The Scargill Cove Case Files: An Arcane Society Story

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Okay.” Isabella stopped. “I’d really like to help you, but we’re going to have to make this fast. I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Got another appointment?” Sandra’s tone was utterly flat now. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “The thing is there are a couple of guys downstairs who want to kidnap me.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  Isabella inched closer. She was still too far away from Sandra to do what needed to be done.

  “They’re hunting for me as we speak. It won’t take them long to realize that I’m not coming out of the stockroom. It would be good if I could get off this roof before they find me.”

  “Two men are hunting you?” Sandra’s voice rose in disbelief. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  “I wish.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Very.”

  “You’re probably on drugs. Did you stiff your dealer? Look, I don’t want to get involved, okay? I’ve got my own problems.”

  “No, honest,” Isabella said. “This has nothing to do with drugs. Ten days ago I stumbled into a very dangerous conspiracy. Someone set me up to take the fall. The real conspirators think I know too much. I’m afraid they may have murdered my grandmother because I told her about the scheme. And now they’re trying to kill me. Oh, damn, I really don’t have time for this conversation.”

  “Are you some kind of nutcase? One of those conspiracy freaks?”

  “That opinion has been floated occasionally.” Isabella edged closer. Almost there. Another couple of feet and she would be able to touch Sandra. All she needed was physical contact.

  “Stop,” Sandra said. “Don’t come any closer. I mean it.”

  Muffled footsteps sounded inside the nearby stairwell.

  “I think we just ran out of time,” Isabella said. “Here they come.”

  “Who?” Bewildered and distracted, Sandra turned her head toward the stairwell.

  “The killers,” Isabella replied.

  She pounced. Seizing Sandra’s wrist, she found a focus and pulsed some energy.

  Sandra’s face became expressionless. She stared off into the distance.

  Isabella yanked her behind the massive metal housing that shrouded the HVAC equipment. She pushed her down onto the rooftop. “Stay here. Don’t move and don’t say a word until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”

  Sandra did not respond. Isabella pulsed a little more energy and then released Sandra’s arm. The woman sat very still, her back against the metal housing, and gazed out into the night.

  The door of the stairwell slammed open. Isabella knew that there was no point trying to hide on the rooftop. The killers would conduct a thorough search.

  She moved out from behind the HVAC tower and looked at the figure that had just emerged from the stairwell. The hunter-talent didn’t see her at first. Moonlight and neon glinted on the small pistol in his hand.

  “Hi,” Isabella said. She waved.

  He turned toward her with preternatural speed, gun elevated.

  “Got her,” he called over his shoulder.

  His companion emerged from the same opening. He, too, gripped a gun.

  “Did you really think we wouldn’t find you?” the first man said. “You’re coming with us.”

  “I’m a little busy at the moment,” Isabella said.

  “No shit,” the second man said. “So are we. Wasted over a week trying to find you. The boss is not happy.”

  He moved forward and seized Isabella’s arm.

  The contact acted like a psychic electrical contact, making it possible for her to pulse energy directly into his aura.

  She got a focus and sent out a small blast of disruptive psi.

  “Get lost,” she said softly.

  The gunman went still for a few seconds. Then he turned and started to walk toward the edge of the roof.

  His companion stared. “What the hell? Hey, Rawlins, where are you going?”

  Isabella took a step toward the stairwell doorway.

  “Don’t move,” the man snarled. He lunged forward, grabbed her wrist and turned back to his companion. “Rawlins, have you gone crazy? Come back here.”

  Rawlins continued toward the edge of the roof as though captivated by the clusters of lights sprinkled across the desert.

  “Rawlins,” the second man shouted. He sounded on the verge of panic. “You’re gonna go off the damn roof, man. Come back.” He put the barrel of the pistol against Isabella’s head. “What did you do to him, you little bitch?”

  “I just told him to get lost,” she said. She got the fix and pulsed energy into his aura. “Same thing I’m telling you. Take a hike.”

  The gunman froze for a beat or two and then he lowered the gun. She took the weapon from his unresisting hand. He turned and started to follow Rawlins toward the edge of the mall roof.

  “Oh, good grief,” Isabella said. “I’ll admit, I’m tempted to let you both walk off this roof, but it would probably cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

  She put down the gun, hurried forward and stepped in front of Rawlins. She touched him lightly.

  “Wrong way. Come with me.”

  He stopped obediently, his face a complete blank. She took the gun from him and set it down. Then she took his wrist in one hand and grabbed the other man’s arm. She guided them both toward the stairwell. When they reached the doorway, she urged them inside.

  “Go down the stairs, leave the building and keep walking,” she ordered. “Cross the streets only at the crosswalks. Wait for the green light.”

  Sometimes the hypnotic suggestions worked; sometimes they didn’t.

  Rawlins started down the stairs. The second man followed.

  There was no way to know how long the trancelike state would last. She simply did not have enough practical experience. It was an aspect of her talent that did not allow for a great deal of experimentation. But with luck she would have time to get out of the mall and disappear. Again.

