by Jayne Castle
“You skated on that one,” Keith said. He sank wearily down onto a chair. “If she or any of the other Joneses had found out what you were really after, you would have ended up so deep in the tunnels no one would have found your body.”
“It didn’t happen,” Tucker said.
“Trust me, if Marlowe Jones ever does learn the truth, she’ll send every J&J agent she’s got after you.” Keith hugged himself and rocked a little in the chair. “We should never have started this. I knew it wouldn’t work. Knew it would end badly. I could feel it in my bones. I want you both to quit now.”
“No,” Charlotte said fiercely. “Not while there’s still a chance.”
“She’s right,” Tucker said. “We have to keep going.”
“Don’t you get it?” Keith rounded on him. “So far you’ve lucked out. You haven’t attracted the attention of J&J. But that kind of luck won’t hold, not when you’re up against Arcane.”
“We have to find the real lamp,” Tucker shot back. “You’re dying, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed. But do you really think I want to go out knowing I was responsible for the deaths of you and Charlotte?”
“You’re my brother,” Tucker said. “You know damn well that if the situation was reversed, you’d be doing for Charlotte or me what we’re doing for you. We’re trying to save your sanity and your life, damn it.”
“Stop it, both of you,” Charlotte said sharply. “We don’t have time for this. What’s done is done. Our only hope is to move forward. We’ve got to find the Burning Lamp.”
Keith and Tucker looked at her.
“Speaking of time,” Keith said in a flat voice, “how much longer do I have?”
She hesitated as she always did when he asked her to read his dreamprints. She hated looking at the damage. But he was the one who was dying. He deserved the truth. Reluctantly she rezzed her talent and studied the seething, warped dreamlight tracks on the floor of the office. The unwholesome resonance was getting stronger.
“We’ve got some time,” she said. “I promise you.” It was the truth, as far as it went.
“How much time, damn it?” Keith whispered.
“I’ve told you, I can’t answer that precisely. According to the old records, Samuel Lodge used the crystals for decades before he died. You just started working with the stones a few months ago. We don’t need to panic. Not yet.”
But Keith was failing fast, much faster than Samuel Lodge had back in the nineteenth century on Earth. When it came to psychic mutation and evolution, things on Harmony moved much more rapidly and took very different twists than they had back on the Old World. Something in the environment, the experts said.
Keith fixed the fake artifact with a brooding glare. “We just hit a wall. The real lamp was never even in the Arcane vaults. That means we’re back to square one.”
“Not necessarily,” Charlotte said. She went to the window and looked out at the quiet street. “According to the old legend, it takes a dreamlight talent to find the Burning Lamp.”
“That was supposed to be you,” Tucker said softly.
“I heard that,” Keith growled. “It’s not her fault.”
Tucker slanted him an angry look. “Don’t you think I know that?”
“I managed to track the fake lamp to the Arcane vault,” Charlotte reminded them quietly.
“But it was the wrong lamp,” Keith said. There was no accusation in his voice, just a statement of fact.
“We were looking in the wrong place,” she said. “But stealing the fake may have been the smartest thing we could have done under the circumstances.”
Tucker scowled. “What makes you say that?”
She gestured toward the copy of the Examiner on the table. The photo of Marlowe Jones and Adam Winters occupied most of the front page. “It’s no coincidence that Jones and Winters are now an item in the tabloid press. Obviously she consulted him after she realized the lamp had been stolen. I’ve got a hunch that they are now both looking for it.”
Keith and Tucker exchanged uneasy glances.
“Winters is Guild,” Tucker said. “The Guild is the only crowd that scares me more than Arcane.”
“Think about it,” Charlotte said quietly. “According to the legend, it requires the combination of a Winters male and a strong dreamlight reader to find the lamp. That’s exactly what we’ve got working for us now. “
Keith shivered. “You think that part of the legend is for real?”
“It’s certainly starting to look that way,” she said.
“Just one problem,” Tucker added. “If Winters and Marlowe get lucky and find the lamp, we still have to figure out how to grab it so that you can work it for Keith.”
“We’ll worry about that after they find the lamp,” Charlotte said.
Chapter 18
MARLOWE ROUNDED THE CORNER INTO THE NARROW lane that bordered the Old East Wall. She went cold when she saw the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles. An ambulance and two patrol cars were parked directly in front of Tully’s small shop. It was only eight o’clock in the morning, but a small crowd had gathered. One of the officers was stringing crime scene tape.
She de-rezzed Dream, kicked down the stand, and swung her leg over the bike. After removing her helmet, she collected Gibson from the saddlebag and walked toward the small group of onlookers. She was just in time to see the medics load a stretcher into the aid car. There was a body bag on the stretcher.
She moved closer to two men who looked like they had been living on the streets for a while. She had learned early on in her work for J&J that in the Quarter it was the locals who had the most information.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Man named Tully who owns that shop got himself killed last night,” one of the men said. He looked at Gibson. “Hey, is that a dust bunny?”
