by Jayne Castle
“He was probably ordered to make certain he didn’t carry anything that could be traced,” Emmett said. “But he was a young man. Not well trained and probably not accustomed to thinking things through. He made one small mistake.”
“What was that?”
“He’d removed his ID from his wallet, all right, but he forget his gym locker key. I left it where it was. With luck he won’t realize that someone looked at it.”
Lydia’s eyes lit up with eagerness. “What gym does he use?”
“The key was stamped ‘Transverse Wave Youth Shelter.’”
An hour later Lydia parked the Slider in the apartment complex lot, de-rezzed the key, and looked at Emmett with growing concern.
He was sprawled in the passenger seat, head against the padded headrest. He kept telling her he was okay, but she no longer believed him.
As soon as they had put Ryan on board the last flight to Resonance City, Emmett had made a phone call to arrange for someone to meet the plane on the other end. He had talked to the person he reached for a few more minutes and then he had hung up. Standing outside the privacy booth, she was unable to hear the details of the conversation.
By the time he rejoined her, she was too concerned about him to ask any questions. She knew that he was in bad shape. When she took his arm on the way out of the terminal, he did not protest. Halfway back to the car, he started to lean heavily on her. She asked him for the Slider’s keys so she could drive them home. He didn’t argue.
“Emmett?” She put her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. “Wake up. We’re here.”
He stirred but seemed disoriented. “Need some sleep.”
She wondered if she ought to call someone for advice on how to handle post-meltdown syndrome. The truth was, she could not think of anyone who might know what to do. Melting amber was a very rare event, primarily be cause so few people possessed enough psi talent to do it. And those who were capable of it probably did not talk too much about the aftermath, especially if they were macho hunters who didn’t like admitting to weakness of any kind.
Melting amber was just an expression. The stuff didn’t actually melt under too much psi energy, but it did get fogged.” It lost the fine-tuned quality that made it able to focus accurately.
Lydia reached out, caught Emmett’s face between her hands, and forced him to look at her. “Listen to me. Do you need a doctor?”
He shook his head once. She got the impression he was annoyed, maybe even disgusted.
“Need sleep.” His voice had thickened.
His hand moved. She realized he was groping for the door handle.
“Hang on.” She opened her own door and jumped out of the car. “I’ll come around to your side and help you.”
By the time she reached him, Emmett had managed to get his door open, but the bleak, barely-hanging-in-there look on his face told her that he did not think he could haul himself out of the front seat.
“I’ll just sleep it off here,” he said weakly.
“You want to spend the night in your car? In this part of town? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not safe.”
“Can’t make it up the damn stairs.”
“Wait here,” Lydia said. “I’ll get Zane and Olinda. We’ll get you up the stairs.”
Emmett did not protest. He was evidently beyond making the effort. Lydia hurried to the stairwell and took the steps two at a time to the third floor. She was breathless by the time she reached 3A.
Zane opened the door on the second knock. He was dressed in his pajamas. Behind him, the front room of the apartment was lit by the glow of the rez-screen.
Lydia said the first words that came into her head. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I was in bed. I sleep in the living room, remember?”
This was no time to point out that it was far too late for him to be watching the rez-screen. “I need some help, Zane.”
His face scrunched in alarm. “What’s wrong? Is it Fuzz? Another ghost?”
“No, it’s Emmett. He got into a brawl with some other ghost-hunters tonight. He melted amber and now he’s exhausted. I need to get him up the stairs. Is Olinda home?”
“He melted amber?” Zane’s eyes widened. “Holy shit!”
Olinda loomed in the hallway. Her robust figure was sheathed in an aging chenille robe. “Must be one hell of a hunter. Where is he?”
“Downstairs in the car.” Lydia stepped back. “Can you give me a hand?”
“You bet. Can’t wait to see this.” Zane dashed through the doorway and pelted wildly toward the stairs.
Olinda followed more sedately. She closed the door behind her and joined Lydia in the hall. “I’ve heard these guys who can melt amber have to crash for a few hours afterward.”
Lydia went swiftly back toward the stairwell. “He keeps saying he needs to sleep.”
“Doesn’t sound like he’ll be much fun for a while.” Olinda winked. “Maybe you shoulda picked one who wasn’t quite as strong as London. I hear that the after effects of a normal-range amber burn are kinda interesting in ghost-hunters.”
24
THE HIDDEN CHAMBER glowed with resonating green light. Strange shadows appeared and disappeared on the walls. She sensed that some were doorways, but whenever she tried to approach one of the shifting dark patches, it vanished before she could walk through it.
Panic tightened her throat. She knew she must not let it overwhelm her. There had to be a way out of the chamber.
She went cautiously toward what appeared to be another darkened opening in the green quartz wall. She put out a hand, half expecting that this doorway would dissolve, just as the others had.
But instead of the wall, her fingers touched only air. Hardly daring to breathe, she went through the doorway into the antechamber.
She sensed illusion energy and halted. She searched the deep shadows and saw nothing. But she knew the trap was here, somewhere. She could feel it.
