Fired Up

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  She pushed aside the sheet, got to her feet and crossed the room to the small carry-on bag she had brought with her. Unzipping the bag, she took out the long-sleeved, high-necked silk nightgown and silk travel sheet. For some reason that she and Phyllis had never understood, silk was a barrier of sorts. It did not entirely block old dream psi, but it provided a buffering layer that sometimes—not always—allowed them to sleep on tainted sheets.

  She put on the nightgown and unfolded the travel sheet on the bed next to Jack. The sheet was constructed like a sleeping bag with a zippered opening on the side and a large flap at the top that was designed to cover a pillow. Jack did not stir. She crawled inside the silk cocoon, zipped it shut and prepared to conduct the Great Experiment.

  She fell asleep before she could contemplate the implications of what it all meant.

  26

  FOR THE FIRST TIME IN A MONTH HE AWOKE FEELING RESTED and genuinely refreshed. No nightmares. Almost normal, he thought. Thanks to Chloe. He reached for her and came up with a handful of silk instead.

  “What the hell?”

  He sat up and looked down at the crumpled fabric in his hand. It took him a moment to realize that he was holding a silken sheet sewn into the shape of a Chloe-sized sack.

  He rolled out of the sagging bed and got to his feet. The door that separated the adjoining rooms stood half open. Chloe was in the other room. She was sitting at the table in front of the computer busily making notes in a small notebook.

  There was something very intimate about seeing her like this, first thing in the morning, he thought. She was wearing the pants she’d had on yesterday, but the top was different, a dark green turtleneck this time. It was obvious that she had showered. Her coppery hair was still damp. She had pulled it back behind her ears to dry. The motel’s limited assortment of amenities probably didn’t extend to hair dryers.

  He smiled. She didn’t have the soft, warm, inviting air of a lover who had just gotten out of bed after hours of great sex. She looked like a determined investigator who was hard at work. But he was pretty sure he’d never seen a sexier woman in his life.

  For a moment he just stood there, absorbing the sight of her, the sensation of her subtle feminine power, and remembering the bone-deep sense of intimacy that had connected them last night. He was aware of a compelling need to keep her close, keep her safe. But the shattering truth was that at the moment he was the biggest threat she faced. A guy who could kill with the energy of pure fear. How could that work? If he ever lost control . . .

  She looked up. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” he replied.

  She gave him a critical head-to-toe survey and nodded once, evidently satisfied. “You look a lot better than you did yesterday or the day before.”

  He rubbed his jaw, testing the stubble of a beard. “I haven’t checked a mirror yet, but I’ve got a hunch that I look like hell.”

  Laughter glinted in her eyes. “Don’t worry, the slightly unshaved look is still in fashion.”

  “I’ve got a shaver in my overnight kit.”

  “Good thing we both came prepared to spend a night away from home,” she said lightly.

  He did not return her smile. “I wasn’t fully prepared last night,” he said quietly. “In fact, you could say I never saw last night coming. I woke up in the middle of a sleepwalking episode and you were there, and then we were in bed. There was no thinking or planning involved.”

  She didn’t get it right away. Then he saw understanding hit. She turned pink and was suddenly very busy with the computer.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure there won’t be a problem. I mean, it was only the one time. What are the odds?”

  “Probably not a good question to ask in Vegas.” He folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the door frame. “You’re not using anything?”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, no. There hasn’t been any reason to use anything. I told you, I’ve moved on. I’m in a new phase.”

  “Right. The celibate lifestyle thing.” He waited. “So how is that working for you?”

  She turned very pink, gave him a frosty glare and angled her chin. “We were both flying on a lot of energy last night. There was a bed in the room. We’re both mature adults. Sometimes things just happen.”

  “Even in the middle of a celibate lifestyle?”

  “I think it’s time that you took a shower so we can go get some breakfast,” she said coolly.

  “One more thing,” he said.

  She looked wary. “What?”

  He held up the silken sheet. “What’s with the little sleeping bag?”

  At first he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she shrugged and turned back to the computer.

  “It’s hard for me to sleep in bedding that has absorbed the dream psi of other people,” she said. “Silk acts as a partial barrier to that kind of energy. I never leave home without that sheet.”

  “If you can barely stand to sleep in a bed that other people have slept in and if the energy given off by dreamers disturbs you, how did you manage to sleep with me?”

  She went very still, staring hard at the computer screen. Her fingers froze in midair.

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. “It was different with you.”

  He watched her for a long moment. “And if it turns out you’re pregnant?”

  This time the silence lasted for an eternity. And then her hand fluttered lightly over her slim belly.

  “That would be different, too,” she said finally. “I’ve always assumed that I would probably never have children.”

  “And now?” He didn’t know why he was pushing her. She was right. The odds were good that she wasn’t pregnant. But for some reason he had to know.

