A. J. Hartley - What Time Devours

Table of Contents

PRAISE FOR ON THE FIFTH DAY

Terrific plotting, first-rate suspense. On the Fifth Day is a ripping good read.

Kathy Reichs, New York Times bestselling author of Cross Bones

Not only is Hartleys novel well paced, with enough twists and turns to keep most thriller fans satisfied, he avoids the missteps of most attempts to cash in on The Da Vinci Code zeitgeist by focusing on the faithful rather than freewheeling conspiracies... this slam-bang title is a very fun, surprisingly satisfying read.Publishers Weekly

Full of historical mystery, rife with intrigue and suspense... a tour de force sure to keep pages turning deep into the night... A. J. Hartley is a rare discovery: a writer capable of challenging a reader as much as he thrills.

James Rollins, New York Times bestselling author of Black Order

PRAISE FOR THE MASK OF ATREUS

The Mask of Atreus is the perfect debuta high-octane thriller crammed full of long-buried secrets, treacherous betrayals, jaw-dropping twists, and a healthy dash of romance. Deborah Miller is an engaging, sympathetic heroine, who you cant help but root for. Move over Michael CrichtonA. J. Hartley is right at your heels.

J. A. Konrath, author of Fuzzy Navel

Rich with historical and archaeological detail, this well-constructed debut... celebrates the power of legend while delivering an engrossing mystery that skips nimbly between continents and cultures... This intricate and absorbing thriller augurs well for Hartleys career.Publishers Weekly

An exhilarating thriller rooted in the dark side of history and myth. Enormously entertaining. Reading The Mask of Atreus is like looking down a very dark and very scary tunnelyou have no idea whats looking back, waiting to pounce. Hartley is one terrific writer.

Jeff Long, New York Times bestselling author of The Wall

This is exactly the kind of archaeological thriller I lovefrom its gripping opening on a battlefield in the waning days of World War II to its roaring finish. The Mask of Atreus is rich and dramatica compelling novel that will grip you in its swift, dark currents and sweep you over the falls... outstanding.

Douglas Preston, author of The Codex and Tyrannosaur Canyon

Absolutely spellbinding... Compulsively readable... the terrible beauty of ancient Greece collides with the merciless obsessions of the twentieth century.

Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author

Intriguing. A labyrinth of history and mystery.

Steve Berry, New York Times bestselling author of The Templar Legacy

I find The Mask of Atreus engaging because its a rare accomplishment: a genuinely thrilling thriller thats also intelligent and brilliantly written. They said it couldnt be done.

Phillip DePoy, author of The Fever Devilin Mysteries

Terrific... A. J. Hartley provides a fabulous whodunit made fresh by its deep historical and archaeological base and an endearing heroine.Midwest Book Review

THE MASK OF ATREUS

ON THE fiFTH DAY

WHAT TIME DEVOURS

What is love? tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
Whats to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty;
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty,
Youths a stuff will not endure.

SHAKESPEARE, TWELFTH NIGHT

PART I

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality oer-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summers honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Times best jewel from Times chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O, none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 65

CHAPTER 1

Thomas Knight froze, one hand on the coffeepot, the other extended to the faucet over the sink. It was still dark outside and the kitchen light should show only a fringe of green from the yew in the yard, but there was something else. Something at the window. He wasnt sure if hed gotten a flash of it in the reflection from the percolator, or caught a glimpse with the corner of his eye, but he knew something was there, something strange. Something wrong.

He stood there motionless for three or four seconds, as if waiting for it to move, but he knew it wouldnt and that he would have to turn and look directly at it. Right now it was just an impression of colors that shouldnt be therea pale oval touched with yellow and redsharp against the blackness of the yard beyond, but when he looked at it, it would take shape and meaning. He didnt want to look.

He turned to it slowly, and even though he wasnt surprised, the fact of the thing almost made him cry out. A womans face was pressed up to the glass.

Her eyes were wide, like she was staring at him, but Thomas didnt wave her away, or threaten to call the police. There was something too fixed and vacant about the eyes. They were unaware of him.

She was standing at the window, he supposed, but there was an awkwardness to her posture and a slight smear of something on the glass: sweat? Makeup? She didnt move at all, and Thomas took a small, reluctant step toward the window, half hoping the figure would turn out to be some store mannequin, dressed and propped there by one of his more enterprising students as an end-of-term gag.

But she was real enough. He took two wary steps toward the window.

The glass reflected black everywhere but where the face was pressed to the window, lit by the kitchen light so it seemed to float like a party balloon. He supposed she was in her late fifties. Her pale skin looked delicate and had the beginnings of translucence. She was expertly made up, her lips a trifle redder than suited her, and her teeth were unnaturally white. But it was the eyes that he couldnt shake. They were wide, fixed in something that might have been surprise.

Or terror.

One was a dull, muddy green, the other an uncanny violet.

Thomas put down the coffeepot and picked up the wall-mounted phone, his eyes still on the motionless face pressed up against the window, but he didnt dial. He would go outside first. He needed to know for sure.

The kitchen had two windows, one facing southinto the backyardand one facing east, which was where the woman stood. Thomas stepped out into the predawn chill, cinching his bathrobe tighter as he walked barefoot onto the cold path. She wasnt visible from the front of the house and it was only when he went around the dark yew that grew on the corner and turned down the narrow path between the house and next doors dense privet hedge that he saw her. She wasnt standing exactly, which meant that she was rather taller than he had imagined, but was slumped over one of the gold-flecked au-cubas that were planted along the shady foundation. Down here the only light was the startling and flat brilliance of the kitchen window, which had given an unearthly vividness to the womans face from inside. Out here the light only brushed a little green and gold over the edges of the aucuba. The woman herself was no more than the silhouette of her head, her body lost in shadow.