Endless by Amanda Gray

window.
    “Where did you live before?”
    “Further upstate. Near Albany.”
    “Now that you live closer you should come in more.” She was thinking about his music. “There’s so much you’d love here. Like … ”
    “Carnegie Hall,” they said in unison. They both laughed.
    “And underground clubs,” he added.
    They got off the bus on Seventieth Street and walked east. The tree-lined street was filled with a few old apartment buildings and rows of dignified but aging brownstones.
    Jenny turned to Ben. “Which number is it?”
    He pulled the crumpled newspaper ad from his pocket. “Uh … One hundred forty-six.”
    “One hundred forty-six,” she repeated, looking at the building in front of them. “This one’s thirty-two. At least we’re on the right side of the street.”
    They kept walking, Jenny tracking the house numbers as they went. They crossed Park Avenue and came to a narrow but elegant brownstone halfway down the next street. Jenny scanned the facade, smiling when she saw the bronze numbers.
    She turned to Ben. “This is the one.”
    He nodded. “Okay, let’s do it.”
    They were halfway up the six stone steps when she put a hand on his arm. “Ben?”
    “Yeah?”
    “I don’t think we should say anything about the dream … thing. Or whatever it was.”
    “Well, yeah,” he said, as if it were obvious. “The guy would think we were crazy.”
    “Right,” she sighed with relief. She didn’t want to tell him that, for once in her life, it wasn’t crazy she was worried about. That something was gnawing away at her intuition, telling her that the dream had been more than a dream and that it was probably best if no one else knew about it.
    They reached the top of the stairs, coming face-to-face with an enormous door and a gleaming brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, its mouth open in a silent roar.
    More melodrama , Jenny thought. Except this time she wasn’t laughing. Faced with the door, she felt like they were about to enter Dr. Frankenstein’s lair.
    Or the house of Dracula.
    Ben reached for the knocker, striking the polished ball at its end against the plate. They stood, shuffling from foot to foot and waiting for someone to answer.
    “Does he know we’re coming?” she whispered.
    “I’m not stupid.” Annoyance tinged Ben’s words. “I called ahead.”
    “I didn’t say you were—”
    She was interrupted by the sound of locks being disengaged. The door swung open to a darkened hallway. After the bright sunlight, she could barely see the figure in the vestibule.
    “Yes?” The man spoke with the trace of an exotic accent.
    “Uh … I’m Ben Daulton, and this is my friend, Jenny.”
    Jenny tried not to show surprise at being introduced as his friend.
    “We’re here to see Mr. Wozniak. I called earlier?” Ben continued. “About the music box?”
    “Of course. Do come in.”
    Ben and Jenny stepped into the gloomy foyer. The man shut the door behind them. Jenny tried not to gulp out loud when she heard the locks click into place.
    Her eyes were getting used to the low light. She could see the man clearly now. He wasn’t anything like the doddering old antiques dealer she’d expected from his name. His fingernails were too long—almost as long as a woman’s. Gold rings flashed on his fingers and he wore a black turtleneck over finely tailored slacks. His feet moved across the floor in black slippers with a crest embroidered in gold thread. When he moved, Jenny caught a whiff of exotic spices, like the incense Morgan burned when she meditated.
    “I am Eben Wozniak,” he said. “Please, follow me.”

TWELVE
     
     
    Jenny admired her surroundings as Eben led them through a narrow hallway that seemed to go on and on. Her dad would have loved the place. It was a Time Warp house, a term they used to describe a house that had never been renovated, but in a good way. It had all the original details—black walnut banister rising toward an unseen second floor,