by Jayne Castle
“Harding thinks you’re no longer a target. He believes that the people at the top of Vortex are already scrambling to shut down the operation now that two of their men have been arrested, two are dead, and the FBPI is involved.”
“So, it’s finished?”
“It is for us. For Harding, the fun is just beginning.”
“Thanks for the update,” Rafe said. “I think I’ll go back to bed now.”
He ended the connection and looked at Ella, who was propped up against the pillows, watching him.
“We can all relax,” Rafe said. “The FBPI is on the case.”
“Oh, joy. I feel so much safer now.”
“I detect cynicism.”
“You should be a detective.”
The scratching at the French doors distracted Rafe before he could come up with a response. When he opened the door, Lorelei bustled into the room. She had her wedding veil in one paw and she was dusted with powdered sugar.
“I have a bad feeling about this morning’s batch of powdered-sugar doughnuts,” Rafe said.
He was about to close the door but he stopped when the dream image flickered at the corner of his eye. Automatically he started to suppress it. Then he remembered the gates-of-Hell vision on the road.
He took a deep breath and let himself enter the dreamscape.
A shape-shifting ghost from the city of ice and fog appeared. It was impossible to make out the features but somehow Rafe knew that the being was capable of changing its identity. He also knew that he would pay a lot of money to learn the name of the shape-shifter.
“What is it?” Ella asked softly. “Another hallucination?”
Rafe turned toward the bed. “I keep wondering what kind of information Kenneth Maitland planned to sell to me.”
“Something to do with Vortex, evidently. After all, it was one of their operatives who murdered him.”
“How did a member of the DND movement learn something so important about Vortex that they felt they had to get rid of him?”
“I’m sure the famous Joe Harding will find the answer to that question,” Ella said.
“You’re right. Which leaves me with another question.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re going home tomorrow.”
“There’s no reason for me to stay. Dr. Hayashi and Dr. Bowen are satisfied that the tuned-quartz devices will work to repel the monsters.”
“Right. Which means my job is finished, too.”
“So?”
“So, here’s my question. Mind if I go back to Crystal City with you?”
There was a great stillness in the darkened room. Rafe realized that he was holding his breath.
“No,” Ella said. “No, I don’t mind at all.”
Chapter 35
“How many more weddings have you got left on your calendar?” Rafe asked.
“Four down and one more to go,” Ella said. “I told you, this is my busy season.”
The lavish Norton-Hickock wedding had gone off flawlessly. Ella was pretty sure the guests, and the bride as well, held their collective breath when the minister asked the famous question. “If anyone knows why this man and this woman should not be married, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
But Ella’s cell phone had not rung. For good reason, she thought. She glanced at the glowing bride and groom. It didn’t take a professional matchmaker to know that Martha and Mark were perfect for each other. The positive energy around them seemed to circulate throughout the crowded ballroom, affecting all the guests.
The gala reception was at its height. The champagne was flowing. The musicians were playing a dreamy waltz and she was in Rafe’s arms on the dance floor. Life didn’t get much better, she decided.
Rafe danced with a smooth, sexy competence. He seemed to like having her in his arms. There was a little heat in his eyes and his hand on her back was warm and strong. She was starting to allow herself to hope that their relationship might last awhile. But her realistic inner Siren warned her not to think long-term. She and Rafe had shared secrets, danger, and a bed. Now they were dancing together. There was no denying that they were involved in a passionate affair. But passion was not the same thing as love.
“You do this every year?” Rafe asked. “The professional bridesmaid thing, I mean?”
“I’ve been in high demand for the past couple of years but I expect the rush will taper off next year,” she said.
“Why is that?”
“Most of my friends will have been married by then. I expect there will be a few stragglers but you know how it is. Sooner or later everyone gets married.”
Rafe watched her intently. “Everyone except you and me?”
“Oh, you’ll get married,” she said. “Just as soon as you’re convinced that the fever is a symptom of a new, rising talent; not an indication that you’ll be checking into a para-psych hospital.”
“But until that happens you’ll sleep with me, is that it? Or at least you’ll sleep with me until you get bored and decide to move on to another client you think you can fix.”
Outrage sparked through her. So much for the romantic dance.
“I didn’t fix you, damn it,” she said. “You weren’t broken. You were healing just fine. All I did was speed up the process.”
“Just so you know, your voice is rising.” Rafe smiled. “Are you going to sing?”
“That is not funny, Rafe Coppersmith.” Uneasily, she looked around. The room was still buzzing with conversation and laughter and music but the heads of a couple of nearby dancers had turned her way. Mortified, she clenched her hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
“You’re trying to provoke me. You seem to be in the mood for an argument.”
“Maybe I am in the mood.”
There was more heat in his eyes now and she was pretty sure it wasn’t the sexy kind.
“Why, for heaven’s sake?” she asked.
“Because I’m feeling used, that’s why. Every time I try to talk about our relationship, you change the subject.”
