Tales from the Temple 4 by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Format: epub
Published: 2010-02-13T07:22:42+00:00

“Lucas…”

“Lucas…”

She woke up murmuring his name, her body sated with the sweet, replete ache of sex, aching between her thighs as though she had just been taken in the sweetest way.

But CJ was alone in the bed.

And she didn’t know a Lucas.

“What in the hell…” she muttered shakily. Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she stood up, staring into the mirror at her reflection. She didn’t look any different, but she sure as hell felt different. Emptier, like she had just realized she had lost something.

Lucas.

Who was he?

With a sigh, she shoved him out of her head as she showered and dressed. CJ had way too much to get done to be worrying about somebody from a dream. On the way out the door, she grabbed her notebook and pen from the dresser, determined to actually get some work done today.

Rounding the corner, her gold-streaked hair caught in a ponytail, CJ came to a halt as she spied the narrow door at the end of the hallway.

She had seen it before, just the previous night, but had been too busy to investigate.

Now, tucking the pen in her breast pocket, she stuck the notebook in her back pocket and crossed the hall. The doorknob was tiny, and the door seemed stuck at first.

Finally she wrestled it open, mentally making a note to have it fixed.

A long narrow set of stairs was revealed. Reaching out, she turned on the light, pleased when it revealed a whitewashed stairwell. Climbing the stairs, she kept her hand on the polished wood of the banister, grinning as she finally cleared the last step and found herself standing a huge, open space.

It didn’t look like the kind of attic she would have expected. It was painted, bright and cheery, with light pouring through the dormer windows. Boxes and trunks were neatly arranged along the walls.

Some had her father’s familiar handwriting on them.

Turning away from them, she went to investigate the older-looking trunks along the eastern corner. Hours later, surrounded by journals, books written back in the eighteen hundreds, cigar boxes, pipes, CJ was leaning up against an emptied trunk, dust streaking her face, her hair falling free from its ponytail.

Setting aside the journal, she got to her knees, moved closer to another trunk and tried to open it. This one didn’t want to open. She fiddled with the lock, sat back on her heels when it didn’t budge and muttered under her breath. Frustrated, she reached out, slammed the top of the trunk with her fist, preparing to clean up her mess.

She’d get a screwdriver and come back up later.

The trunks were full of all sorts of treasures. Journals, books, a trunk full of clothes so old she was afraid to touch them. Kneeling, she carefully stacked up the books and journals, setting one aside to take downstairs.

She rose a good half hour later, stretched her stiff body and turned to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

And the lid of the last trunk, the one that wouldn’t open, was up.

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