“Whose ring is it?” she asked gently.
“It belonged to a man who died three years ago. Last year I got his watch. The year before that I received a photo of his casket.”
She studied his hard face. “What’s going on, Fallon?”
“Someone wants to make certain that I never forget.”
“That you never forget what?”
“That I killed my friend and partner.”
20
They sat down on a large rock facing the wild surf. Holding it in his gloved hand, Fallon studied the black metal ring that was set with a green stone.
“His name was Tucker Austin,” he said. “We were both J&J agents at the time. My uncle was running the agency back then. He was preparing to retire and turn the business over to me.”
“But you worked as an agent, first?”
Fallon shrugged. “Family tradition. Tucker and I handled a number of cases together that year. We made a solid team, at least for a while. He was a high-end light-talent.”
“I’ve never heard of that kind of ability.”
“Probably because it’s rare. A medium-range light-talent can manipulate the light that comes from the normal end of the spectrum. A dreamlight-talent can read the radiation from the dark ultralight sectors. But people like Tucker can bend both visible and paranormal wavelengths in such a way that they can make themselves invisible.”
“The government is working on a superstealth fighter plane that uses that principle,” Isabella said. “Top secret black arts stuff. My grandmother broke the story on her website a few months back.”
“The news was in all the popular-science magazines and several newspapers long before it appeared on the Iceberg site,” Fallon said dryly.
“Really?”
In spite of his dour mood, Fallon’s mouth kicked up a little at the corner. “You do realize that if it’s in the New York Times, it isn’t exactly a big secret.”
She sniffed. “Not because the black-arts people didn’t try to keep it secret.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that point. Back to my story. Tucker was especially useful to J&J because he could make himself invisible not only to those with normal vision but also to those who can see or sense energy in the paranormal ranges. He could conceal his own aura.”
“Wow. He could hide from aura-readers and hunter-talents?”
“Tucker could move through a crowd of high-end auras and hunters like a ghost.”
“I can see why he was so useful to J&J. He would have been the perfect psychic spy to send out against bad-guy talents.”
“Tucker loved the work. The more dangerous, the better as far as he was concerned. He was a real adrenaline junkie. Like I said, we made a good team.”
“You’re an adrenaline junkie?”
“No. I was the plodding research guy. I handled the investigative and planning phase of the cases. I identified and drew up the list of suspects. Tucker went inside to get the evidence. Then we put it all together and gave the package to my uncle at J&J. He decided whether the case could be turned over to regular law enforcement or if it was a situation that J&J had to take care of on its own.”
She nodded. “The way we handled the killer at the Zander house yesterday.”
“You know, in some quarters that kind of activity is called taking the law in our own hands,” Fallon said. There was a deep weariness in the words. “And it is frowned upon.”
“Arcane polices its own because no one else can do the job.”
“That has certainly been the rationale for J&J’s existence since it was founded,” Fallon agreed. “I’ve never told any of my agents or even anyone in my family, but sometimes in the darkest hours of the night I wonder if that makes it right.”
She turned toward him. “We both know we can’t leave para-psychopaths free to prey on the public. Not if it’s in our power to stop them. Regular law enforcement doesn’t even acknowledge the existence of criminals with paranormal abilities. How could the cops possibly track down the bad guys, let alone keep them in prison?”
“Don’t think I haven’t asked myself that question a million times.” Fallon leaned forward, rested his forearms on his thighs and cradled in his gloved fingers the box that held the ring. He watched the surf pound on the rocks. “But sometimes I wonder, Isabella.”
She put her hand on his arm. “The fact that you even ask the question is what makes you the right man to head J&J, Fallon Jones.”
They sat together for a time, watching the relentless waves.
“What happened to Tucker?” she asked after a while.
“I killed him.”
There was no trace of emotion in his voice. That told her everything she needed to know. Fallon was haunted by the death of Tucker Austin.
At first she thought he was not going to tell her the rest of the tale. But eventually he started to talk again.
“Tucker and I were assigned to the biggest case of our careers. A nightclub not so coincidentally named Arcane had popped up on the J&J psi-dar. It catered to sensitives, many of whom were not members of the Society. Some didn’t even realize they had a little talent. But they were drawn to the club consciously or unconsciously by the energy of the place.”
“All nightclubs have to give off a lot of intense energy or they go bankrupt,” she said.
“Yes, but most clubs get their energy from the music and the crowd and a good marketing image.”
“And the alcohol and the recreational drugs that are frequently available,” she added.
“The Arcane Club attracted its patrons with all those things, but it offered one additional lure, an elite club within a club.”
“Wait, don’t tell me, let me guess. The insiders’ club was called the Governing Council?”
He looked at her. “You’re good.”
“Thanks,” she said. Pride tingled through her. Fallon Jones did not give praise lightly. “So whoever operated the Arcane Club got a kick out of creating a shadow version of the real Arcane Society, including the Council. Creepy.”
