RS01 The Lost Night

by Jayne Castle

  She had discovered early on that there were a lot of myths and misunderstandings in the mainstream world concerning the harmonically enlightened lifestyle, and a number of them revolved around sex. The one aspect of her attempt at mainstreaming that had appeared promising at first was her social life. Men had lined up to invite her out on dates at the tearoom and later here, at the clinic. But the whirlwind of dating had dissipated rapidly after she had been forced to make it clear that women who lived by the Principles were not necessarily inclined to hop into bed whenever the opportunity arose.

  Until a couple of weeks ago she had been making her living selling tea and giving aura readings every Wednesday and Saturday at the Crystal Rainbow Tearoom in the Old Quarter. She had been trying to recover her sense of inner balance following the disturbing events that had occurred on her last trip to Rainshadow Island.

  Oakford had found her in the Crystal Rainbow. Why he had wandered into the tearoom that day, she had never discovered. It was not his kind of place. But a quick glance at his aura had warned her that he had some real talent. Her first thought was that he had found it amusing to watch her do the readings. A lot of people treated aura readings as a form of fortune-telling—a parlor trick that was not to be taken seriously.

  But Oakford had been serious. He had ordered a cup of tea, sat down at a small table in the corner, and quietly observed her work for nearly an hour. In the end he had been convinced that she was a natural—a talent who could not only read auras but also diagnose disorders of the para-senses. He had concluded that she would be useful to him at the clinic and promptly dazzled her with the promise of a high salary and—more important—a respectable opportunity to practice her healing abilities.

  He had said nothing about the monsters.

  “Here’s the problem, Dr. Oakford,” she said. “Lancaster does not present with a simple instability of the aura.” She was rather proud of the does not present line. It sounded clinical, she thought; very professional. “There’s a whole chunk of the normal spectrum missing in his energy field. Think flatlined.”

  “That’s not possible,” Ian snapped. “If his aura was flatlined, he’d be dead.”

  “Not his entire aura. But there is a blank section on his spectrum. It’s like someone shut down the lights in that region.”

  “I would remind you, Miss Blake, that it is your job—indeed, the mission of this clinic—to turn on those lights for our patients.”

  “Okay, maybe the light thing was a bad analogy. Let me try another approach. In the old days, people would have said Lancaster was soulless. That was always a big element in the traditional vampire myth, you know. Today most laypeople would tell you that Lancaster lacks anything resembling a conscience.”

  “This is a para-psychiatric clinic, Miss Blake,” Ian said. It sounded as if he had his teeth clenched. “We do not deal in matters of religion or philosophy. We are focused on using modern science to diagnose and heal illnesses of the para-senses.”

  “And a worthy goal that is,” she said quickly. “I’m all for it. In fact, I was thrilled when you asked me to come to work here. I’ve always felt I had a calling to do this kind of work. Oh, wait, that sounds sort of religious or philosophical, doesn’t it? I mean, if my life had taken a different direction, I might have had your job.”

  Ian’s eyes hardened. “Think so?”

  Okay, that had been a tactical mistake.

  “Well, no, probably not,” she admitted. “I wasn’t born for upper management.”

  Another poor choice of words, she realized.

  Ian flushed a dark red. Alarmed, she rushed to calm the gathering storm.

  “I’m more of an entrepreneur,” she explained. “I could never do the kind of work that you do. What I’m trying to tell you is that I can’t fix Marcus Lancaster or anyone else like him.”

  “In that case,” Ian said evenly, “your services are no longer needed here at the Chapman Clinic. You’ve got fifteen minutes to clear out your desk. A member of the security staff will escort you to the door.”

  Although she knew an escort to the door was standard procedure when someone got fired, it hurt to know that Ian did not trust her.

  “Afraid I’ll steal some paper clips or a list of your drug company clients on my way out?” she asked.

  Ian shook his head and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry about this, Rachel. I really believed that you would be an asset to my team.”

  She rezzed her talent. The charms on her bracelet clashed lightly on her wrist, generating just enough ultralight to allow her to view Ian’s energy field. Ian was angry but he was also experiencing genuine disappointment and regret. He had taken a chance on her, hoping that she might give him an edge in the highly competitive world of para-psych drug research, and she had failed him.

  She heard Carl and Marcus Lancaster in the hall behind her. She did not turn around but she could feel the monster’s energy.

  “Isn’t she lovely, Carl?” Lancaster asked. “Miss Blake is going to be my bride, you know. The voices tell me that she’s my perfect match. We have so much in common.”

  “Congratulations,” Carl said. “Be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding.”

  “I’ll do that,” Lancaster said, sounding pleased.

  “Meanwhile, it’s time for lunch.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lancaster said. “Do you suppose there will be quiche and perhaps a nice white wine at lunch today? I haven’t had a decent meal since I arrived here.”

  “This is Wednesday,” Carl said. “That means meat loaf.”

  “I really don’t like meat loaf,” Lancaster said. “But I will tolerate anything so long as I can be near my beloved. Her radiance lightens my aura like a fine champagne.”

  “No wine at lunch, either,” Carl said.