“Yes,” she said. She did not take her eyes off the shop. “How did Jake die?”
The second man glanced at her, showing some interest. “You knew Jake Tully?”
“My firm has done some business with him.”
“I heard one of the cops say that it looks like Tully died of a heart attack. He did have a bad ticker, so that may have been what happened. But the place is all torn up inside. You ask me, I say it was a burglary gone bad.”
“Someone stole all his best stuff, I’ll bet,” the other man said. “Poor Tully. He was always hoping to score one last really big deal so that he could retire from the business.”
“Thanks,” Marlowe said.
She walked back to the bike, took out her phone, and entered Adam’s code. He answered immediately.
“You’re up early,” he said. “Sleep well?”
The low, rough, sexy, incredibly intimate edge on his words sent a frisson of energy through her. Memories of the passion that had heated up her entire living room last night jangled her senses for a few seconds.
She took a deep breath and reminded herself to focus.
“I got a lead on the lamp,” she said.
“Where are you?”
The sexy intimacy in his voice was gone, replaced by the flat, hard tone of masculine authority. The Guild boss taking charge.
“I’m standing in the lane outside the shop of the dealer who may have found the lamp.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
“Don’t bother. Tully is dead. Looks like his place was burglarized last night. His shop is a crime scene now. There’s no way the cops will let us inside.”
There was a long, thoughtful silence on the other end of the connection.
“Whoever took the lamp from the museum vault must have discovered he stole a fake,” Adam said after a while. “He’s still looking. Think he found it last night?”
“Only one way to find out,” Marlowe said. “We need to get inside Tully’s shop.”
Chapter 19
“I DIDN’T REALIZE YOU PLANNED TO COOK DINNER,” Marlowe said. “I tho
ught when you suggested we eat here at your place that we’d order out.”
He snapped the end off an asparagus spear and did his best to look crushed. “Just because I’m a Guild boss doesn’t mean I can’t cook.”
Marlowe absently swirled the wine in her glass and watched him from the opposite side of the kitchen counter.
“I wasn’t implying that you didn’t have any culinary talent,” she said. “It’s the time factor. I just assumed a man in your position, given all that you’ve got going on at the moment, wouldn’t have time to plan and prepare a meal for what is essentially a business meeting.”
He snapped the last asparagus spear. “I don’t order out because I don’t like the idea of having to go down four flights of stairs to open the door to a stranger. Call me paranoid, but after avoiding several staged accidents, having my amber warped, and getting shot at, I’ve concluded that it’s a good time in my life to exercise a bit of caution.”
She winced. “Point taken.”
“Besides, we can’t risk going into Tully’s shop until later tonight, anyway.” He put the washed and dried asparagus spears in a shallow roasting pan. “Might as well eat dinner and talk about the case.”
He had sensed her edgy mood first on the phone and again when she had arrived a short time ago. His long history of failed relationships no doubt indicated a lack of perception and understanding of the female of the species. Nevertheless, he was fairly certain that Marlowe’s tension this evening was not just the result of what had happened to Tully and their plans for later tonight. It was directly linked to what had happened between them last night. She feels it now, too, he thought. She knows this is not just about sex. There’s some kind of connection between us.
He drizzled olive oil over the spears and sprinkled them with salt, savoring the energy in the atmosphere. There was a cool, touch-at-your-own-risk look in Marlowe’s eyes that was probably meant to be a warning flag. He wondered if he should tell her that it was having the opposite effect. He smiled a little.
She was dressed in what he had concluded was her working uniform—jeans, black turtleneck, and boots—ready for the late-night foray into Tully’s shop. Her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. It didn’t matter that she was dressed for a bike run, not a date. She looked good here in his home, he thought, like she belonged.
“What did you do with Gibson tonight?” he asked.
“He took off before I left the office this evening. I told you, he does that sometimes.” She lounged against the counter, frowning a little. “Although lately he seems to be doing it more often than usual.”
“Maybe it’s mating season for dust bunnies.”
Marlowe stiffened. “Maybe.”
He slid the pan into the oven and closed the door. “How did you and Gibson become a team?”
“I found him in an alley outside a crime scene a few months ago. I was working as an agent for J&J at the time. A member of the Society who lived in the Old Quarter had dropped dead of an apparent heart attack. Uncle Zeke called me in to take a look. Turned out to be a homicide.”
“Don’t tell me the bunny did it?”
Marlowe bristled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Sorry.” He pulled a long loaf of crusty bread out of a paper bag. “Little Guild boss humor.”
“It certainly explains why Guild bosses aren’t known for their wit.” She took another tiny sip of wine and lowered her glass. “Anyhow, I followed the trail of the killer’s prints out into the alley. And there was Gibson. A couple of stray dogs had him cornered near a trash container. He was holding them off, but it was two against one.”
“So you rescued him?”
