Selby took a long swallow of champagne and then slowly lowered the glass. "There are some who think you may have decided to play the prodigal grandson. They have a quaint vision of you returning to the fold to take control of Stonebraker."
"Don't worry about it."
"I won't." Selby's mouth curved with cool certainty. "It's too late to stop me, cousin. I've got everything in place. In two months I'll be the new C.E.O. of Stonebraker."
"You sound very sure of yourself."
"I am."
Selby's conviction resonated on the metaphysical plane. Rafe had no trouble picking up traces of it. His cousin believed every word he was saying.
Selby's wife, Briana, appeared at her husband's side. She was an attractive blonde with a social polish refined by three generations of family money. She smiled politely at Rafe but he could see the troubled look in her eyes.
"Hello, Briana." Rafe inclined his head. "Nice to see you again."
"How are you, Rafe?" Briana took Selby's arm in a gesture that was curiously protective. "It was good of you to come tonight. I know your grandmother is very happy."
"I'm glad someone is," Rafe said.
Briana slanted a glance toward the terrace. "Is this your first agency date with Miss Adams?"
"No," Rafe said. "We've gone out together several times this week. The agency thinks it's a good match. We've got a lot in common."
Ten minutes later Rafe drifted past the open terrace doors a second time. The argument outside still raged, although the subject had shifted.
"Why in five hells should Stonebraker increase the size of its charitable endowment arm?" Alfred G. snarled.
"Companies the size of Stonebraker have obligations to the community," Orchid said crisply. "The Stonebraker Foundation is puny, given the size of Stonebraker Shipping."
"Our only obligation is to stay profitable."
"Nonsense. You are a part of the community. Your precious profits are made possible because of it and you, in turn, have responsibilities to it."
"I'm not going to give away any more money than I already do."
"Talk about your basic first generation values," Orchid retorted. "The Founders understood that if a society is to be successful there must be a harmonious, synergistic balance between corporate profits and civic philanthropy. Why they even went so far as to—"
Rafe started to slink off toward the buffet table. What was taking place out on the terrace was an accident waiting to happen. He did not want to be the first one on the scene.
"Rafe?" Alfred G. bellowed. "Is that you? Come on out here. I'm having trouble talking sense into your agency date."
Alfred G.'s booming command stopped Rafe in mid-slink. So much for trying to slip away unnoticed. He occasionally forgot that his grandfather was also a strat-talent, albeit not as strong as himself.
Reluctantly, he went through the doorway. He did not need the lantern glow to see the bright gleam in his grandfather's eyes. Alfred G. practically hummed with energy. He was enjoying himself.
Orchid smiled cheerfully. There was a sparkle in her eyes, too, Rafe noticed.
"Didn't want to interrupt your conversation," Rafe said warily.
"What conversation?" Alfred G. snapped. "We're arguing like a couple of cat-dogs. Where in blazes did you find her, Rafe?"
"I told you. An agency."
"Which agency?" Alfred G. demanded.
"It's called Psynergy, Inc.," Orchid murmured.
Rafe gave her a warning look. She shrugged one shoulder and munched another canape.
"Never heard of it," Alfred G. said.
"That's hardly surprising," Rafe said smoothly, "given the fact that you've been married for over fifty years to grandmother. You haven't needed a matchmaking agency."
"True."
"Which reminds me, grandmother is looking for you. She said something about you having promised her a dance."
"Don't remind me." Alfred G.'s gaze slitted. "What have you been up to while Orchid and I chatted out here?"
"Selby and I renewed our childhood acquaintance."
"I'll bet seeing you here tonight gave the little twerp a jolt, eh? He must know now that you've come back to save Stonebraker from his confounded merger plans. Give him something to sweat about for the next few weeks."
The fact that Alfred G. spoke so freely in front of Orchid gave Rafe considerable pause. He glanced quickly at her and saw that she was completely unfazed.
She probably did not realize the significance of what had just happened, he thought. Alfred G. had as good as announced aloud that he had accepted her as a suitable bride for Rafe.
Waves of energy the color of old blood slashed across the psychic plane, questing for a prism with the relentless ferocity of a true predator. The vampire was close, so close.
Tonight was the night. He would find her this time. She could no longer hide. There was no point resisting any longer. She would only exhaust herself.
Fear lanced her. She knew that if even a flicker of her own power revealed itself the creature would seize it in jaws of raw energy. She would be trapped forever.
Closer. Closer. Why not have done with this terrible game of hide-and-seek? Why not surrender to her fate? It would be so much easier that way.
She felt the powerful draw of the vampire's talent. It reached into the smallest hiding places on the metaphysical plane, searching for prey. She saw one of the tentacles of para-energy unfurl toward her with hungry intent.
Tonight was the night.
She screamed.
"Orchid. Damn it, wake up. Now."
Rafe's voice cut through the unnatural darkness of the dream, cleaving impossible shadows with the blazing efficiency of a sword.
Orchid opened her eyes to the natural shades of night that filled her bedroom. Moonlight spilled across the bed. She could feel the dampness of perspiration under her breasts and on the back of her neck.
She looked up into Rafe's taut face. His hands were clamped fiercely around her shoulders.