  She went back to where Sandra sat, took hold of her wrist and pulsed a little energy.

  Sandra blinked and came back to her senses.

  “I know you,” she said, frowning. “You’re the nutcase who thinks people are trying to kill her.”

  “Right, let’s go.” Isabella guided her toward another stairwell. “I hate to rush you, but I’m in a hurry here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re crazy.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who was about to jump off the roof.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Sandra said, annoyed. “I’m depressed.”

  “Whatever, you’re coming with me.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “To the nearest hospital emergency room. You can explain everything to someone who will know what to do. I’m not a shrink.”

  Sandra paused at the doorway of the stairwell. She looked back out at the edge of the roof.

  “I don’t want to jump anymore.”

  “Glad to hear that.” Isabella drew her down into the stairwell.

  “But if you hadn’t come along when you did, I wouldn’t have had a chance to change my mind.”

  “Always a good idea to give yourself time to reconsider the really big decisions.”

  “I’ve been planning to jump for weeks and suddenly I changed my mind.” Sandra frowned. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re smart and stronger than you think.”

  “No, it was something about you that made me decide not to jump. Something in the atmosphere around you.”

  “You’re the one who made the call. Don’t ever forget that.”

  They went down the stairs to the parking garage. Isabella stuffed Sandra into the beat-up junker she had bought for cash ten days earlier and drove to the hospital. She escorted Sandra into the emergency room and stayed with her until an orderly came to take her into a treatment room.
<
br />   Sandra paused in the doorway and looked back. “Will I see you again, Annie?”

  “No,” Isabella said.

  “Are you an angel?”

  “Nope, just a garden-variety conspiracy theorist who thinks some people are out to silence her.”

  Sandra studied her intently. “I remember the footsteps on the emergency stairs. I remember you telling me to stay quiet and not move. And I saw a gun lying on the mall roof. Be careful, Annie.”

  “Thanks,” Isabella said. She smiled. “I will. You do the same, okay?”

  “Okay,” Sandra said.

  She followed the orderly down a white corridor.

  Isabella went back outside to the hospital parking lot. She would have to leave the car behind. They had found her at the mall. She had to assume they had a description of the junker.

  She opened the trunk, took out the small backpack she kept inside and closed the lid. She slung the strap of the pack over one shoulder and walked through the garage toward the street.

  She knew where she was going now. The events of the evening had left her no choice. To get to her destination she would use the one form of transportation that did not leave a paper or computer trail.

  She would hitchhike to Scargill Cove.

  Continue reading for an excerpt from

  the first novel in the new Dark Legacy series

  Copper Beach

  Available in hardcover from G. P. Putnam’s Sons.

  A crazy man with a gun was never a good combination. A crazy man with paranormal talent and a gun made for a very bad start to the day.

  Abby Radwell watched the terrifying scene taking place in the library from the shadows of the doorway. The intruder holding the pistol on Hannah Vaughn and her housekeeper could not have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. His eyes were fever-bright. His long hair was matted and disheveled. His jeans and ragged T-shirt looked as if they had not been washed in a very long time. He was becoming more agitated by the second.

  “I’m not playing games, lady.” The intruder’s voice rose. He waved the pistol in an erratic pattern. “I know the key is here in this room. You have to give it to me and then she has to unlock it.”

  “You are welcome to take the key,” Hannah said, somehow managing to maintain a calm, soothing tone. “But I can’t unlock it for you. I don’t know how to do that.”

  “She’s supposed to unlock it,” the intruder said.

  “Who are you talking about?” Hannah asked. “Surely you don’t mean my housekeeper. Mrs. Jensen doesn’t know anything about unlocking encrypted books.”

  “Not the housekeeper,” the intruder said. He used the back of his arm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “The woman who is working for you here in this library. She knows how to unlock hot books.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hannah said. “Mrs. Jensen and I are the only people in this house. Please, take my copy of the key and leave before this situation gets out of control.”

  Hannah was doing a magnificent job of lying, Abby thought. But the situation was already out of control.

  Hannah Vaughn was eighty-two years old and confined to a wheelchair. She was helpless against the armed intruder. She was doing her best to defuse the mad tension in the room but her tactics were not going to work. Mrs. Jensen was pale and shaken. She looked as if she were about to faint.

  Abby’s senses were wide open. Her intuition was screaming at her to rush back downstairs and out onto the street. The intruder was not yet aware of her presence. She could call 911 once she was safely outside. But by the time the police arrived it might be too late for Hannah and Mrs. Jensen.

  Abby spoke quietly from the doorway. “I’ll get the key for you.”

  “What?” The intruder whirled around to face her, eyes widening in shock. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Abby. I’m the one you’re looking for, the woman who can unlock the key.”

  “Huh.” The intruder blinked several times and shook his head as if to clear it. He was shaking but he managed to steady himself somewhat. He gripped the gun with both hands, aiming it at her. “Are you sure you’re the right woman?”

  “Yes. What’s your name?”

  “Grady.” The response was automatic.

