Dark Light

by Randy Wayne White

  “I want you. Given your special intuition, you know that already.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  He slowed for a light. “I’d also like to make it clear that my feelings for you have nothing to do with any scheme to use your talent. Hell, I didn’t even know you were psychic until tonight.”

  “I know.”

  He drove through the intersection and turned toward the Quarter. “I can’t claim to be highly intuitive, but I’ve had the feeling from the beginning that the attraction between us goes both ways. Am I wrong?”

  “No.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said quickly.

  “Yes, you are. I can feel it.”

  The fog was growing heavier as they drove deeper into the Quarter. Infused with the psi that emanated from the great quartz wall around the ruins, it glowed a luminous green.

  “Okay,” she said. “Maybe I am a little afraid.”

  His jaw hardened. “Of me?”

  “No. Of myself. I nearly made a disastrous mistake with Jonathan. I don’t want to repeat it.”

  “We’re married, Sierra. I know that as far as you’re concerned, it’s just a business arrangement, but I’m taking it seriously. What about you? Can I expect you to honor those vows we made yesterday? Or are you brooding about Pemberley?”

  Anger pulsed through her, sharp and driven by pain. She had just opened a vein for him, and he had the nerve to mention Jonathan.

  “No, I am not brooding about Jonathan,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in a short-term affair with you or anyone else.”

  He opened the massive steel gates and drove up the long drive in front of the mansion. “I’m not looking for short-term, either.”

  “Don’t try to tell me you’re looking for long-term. We just met yesterday, remember? We hardly know each other. Besides, your first priority at the moment is the Guild.”

  “So much for your great intuition.”

  She folded her arms around herself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that right now my top priority is you. You are one badly rattled reporter.”

  “I’m not rattled,” she said through her teeth. “I just need some time to recover from the psychic shock I got when I met Troy Patterson.”

  He drove into the garage, de-rezzed the engine, and turned in the seat to face her.

  “Any idea why Patterson had such a strong effect on you?” he asked quietly.

  She stared straight ahead through the window. “Yes.”

  “Care to explain?”

  “I don’t think this is a good time. I need sleep.”

  For a moment she thought he was going to keep her prisoner in the front seat of the Raptor until she told him why she had overreacted to Patterson. But to her great relief, he finally nodded once and opened the door.

  “Let’s go inside,” he said. “I’ve got what you need. My special tonic.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  Elvis greeted them when they came through the back door. He bounced around, muttering cheerfully. He still wore the white cape she had put on him earlier before leaving the mansion.

  Sierra scooped him up. “Did you miss me?”

  Elvis rumbled happily and scrambled up to her shoulder.

  Fontana crossed the room and opened an ornately designed cupboard. He took out a bottle and two glasses. She smiled a little.

  “Brandy is your special tonic?” she asked.

  “Works wonders.”

  He splashed some into each glass.

  She accepted one of the glasses from him and took a swallow. Then she immediately took another. The heat felt good. Restlessly, she started to prowl the room. Fontana drank some of his own brandy and watched her.

  She stopped in front of a display of radiant green urns and took another sip.

  Fontana propped one shoulder against a paneled wall, saying nothing.

  Gradually, the tension within her began to fade. Perspective, or what felt a lot like it, returned. When she reached the opposite end of the gallery, she came to a halt. She held up her half-empty glass and examined it closely.

  “You know, Fontana, I think you may have something here.”

  “Thanks. But I should warn you that the brandy can hit hard when you’re rezzed on psi and adrenaline.”

  “Hmm. You think that’s what got me tonight when you introduced me to Patterson? A heavy dose of adrenaline?”

  “That and a strong shot of whatever biochemicals are involved when your psychic senses get stressed to the max. Probably not that much different from what happens to a hunter who melts amber.”

  “I don’t think it’s quite the same thing,” she said smoothly. “I’ve heard tales about what happens when hunters melt amber.”

  He smiled. “Is that right? What have you heard?”

  She drank some more brandy and leaned down to study the glowing objects in a display case.

  “First you get really, really lusty,” she said. Good grief. Was she flirting with him?

