A Christmas Keepsake Read Free

around the written word, and how to use it for the best effect. He must have written others.
    She opened the volume, this time to the eleventh chapter, and the words shifted before her eyes. Almost, the book smiled at her, as if challenging her to solve its mystery.
    For one moment, a prickle of fear danced through her. A prudent person would sell the thing at the earliest opportunity, get rid of it and forget all about it. Her saner self whispered that would be the wisest—and safest—course.
    But she wouldn’t.
    She would call the book’s bluff and investigate it.
     

 
    CHAPTER TWO
    At a lobby phone, Christy dialed Amanda’s room. “Look,” she said as soon as her friend came on the line, “would you mind if I meet you somewhere for lunch, instead? I’ve got some research I need to do this morning.”
    Dead silence indicated Amanda considered this statement. “You’ve still got a pink elephant dancing around?”
    “Whole herds of them, and they’re rehearsing Swan Lake. Amanda, the type is still changing on me, and no one else can see it! If it was everything I read, I might think I was going crazy, but it’s just that one book, just that one section!”
    Amanda caroled out the “Twilight Zone” theme.
    “Very funny. But why is it happening? And why to me? And why just this book? I’ve got to find out who this James Edward Holborn is.”
    For a moment, Amanda said nothing. Then: “Sure you aren’t just stressed out?”
    “Who couldn’t use a vacation?”
    “Well, take a break, then. I’m staying here until after Christmas. Have BritRail pass, will travel, that’s me. Going to take up brass rubbing and learn to play darts in some old pub.”
    Christy smiled. “And check out book stores.”
    “Of course. Think of it, three whole weeks to play. Want to come along? I’ve got a spare pass.”
    “That’s right, Karen was supposed to come with you this time. What happened?”
    “She went and got herself pregnant. The poor kid’s sick all the time, but her husband’s thrilled. God, can you see me as a grandmother?”
    “No,” came Christy’s blunt response. “More like an Auntie Mame.”
    Amanda chuckled. “Well, what about it? Want to go for a train ride?”
    “Sounds like heaven, but I’m going home for Christmas. I haven’t seen my mom or the rest of them for eighteen months.”
    Amanda laughed. “Kids. You’re all alike. Mine only call when they need money for something.”
    “Oh, no.” Christy grinned. “I call. My phone bill is horrendous every month. But with them in Connecticut and New York, and me in San Francisco, we just never seem to see each other anymore. So I’m going directly there when I leave London and staying there until Twelfth Night, which gives us four whole weeks. After that, they’ll probably be glad to kick me out for another eighteen months. At least I bet my sisters will.”
    “Undoubtedly. Now, if I know you and your research— and I do, remember—you’ll never quit by lunch. How about later, say three-thirty? Remember that funky old pub across the street from the map shop in Bloomsbury?”
    Christy did. With reassurances she would be there on time, or at least no more than a quarter hour late, she rang off.
    Good old Amanda, she thought as she turned away from the phones. A couple of weeks gallivanting around England with her would be exhausting—but fun. She missed the warmth of her family, though. And she missed making snowmen and snow forts and going for sleigh rides and caroling and decorating the eight-foot tree her father—and now her brother Jon—always cut. No, she wanted to go home for Christmas, and Jon’s wedding, so soon after. Nothing would make her miss that.
    A quick walk through the chill morning air brought her to the Green Park Underground Station, and from there, the rail swept her through dark tunnels to the familiar stop for the British Library. The icy wind whipped about her as she emerged onto the street, and she hurried,