by Jayne Castle
Ella watched Rafe, hoping for direction. He looked bored.
“You’re an idiot, Trent,” he said. “We both know you can’t work those relics.”
Something akin to lust flashed in Trent’s eyes. “Maybe not, but I’ve got the kind of money and connections that will allow me to buy the talent I need.” He moved one hand in a slicing motion. “Burn ’em. Now.”
The ghosts moved toward their targets. Ella rezzed her talent and prepared to sing. She had used a lot of energy on Vickary but she had not exhausted her psychic senses. Her target would not be the ghosts but rather one of the men who had generated the fireballs.
“You dumbasses.” Rafe shook his head. “You really think we’re that easy to kill?”
“Don’t see what’s stopping us,” the first enforcer said. He was flushed with a disturbing excitement. Clearly he liked his work.
“Try this,” Rafe said.
Very casually he put a hand on Ella’s shoulder. She flinched at the heat and power of his grip—not because it was painful but because the physical contact sent a shock wave through her senses. The blue quartz ring on his finger sparked with a dark energy. She knew then that he was rezzing his own talent. Whatever the nature of his ability, the power in his aura was breathtaking.
A rush of excitement swept through her. It was not unlike the thrill she got when she jacked up her own senses, but it wasn’t quite the same, either. This exhilarating tide of heat was accompanied by a powerful wave of intense, erotic intimacy. She had never experienced anything like it. Vaguely she realized that her own talent was flaring in response to Rafe’s hot aura—not just flaring, but starting to resonate with it.
A storm broke in the green quartz chamber. Dark energy swirled in the atmosphere. Her bells shivered on invisible currents of fire and ice.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Rafe had picked up one of the crystal weapons. Another shock flashed through her when she realized that he had activated it. The artifact glowed with violent paranormal energy.
Before she could grasp the implications of what was happening, jagged bolts of psi lightning danced in the chamber. A great darkness filled the space. In the strobelike effects created by the bolts of energy Ella saw the three mobsters stiffen and jerk about wildly, again and again.
The green balls of ghost fire winked out of existence.
“Well, damn,” Rafe said very softly. “It’s a little stronger than I expected.” He tightened his grip on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
Trent and the two enforcers collapsed and did not move. Ella held her breath. She could not tell if the men were unconscious or dead.
The energy storm was still heating, threatening to overwhelm her senses. She wondered if Rafe had lost control of the weapon.
His hand was still on her shoulder, binding her to him. His forehead was damp with sweat, and when he looked at her she saw that his eyes burned with dark fire. She understood on a primal level that it was sexual heat she saw in his gaze.
The storm intensified. Lightning sparked in the walls. Rafe’s hand was a mag-steel chain on her shoulder, locking the two of them together. She knew then that their only hope of surviving the howling winds of paranormal fire was to maintain their physical connection. Together they could ride out the blast.
The tension she was feeling from head to toe was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She was a Siren. She was always in control. But she was breathing quickly now, as if she were running. There was a great tension deep inside her. She longed for release; ached for it. The most unnerving revelation of all was that her panties were damp.
It dawned on her that she was on the cliff edge of a truly shattering orgasm.
Frantically, she fought to regain control of her senses. What was happening had nothing to do with sex.
No sex involved.
The problem was that she had been flying high when Rafe had arrived and the ensuing excitement had rattled her already over-rezzed senses. That was all.
No sex involved. Just her overheated imagination and a heavy dose of adrenaline and other bio-psi chemicals coursing through her blood.
She could see that Rafe was fighting to lower his talent. She knew then that he was standing at the edge of the same damn cliff.
And in that moment she wanted nothing more than to take the leap with him. She held her breath.
Gradually, the fire in his ring faded. The Alien weapon abruptly stopped glowing.
Rafe groaned and took his hand off her shoulder. The place where his fingers had warmed her skin suddenly felt chilled. She wanted to reclaim the heat of his body. It was all she could do not to wrestle him to the floor. This is madness, she thought. What had happened to her?
She watched Rafe covertly, trying to ascertain if the side effects of his talent were business as usual as far as he was concerned.
He took a deep breath. “Sorry about that. Never know exactly what’s going to happen when you rez Alien tech.”
“Rafe . . . Mr. Coppersmith—” She broke off because she could not think of anything else to say.
Rafe paid no attention. He was suddenly very busy, moving around the room, collecting flamers, locators, spare amber, and knives from the three mobsters.
“Are you all right?” he asked over his shoulder.
She took another deep breath and let it out with control. She was a Morgan and she was a Siren. She could do control.
“Terrific,” she said. “You?”
Her control may have been excellent, but when he glanced at her, eyes tightening at the corners, she knew he had caught the thin, sharp edge of sarcasm in her voice. And he had the nerve to be amused.
She glanced at the artifact that he had just used. “You can activate Alien tech.”
“It’s a side effect of my talent. I’ve got an affinity for hot crystal and quartz. Since the aliens used those materials in their technology I can usually figure out intuitively how to activate their artifacts. But I prefer to do it under controlled conditions.”