  “I was afraid of that,” Lancaster said.

  Carl guided him along the hallway.

  “Damn it, Rachel, whatever you did to Lancaster in that therapy session has worsened his condition,” Ian said. He kept his voice low, but it was plain that he was not just angry; he was concerned for his patient.

  Rachel shuddered but she did not turn around. She listened to the retreating footsteps, suddenly very glad to know that in fifteen minutes she would be out of the building and far away from the clinic.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” she whispered back, “but Lancaster is deliberately acting crazy. His aura is very stable—scary stable, in fact. He is in full control of himself and his talent. He’s a full-on psi-path and he’s dangerous, sir.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ian said. “There is definitely instability in Lancaster’s aura. He is an ideal candidate for the drug trial that I am conducting.”

  “Right.” She clutched her notebook to her breasts. She really needed to get out of the clinic. She fought the suddenly overwhelming urge to run. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go pack up my office.” She started to move around him and paused. “I do have one piece of advice for you, although you probably won’t take it.”

  Ian narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “Do not believe anything Marcus Lancaster says.”

  “If you have any proof that he’s lying, now would be a real good time to provide it,” Ian said, his expression fierce.

  She tried to come up with something, anything that would impress Ian.

  “His ear stud,” she said.

  Ian blinked. “What about it? The crystal isn’t tuned amber. It can’t be used to generate energy. That was checked out when he was admitted. The patients are not allowed to possess amber. And it’s certainly not gem-quality. It’s just a cold, decorative stone of some kind.”

  She took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, sir. I’ve seen stones like it before. Also, you should know that Lancaster doesn’t need amber or charged crystal to use his para-senses. He’s a natural. I think he has a mid-level talent for psychic hypnosis, but that’s not my point.”

  “Ridiculous. There is no such talent.”r />
  “I didn’t expect you to believe that, but think about this, sir: Why would a guy who wears designer suits and watches that probably cost more than the entire city-state budget wear a cheap ear stud?”

  “Probably because it has sentimental value,” Ian snapped, exasperated.

  “Trust me, there isn’t an ounce of sentiment in Marcus Lancaster.”

  “What makes you think that you are qualified to offer an opinion on Lancaster’s para-psych profile?” Ian said. “You were selling tea and giving aura readings when I found you at the Crystal Rainbow.”

  “Yes, I was, and I think I’ll go back to that career. I don’t seem to be cut out for clinical work or for the mainstream world, come to that.”

  She tightened her grip on her notebook and stepped around Ian.

  “Rachel—”

  Surprised by the hesitation in his voice, she paused and turned back.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Even though you were technically here on probation, I’ll see to it that you receive two weeks’ severance pay,” Ian said quietly.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. I spent a fortune on new clothes for this job. I’ll be paying off the credit card for a while.”

  “I suppose you’ll be going back to the Crystal Rainbow Tearoom?”

  “No,” she said. “I think it’s time for plan B.”

  “You’re going to return to the Harmonic Enlightenment Academy?”

  “No. The truth is, I don’t belong there, either. Ever heard of Rainshadow Island?”

  “No,” Ian said.

  “Not many people have. It’s one of the islands in the Amber Sea. It’s not even on most maps. My great-aunts ran a bookshop and café there for a couple of decades. Several months ago they retired and moved to the desert. They left Shadow Bay Books to me. I’ve just let the shop sit, closed up, until I could decide what to do with it. In the back of my mind the shop was my fallback plan in case things didn’t work out for me here in Frequency City. Good thing I didn’t sell it.”

  She started walking again, heading toward her office.

  “One more thing,” Ian said.

  She paused and turned back to face him again. “What now?”

  “You said you’d seen stones like the one in Lancaster’s ear stud.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “On Rainshadow Island. As far as anyone knows, that’s the only place they have ever been found. They’re called rainstones.”

  She hurried away down the hall to the tiny office that had been allocated to her. Two months ago when she had accepted the position at the clinic she had been so excited at having her very own office that she had taken dozens of photos of the small, spare space and emailed them to everyone in the family. She shook her head at the naïve memory. As if an office was proof that she had found her place in the world.

  “I should have known this wasn’t going to work out,” she said into the silence. “Not like I wasn’t warned.”

  It took ten minutes, not fifteen, to gather up her personal possessions and dump them into a cardboard box. Carl was waiting at the door. He looked unhappy.

  “I’m really sorry about this, Miss Blake,” he said. “It’s been nice having you here. The patients all like you. So do I. Things seem more cheerful and sunnier here when you’re around.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Carl, but Dr. Oakford is right. It’s best that I leave. I don’t belong here.”

  Carl cleared his throat. “I don’t suppose you happen to have any more of that tea that you blended for me, do you?”

  “Not here in the office but I’ll mix up another batch and send it to you.”

  Carl brightened. “Thanks, I appreciate that.”

  Five minutes later she was alone on the street, the cardboard box containing her things tucked under one arm, her purse slung over her shoulder. The low, dark clouds opened up as she walked quickly toward the bus stop. Naturally she would get caught in the rain without an umbrella today, she thought. Some days were just flat-out unharmonic from start to finish.

