by Jayne Castle
Lydia exchanged a quick glance with Melanie who was starting to look intrigued.
Melting amber was an expression. Very few hunters had the power to do it. The stuff didn't actually melt when a lot of psi energy was forced through it, but a very strong ghost-hunter could pull so much para-energy that the tuned amber he used to control it lost its focus. When that happened, it was said that he had melted amber.
Ruining a chunk of amber that had been exquisitely and expensively tuned by a specially trained focus-energy para-resonator was not a problem for other types of para-resonators. Most people, even very strong ephemeral-energy para-rezes such as herself, used psi energy in subtle, nuanced ways. But ghost-hunters were all about raw power.
She happened to know for a fact that Emmett was one of the small percentage of hunters who could melt amber. Presumably all of the other members of the Cadence Guild Council were capable of the same feat. A duel held underground where each duelist could summon very large, extremely dangerous ghosts might well prove lethal to the loser. At best, he would be lucky to survive and if he did make it he would no doubt be so badly psi-fried that he would be a candidate for a nice, quiet para-psych asylum for the rest of his life.
Lydia was suddenly aware that her mouth had gone dry. She stared, wide-eyed, at Jack.
"You said that there hasn't been a Council challenge since Wyatt took over the Guild. Do you mean that in the entire time he's been running things no one ever tried to take him? I find that a little hard to believe."
Melanie raised her brows. "She's right. Is Mercer Wyatt so strong that no one ever dared to challenge him?"
"Wyatt's strong, all right," Jack said easily. "But a couple of the other Council members like that new guy, Foster Dorning, are probably just as strong or stronger."
"So why hasn't anyone ever issued a challenge to Wyatt?" Lydia demanded.
"'Cause he's smart, that's why." Jack winked. "Way too smart to leave himself open to a challenge."
Lydia glared. "I'm waiting for the amber to resonate here, Jack. Go ahead, tell us how Wyatt has managed to avoid a challenge for three decades."
The bit of crystal set in Jack's tooth sparkled when he gave her a knowing grin. "Because, except for about a year after his first wife died when he was covered because he was officially in mourning, Wyatt has always been real careful to make sure he's married."
Lydia stared at him, openmouthed. She noticed that Melanie had a similar blank expression on her face.
Lydia recovered first. "What's marriage got to do with it?"
Jack shrugged. "There's a damn good reason why the Guild chiefs of all the cities are usually in either a Marriage of Convenience or a Covenant Marriage."
Melanie tipped her head inquiringly. "And that reason would be?"
"A little thing called Guild wife rights." Jack's handsome features screwed up in what might have been close thought. "I guess technically it would be Guild spouse rights. But the fact is, there's always been so many more male ghost-hunters than female hunters that I don't expect it's been much of an issue. And for sure there's never been a woman Guild boss in any of the cities."
"I've never heard of these so-called Guild wife rights," Lydia said tersely. "Explain."
"Old tradition," Jack said. "Goes back to the early days when the Guild Councils worried about the organizations being torn apart by in-fighting and rivalries. They wanted to make sure that there were as few challenges as possible, especially in the upper echelons, because they needed trained, experienced hunters badly during the Era of Discord. Couldn't afford to waste good para-rezes in duels."
Lydia exchanged a quick glance with Melanie and turned back to Jack. "How do these Guild wife rights work?"
"Heck, I'm no expert in Guild law." Jack waved one hand across the roof of the Coaster. "Way I understand it, the Councils each instituted a rule that allows a Guild wife to go before the Council and halt any challenge that has been made that involves her husband."
Melanie whistled softly. "And that actually works?"
Jack spread his hands. "Sure seems to have worked for Mercer Wyatt all these years. Works for the other Guild bosses, too. Rumor has it there's only been one boss who was challenged in recent years and that was because he wasn't married."
"Which one?" Melanie asked.
"London." Jack's teeth flashed in another grin of anticipation. "He didn't have a wife when he took over the Resonance Guild six years ago and there's talk that he had to deal with a Council challenge."
