Midnight Jewels

my prizes in the field of medicine."
    His words were almost melodic, Mercy thought bemusedly. Gladstone had a wonderful speaking voice. In the confines of the vault it seemed to be even more beautifully modulated. It promised wisdom and understanding and sensitivity. She listened to him as he continued to discuss his collection, beginning to find more pleasure in the actual sound of his voice than she did in the content. She became less aware of the confining feeling of the closed vault.
    "I'm afraid my passion for books almost consumes me at times. Isobel occasionally complains during the long winter months that I spend more time in my library than I do with her." Gladstone reached for another volume. "But I expect you understand how it is, don't you, Mercy?"
    "Well, I certainly spend a great deal of time in my bookshop," she agreed, not certain she would ever develop Gladstone's level of enthusiasm for collecting old books. She found the prospect of dealing in them fascinating, but she didn't think she was likely to become quite this impassioned about it. After all, there were other things in life. "Will your vault be open tonight for your guests?"
    Gladstone shook his head firmly. "No, I'm afraid I draw the line at putting my books on display. Dallas and Lance can keep an eye on the paintings and sculpture, but books tend to be too small and too easily removed. There will be nearly fifty people in the house tonight and I wouldn't want to put too much temptation in anyone's path. Some of these artists are living on a shoestring," Gladstone added with a knowing chuckle. "And while they may be grateful to me for past favors, it might occur to one of them that selling just one of these books would keep them in paint and assorted recreational drugs for a couple of years."
    He continued talking about his hobby and Mercy tried to absorb the wealth of information that was flowing her way, but for some reason it was becoming harder and harder to concentrate. Every time Gladstone looked at her she was very aware of his eyes. She was beginning to realize they reminded her of another blue she had seen recently, an odd, glowing blue that she couldn't quite place.
    "… I was overjoyed when this fine example of some of Rudolph Ackermann's aquatint work turned up at an English auction house two years ago." Gladstone breathed the words the way a lover would say that he had had the finest climax of his life. "So many great English artists did their apprenticeship as aquatint artists for Ackermann's books."
    The word aquatint jarred her, distracting Mercy slightly from the compelling sound of Gladstone's voice. The word made her think of water. Of blue swimming pools, to be exact. She gazed down at the pictures in the book Gladstone had just handed her. "They're beautiful."
    "Very. Are you sure you're not too warm, Mercy? We could leave the vault and have some iced tea if you like."
    "Oh, no, I don't want to miss a minute." She smiled faintly. "This must be a pleasant, cozy place to spend a cold winter's evening. Do you worry about losing power during the winter? I noticed you don't have any fireplaces."
    "None at all." For the first time Gladstone's voice lost a measure of its melodic luster. "I noted earlier that we all have our little phobias. I don't like fireplaces or, indeed, any source of naked flames."
    "I can imagine it would be a risk to your collections," Mercy said quickly, realizing she'd definitely struck a sore point.
    "Yes. A grave risk. A man in my position must take many precautions. No, I am very careful with fire, Mercy. I respect it. It's very clean, very certain, very sure."
    Mercy glanced toward the solid door and wished it were open. The room didn't seem to be getting any cooler. "Do you ever worry about getting trapped in here?"
    Gladstone chuckled, his voice shifting back into the charming, beautifully modulated, hypnotic tones. "Believe me, you are in no danger. This vault would be a trap for others, but not for me. There are many kinds of escape, Mercy, intellectual, emotional and physical. This vault contains all three for me. Now, let me show you a few of my other beauties. Why don't you sit down on that little stool over there? Some of these books are quite heavy. I'll just set them in your lap."
    Mercy sat down obediently and struggled to listen to every word. She might never get another chance like this. She made a valiant effort to take in everything Gladstone was saying, but she simply couldn't