by Jayne Castle
Nancy giggled. “Well, it has been sort of funny, you have to admit. First his mother, then his grandmother, a couple of nephews, both of his brothers—”
“There is nothing funny about it.” Lyra gulped some of her champagne and glowered at Cruz. “As for you, you’re not helping one bit.”
He shrugged. “What am I supposed to say? It’s the truth.”
Jeff grinned. “And everyone in the family knows it. The boss couldn’t deny it, even if he tried.”
“Well, I think it’s very romantic,” Nancy declared.
“That’s because you’re not the target of the joke,” Lyra said.
“It’s no joke,” Jeff said. “We Sweetwaters take these things seriously.”
Lyra gritted her teeth. “I knew it would be a mistake to come here tonight. I should never have let you talk me into it, Cruz.”
“I didn’t talk you into, it,” he said mildly. “We had a deal. You agreed to come here with me in exchange for my keeping quiet about those three pyramids that you concealed.”
Lyra gave Nancy a bright little smile. “You see? There’s nothing romantic about it. It’s just business.”
“And also because we’re involved in a very hot affair,” Cruz added. “I like to think that’s part of the reason you agreed to come with me.”
The heat of embarrassment sizzled through her. “For heaven’s sake,” she muttered. “Don’t say things like that in public.”
Nancy laughed. “Come on, Lyra. Lighten up. This is a night we’re both going to remember for a long, long time. Just think about it. You and I are attending one of the ritziest social events of the year. We’re on the Sweetwaters’ private island, for crying out loud. It doesn’t get any more posh.”
“Hey,” Jeff said, contriving to look deeply hurt. “At least let me entertain the illusion that you wanted to be my date for the evening.”
“Absolutely,” Nancy said. She patted his arm. “That, too. You know how I feel about FBPI agents. They are so incredibly sexy.”
“Whew, thanks,” Jeff said. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “For a while there I was a little worried that this was all about Cruz.”
Lyra looked at him. “How’s that new career plan of yours going?”
“Going good,” Jeff said. “My application to the academy goes in on Monday.”
“How did Big Jake take the news?” Lyra asked.
“Well, after we peeled him off the ceiling, Cruz here pointed out how useful it would be to have someone from the family working inside the FBPI. That calmed him down somewhat. But I should warn you that he blames you for being a bad influence on me.”
“I’m a Dore. I do bad influence.”
Jeff grinned. “This family needs shaking up.”
Before anyone could respond to that remark, a woman emerged from one of the clusters of guests gathered on the terrace. She looked to be in her late fifties, well-preserved and stylishly dressed in a long, blue gown. Her hair was a discreet shade of silver blonde. An amber and diamond necklace framed her throat. More amber and diamonds dangled from her ears.
She circled the pool, walking briskly toward Lyra and the others.
“Here we go again,” Lyra muttered. “Just remember I warned everyone.”
“There you are, Cruz,” the woman said. “Hello, Jeff, dear. Sorry I’m late. My flight out of Cadence was delayed.”
“Better late than never, Aunt Teresa,” Cruz said. He took his foot down off the railing and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
“Hi, Aunt Teresa,” Jeff said. “I wondered where you were. Thought maybe you’d actually worked up the nerve to duck this gig.”
Teresa uttered a warm, throaty laugh. “Not a chance. No one gets out of this event. You know that. By the way, Big Jake tells me that you’ve decided to apply to the FBPI academy.”
Jeff smiled. “Gotta say, Big Jake is taking the news fairly well, all things considered.”
“That’s because he’s decided that it will be useful to have a Sweetwater on the inside of regular law enforcement,” Teresa said. She winked at Cruz. “Can’t imagine where he got that idea.”
“I’d like you to meet Lyra Dore and Nancy Halifax,” Cruz said. “Lyra, Nancy, this is Teresa Sweetwater. She’s married to one of my uncles on my father’s side.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Sweetwater,” Nancy said politely.
“Call me Teresa.”
“Nice to meet you, Teresa,” Lyra said. She took another swallow of champagne and braced herself.
“What a pleasure it is to meet you,” Teresa said, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you. I understand that you’re the woman—”
“Please don’t say it,” Lyra whispered.
“. . . who broke Cruz’s heart,” Teresa concluded.
The night turned red, at least on the paranormal plane. A fierce, hot energy welled up inside of Lyra.
“That does it,” she said. “I’ve had it. This has gone far enough.”
She was aware, in a remote way, of the sudden hush that had come over the crowd arrayed around the pool; aware that people were turning their heads to look. She knew that her voice was rising. That was not a good thing. A small warning sounded somewhere in her head, urging her to shut up right now and not say another word. But she was powerless to stop.
Nancy cleared her throat. “Uh, Lyra?”
“I told you,” Lyra said, her throat tightening. “I warned you that I would not let one more person accuse me of breaking Cruz Sweetwater’s heart.”
“It’s okay,” Nancy said. “Really. Why don’t we take a little trip to the powder room. You can calm down there.”