  “All right, Mr. Grady—”

  “No, my name is Grady Hastings.” Grady looked confused for a few seconds. He wiped his forehead again. “That’s all you need to know. Get the book. Hurry. I don’t feel too good.”

  “The book you want is encrypted?”

  “Yes, yes.” Excitement heightened the fever in Grady’s eyes. “The Key to the Latent Power of Stones. They told me you could unlock it.”

  “It’s in the crystals section up on the balcony,” Abby said.

  “Get it. Hurry.”

  “All right.” She walked into the room and headed toward the small spiral staircase that gave access to the balcony that wrapped around the library. “How did you know that it was in Mrs. Vaughn’s collection?”

  “The voices told me. Just like they told me that I needed you to break the code. I have to have that book, you see. It’s vital to my research.”

  “You’re doing research on crystals?” Abby asked.

  “Yes, yes. And I’m so close to the answers, so close. I gotta have the book.”

  “Okay,” Abby said.

  Mrs. Jensen whimpered softly. Hannah had gone very quiet. She watched Abby with a sharp, knowing look. Her anxiety was a palpable force in the room.

  “All right,” Grady said. “That’s good. Okay, then.” He seemed to regain a measure of control. “But I’m coming with you. No tricks. You have to break the code. The Key is no good to me unless you unlock it. That’s what the voices in the crystal told me, you see.”

  “I understand,” Abby said soothingly. She started up the spiral staircase.

  Grady gave Hannah and Mrs. Jensen a quick, uncertain look and seemed satisfied that neither of them would cause him any trouble. He followed Abby up the staircase. Abby was aware of his heavy, labored breathing. It was as if he was exerting enormous energy just to hold the gun on her.

  “You’re ill,” Abby said. “Maybe you should leave now and go to the emergency room.”

  “No. Can’t leave without the book.”

  “What sort of crystal research are you doing?” she asked.

  “Know anything about latent energy in rocks?”

  “Not a lot but it sounds interesting.”

  “So much power,” Grady said. “Just waiting for us to figure out how to tap it. I’m almost there. Got to have that book.”

  Abby reached the top of the spiral steps and walked along the balcony to the section of shelving that contained Hannah’s fine collection of volumes devoted to the paranormal properties of crystals. Many of the books were filled with the usual woo-woo and occult nonsense. Hannah said she collected those volumes for historical purposes. But a few of the titles contained the writings of researchers, ancient and modern, who had done serious work on the power of crystals, gemstones and amber.

  The most valuable book in the Vaughn collection was Morgan’s The Key to the Latent Power of Stones. Written in the eighteenth century, it was locked in a psi-code that added enormously to its value. In the world of antiquarian and collectable books that had a paranormal provenance, encrypted volumes were the rarest of the rare.

  Abby stopped and ran her fingertips along the spines of the books on the shelf.

  “Quit stalling,” Grady said. The gun shook in his hand.

  “Here it is.” She pulled out the old leather-bound volume. The energy locked in the book whispered to her senses. “Morgan’s Key.”

  Grady eyed the worn leather cover warily. “Are you sure that’s the right one?”

  “Do you want to see the title page?”

  “Yes. Show me.”

  Cradling the heavy book carefully in one hand, she opened the cover. Grady took a step closer and looked at the title page. He frowned.

  “I
can read it.”

  “Yes, you’re lucky it was written in English. A lot of the old alchemists used Latin.”

  “No, I mean I can read it. The Key to the Latent Power of Stones.” Grady reached out and gingerly turned a page. “I can read this page, too. This isn’t the right book. The voices in the crystal told me that the book I need is encrypted.”

  “Oh, right,” Abby said. “You think that because you can read the text the book is not locked in a code. But that’s exactly how psi-encryption works. It camouflages the real text in subtle ways, just enough to distort and conceal the true meaning. You could sit down and read this book cover-to-cover and think you were reading the original text. But in the end, it would be just so much gibberish.”

  “Break the code,” Grady demanded. “Let me see if the text really does look different.”

  Abby braced herself for the inevitable shock and focused on the layers of energy that shivered around the old book. Few sensitives possessed the ability to lock a book or other written material in a psi-code; fewer still knew the oldest and most powerful techniques. Talents like her who could crack such codes were even scarcer. The whole business was a dying art. Encrypting a book or a document required physical contact with the item that was to be encoded. In the modern world people tended to store their secrets in digital form in cyberspace, a realm where old-fashioned psychic encryption did not work.

  It figured that she had chosen a career path that was fated to go the way of buggy-whip manufacturing, Abby thought. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. The old books filled with ancient paranormal secrets called to her senses. And those wrapped in psi-encryption were irresistible.

  She found the pattern of the code. It was not the first time she had unsealed the old volume. She was the one who had acquired it for Hannah’s collection in the first place. She had unlocked the book twice already, once to verify its authenticity and again to allow Hannah to make some notes. Hannah had requested that the book be relocked after she had read it in order to maintain its value.

  “Done,” Abby said. “I broke the code.”

  “Are you finished already?” Grady eyed the book with a dubious expression. “I thought psi-encryption was tricky stuff.”