by Jayne Castle
“Huh. You’re right. The eyes of the animals and the windows in the little carriages—they’re all made of hot glass. Amazing. Glass has always been dangerous when it’s combined with paranormal energy. The effects are highly unpredictable because it has the properties of both a solid and a liquid crystal. Who was this Mrs. Bridewell? Must have been some kind of Old World weapons dealer.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Those psi-coded dreamlight gates make for serious barricades inside the tunnels,” Elias said. “And it appears that the only entrance that leads directly to the surface has been blocked with hot psi for nearly two hundred years. I can understand why this place has been undisturbed for so long.”
Hannah looked around. “There is another possibility. Maybe over the years a few people were able to unlock the gates and discovered this place but were either accidentally killed by one of the dangerous objects in here or got disoriented by the dreamlight and never made it out of the Underworld.”
“Like the Ghost City,” Elias said. “But that sort of thing just helps keep legends alive.”
They walked past the House of Mirrors. Hannah glanced through the dark entrance, caught a glimpse of creepy glass light, and quickly looked away.
“Arcane is going to have to bring in a lot of experts to handle the artifacts in this place,” she said.
“Yes,” Elias agreed.
Hannah saw the fortune-teller booth and forgot about the House of Mirrors.
“There it is,” she said. She hurried toward the booth. “I just hope my necklace is safe.”
There was a life-sized figure inside the glass booth, a man dressed in a tall pointed hat and flowing robes decorated with stars and ancient alchemical symbols. He had a mane of shoulder-length white hair, a white beard, and sapphire crystal eyes. There was a huge pile of paper fortunes in front of the figure.
The colorful sign above the booth read, SYLVESTER JONES TELLS YOU YOUR FORTUNE.
“Like I said, I don’t know much about history,” Elias said. “At least, not Arcane history. But that name rings a bell.”
“It should,” Hannah said. “Sylvester Jones was the founder of the Arcane Society back on Earth.” She paused to look around. “Do you see Virgil?”
“No,” Elias said. But his attention was focused on the fortune-teller booth. “Those sapphire crystals look hot.”
“Virgil,” Hannah called.
A muffled chortle sounded from the vicinity of a row of arcade booths.
“He’ll be fine,” Elias said. “Let’s get your necklace.”
She hesitated briefly and then told herself that Virgil was at home in the Underworld. He frequently went down into the Rainforest to hunt at night. He could take care of himself.
“I remember removing the back panel last night so that you could hide your necklace under the fortunes,” Elias said. “But I never got a chance to activate the machine. Let’s see what happens when I rez up old Sylvester.”
“Considering what happened when you experimented with the carousel, I’m not so sure that’s a great idea—”
But Elias had already pressed a red button.
There was a faint whir of machinery inside the booth. Hannah watched, wary but fascinated, as the Sylvester Jones figure came to life. The crystal eyes blinked a few times and brightened with energy. A deep mechanical voice boomed from a hidden speaker.
“Place your hand on the palm print,” the robotic figure intoned. “You will receive your fortune.”
Elias flattened one hand on the image of a palm. He snatched it back almost immediately.
“Shit.” He shook his hand as though it had been burned.
“What was it?” Hannah asked.
“Damned if I know. Some kind of energy. Not strong, but definitely hot.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
The concealed machinery whirred again. A piece of paper appeared from a slot. Elias picked it up somewhat cautiously and looked at it.
“Well?” Hannah asked. “What does it say?”
“It says Beware of strangers selling waterfront property.”
“Well, that’s not helpful,” Hannah said. “It’s just a generic fortune like the one I got about finding true love soon.”
“Right. Generic.”
He sounded irritated again.
“My necklace,” Hannah prompted.
“Give me a minute.”
He took a small leather case out of the pocket of his jacket. Popping open the case, he removed a little tool and went to work on the back of the fortune-teller’s booth.
“Got it,” he said a moment later.
He removed the back panel of the booth and set it down on the ground. He stirred the pile of paper fortunes. When he pulled out his hand Hannah saw that he was holding her crystal necklace.
Relief splashed through her. “Thank goodness. I remember thinking that if those guys who were chasing us made it through the dreamlight gate, the necklace would be safe inside the booth.”
“If Sylvester Jones can’t protect a secret, who can?” Elias said. He closed the panel at the back of the booth. “Now all we have to do is rescue my team and then figure out who was chasing us last night.”
“That’s a serious to-do list.” She fastened the necklace around her throat. And took a deep breath. “Well, at least we know why we got married. You were afraid the guys on the motorcycles were after me because they didn’t want me rescuing your team. You thought that if we were married, the kidnappers would think twice about trying to grab me. You wanted to protect me by throwing the power of the Coppersmith Mining empire around me.”
“Yeah, something like that.” He zipped up the black tool case. “The Coppersmiths take care of their own.”
Now he sounded disgruntled. She cleared her throat. “It was very nice of you.”
He looked at her, eyes sharpening with a little energy. “Nice?”
