61
THEY DROVE DOWN TO NORTHERN CALIFORNIA AFTER THE wedding, making a honeymoon out of the road trip. They followed the old route, Highway 101, hugging the spectacular coastline. Hector rode in the backseat, his nose stuck out the window as much as possible. At night they stayed at charming windswept inns, including one aptly named Dreamscape in a little town called Eclipse Bay.
They arrived in Scargill Cove in the early evening. The lights still burned in the offices of Jones & Jones. Chloe and Jack climbed the stairs to the second floor, bags of groceries in their arms, Hector at their heels. On the landing Jack raised his hand, but the door opened before he could knock.
Fallon stood in the opening, looking out at them with a bewildered expression.
“Jack,” he said. He looked at Chloe. “You’re Chloe.”
“And you’re Fallon Jones.” She smiled. “Nice to meet you in person after all we’ve been through together.”
“What are you two doing here?” Fallon asked.
“Honeymoon,” Chloe explained. “We’ve got a room at the inn down the street.” She indicated the bags of groceries. “We heard there’s no decent restaurant open after five thirty, so we picked up a few things. I’m going to cook dinner for all of us.”
Fallon was beyond bewildered now. He looked poleaxed.
“Dinner?” He repeated, as if the word and the concept were new to him. “As in home cooking?”
“Right,” Chloe said. “Do you mind?”
“Uh, no.” Fallon frowned. “No, I don’t mind.”
“Where’s the kitchen?” she prompted.
“It’s sort of attached to my office.” He glanced over his shoulder as though searching for the kitchen.
Jack held up the six-pack in his hand. “Figured you and I could have a couple of beers while Chloe’s fixing dinner.”
Fallon’s expression cleared. He stood back, holding the door open.
“I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.”
PROLOGUE FOR DREAMLIGHT BOOK II
London, late in the reign of Queen Victoria...
It took Adelaide Pyne almost forty- eight hours to realize that the Rose-stead Academy was not an exclusive school for orphaned young ladies. It was a brothel. By then it was too late. She had been sold to the frightening man known only as Mr. Smith.
The Chamber of Pleasure was in deep shadow, lit only by a single candle. The flame sparked and flared on the cream-colored satin drapery that billowed down from the wrought-iron frame above the canopied bed. In the pale glow the crimson rose petals scattered across the snowy white quilt looked like small pools of blood.
Adelaide huddled in the darkened confines of the wardrobe, all her senses heightened by dread and panic. Through the crack between the doors she could see only a narrow slice of the room.
Smith entered the chamber. He barely glanced at the heavily draped bed. Locking the door immediately, he set his hat and a black satchel on the table, for all the world as though he were a doctor who had been summoned to attend a patient.
In spite of her heart-pounding fear, something about the satchel distracted Adelaide, riveting her attention. Dreamlight leaked out of the black bag. She could scarcely believe her senses. Great powerful currents of ominous energy seeped through the leather. She had the unnerving impression that it was calling to her in a thousand different ways. But that was impossible.
There was no time to contemplate the mystery. Her circumstances had just become far more desperate. Her plan, such as it was, had hinged on the assumption that she would be dealing with one of Mrs. Rosser’s usual clients, an inebriated gentleman in a state of lust who possessed no significant degree of psychical talent. It had become obvious to her during the past two days that sexual desire tended to refocus the average gentleman’s brain in a way that, temporarily at least, obliterated his common sense and reduced the level of his intelligence. She had intended to take advantage of that observation tonight to make her escape.
But Smith was most certainly not an average brothel client. Adelaide was horrified to see the seething energy in the dreamprints he had tracked into the room. His hot paranormal fingerprints were all over the satchel as well.
Everyone left some residue of dreamlight behind on the objects with which they came in contact. The currents seeped easily through shoe leather and gloves. Her talent allowed her to perceive the traces of such energy.
In general, dreamprints were faint and murky. But there were exceptions. Individuals in a state of intense emotion or excitement generated very distinct, very perceptible prints. So did those with strong psychical abilities. Mr. Smith fit into both categories. He was aroused and he was a powerful talent. That was a very dangerous combination.
Even more unnerving was the realization that there was something wrong with his dreamlight patterns. The oily, iridescent currents of his tracks and prints were ever so faintly warped.
Smith turned toward the wardrobe. The pale glow of the candle gleamed on the black silk mask that concealed the upper half of his face. Whatever he intended to do in this room was of such a dreadful nature that he did not wish to take the chance of being recognized by anyone on the premises.
He moved like a man in his prime. He was tall and slender. His clothes looked expensive and he carried himself with the bred-in-the-cradle arrogance of a man accustomed to the privileges of wealth and high social rank.