"Sorry." Her voice sounded thick. She swallowed a couple of times and tried again. "The dream. Bad. Very bad."
He hauled her into his arms, cradling her against his bare chest. "The same one?"
"Yes."
"Damn." She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes to get rid of the tears of frustration that welled there. "I didn't have it last night at your house. I was so sure that the stupid dream had finally finished."
Rafe rocked her gently. "I guess this blows my theory that great sex is a sure cure for nightmares."
She gave a choked cry, half laugh, half sob, and wrapped her arms around his hard, warm body. "It was a good theory while it lasted."
"Yes, it was. One of my best." He stroked his fingers through her hair. "Maybe it's time to see a doctor."
Orchid tensed. "No."
He eased away from her and searched her face. "Why are you so averse to getting some help?"
"Two reasons. The first is that I don't think there's much a syn-psych shrink can do about weird dreams."
"What's the second reason?"
She bit her lip. "I think I know the advice I'd get. I wouldn't follow it, anyway, so there's no sense listening to it in the first place."
"What advice would you get?"
"The first thing a doctor would do is consult my para-psych profile."
"So?"
"As soon as he or she discovered that I'm an ice-prism, I'd be referred back to that research lab where Theo and Morgan and I went through all those stupid tests."
Rafe framed her face in his hands. "What makes you so sure of that?"
"It's only logical. No one knows much about ice-prisms. The folks at that lab are considered the leading experts in New Seattle. They've got all my old records. Any syn-psych doctor worth his or her diploma would suggest that I go back there for help."
"And you won't go back there, not even as a last resort to get rid of the nightmares?"
"No." She curled her hands
very tightly until she could feel her nails biting into her palms. "I wouldn't go back there if my life depended on it."
"Take it easy." Rafe held her head still and kissed her.
It was a gentling caress, not a passionate overture. Orchid felt some of the cold evaporate from her chilled body. She relaxed slightly.
"How do you feel about eating leftovers at three o'clock in the morning?" she said against his mouth.
"I can eat leftovers at any time."
She smiled. "I think I have some lasagna in the freezer. We can thaw it in the ice-wave."
"I'm drooling already. But then, I do that a lot around you."
The following afternoon Orchid stood on the gently bobbing dock that functioned as a front walk for Morgan Lambert's shabby houseboat and leaned on the front doorbell. There was no answer.
She stepped back and glanced around at the small, floating community. The neighboring houseboat was several yards away. There was no sign that anyone was home there, either.
Beneath her feet the dock heaved. Overhead gull-fins wheeled and soared ahead of the approaching storm. Heavy, dark clouds pressed down on the city.
Orchid could see a sheet of ram sweeping across the downtown highrises. It would reach this sheltered section of Curtain Lake in a few minutes. She wanted very much to be inside Morgan's houseboat before the deluge struck.
She pressed the doorbell again.
Still no answer. To ward off a sense of growing unease, she reminded herself that Morgan was an artist. He kept strange hours. Chances were good he was sound asleep inside.
She knocked loudly. "Morgan? Are you in there? It's me, Orchid. I got your message."
She had found it waiting for her on her answering machine when she walked through her front door forty-five minutes ago. He had left it earlier in the day while she had been out grocery shopping. After watching Rafe polish off her leftover lasagna last night, it dawned on her that she ought to keep more food in the icerator while he was around.
Morgan's message had been short and to the point and it had sent a jolt of alarm through her.
Orchid, this is Morgan. Listen, something kinda weird just happened. I picked up my mail on the way in a few minutes ago. You aren't going to believe it, but there's a letter from Theo. It's dated the same day that he drove off that cliff but the postmark is from yesterday. It says in the letter that he left it with a neighbor. Told the guy to mail it if he didn't contact him in a couple of days.
I'm not sure what to make of it. It's sort of typical Theo, you know, a little paranoid. Maybe I should turn it over to the police or something. But before I do anything like that I need to talk to you. Maybe I'm overreacting.
Give me a call when you get in. I don't care what time it is. Feel free to wake me up.
But awakening Morgan Lambert was proving difficult. Orchid wondered if any of his neighbors had a key. There was a deserted feel to the small houseboat marina. It was a few minutes past two o'clock in the afternoon. Everyone was either at work or out running errands.
She rapped sharply one last time.
"Morgan?"
Still no response. Tentatively she put her hand on the doorknob. It would be too much to expect that Morgan had forgotten to lock his door.
The knob turned easily.
Cautiously, half expecting an alarm to sound, she pushed open the door. "Don't panic, Morgan. It's me, Orchid."
She put her head around the edge of the door.
And caught her breath at the sight of the small, cluttered living room.
It was a shambles. Ripped cushions were scattered on the floor. Books had been pulled willy-nilly from the shelves. They lay in a small heap next to an overturned lamp. The drawers of the desk had been yanked out and emptied on the carpet
"Oh, my God."
Orchid started to step quickly back out onto the dock. She froze when she noticed a shoe lying in the short hall that connected the living room with the kitchen.
It was a man's shoe. There was a foot in it. The leg disappeared around the corner.
