Seduction: A Novel of Suspense by Rose M J

passageway where the road came down to the beach and then partway to Juliette’s house. I wouldn’t be going there after all. I craved solitude. So I returned to the beach and took the long way home, by the sea.
    On my way back to Marine Terrace, I sensed someone walking behind me and thought I smelled a particular scent of smoke and incense, but when I turned to look all I saw were the rocks’ dark shadows and all I could smell was the sea’s salty, briny fragrance.
    With only the roar of the waves there was little to distract me from my thoughts, until somewhere in the distance a dog began ferociously barking. Not alerting his master to a stranger approaching but quite the opposite. This dog was warning everyone who heard him that he was to be feared. Within moments other dogs were howling and the air was filled with their noise, just as had happened earlier that evening.
    I was not usually worried about being accosted or assaulted by man or beast, but it had been such a strange night, I bent down and picked up a good-size rock. It was large enough to throw at a man. Or a dog if one approached. As I continued home, I held the stone in my grip, finding comfort in its craggy surface and heft.
    Only when I was inside my own house with the door locked firmly behind me did I relax enough to gaze at the rock. In the candlelight I saw that it was almost a perfect oval of clear white quartz with a slightly fleshy pink tone to it. Actually very much shaped like a head. In fact the crevices and grooves, bumps and depressions even gave the appearance of a woman’s face. But not just any woman’s face. Withwonder, I stared at the rock that could have been an unfinished portrait of my own daughter, my own Didine. It was as if Rodin himself were working the stone and had just begun to rough out her appearance, had chiseled just the essence of her.
    I placed the rock on my mantel, continuing to appraise it, wondering if in the morning Didine’s sister or brothers or her mother would notice and see the resemblance.
    Upstairs, I opened my windows and looked out at the sea as I stripped down and stepped out of my damp clothes. I poured myself some brandy and sipped it as I returned my gaze to the infinite blackness.
    I remembered the feel of your soft cheek on my fingers, your yielding lips on my mouth, your scent of roses and lemons. I could hear your melancholy words ringing in my ears.
    It had been a relief to talk to you without pretense, the way I must all too often with my wife, even with Juliette. I could allow you to see how my grief still consumes me without worrying the knowledge would affect you.
    I walked to my writing table. Pen in hand, while the wind washed over me and the household slept on the floors below, I began to write the story of this strange night that began with a séance and ended with two ghosts meeting—yours, Fantine, and mine.

Six
AUGUST 22, THE PRESENT
NEW YORK CITY
    The ring felt icy on Jac’s forefinger. As the cold shot up her arm, she shivered despite the comfortable temperature in the basement room in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The ancient jewelry was made out of a copper alloy that had a deep plum cast to it. Typical of the period, it was a knot without any loose strands. The carved Celtic design was intricate. In its center was a strange ghostlike face with hollow gaping eyes staring back at her. Jac was fascinated. Everything about her research was making her more and more excited about the upcoming trip to Jersey.
    Who had last worn the twenty-six-hundred-year-old piece of jewelry? Was it a man or a woman? Was this a ritual piece? Jac knew the Celts were divided up into tribes, each ruled by a king. The population comprised Druids or holy priests or priestesses, warriors, nobles and commoners. Jac had read that chiefs gave rings to warriors to use as a badge of office and symbol of their power. Priests also wore them to denote their station.
    “How long has this piece been in the