She flushed. “I just want you to know I appreciate the gesture.”
He gave her an inscrutable look. “All I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Right.” She squared her shoulders. “Well, it’s a complication for both of us but nothing that can’t be remedied. Just a bit of paperwork to file.”
“Which we won’t have time to file until we get my team out of the ruins and find out who chased us into the Shadow Zone last night.”
“No,” she agreed.
He startled her with a quick, wicked grin. “Looks like we’re going on an interesting honeymoon.”
Chapter 7
He knew he had made a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth. Hannah’s jaw tightened and everything about her seemed to withdraw to some secret place where he could not follow.
She turned away and made a show of searching the bizarre carnival.
“Virgil?” she called. “Where are you? Time to leave.”
This time there was no answering chortle. Hannah started toward the Scargill Cove scene. “Virgil? This is no time for games.”
Unable to think of anything else to do, Elias went after her.
“Sorry,” he said. “The crack about the honeymoon was just a bad attempt to lighten the situation.”
“No problem,” she said briskly. “Virgil?”
Muffled thuds and banging sounded from one of the arcade booths.
“That’s not good,” Hannah said.
Elias listened to the noises. “Over there.”
He led the way past another attraction. The entrance was sealed with a psi-gate. The sign read LUCINDA BROMLEY’S PSYCHIC GARDEN.
“Do you know who Lucinda Bromley was?” he asked.
“She married Caleb Jones. Back in the nineteenth century, the two of them cofounded Jones and Jones.”
“You know, this place makes me realize that my family needs to hire someone to get the Coppersmith archives organized. Right now they’re just sitting in a big vault on the island.”
“What island?”
“Copper Beach. Family compound.”
“Oh, I see.”
Once again he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. There was no need to remind her of her status as an orphan. On Harmony, family was everything. The First Generation founders had used every tool available—legal and cultural—to shore up the institutions of marriage and the family. The experts among them had concluded that those two institutions were the cornerstones of a strong society and the best hope for ensuring the survival of the stranded colonists.
The system worked well for the most part, but no social system was perfect. Babies still got orphaned and people still wound up alone in the world.
The thuds and bangs got louder.
Elias followed Hannah past an ominous-looking attraction labeled HEADQUARTERS OF NIGHTSHADE. BEWARE THE DRUG.
Once again his curiosity was aroused. He was about to ask Hannah to explain the Nightshade reference but he stopped short when he saw that she had stopped in front of a glass-walled arcade booth.
The interior of the booth was filled with action figures, toys, and stuffed animals. There was a miniature cranelike apparatus equipped with a claw device that could be activated from outside the booth. The sign read PICK A PIECE OF ARCANE HISTORY.
In addition to the toys, there was also an outraged dust bunny inside the booth. Virgil was literally bouncing off the walls in a furious attempt to extricate himself and one of the action figures. All four of his eyes were open and there was a great deal of growling.
“Good grief,” Hannah said. She came to a halt and stared at the arcade game. “How did he get inside?”
“Probably squeezed in through the prize chute,” Elias said. “The problem is that it’s not big enough for Virgil to get himself and the toy out at the same time.”
Virgil continued to lunge around inside the booth, scattering toys and stuffed animals.
“He’s not going to leave his prize behind,” Hannah said.
“I like a guy who has his priorities straight,” Elias said.
He went around to the back of the machine and took out his tool case again. He selected a tool that looked like it would fit the old-fashioned fastenings on the access panel.
When he opened the back door of the booth, a cascade of glittery toys tumbled out. Virgil chortled in triumph and leaped down to the floor. He dragged his chosen prize by one of the figure’s legs.
Hannah reached down to pick him up and plop him on her shoulder.
“Let me see which prize you picked,” she said.
She put up her hand. Fully fluffed once more, hunting eyes closed, Virgil graciously let her take the action figure. Elias watched her examine the doll. It was a woman wearing sturdy trousers and a shirt covered in an odd green, black, and brown pattern. A miniature utility belt was strapped around her waist. The belt held a tiny flashlight and an object that might have been a camera or some sort of communications gear. Her head was covered in a helmet of gray curls.
“Looks like someone’s grandmother,” he said.
“Assuming the grandmother wears heavy boots and Old World military camouflage.” Hannah looked up, smiling. “It’s Arizona Snow.”
“Never heard of her.”
“I’ll fill you in on the way to the Ghost City. But first I need to go home, change my clothes, and pack some gear. Your poor team has been trapped long enough.”
“Sounds like a plan. Sort of.”
She cleared her throat. “I do have one personal question I’d like to ask.”
“Just one?”
“Last night we went out to dinner together.”
“So?” he asked, wary now.
“I just wondered if you always carry a miniature tool kit when you take a woman out to dinner.”
“Always. I’m an engineer.”
Chapter 8
The text message was more bad news.
Complications encountered. Target was not acquired. Another attempt will be made when opportunity arises. Terms of the arrangement still stand. Work is guaranteed.
