“The princess just left with our pea,” Gwendolyn said. “She’s obsessed with it.”
“Olivia LeClair?”
“Yes. She practically jumped on the camera. I just hope we haven’t made a terrible mistake.”
“We both know she’s our best bet,” Eloisa said. “If we’re right, she can lead us to the original Vortex lab.”
“Yes. But Lark and LeClair are closely affiliated with the Foundation. If Victor Arganbright’s people get into Aurora Winston’s old lab first—”
“We don’t have a choice. The rumors about Vortex are getting stronger. It’s no longer just a legend or a myth. Other people are looking for it seriously now. We’ve got a head start but we could easily lose our edge if we don’t move fast.”
“If LeClair realizes what she’s got, she may take the information straight to Victor Arganbright. If he gets involved—”
“Trust me,” Eloisa said, “once LeClair figures out that the camera might be able to lead her to her mother’s killer, she won’t let anyone get in her way, not even Arganbright and his Foundation.”
“I hope you’re right. There may be one other possible complication, though.”
“What?”
Gwendolyn thought about Olivia’s reaction to the camera. “LeClair clearly picked up the vibe of the artifact. Her response was very intense. She did not put it down the entire time she was in my shop.”
Eloisa went silent for a moment while she considered that information.
“I thought LeClair was just a strong aura reader,” she said eventually.
“You didn’t see her resonate with the artifact. I’m telling you, she’s more than an aura reader.”
“Think she’s got her grandmother’s talent?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Do you think she knows that?”
“No,” Gwendolyn said. “Not yet, at any rate. But now that she’s got the camera—”
“Are you saying Olivia might be able to activate the camera?”
“I have no idea,” Gwendolyn said. “All I know is that the camera is our only solid link to Vortex, and Olivia LeClair is the only one who has a chance of using it to find that old lab.”
CHAPTER 49
Victor stood with Lucas at the edge of the grand ballroom. They sipped champagne and watched the happy crowd celebrate.
“To be honest,” Lucas said, “I was afraid this would be one boring wedding. I didn’t expect a bunch of people living in an intentional community on a rural island to know how to throw a party. Happy to say I was wrong.”
“I wasn’t too hopeful myself,” Victor admitted. “It’s a damn good thing everyone is staying overnight. The way the champagne and booze are flowing, no one should be driving.”
“Couldn’t get off the island tonight anyway,” Lucas pointed out cheerfully. “Not without a boat or a plane. The ferry doesn’t arrive until tomorrow morning.”
“There is that,” Victor said. “We’re definitely not in Las Vegas anymore.”
The bride’s family had decided to combine the wedding with what the locals called a Moontide celebration. As far as Victor could tell, that aspect of the event had involved walking an elaborate labyrinth as a form of meditation, followed by music and the drinking of some special herbal tea. He had worried a little about what, exactly, was in the tea but Sierra had assured him that no hallucinogens were involved. We only break out the good stuff for the winter and summer solstices, she had said. He could not tell if she was teasing him. Lucas informed him the comment had, indeed, been intended as a joke. Victor was not so sure.
The ceremony had been an equally solemn affair. The bride’s father had written a poem for the occasion, something about sticking to one’s path once it has been illuminated. The bride’s mother had sung an aria that bathed the crowd in the invisible energy of hope and optimism. Victor hadn’t picked up on that right away. Lucas had been obliged to explain the nuances of the music.
The entire Quest community had turned out for the marriage of Sierra and North. The festivities took place in the elegant old hotel that was normally marketed by the locals as a corporate retreat. There were plenty of rooms for the guests, which was a good thing, because there were a lot of them. They came from Fogg Lake, Seattle and Las Vegas.
After the ceremony was concluded the bar had opened and the party had finally gotten started.
Lucas surveyed the crowd with a benevolent smile. “I love weddings. They’re all about moving forward into the future. It’s a transcendent experience, if you ask me. There’s so much optimism. So much anticipation. So much sense of community.”
“So much possibility of disaster,” Victor muttered. He drank some of his champagne and lowered the glass. He studied the bridal couple, who were chatting with a circle of friends. “But I’ve got to admit Sierra and North do look right together. Some good energy in the atmosphere around them.”
“This is the second couple you’ve managed to put together,” Lucas said. “You hit a home run with Slater Arganbright and Catalina Lark and now you’ve pulled off another successful match with Sierra and North. If this director-of-the-Foundation gig doesn’t work out for you, maybe you could get a job working for Sierra’s new matchmaking business.”
Victor looked at him.
Lucas chuckled. “That was another joke.”
Before Victor could respond to that, he saw a familiar figure making her way through the crowd. It was hard to miss the Oracle of Fogg Lake. She was dressed, as usual, in knee-high leather boots and a long sweep of a black cloak. The only thing different about her this evening was that there was a garland of flowers crowning her long silver hair. The purposeful way she strode across the old ballroom, cutting a path through the crowd, was a warning in itself.
Victor tensed. Beside him, he felt Lucas go very still.