Lyra ignored her. She turned toward the audience on the terrace and threw her arms out wide.
“Once and for all, I did not break his heart,” she shouted. “Cruz broke mine. What’s more, he never even said he was sorry. Never apologized. He just let everyone think I had hurt him.”
“Lyra,” Nancy said urgently. “You may not want to do this.”
“I’m the one who cried every night for days after I found out how he had deceived me,” Lyra said at the top of her voice. “I’m the one who nearly went bankrupt trying to sue Amber Inc. just to get a little revenge. And then he walks back into my life as if nothing ever happened. As if we should just pick up where we left off and, oh, by the way, would I do him a favor and rescue five people from the ruin that he stole from me.”
“Oh, Lyra,” Nancy groaned. “This is not good.”
“Damn, arrogant Sweetwaters,” Lyra said. She was on a roll now. Her aura was so hot she was amazed that she did not set herself on fire. “Who do you think you are?”
A shocked, fascinated silence gripped the terrace. Everyone was staring at her. Without warning, tears flooded her eyes. She went from rage to despair in an instant. She was suddenly sobbing as she had on only two other occasions in her life: the day her grandfather had died and on the night she had discovered that Cruz had deceived her.
She was crying a river in front of an audience of Sweetwaters and their guests. It was unbearable, intolerable. She whirled and ran down the terrace steps. When she reached the beach, her stiletto heels stabbed into the sand and stayed there. She floundered, tipped forward, lost her balance utterly, and toppled out of her shoes. In that terrible moment she knew she was going to fall flat on her face, humiliating herself even more than she already had in front of the entire Sweetwater family and their wealthy, powerful friends.
Damn Dore luck, she thought. You can always count on it to fail when you need it most.
But just before she flopped ignominiously into the sand, a strong arm caught her around her waist. She was suddenly standing upright and barefoot on the beach.
“Lord, I do love you so,” Cruz said. “You’re magnificent.”
He swept her up in his arms and carried her across the beach toward the water’s edge. She heard a cheer go up on the terrace. It was followed by a round of applause.
&
nbsp; She clutched her evening bag with both hands. “This is so embarrassing.”
“No, it’s just a little over the top,” Cruz said. “But that’s okay. I’ve told you before, when it comes to love, we Sweetwaters do over the top.”
“I don’t know what to say. Something came over me. I just lost it back there on the terrace.”
“You were wonderful.”
When he reached the wet sand, he turned and carried her along the edge of the beach until they rounded the rocky outcropping. When they were out of sight of the terrace, he set her back on her feet and enfolded her in his arms.
“Did I really break your heart?” he asked gently.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yes, you did.”
“I’m sorry. I never meant to do that.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Broken hearts are serious business in my family.”
“Got news for you, Sweetwater. Your family isn’t the only one that takes that kind of stuff seriously. We Dores care about broken hearts, too.”
He touched her damp cheek with his fingertip, swiping away a teardrop. “You really did fall in love with me three months ago?”
“Of course, I did. You think I would have wasted all that money trying to sue you and your company if you hadn’t broken my heart?”
“I told myself it was a good sign,” he admitted. “But it did complicate things.”
“I had to do something. I couldn’t just let it stand.”
“I know. You needed some revenge.”
“But I was moving on,” she whispered. “I was putting my life back together. And then those orchids started arriving, and I told myself they were from you. The next thing I know, you’re walking back into my life. Then you inform me that the only reason you’re back is because you needed me to open that damned gate.”
“I screwed things up. I realize that. But you’ve got to trust me when I tell you that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, and I’ve never stopped loving you.”
She managed a shaky smile. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I loved you, too. But I’m a Dore and you’re a Sweetwater, and you took my amber ruin, and then people were trying to kill you, and Quinn was stalking me, and . . .”
“And things got complicated again,” Cruz said. “But from now on we can handle any and all complications because we know we love each other.”
She put her arms around his neck. “I do love you so, Cruz. I will always love you.”
He kissed her there in the moonlight, and she felt the energy of the bond between them blaze in the night. When he finally lifted his head, she smiled.
“What?” he asked.
“I think my luck just changed.”
“Well, sure. You’re about to become a Sweetwater. What did you expect?”
She laughed, joy effervescing through her. And then he was kissing her again, and the night glowed invisibly around them with the power of their love. She knew that radiant energy would be with them all of their lives.
The charms on her bracelet clashed musically in the night. Green fire burned in the heart of obsidian amber.
ON THE SECOND FLOOR OF THE BIG HOUSE, VINCENT hopped down from the windowsill where he had been keeping watch. The energy of the night felt right now. Time to party.
He tumbled across the vast library to join the cluster of dust bunnies gathered there. The others had accompanied their persons to the island, just as he had. They all possessed human names—Fuzz, Rose, Max, Araminta, Elvis—but they knew and recognized each other in a different way.
He bounced up onto the big table at the end of the room where someone had very thoughtfully left a large box of rez-brush paints. There was an easel with a half-finished canvas next to the table, but he ignored both.