The fools had failed. How was that even possible? It was supposed to be a simple job. Grab the woman and drop Coppersmith into the Underworld without his amber. The Coppersmith family might spend a fortune hunting for one of their own but the police wouldn’t waste much time searching for Hannah West. She wasn’t important. She had no family to make a fuss when she went missing.
So close. So damn close.
The Collector raged back and forth across the room. After all the years of searching; after the success of his carefully baited trap; after all the careful planning, the thickheaded idiots he’d hired had screwed up.
The Collector went past the table and glanced at the headline on the morning edition of the Curtain. He had gone out early to purchase a paper copy hoping that the online edition was a mistake. But there was no mistake. Coppersmith had married the woman.
That presented a new problem. True, the marriage was only a cheap MC but it was a legal marriage until it was dissolved. Elias Coppersmith might as well have announced to the world that Hannah West was now under the protection of the Coppersmith Mining empire.
There was only one reason why he would have done such a thing: He knew about the Lost Museum. He had seduced the silly woman with a cheap short-term Marriage of Convenience. And the little fool had fallen for it. She probably counted herself incredibly lucky. Given her lack of family and her shaky para-psych profile, an MC was all she could ever hope for when it came to marriage. An offer of an MC with a Coppersmith had probably dazzled her.
It wouldn’t last long, of course—just long enough for Coppersmith to convince her to sign the papers transferring her claim to him. Once that happened the marriage would be terminated.
Unless she was too smart to be conned out of her claim.
The Collector went to the window and looked out over the bright lights of the Strip. He considered what he knew of Hannah West. She was a nobody from the DZ and her para-psych profile made her a freak. But he had to admit that she had been rather clever thus far. Perhaps she was the one manipulating Coppersmith, not vice versa.
The Collector picked up the nearest object, a drinking glass, and hurled it against the wall. He watched the glittering shards cascade down to the carpet.
He could not bring himself to abandon the project, not as long as there was even a slim chance of success.
Chapter 9
Hannah’s phone rang just as she got out of the taxi. It was not the first call she had received since returning to the surface. She had dumped the first two, both of which had come from Grady Barnett.
She reached into her clutch, intending to terminate Grady’s third call. Then she noticed the sleek steel blue Cadence parked at the curb.
“Well, what do you know?” she said, taking out her phone. “Your car did survive the night.”
Elias finished paying the cabdriver and turned toward her. Virgil was on his shoulder clutching the Arizona Snow doll by one little booted foot.
“You thought the car would have been stolen overnight?” Elias asked.
“Or stripped. It’s not that we don’t have a pretty good neighborhood watch set up here in the DZ—we do. But it’s designed to keep the local residents safe. Visitors are usually okay if they stick to the parking lots of the clubs and casinos because there’s plenty of private security. But leaving a fancy car like yours on a side street overnight is a risky move. It must have been a big temptation to some of our less scrupulous entrepreneurs.”
“My car can take care of itself.”
“Really?” The phone in her hand rang again. She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Grady’s n
umber. A jolt of alarm spiked through her when she saw the identity of the caller. “Uh-oh.”
“Something wrong?” Elias asked.
“It’s my aunt Clara,” Hannah said. “Pretty early in the day for her. She’s a night person.”
Elias glanced at the newspaper stand on the corner. It featured the latest copy of the Curtain. The headline about their marriage was in very large font.
“What could possibly go wrong?” he asked.
She gave him a withering look. “Don’t worry. Even if she happened to see a copy, Clara knows you can’t believe everything you read in the Curtain.”
“Everyone says that. But they read it anyway.”
Hannah ignored him and took the call.
“Good morning,” she said, trying to infuse her tone with an upbeat note. “How are you and Aunt Bernice doing today?”
“How are we doing?” Clara repeated, her dark, smoky voice much sharper than usual. “I’ll tell you how we’re doing. We would both have fallen out of our rocking chairs, if we had rocking chairs. The headlines in the Curtain say you married Elias Coppersmith last night. It says his family controls a huge chunk of the hot-rock mining rights in the Underworld. It says he’s rich. It also says he’s a scion. What the heck is a scion? Sounds like some kind of refrigerator or a car.”
Clara Stockbridge was normally a monument of unflappability. When she had arrived in Illusion Town several decades ago, her name had been Clara Stockton. She’d had the height, the great bones, and the figure to get a job as a showgirl. She also had the intelligence, creativity, and savvy understanding of an audience, which had allowed her and her lover, Bernice Bridge, to create the masterful Ladies of High Magic show. The act had endured for nearly thirty years before Clara and Bernice had gracefully closed it down.
Somewhere along the way Clara and Bernice had married and combined their last names into Stockbridge. They had insisted that the baby girl they had found on their doorstep call each of them “aunt” not “mother” because, as Bernice said, Hannah had a mother. Marla Sanders was dead but Clara and Bernice had been her friends. They were absolutely certain that Marla had loved her infant daughter with all her heart and therefore deserved to keep the title of mother.