  “There is a strong afterburn effect,” he conceded.

  She straightened and looked at him. “I’ve heard that not every hunter is powerful enough to rez the kind of energy it takes to actually melt amber.”

  He swirled the brandy in his glass. “That’s true.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “What do you think?”

  She smiled. “Oh, yes. My intuition says you’re definitely strong enough to do it.”

  He drank a little more of his brandy.

  “So, do you do it a lot?” she asked, going for wide-eyed innocence. It was a look her brothers assured her that she did very well.

  “Melt amber?” Fontana shook his head. “As infrequently as possible.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “There are a couple of major downsides to using the kind of energy it takes to burn through a chunk of tuned amber.”

  She leaned one hip against the corner of the display case, letting the slit in the green gown fall open along the length of one thigh. “Such as?”

  “Well, for one thing, it makes the amber unusable until it can be retuned.” He studied her thigh. “When you’re underground, you don’t like to lose good amber.”

  “What else?”

  “The burn stage doesn’t last long. Less than an hour.”

  She smiled knowingly. “An hour is a long time when it comes to some things.”

  “Yes, but you pay a heavy price for the good time. After the burn comes the crash. It can last for several hours.”

  “You mean you go to sleep afterward? I’ve heard that’s pretty common with men.”

  “It isn’t an ordinary sleep. It’s more like going unconscious. Nothing can keep you awake.” He examined his brandy. “When you’re out like that, you’re . . . vulnerable.”

  “Vulnerable,” she repeated, tasting the word. She no longer felt like flirting. “As in, someone like Troy Patterson could sneak up and kill you?”

  “As in.”

  “Okay, I can see why you wouldn’t want to go out of your way to burn amber.” She looked down at her own glass. “I think I can go to sleep now.”

  He came toward her through the glowing shadows of the gallery. He looked wonderful in this room, she thought; a man of power surrounded by objects of power.

  She smiled again. “You know, you are the sexiest man I’ve ever met.”

  “Try to remember that in the morning.”

  She pouted. “You think I’m drunk?”

  “No. I think you’re about to crash.”

  He picked her up in his arms and started toward the door. She rested her head against his shoulder and inhaled his scent.

  “You smell good, too,” she whispered.

  “So do you.”

  She was vaguely aware of being carried up the grand sta
ircase. She snuggled closer, wondering if he was taking her to his room. She did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he walked into the guest bedroom.

  He set her on her feet, turned her around, and unzipped the green gown.

  “You’re undressing me,” she said, watching the satin pool at her feet.

  He picked up the gown and put it carefully across the back of a chair. “This is as far as I go.”

  “Oh. Well, I suppose it’s for the best.”

  “That’s what I’m telling myself.”

  She kicked off her shoes and sank down onto the bed, yawning. He pulled a quilt up to cover her. She closed her eyes. Elvis hopped up beside her and settled down at her feet.

  “I lied when I said I didn’t know why I freaked out so badly after that encounter with Patterson,” she confessed.

  She did not open her eyes, but she felt Fontana go still beside the bed.

  “Did you?” he asked.

  “The reason I had that little panic attack was because of you.”

  “I caused it?” His voice was perfectly neutral, utterly drained of all emotion.

  “Well, sort of.” She turned on her side and pulled the quilt to her chin. “When I realized how much of a threat Patterson was to you, I understood something else, as well.”

  “What was that?”

  “How much I’m attracted to you, even though I swore I’d never get involved with a man who was so much like everyone else in my family. I can’t seem to help myself. It wasn’t the thought of Patterson wanting to murder someone that gave me a panic attack. It was the realization that he wanted to murder you in particular that did it.”

  “Sierra.”

  “Good night, Fontana.”

  She thought she heard him say something else, but it was too late. She was already plunging down into the warm oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter 21

  SHE CAME AWAKE ON A SURGE OF ADRENALINE. HEART pounding, she sat straight up in bed, trying to shake off the sense of disorientation. Get a grip. You’re in Fontana’s house. That’s why the room doesn’t look familiar.

  But common sense wasn’t having any effect on her intuition. Everything inside her was shrieking at her to get out of the room, or, if all else failed, to hide under the bed. Run.

