by Jayne Castle
Elias startled her by coming to a sudden halt. He turned to face her, eyes narrowed. “How many people know about this discovery of yours?”
“Just Aunt Clara and Aunt Bernice.” Belatedly she started to wonder if she had made a serious mistake—make that another serious mistake. “And now you, of course. But you’re a Coppersmith. My inheritance is penny-ante stuff compared to your family’s mining empire.”
“You’re sure you’ve only told three people?”
“Positive. Why do you ask? You’re starting to make me nervous.”
“Good. Because if you’re nervous, you’ll be careful. Take some advice from a man who grew up in the mining business. Don’t tell anyone else about your claim until you’ve figured out exactly how you’re going to sell it. And then move very, very fast to close the deal.”
“I told you, I filed a claim. It’s all signed, sealed, and legal.”
“In the Underworld, a claim is only as strong as the person who files it. Why do you think they invented the term claim jumping? And why do you think Coppersmith employs a very large and very well-equipped security team? There will always be claim jumpers and pirates, so keep your secrets close.”
A chill of dread whispered through her. Elias sounded unnervingly knowledgeable about the security issues.
“Okay,” she said. She took a breath. “I’ll be careful.”
“Good. When this is over, I’ll check out your claim if you’d like. Set up some good security for you.”
She chuckled. “Don’t worry. For now, it’s safe enough. Locked up nice and tight and I’ve got the only key.”
“The necklace? But you lost it.”
“No. The necklace was a map. It led me to my inheritance. Technically, I no longer need it, but it has sentimental value.”
Elias glanced at his ring. “I understand.”
“Enough about my inheritance. It’s safe for the time being. We’ve got more immediate problems. Like why did we get married last night?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “I can’t be sure but it occurs to me that there is one very plausible reason why we stopped off at the Enchanted Night Wedding Chapel long enough to file an MC.”
She looked at him, startled. “What?”
“We knew or strongly suspected that we were going to crash. We would have realized that we might wake up with amnesia, temporary or otherwise.”
“So?”
“So we had to come up with a plan that would ensure that we would stay together, at least long enough to figure out what was going on,” Elias said. “What better way to do that than file a Marriage of Convenience? Waking up married was a surefire way to force us to try to figure out what happened last night.”
“Seems a bit drastic.”
“We must have been desperate,” he said. “And if we were psi-burned and heading for a crash, we may not have been thinking clearly.”
Somehow, that sounded vaguely insulting but she couldn’t decide how to respond so she kept quiet.
There was only one vehicle in the foggy street, a newspaper delivery van with the Curtain emblazoned on its side. It was just pulling away from the curb. The notorious tabloid catered to a niche market that could not get enough of conspiracy theories, scandals, and rumors about Alien abductions. It was one of those newspapers that most people denied reading but that nevertheless enjoyed an extremely high circulation.
Hannah considered herself a loyal subscriber, so when they walked past the vending machine, she automatically glanced at the headline.
Shock brought her to a standstill. “Elias, we may have a very big problem.”
He did not stop. “Put it on our list.”
“Take a look at today’s edition of the Curtain.”
“Why? Nobody reads that rag.”
“I do, but before you decide to continue insulting my reading taste, I suggest you look at the damn headline.”
He stopped, turned around, and retraced his steps.
“I didn’t mean to insult your taste in newspapers,” he muttered.
“That’s not the point.”
She waited in silence while he absorbed the implications of the lead story.
COPPERSMITH MINING HEIR MARRIES IN SECRET MC WEDDING
Underneath the headline was a photo showing Hannah and Elias emerging from the Enchanted Night Wedding Chapel. There was something very furtive about the scene, Hannah thought. In the picture she had Virgil clutched under one arm. He was the only one who appeared cheerful, probably because he had a cupcake slathered in bridal white frosting clutched between two front paws.
“The happy couple,” Elias said.
“We look like we’ve just attended a funeral,” Hannah said. “Good thing nobody reads that rag.”
“Yeah. Good thing.”
Chapter 4
“I’m very sorry if you two woke up with a case of buyer’s remorse, but I’m afraid we don’t do refunds here at the Enchanted Night Wedding Chapel,” the receptionist said.
According to the little sign on her desk, her name was Mrs. Henderson. She was middle-aged, comfortably proportioned, and endowed with a warm, solicitous, vaguely maternal air that no doubt put nervous couples at ease. But Elias could see the steel beneath the surface. She was in charge of a business that was supposed to turn a profit. She knew her job.
The Enchanted Night Wedding Chapel was typical of the cheap-and-fast Marriage-of-Convenience operations that were found scattered around the Old Quarters of all the city-states. But in Illusion Town they were as common as slot machines. The MC mills did a steady trade, drawing customers from the nearby nightclubs, taverns, casinos, and other shady businesses that flourished in the dark.
