After Glow

by Jayne Castle

  She had never seen him look so angry.

  She glanced at the door and considered a run for the elevator. That would be the coward’s way out, she chided herself. She wasn’t afraid of Emmett’s wrath. Then again there was that Old Earth saying about discretion being the better part of valor.

  “Thank you, Lydia.” Tamara rose from her chair. “I must say, your timing was excellent. I warned Emmett that Dorning was planning to issue a formal challenge. That was the very last thing we needed right now.” She frowned curiously. “How did you find out about it?”

  “I heard a rumor,” Lydia said. “At lunch.”

  “If you don’t mind, Tamara.” Emmett’s voice was much too soft. “I’d like to talk to my wife in private.”

  Annoyance glittered in Tamara’s eyes but she nodded calmly. “If you’ll excuse me, Lydia, I’ll be on my way back to the hospital.”

  Lydia told herself that some sort of polite inquiry was probably in order. “How is Mr. Wyatt doing?”

  “He’s in stable condition but he’s still heavily sedated.” Tamara sounded abruptly weary. “The doctors say that the most serious concern now is the psi burn he got from the ghost he used to stop the bleeding. It took a lot out of him.” She hesitated. “He’s not a young man anymore.”

  She walked out the door and closed it behind her.

  A heavy silence descended on the chamber. Lydia braced herself.

  Emmett circled the long table, halted in front of it, leaned back, and folded his arms.

  “When did you first hear about the tradition of Guild wife rights?” he asked as if he was merely curious.

  She cleared her throat. “Quite recently, as a matter of fact.”

  “I see. Who told you?”

  “A friend of Melanie’s mentioned it in passing.”

  “A hunter friend, I assume?”

  “Uh-huh. Look, Emmett, I can see you’re angry about this but I was only trying to help. When Jack told me that there were rumors of a possible Council challenge brewing and that there was a simple way to stop it, I figured, what the heck, why not just pull the plug on it before it got off the ground.”

  “I see.”

  “I knew you would never ask me to help you because you wouldn’t want me to think that you were just using me. But we’re pretty good friends now and I don’t mind, honest.”

  “Good friends,” he repeated neutrally.

  “Okay, more than friends,” she said cautiously.

  “Yeah, I’d say that, seeing as how we’re married and all.”

  She gripped the arms of the chair. “Please don’t twist my words. I told you, I was only trying to help.”

  “That’s the real reason for our MC, isn’t it? You were just trying to help.”

  This was not going well. “Jack made it clear that the only way I could protect you from a challenge was if I was legally married to you.”

  “So your little slip of the tongue to the media yesterday didn’t happen because you felt cornered or because you didn’t want everyone referring to you as my mystery mistress. It was a calculated move designed to push me into marriage.”

  She sighed. “You’re really pissed, aren’t you?”

  “Can I assume that the headlines in the Tattler about my Mystery Mistress were not an accident, either?”

  She drew a deep breath. “I did sort of pick up the phone and give the paper an anonymous tip.”

  “Knowing it would lead to us getting married?”

  “No.” She spread her hands. “Back at the start of this thing I just wanted the media to stop hinting that you had shot Mercer Wyatt because you and he and Tamara were all part of a lovers’ triangle. I was afraid that the police might take the gossip seriously. I mean, let’s face it, you don’t have a very good alibi for the period of time when Wyatt was shot.”

  “So you figured that if it got out that I had a secret mistress the media would stop implying that I had a motive to shoot Wyatt?”

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.” She sagged against the back of the chair. “And then Jack told me about the possible Council challenge and Guild wife rights and this big meeting today. One thing led to another. I just kept getting in deeper and deeper.”

  “And now we’re married.”

  “Only for a year.” She heaved another sigh. “Like I said, I was only trying to help.”

  He straightened away from the table and went to stand at the window overlooking the parade route far below.

  “I don’t suppose it occurred to you that I might have wanted Dorning to make a formal challenge?” he said neutrally.

  She stared at his broad shoulders, dumbfounded. “For heaven’s sake, why?”

  “To get the opposition out into the open. In my experience, it’s always a lot easier to deal with it that way.”

  “You mean you intended to give Dorning an opening to make a formal challenge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, lord.” A terrible sense of doom descended on her. “I screwed things up for you, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  She wished the floor would open up beneath her so that she could sink into a catacomb. “I’m sorry.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How was I supposed to know what was going on?” she demanded. “You never bothered to tell me your plans.”

  “Don’t you get it?” He turned his head to look at her. “I’ve been doing my best to keep you at arm’s length from Guild politics.”

  “You can’t keep me out of this.” She shot to her feet, thoroughly incensed now. “I’m your wife. I’ve got a right to help protect you.”

  He swung fully around to face her. “I ran the Cadence Guild for six years without the benefit of having a wife to shield me from a formal challenge. I can deal with the likes of Dorning. I don’t need your protection, Lydia. Stay out of this.”

  She pulled herself together. “Of course. You’re absolutely right. What was I thinking? The Guild is your world, not mine. I should never have tried to interfere.”