"Morgan."
Ignoring all the sound advice she had ever heard about entering a residence that had been recently burglarized, she hurtled through the door.
It was Morgan who was sprawled on the kitchen floor. A small plastic envelope half-filled with gritty gray crystals lay on the table. Next to the envelope was an empty glass. There was a filthy gray residue at the bottom.
She knelt beside Morgan and fumbled desperately for a pulse.
He was still alive. She glanced up, saw the phone on the wall near the icerator, and started to get to her feet.
Before she could move something scraped in the hallway behind her. She whirled around and found herself confronting a man in a black ski mask. He held a burn-hag jelly-ice candle. As she watched, he casually tossed aside the ice-match he had just used to light it.
"So you wanna play with fire, do you, bitch?"
Orchid opened her mouth to scream, but at that moment the walls of the hall and kitchen twisted in an impossible manner, curving and bending around her. The floor sank away beneath her feet. Her stomach reeled. She reached out to clutch the table to steady herself, but it was not where her eyes told her it should be. Instead it was tilted at a wildly improbable angle. She could not reach it.
It was as though she had stepped into a bizarre carnival funhouse. Or another universe. Voices came out of the spinning void that was the kitchen hall.
"Shit, Jink, it's her. The one who was with that guy at the house we were watching. The one who kicked me."
"It's all right. She's alone today. She won't give us any trouble. The illusion will keep her occupied while we finish the job."
Orchid thought she heard a man's laughter. She could not be certain. Her world had narrowed down to the small, horribly convulsing kitchen. She felt as if she were on a roller coaster. Every time she tried to orient herself, the place shifted around her.
"Watch this," someone said out of the void in the hall.
She saw the flame of the jelly-ice candle grow larger. It was the only thing in her field of vision that did not waver. She stared at it with desperate concentration. For an instant she thought the world steadied. Her hand finally made contact with the edge of the table.
Then the flame exploded into a great conflagration. Fire filled the void. Waves of brilliant orange flames lapped at the kitchen.
Panic seared her senses. She had to get out. Now. Fire blocked the hall. That left only the window.
She groped for and finally found Morgan's ankle. She tried to tug his unconscious body across the undulating kitchen toward the window. It was impossible to make any progress. The walls flowed into new configurations every time she took a step.
She thought she heard more laughter. It was followed by a woman's scream. She thought it was her own but in that wild, chaotic kitchen-universe, she could no longer be certain of anything.
Chapter 11
She could not smell the smoke.
The realization struck her with blinding clarity. Flames billowed toward her, consuming the hallway, but she could not smell any smoke. It was thick in the air around her, but if she concentrated, she had no trouble filling her lungs with clear air.
Orchid released Morgan's ankle and forced herself to think. An old adage reverberated again and again in her brain. Where there's smoke, there's fire.
But what if there was no smoke? At least, none that you could smell?
Orchid closed her eyes. Instantly the room stilled. She could feel the kitchen floor beneath her knees, right where it should have been.
She was right. There was no smoke in the kitchen. Nor could she hear the roar of the flames in the hallway.
Illusion.
She kept her eyes closed, cutting off the vision of an inferno in the hall. Gradually her jangled nerves stabilized. In the absence of visual input, her other senses began to convey logical information once more.
She became aware of the sound of rain p
ounding on the roof. The storm had struck. Voices came from the front room. The same voices she had heard last night when she and Rafe had encountered the two men in the unnatural fog outside Theo Willis's house.
"It has to be here somewhere."
"We've turned the place upside down, Jink. Come on, we gotta get out of here."
"Keep looking. He won't like it if we don't find it. Let's check the bedroom."
"What about the woman?"
"Forget her. She won't give us any trouble. She's too busy having a nervous breakdown out there in the kitchen."
Orchid listened to the footsteps of the two men as they receded in the direction of Morgan's bedroom. Very cautiously she opened one eye.
The flames still consumed the hall. The kitchen writhed.
Orchid quickly closed her eye. The illusion-talent was strong. So was his prism. Together they were powerful enough to maintain the vision here in the kitchen while they searched the bedroom.
There was no way she could get down the hall and across the living room without the two men noticing. Her only option was the wall phone.
Unable to trust her visual sense, she kept her eyes firmly closed and tried to recall the exact location of the icerator. Directly behind her and a little to the right.
She turned, crouched, and began to crawl blindly across the floor. Thuds echoed from the bedroom. It sounded as if the intruders were pulling drawers out of a dresser.
Orchid knew she had found the icerator when she banged her head against it. Damn, damn, damn. But she managed not to cry out.
She used her sense of touch to guide her to her feet.
The icerator handle was reassuringly firm in her grasp. She clung to it with one hand and groped for the wall phone with the other.
A jolt of unwarranted relief raced through her when her fingers touched the receiver. Then she realized she would have to punch out the numbers without opening her eyes.
Where were the numbers on the phone?
Think. The number one was at the top on the left. The nine had to be last. No, that wasn't right. There were all those other little buttons. The pound key. The star button.
She risked opening her eyes long enough to squint at the number pad. A mistake. The keys swam before her, each digit moving in meaningless circles.
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