Melanie looked quickly at Lydia and was clearly alarmed by whatever she saw there.
"Hey, obviously he won," she said very brightly.
"Yeah." Jack nodded cheerfully. "They say London is strong, all right. Should be one hell of a match if they go for it."
Lydia could not move. She felt as if she had been carved from quartz.
"Gotta run," Jack said. He ducked his head at Lydia. "Like I said, nice to meet you, ma'am." He winked at Melanie. "See you Thursday night, babe, right?"
"My place," Melanie agreed. She twinkled at Lydia. "I'm having a few friends over for drinks and pizza. We're going to watch the Restoration Ball festivities on the rez-screen. Can't wait to see you walking up that red carpet."
"For sure," Jack said. "Never knew anyone personally who got to go to that fancy shindig. Wait'll I tell the guys at the Hall."
He slid back into the Coaster and rezzed the engine. Flash-rock melted and the vehicle shot away from the curb with a low, throbbing whine.
Melanie frowned at Lydia. "Hey, are you okay? You look a little sick."
"No, I am not okay, I'm horrified. I knew this job was risky."
"Yours or Emmett's?"
"Not funny, Mel. I'm talking about Emmett's new position, of course. Damn, damn, damn."
"Take it easy. You're overreacting."
"At the start of this mess, I was afraid that whoever tried to kill Wyatt might go after Emmett. He assured me that wasn't likely to happen because he's convinced that the attacker was only interested in Wyatt. But nobody said anything about this stupid Council challenge tradition."
"I'm sure Jack was just spreading hunter gossip." Melanie patted Lydia's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. After all, everyone knows this is just a temporary job for Emmett. Why would anyone bother to challenge him to a duel?"
"Who knows? Guild Law and traditions are so murky that no one outside the organizations can say how they work."
"Look, London knows how to handle a Guild Council. He did it for six years in Resonance, remember?"
"I know, but this is Cadence. Things might work differently here, for all we know."
Melanie urged her gently through the entrance of the museum. "Don't worry about London. He can take care of himself."
"That's what he keeps telling me. I just wish I could believe it."
Melanie smiled very slowly. "Well, well, well."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've got it bad, don't you?" Melanie was genuinely sympathetic. "You're in love with Emmett. That's why you're letting your imagination make you crazy."
"I'm dating him," Lydia said tersely. "Obviously I'm fond of him."
"Sounds like something a lot more intense than fond, if you ask me."
"We have an arrangement," Lydia mumbled.
"Oh, sure, an arrangement." Melanie chuckled. "Lydia Smith, Mystery Mistress, has an arrangement with the boss of the Cadence Guild. Nope, sorry, I'm not buying that one, pal. Sadly, as I've so often pointed out, you just wouldn't know how to have a casual, no-strings-attached affair with a man."
Chapter 12
The secretary of the Old Frequency City College Alumni Association called just before lunch. Lydia put aside the schedule of group tours that she was slated to escort through the museum that week and reached for the phone.
"This is Jan Ross," a perky voice said on the other end of the line. "I understand you've been trying to get in touch with me?"
"Yes, thank you so much for r
eturning my call." Lydia quickly opened her top desk drawer and took out the copy of the newspaper story she had found inside Lawrence Maltby's milk carton. "I'm trying to get some information about a former student. His name is Troy Burgis. According to a newspaper account that I came across, he disappeared in the course of an unauthorized trip into the catacombs about fifteen years ago."
"I see. I don't recall the name but unfortunately there have been a few such incidents over the years. The college does its best to protect the students but you know how it is. Sometimes the fraternities get carried away with their initiation rites or a group of young people get drunk and decide to go underground through a hole-in-the-wall. Accidents happen."
"I understand. Is there any way I can get more information on this particular student?"
"I can look him up in the yearbook, if you like," Jan Ross offered.
"I would really appreciate that."
"Hang on."
