Quicksilver

by Amanda Quick

  “That is very kind of you, madam.”

  “Call me Helen,” she said.

  “You must call me Virginia, as Elizabeth does.”

  The butler opened the front door. Virginia was surprised when Helen followed her onto the front step and out of earshot of the servant.

  “He was not a bad or evil man, was he?” Helen said quietly.

  “No,” Virginia said. “Papa enjoyed life.”

  “Perhaps to excess,” Helen said dryly. “But in his boundless enthusiasm for it, he was careless of the happiness of others.”

  “Yes.”

  “He never wanted to consider the consequence of his actions, and he never was called upon to do so. He got away with that attitude because he could charm the birds out of the trees as well as every woman in range of his smile.” Helen shook her head ruefully. “I swear, that was his true psychical talent.”

  “You may be right,” Virginia said.

  Helen fixed her with an intent look. “But I will say this much for him, he fathered two fine daughters, of whom he would have been proud. Thank you, again, for your kindness to Elizabeth.”

  “She is my sister.”

  “And we are forever linked as family,” Helen said. “Do not forget that.”

  Virginia looked across the street and saw Owen lounging, arms crossed, against the side of the gleaming black Sweetwater carriage.

  “As it happens, I am to be married soon,” Virginia said.

  Surprise flashed across Helen’s face, but she recovered quickly and smiled. “Congratulations.” She glanced across the street at Owen and the sleek carriage. “Dare I ask if that is your fiancé?”

  “Yes. Mr. Sweetwater.” Virginia raised a hand to signal Owen. “I will introduce you.”

  Helen watched Owen straighten away from the carriage and start toward them across the street. “Sweetwater. I think I have heard of the family. It’s an old one, I believe. But I know nothing about them.”

  “The Sweetwaters rarely go into society,” Virginia said.

  Owen smiled at her. He was halfway across the street.

  “Can I ask you a personal question, Helen?” Virginia said.

  “My daughter asked you a great many personal questions today. The least I can do is answer one for you.”

  “Knowing what we both know about my father, it has occurred to me from time to time that while I’m sure he always intended to provide for me, it is unlikely that Papa actually got around to doing so in his will.”

  Helen did not look away from Owen. “I don’t know what you mean, Virginia.”

  “Even if he did remember me in his will, I cannot imagine that he went to the trouble of ensuring that I would attend Miss Peabody’s School for Young Ladies in the event of his death. He would have assumed that my mother would be around to take care of me. I’m sure it never occurred to him that there was a possibility that I would be orphaned.”

  Helen sighed. “It was not in Robert’s nature to plan for the future, nor did he like to contemplate the prospect of his own death. He lived too much in the moment.”

  “You were the one who saw to it that I went to the Peabody School, weren’t you? You were the one who paid the fees all those years and made certain that when I graduated I received a bequest to see me started in life.”

  “It was only a small amount,” Helen said. “I should have done more for you. But it took me a long time to overcome my own pain and anger. You see, I loved Robert with all of my heart. I believed he loved me. I never realized that he had a second family until the day I was informed of his death. It came as a great shock.”

  “But you nevertheless made certain that I was not sent to the workhouse or a charity orphanage. You ensured that I was given a fine education and taught proper manners. You gave me what I needed to survive as a woman alone in this world. I will always be grateful.”

  Helen smiled. “Nonsense. I may not possess any psychical ability, but my intuition tells me that you would have survived quite nicely on your own resources, Virginia Dean. You are a woman of many talents.”

  And then Owen was there and Virginia was introducing him to Helen and a very excited and curious Elizabeth, who came rushing out the door to meet him. There were congratulations on the forthcoming marriage and promises to attend the wedding.

  Eventually Owen took Virginia’s arm and escorted her to the waiting carriage. He handed her up into the cab, got in and closed the door.

  “I take it your visit with your sister and her mother went well?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Virginia said. “Very well.”

