by Jayne Castle
Ella thought about the task force that Rafe had mentioned and then she thought about his own ability to rez Alien weapons.
“The Curtain may be on to something with that particular conspiracy theory,” she said. “Look, Mom, I’m really beat. I need to get some sleep. My friend Lydia Chen is getting married next week. I’ve got a fitting for my bridesmaid dress in the morning.”
“Another wedding? Good grief, is that your third or fourth in the past two months?”
“It’s the wedding season, remember? I’m very busy.”
“All of your friends seem to be getting married this year.”
“Tell me about it. I seem to be the bridesmaid of choice. I’m booked out for the next four months.”
“Because you’re one of the few available for the position. All of the others are busy planning their own weddings.”
“Well, there is that, yes.”
There was a short, unsettling pause. Ella braced herself for what she knew was coming next.
“Have you thought about your aunt’s suggestion?” Sophia asked.
“That I register with a matchmaking agency and lie on the questionnaire? Sure. It sucks.”
“Now, dear, she didn’t tell you to lie. She simply suggested that you omit certain details about your talent.”
“Mom, it would mean I’d be marrying someone who doesn’t know the truth about me.”
“Everyone has a right to a few secrets, dear.”
“I know, but this is one that would be hard to keep from a husband.”
“Not necessarily,” Sophia said. “Men are remarkably oblivious about a lot of things, provided the sex is good.”
And no one could fake it like a Siren, Ella thought.
“I don’t want a husband who is oblivious to my true nature,” she said.
“Mr. Right will come along someday, dear.”
“Sure. Look, don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine. Love to Dad. Good night.”
She ended the connection before her mother could think of another reason to keep the conversation going.
It might not be a crime to be an off-the-charts talent, but it could put a real crimp in a person’s social life, not to mention one’s matrimonial possibilities. When the talent in question happened to fall into the potentially lethal category, a Covenant Marriage was almost out of the question.
It was true that the matchmaking agencies sometimes found good matches for powerful talents, but the odds were poor. When the prospective bride was a Siren the odds went down to about zero.
She had known since college that the best she could reasonably look forward to was a series of affairs or maybe a few Marriages of Convenience. In such arrangements it was understood that the relationships were not permanent. The individuals involved in an MC had no obligation to divulge their secrets. Both parties knew that the marriage could be ended on the merest whim—no harm, no foul.
That was not true of the far more binding Covenant Marriage. The laws had eased somewhat in recent years but a CM was still expected to last for life. Getting out of one was so difficult and so expensive and so costly in social terms that people had been known to resort to murder rather than divorce court in order to escape.
She had made the mistake of confiding the truth about her psychic nature to a lover on only one occasion. That had been back in her third year of college when she had still been naïve enough to think that love could conquer all. Things had not gone well. She had learned her lesson.
Coffee with Rafe would be a unique experience. It would be a thrill to go out on a normal date with a man who knew her secret up front.
• • •
The pizza arrived a short time later. It was the large, family size. She had been starving when she ordered it, but now that she’d had a glass of wine it appeared huge. She suspected she would have leftovers for breakfast.
It would have been nice to have someone else to share the meal with, she thought. What she really wanted to do was talk to someone about the events of the day; someone besides her mother.
But confiding in a friend was not an option. The only other person who knew what had actually happened down in the tunnels was one Raphael Elias Coppersmith, and he wasn’t around.
Get over it, she thought. He knows what you are. By now he’s thanking his lucky amber that he survived physical contact with you while you were both running hot.
Time to be realistic.
She carried the big pizza and a second glass of wine out onto the tiny balcony. She was determined to shake off the wistful sensation. She had a new business to launch. She needed to stay focused. Rescuing dust bunnies and meeting high-powered FBPI consultants was exciting but it did not a career path make. She was a dream counselor, one who had not yet managed to snag her first paying client.
From her perch she had a view of the top of the ancient green quartz wall that surrounded the ethereal spires of the Alien ruins. The Dead City had been constructed from the same impervious stone that had been used to build the catacombs. After dark it glowed with an eerie green energy that enveloped the Old Quarter in paranormal light and shadow.
She settled back, swallowed some wine, and contemplated the view. In addition to the Dead City Wall and the ruins, she could see another structure from her balcony. The gleaming edifice of the newly constructed Crystal Center office tower was also visible.
Someday, she thought, after she had attracted enough clients, she would move Morgan Dream Counseling into Crystal Center. Image was everything in her line. As long as she did business out of a small storefront office in the Quarter, potential clients were likely to view her as just another low-rent psychic. But if she moved into the tony office tower, people would see her as an exclusive dream therapist.
She heard the chortle just as she reached for the second slice of pizza. A large ball of fluff vaulted up onto the railing. The dust bunny had a small object gripped in her two front paws.
Ella suddenly felt much better.
“Hey, there,” she said softly. “I never thought I’d see you again. I hope you’re not expecting me to go back down below tonight. I need rest. Want some pizza? No sleeping drugs involved, I promise.”
