by Jayne Castle
“Wow. And I thought I was paranoid. You really don’t trust anyone, do you?”
“That’s not true.” He finished filling the pot and turned off the faucet. “I trust the members of my family.”
“That’s it? Just your own family?”
He glanced at her. “And you, Marlowe. I trust you.”
She smiled. “Well, naturally. Partners have to trust each other.”
“No,” he said. “They don’t. But it certainly helps if they do.”
Chapter 26
“YOU’RE LATE, BOSS.” RICK PUT DOWN THE COPY OF Harmonic Weddings magazine that he had been reading and surveyed Marlowe. “I was about to call you.”
“I’m the boss,” Marlowe said. “Rank has its privileges. But as it happens, I have a good excuse. I had to drop something off at the lab, and then I stopped by Uncle Zeke’s place to get a few of the old private case files out of the J&J vault.”
“I’m telling you, those old files should be computerized.”
“Probably. But to date every Jones who ever had my job has been too paranoid to put the data online. As Uncle Zeke says, once it’s in that format, it’s accessible to anyone who has a thirteen-year-old available.”
“That’s not true. J&J computer security is extremely sophisticated.”
“There’s still the paranoia factor. Hard to overcome it after several centuries of tradition.”
Gibson bailed out of her backpack and fluttered across the floor. He bounded up onto the desk to greet Rick.
“Hey, there, biker dude, how’s it hangin’?” Rick patted Gibson affectionately and then went to work removing the wire lock from the cookie jar.
When he got the lid off, Gibson jumped up onto the rim and studied the array of High-Rez Energy Bars with an expression that could only be described as lust.
Rick squinted at Marlowe through his gold-rimmed spectacles. “No offense, but you don’t look like you got a lot of sleep last night, boss.”
“Comments like that will not get you a raise.” She shrugged out of her backpack. “How’s the wedding planning going?”
“Dan and I have an appointment with the wedding planner this afternoon. We’re going to choose the invitations.” He held up the copy of Harmonic Weddings and assumed an ominous air. “Did you know that blush pink and cerulean blue are the fashionable colors for CMs this year?”
“Hadn’t heard that.” She never liked to talk about the subject, because it only made her aware that she would never have a Covenant Wedding of her own. But she tried to show some enthusiasm. She was fond of Rick, and he had found the love of his life. That was something to be celebrated.
“Dan refuses to wear pink or blue,” Rick said.
“Can’t blame him. I’m not a fan of pink and blue, myself. What are you going to do?”
“Something untraditional. The wedding planner suggests copper and bronze.”
“That sounds—” She broke off, searching for the right word. “Interesting. Are you sure that you and Dan won’t look like a couple of statues standing at the altar?”
“Hadn’t thought about it that way, but now that you mention it, we may want to reconsider.”
Gibson made his selection and abandoned the cookie jar. Rick replaced the lid and secured the wire.
Marlowe walked around the desk, heading toward the inner office. “Did Tony Chula report in on the Parker case?”
“About ten minutes ago. He said he had no trouble picking up the killer’s trail. The wife, just like you thought.”
“I was afraid of that.” She set the pack on her desk and removed the two old volumes inside. “When a Covenant Marriage goes bad, it goes really, really bad.”
Rick came to stand in the doorway. “Divorce might be next to impossible, but you’d think two civilized people who got trapped in a bad CM could just agree to live apart with their respective lovers.”
“That only works when both of the parties involved have lovers. In this case, Mr. Parker had his young, attractive yoga instructor. Mrs. Parker had her bridge club. Evidently, the two did not equate in her mind.”
“Guess not. Tony says the case isn’t ready to hand over to the cops, yet. He’s still working on evidence, but he doesn’t think it will be hard to find.”
Marlowe sat down and opened one of the old books. “I’m expecting a call from Dr. Raymond at the lab. Put him through immediately.”
“You got it, boss.”
Marlowe started to read.
TWO HOURS LATER, SHE FOUND WHAT SHE WAS LOOKING for. She picked up the phone and entered Adam’s private code.
“Hello, Marlowe.”
She tried to ignore the sexy, intimate tone in his voice, but the truth was, she was getting addicted to it.
“I’ve been going through some old J&J records. The private case files of Caleb and Lucinda Jones.”
“The founders of Jones & Jones?”
“You know the history?”
“My family has always kept close tabs on yours. Besides, one of my ancestors, Griffin Winters, had some dealings with J&J back in the days when Caleb and Lucinda Jones ran the agency.” Adam paused a beat. “Something to do with an old lamp, as I recall.”
“It’s all here in the files. But there’s some other information, as well. In the course of that case, some odd red crystal weapons showed up. According to Caleb Jones’s notes, they could be tuned in a way that allowed a person with talent to enhance and focus his natural psychic energy.”
“You’re thinking there’s a connection to the crystals in those flashlights?”
“Well, the color of the crystals is different, but, yes, I think there is a link.” She pulled the second volume closer and peered at the page. “What’s more, weapons of a similar nature showed up again in the early twenty-first century, according to the case files of Fallon Jones. Again, the crystals weren’t red, but I think we’re talking about the same kind of technology.”