  Owen smiled and pulled her into his arms. His eyes, those dark, haunted eyes that she had sensed from the beginning could promise heaven or hell now promised a lifetime of love.

  CANYONS OF NIGHT

  Book Three in The Looking Glass Trilogy

  The small vehicle was traveling too fast on the narrow, twisted road that snaked along the top of the cliffs. Charlotte Enright heard the insectlike whine of the tiny flash-rock engine behind her and hastily stepped off the pavement onto the relative safety of the shoulder. A moment later, one of the familiar low-powered Vibes that visitors rented to get around on the island careened out of the turn.

  The driver hit the brakes, bringing the open-sided buggy to a halt beside her.

  “Hey, look what we have here,” the man behind the wheel said to his two passengers. “It’s that weird girl with the glasses who works for that crazy old lady in the antiques store. What are you doing out here all by yourself, Weird Girl?”

  There was enough light left in the late summer sky to illuminate the three young men in the car. Charlotte recognized them immediately. They had wandered into Looking Glass Antiques earlier in the day, drawn into the shop not because of an interest in antiques but by the rumors that swirled around her aunt.

  “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to hang out on empty roads like this late at night?” the man in the passenger seat asked.

  His voice echoed along the lonely stretch of road that led to the Preserve. The laughter of his two companions sent icy chills through Charlotte. She started walking. She did not look back. Maybe if she ignored the three, they would leave her alone. She quickened her pace, walking faster into the rapidly deepening twilight.

  The weird girl with the glasses who works for the crazy old lady in the antiques store. The words might just as well have been emblazoned on her T-shirt, she thought. She was pretty sure that just about everyone on the island, with the exception of her friend Rose, thought of her in exactly those words.

  The driver took his foot off the brake and let the Vibe coast slowly alongside Charlotte.

  “Don’t run off, Weird Girl,” the one in the passenger seat called out. “We’ve heard that it gets a little strange out here after dark. Guy back at the bar guaranteed us that if we could get into the Preserve on a moonlit night like this we would see ghosts. You’re from around here. Why don’t you show us the sights?”

  “Yeah, come on now, be friendly, Weird Girl,” the driver wheedled. “You’re supposed to be nice to tourists.”

  Charlotte clutched the flashlight very tightly and kept her gaze fixed on the dark woods at the end of Merton Road.

  “We’ll give you a ride,” the driver said, mockingly lecherous. “Come on, get in the car.”

  “All we want you to do is show us this place they call the Preserve,” the one in the backseat urged. “From what we’ve seen today, there sure as hell isn’t anything else of interest on this rock.”

  Charlotte wondered how the three in the car had found their way all the way out to Merton Road. Only the locals and the summer regulars were aware that the old strip of pavement dead-ended at the border of the private nature conservancy known as the Rainshadow Preserve.

  The trio in the Vibe were a familiar species on Rainshadow during the summer months. The type typically arrived on the private yachts and sailboats that crowded the marina on the weekends. They partied hea
vily all night long in the dockside taverns and restaurants, and when the bars closed down they moved the parties to their boats.

  “Come back here, damn it,” the driver ordered. He wore a pastel polo shirt that probably had a designer label stitched inside. His light brown hair had obviously been cut in an expensive salon. “We won’t hurt you. We just want you to give us a tour of the spooky places the guy in the bar told us about.”

  “Forget the ugly little bitch, Derek,” the man in the backseat said. “No boobs on her, anyway. Trying to get into this Preserve is a waste of time. Let’s go back to town. I need a drink and some weed.”

  “We came all the way out here to see the Preserve,” Derek insisted, his tone turning surly. “I’m not going back until this bitch shows us where it is.” He raised his voice. “You hear me, Weird Bitch?”

  “Yeah,” the man in the passenger said. “I want to see the place, too. Let’s make the bitch show us.”

  Charlotte’s pulse pounded. She was walking as swiftly as she could. Any faster and she would be running. She was very frightened, but her feminine intuition warned her that if she ran the three men would be out of the Vibe in an instant, pursuing her like a pack of wild animals.