Then she saw the small dreamstone chest in the center of the room. She went slowly toward it, reached down, lifted the lid, and saw the photograph inside. Chester grinned at her from the picture.
Lydia awoke with a start. Fuzz was in her lap, his front paws braced on her chest. All four of his eyes were open.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered.
She gazed wildly around the small living room, searching the shadows. But things appeared normal, or at-least as normal as they could when you had a ghost-hunter sleeping on the sofa.
Emmett was stretched out on the cushions, still sound asleep, his head turned away from her.
Fuzz took his paws off her chest, closed his hunting eyes, and curled up again on her lap. He closed his day-light eyes too. The all-clear sign.
She stroked his fluffy gray fur absently. She had probably alarmed him when she was in the throes of her dream. Perhaps she had moved or muttered something.
After a while she picked Fuzz up and nestled him into the corner of the big chair. He did not open his eyes, merely shifted and made himself comfortable again.
She got to her feet and padded to the sofa. She reached down and pulled the blankets up higher around Emmett’s shoulders. He did not stir.
She went to the window, pushed her hands into the deep sleeves of her robe, and looked out at her sliver-thin view of the Dead City. The images of the dream wafted through her head.
After a while she turned and walked toward the hall that led to her bedroom. In the nick of time she remembered the little table and avoided it.
When she reached her room she went to the dresser and looked down at the photo she had left there. The light from the partially open bathroom door angled across it. She could see Chester grinning at her, just as he had in the dream. She glanced at the copy of the Journal of Para-archaeology in his hand. He had been so proud to be listed as a consultant.
She went back out into the living room and settled once more into the depths of the big chair. Stretching out her legs, she propped her slippere
d feet on the footstool and pulled the lapels of her robe more snugly around her.
For a long time she just sat there, thinking and gazing out into the night.
Emmett awoke with a vague sense of disorientation. Then the memory of the burn-fest in the alley washed through him. He raised his wrist, opened his eyes, and stared at the face of the watch. Five o’clock in the morning. He calculated that he’d had three hours of solid after-burn sleep. Not exactly a good night’s rest, but sufficient time for his body to recover from the heavy expenditure of psi energy.
He sensed another presence in the small room and turned his head. Lydia was curled deep into the wing chair near the window, her head pillowed in the corner and her legs tucked beneath the folds of her robe. From the crook of her arm, blue eyes blinked at him.
He pushed aside the covers and sat up cautiously. Glancing down, he discovered that someone, presumably Lydia, had removed his shirt. The thought that she had undressed him was an intriguing one. Then he realized that he was still wearing his trousers. Either she hadn’t been able to get them off or the prospect of doing so had not appealed to her. He consoled himself with the possibility that she might simply have lost her nerve.
The blanket fell aside as he got to his feet. He had no memory of pulling it up over himself. He went down the hall to the ever-lit bathroom.
Inside the small room he turned on the faucet and leaned over the sink to splash cold water on his face. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he winced.
He went back out into the living room. Lydia had not moved, but Fuzz was gone from beneath her arm. Emmett glanced into the kitchen and saw the dust-bunny on the counter near the pretzel jar. Fuzz didn’t appear to need any help getting at the pretzels.
He went back to the sofa, sat down amid the tumbled blankets, and propped his elbows on his thighs. He linked his fingers loosely together and looked at Lydia. Why the hell had she slept in that chair? Did she think she needed to stand guard over him? Was she afraid he was going to go berserk because of the amber burn? Another little hunter eccentricity? Maybe she was worried that he would tear up the place.
He noticed that she was awake now, watching him from the depths of the chair.
“How do you feel?” she asked. Her voice was soft and husky.
“Almost back to normal.”
“You gave me a bit of a scare last night. I’ve never seen a ghost-hunter in that condition.”
He ran one hand over his face, felt the rough stubble of his beard. He needed to shave. Soon.
“Speaking personally,” he said, “I try to avoid it.”
“I can understand that. You still don’t look in great shape. Maybe you should go back to sleep.”
“I’m okay, damn it.”
“You don’t have to bite my head off. It’s not my fault you look like you just spent the night getting into a brawl behind a sleazy tavern.”
He started to answer that and then thought better of it. “Why did you sleep in that chair?”
“I wanted to keep an eye on you. Zane and Olinda seemed to think you would be okay, but I wasn’t so sure.”
“Shit. I’m not an invalid, you know. The burn-and-crash syndrome is absolutely normal. At least, it is after you’ve used as much energy as I did last night.”
She yawned. “You’re welcome.”
This was not going well. He was getting edgy again. It seemed to happen a lot around Lydia. He tried to distract himself.
“Thanks for getting me up here,” he mumbled. “You were right. Spending the night downstairs in the parking lot was probably not one of my brighter ideas.”
“No problem. Zane and Olinda helped.”
“Uh-huh.” He had a vague memory of everyone dragging, hauling, and pushing him up five flights of stairs. Talk about looking like an invalid. No wonder she had slept in the chair. Probably thought he needed a night nurse.