“Old Earth technology?”
“Old Earth alchemy, to be precise.”
“Alchemy was a dead science by the nineteenth century,” Adam said.
“Got news for you. Alchemy has never been dead within Arcane. The Society was founded on alchemical science.”
“Do you think the crystal guns we took off that pair last night date from the nineteenth or twenty-first century?”
“No. Those flashlight devices are definitely of modern manufacture. I can sense the age of artifacts, remember?”
“That leaves us with two possibilities,” Adam said. “The first is that someone rediscovered the same alchemical technology that others discovered at various points in the past.”
“Coincidence and serendipity happen,” Marlowe said. “The wheel was probably invented several times by a number of different people before it caught on.”
“The second possibility is that someone got hold of some of those old Arcane files that you’re looking at and found the method for creating the crystals.”
“Here’s the interesting part. Caleb and Fallon Jones deliberately did not include the instructions in their records. They both believed that the crystals were too dangerous.”
“So we’re going with the coincidence and serendipity theory.”
She cleared her throat. “Actually, there’s another explanation.”
“Yeah?”
“Turns out that the original set of instructions for manufacturing talent-enhancing crystals came from the early works of Nicholas Winters.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“That old alchemical recipe,” Adam said neutrally.
“Listen, I understand the need to keep family secrets, believe me. But in this case—” She stopped mid-sentence because the phone was ringing. “That’s my other line. Hold on.”
She heard Rick answer.
“She’s with a client, Dr. Raymond. Let me see if she’s available.”
“I’m available,” she called into the other room. She turned back
to the phone. “That’s the Arcane lab, Adam. Dr. Raymond must have an initial report on the crystal I gave him this morning. I’ll call you right back.”
“Do that,” Adam said. “Oh, and Marlowe?”
“Yes?”
“We need to go down into the rain forest as soon as possible. I just got a report from the on-site team. After your people arrived, they took their own measurements and observations. They indicate that the rate of deterioration in the dissonance currents is accelerating even faster than we thought.”
“We really should do some more experiments on the lamp before we try to use it underground in that heavy psi atmosphere.”
“We don’t have time. Can you be ready to go below this afternoon?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Adam ended the call. She picked up the other line.
“This is Marlowe, Dr. Raymond. What have you got?”
“A preliminary report only, Miss Jones. But you did say that you wanted to be notified of our findings on that crystal flashlight as soon as we learned anything.”
“Yes. Thank you for the fast analysis.”
“Don’t thank me yet. At this point I can’t tell you a lot. But I can confirm that the crystal is certainly not alien technology. Definitely human engineering. In addition, our instruments tell us that the device might have been capable of channeling and focusing human psi, but it appears to be quite dead now. It would require a special kind of talent to retune it.”
“Crystal talent?”
“Yes, a very powerful crystal talent.” Dr. Raymond hesitated. “One other thing: I believe your initial suspicions are correct. Things such as amber that allow a person to focus his or her natural talent are, generally speaking, harmless. But devices like that crystal that can actually enhance talent are different. They are inherently dangerous to the user because over time they warp the individual’s underlying patterns.”
Like the founder’s formula, she thought. But she did not say it out loud. There was no need. Everyone in Arcane knew about the dangers of the ancient alchemical recipe that Sylvester Jones had concocted.
“Thank you, Dr. Raymond.”
“One more thing, Miss Jones. Whoever created this crystal device knows a great deal about crystal science, certainly more than I or anyone on my staff knows. We’re talking very cutting-edge technology, Miss Jones.”
“Or very ancient technology,” Marlowe said quietly. “As in Old Earth alchemy. Call me if you come up with anything else.”
“Of course.”
She reconnected with Adam.
“Anything new from your lab?” he asked.
“No. But Dr. Raymond did confirm that the crystal weapons are potentially very hazardous.”
“Yeah. I noticed that last night.”
“Not just to the victim,” she said patiently, “but, long-term, to the user.”
“Which explains the warping that you saw in the dreamprints of those two men. I agree, the crystals are a problem. But they’re linked to O’Conner and Drake. That means that, for now, they’re at the bottom of my priority list. Ready to save the underworld?”
“Sure. Not like Gibson and I had anything more exciting to do today.”
Chapter 27
HER INTUITION HAD BEEN REZZED FOR DAYS. NOW IT was screaming at her. Time to disappear, Gloria Ray thought. A chill shivered through her. Past time. She had left the decision until too late. That was not like her. She should have been on her way out of town by now, not standing here, alone, in dear Hubert’s extremely private office.
She had been Hubert O’Conner’s mistress for several months now and had hoped to continue for a while longer. Dear Hubert had been very generous with jewelry, furs, cars, and exclusive spa memberships. But when the Chamber had put its heavy, booted foot on the necks of the local Guild Council and installed Adam Winters as the new CEO of the Frequency organization, she had seen the writing on the wall.