  “Lydia—”

  She looped the strap of her shoulder bag over her arm and went to the door. “There’s one other thing you should know.”

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “I took Jack and Melanie to lunch at the Riverside Grill today. There was a little scene with the maitre d’ and I sort of tossed your name around somewhat freely in order to get a table.”

  “I see.”

  She drew a deep breath. “And I charged our meals to the Guild.”

  “The bill will be taken care of,” he said quietly.

  “Like the dress?”

  “Like the dress,” he agreed.

  She nodded, more depressed than ever. “Just another Guild business expense.”

  “Yes.”

  Probably how he thought of their marriage, she decided. Just another business expense.

  She let herself out into the reception area and closed the door of the Council chamber very quietly behind her.

  He watched the closed door for a long time thinking about how much had gone wrong in the past couple of days. The derailing of his plans to force Dorning’s hand was the least of the lengthy string of disasters, he thought. He was a lot more worried about his marriage, which appeared to be on the rocks after less than twenty-four hours.

  After a while he opened the door and went out into the hushed lobby. Perkins watched him uneasily.

  “I apologize for not handling that well, sir. I regret to say that I did not know what to do with Mrs. London when she arrived. I was completely unprepared—”

  “Never mind, Perkins. Few people are ever prepared to deal with Mrs. London.”

  Perkins relaxed slightly. “She is rather unusual, isn’t she? I recall Mr. Wyatt saying something similar when he instructed me to open the file on her.”

  “File? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Perkins trembled in alarm when Emmett advanced toward his desk. “The file on Lydia Smith, sir.”


  “Wyatt had you open a file on her?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Emmett planted both hands on the polished surface and leaned toward Perkins. “When?”

  “There was a formal inquiry following an unfortunate incident in the catacombs a few months ago. Miss Smith maintained that two Guild members had failed to carry out their assignments properly and as a result she very nearly died underground. The charges were quite serious so naturally Mr. Wyatt was apprised of the situation.”

  “Where is that file?”

  “I’ll get it for you, sir.” Perkins leaped nimbly to his feet and went to unlock the heavily secured door of the file room.

  Emmett watched him open a long, metal drawer and pluck out a yellow folder.

  “The results of the inquiry were satisfactory.” Perkins handed the folder to Emmett. “The two Guild men were completely exonerated of all charges. But Mr. Wyatt had some lingering concerns about that pair of hunters. He spoke with their commanders and instructed them to watch both men for a while. But in the end, the problem, if there was one, went away.”

  Emmett opened the file. “What do you mean, it went away?”

  “The two hunters resigned from the Guild a couple of months after the inquiry. They said they wanted to pursue other careers.” Perkins’s shoulders moved in an elegant shrug. “As you are well aware, sir, it is not at all uncommon for hunters who have worked for several years and who have been financially successful to retire from excavation work.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Active ghost-hunting tended to be a young man’s, or occasionally a young woman’s, game. The need to be constantly alert while underground, the risks of getting singed or badly psi burned, and the constant irritation that came from dealing with arrogant academics who generally viewed hunters as so much dumb muscle, took their toll. A hunter could make good money working the catacombs and many of them chose to take the profits and retire early.

  Emmett studied the extremely limited data on the pair of hunters who had been involved in Lydia’s Lost Weekend incident. “Where are these two now?”

  “I have no idea, sir, but the people down in the retirement benefits department will no doubt have addresses.”

  Emmett closed the folder with a snap. “Find them, Perkins. I want to talk to them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  19

  LYDIA WAS SITTING in her tiny living room at six-thirty that evening, drinking a cup of rez-tea and watching the fog roll in over the Dead City, when the phone rang. Fuzz, curled on the sofa beside her, twitched a little in response.

  “Don’t bother,” Lydia said to him, rising to her feet. “I’ll get it.”

  She scooped up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Where the hell are you?” Emmett asked. Each word sounded as if it had been cut from a block of ice with a chain saw.

  The potent blend of anger and pain and dread that had been brewing in her ever since she had left his office that afternoon pulsed through her. She would not lose her temper, she vowed. She could be just as stone cold as any Guild boss.

  “I’m home, of course,” she said with exaggerated patience. “As you obviously know since you just dialed this number. Where are you? Still at the office?”

  “I’m at my townhouse, which is where you’re supposed to be. You live here now.”

  “No, I don’t live at your townhouse. I spent a few nights there, including last night, but I never actually moved my stuff into your place. I’m still paying rent here.”

  “Damn it, this is about what happened today in my office, isn’t it? You’re still upset.”

  “What was I supposed to do after you made it clear you didn’t need or want a wife?”

  “I never said that. I said I didn’t want you involved in Guild business.”

  “Well, since you’re all about Guild business,” she retorted, “it’s going to be a little tricky staying out of your affairs, isn’t it? I’m doing my best, though. That’s why I’m keeping this place.”

  “We’re married, Lydia.”

  “It’s just a Marriage of Convenience, remember? I figure convenience is the operative word.”