“It was,” Fallon agreed. “Also smart marketing.”
“Did the club offer a parallel version of Jones & Jones?”
“Within the world of the club, J&J provided security.”
“For crying out loud,” she said, incensed. “They made the J&J staff the bouncers? That’s just wrong. We are an elite investigative firm.”
He smiled a little at that and went on with the story. “Unlike most insider clubs, the big draw wasn’t a drug; it was the lighting fixtures in the rooms that were reserved for the exclusive patrons.”
“The lights?”
“They were called magic lanterns,” Fallon said. “They were based on crystal technology. The paranormal radiation they emitted acted like an intense hallucinogen on people with talent. The higher the talent level, the bigger the hit.”
“Lot of energy in light,” Isabella mused. “All across the spectrum.”
“My uncle was aware of the club, but he was not too concerned at first. Even when it became obvious that there was some kind of drug dealing going on, he figured it was a problem for regular law enforcement. J&J didn’t get concerned until people who were deeply involved in the scene in the Arcane Club started dying.”
“How did they die?”
“Two thought they could fly. They jumped out windows. A couple of others were so disoriented by the state of altered consciousness that they engaged in high-risk behavior that got them killed. The authorities investigated the deaths but never made the connection to the club because no evidence of drugs showed up in the autopsies. My uncle decided it was time for J&J to take a look at the situation.”
“What happened?”
Fallon focused on the crashing waves. “He assigned Tucker and me to the case. We both realized immediately that there was no way we were going to get the kind of evidence that would stand up in court. Tucker suggested that we recommend to my uncle that he put pressure on the club owners to shut down.
I agreed.”
“Did that work?”
“The club closed, but my uncle wanted to know who had designed and built the magic lanterns. He asked me to look a little deeper.”
“Wait,” Isabella said. “Let me get this straight. Your uncle assigned you but not your partner to conduct the more detailed investigation?”
Fallon looked down at the ring. “I think my uncle had his suspicions about Tucker by then. Once I started looking, though, I could see the connections myself. Just a few things at first, but it didn’t take long before they formed a pattern. Should have seen it much sooner.”
“The pattern pointed to your friend, Tucker?”
“I couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. I had trusted Tucker with my life in the course of some of our investigations. But in the end I had to face the truth. He was the secret owner of the club. He was responsible for the magic-lantern deaths.”
“Something tells me you did not go straight to your uncle with the results of your investigation.”
Fallon frowned. “Why do you assume that?”
She waved off the question. “Because he was your friend and partner. You had to be absolutely certain.”
“I should have turned things over to my uncle at that point. But you’re right—I needed to be sure. I confronted Tucker. I hoped that I was missing some piece of the puzzle that would exonerate him. Like everyone else I know, he had been warning me that my talent gave me a skewed vision of reality, that it made me inclined to see conspiracy fantasies where there was nothing but random chance. He told me more than once that some day I’d go too deep into the darkness and never return.”
“So you gave him a chance to convince you that you were wrong. I’ll bet he had a really good explanation.”
“He laughed at me,” Fallon said, sounding resigned. “He told me that I really had lost it. He said he could prove that he was innocent. He asked me to give him twenty-four hours. I said okay.”
“What happened?”
“He tried to kill me.”
“With his talent?”
“With an overdose of magic-lantern psi.”
“Oh, crap.”
“I had dinner with my fiancée that night.”
An odd little chill fluttered through Isabella. “I didn’t know that you were engaged.”
“I was at the time,” Fallon said. “Obviously I’m not now.”
“Right.” She did not know how to take that. The thought of Fallon Jones having had his heart broken by another woman left her feeling slightly unnerved for some inexplicable reason. She did not want to think that someone else had ever had the power to hurt him in that way. “Go on.”
“We had dinner at Jenny’s condo. Tucker must have used his talent to slip into her place and conceal a magic-lantern lightbulb in one of the floor lamps. The visible light waves given off by the crystals look normal. You don’t notice the paranormal effects of the lanterns until it’s too late. The radiation hit both Jenny and me, of course, but I’m a more powerful talent than she is.”
“So it hit you harder.”
“It slammed my senses straight into overdrive.” Fallon’s jaw tightened. “Never felt anything like it in my life. I went into what I thought was an enlightened state. Suddenly I could see all the mysteries of the cosmos. I was sure I could comprehend them if only I looked a little deeper.”
“What happened?”
“I was in a state of altered reality, completely disoriented. It was as if I was moving through a dream. I went out onto the balcony of Jenny’s condo, convinced that I would be able to see the heart of the universe. While I was in that condition, Tucker entered the apartment. He tried to force me over the railing. Actually, he tried to talk me into going over under my own willpower.”
“What?”
“I was hallucinating,” Fallon said. “Out of my head. He tried to convince me that there was a crystal bridge that connected the balcony of Jenny’s condo with the roof of the building across the street.”
“I think I saw that movie.”