“Did you know what those relics could do?”
“Not until I picked up one of them. We knew Vickary had come into possession of a couple of lethal artifacts and that he was planning to sell them. The idea was to take him down at the same time we grabbed Trent. You can see why I was a little irritated when you showed up here today.”
She raised her chin. “Why are you complaining? You’ve got Vickary, Trent, and those two goons. You should be thanking me.”
“For getting in the way? I don’t think so. You could have been killed. I don’t even want to think about the paperwork that would have involved.”
“That is not funny.”
“Sorry.” He ceased rummaging through Trent’s pockets and got to his feet. “We don’t have a lot of time. I left a message for the head of the task force. If I don’t check in from the surface and give the all clear soon, he’ll know things have gone south. He’ll send the team down here to see what went wrong. So unless you want to explain things to the head of the local branch of the FBPI, you’d better explain them to me.”
“You’re offering to leave me out of this?”
“My gut tells me you aren’t into the illegal tech business but my gut has been wrong before. Either way, you are a complication I’d rather do without. This job was about taking down Vickary and Trent. I’ve got you at the scene but I don’t have a real case against you.”
She drew a shaky breath. “Good to know.”
“But this is a one-time-only offer. Make up your mind and do it fast.”
“No problem. Your offer is accepted. Thanks.”
She gave him a fast version of events. When she was finished, he shook his head.
“You followed a dust bunny down here to rescue a bunch of other dust bunnies? What was that about? Read too many Little Amberina and the Dust Bunny stories when you were a kid?”
“Sure, blame it on my early reading habits.” She gestured toward the melted cages.
>
“That was your work?” he said. “What the hell did you do to the glass?”
The last thing she wanted to do was tell him the exact nature of her talent. No, she thought, that wasn’t the last thing she wanted to do. The very last thing she wanted to do was undergo an FBPI interrogation with the head of the task force. Her career was at stake. Better to answer Rafe’s questions.
“I’m a singer,” she said. “Not a professional musician. It’s my talent. Paranormal music, only. Can’t carry a tune when it comes to normal music, just ask my family. Glass has some unique properties as I’m sure you know. Hit the right notes out on the spectrum and it’s easy to shatter the stuff.”
“Your voice,” Rafe said. He regarded her with a thoughtful expression.
She frowned. “What about my voice?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . very nice, that’s all. Sort of musical or something. You sound like you could be a professional singer.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said firmly.
He glanced again at what was left of the cages. “That glass wasn’t shattered. Looks like it melted.”
She cleared her throat. “If I go far enough out on the spectrum I can melt glass.”
“And after you melted the glass you used your talent on Vickary.” Rafe whistled softly. “You’re a Siren, aren’t you?”
“Heavens, no,” she said briskly. “No such thing. Myth. Legend. Tales from the Old World. I’m just a fairly strong para-music talent. Actually, I’m in the dream counseling business.”
Rafe smiled slowly. There was a disturbingly intimate look in his eyes. “You might be in the dream counseling business but you’re a genuine Siren.”
“No, really—”
“I sensed the heat in your aura when I touched you. You’re powerful. Strong enough to melt glass and sing a man into a coma. That makes you a Siren, as far as I’m concerned.”
She braced herself, waiting for him to add the damning words. After all, everyone knew that Sirens fell into a unique category as far as history, legend, and para-shrinks were concerned—the category that contained psychic vampires. It was the Not Supposed to Exist, but If You Find One, Lock Her Up category.
Rafe moved on without further comment on her powers.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s how we’re going to do this. You were never down here, understand?”
“But when those men wake up they might remember me.”
“It’s unlikely they’ll remember much, if anything, about what happened just before I took them down. Unconsciousness often wipes out memories of what occurred just before the trauma. Can I assume your talent has a similar effect?”
For some reason the question outraged her, maybe because he asked it in such a matter-of-fact manner. She waved a hand at Vickary’s motionless body.
“How should I know?” she said. “It’s not like I go around doing things like this every week or so.”
“Right.” He nodded once, satisfied. “I think we can make this work. Even if one or two of them wake up with a few vague memories I should be able to convince Harding that the perps suffered hallucinations shortly before they passed out. I can tell him that’s a common side effect of my talent.”
Another jolt of dismay went through her. “Harding?”
“Joe Harding. He’s the special agent in charge of the local FBPI office. You’ve probably seen him in the media.”
“Oh, yeah. The hotshot FBPI guy who always cracks the high-profile cases. Seems like he’s on the evening news every couple of weeks.”
“That’s Hard Joe.” Amusement gleamed again in Rafe’s bird-of-prey eyes. “Ever since he caught a two-time wife killer at a big Covenant wedding a while back here in Crystal he’s been on a roll.”
“Uh-huh.”
There was a short, brittle pause. For a couple of seconds she dared to hope that Rafe wouldn’t make the connection. But when she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes she knew it was not going to be her lucky day.