  “It’s the key word, all right, and I don’t find it very convenient to have my wife living six blocks away. I’ve got a piece of paper that says you’re committed to me for a full year. As far as I’m concerned this MC of ours is the equivalent of a business contract.”

  She was starting to feel a lot more cheerful, she thought. Emmett wasn’t nearly as cold-blooded as he sometimes appeared.

  “Nothing in that contract says we have to live together,” she pointed out politely.

  “Marriage implies a shared residence and you know it.”

  “Careful, Emmett, you’re starting to sound like a lawyer. What are you going to do if I don’t move in with you? Sue me?”

  “I think I can come up with something a little more creative than a lawsuit,” Emmett said, sounding dangerous. “I’m a Guild boss, after all.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It sure is. And now that we’ve got that settled, let’s talk about tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty. As soon as we’ve put in an appearance at that damned ball, we’ll go straight back to your place, collect some of your stuff and Fuzz, and come back here. Tomorrow I’ll arrange to have a moving van pack up the rest of your belongings and transfer them here.”

  She lounged against the kitchen counter. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have time to go through the yellow pages and select a moving company. You’re running the Guild.”

  “Who said anything about going through the phone book? I’ll have Perkins handle it.”

  “Gee, it must be nice to have an administrative assistant.”

  “Comes in handy. See you at eight-thirty.”

  He de-rezzed the connection before she could respond.

  Slowly she replaced the phone and smiled at Fuzz.

  “I do believe that I got his attention, Fuzz. Pack your bags. We’re moving into his place tonight.”

  She heard the key in the front door precisely at eight-thirty. Fuzz skittered eagerly toward the tiny foyer.

  She went back to the mirror to check her reflection for what had to be the millionth time. She still couldn’t quite believe that the sophisticated-looking creature in the glass was really her.

  Midnight looked even more sleek and glamorous tonight than it had when she had tried it on in the boutique. The stylist at the salon that afternoon had sculpted her hair into a graceful, elegant chignon that called attention to the nape of her neck and emphasized her eyes.

  Following the advice she had been given, she had kept the jewelry to a minimum and made sure that all of it was gold.

  “Lydia?” Emmett’s voice echoed grimly in the front room.

  “I’ll be right there,” she called back.

  She turned away from the mirror and went down the hall. One look at Emmett and she forgot all about her own image.

  Dressed in formal black, amber eyes gleaming with power, he looked like an elegantly lethal specter-cat on the hunt. She felt a familiar tingling through all her senses and had to fight the urge to throw herself at him and drag him to the floor.

  He watched her come toward him and gave her a slow, sensual smile. Energy hummed in the air. She felt the hair stir on the nape of her bare neck. Heat pooled in her lower body.

  “Whatever that dress cost, it was worth it,” Emmett said. The words were heavy with sexual promise. “Sure glad you’re coming home with me tonight, Mrs. London.”

  The grand entrance of Restoration Hall was choked with reporters and cameras. In addition, a large crowd had gathered to watch the guests walk the gauntlet of red carpet.

  Emmett eased the Slider to a halt directly in front. “Ready?”

  Lydia forgot about being cool. A trickle of panic shot through her.

  “Oh, jeez,” she whispered. “It looks just like it does on the rez-screen every year. I’ll bet Melanie and J
ack and Zane and Olinda are all watching us right now.”

  “Whatever you do, just keep smiling,” Emmett growled.

  Uniformed valets leaped for the doors on both sides of the Slider before Lydia could respond. A hand reached down to assist her.

  “It’s the new Guild boss and his wife,” someone shouted.

  A murmur of excitement rippled across the crowd.

  Flashbulbs went off like fireworks, dazzling Lydia as she stepped out of the Slider. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. So much for being cool, she thought. She was afraid to move for fear she would trip on the curb or the edge of the carpet, neither of which she could see because of the black dots dancing in front of her eyes.

  And then Emmett was there, taking her arm to steady her. He walked her along the red carpet toward the elaborately gilded doors.

  More flashbulbs burst. This time she was ready for them. She kept her smile plastered in place until she and Emmett were safely through the doorway.

  She started to say whew, glad that’s over but then she caught sight of the long reception line composed of dignitaries, all of whom seemed genuinely awed by the new Guild boss.

  At the end of that ritual they were ushered into a vast, glittering ballroom. Lydia thought she was prepared for the setting because she had seen it so many times at home on the rez-screen and in magazine photos.

  But no film or picture could do justice to the true splendor of the hall. Massive chandeliers dominated the gilded and mirrored ceiling. Huge murals on the walls told the story of the violence of the Era of Discord and the triumph of the Last Battle of Old Cadence.

  “I should have brought my camera,” Lydia whispered to Emmett.

  He was amused. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty of pictures in the papers tomorrow.”

  There was no time to say anything else because people materialized immediately around Emmett. As Melanie had predicted, he was one of the most powerful men in the room and that meant that everyone wanted to be seen chatting with him.

  She was wondering if anyone would notice if she slipped away to get a closer look at the scenes in the massive murals when someone put a glass of sparkling champagne in her hand.