Alumni associations, Lydia thought, best investigators in the world. You could hide from your family, friends, tax collectors, and creditors but you could not escape the long reach of your alumni association.
She tapped her pen anxiously against the edge of her desk. She did not know what she hoped to discover about Troy Burgis. She knew only that she had to try to find out why Maltby had gone to the trouble of concealing the article in a trapped milk carton.
She heard movement, the squeak of a desk chair, and then the sound of pages being turned.
"Yes, here he is," Jan Ross said a moment later. "There's not much information, though, just his name and major and favorite extracurricular activity."
"Is there a photo?"
"No, just a blank square and a note that says photo not available."
Damn. Then again, what good would a photo have done her? Lydia thought. It would have been fifteen years old and besides, Burgis was dead.
"What subject was he majoring in?" she asked.
"Para-archaeology."
"I guess that figures, given his interest in the catacombs. What about extracurricular activities?"
"One. Music. It says here that he formed his own band that played at an off-campus club. The members included Jason Clark, Norman Fairbanks, and Andrea Preston."
Lydia paused in the act of taking down notes. "Clark and Fairbanks were with Burgis when he disappeared. Any chance you could put me in touch with either of them? I'd really like to talk to Andrea Preston, too, if possible."
"I'll see what I can do, but it will take me some time to pull the contact information and then I'll have to get in touch with each of them first to see if they wish to speak with you. I'm sure you understand."
"Of course. Please tell them that I'm only interested in Burgis." She cast around for another question that the alumni secretary could answer. "Does the yearbook give the names of the academics who were in the Department of Para-archaeology there at the time?"
"No, but I've got that information on file. Just a sec."
Jan Ross came back on the line a short time later.
"Looks like it was a small department in those days," she said. "There were only two full professors, a couple of assistant profs, and four instructors."
Lydia tightened her grip on the pen. "Can you read me the names?"
Ever helpful, Jan Ross read the short list of the members of the department. When she was finished, Lydia thanked her and hung up the phone.
She sat there for a long time, contemplating the one name that she had underlined very heavily: Dr. Lawrence W. Maltby.
It was Melanie who spotted The Dress.
Melanie had, in fact, taken charge of the entire shopping expedition when she had deduced that Lydia was incapable of focusing on the problem.
Lydia knew that finding the right gown was important but she could not seem to concentrate on the business of finding it. She kept getting distracted by memories of Jack's comments concerning the dangers of Council challenges and the risks involved in being an unmarried Guild boss.
"If I don't keep an eye on you you'll end up with another dull business suit and a pair of low-heeled pumps," Melanie declared when they got into a cab outside of Shrimpton's that afternoon.
Lydia did not argue the point. She settled in beside Melanie and closed the door. "It was very nice of Shrimp to let both of us leave the office early so that I could shop."
"Nice, my sweet patoot. He practically begged me to take you shopping after I pointed out the advantages."
Lydia frowned. "What advantages?"
"Are you kidding?" Melanie chuckled. "This is going to be one of the best things that's ever happened to Shrimp and he knows it. Just wait until the newspapers find out that the new Guild boss's Mystery Mistress works for none other than Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors. Folks will be lined up around the block outside our tacky little museum to get a look at you."
"Oh, jeez, Mel." Lydia was appalled. "This is a nightmare. I've become a museum attraction."
"You're going to be an even bigger draw for us than the dreamstone jar," Melanie said with great satisfaction.
"Oh, jeez, Mel."
Melanie's brows jumped together in sudden concern. "You don't look too good. You're not going to faint or anything, are you?"
"I am not going to faint." Lydia paused, considering the matter. "But I might be sick."
"Mother of pearl." Melanie's eyes got huge. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
"No," Lydia said flatly. "That is absolutely impossible." I think. "We've been very careful." Most of the time.
"Too bad. A pregnant Mystery Mistress would have been an incredible attraction for Shrimpton's"
"Since when did you become so concerned with the financial future of Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors?"
"A woman has to think about her career."
