“Eleanor Fleming, the first woman who worked the lamp. She’s the one who bore Nicholas a son and then used the energy of the lamp to destroy Nicholas’s talent.”
She shivered. “Here’s the really sad part: On some level, deep in her dreamscape, she loved him, or at least she was bonded to him.”
“Because of the child?”
“Yes. In turn, Nicholas was obsessed with her, probably because he realized that she was the key to controlling the power of the lamp. Those two obviously had issues.”
“What about Griffin Winters and Adelaide Pyne?”
She studied the second set of strong dreamprints with all of her senses. It took power to control power. Griffin and Adelaide had both possessed off-the-charts talent.
“There was a bond between them as well. It was definitely sexual in nature.” She stilled. “Maybe that’s the real key to controlling the lamp.”
“What?”
“Some kind of psychic link between the Winters man and the dreamlight worker.”
“Hold it right there,” Jack said. “Don’t try to tell me that the couple that works the lamp together has to be in love. Thought you said you were not a romantic?”
“Trust me, we’re not talking about anything as vague and ephemeral as romantic love,” she assured him. “But everyone knows that there is a lot of psi generated during sex. Maybe that’s why we wound up in bed last night.”
“You think the lamp made us do it? Okay, that’s an original excuse.”
“Think about it. We’d been near it for hours, and that sucker gives off a lot of energy. Who knows what kind of influence it exerted on our auras?”
“You definitely are not a romantic, are you?”
“Told you, I can’t afford to be. Not with my talent.”
“Fine. But keep one thing in mind: We were attracted to each other before we found the lamp.”
“Yes.” She studied the lamp. “But I wonder if that’s because . . .”
“It’s because we’re attracted to each other,” he growled. “There’s no need to blame it on psychic voodoo.”
“Okay, okay, take it easy.”
“Let’s get back to business here. Can you work this thing or not?”
“Don’t worry, we’re good.” Never let the client see you sweat. “Piece of cake.”
The radiation emanating from the lamp was brighter, more intense now. From the heavy base to the flared rim it pulsed with energy. She watched, fascinated, as wispy tendrils of ultralight twisted and curled. Slowly the strange metal alloy became first translucent and then transparent. The psi fire swirling within it was clearly visible.
“Jack, it’s working,” she whispered.
“I can feel it,” he said. His voice roughened with something other than psi. “I can feel your energy, too.”
He was still drenched in shadows and the icy shades of moon and neon, but the rising tide of dreamlight etched his stern features. His hard, ascetic profile was revealed in the dark hues that emanated from the far end of the spectrum.
The transformation of the lamp was complete. The artifact now appeared to be fashioned of pure, clear crystal. As Chloe watched, all but one of the stones in the rim began to change, too. Each burned with inner fire. No longer opaque, the illuminated crystals took on distinct shades of dreamlight. One shone with a dazzling silver white light. Another radiated fiery crimson energy. Currents of surreal blues and purples, greens and amber lanced from other crystals in the rim.
“The Burning Lamp,” she said, enthralled.
“Yes.” Jack’s voice was fierce and tight.
“But why is one stone still cold?”
“It must be the last crystal forged by Nicholas, the one he called the Midnight Crystal. He wrote that it was the most dangerous of them all.” Jack looked at her. “Do we need it?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She probed gently. “It feels blank. Like plain glass or quartz. If there is power in it, I can’t sense it or work it.”
“Maybe it is just ordinary glass. By all accounts, Nicholas was flat-out crazy at the end, and he was losing his talents. He was obsessed with vengeance. In that state of mind he might have convinced himself that he had infused a chunk of plain glass with great power.”
Cautiously she touched the artifact, hoping intuition would guide her. A jolt of what felt like electricity slammed through her when her fingers came in contact with the transparent metal. It was like brushing up against another person’s dream energy but a hundred times worse. She did not let go. She wasn’t at all certain that she could let go, not until she had finished what had been started.
And suddenly she knew what to do next, what had to be done.
“Put one hand on the lamp,” she said.
Jack did as instructed. His jaw clenched when he touched the artifact. She knew that he had gotten the same initial shock that she had received.
“Take my hand,” she said.
He closed his free hand around hers. More electric psi flashed through her, stronger this time. It was all she could do to bite back a cry of pain. Jack’s fingers tightened around her fingers.
She waited a moment, bracing herself for more of the disturbing shocks, but there were none.
“We’re in,” she whispered. “Our wavelengths are resonating with those of the lamp, thanks to you.”
“Me?”
“I don’t think anyone who didn’t have your genetic pattern could get this far. I’m riding your currents, but I think I can control the rhythm and pattern of the lamp’s energy. Sort of like riding a really big, really strong stallion.”
His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “I’m the stallion?”
“And I’m the rider. You’ve got the raw power, but I’ve got the reins.”
“Under other circumstances, that could be a really interesting visual. Now what?”
“We’re going to do this slow and easy,” she said. “Got a feeling there could be some heavy blowback on both of us if I move too fast.”