The dust bunny bounced off the railing and scurried across the balcony. She hopped up onto the table and chortled enthusiastically. Ella pushed a slice of pizza toward her.
“Help yourself. It’s the family size and I don’t have any family around to share it.”
With the glaring exception of herself, the various members of the Morgan clan were almost always on tour.
The dust bunny tossed the object she held at Ella and went to work on the pizza with dainty greed.
Ella held the rock up to the light. “For me? Really, you shouldn’t have.”
She opened her depleted senses a little and immediately detected a tingle of energy. Curious, she examined it more closely. In the light slanting out of the living room behind her, the stone glowed bloodred.
A shock of excitement whispered through her.
“Ruby amber,” she said. “Oh, my goodness. I’ll bet it’s worth a freakin’ fortune.”
The amber was uncut and untuned but there was no mistaking its beauty or its power. She looked at the dust bunny.
“Don’t misunderstand, I do appreciate a client who pays her bill, but please tell me you didn’t steal this,” she said.
The dust bunny chortled and started in on another slice of pizza.
• • •
The following morning Ella took the ruby amber next door to show to Pete. The grizzled ex-Guild man whistled softly when he touched the stone.
“Never seen anything like it in my life,” he said. He put it down on the counter and looked at Ella. “There haven’t been any rumors of stolen ruby amber, and believe me, I’d have heard if anything this valuable had gone missing on either the legal market or the black market. That means the laws of treasure-hunting and salvage apply. What are you going to do with it?”
“
I want you to arrange to sell it for me, Pete,” she said. “For a serious commission, of course.”
“Sure. Then what? Going to retire to a tropical island?”
“Nope.” Ella looked down at the dust bunny riding shotgun in her tote bag. “Lorelei and I are headed for the big leagues. In my business, image is everything. Morgan Dream Counseling will close tomorrow. The Knightsbridge Dream Institute will soon be open for business in the Crystal Center.”
Pete lounged against the counter. “I understand the move to fancier digs. You’ve said all along that you wanted a polished, professional image because people tended to tag storefront dream counselors as fake psychics. But why the name change?”
“Knightsbridge Dream Institute sounds more exclusive, don’t you think?” Ella picked up the ruby amber, tossed it into the air, and caught it in her hand. “This rock is my ticket to the high-end dream counseling market.”
• • •
It was a good thing that she was very busy in the days and weeks that followed because, just as she had warned herself, Rafe Coppersmith never called. On the positive side, neither did the FBPI.
Rafe might have gotten cold feet when it came to a date, but he had kept her secret.
Chapter 6
Three months later . . .
“Nice office,” Rafe Coppersmith said. “The dream counseling business must be paying well. Congratulations.”
He walked toward her across the elegantly appointed counseling room as if nothing had ever happened between them; as if they were old friends. As if he actually had called to ask her out for coffee.
Bastard.
She wanted to yell at him and maybe throw a few things in his direction, but she reminded herself that she was a professional therapist. She had an image to maintain. She also had a lot of control. No one could fake it like a Siren.
She had been waiting for Rafe all morning, ever since she had seen his name on her appointment calendar. She was booked for the day so it had come as a shock to see that Darren, her receptionist, had rescheduled another client in order to make room for Rafe.
It was no doubt the Coppersmith name that had convinced Darren to fit Rafe into her busy schedule—and possibly a nice little gratuity on the side. Coppersmiths were rich and powerful and no doubt accustomed to getting what they wanted.
When she had recovered from the shock of seeing Rafe’s name she had done some fast research on Coppersmith Mining. In addition to controlling a large chunk of the quartz and crystal market, the firm operated some very secretive high-tech research labs. At the company’s website she had found a mission statement that claimed that the goal of the research was to discover new ways to use quartz and crystal to improve people’s lives. Ella suspected that the real objective was to find new ways to make even more millions selling various quartz- and crystal-powered products. But, then, she tended to be a bit cynical about anything connected to the name Coppersmith these days.
After the corporate-speak on the website, there had been very little information about the Coppersmiths and their company. It was clear that, with the exception of a few sensationalized conspiracy pieces in the tabloids, the reclusive family managed to maintain very tight control of its public image.
Even the tabloid hits were tame for the most part. The most interesting articles were the wild theories that cropped up from time to time in papers like the Curtain. Perhaps, predictably, they were focused on the company’s R and D work. She had automatically discounted ninety-nine percent of the speculation but that still left one percent. She didn’t doubt that there were a lot of secrets hidden in the Coppersmith labs.
One small fact had caught her eye—Rafe was not married. She had verified that immediately after their meeting in the Underworld. Not that she cared, she told herself. It didn’t matter now. He had never called, so obviously he had reconsidered the suggestion that they have coffee.
So what was he doing here in her office? Luckily, she’d had plenty of time that morning to practice her you’re just another client smile.
“Mr. Coppersmith,” she said. “What a surprise.”
