by Jayne Castle
And just where in hell had that poetic image come from? He really needed to get more sleep.
She was watching him now with those enthralling, knowing eyes. Energy shivered in the atmosphere. He knew that she was checking him out with her talent. Everything inside him got a little hotter in response to the stimulation of her psi.
When she had called him that morning to request the clandestine meeting, she had explained, in passing, that she was a dreamlight reader. She had no way of knowing just how much that information had stunned him.
A small chortling sound distracted him. For the first time he noticed the passenger on the bike. A small, scruffy-looking creature studied him from the leather saddlebag with a pair of deceptively innocent baby blue eyes. A studded leather collar was draped around its neck, half buried in the fluffy, spiky, cotton-candy fur.
“You brought a dust bunny?” Adam asked.
“This is Gibson,” Marlowe said. She held out her arm to the dust bunny.
Gibson chortled again and bounced out of the saddlebag and up the length of her arm to perch on the shoulder of her leather jacket. He blinked his baby blues at Adam.
“Didn’t know they made good pets,” Adam said.
“They don’t. Gibson and I are a team. Different relationship altogether.”
“Looks like you’ve got a collar on him.”
“The folks at the gear shop where I buy my leathers made it for him. Gibson likes studs. He takes it off when he wants to play with it.”
People, even smart, savvy people like Marlowe Jones, could be downright weird about their pets, Adam reminded himself. Then again, being a Jones, she was bound to be a little different anyway. Not that he had any room to criticize. During the past few weeks he had become pretty damn weird, himself. Always nice to start off with something in common, he thought.
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “So, you were worried about being followed?”
“I thought it best not to take any chances,” she said, very serious.
He got the feeling that she did very serious a lot. For some reason that amused him. “Sounds like you’re as paranoid as all the other Joneses who ever ran a branch of J&J.”
“It’s a job requirement. But I prefer to think of it as being careful.”
Her voice was rich, assured, and infused with a slightly husky quality that heated his senses like a shot of good brandy. The edgy thrill of anticipation that he had experienced when he’d taken her call early that morning became crystalline certainty.
She’s the one, he thought.
This was the first time he had met Marlowe Jones in person, but something deep inside him recognized and responded to her. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was the woman he had been searching for these past few weeks.
As fate would have it, in the end, she had found him. That was probably not a good sign. She was potentially a lot more dangerous than the people who had been trying to kill him lately. But somehow that did not seem to matter much at the moment. Maybe a few weeks of sleep deprivation had started to impact his powers of logic and common sense.
“I wasn’t criticizing the paranoia,” he said. “I’m a Guild boss. I consider paranoia to be a sterling virtue.”
“Right up there with frequent hand washing?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of obsessive suspicion and a chronic inability to trust.”
“Which explains why you got here early,” she said. She surveyed the heavily wooded forest that surrounded them. “You wanted to check out the terrain. Make sure you weren’t walking into a trap.”
“It seemed a reasonable precaution under the circumstances. I have to admit, I got nervous after I discovered that these ruins are situated over a vortex.”
She looked skeptical. “Can’t picture you nervous.”
“Everyone knows standard resonating amber doesn’t work underground in the vicinity of vortex energy. Even the strongest ghost hunter can’t pull any ghost fire when he’s standing on top of that kind of storm.”
“I am well aware that Guild men don’t like to go anywhere near a vortex,” she said.
“It’s like asking a cop to leave his gun at the door. After I arrived, it struck me that if I were inclined to take out a ghost hunter, I’d sure like to lure him to a vortex site.”
“If you were really that worried, you wouldn’t have stuck around.”
He smiled. “Guess I’m more trusting than I look.”
She eyed his smile with a dubious expression. “Somehow I doubt that.”
At that moment Gibson chattered enthusiastically and tumbled down from Marlowe’s shoulder to the ground. He hopped up on the toe of Adam’s boot and stood on his hind paws. There was more chortling.
“He wants you to pick him up,” Marlowe said. “He likes you. That’s a good sign.”
“Yeah? Of what?”
She gave a small, graceful shrug. “Never mind. Just a figure of speech.”
Like hell, he thought. The dust bunny’s reaction to him was important to her. When he leaned down to scoop up Gibson, the hair on the nape of his neck stirred. The heightening of energy in the atmosphere was unmistakable.
“See anything interesting?” he asked, straightening.
Marlowe blinked, frowning a little, as though she did not like the fact that he had realized that she was using her talent.
“How did you know?” she asked.
He plopped the dust bunny on his shoulder. “When it comes to talent, it takes one to know one.”
She walked toward him, her boots crunching on the rough ground. “When I spoke with you this morning, I explained that I’m a dreamlight reader.”
“Yes, you did. Not often I get a call from the head of J&J. Can’t remember the last time, in fact.”
“Your family hasn’t had much connection with Arcane since the Era of Discord,” she said.
“According to the legends, things have always been somewhat rocky between our two clans.”
“I’m hoping we can put the old history behind us today,” she said.