“I chased off the dogs. The dust bunny disappeared beneath the trash container. But he showed up at my back door later that night. I gave him a High-Rez Energy Bar. We’ve been partners ever since.”
“If I showed up at your back door, would you give me a High-Rez Energy Bar?”
Marlowe sighed. “You Guild bosses really do have a problem with humor, don’t you?”
“Don’t worry, you get used to it.” He set the bread on a plate, picked up his wineglass, and rounded the edge of the counter. “What do you say we finish our drinks out on the balcony?”
“All right.” She glanced back at the preparations for dinner. “You know, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I mean, it’s not like we’re on a real date.”
He opened the glass doors at the far end of the room and stood back to watch her walk out onto the balcony. “I like to cook. Gives me a little instant gratification.
But cooking for one isn’t much fun. It’s nice to have someone else around to enjoy it.”
She glanced at him, her eyes wary, as she went past. “Yes, it is.”
He followed her out onto the balcony, satisfaction roaring through him. No doubt about it. The lady from Jones & Jones was running scared of whatever was going on between them. He doubted if she had ever panicked about a relationship with a man in her entire life. It was a good sign, he decided, a very good sign. She was definitely paying attention now.
“You have a great view,” she said.
“One of the reasons I bought the place.”
His home was the entire top floor of a two-hundred-year-old Colonial-era building. The structure was five stories high, which made it one of the tallest buildings in the Quarter.
“I couldn’t help but notice that three of the four floors below us are empty and dark.” Marlowe studied him with a speculative look. “Guild boss paranoia?”
He crossed the balcony and joined her at the railing, careful to keep a little distance between them but close enough to let him savor her intoxicating energy. When he was near her like this, he felt a little buzzed, and not because of the wine or the gentle currents of alien psi that drifted like fog through the Quarter.
“I own the entire building.” He rested his elbows on the railing, cradling the wineglass between his hands. “I rent out the ground-floor shops to some people I know very, very well.”
She looked knowing. “People you trust.”
“Yes.”
“A Guild boss version of a neighborhood block watch?”
“Something like that. I like to keep the floors between my flat and the street shops empty.”
“And rigged with alarms just in case anyone you don’t want to see decides to come calling?”
He contemplated his wineglass. “You know what they say. Even paranoids have enemies.”
“How did you sleep last night?” she asked. She glanced down.
He felt the heightening of energy in the atmosphere and knew that she was studying his dreamprints.
“Got in a couple of hours,” he said.
“Before the nightmares hit?”
“I told you, I can handle them.”
“I did some research in Jeremiah Jones’s private case files this afternoon.”
Well, it was bound to happen, he thought. He had known from the beginning that sooner or later she’d pull up the old history from the Era of Discord. It dawned on him that he was the one who was wary now.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.
“According to Jeremiah’s notes, parts of the Winters legend are certainly true. If we find the Burning Lamp, I think we’ll be able to use it to stop the nightmares and hallucinations that have been plaguing you these past few weeks.”
He did not take his attention off the ruins. “Aren’t you worried I might be turning into a real Cerberus?”
“You’re not going mad; I’ve told you that.” She rested her forearms on the railing beside him and contemplated the ruins. “But I have a hunch that by now you’ve discovered the second aspect of your talent.”
“My second talent, you mean?”
“No, a new aspect of your original talent,” she said calmly. “You are not a true multitalent. Not a Cerberus. But if we find the lamp and if I can work it properly, I�
��ll be able to turn the key in the lock, as Nicholas Winters wrote in his journal. When that happens, you’ll come into the third aspect of your talent. With that level of power, you’ll be able to use the lamp as a kind of weapon.”
“And if you don’t turn the key in the lock properly?”
“The radiation from the lamp will probably kill us both or, at the very least, destroy our parapsych talents.”
He looked at her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“We don’t have any choice. You have to be able to work the lamp in order to try to stop whatever is happening down below in the maze. And according to everything I have been able to uncover concerning the legend, you won’t be able to channel the heavy energy in the artifact without a strong dreamlight talent like me.”
He watched the glowing towers of the ancient city. “That’s the legend, all right.”
“I went through all of the old records, Adam. There’s no other alternative. It takes two. Just as it did when John Cabot Winters and Sarah Vester worked the lamp to destroy Ignatius Fremont and his lab during the Era of Discord.”
He groaned and put his head down for a few seconds.
“You know that story, too?” he asked.
“It’s all in Jeremiah’s notes. The rebel forces were composed mostly of men who were strong ghost hunters. But a few of them were equipped with a weird crystal weapon of some kind that enhanced their individual firepower. The rebels who carried the crystals were almost impossible to stop. As the war went on, more and more of the weapons made their way into the rebels’ hands. Jeremiah identified the scientist who was manufacturing the weapons and located the lab.”
“Fremont’s facility was located underground in the vicinity of a vortex and very well guarded,” he said, taking up the story. “In essence, it was a fortress. There was no way a large contingent of Guild men could get to it. But John Winters worked full-spectrum stone.”