waist-high, rectangular, shaped as if to support a coffin.
He lifted his gaze toward Elizabeth. "What the hell is going on?"
She met his steady look with a smile. "Hush, now, and listen. It's time. It's time for your father to pass his gift on to you."
Alex gave his head a shake. "It's his gift, Elizabeth. Not mine. I'm not even certain I want it."
She went still, just staring at Alex's face. Then she seemed to shake herself. "You'd deny your father's dying request? Would you, Alex, after all he's done for you?"
Alex said nothing, just pushed a hand through his hair, trying to find a way to explain.
"Never mind," Elizabeth said softly. "Never mind then. It's your decision, after all." She dabbed tears from her eyes. "At least... join me in a drink to your father's memory. After that, we'll go back upstairs. I won't bother you about any of this again."
She nodded toward the slab.
Alex looked at it. "Let's go upstairs now. We can toast my father's memory up there."
"Oh." She seemed disappointed. "I... I thought you'd want to see this place, though I admit I was saving it for this special day. Now, it doesn't matter. This was your father's sacred room, Alex. He loved this room more than any other in the house."
"Really?"
She nodded. "I'll get the lights, in a second," she said, "so you can take a look around." She came toward him, carrying a tray with two ornate goblets on it. "Just sit, for a second. Take your drink. Then we'll go upstairs."
Alex pushed himself up onto the table, his legs hanging over the side, facing Elizabeth. He had to admit, he was curious about this room. "Thank you for understanding."
She lifted a goblet and handed it to Alex and took the other for herself, lowering the tray to the floor.
'To Victor Moring," Elizabeth said, lifting her glass. "May he find his ultimate joy. And to his son, may his body retain its power, its health, and its youthfulness for a long, long time to come." She tapped her goblet to Alex's, men drank.
Alex took a sip as well. The liquid was honey-sweet, with the sting of hard alcohol and the slightly thick texture of a liqueur. Alex swallowed, then lifted his own goblet in salute. "To my father," he said softly. "May his mistakes be forgiven, and his soul be at peace."
Again Alex drank, deeply this time. "This is very good," he said. "What is it?"
"Your father's special blend," Elizabeth told him. "He called it ambrosia."
"Nectar of the gods, huh?" Alex drained the glass, set it beside him on the slab.
She smiled, nodded, and turned to walk away, muttering, "Now where is that light switch?" She wandered into the shadows beyond the candlelight.
Alex waited. "Elizabeth, did you work for my father before I was born?"
From the darkness she answered, "Yes. I've been with your family for a very long time."
"I'd really... I'd like to know more about my mother."
"Your mother?" she asked. "What do you want to know about her?"
Alex blinked. Had Elizabeth's voice turned suddenly harsher than it had been before? No matter. He had to force himself to go ahead with his questions. "How did she die?"
"How do you think?"
Dizziness hit Alex like a wave hitting the sand. It made him think of the sacred place on the beach behind Melissa's house as he swayed and bobbed with the tide.
"Are you all right, Alex?"
"Yeah, I - " He pressed a hand to his forehead, got his upper body to stop wobbling. "I don't know what that was. That ambrosia must be stronger than it tastes."
"It is. A lot stronger. Lie down, Alex. It'll pass."
Alex lay down, obeying without resistance. He kept thinking he should be alarmed, he should be getting the hell out of this eerie basement. He kept wondering why it was taking Elizabeth so long to find the light switch. But his brain was too numb to act on any of it. His bare back pressed to the cold stone slab. He drew his legs up, stretching them out on the slab as well.
"Better?"
"Yes. But you didn't answer my question. About my mother."
"She committed suicide, Alex. Jumped off a bridge. You see, she had taken you from your father. His own newborn child. She ran away with Victor's son and heir. And then she just gave you away, like a stray cat she no longer wanted. Just gave you away, hoping Victor would never find you. You, his own guarantee of