Room 13

"What similarities?" I asked with dread.

"All young men or women. All from families of good standing. All staying in or visiting an old house in the centre of the city, one which had survived the fire."

"The Golden Lion survived the fire."

"Yes, it did. It was consider miraculous at the time, but now I wonder if it really was so."

"If these place are dangerous then why not destroy them?"

"Because we have no evidence, and because for the past thirty years there have been no more disappearances."

"Thirty years. You mean since Taylor visited and left with the medallion."

"Yes. That amulet seems to have the been key. While it was outside of the city things were quiet, but then you returned it."

"And things are not quiet any more, not for me at least."

"That is why I counsel you to take it away again. Take it away, lock it up, and never let it return here."

"But how can I explain this to the keepers of the museum? This was to be the prize exhibit in the Taylor Collection."

"I don't know, but you are an intelligent man and I'm sure you will think of something. Perhaps say it contains something that would be injurious to health. That won't exactly be a lie."

I would have some time to think about the matter on the way back to Oxford, so I thanked the elderly archivist once again and promised both him and myself I would be on the next ferry back to England. Luckily there was one leaving this evening, and I quickly packed my things from the old hotel, eager to be gone from the place before nightfall, doubtful that I would ever survive another night in that place as either my soul or my sanity would be lost. I took a horse drawn cab to the docks, urging the driver to make haste with promises of an excellent tip, desperate not to miss the ferry.

I arrived at the quayside just within time as the sun was gently setting in the late afternoon. As it was wintertime the ferry was quiet and I was able to arrange for myself the last first class cabin available, quiet happy to spend good money to ensure my first good night's sleep for several nights. It was only when I had boarded and had been assigned my berth that I realised it was room 13. I fear that I panic and my words to the steward were somewhat incoherent. He apologised and said that this was the last cabin available, and assured me that it was an excellent cabin, one of the best on the ship, and moved to open the door to show me.

At this I regret to say that I became rather physical with him and must have appeared like a madman. His hand had already turned the handle and in our altercation the door swung open. To reveal a perfectly normal first class cabin. The steward took my stunned silence as acquiescence and quickly placed my luggage inside before leaving for his other duties as the ship had set sail.

I had not realised how much the disturbances of the previous nights had effected so deeply. I looked about the immaculately adorned room and took a deep breath to calm myself. A breath that with it brought a hint of perfume, one that brought immediately to mind same intoxicating fragrance that had held me spellbound twice before. Would I never be free of this witch, this succubus, this glorious enchantress that had caught me in her web?

Fearing to take another breath in that room I staggered back out and onto deck, the ship gliding through the beginning of the North Sea. In the inside pocket of my jacket I still had the medallion. I took it out and saw the same blue glimmers I had seen the previous night. It had to be this that still linked me back to Helena. Could I trust it to the ship's purser? "Secure vault", Henrik had said, "To lie deep. Never to see the light of day."

The blue of the amber was so beautiful as the last rays of sunlight glinted off it, the sunset turning the clouds a vivid pink. A coastal breeze brought an unexpected waft of perfume across the deck, the warm gentle wind feeling almost like a brush of soft silk on the cold night. I held the amulet in my hands and threw it as far as I could from the ship, let it sink down the depths of that coal black sea, where it would settle down in some dark fathomless chasm. And long may it lie there. For eternity I hope, or at least until the seas boil or the land is wrenched upward by the Earth's movements.

When I returned empty handed without even what I had left with, the loss was hushed up what with the collection still in the process of being catalogued. But my professional prospects were never quite the same, nor to be honest were my nerves. I sleep now, but I don't dream. Not since the new medication was prescribed. I hope that by putting this tale to paper I will be able to put an end to the matter. That I can stop thinking about what happened in Viborg, stop remembering how it felt to the object of Helena attentions, stop being startled by certain fragrance, stop fearing certain colours and fabrics, stop half seeing her in mirrors, through shop windows, at the end of railway platforms.

Because just as I never stopped thinking about her, I fear that she has never stopped thinking about me, never stopped looking for a way back into this world, never stopped trying to complete the ritual that I broke.

And of course I never sleep anywhere where the number of rooms is above 12.