“Do you mind if we talk about something else?” she asked in a low hiss.
“It’s a wedding. What the hell else should we be talking about? And that’s exactly what I mean. You’re trying to change the subject.”
They were both on edge, she thought. It had been this way since they had returned from Rainshadow three days ago. Oh, things had gone smoothly enough for the first forty-eight hours because both of them had been on their best behavior. But the uncertainties had been lurking like snakeweed just under the surface. So much for any hope of a long-term relationship.
You knew this wasn’t going to work out, her inner Siren said.
“Do you know what your problem is, Rafe?” she asked.
“You tell me.”
“You’re experiencing a lot of stress because you don’t know what to expect now that you’ve acquired a new talent.”
“I don’t think you can call lucid dreaming a talent. As far as career paths go, I’ll be lucky to set up in business as a storefront psychic in the Quarter.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’re a Coppersmith. Your family will find you a good job in the company. You did excellent work for the firm on Rainshadow.”
“I got lucky. Singing dinosaurs were involved and I just happened to know a strong music talent. What are the odds that the next troubleshooting job will involve music?”
“I’m sure Coppersmith Mining will find a position for you.”
“Yeah? And just how the hell do you think that makes me feel? I don’t want my family to find a position for me. I’m not some charity case.”
“You’re afraid to make any long-range plans for yourself because you can’t figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. Talking about our relationship is a diversion for you, a way of not having to contemplate your own personal future.”
“I’m not the only one
who isn’t into long-range planning. You’re the one who keeps reminding anyone who will listen that she’s never going to marry.”
“I told you, I’m just being realistic,” she shot back.
A few more heads turned.
“Ghost shit,” Rafe said. “You know what I think? I think you like having an excuse to hop from one man to the next, no strings attached.”
She was horrified. And furious. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? Seems to me that every time I turn around you’re telling me that you aren’t looking for long-term commitment.”
“I’ve explained that my talent—”
“Forget your talent. I’m tired of that excuse.”
Outrage splashed through her. She stopped cold, forcing him to stop, too.
“How dare you accuse me of inventing an excuse not to get married,” she said. “If I didn’t want to get married, I would just come straight out and say I didn’t want to get married. Have I ever said that? Have I?”
“Well, now that I think about it, maybe not in so many words. However—”
The music ended with a flourish.
“Shut up,” Ella said. “They’re going to toss the garter and the bouquet.”
The wedding host grabbed the microphone. “Let’s have all the unmarried men on this side of the stage and all of the single ladies on the opposite side.”
Grateful for the excuse to end the argument, Ella hoisted her skirts.
“See you later,” she said in her breeziest tone.
She whisked across the dance floor to join the crowd of bridesmaids and other single females. When she arrived in position she peeked at the herd of men on the other side of the stage. Rafe was there but he was standing several steps to the rear. He probably considered it a risk-free zone, she thought. She wondered what he would do if the garter came his way. Ignore it, probably.
The groom knelt in front of the bride, and amid much giggling and slightly off-color comments, he reached up under the voluminous skirts of the wedding dress and retrieved a blue satin garter.
Turning, he tossed it into the throng of men. It went nowhere near Rafe. He had chosen his location well, Ella thought grimly. Probably used his new talent for lucid dreaming to intuit the safest position.
The best man caught the garter and, with a cheesy grin, held it aloft and looked right at one of the bridesmaids. She blushed. A cheer went up.
“And now the bouquet,” the wedding host intoned.
Laughing, Martha stood at the top of the stage steps and turned her back to the group of single women.
At the last instant—on pure impulse—Ella maneuvered into the middle of the small crowd. From that position she had a good shot at grabbing the bouquet out of midair. It would serve Rafe right if she caught it, she thought. Exactly why, she wasn’t sure.
The bride flung the bouquet over her shoulder. It sailed wide to the far right—nowhere near where Ella was poised to seize it out of midair.
Probably an omen, she decided. Over the course of her career as a bridesmaid she had been very careful never to catch the flowers. Today marked the first time she had ever made a deliberate effort to snag the bouquet and the result had been abject failure.
Not that she was superstitious.
The bride collected her skirts and descended the steps. Her attendants gathered around her.
Avoiding Rafe’s eye, Ella joined the laughing, happy group of women. They floated down a hallway toward the room that had been designated as a dressing chamber.
A waiter stood at the entrance. There was a tray of full champagne flutes decorated with ribbons on the console beside him.
One by one he handed each of the bridal attendants a glass of champagne as she entered the room. The door closed behind the women.
“A toast to Martha,” someone said. “May she always be this happy.”
There was a chorus of “to Martha.”
Everyone took a couple of sips of champagne and then set their glasses aside. The process of getting the bride out of her elaborate gown and veil began.
The first wave of nausea and dizziness hit Ella a short time later. She tried to shake off the sick sensation. Instinctively, she rezzed a little psi, and for a moment or two her head and her stomach settled down.