“So did I. According to Tucker, all I had to do was step out onto the bridge. When that didn’t work, he resorted to force. There was a struggle. In the end, I . . . killed him. He went off the balcony, instead of me.”
“Dear heaven. How on earth did you manage to save yourself when you were in such a disoriented state?”
“This is going to sound weird,” Fallon said. “Even though the magic lantern affected my talent, I think it was my talent that somehow saved me.”
“Nah, it was your willpower and self-control that saved you, not your talent.”
He looked at her. “You think so?”
“Sure. You’ve got more self-control than any talent I’ve ever met. When push came to shove, it was that ability that saved you, not your talent.” She paused. “Then again, the two are sort of linked, I suppose. The fact that you can handle such a powerful talent means that you’ve got a lot of built-in control. Chicken-and-egg thing, I guess. If you didn’t have a lot of control, you’d have gone crazy by now.”
“Thanks for that visual,” Fallon said.
“Just trying to clarify here.”
“You have a way of doing that.”
“Doing what?” she asked.
“Clarifying.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“The bottom line is that I survived and Tucker died.”
“You did what you had to do,” Isabella assured him.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was out of my head,” Fallon said. “Who knows how I might have handled the situation if I’d been in a normal state of mind? Jenny started screaming and crying. She was hysterical with grief and rage.”
“Why was she so upset? Because of the hallucinogenic light of the lantern? Surely when she came back to her senses, she understood that you had been forced to fight for your life.”
“Tucker Austin was her brother.”
Isabella sighed. “I see. Well, that certainly explains her distraught reaction.”
“Tucker was her older brother. She idolized him. Hell, he was the golden boy of the Austin family. Jenny and her parents have never believed that Tucker was running the club or selling the magic-lantern light. They have what you might call another theory of the crime.”
Understanding hit her hard.
“They think you were the one running the Arcane Club and dealing the magic-lantern light.”
“Their version of events is that after J&J fired up the investigation, I decided to cut my losses, shut down the club and set Tucker up to take the fall. Literally, in this case.”
“To cover your tracks?”
“Yes,” Fallon said evenly. “They also believe that my family protected me.”
“Of course they can’t prove that because there is no proof, so they comfort themselves with their own version of history. It’s actually a pretty solid conspiracy theory, because within Arcane the Joneses wield a lot of power. It would be easy to believe they would circle the wagons around one of their own.”
Fallon’s eyes were bleak. He said nothing.
“That’s one of the hallmarks of conspiracy theories, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “As someone once said, they are the losers’ version of history.”
“Never thought about it like that.”
“Probably because you weren’t raised in a family of dedicated conspiracy freaks.” She glanced down at the ring. “So every year on the anniversary of Tucker’s death someone sends you a nasty little memento mori. Who is it? Jenny?”
“Probably, although I suppose it could be Tucker’s mother or father.”
“You’ve never tracked down the sender?”
“Didn’t seem to be much point. I got the message.”
“Will the Austin family be at the Sedona conference?”
“The Austins are power brokers within Arcane. Yes, they will be in Sedona.”
“No wonder you’re
not keen on attending.”
“At least this year I’ll have a date.”
21
The following morning Isabella took a break at the Sunshine with Marge. As was the custom, Violet and Patty walked over from the inn to join them. Isabella sat at the counter and sipped tea from a heavy mug. The other three drank Marge’s high-test coffee and told tales about the brief heyday of the Seekers’ community.
The arrival of an overnight delivery van interrupted yet another denunciation of Gordon Lasher. They all watched the vehicle roll down the street and stop in front of Jones & Jones.
“They found me,” Isabella yelped. She set down her mug and jumped to her feet. “I was so afraid that there would be a screwup and they wouldn’t be able to find Scargill Cove.”
“I’m assuming that’s the dress and the shoes?” Marge asked.
“I sure hope so,” Isabella said. She headed for the door. “Otherwise, I’m in bad shape for that business conference in Sedona.”
“Bring the clothes back here,” Violet called after her. “We want to see them.”
“Especially the shoes,” Patty said.
Isabella paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Why the shoes?”
Patty grinned. “I want to see if they really are glass slippers.”
Isabella frowned. “I keep telling you, this visit to Sedona is a company business trip.”
“Sure,” Marge said. She chuckled. “A business trip that involves a corporate jet, a dressy reception and high-end fund-raiser auction. Woohoo! Go get the dress and the shoes and bring them back here so we can see them.”
Isabella hurried outside. The driver of the delivery van had the rear door of the vehicle open. He removed two boxes.
Isabella rushed across the street. “Are those for me?”
He glanced at the labels. “Address says Jones & Jones.”
“That’s me. I mean, I work for Jones & Jones. I’ll take the packages.”
“Sign here.”
She scrawled her signature, took the boxes and went back inside the Sunshine. Marge was waiting with scissors. She got the first box open in a flash.
Isabella parted the packing tissue and removed a long sweep of midnight blue. There were gasps all around.
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