  The cold, sleeting rain plastered her tightly pinned hair to her head and soaked her new black low-heeled pumps. The shoes would be ruined. Not that it mattered, she told herself. No one wore black low-heeled pumps on Rainshadow. Boots, athletic shoes, and sandals were the norm there. And she just happened to own a new pair of boots.

  She waited for the bus, chilled to the bone but aware that she felt a lot better now that she was away from the Chapman Clinic.

  She would survive the rain and the loss of the job. What mattered was that she would never again find herself alone in a therapy room with Marcus Lancaster. Because she was quite certain it was no coincidence that he had manipulated the situation so that they had wound up together today. If she remained on the staff at the clinic, he would manipulate things to ensure that there were more such encounters. She knew that as surely as she knew the Principles.

  Another shiver of apprehension swept through her. Rainshadow was Plan B, but the thought of returning to the island made her uneasy. Something had happened to her the last time she was there—something unnerving. Twelve hours of her life had vanished.

  She had gone into a psychic fugue late one afternoon and wandered into the forbidden territory of the Preserve. Somehow she had not only survived the night in the dangerous woods, but she had also done what most people who knew the island considered almost impossible—she had managed to find her way out of the Preserve.

  She had emerged at dawn the following morning but she had no memories of the night.

  She had, however, collected some souvenirs along the way—dark dreams that now haunted her sleep, the faint memory of ethereal music being played somewhere in the night, and a handful of rainstones.

  Chapter 2

  His name was Harry Sebastian. He materialized on her front porch in the middle of a raging thunderstorm. He was dressed in a long black raincoat that he wore over black trousers and black boots. Rain streamed off the coat. His near-black hair was plastered to his head. The flashes of lightning illuminated the hard, sharp planes and angles of his face and the sleek, powerful silhouette of his shoulders. The energy of his dark aura blazed with ultrasilver light and midnight shadows.

  It would have been all too easy to believe that Harry was Lucifer, himself, come to collect her soul. But Rachel knew better. Harry was no angel, fallen or otherwise. Harry was the kind of guy who would walk into hell to rescue you from the devil—or send you to the inferno himself, if he thought that you deserved it.

  She watched him through the screen door, instinctively slipping a little higher into her other senses. The gentle chiming of the silvery metal charms on her bracelet was drowned by the rolling thunder. The faint glow in the small stones went unnoticed in the white-hot crackle of lightning.

  He looked at her with eyes that burned with smoky green fire, the same way that he had looked at her yesterday when they had been introduced by the new police chief, Slade Attridge. Her intuition had warned her then—as it did tonight—that the heat in Sebastian’s eyes was a dangerous mix of sexual attraction and the aroused curiosity of a top-of-the-food-chain hunter. Yesterday she had been stunned by the thrill of awareness that had slammed through her senses. But that was nothing compared to the excitement effervescing in her blood tonight.

  He was here—right here—at her door.

  “Sorry about this,” Harry said. “I was on my way into town to grab some dinner at a café. When the rain started, I decided to turn around and go back to the old gatekeeper’s cabin, but there’s a tree down across Gatehouse Road. Your place was closest, so I thought I’d see if you’d let me wait out the storm here.”

  On Rainshadow, neighbors looked after one another, Rachel thought. But Harry Sebastian wasn’t exactly a neighbor. He had arrived two days ago, but she knew very little about him aside from the fact that Slade had summoned him to investigate some problems in the Preserve. The Sebastian family owned the Preserve and,
therefore, most of the island, but none of them had ever spent much time on Rainshadow. Probably because they were all too busy making money, she thought. Sebastian, Inc. was a highly successful business empire. In some quarters the Sebastians were still considered to be pirates.

  Before she could respond she heard an enthusiastic chortle at her feet. She looked down and saw Darwina. The dust bunny was fully fluffed and in full-cute mode. She resembled a large wad of dryer lint with two baby blue eyes. Yesterday she had made it clear that she liked Harry, flirting outrageously with him in the café at Shadow Bay Books. The attraction was of a somewhat superficial nature in Rachel’s opinion. She was pretty sure that it was based almost entirely on the fact that Harry’s big SUV with its powerful flash-rock engine promised a much more exciting ride than Rachel’s bicycle or the little Vibe buggy that she borrowed from Brett at the service station when she needed something larger in the way of transport.

  Darwina was new in Rachel’s life, but it had already become apparent that she was something of an adrenaline junkie.

  Fortunately for Harry, he had another, more solid character reference. Slade Attridge, a former Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation agent with excellent cop instincts, had made it clear that he approved of Harry as well.

  Rachel pulled herself together, gave the situation about a half second’s thought, and concluded that she had no alternative other than to play the gracious hostess. The little frissons of excitement feathering her senses warned her that she did not really want an alternative. It seemed as if fate had brought them together tonight. Not that a good Harmonic Enlightenment girl believed in fate, of course. But there was such a thing as the raw power that went with the energy of mutual attraction.

  “Of course you’re welcome to come in.” She lowered her talent, unlocked the screen door, and stood back. “But I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere until morning. This storm looks like it will be hanging around for a while.”