“Hard to do when there’s so damn much of it. How did you get the job as the head of Arcane’s Frequency office of J&J? Your predecessors at the agency were mostly chaos-theory talents of one kind or another, weren’t they?”
To his surprise, she flushed a little, as if she’d taken the comment as a personal affront.
“Yes,” she said. “Most of them were chaos-theory talents. But it turns out that the ability to read dreamlight is also a very useful talent for an investigator.”
She was definitely on the defensive. Interesting.
“I’m sure it is,” he said.
Wistful regret came and went in her expression. “Besides, it’s not like the old days. Things have been very quiet for J&J since the Era of Discord. Mostly we handle routine private investigations for members of the Society. I’ve been on the job for nearly three months, and I haven’t had to deal with a single rogue psychic. It’s not like there isn’t a lot of competition out there. Anyone with a little sensitivity thinks he can go into business as a psychic PI.”
“The glory days of J&J are in the past, is that it?”
“That’s certainly what everyone in Arcane says.”
“You think that’s why they put you in charge,” he said. “Arcane doesn’t need high-end chaos-theory talents running J&J these days, so they went with a dreamlight reader.”
Her brows snapped together. “I didn’t come here to discuss my career path.”
“So why all the secrecy?”
“I’m afraid that you are not going to be happy to hear what I have to tell you.”
“Believe it or not, I figured that out about a second and a half after you informed me that you wanted to hold this meeting in the middle of nowhere. Speaking of which, why don’t you come inside the gate?”
For the first time she seemed to realize that he had not emerged from the shadows of the narrow opening in the green quartz wall. Sh
e looked puzzled, but she walked through the gate and stopped just inside the ancient compound.
The design of the ruins followed the pattern that had characterized most of the other outposts built by the long-vanished aliens. The only feature that distinguished it was the fact that it had been constructed over a vortex. Then, again, Adam thought, unlike humans, the aliens probably hadn’t had any problems with vortices. Their paranormal senses had been far more powerful than those of the descendants of the colonists from Earth. On the other hand, the humans had survived, he reminded himself. The aliens were long gone.
A high, fortresslike wall marked the perimeter of the compound. The handful of graceful towers inside the barricades were windowless. Narrow openings provided access to the various buildings, but it was obvious that the former inhabitants had not been keen on sunlight and fresh air, at least not the kind that was available aboveground.
Like the vast majority of the other ruins left by the long-vanished people who had first colonized Harmony, everything in the compound from the protective outer wall to the smallest building had been constructed of solid psi-green quartz. Even the ground was covered with a thick layer of the stone.
The quartz was impervious to everything the human colonists had thrown at it. Heavy construction equipment could not put a dent in the stone. Fire had no effect. Neither did the most violent storms. A bullet from a mag-rez gun could not even chip it.
Nothing grew on or within the walls or around the outside perimeter. The structures had stood for eons, but there was no moss, no creeping vines, no vegetation on any of the emerald surfaces. The same went for animal life. No insects or snakes had ever invaded the sites that had been discovered to date. Even the rats stayed clear.
The fact that Gibson did not appear to be having any problems with the atmosphere inside the compound was interesting, Adam thought. Like most of the human population, he seemed comfortable in the vicinity of green quartz.
Adam looked at Marlowe. “I think I’ve had enough suspense for one day. Let’s have it. Why did you drag me out here?”
She visibly steeled herself, squaring her shoulders.
“The Burning Lamp was stolen from the Arcane Society vault sometime between midnight and seven AM this morning,” she said.
“I’ll be damned. Arcane managed to lose the lamp. Again.”
She blinked. Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you’d be a little more pissed off. I realize that your family entrusted the lamp to the Society after the Era of Discord.”
“Obviously a mistake.”
She ignored that. “I went to the scene this morning immediately after I was notified of the breach in security. It took a while to even figure out what was missing.”
“No offense, but the museum’s cataloging system sounds like it’s in need of an overhaul, as well as its security system.”
“Yes, it does,” she agreed, her tone very neutral. “However, from what I was able to see in the way of dreamprints at the scene, I’m sorry to say that it was evidently an inside job.”
“Yeah? I’m amazed that you didn’t leap to the conclusion that I was the thief. According to the legend, only a direct descendant of Nicholas Winters can access the energy of the lamp. There’s no reason for anyone else to steal it.”
“I am aware of that,” she said. “The possibility that you were the one who took the lamp did occur to me. Your dreamprints do not match those of the thief, however. As I said, all indications are that whoever took the artifact was a member of the museum staff.”
“You’re that good?”
“I’m that good.” There was a note of professional pride in her voice. “I believe I mentioned that even though I’m not a chaos-theory talent, I do have certain skills that are of use in an investigation.”
“Now that you’ve seen my dreamprints, you can eliminate me from your list of suspects. Is that it?”
She cleared her throat. “There are other possibilities.”
“Sure. Maybe I bribed or coerced someone on the museum staff to steal the lamp for me.”