"Got news for you, Mel, a position at Shrimpton's is a job, not a career." Lydia broke off as the cab turned the corner into an exclusive shopping district. "Where are we going?"
"Designs by Finella," Melanie announced with relish. "I've read about it for years in the fashion and style magazines. The wealthiest, most important women in town shop there."
"Good grief, I know I need a nice dress but there's no reason for us to go to the most expensive shop in town."
"Will you please calm down? You're not going to pay for it, remember? You said that Emmett told you that the Guild is picking up the tab for the gown."
Lydia fell back on the argument she had attempted to use when she'd had this conversation with Emmett. "It's the principle of the thing."
"Listen to me, friend." Melanie turned partway around in the seat, rested her arm along the back, and gave Lydia a ferociously intense stare. "Here's the only principle you need to keep in mind: This is your big chance to really stick it to the Cadence Guild. You know you've been wanting to get revenge against ghost-hunters ever since that disaster in the catacombs seven months ago. What better way to do that than to send them a huge bill for a fabulous ball gown and all the accessories?"
"Hmm." Jolted out of her dark musings, Lydia contemplated that logic. "You know, you've got a point. I hadn't looked at it quite like that."
Melanie relaxed against the seat. "Revenge is sweet, ain't it?"
At Designs by Finella, Melanie had to do some fast talking to get the attention of one of the elegant saleswomen.
"My friend will be attending the Restoration Ball," she said with a grand air. "We want a very special gown suitable for the occasion. Mr. Emmett London will be her escort for the evening. You do know who Mr. London is, don't you?"
The woman's eyes widened in shock and then lit with interest.
"The new head of the Cadence Guild? Yes, of course. I read all about him in the newspapers." The saleswoman flicked a quick, speculative glance at Lydia. "I heard that he had a companion, but I was under the impression that the relationship was a very private matter. I didn't realize that he took her out in public."
Lydia's temper flared. She bared her teet
h in a steely smile. "Figured he was keeping me stashed away in a secret love nest? Don't believe everything you read in the tabloids, lady."
The saleswoman turned red. "I assure you I never meant to imply—"
Melanie waded in smoothly. "Shall we get busy looking at some gowns? By the way, Mr. London wishes the bill to be sent directly to him at Guild headquarters. You can call his office for confirmation."
The saleswoman pulled herself together immediately. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Mrs. Davies." She snapped her fingers for an assistant. "The private viewing salon, Jennifer."
"Private viewing salon?" Lydia grimaced. "Sounds like a funeral parlor."
She and Melanie were ushered into a mirrored room, seated on pink velvet chairs, and served delicately scented rez-tea in dainty cups.
One spectacular gown after another was brought out for inspection. Each dress was nothing short of a work of art and each seemed more beautiful and more expensive than the last.
Her temper cooled and Lydia returned to her brooding thoughts. It really wasn't fair, she reflected. Under any other circumstances, she could have enjoyed herself enormously. After all, what were the odds that she would ever again get an opportunity to shop for the ultimate ball gown and accessories?
But the potential pleasures of the experience were buried beneath the weight of a sense of impending doom. Her intuition was kicking in and she knew better than to ignore it.
Melanie had no such nagging doubts to distract her, however. She took on the responsibility of selecting the right dress with great zest, turning thumbs down on one gown after another.
Too boring. Too beige. Too ordinary. Too much lace. Too much skirt.
At one point the assistant produced a shimmering, sparkling silver lame number. The sight of it glittering there in front of her brought Lydia out of her dour reverie.
"That's rather nice," she said.
"Are you out of your mind?" Melanie made a face. "I could carry it off but you would look like a high-class hooker in that thing."
"Oh."
The next offering was pink.
Melanie lost her patience. She scowled at Mrs. Davies and the assistant. "I thought I had made it clear that Miss Smith will be attending the Restoration Ball with one of the most powerful men in the city. She needs to look exotic and mysterious and elegant. Do you see where I'm going here?"