His scarred boots made no noise on the expensive gray carpet. He settled into the leather client chair with the ease of a specter-cat relaxing on a sunbaked rock after a successful hunt. The boots offered silent testimony that the man who wore them had spent some hard time in the field, but it was clear that he was equally accustomed to making himself at home in sleek, upscale surroundings.
Lorelei was on the desk playing with her little collection of small quartz rocks housed in an old Green Light cigar box. At the sight of Rafe, the dust bunny went very still. She gazed at him as though transfixed. But not in an alarming way, Ella concluded.
She felt a little transfixed, too, although she sincerely hoped she did not bear a striking resemblance to a wad of dryer lint that had been struck by lightning. The look was adorable on a dust bunny, but her own hair standing on end would not make a good impression on clients.
In spite of the fact that she was prepared for the encounter, she got the same senses-rezzing sensation she had experienced three months ago at their first meeting. Nothing had changed. The jolt was even stronger this time.
Damn.
Rafe was dressed very much as he had been three months ago. In addition to the boots, he wore a denim shirt, scarred leather jacket, and khaki trousers secured with a leather belt.
But when he moved his right hand she saw that one thing had changed. The blue quartz ring was gone. In its place was a ring set with a dull gray stone.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Rafe said. “I need your help and I’m willing to pay for it.”
Whatever she had been expecting in the way of opening lines, that was not it. So much for hoping against hope that he had remembered the coffee date. She had so been looking forward to turning him down flat.
She stared at him, going quite blank for a couple of beats.
“You want my dream counseling services?” she asked when she finally managed to pull herself together.
“Not exactly. It’s your para-music talent that I need.”
“I don’t understand.”
Rafe leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs. There was an amused gleam in his amber-brown eyes. There was something else there as well, something Ella could not put her finger on but which she was pretty sure should worry her.
“Ever heard of Rainshadow Island?” he asked.
“No.”
“It’s a little dot way out in the Amber Sea.”
Rafe broke off because Lorelei had hopped down from the desk. She scurried across the carpet to her basket of toys, seized her favorite—a delicate wedding veil with a crystal-studded headpiece—and bounced over to Rafe’s chair.
She vaulted up onto the arm of the leather chair and proudly displayed the veil for his admiration. Ella stifled a groan when the little hussy chortled and blinked her baby-blues.
Rafe patted Lorelei somewhere near the top of her head and considered the wedding veil with an unreadable expression. When he turned back to Ella his eyes were a little too neutral. He looked like a man who was bracing for very bad news.
“Does the wedding veil belong to you or the dust bunny?” he asked.
Ella flushed. “Her name is Lorelei and the wedding veil belongs to her.”
Rafe appeared oddly relieved.
“Looks like a regular wedding veil, not one that was designed as a costume for a dust bunny,” he said.
“It’s definitely a real wedding veil.” Ella winced at the memory.
“But not yours.”
“Not mine. Look, Mr. Coppersmith, if you don’t mind—”
“Would Lorelei by any chance be the dust bunny you followed down into the tunnels the day we met?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“Can I ask how she came by what appears to be a fairly expensive veil?”
“She went with me to a fitting at a bridal shop,” Ella said coldly.
“There was an accident.”
“What sort of accident?”
Ella sighed. “Lorelei fell in love with that veil. She sort of helped herself to it.”
“She stole it?”
“Dust bunnies don’t have the same nuanced understanding of the law that humans do. She just couldn’t resist the sparkly headpiece, I guess. The owner of the shop threw a fit. I had to pay for the veil.”
Lorelei chortled again and waved the veil so that the netting floated gracefully in the air. It settled over her like a gossamer circus tent. She went ecstatic, hopped off the chair, and dashed around the room, the veil fluttering around her.
“Cute,” Rafe said. “Until you see the teeth.”
Ella raised her brows. “I gather you know something about dust bunnies.”
“I’ve met a couple recently.”
“Where?”
“On Rainshadow Island,” Rafe said.
Lorelei returned to Rafe’s chair and once again offered him the veil. He took it from her and touched some of the sparkly green crystals in the headpiece. Ella sensed energy shift in the atmosphere. The dull gray ring on his hand flashed, quicksilver-like, with a little energy.
“These crystals are good stones,” Rafe said, sounding surprised. “There’s a little heat in them. A pricey toy for a dust bunny.”
“It was worth it,” Ella said. “Lorelei loves it.”
She decided not to mention that one night a week ago—just for fun—she had tried on the veil in front of her bedroom mirror.
A tingle of awareness skittered through her. Rafe was still a little jacked from testing the green crystals in the veil. She could see his dreamlight quite clearly, as sharply as if she had physical contact with him. That was unsettling enough, but there was something else about the dream fields of his aura—something that had not been there three months ago. She caught her breath, genuinely shocked.
Rafe was running a psi-fever.
Strong, healthy auras tended to be stable over time unless they were altered by some form of serious trauma. Physically, Rafe looked as strong and vital as the last time she saw him, but she was pretty sure that something very bad had happened to him in the past three months. Her low-burning anger and hurt were abruptly tempered by unwilling concern. She warned herself that she did not want to feel sorry for this man.