“That did occur to me, yes. Which is why you are still at the top of my list of suspects, Mr. Winters.”
“I’m honored, of course. But there’s one small flaw in your theory of the crime.”
She studied him with her midnight eyes. “I’m sure you’ll explain that to me.”
“The Burning Lamp in the Arcane Museum was a fake.”
She looked stricken. He realized that he had managed to shock her. The knowledge bothered him. She shouldn’t have been quite so stunned. After all, it wasn’t the first time Arcane had found itself with a fake lamp.
“Are you serious?” she said.
“My family has never trusted Arcane to take care of the lamp. When the Era of Discord ended, my multi-great-grandfather, John Cabot Winters, made certain that the Society got a very nice replica for their collection.”
“Your ancestors here on Harmony had a fake made?”
“It was one of many my family has been obliged to commission over the years. Whenever the damn thing goes missing, which happens periodically, Arcane starts breathing down our necks. Sooner or later, we give the Society a fake lamp, and that usually satisfies everyone for another century or so.”
“You mean until the Winters Curse strikes again,” she said.
“Don’t tell me you believe in family curses.”
“No, but I do believe in genetics. Several centuries ago, Nicholas Winters managed to fry his own DNA with the Burning Lamp, and once in a while the results show up in one of his male descendants.”
“That’s the legend, all right,” he agreed.
“Are you telling me that you have the real lamp in your possession?”
“No,” he said. “It’s gone missing again.”
Comprehension lit her eyes. “Good grief, now I understand. You’re looking for it, aren’t you? That explains the rumors among the antiquities dealers in the Old Quarter. I’ve been picking them up for a couple of weeks now. In fact, I was getting set to launch an investigation.”
“What rumors?” he asked, trying to buy a little time.
“Some of the dealers have been making very discreet inquiries about an Old World artifact. Word on the street is that a high-ranking Guild man was willing to pay well for it. According to the gossip, the relic possesses paranormal attributes.”
“Why were you going to investigate?”
She moved one hand slightly. “Any artifact from Earth that is connected to the paranormal is automatically of interest to Arcane. Combine that with a mysterious collector who is highly placed in the Guild, and you’d better believe that J&J is going to get curious.”
He stilled, aware of the extremely treacherous footing beneath his feet.
“What makes you think I’m the one searching for the lamp?” he asked.
“When did the nightmares and the hallucinations start?”
The question blindsided him. She knew about the nightmares and waking dreams.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“I can see the signs of some ghastly dream energy in your prints,” she said. “According to the legend, nightmares and hallucinations are the first signs of the change. I think you’ve been on the trail of the real lamp a lot longer than I have. Time is running out for you, isn’t it?”
“Okay, Marlowe Jones,” he said. “Now you’ve got my full attention.”
She walked forward to stand directly behind him.
“If there is one thing about the Winters legend that appears to be true, it’s that the Winters male who inherits the problem—”
“We in the Winters clan call it a family curse.”
She ignored that. “The descendant of Nicholas Winters who inherits the genetic twist needs a strong dreamlight reader to help him find and work the lamp.”
All of his senses were jacked now.
“You know,” he said, “this whole scene seems just a little too good to be true. Why don’t you tell
me what’s really going on here, Miss Jones?”
“I’ve explained. I asked you to meet me here today because I assumed you had arranged for the theft of the lamp. Now I find out that you evidently didn’t steal it, which raises all sorts of other problems. But right now we need to concentrate on the first priority.”
“Which is?”
“I can see that you need the lamp,” she said. “If that’s true, then you need me.”
“You’re from J&J, and you’re here to help, is that it?”
“I don’t have time to play games, and neither do you. You need me or someone like me.” She broke off, frowning a little. “Wait a second, is that it? You’ve found yourself another dreamlight reader? Do you think she’s strong enough to handle the lamp’s energy? Because if she isn’t, you’re both going to be taking a huge risk when you try to fire up the artifact.”
Before he could respond, a small spark of light flashed at the very edge of his vision. It came from deep within the dense stand of trees outside, just beyond the barren perimeter that surrounded the quartz walls. He was vaguely aware that Gibson was growling in his ear.
His reflexes took over. He got an arm around Marlowe’s waist and propelled them both out of the doorway.
He tried to take the brunt of the hard landing on the stone floor, but he heard a pained oomph from Marlowe and knew that she was going to be bruised. Lucky she was wearing a lot of leather, he thought.
The glint of a studded collar flying past his field of vision told him that Gibson had leaped nimbly off his shoulder and alighted nearby.
The bullet seared a path straight through the gate. As soon as it entered the heavy psi environment inside the compound, it became wildly erratic, quickly lost velocity, and dropped harmlessly onto the floor. The crack of the rifle seemed to echo forever in the high mountains around the ruins.
Adam looked down at Marlowe, intensely aware of her soft, sleek body under the leather. Some of her hair had come free. She gazed up at him through a veil of dark amber tendrils.