  “Is she ignoring us?” the man in the passenger seat asked. “Yeah, I think she’s ignoring us. That’s just flat-out rude. Someone needs to teach her some manners.”

  “Damn right, Garrett,” Derek said. “Let’s get her.”

  “This is stupid,” the man in the backseat said. But the other two paid no attention to him.

  Derek brought the Vibe to a stop and jumped out. Garrett followed—so did the man in the rear seat, albeit with obvious reluctance. Charlotte knew that she had no choice now but to run. She fled toward the woods at the end of Merton Road.

  Derek and Garrett laughed and gave chase. Charlotte’s only hope was to reach the dark trees up ahead. If she could get even a short distance into the Preserve she might be able to lose the three behind her. It was common knowledge on the island that things got very strange inside the Preserve.

  There were risks to the strategy. She might get lost herself. It could be days before she was found or managed to stumble out on her own, if ever. According to the local residents it was not unheard of for people to disappear for good inside the Preserve.

  The pounding footsteps got louder. Derek and Garrett were gaining on her. She could hear their harsh, angry breathing. She knew then that she probably would not be able to outrun them.

  She was almost at the end of the pavement, thinking she just might make it after all, when a hand closed around her arm and dragged her to a halt.

  She whirled, all of her still developing para-senses hitting the upper limits of her talent in response to the adrenaline and fear flooding through her. The driver, Derek, was the one who had grabbed her. Garrett hovered nearby. The third man hung back, clearly uneasy about the way the violence was escalating.

  With her senses in full sail, she could see the dark paranormal rainbows cast by the auras of the three men. For all the good that did her, she thought bitterly. She did not need to see the flaring bands of ultralight to know that, of the three, Derek was the most unstable and, therefore, the most dangerous. Why couldn’t she have been born with something flashier and more useful in the way of a talent? The ability to deliver a psychic hypnotic command or a freezing blast of energy that would stop Derek cold would have been nice.

  She had no choice now but to fight. She flailed wildly with the flashlight. A brief flicker of satisfaction swept through her when the metal barrel struck Derek on his upper arm. She hauled back for another blow.

  “Who do you think you are?” Derek snarled. “I’ll teach you to hit me.”

  His face twisted into a vicious mask. He shook her furiously. The flashlight fell from her hand. Her glasses went flying.

  Garrett laughed nervously. “That’s enough, Derek. She’s just a kid.”

  “Garrett’s right,” the man from the backseat said. “Come on, Derek, let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot of drinking left to do tonight. I need my weed, man.”

  “We’re not leaving yet,” Derek said. “We’re just starting to have some fun.”

  He drew back a clenched fist, preparing to deliver a punch. Charlotte raised both arms in a desperate attempt to ward off the blow. At the same time, she kicked Derek in the knee.

  Derek howled.

  “Are you crazy?” Garrett said.

  “Bitch,” Derek screamed. He shook her again.

  A shadowy figure materialized out of the woods. Charlotte did not need her glasses to see the obsidian-dark hues of a familiar ultralight rainbow. Slade Attridge.

  Slade moved toward the driver with the speed and lethal intent of an attacking Specter-cat.

  “What the hell?” Garrett yelped, startled.

  “Shit,” the man from the backseat cried out. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

  Derek was oblivious to the danger. In his rage, he was obsessed only with punishing Charlotte. He did not realize what was happening until a powerful hand locked around his shoulder.

  “Let her go,” Slade said. He wrenched Derek away from Charlotte.

  Derek screamed. He released Charlotte and frantically tried to scramble out of reach. Slade used one booted foot to swipe Derek’s legs out from under him. Derek landed hard on the pavement, shrieking with rage and pain.

  “You can’t do this to me,” he screeched. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. My dad will have you arrested. He’ll sue your ass.”