“Something tells me this is not good news coming our way,” Victor said.
Lucas said nothing until Harmony halted in front of them, her eyes hot with energy.
“Please don’t tell us you’ve got a feeling things are going to go badly for North and Sierra,” Lucas said. “This is a wedding. We’re supposed to think positive.”
“What?” Harmony blinked, momentarily distracted. “Oh. Right. North and Sierra. They’ll be fine. Excellent. Sierra’s new business plans are going to go brilliantly. People will love the idea of a matchmaking psychic.”
Victor allowed himself to relax just a little. “Good to know. So what’s the problem?”
“Sorry to ruin your evening,” Harmony said, “but I thought I’d better tell you about what just came to me.”
Victor braced himself. He knew Lucas was doing the same thing.
Harmony began to speak, her voice resonating with power and certainty.
“Only the Oracle of Vortex can stop the forces that have been unleashed,” she intoned.
Victor absorbed that. The image that came to mind was the painting in his office that showed the Oracle in flowing robes surrounded by people dressed in Bluestone Project uniforms. He remembered the prophecy: Here there be monsters.
“If there was an Oracle associated with the old Vortex lab,” he said, “he or she must be dead. As far as we know, everyone associated with Vortex died a long time ago.”
“Never forget the power of DNA,” Harmony said, falling back into her normal voice. “Talent goes down through the bloodline.”
Lucas frowned. “We’re talking about a modern-day descendant of the original Oracle of Vortex?”
“I think so,” Harmony said. “Based on my own experience and the research I’ve been able to do, I can tell you that realizing you got stuck with the curse of being an oracle usually comes after you’re an adult. It’s not a talent you discover in your teens.”
“When did you realize you were an oracle?” Victor asked.
“When someone tried to murder me,” Harmony said. “You’d be surprised how that kind of trauma can awaken a talent you never knew you had.”
“Obviously the killer failed,” Lucas said. “What happened to him? Or was it a woman?”
“It was a man,” Harmony said. “He’s dead. And now I need a drink.”
She turned around, black cloak swirling out around her leather boots, and strode off into the crowd.
Victor watched her go. “Did you ever find out if Harmony has a last name?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did,” Lucas said. He drank some champagne and lowered the glass. “Her last name is Jones.”
CHAPTER 50
That night they made love in the room that had once served as the bridal suite of the hotel. The drapes were left open, allowing the glow of a full moon to pour through the window. It transformed the big four-poster bed into a place of silver mysteries and secret shadows.
Each caress elicited a sense of wonder. Each softly spoken word was a vow. They wrapped themselves around each other, using the physical connection to seal the promises they had made at the altar earlier that day. I love you. I will always love you.
When they finally fell into a damp tangle of arms and legs, North pulled her snugly against him. He folded one arm behind his head. His eyes were half-closed. A small smile edged his mouth.
“What?” Sierra asked, stroking his chest with her fingertips.
He caught her left hand and touched the gold band on her finger. “I was just thinking about the last lines of that poem your father sent to you. Something about a ring.”
She smiled and quoted the lines.
“The voice is patient, and will sing
The notes that help you close the ring.”
“I’ve never paid much attention to poetry, but when you think about it, that whole poem was pointing the way, not just for you but for me as well,” North said. “We closed a lot of rings. We discovered the truth about my grandfather. We solved some murders. We found our callings. And best of all, we found each other.”
“My father will tell you all poetry has a psychic vibe.”
North ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her closer. “Don’t know much about poetry, but I do know I love you, Sierra.”
“I love you, North.”
The bridal suite was illuminated in all the colors of night.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Somewhere in the middle of writing the first chapter of All the Colors of Night I knew the plot needed a psychic poet and a poem that would capture the soul of the story. As fate, luck or coincidence would have it—and we all know there are no coincidences—I happen to have a friend who is a poet: Jared Curtis, professor emeritus of English at Simon Fraser University. In the world of scholars he is known for his work editing the works and manuscript materials of William Wordsworth and W. B. Yeats. I asked Jared to write a poem for the book. At that point the only thing I could tell him about the story—the only thing I knew for sure—was that I was working with a hero and heroine who were at turning points in their lives, characters searching for the path forward.
Equipped with only those vague details, Jared wrote “Hope and Love.” It is the poem Sierra’s father sends to her at the beginning of the book, the poem Sierra later shares with North Chastain. It touches on all the themes that matter in the story and includes several elements I didn’t know were going to be important until I got there.
One of the things I learned while writing this book—and I always learn something along the way—is that poems have a seriously paranormal vibe, and apparently, so do the people who create them.
I want to take this opportunity to thank Jared Curtis for creating “Hope and Love” for All the Colors of Night. Turns out he’s a genuine psychic poet.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jayne Ann Krentz is the author of more than fifty New York Times bestsellers. She has written contemporary romantic suspense novels under that name and futuristic and historical romance novels under the pseudonyms Jayne Castle and Amanda Quick, respectively.
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All the Colors of Night Page 29