Although he knew that they both had a good idea of what to expect from a twenty-four-hour wedding factory, he was very aware that Hannah was vaguely horrified by the Enchanted Night Wedding Chapel. She was doing her best to conceal her dismay, but it didn’t take a psychic to pick up on the vibe. Maybe the fake flowers, the dingy drapery, and the illuminated arch looked more romantic at night.
“We’re not here for a refund,” Elias said. “We just want to talk to you.”
“You’re not the first couple to return here the morning after, wanting to make it all go away.” Mrs. Henderson sighed. “But cheer up. Remember, it’s only an MC. You are, of course, free to terminate the marriage today, but, as I’m sure you’re aware, there is some paperwork involved. You’ll have to go to the proper office at City Hall and file the appropriate forms. An MC is a legally binding contract after all. There are a few rules.”
But not many, Elias reflected. A Marriage of Convenience was easy to get into and almost as easy to terminate—unlike a formal Covenant Marriage, which was a legal and financial nightmare to dissolve. The costs of getting out of a Covenant Marriage were not just of a financial nature. The social price paid by both husband and wife was huge. Careers and reputations were badly damaged or even destroyed by a CM divorce.
Everyone knew that Marriages of Convenience were a polite fiction designed to lend an air of respectability to an affair. Nevertheless, it did provide both parties with certain legal protections, and if a child was born to a couple who were in an MC at the time, the marriage was automatically converted to a full-blown Covenant Marriage.
“We just want to ask you a few questions,” he said, going for what he hoped was a soothing tone.
At that moment Virgil rumbled enthusiastically and leaped off Elias’s shoulder. The dust bunny dashed across the room and vaulted up onto the table that held a tiered tray of cupcakes.
Mrs. Henderson shrieked and leaped to her feet. “Stop him. Those cupcakes are for the customers.”
“Virgil.” Hannah rushed toward the table. “No.”
Virgil had already selected a cupcake. He clung to it with his two front paws. Hannah scoo
ped him up and put him on her shoulder. He perched there and happily munched his prize.
“I’ll pay for the cupcake,” Elias said. He fished his wallet out of his pocket and extracted a few large bills. “Did you perform the ceremony for us, Mrs. Henderson?”
She sniffed but she seemed somewhat mollified by the cash. “My goodness, you can’t even remember your own wedding? You both must have been flying high on something last night.”
“Something,” Elias agreed. “It’s all a blur. Would you mind answering the question?”
Hannah smiled a bright little smile. “You know, in case we want to recommend your services to others.”
“Oh, I see.” Mrs. Henderson relaxed. “No, I was not the person who officiated at your wedding. That would have been Joe. He had the graveyard shift last night.”
“Do you know where we can find him?” Elias said.
“You just missed him. He was on duty until five this morning. I expect he’ll be having breakfast. He usually stops at the Fog Café before he goes home to bed.”
“Is that near here?” Hannah asked.
“Just down the street.”
“Thank you,” Elias said.
Outside on the sidewalk Hannah took a tissue out of her clutch and used it to wipe white frosting off Virgil’s furry face.
“At least Virgil has fond memories of our wedding,” she said. “Good to know one of us does.”
For some reason Elias found that observation depressing.
“I don’t think we were so badly burned that we’ll have permanent amnesia,” he said. “We’re both strong talents. That will help us recover our memories. Hey, we’re already getting bits and pieces, right?”
“I think so.”
And when she did recover her memory of their hasty midnight wedding, would she be horrified all over again? he wondered.
He considered his first impressions of her yesterday when he had walked into her shop: smart, powerful, mysterious. Somehow she was exactly how he had known she would be.
He had never seen a picture of her. She guarded her identity well. But the moment he saw her he was certain he would have recognized her anywhere. Her dark hair had been caught up in a cute twist that went with the flirty red dress and the very high heels. She had a striking face with intelligent, watchful green eyes. The heat and power in her aura warned him that she could be passionate or dangerous or both.
Definitely his kind of woman.
It dawned on him that he might have some trouble convincing her of that now.
They walked in silence for a time. The Shadow Zone was in the process of waking up to a new day and it gave every indication that it was starting the morning with a decades-long hangover. The last of the ambient green light had disappeared from the fog. The seedy storefronts, garbage-strewn alleys, and grimy, barred windows were spectral shadows in the mist.
In some of the districts around the Dead Cities, including Illusion Town, serious gentrification was taking place. The Colonial-era buildings put up by the First Generation colonists were being remodeled and marketed to homeowners and shopkeepers who sought locations infused with the psi-laced atmosphere of the Alien ruins. But the effects of modernization had not yet come to this section of Illusion Town. It looked as if no one was in a hurry to institute the process.
But you could still sense the energy in the atmosphere, Elias thought. You always knew when you were near Alien ruins. The paranormal vibes seeped up from the quartz catacombs belowground and leaked out of the green-quartz walls that surrounded the ethereal green towers. Even in daylight the atmosphere gave most people a tingle. The rush was always more intense after dark, even for those with minimal talent.