  “That should be interesting,” Slade said. He looked at the other two. “Get him in the Vibe and get out of here. Come anywhere near her again and you will all wake up in an ICU or maybe just plain dead, depending on my mood at the time. Is that understood?”

  “Shit, this guy’s crazy,” the man from the backseat whispered. He ran for the vehicle. “You guys do what you want. I’m out of here.”

  He hopped into the driver’s side, rezzed the little engine and put the Vibe in gear.

  “Wait up, damn it.” Garrett raced toward the Vibe and jumped into the front seat.

  Derek staggered to his feet. “Don’t leave me, you bastards. He’ll kill me.”

  “It’s a thought,” Slade said, as if the idea held great appeal. “Better run.”

  Derek fled toward the Vibe, which was now halfway through a U-turn.

  He lunged forward and managed to dive into the back of the buggy.

  The Vibe whined away into the night and vanished around a turn.

  A hushed silence fell. The eerie quiet was broken only by the sound of labored breathing. Charlotte realized that she was the one trying to catch her breath. She was shivering but not because she was cold. It was all she could do to stand upright. Great. She was having another stupid panic attack. And in front of Slade Attridge of all people. Just her rotten luck.

  “You okay?” Slade asked. He picked up the flashlight and put it in her hand.

  “Y-yes. Thanks.” She struggled with the deep, square breathing exercise the para-psychologist had taught her and tried to compose herself. “My glasses.” She looked around but everything except Slade’s darkly luminous rainbow was indistinct. “They fell off.”

  “I see them,” Slade said. He started across the pavement.

  “You m-must have really g-good eyes,” she said. Geez. Now she was stuttering because of the panic attack. It was all so humiliating.

  “Good night vision,” Slade said. “Side effect of my talent.”

  “You’re a h-hunter, aren’t you? Not a g-ghost-hunter but a true hunter-talent. I thought so. I’ve got a c-cousin who is a hunter. You move the same way he does. Like a b-big specter-cat. Arcane?”

  “My mother was Arcane but she never registered me with the Society,” Slade said. “She died when I was twelve.”

  “What about your father?”

  “He was a ghost-hunter. Died in the tunnels when I was two.”

  “Geez.” S
he wrapped her arms around herself and forced herself to breathe in the slow, controlled rhythm she had been taught. “W-who raised you?”

  “The system.”

  She went blank for a moment. “What system?”

  “Foster care.”

  “Geez.”

  She could not think of anything else to say. She had never actually met anyone who had been raised in the foster care system. The stern legal measures set down by the First Generation colonists had been designed to secure the institutions of marriage and the family in stone and they had been very successful. During the two hundred years since the closing of the Curtain, the laws had eased somewhat but not much. The result was that it was rare for a child to be completely orphaned. There was almost always someone who had to take you in.

  Slade seemed amused. “It wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t in the system long. I bailed four years ago when I turned fifteen. Figured I’d do better on the streets.”

  “Geez.” No wonder he seemed so much older, she thought. She was fifteen and she could not imagine what it would be like trying to survive on her own.

  At least her pulse was starting to slow down a little. The breathing exercises were finally kicking in.

  “You’re Arcane, aren’t you?” Slade asked.

  “Yeah, the whole family has been Arcane for generations.” She made a face. “Mostly high-end talents. I’m the underachiever in the clan. I’m just a rainbow-reader.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I see aura rainbows. Totally useless, trust me.” She tried to focus on Slade as he reached down to pick up her glasses. “They’re probably smashed, huh?”

  “The frames are a little bent and the lenses are scratched up.”

  “Figures.” She took the glasses from him and put them on.

  The twisted frames sat askew on her nose. The fractured lenses made it difficult to see Slade’s face clearly. She knew exactly what he looked like, though, because she had seen him often in town and down at the marina where he worked. He was nineteen but there was something about his sharply etched features and unreadable gray-blue eyes that made him seem so much older and infinitely more experienced. Other boys his age were still boys. Slade was a man.