He used his two front paws to push the box of paint-brushes over the edge. It landed on the floor with a thud. The lid flew off, and the brushes, each with their tubes of paint neatly attached, scattered across the carpet.
He fluttered down to the floor, grabbed a psi green brush, and dashed out into the hall, chortling for the others to follow. Delighted with the prospect of a new game, each dust bunny selected a brush and scampered after him.
Out in the hall, Vincent pulled the cap off the green rez-brush paint tube. After watching him, it took the others only a moment to figure out how to remove the caps from their brushes.
Vincent surveyed the long, empty corridor. There was a vast expanse of white stone on the floors. The walls were covered with panels of pale, bleached wood.
The perfect canvas.
TURN THE PAGE FOR A LOOK AT
FIRED UP
Book One of The Dreamlight Trilogy
by Jayne Ann Krentz
Coming soon from G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
The Dreamlight Trilogy
Dear Reader:
The Arcane Society was founded on secrets. Few of those secrets are more dangerous than those kept by the descendants of the alchemist Nicholas Winters, a fierce rival of Sylvester Jones.
The legend of the Burning Lamp goes back to the earliest days of the Society. Nicholas Winters and Sylvester Jones started out as friends and eventually became deadly adversaries. Each sought the same goal: a way to enhance psychic talents. Sylvester chose the path of chemistry and plunged into illicit experiments with strange herbs and plants. Ultimately he concocted the flawed formula that bedevils the Society to this day.
Nicholas took the engineering approach and forged the Burning Lamp, a device with unknown powers. The radiation from the lamp produced a twist in his DNA, creating a psychic genetic “curse” destined to be passed down through the males of his bloodline.
The Winters Curse strikes very rarely, but when it does, the Arcane Society has good reason for grave concern. It is said that the Winters man who inherits Nicholas’s genetically altered talent is destined to become a Cerberus—Arcane slang for an insane psychic who possesses multiple lethal abilities. Jones & Jones and the Governing Council are convinced that such human monsters must be hunted down and terminated as swiftly as possible.
There is only one hope for the men of the Burning Lamp. Each must find the artifact and a woman who can work the dreamlight energy that the device produces in order to reverse the changes brought on by the curse.
In the Dreamlight Trilogy you will meet the three men of the Burning Lamp, past, present, and future. These are the passionate descendants of Nicholas Winters. Each will discover some of the deadly secrets of the lamp. Each will encounter the woman with the power to shape his destiny.
And ultimately, far in the future, on a world called Harmony, one of them will unravel the lamp’s final and most dangerous mystery, the secret of the midnight crystal.
I hope you will enjoy the trilogy.
Sincerely,
Jayne
Prologue
CAPITOL HILL NEIGHBORHOOD, SEATTLE
THE TWO-BLOCK WALK FROM THE BUS STOP ON BROAD-WAY to her apartment was a terrifying ordeal late at night. Reluctantly she left the small island of light cast by the streetlamp and started the treacherous journey into the darkness. At least it had stopped raining. She clamped her purse tightly to her side and clutched her keys the way she had been taught in the two-hour self-defense class the hospital had offered to its staff. The small jagged bits of metal protruded between her fingers like claws.
Should never have agreed to take the night shift, she thought. But the extra pay had been too tantalizing to resist. Six months from now she would have enough saved up enough to buy a used car. No more lonely, late-night rides on the bus.
She was a block and a half from her apartment when she heard the footsteps behind her. She thought her heart would stop. She fought her instincts and forced herself to turn around and look. A man emerged from a nearly empty parking lot. For a few seconds the streetlight gleamed on his shaved head. He had the bulky form of a bodybuilder on steroids. She relaxed a little. She did n
ot know him but she knew where he was going.
The big man disappeared through the glass doors of the gym. The small neon sign in the window announced that it was open twenty-four hours a day. It was the only establishment on the street that was still illuminated. The bookstore with its window full of occult books and Goth jewelry, the pawn shop, the tiny hair salon, and the payday loan operation had been closed for hours.
The gym was not one of the upscale fitness clubs that catered to the spandex-and-yoga crowd. It was the kind of facility frequented by dedicated bodybuilders. The beefy men who came and left the premises did not know it but she sometimes thought of them as her guardian angels. If anything ever happened to her on the long walk home, her only hope was that someone inside the gym would hear her scream and come to help.
She was almost at the intersection when she caught the shift of shadows in a doorway across the street. A man waited there. Was he watching her? Something about the way he moved told her that he was not one of the men from the gym. He wasn’t pumped up on steroids and weights. There was instead a lean, sleek, almost predatory air about him.
Her pulse, already beating much too quickly, started to pound as the fight-or-flight response kicked in. There was a terrible prickling on the nape of her neck. The urge to run was almost overwhelming but she could hardly breathe now. In any event she had no hope of outrunning a man. The only refuge was the gym but the dark silhouette on the other side of the street stood between her and the entrance. Maybe she should scream. But what if her imagination had gotten the better of her? The man across the street did not seem to be paying any attention to her. He was intent on the entrance of the gym.