Jack did not respond. He was gazing into the heart of the lamp, riveted by whatever he saw there.
Slowly, carefully, relying entirely on her intuition, she began to work the energy of the crystal stones, stabilizing the wild currents of psi. She was already running hot psychically, but now she was starting to become physically aroused as well and not in a generic sense. She wanted to mate—there was no other word for it—and not with just any man. She wanted Jack and Jack alone. She craved him, lusted after him, hungered for him, just as she had last night when she had used her energy to shatter the trance.
“This is getting weird,” she said softly.
Jack’s hand was clamped around hers like a manacle, but he did not look up from the shifting energy of the lamp.
“You’re a woman of power,” he said, his words thick with lust and hunger.
It was all she could do not to hurl herself into his arms.
Get a grip, she thought. It’s the lamp that’s doing this to us. Got a job to do here. The client needs you.
“Open your senses to the max,” she ordered quietly. “I need to be able to see the entire range of your dream spectrum.”
Energy surged in the room. Hot ultralight flashed and crashed in the small space. She knew that Jack was fully, completely fired up, in the zone. The scope of his talent was breathtaking.
With an effort of will, she ignored the surges of sexual longing cascading through her. There is a kind of freedom in celibacy. Yeah, right.
Carefully she studied Jack’s ultralight currents. What she saw stunned her. The channels between the waking state and the dreamstate were open, even though Jack was awake and running hot. What’s more, the connection between the two states was stable. By all the laws of para-physics, that was supposed to be impossible.
Although the channels were open and stable for the most part, there were some places on the spectrum where the currents were slightly erratic. The disturbed areas appeared to be slowly healing, but sh
e was pretty sure she could speed up the process.
With a skill that came intuitively, she steadied the psychic radiation of the lamp and guided it so that it resonated with the wavelengths in the disturbed areas of Jack’s dream channels. Within seconds the erratic areas steadied and began pulsing in a healthy fashion.
“That should take care of the nightmares and the hallucinations,” she whispered. “Now I wonder if I can do something about that medication you’ve been taking.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the lamp flared even higher, creating a storm of ultralight. It was as if her little mending job had turned a key in an invisible paranormal lock, releasing the final level of power within the artifact.
Jack went rigid, every muscle in his body tensing as if he’d just been shot. His head snapped back, a man in mortal agony. His mouth opened on a choked, anguished groan. He squeezed her hand with the strength of a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.
A terrible despair slammed through her. She had made a horrific error. She was killing him. Too much energy was flooding through him. No human mind could sustain such a psychic hurricane. She knew that in her bones. The lamp was not intended to work like this.
That’s why it requires a dreamlight worker, she thought. That’s why you’re here.
But she sensed that it was too late to halt the process. Nothing could put this genie back into the lamp. Frantic, she tried to control the energy that had been unleashed. But she knew she could not hope to channel the full power of the raging storm of psi.
“Jack,” she gasped. “You have to help me. We have to do this together.”
“Yes,” he said through clamped teeth. “Together.”
She sensed him reaching into the heart of the storm, seizing the raw power that lay there. Only he could control it, she realized. He was the only person who could shut down the lamp. But to do so he needed her to steady the violently resonating patterns of dreamlight.
Lightly, delicately, she slipped her own energy back into the stream. In a heartbeat, maybe two, she was part of the storm. The sensation of so much heavy psi flowing through her was intoxicating, the ultimate rush. Her hair lifted, dancing around her head as though tossed by invisible winds. She almost screamed with the glorious ecstasy of it all. She really did know how to do this. Every Harper had a talent.
She forced the currents into a stable pattern. Simultaneously Jack took control of the power of the lamp. What had been a searing, surging blast of raw psi was soon reduced to a focused river of energy.
The lamp gradually darkened, going first translucent and then finally solid metal once again. The paranormal rainbow winked out. The crystals that had created it turned gray and opaque.
She looked at Jack over the top of the lamp, dazed and exultant.
“We did it,” she breathed. She realized she was soaring on the thrill that accompanied the control of so much power.
Jack’s eyes still burned psi green.
“Chloe.”
She knew that he was riding the same sensual high. He pulled her into his arms, crushing her against his chest. She could hardly breathe, but who needed oxygen? What she needed was Jack. And in that moment she knew that he needed her just as urgently, at least for now.
The kiss was hot and desperate, bordering on violent. They did not undress each other—they clawed at each other’s clothes. She was vaguely aware of fabric ripping and buttons snapping. Jack unzipped her pants, grabbed the waistband in both hands and shoved the trousers along with her panties down to her ankles. Impatient, she kicked free of the clothing.
He did not bother to carry her into the bedroom. Instead, he swept out a hand. There was a heavy thud when the lamp hit the carpet. The next thing she knew she was lying flat on her back on the table, her legs dangling over the edge.
Jack got his own trousers open and moved between her thighs. He put one hand on her, testing, and she almost climaxed then and there. He probed once and then thrust heavily, deeply, into her.