He stripped off his leather gloves and unfastened the metal buckles of the satchel with a feverish haste that, in another man, might have indicated lust. She had not yet had any practical experience of such matters. Mrs. Rosser, the manager of the brothel, had informed her that Smith would be her first client. But during the past two days she had seen the tracks the gentlemen left on the stairs when they followed the girls to their rooms. She now knew what desire looked like when it burned in a man.
What she saw in Smith’s eerily luminous prints was different. There was most certainly a dark hunger pulsing in him, but it did not seem related to sexual excitement. The dark ultralight indicated that it was another kind of passion that consumed Smith tonight and it was a terrifying thing to behold.
Adelaide held her breath when he opened the satchel and reached inside. She did not know what to expect. Some of the girls whispered about the bizarre, unnatural games many clients savored.
But it was not a whip or a chain or leather manacles that Smith took out of the satchel. Rather, it was a strange, vase-shaped artifact. The object was made of some metal that glinted gold in the flickering candlelight. It rose about eighteen inches from a heavy base, flaring outward toward the top. Large, colorless crystals were set in a circle around the rim.
The waves of dark power whispering from the artifact stirred the hair on the nape of her neck. The object was infused with a storm of dreamlight that seemed to be trapped in a state of suspension. Like a machine, she thought, astonished—a device designed to generate dreamlight.
Even as she told herself that such a paranormal engine could not possibly exist, the memory of a tale her father had told her, an old Arcane legend, drifted, phantomlike through her thoughts.
Smith set the artifact on the table next to the candle. Then he went swiftly toward the bed.
“Let us get on with the business,” he commanded. Tension and impatience thickened the words.
He yanked aside the satin hangings. For a few seconds he stared at the empty sheets, evidently baffled. An instant later, rage stiffened his body. He crushed a handful of the drapery in one fist and spun around, searching the shadows.
“Stupid girl. Where are you? I don’t know what Rosser told you, but I am not one of her regular clients. I do not make a habit of sleeping with whores and I certainly did not come here tonight to play games.”
His voice was low and reptilian cold now. The words slithered down her spine. At the same time, the temperature in the chamber seemed to drop several degrees. She started to shiver, not just with terror, but with the new chill i
n the atmosphere.
He’ll check under the bed first, she thought.
He seized the candle off the table and crouched to peer into the shadows beneath the iron bed frame.
She knew that he would open the wardrobe as soon as he realized that she was not hiding under the bed. It was the only other piece of furniture in the room that was large enough to conceal a person.
“Bloody hell.” Smith shot to his feet so swiftly that the candle in his hand flickered and nearly died. “Come out, you foolish girl. I’ll be quick about it, I promise. Trust me when I tell you that I have no plans to linger over this aspect of the thing.”
He stilled when he saw the wardrobe.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find you? Brainless female.”
She could not even breathe now. There was nowhere to run.
The wardrobe door opened abruptly. Candlelight spilled into the darkness. Smith’s eyes glittered behind the slits in the black mask.
“Silly whore.”
He seized her arm to haul her out of the wardrobe. Her talent was flaring wildly, higher than it ever had since she had come into it a year ago. The result was predictable. She reacted to the physical contact as though she had been struck by invisible lightning. The shock was such that she could not even scream.
Frantically, she dampened her talent. She hated to be touched when her senses were elevated. The experience of brushing up against the shadows and remnants of another person’s dreams was horribly, gutwrenchingly intimate and disturbing in the extreme.
Before she could catch her breath, she heard a key in a lock. The door of the chamber slammed open. Mrs. Rosser loomed in the entrance. Her bony frame was darkly silhouetted against the low glare of the gaslight that illuminated the hallway behind her. She bore a striking resemblance to the nickname that the women of the brothel had bestowed upon her: the Vulture.
“I’m afraid there’s been a change of plans, sir,” Rosser said. Her voice was as stern and rigid as the rest of her. “You must leave the premises immediately.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Smith demanded. He tightened his grip on Adelaide’s arm. “I paid an exorbitant price for this girl.”
“I just received a message informing me that this establishment is now under new ownership,” Rosser said. “It is my understanding that the former owner has recently expired. Heart attack. His business enterprises have been taken over by another. Don’t worry, your money will be refunded.”
“I don’t want a refund,” Smith said. “I want this girl.”
“Plenty more where she came from. I’ve got two downstairs right now who are younger and prettier. Never been touched. This one’s fifteen if she’s a day. Doubt if you’d be the first to bed her.”
“Bah. Do you think I give a damn about the girl’s virginity?”
Rosser was clearly startled. “But that’s what you’re paying for.”
“Stupid woman. This concerns a vastly more important attribute. I made a bargain with your employer. I intend to hold him to it.”
“I just told you, he’s no longer among the living. I’ve got a new employer.”
“The business affairs of crime lords are of no interest to me. The girl is now my property. I’m taking her out of here tonight, assuming the experiment is completed to my satisfaction.”