“There was a hostage at the wedding, one of the bridesmaids.” Rafe looked dangerously intrigued now. “Bellamy put a mag-rez to her head and tried to haul her out a side door. That was when he had his very convenient stroke.”
“Mmm.”
“Well, well, well.” Rafe’s smile widened into a wolfish grin. “You were the bridesmaid, weren’t you?”
“I don’t see how that matters.”
“Not likely that there’s two full-blown Sirens in this town. I should have put it together sooner. Damn, you’re good, woman.”
“Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon you didn’t mention your brilliant deduction to Special Agent Harding.”
“No problem,” Rafe said easily. “My lips are sealed, et cetera, et cetera. Your talent is your business. Don’t worry, we’re used to keeping secrets in my family. Yours will be just one more.”
“Coppersmith.”
“What?”
“You said your name was Rafe Coppersmith.”
“Raphael Elias Coppersmith. Call me Rafe.”
“Would that be Coppersmith as in Coppersmith Mining, Inc.?”
“Yep.”
“Wow,” Ella said. She was genuinely shocked. “Your family controls most of the quartz and crystal mining industry. Why are you running around in the tunnels doing odd jobs for the Bureau? I should think your family would have other things for you to do.”
“Sure. But with my talent, all I’m really good at is finding deposits of hot quartz and crystal. It’s boring work for the most part, although it does have occasional moments of stark terror, as the saying goes. You know, much as I’d love to hang around and exchange life histories, I think you’d better get moving. I’ve got a few things to take care of before the task force arrives.”
“Sure, no problem, I’m on my way.” She headed for the door of the chamber.
“Remember, you were never here.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget.”
“One more thing,” Rafe added.
She froze in the doorway and looked back at him. “Damn, I knew this was too good to be true. You’re doing me a favor and you want something in exchange, don’t you?”
“Are you always so cynical?”
“I’m a realist.” She gave him a chilly, totally false smile. “Side effect of my talent.”
“Yeah? What does that have to do with being realistic? Hell, never mind. We can talk about it later. As it happens, you’re right, I am doing you a favor today. Don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t. So, what do you want in exchange for letting me go?”
“How about a date?”
She went blank. “A date?”
“We could have coffee and swap life histories.”
“Are you serious?”
His eyes heated a little. “Definitely.”
“I thought you had concluded that I’m a Siren.”
“I like music, so sue me.” He shrugged. “About that date for coffee?”
A frisson of recklessness sparkled through her. “Why not?”
“It’s a deal.”
“You don’t even know my name.”
“It won’t be hard to find out. All I have to do is look up the details about the Wife Killer wedding.”
“It’s Ella. Ella Morgan.”
He smiled. “I’ll call soon, Ella.”
She fled before either of them could change their minds. The utility sled was right where she had left it. She jumped up onto the bench seat and rezzed the little motor.
She fought back the giddy wave of excitement and forced herself to think clearly and logically about what had just happened. Rafe Coppersmith would never call. He had been riding a tide of after-burn energy, just as she was. The side effects that followed a heavy expenditure of talent were well-known. It sometimes heightened sexual desire in both men and women, which, in turn, led to rash decisions and poor judgment. When Rafe sobered up he would realize that the last thing he wanted was a date wi
th her. After all, he knew what she was.
According to Morgan family tradition, men generally had one of two reactions to Sirens. They either developed a sick, dangerous obsession with them or they ran like hell.
Rafe didn’t look crazy so she doubted that he went in for freaky obsessions. That meant he would probably turn out to be the other kind.
Just as well, she thought. The fact that he had guessed her secrets had probably doomed the chances of any long-term, meaningful relationship from the outset.
When he came down off the rush generated by adrenaline and paranormal heat, Rafe would think twice about dating a Siren. He would do what any smart man would do—run like hell.
Chapter 5
“Mom, I’ve got to go. I ordered a pizza for dinner and it’s due to arrive any minute.”
“All right,” Sophia said. But she sounded deeply reluctant. A coloratura soprano, she was capable of infusing even her speaking voice with over-the-top operatic emotion. Maternal concern shimmered in her words. “You’re sure you’re going to be all right on your own tonight?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom. But I’m exhausted. I need some rest.”
“But what about that FBPI agent? You said he suspected that you were a you-know-what. If he tells his superiors, you’ll probably end up on some FBPI watch list. Everyone knows law enforcement likes to keep an eye on certain kinds of talents.”
Ella reminded herself that her mother was a longtime subscriber to the Curtain. Fans of the paper were inclined toward conspiracy theories.
“I don’t think he’ll tell anyone about me,” Ella said. She was not sure why she was certain that Rafe would keep his suspicions about her Siren talent a secret, but her intuition told her she could trust his promise. “For one thing, he’s not an actual FBPI agent. He’s a private consultant. He doesn’t have the same obligations to the Bureau that an agent would have to his superiors. Besides, it’s not a crime to be a strong talent. He’s pretty damn powerful himself.”
“Well, that probably explains why the FBPI recruited him. According to the Curtain, the Bureau uses all sorts of dangerous mega-talents to run secret, off-the-books operations in the Underworld.”