink. She looked up. “I don’t suppose you have another example of Vance’s handwriting handy for comparison purposes?”

“Sadly, no,” Thacker said. “But I’ve compared it to photographs of other documents attributed to him and it appears to be authentic.”

Oliver removed his glasses to take a closer look. “Yes, it does.”

Leona read the letter aloud, concentrating a little to decipher the hundred-year-old script.

To My Loyal Guardians:

I regret that I must leave you for a time, but know that the Great Cause is not lost. The Federation of City-states and the Guilds may claim victory for the present, but their triumph will be temporary.

I will return, and when I do, my powers will be enhanced a thousandfold. I will take my place as the leader of Harmony, and those who remain loyal will receive the gift that only I can bestow—paranormal talents beyond their wildest dreams.

Until the time is right for me to return to you, I will sleep in the Enhancement Machine. Do not fear. I shall be in a state of stasis. I will not grow old or weak. Instead, my powers will continue to develop.

You will know to expect my imminent return by these two signs:

First: The insignias of the Great Cause will be delivered to those who have been chosen to become the new generation of Guardians. I will communicate with the faithful telepathically from inside the Enhancement Machine. Only those who hear my voice and obey will be rewarded.

Second: When all is in readiness, my chosen bride will appear among you. She will find the Enhancement Machine and unlock it with the key. Thereupon I will awaken and lead you to our great victory.

Until that glorious day, I bid you farewell.

Leona looked up. “It’s signed by Vance.”

Oliver put his glasses back on. “It certainly is an interesting document.”

“It’s not interesting.” Leona shivered. “It’s downright creepy.” She glared at Thacker. “What makes you so sure I’m the bride?”

“Well, I can’t be positive, of course.” Thacker sighed. “But Ms. Harp informed me that the rumors are circulating in town. Last night several people in Lost Creek evidently received telepathic messages from Vance confirming that you were the bride and that you had the key in your possession.”

Leona shook her head in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. Absolute nonsense. I’m starting to wonder if this entire town is delusional.”

Thacker frowned. “You’re saying you’re not the bride?”

“Yes, Mr. Thacker, that’s what I’m saying.”

Oliver clamped both hands very firmly on her shoulders, sending a silent message— stop talking . She reminded herself that he had a plan. Plans were all well and good until they fell apart. It wasn’t her fault that things had taken a very strange twist.

Oliver looked at Thacker. “Perhaps you could show me the Bluestone file?”

“Of course, of course.” Thacker appeared relieved by the change of subject. He picked up a large envelope and held it out along with a pair of gloves. “A fascinating document. The Bluestone Project was evidently one of the earliest attempts to investigate and harness the power of paranormal energy back on the Old World. It was a government program. Highly classified. Things went very much awry. They tried to shut it down and erase all record of it, but you can never make that sort of research disappear entirely.”

“No,” Oliver said. “You can’t.”

He started to pull on the gloves but gave up when it became obvious they were too small. Instead, he opened the envelope and carefully removed a document secured in a blue cover decorated with what looked like an official government seal.

He opened the document, gave it a cursory look, and inserted it back into the envelope.

“This will be a wonderful acquisition for the Rancourt,” he said.

“Excellent.” Thacker was clearly pleased. “You can pay Ms. Harp on the way out. She handles the finances.”

“There’s some paperwork to sign,” Oliver said.

“Yes, yes, no problem.”

Oliver opened the messenger bag and handed a document to him. “You’ll want to read it before you sign.”

Thacker chuckled and scrawled his name and the date. “Not necessary. If I can’t trust a professional colleague, who can I trust?”

“Good question,” Leona said.

“Precisely.” Thacker peered more closely at her. “The name Griffin is familiar. I don’t pay much attention to the news. The papers are always a few days late. But by any chance are you the para-archaeologist who was kidnapped several weeks ago?”

Leona winced. “That was me.”

“I’m so glad you’re all right. Pirates are a plague in the Underworld. The story caught my eye because it reminded me of another kidnapping involving a young girl. That was several years ago, of course.”

Leona went still. “My sister, Molly. What made you remember us?”

“Something about the name.”

“Griffin?”

“No, the name of the man who took the young girl all those years ago—Willard.”

Leona got a screaming-loud ping. “Nigel Willard. Do you have some information about him in your collection?”

“Not a Nigel Willard, another Willard.” Thacker raised his gaze to the topmost shelf. “I believe I have a journal—”

A muffled shriek of outrage reverberated in the hall.

“Oh, dear, that’s Ms. Harp,” Thacker said. “She sounds somewhat annoyed. It’s never a good idea to upset her like that.”

“Get out of there, you little monster,” Harp screamed. “You’re dead. Do you hear me? Dead.”

“Shit.” Leona whipped around, ducked past Oliver, and rushed back toward the door, following the yellow tape. “She’s trying to murder Roxy.”