A metallic ping rang through the room. Louisa’s head swiveled toward the open door, hidden behind the tall rows of shelves. A musket ball rolled past the aisle. Her heart skipped. Had her search knocked the small metal ball from its container? Slipping off her remaining pump, she climbed to her feet, heels dangling from her fingertips. The lights went out, leaving the windowless room black.

She froze.

The lights were on an energy-saving motion timer. Had she been too still?

Fabric rustled in the hallway. One of the cleaning staff? Another employee? She hadn’t seen anyone else when she’d come in, but that didn’t mean another curator hadn’t decided to put in some overtime. Every department head wanted his or her exhibit to be perfect for the fund-raiser on Saturday night.

She opened her mouth to call out, then closed it, instinct and fear constricting her voice box.

She was being ridiculous. There were a number of people in the building at night, including cleaning and security staff, but seeing those pictures of Riki had sent her imagination into overdrive. Regardless, it was time to go.

Her grip tensed on her phone. She pointed it at the floor and sidled toward the door. Her elbow bumped something solid. She whirled. A face and bald head stared back at her. Louisa staggered backward, terror clogging her throat, locking her scream behind her sternum. She tripped and fell on her butt. Primal fear sent her bare feet out into a solid kick. The figure toppled, landing on top of her. She pushed at it. Her hands encountered plastic instead of skin or fabric.

A mannequin.

She shoved it away and skittered backward, crab-fashion. Panting, she pressed a hand to her chest. Beneath her breastbone, her heart banged against her palm, and her lungs worked like bellows. Facedown on the linoleum, the mannequin’s arms were bent at grotesque, unnatural angles. Louisa climbed to her feet. She stepped around the figure and crept to the door, as if it were possible that anyone on the floor hadn’t heard the scuffle.

She was acting like a child who’d imagined a monster under her bed.

Maybe one of the cleaning staff had simply turned out the light on their way out. Except she hadn’t seen or heard anyone on the third floor in the time she’d been here. Had she been so absorbed in her search she didn’t hear another person? It wouldn’t be the first time that work had drowned out the normal sounds around her. She tended to hyperfocus on a task.