There was only one reason the Chamber would have overridden the Frequency Council. It had finally concluded that the Frequency organization needed to be cleaned up and that the housekeeping would not take place without a new boss from outside. She knew that meant that Hubert would not be on the Council much longer. He wielded a lot of power, but he was also as dirty as they came.
When you opted for a career path like the one she had chosen, Gloria thought, you learned to depend on your intuition. As it happened, hers was very highly toned. It had kept her out of trouble this long, and it was shrieking at her now.
Get out.
But there was one more thing she had to do before she left town with her suitcase full of expensive jewelry.
Hubert O’Conner’s official office was at Guild headquarters. But he and his old buddy, Douglas Drake, had always maintained a private office deep in the heart of the Quarter here near the South Wall. They had grown up together in the neighborhood, joined the Guild together, and started out working as a team in the catacombs.
Over time they had clawed their way up through the ranks of the corrupt Frequency organization, watching each other’s backs at every step. But neither of them had ever lost touch with the old neighborhood. The mean streets near the South Wall constituted their power base.
In this tough part of the Quarter, O’Conner and Drake were the go-to men for anyone looking to do business in the vicinity, including drug dealers, pimps, and entrepreneurs who worked the illegal antiquities trade underground. If you didn’t cut O’Conner and Drake in for a slice of the action, you didn’t last long.
She did not need to turn on the lights. She had been here before, and she knew her way around. There was enough green psi coming through the grime-covered windows to enable her to see what she was doing.
Unlike the offices at Guild headquarters, this was a sparsely furnished space containing only a battered desk and a couple of chairs. She knew that as far as O’Conner and Drake were concerned, the most important amenity was a closet that concealed a staircase that led to a bolt-hole into the underworld. O’Conner often used it to come and go from his secret office on occasions when he did not want anyone in the neighborhood to see him. He had brought her with him a number of times. He liked to have sex down in the catacombs. A lot of hunters liked it that way. Something about the alien psi. She had secretly made a note of the coordinates.
An unnerving frisson shivered through her. She should leave. Now. She had packed her gym bag earlier, filling it with only the essentials: the collection of expensive amber and gold jewelry that Hubert had given her, the new ID that she had bought secretly online, the brown wig that she would use to cover her blonde hair, and the amber contacts that would darken her blue eyes. She’d hated leaving the gorgeous clothes and the lovely new crimson Siren behind, but, really, there was no other option. You couldn’t carry out a decent disappearing act when you were traveling with a half-dozen large, overstuffed suitcases and a flashy sports car.
Hurry, she thought. Do what you have to do and get out of here.
She went to the wall and felt for the concealed seam in the paneling. She found it quickly. A small section slid aside, revealing the safe.
She rezzed the code that O’Conner did not know that she had found, thanks to her intuitive talent. Her fingers trembled a little.
This was not the first time she had been obliged to end a relationship with a potentially dangerous lover. She was a pro. She had been planning for this day since the moment she had managed to engage Hubert O’Conner’s attention a year ago. Men like O’Conner—high-ranking Guild Councilmen—were excellent financial investments. They lavished their mistresses with the best of everything.
But such powerful men were also high-risk. At best they simply lost interest when a younger, more beautiful woman came along. Generally speaking, she accepted that possibility with a degree of equanimity, even good grace, if she did say so herself. Losing out to the competition occasionally came with the territory and now that she was getting older, it was bound to happen mor
e frequently.
But there was a worst-case scenario when it came to terminating such relationships, and her talent told her that was what she was facing now. She had learned too many of O’Conner’s secrets, and recently she had discovered the most dangerous one of all. Powerful men got nervous when they realized that a mistress knew too much. Guild men like Hubert tended to be somewhat old-fashioned when it came to protecting themselves. O’Conner was quite capable of making certain that she really did disappear—straight into the tunnels or the rain forest.
Leaving town and changing her identity would not give her sufficient protection. She needed an insurance policy, leverage. The journal stored in the hidden safe would give her at least a fighting chance if O’Conner decided to send his goons after her.
She rezzed the lock, opened the safe, and took out the journal. She carried the volume back to the desk and opened it.
Reaching into her low-cut blouse, she took the tiny camera out of the pocket inside her bra. The pocket was designed to hold special pads to enhance cleavage. She did not need that kind of enhancement. Her very fine breasts had been expertly constructed by one of the best surgeons in the city. But the pockets in the bra were useful for concealing other items such as the camera and a little emergency backup amber. When you hung around Guild men, you learned to carry tuned amber.
She took several shots of the most recent pages in the journal, tucked the camera back into her bra, and replaced the volume inside the safe.
When she withdrew her hand, her fingers brushed against a hard, round object about half the size of her fist. A crystal or stone of some kind, she thought. The surface was faceted, but the object was much too large to be an item of jewelry. She groped around inside the safe and discovered two more crystals.
She did not need her intuitive talent to tell her that if O’Conner kept them in the safe, they were not only extremely valuable but very likely dangerous.
She knew she should leave, but she was unable to resist a closer look at the crystals. She picked up one of the stones and brought it out into the light.