“What’s this about an experiment?” Mrs. Rosser was outraged. “I never heard of such a thing. This is a brothel, not a laboratory. In any event, you can’t have the girl, and that’s final.”
“It appears that the test will have to be conducted elsewhere,” Smith said to Adelaide. “Come along.”
He jerked her out of the wardrobe. She tumbled to the floor at his feet.
“Get up.” He used his grip on her arm to haul her erect. “We’re leaving this place immediately. Never fear, if it transpires that you are of no use to me, you’ll be quite free to return to this establishment.”
“You’re not taking her away.” Rosser reached for the bellpull just inside the door. “I’m going to summon the guards.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Smith said. “I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense.”
He removed a fist- sized crystal from the pocket of his coat. The object glowed blood-red. The temperature dropped another few degrees. Adelaide sensed invisible, ice-cold energy blazing in the chamber.
Mrs. Rosser opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. She raised her arms as though she really were a great bird trying to take wing. Her head fell back. A violent spasm shot through her. She collapsed in the doorway and lay very still.
Adelaide was too stunned to speak. The Vulture was dead.
“Just as well,” Smith said. “She is no great loss to anyone.”
He was right, Adelaide thought. Heaven knew that she’d had no fondness for the brothel keeper, but watching Rosser die in such a fashion was a horrifying, entirely unnerving experience.
Belatedly, the full impact of what had just happened jolted through her. Smith had used his talent and the crystal to commit murder. She had never known that such a thing was possible.
“What did you do to her?” Adelaide whispered.
“The same thing I will do to you if you do not obey me.” The ruby crystal had gone dark. He dropped it back into his pocket. “Come along. There is no time to waste. We must get out of here at once.”
He drew her toward the table where he had left the artifact. She could feel the euphoric excitement flooding through him. He had just murdered a woman and he had enjoyed doing it—no, he had rejoiced in the experience.
She sensed something else as well. Whatever Smith had done with the crystal had required a great deal of energy. The psychical senses required time to recover when one drew heavily on them. Smith would no doubt soon regain the full force of his great power, but at that moment he was probably at least somewhat weakened.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said.
He did not bother to respond with words. The next thing she knew, icy-cold pain washed through her in searing waves.
She gasped, doubled over and sank to her knees beneath the weight of the chilling agony.
“Now you know what I did to Rosser,” Smith said. “But in her case I used far more power. Such intense cold shatters the senses and then stops the heart. Behave yourself or you will get more of the same.”
The pain stopped as abruptly as it had begun, leaving her dazed and breathless. Surely he had used the last of his reserves to punish her. She had to act quickly. Fortunately he was still gripping her arm. She required physical contact to manipulate another individual’s dreamlight energy.
She raised her talent again, gritting her teeth against the dreadful sensations, and focused every ounce of energy she possessed on the currents of Smith’s dreamlight. In the past two years she had occasionally manipulated the wavelengths of other people’s nightmares, but she had never before attempted what she was about to try now.
For an instant Smith did not seem to realize that he was under attack. He stared at her, mouth partially open in confusion. Fury quickly tightened his expression.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You will pay for this. I will make you freeze in your own private hell for daring to defy me. Stop.”
He raised his other arm, perhaps to reach back into his pocket for the crystal. But it was too late. He was already sliding into a deep sleep. He started to crumple. At the last second, he tried to grab the edge of the table. His flailing arm knocked the candle off the stand and onto the floor.
The taper rolled across the wooden floorboards toward the bed. There was a soft whoosh when the flame caught the trailing edge of the satin drapery.
Adelaide rushed back to the wardrobe and took out the cloak and shoes that she had stashed inside earlier in preparation for her escape. By the time she was dressed, the bed skirt was fully ablaze, the flames licking at the white quilt. Smoke was drifting out into the hall. Soon someone would sound the alarm.
/> She pulled the hood of the cloak up over her head and went toward the door. But something made her stop. She turned reluctantly and looked back at the artifact. Smith had called it a lamp, but it did not look like any lamp that she had ever seen.
She knew then that she had to take the artifact with her. It was a foolish notion. It would only slow her down. But she could not leave it behind.
She stuffed the lamp into the black satchel, fastened the buckles and started once more toward the door. She paused a second time over Smith’s motionless figure and quickly searched his pockets. There was money in one of them. The dark ruby-colored crystal was in another. She took the money but when she touched the crystal, she got an uneasy feeling. Heeding her intuition, she left it where it was.
Straightening, she stepped over Rosser’s dead body and moved out into the corridor.
Behind her the white satin bed was now engulfed in crackling, snapping flames. Down the hall someone started screaming. Men and women in various stages of dress and undress burst out of nearby doorways, seeking the closest exits.
No one paid any attention to Adelaide when she joined the frantic crush on the staircase.
Minutes later, she was outside on the street. Clutching the satchel, she fled into the night, running for her life.