Shock waves tightened everything inside her. But she was almost maxed out. The tension was unbearable—she was as taut as a bow-string awaiting the release of the arrow. All the colors of the dreamlight spectrum radiated around her, dazzling, blinding, floodlighting her senses.
Jack surged into her again. She came immediately, too breathless to cry out. The waves of energy were still sweeping through her when she heard a low, harsh growl. Jack surged into her one last time. His powerful climax rocked through both of them.
When it was over he braced himself above her, shirt hanging open, and planted his hands on the table on either side of her. His hair was damp. Sweat dripped from his shoulders onto her breasts.
“Chloe,” he said again, very softly this time.
He leaned down and brushed his mouth across hers.
She touched his bare chest. His skin was slick with perspiration and very warm, as if he were running a real fever.
He straightened, freeing himself from her body with obvious reluctance. He closed his pants, scooped her off the table and carried her the short distance to the couch. He sank down onto the cushions and cradled her across his thighs. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
He was asleep within seconds.
She stirred a little and opened her senses slightly. She had burned through most of her reserves, but she had just enough energy left to look at the top of the table where Jack’s hands had been a moment ago. Then she studied the carpet.
Heat and power still burned in his psi prints, but the wavelengths were stable and strong. Stray fragments of dream energy were no longer bleeding over into his other senses. There was still a taint of darkness from the medication he had been taking, but that was not the real problem.
The problem was that she was pretty sure she had failed. Clients never took failure well.
33
HE AWOKE TO THE LIGHT OF THE DESERT SUN STREAMING through the tinted windows and the sound of water running in the shower. He had a vague memory of falling asleep—going more or less unconscious—with Chloe’s warm, sexy weight lying across his thighs.
It occurred to him that he felt better than he had in weeks, months. Maybe years. He was also half aroused. The morning erection felt good, too. It felt normal. Nothing much had been normal of late.
He got to his feet, stretched, yawned and wandered into the suite’s second bath. When he emerged a few minutes later it occurred to him that if he moved fast he might be able to join Chloe in the shower. He’d noticed yesterday that it was a really big shower tricked out in true Vegas style with multiple showerheads and spray nozzles. A real water wonderland.
He started across the room, heading toward the master bath. Halfway to his goal he saw the lamp. It was sitting on the table.
The memory of sweeping the artifact aside so that he could get Chloe onto the table slammed through him. He’d taken her there on the table with zero foreplay and absolutely no finesse. Last night she had saved him from becoming a psychic monster, but now she probably thought he was a Neanderthal when it came to sex. Not exactly a big step-up in status.
He went into the bedroom and opened the door of the bath. Steam rolled out in waves. Gold fixtures and marble tiles gleamed in the mist. The roar of the water was so loud he knew that Chloe must have turned on every jet, faucet and nozzle in the mini spa.
He could see her through the clouded glass walls of the shower. She was standing beneath the rushing waters, her back to him, washing her hair. He realized he was hard, fully aroused.
“In or out, take your choice but close the door,” she called above the thundering waterfall. “You’re letting all the heat out of the room.”
He closed the bathroom door and opened the shower.
“Chloe, about last night,” he began.
She straightened, opened her eyes and turned slightly toward him. “I thought we agreed that no good conversation ever started with about last night.”
He did not know what to s
ay. She looked so delicious standing there with water splashing and pouring everywhere, so delicate and feminine and soft. He must have crushed her on that table last night.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can do or say. Hell, you’re bruised.”
She glanced down at the mark on her thigh. “Not your fault. I bumped into a chair. You did not hurt me, so you can stop apologizing.” She became very busy soaping up a washcloth. “It’s not as if you attacked me. We were both in the grip of a major burn, and I think the energy of the lamp was affecting us. Things got a little energetic, that’s all. Nothing to be concerned about.”
She was writing off the most powerful sexual encounter he’d ever experienced as merely the result of a heavy psi burn and the effects of the damn lamp. Maybe for her that’s all it had been. He realized that he didn’t like that possibility.
“So, you’ve done it that way before?” he asked. He peeled off his shirt, dropped it on the floor and unzipped his pants. “After a burn or after working a paranormal artifact?”
“Well, no.” She soaped her face. “But it’s a known fact that when a person is running hot, there is a lot of adrenaline and testosterone and bio-psi chemicals flooding the bloodstream. We were both maxed out last night, and there was the added complication of the lamp, that’s all. No big deal.”
He kicked his pants out of the way, stepped into the shower and closed the glass door very quietly. He moved up behind her and kissed the curve of her shoulder. She froze, the washcloth covering her face.
“No big deal?” he asked. He put his hand on her hip and gently, very gently, bit her ear. “You’re sure about that?”
He felt her shiver beneath his hand, but she did not pull away. He realized that he’d been braced for rejection. The relief nearly overwhelmed him.
“You know what I mean,” she mumbled into the washcloth.
“No, I don’t think I do.” He eased her back against his heavily aroused body and moved one hand between her legs. “What happened last night was a very big deal to me. So was what happened the night before.”
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