  She glanced at the carpet behind him and smiled a little as if whatever she saw there satisfied her. He knew she was looking at his psi prints.

  “You would make an excellent father,” she stated.

  She went back to work on the computer. Keys clicked madly.

  He couldn’t think of anything to say. He was, according to all the definitions of the Arcane Society, half monster. He carried a genetic twist that would go down through future generations. And she thought he would make a terrific father?

  Smiling a little, he went back into the other room and headed for the shower.

  27

  HE WAS STILL FEELING GOOD TWENTY MINUTES LATER WHEN they went downstairs for breakfast. He carried the lamp in the leather duffel. His computer case was in his other hand. Chloe had stuffed her computer back into her black satchel.

  There was a fresh pair of white- haired senior citizens on the stools in front of the slots in the lobby. Neither of them looked up when he and Chloe went past. The front-desk clerk did not come out of his office.

  They walked through the weedy parking lot and crossed the street to the small café attached to the casino. The waitress working the morning shift was not the same one who had served them last night, but she looked like she could tell the same hard-luck story.

  He and Chloe sat down across from each other in the same booth they had used the previous evening. From his position he had a view into the dark cave of the adjoining casino. It was seven forty- five in the morning, but there were a few intrepid souls feeding the slots. The blackjack and poker tables were quiet. He knew that activity would pick up as the day wore on, growing brisker during the afternoon and evening. By midnight the place would be filled to capacity. The rhythm would be the same tomorrow and the day after and next year. The pattern of casino gaming never changed.

  There was always a pattern, Jack thought. Once you identified it you could figure out the strengths and weaknesses. He took some comfort from that. At least he could still think like a strat-talent.

  Chloe picked up her fork. “Vegas is always reinventing itself, blowing up old hotels and casinos and building new ones in their place. There’s always new computer technology in the gaming machines. New theme-park resorts on th
e Strip. Newer and more astonishing high-tech shows in the casino theaters. But underneath it all nothing changes. It’s as if it exists in another dimension.”

  Jack shrugged and ate some of his eggs. “That’s the appeal. This town is built on sex and sin. Get too far away from your core business, and you lose your customers.”

  Chloe’s fork paused in midair. Her brows rose. “You know, sometimes I forget that you’re a coldhearted zillionaire businessman who makes his living investing.”

  For some reason the coldhearted bothered him.

  “What’s your problem with Vegas?” he asked.

  “Who said I had a problem?”

  “No offense, but it’s obvious.”

  She sighed. “I’m not a prude, and I have no particular issues involving games of chance. But the energy in a casino bothers me.”

  “Yeah? How?”

  “What do you see when you look into that other room?”

  He glanced at the entrance of the casino again. “Rows of slots. Lots of flashing lights. Croupiers waiting for players. A woman in a sexy outfit carrying a tray of drinks.”

  “At seven forty-five in the morning,” Chloe said drily.

  He forked up more eggs. “It’s a casino. Not as fancy as those on the Strip but, still, a casino. It is what it is.”

  She glanced over her shoulder and contemplated the dark gaming floor for a moment. He felt energy pulse and knew that she had opened her senses.

  “To me it looks like someone splashed hot, radioactive acid all over the place,” she said. She turned back to her eggs. “Layers and layers of it. Years, decades of the stuff. There’s a reason they call gambling a fever. It’s like a drug. It affects dream psi in a major way.”

  “People with a lot of talent, you and me, for instance, tend to get lucky when we play,” he pointed out. “The psychic side of our natures gives us an edge.”

  She regarded him with stern disapproval. “Do you gamble?”

  “All the time.” He smiled. “But only when I have enough information to calculate the odds.”

  Her expression cleared. “You mean your venture-capital business. Obviously that line of work does require that you take risks.”

  “So does yours.”

  She brushed that aside. “I meant financial risk.”

  He drank some coffee and thought about how to get back to the subject that seemed to matter as much as the lamp did this morning.

  He put the mug down and looked at her. “About last night.”

  He could have sworn she flinched a little, but she gave him a dazzling smile.

  “You know,” she said, “I doubt that in the entire history of civilization there has ever been a good conversation that started with about last night.”

  He got an odd sensation of heat but not the sexual kind. It took him a couple of beats to realize that he was probably turning a dull red.

  “You know we need to talk about it,” he said.

  “Why?”

  She was still smiling, but she was starting to get a deer- in-the-headlights look in her eyes. He knew he was pushing into dangerous territory.

  “Don’t know about you,” he said neutrally, “but it’s never been like that for me.”

  She cleared her throat. “I absolutely agree that it was a very unique experience.”

  “Unique.” He drank some more coffee. “Okay, that’s one way to describe it.”

  “But, as you said, there have always been stories about what it’s like when two strong talents get together,” she added earnestly. “In that way, I mean.”

  “I’ve met other strong talents,” he said, keeping his voice even. “My ex-wife was a Level Eight. Can’t say that it’s ever been like that for me. You?”