But Illusion Town was different. It had a unique vibe—several different vibes, actually, depending on which of the eight zones you happened to be in at any given moment. The engineer in him was intrigued.
“Something happened here a long time ago,” he said.
He wasn’t aware he had spoken out loud until Hannah responded.
“The experts agree with you,” she said. “We get a lot of para-researchers who show up with their instruments. They’re always running experiments in an attempt to analyze the hot psi in the various zones. But so far no one has come up with an explanation for the weirdness. The locals don’t worry about it too much because it’s good for business.”
“Could have been some sort of explosion in the heart of the ruins that released a lot of unusual para-radiation.”
“If that’s the case, the researchers haven’t been able to find the epicenter of the blast.”
“Fascinating. Any indication that the radiation might have had an effect on people born and raised in the zone?”
Hannah shot him a quick look and then just as swiftly looked away.
“Nope,” she said a little too smoothly.
That amused him. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if the local currents have created a few interesting variants in some people’s para-psych profiles. At least, it wouldn’t be a big deal to anyone in my family.”
She eyed him warily. “Is that so?”
“A long time ago, back on the Old World, one of my ancestors—the one I’m named for, the first Elias Coppersmith—discovered some unusual crystals with paranormal properties. There was an explosion. He was hit with some unknown radiation. Let’s just say the Coppersmith gene pool was seriously affected.”
“What happened after your people settled on Harmony?”
“What do you think happened? We’re still in mining. Still messing around with hot crystals. The family para-genetics are as unpredictable as ever.”
She was silent for a moment.
“Must be nice to be able to trace your family history all the way back to the Old World.”
The wistfulness in her voice bothered him.
“It’s interesting,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But not particularly useful. What matters is the present and the future, right? Those are the only two things that we can change.”
“I know. But the past is a lot like ancient para-energy, isn’t it? The currents continue to resonate with the energy of the present, and in that way they affect the future. That’s why it would be useful for a person to know her own personal past history.”
“Maybe. But only if the person in question is willing to use the information to change her own present and future in a positive way.”
“I suppose so,” she said.
“Look, I’m an engineer, so I’m not always real intuitive or insightful when it comes to conversations of a personal nature, but I’m going to take a stab in the dark here and guess that we’re talking about you.”
Her mouth kicked up faintly at one corner. “Good guess.”
“Ever gone looking for your own past?”
“Sure. Several times over the years. Wasted a lot of money on so-called professional genealogists. I spent hours and hours of my own time trying to find my family roots. And I’m good at finding things. But until recently I’ve always come up with dead ends.”
“What happened?”
“A couple of months ago I came across Dr. Paxton Wilcox. He specializes in using para-genetic theory to create family trees for dreamlight talents. He’s a retired professor who used to teach para-genetics at the University of Resonance. Now he does private searches for clients.”
“How did you find him?”
“The usual way—I found him online. He’s got a website. His office is in Resonance City but all of his work is done on the rez-net so it doesn’t matter that he’s a few hundred miles away. He has access to the Arcane Society’s files as well as other genealogical records databases.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
“Well, I hit a stumbling block recently.” Hannah made a face. “Not surprisingly, Wilcox requested a full para-psy
ch profile. He sent me to a para-genetics researcher here in Illusion Town to get the workup. Since my talent is linked to dreamlight, part of the testing required me to try to sleep in a lab for a couple of nights while I was hooked up to various monitors. After the first night I discovered that Dr. Grady Barnett is a lying, cheating, hypocritical dumbass.”
“I hear there are a lot of those around.”
“Sure, but usually I can spot them early on. In this case it took me a while—probably because I wanted the para-psych profile very, very badly. Anyhow, long story short, I told Barnett to go to green hell and walked out of the lab. I won’t be going back. Which means I’ve got to find another para-psych profiler and start all over again. Turns out profiles are very, very pricey.”
He wondered what Barnett had done to earn the title dumbass.
“You are one tough lady,” he said. And I do like that in a woman, he added silently.
She gave him a startled glance. Then she smiled. It was a real smile, the kind that warmed her brilliant green eyes.
“Thanks,” she said.
“You look surprised.”
“Well, I didn’t get my full para-psych profile from Grady Dumbass Barnett because I stopped the testing. But he did make sure to inform me that the data he had collected on me indicated that I was quite fragile, psychically speaking.”
Elias opened his senses a little, savoring the sensation of her aura. “Dumbass was wrong.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I’m a para-engineer, remember? Assessing paranormal currents is what I do. Yours are strong and steady.”
“I thought you were an expert with crystal energy.”
He shrugged. “Paranormal energy is paranormal energy. I can usually sense it quite clearly, regardless of the source.”
“My aunts insist I’m strong and stable, too. But, you know, they’re my aunts. They love me. What else are they going to say?”
“Yeah, well, I’m not your aunt. And I am an expert.”