“Too bad the elevator is out.” Great. Now he was rambling.
“You can say that again. Driffield’s gonna pay one of these days.” She pulled her robe closer around her throat and started to rise. “Well, since it doesn’t look like either one of us is going to go back to sleep, I may as well take a shower and get dressed.”
He stood up at the same time she did and blocked her path to the bedroom. She came to a halt directly in front of him and searched his face.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked.
“No. I am not all right.” He cupped her face in his hands. “But I’m not going to go crazy and rip up your apartment.”
“I never thought you’d do anything of the kind,” she said defensively.
“Sure, you did. It was written all over your face. You’ve been nervous about me right from the start. And every time some little quirk related to hunter physiology comes up, your freak out again. That’s what happened last night, isn’t it?”
“I don’t believe this.” She stared at him with gathering outrage. “You’re upset because I spent the night here so that I could watch over you?”
“I am not upset,” he said through his teeth. “But I am pissed as hell. Damn it, I’m not sick. I’m not going to lose it and wreak havoc in your living room. You didn’t have to keep a vigil over me as if I was some unpredictable wild beast.”
Temper flared, and then, without warning, her expression softened. “Take it easy. Calm down. You’re not quite yourself yet. Why don’t you go take your shower first? I’ll have a nice hot cup of rez-tea waiting when you come out.”
Her soothing tone nearly sent him over the edge. “I don’t want any damned tea.”
Her gentle concern evaporated. “Why are you so irritable this morning? I was worried about you last night. You scared the daylights out of me when you collapsed on my sofa.”
“I didn’t collapse. I fell asleep. Big difference.”
“You collapsed.”
“I fell asleep. But guess what?”
“What?”
“I’m wide awake now.” He pulled her close and crushed her mouth beneath his.
For an instant he thought she was going to explode with outrage. She sucked in her breath, her fingers curled into his shoulder.
And then she was kissing him back. Fiercely. Everything within him leaped into high rez. Urgency swept through him. He felt her respond to it. Her arms tightened around him as she fought him for the embrace.
They were definitely on the same frequency, he decided. He wasn’t quite sure how the dissonance of their mutual hostility had metamorphosed so abruptly into near-violent sexual resonance, but he sure as hell was not going to take time to analyze it right now.
He yanked open her robe. She fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, got them unzipped. He felt himself surge forward into her waiting hands and groaned aloud. When her fingers tightened around him he wanted to shout.
He turned slightly, taking her with him, stepped back and half-fell, half-sank deep into the big, overstuffed chair. She tumbled down on top of him, warm and soft and scented with desire. Her robe fluttered over the arms of the chair as she settled astride him and closed her thighs around his.
He reached down and found the hot, wet place between her legs. She gasped when he dampened his fingers in her heat, breathed deeply when he stroked her clitoris. Her head tipped back. Her hair spilled down her back.
He gripped the wonderfully rounded flesh of her buttocks and thrust himself deep into her snug, tight body.
“Emmett.”
He felt her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed himself to the hilt. She started to move on him, swift, urgent, excited motions. He found the swollen little bud once more, inserted his finger under it, just inside the already tautly stretched passage.
“Yes.” Her breath was warm in his ear. “Yes.”
He stroked into her, oblivious of everything now except the driving sense of need that consumed him. He felt her shudder, felt her convulse along the entire length of him. Her delicate harmonic shivers establi
shed a resonance as irresistible as the pull of gravity.
His release burned through him, hotter than melting amber. He pumped himself dry and then collapsed in exhaustion for the second time.
He surfaced a long while later. Lydia was still astride him, her face buried in the curve of his neck. Her body was damp, and he could smell his own scent on her. A raw, elemental sense of possessiveness surged through him. He wrapped his fingers around her upper thighs.
“I’d like to reiterate my main point,” she mumbled.
“What was that? I think I forgot.”
“I did not sleep out here because I thought you might go berserk and tear up my living room.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” She paused. “But if that’s what you really want to do, be my guest.”
“Thanks. Some other time, maybe.”
“Whatever.” She raised her head and looked down at him. In the pale dawn light her throat and cheeks were flushed. Her mouth and eyes were soft. She smiled.
He felt his body stir again. He tightened his hands on her thighs. “On second thought, maybe I will go berserk and tear up your apartment after all.”
He put the water on for the rez-tea while Lydia sliced glistening oranges into two bowls. It occurred to him that he was already starting to feel much too comfortable in the cramped apartment.
He was going to have to come up with an excuse to hang around after he cleared up this mess involving Quinn. He wasn’t sure yet what was happening between Lydia and himself, but whatever it was, he didn’t want to walk away from it. Not yet.
“What do we do next?” Lydia asked as she sat down beside him at the counter.
Optimism soared. They were apparently on the same frequency again this morning. Life was good.
“Funny you should mention that,” he said. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Me, too.” She spooned up a mouthful of orange.
“Everything points to the Transverse Wave Youth Shelter, right?”
“Right.” So much for being on the same frequency. Emmett squelched his brief flash of optimism and refocused his attention.