  “Like I said, it was unique,” she declared briskly. “Let’s just leave it at that. We have other priorities at the moment.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  She exhaled slowly and put down her fork. “You don’t know what it’s been like for me all these years. I’ve never even been able to share a bedroom with anyone, let alone a bed. I’m uncomfortable just being in the same room with someone who is taking a nap in a chair. When I was younger there were no sleepovers with friends. No trips to camp because I couldn’t bunk with anyone. In college I had to rent my own apartment because I couldn’t deal with a roommate. Since college I’ve always lived alone.”

  “And last night?”

  “Like I said, last night was different,” she said. “That’s all I know. Could we please change the subject?”

  “Sure.”

  She slipped instantly back into her competent investigator mode, sharp and resolved once again. “At least we now know that we’ve got a technique for dealing with your trances.”

  “Hot sex?” He smiled. “Works for me.”

  She blushed furiously and fixed him with her steely look. “I was talking about the fact that I was able to bring you out of the sleepwalking state, not what happened afterward.”

  “Right.” He finished the last of his eggs and lounged against the back of the booth. “Why are you so determined to help me? Is it because you feel sorry for me?”

  She bristled. “I don’t take cases because I feel sorry for people.”

  “Sure you do.”

  “Well, that’s not why I’m sticking with this case,” she insisted.

  “Why, then?”

  “Because of the challenge, of course. This is the most interesting case I’ve ever had. You couldn’t fire me now if you tried.”

  I couldn’t let you out of my sight now, if I tried, he thought.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Chloe Harper.”

  “That’s me, Amazing Woman. Remember that when you get my bill.” She finished her eggs and took her notebook out of her bag. “Now, then, before you went into your sleepwalking mode last night, I made some notes about the lamp.”

  “Learn anything?”

  “Yes, I think so. The lamp is definitely imbued with a lot of extremely powerful dreamlight that is in a state of suspended animation. I can light the thing, or at least I can stir up enough energy to make it glow, but I can’t access its full power. Got a feeling only you or someone with a similar genetic psychic makeup can do that.”

  “What happens after we get it running at full power?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think the lamp requires two people to operate it.” She looked up from her notes. “There’s just too much power in the thing for any one individual to handle.”

  “Let’s get to the bottom line. Once we get the lamp fired up do you think you can manipulate the light waves in a way that will stop whatever is happening to me?”

  She hesitated. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe. Now, there’s a word guaranteed to reassure the client.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that there are so many unknowns here. All I can tell you at the moment is that I think I can work the energy in some specific ways. Since the lamp is tuned to your psychic frequencies, I can probably use it to affect your talent.” She paused. “If you’re really sure that’s what you want me to do.”

  “That’s the whole point here,” he said grimly.

  “There’s something else you should know.”

  “What?”

  “Like I said, there’s a lot of power in that lamp, but I don’t think all of it was meant to manipulate your personal talent. There’s just too much energy in the thing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Clearly troubled, she looked back at her notes. “There are some really strange light waves in stasis within the lamp. I sense colors I’ve never seen before. They’re inert at the moment, and, as I said, I think only you can activate them. But once they are revved up we may have a serious problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  She closed the notebook. “All I can tell you is that I think the lamp is capable of doing something else besides stabilize your dream psi channels. Are you sure you don’
t want to take this to the experts at Arcane?”

  “If they screw it up and I turn into a Cerberus I’ll be a dead man, anyway. I’d rather take my chances with you.”

  “It’s just that the Society’s researchers know so much more about the laws of para-physics. I’m working in the dark here. Literally.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. “Old Nick asked Eleanor Fleming to work the lamp three times. The first time the goal was to give him a second talent. The second time he wanted her to get rid of the hallucinations and nightmares brought on by the new talent. But it is unclear what he intended on the third occasion. What if the legends are wrong? What if he wasn’t trying to create a third talent? What if he was smart enough to realize that no human being could generate that much psi naturally, let alone control it?”

  “So what did he want Eleanor to do with the lamp that last time?”

  “I don’t know. But what is clear is that before he went back to her the third time, he had created and installed some new crystals in the lamp. Maybe he intended to use it in some way that no one has even considered.”

  “Such as?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  He stopped speaking because the muffled noise of a cascade of cheerful chimes interrupted him. Chloe started a little and then dove back into her satchel. She came up with her cell phone.

  “Rose? Yes, we’re still in Vegas. Everything okay on that end? What? Are you all right?”

  Shock and intense concern flashed across her face. Jack felt a chill of icy intuition crackle across his senses.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Chloe continued. “Yes, fine. Right. No, I agree, it probably won’t do any good to call the police, but we should report it, anyway. Hang on, I want to tell Jack what’s going on.” She took the phone away from her ear.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Rose thinks someone broke into my office and my apartment last night while she was at a class. She had Hector with her.”