“Ella?” Martha spoke from the center of the room where she was surrounded by bridesmaids. “Are you all right?”
A small dose of panic hit Ella. She could not spoil Martha’s big day.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. She managed a smile. “I may have had a bit too much champagne.”
Martha laughed. “Maybe your date had something to do with that? Congratulations on finding a plus one, by the way. And a very interesting plus one at that.”
Giggles sparkled in the room.
Ella kept her smile in place. “Thanks for letting me drag him along.”
“Is he any relation to the Coppersmiths of Coppersmith Mining?” one of the other bridesmaids asked.
“There may be a connection,” Ella said, deliberately vague.
“I saw the way he looked at you.” Martha winked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re the one wearing the fancy dress a few months from now.”
There was a flurry of activity and then the wedding host was in the doorway announcing that the limo was waiting. Everyone except Ella rushed out on a bright tide of laughter and good wishes.
Ella stepped out into the hall just long enough to wave farewell to Martha and Mark and then she ducked back into the room and closed the door.
She sank down onto one of the red velvet stools in front of the makeup counter. Clutching her tiny beaded bag, she stared at her reflection. She looked like she was going to faint, she decided. This was not good.
The champagne glasses that they had been handed at the door were now standing on the counter in front of her. Most were still nearly full. She had taken only a single sip or two from her own glass.
There was something different about her flute—something about the ribbon tied around the stem.
It took her a few seconds to process the fact that the bow was pink. All of the other bows were purple. The waiter at the door had handed out each glass. She had not selected the one tied with the pink bow—it had been very deliberately placed in her hand as she entered the room.
No one else seemed to have had a problem with the champagne.
She had been poisoned.
She needed to get help but she could no longer trust her balance. She did not think she could even get to her feet.
Phone.
If she could just open her small handbag and take out her phone, she could call Rafe. He would know what to do. Rafe was good at stuff like this.
A side door opened just as she pried open her little bag with trembling fingers. She looked up quickly—too quickly. The slowly spinning room went into overdrive. Nevertheless, she recognized the figure she saw in the mirror.
“You,” she said.
She tried to rez her talent but her paranormal senses did not respond. Her phone tumbled out of her handbag and landed on the carpet. It might as well have been a million miles away.
A great weariness came over her. She braced herself against the makeup table and leaned over, resting her hot forehead on her arm. She realized she still had one hand inside the handbag. Not that it mattered, she thought. Her phone was gone.
Her fingers closed around her lipstick.
“Strip her amber and then take her out through the side door,” Bob Luttrell said. He was no longer wearing the chef’s whites that he had worn for his role as the jobsite cook on Rainshadow. Today he was dressed in the uniform of a delivery service company. “The van is in the alley.”
Chapter 36
The hallucination struck while he waited for Ella to return to the ballroom. Having seen the bride and groom on their way, the bridal party was trickling back.
The skaters skimmed across the ice, whirling faster and faster in what looked to be random patt
erns. They were all dressed in formal black and white. Each carried a silver tray . . .
“Damn.” Rafe shook his head, trying to clear his vision.
As usual, his first instinct was to suppress the hallucination. But the waking dream was screaming to get his attention.
Ella appeared on the ice. Her mag-rez skates flashed ominously. She was dressed as a bride, not a bridesmaid, and she spoke to him in the language of dreams. “Stop fighting your talent. You’re now a spectacularly good lucid dreamer. Get over it.”
It seemed vitally important that he follow her out onto the ice. But she was gliding away from him now. As he watched, the skating waiters formed a circle around her, shielding her from view.
But one of the waiters was missing. There was an empty spot in the circle . . .
He turned to study the waiters who were working the long bar. Earlier, one of them had gone past him carrying a tray of full champagne flutes decorated with ribbons. The bride and her attendants had soon disappeared down the same corridor.
The waiter had never returned.
Neither had Ella.
Rafe sliced through the crowd, drawing startled looks.
The door of the bridesmaids’ room was locked from the inside. He lashed out at it with the heel of his shoe a couple of times. Wood splintered. The door flew open.
There was no sign of Ella but he found her amber jewelry in the trash can. Her dainty, strappy sandals with the tuned amber embedded in the heels were under a sofa.
He started across the carpeted room, heading toward a side door that stood wide. A small, shiny metallic object glinted on the floor beneath the long makeup table.
He started to crouch to pick up the lipstick but he stopped when he saw the wobbly drawing on the polished stone countertop.
Someone had used the lipstick to make a small, somewhat smeared sketch. It looked like a doodle.
Rafe’s talent spiked again. His phone pinged just as he started to put it all together. He glanced down and read the text message on the screen.
She’s safe as long as you cooperate. Instructions will follow.
He took another look at the lipstick drawing. This time he deliberately opened his lucid dream talent. His new psychic ability flashed through all the possibilities and settled on the most likely interpretation of the little drawing.