  Evidently the medicinal effects of the brandy had worn off. This panic attack was worse than the one she’d had earlier at the Crystal Ball. She was practically jumping out of her skin. Every hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. She could hardly breathe.

  A familiar rumbling sound caught her attention. In the luminous light that filtered through the windows she saw Elvis. He was at the foot of the bed, fur sleeked, all four eyes gleaming.

  The bedroom door opened with terrifying softness; a figure glided silently through the opening. She would have screamed, but her throat was paralyzed.

  “Get up,” Fontana said very softly. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  Dazed, she shoved aside the covers. Fontana was dressed in what looked like a black T-shirt, black trousers, and black boots. He gripped a short, cylindrical object in one hand.

  “What is it?” she whispered. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone got through the security system. More than one person, I think.” He opened her closet. “They’re on the grounds and moving toward the house. If they got this far, they’ll be able to get inside. Since I have no way of knowing how many of them there are, we’re leaving. Here, put these on.”

  He tossed a pair of jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and the casual loafers she had brought with her to the mansion down onto the bed. Then he went to the window, flattened himself against the wall, and looked out into the green mist.

  She realized that she was still wearing her lacy black bra, panties, and panty hose. The panty hose had to go. You couldn’t run for your life in panty hose.

  She got rid of the panty hose, pulled on the jeans, and then jerked the turtleneck down over her head. She shoved her feet into the loafers.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.” Since when had she started sounding breathless? “Where are we going? The garage?”

  “No.”

  “A safe room?” Her heart plummeted. She couldn’t stand the thought of being locked up in some tiny space while they waited for the cops to arrive.

  “There is no safe room. But don’t worry; there’s a way out.”

  He went toward the door. She got a closer look at what he held in his hand. It was a wicked-looking mag-rez.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that,” she said.

  Instinctively, she grabbed her glasses, her purse, and Elvis, and followed Fontana out into the unlit hall. There was enough vague light coming through the clerestory windows to illuminate the corridor.

  “I didn’t hear any alarms,” she said.

  “The entire ambertronic system is down.”

  “You mean none of that fancy security stuff is working?”

  “I’m definitely going to have a few words with the company that installed it when this is finished.”

  Another icy shiver slipped down her spine. “The whole house is wide open?”

  “Not yet. In addition to the high-tech stuff, the doors have old-fashioned mechanical locks. But if they got this far, it’s safe to assume they’ll be able to get through the bolts.”

  “If the security system is out, how did you know there were intruders on the grounds?”

  “The heavy psi. Can’t you feel it?”

  “Sorry, all I can feel is my own pulse,” she said.

  “I’m a hunter. I’m especially sensitive to dissonance energy. Trust me when I tell you there’s a lot of it in the vicinity.”

  “What’s so unusual about that? There’s always plenty of background energy here in the Quarter.”

  “Not this much.” He halted at the window at the end of the hall. “Take a look.”

  She hurried forward. Heavy fog cloaked the gardens, but the mist wasn’t glowing with the usual green psi.

  “What in the world?” she said.

  “You’re looking at ultraviolet psi energy,” Fontana said. “Someone is generating a wide beam of it. That’s what knocked out my security system.”

  Figures moved in the glowing mist; shadowy forms with two legs and bulbous heads.

  “Hank’s fish-headed aliens,” she said. “Night Riders. But how are they managing to pull so much dissonance energy?”

  “You know those rumors in the Curtain about the discovery of a secret alien lab? Got a hunch there might be something to them.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

  “Let’s move. They’ll be inside any minute now.”

  She pushed hard to tamp down her rising panic. “Any chance this could be about stealing your antiquities collection?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “They want us dead, don’t they?”

  “I think we’d better assume that, yes.”

  “So much for your theory that the threat of the Chamber coming down on the Crystal Guild would provide protection for both of us.”

  “Those guys are Night Riders, not Guild men,” Fontana said. “Evidently they don’t know enough to be afraid of the Chamber.”

  He opened a nearby door, revealing a narrow, tightly wound spiral staircase. An awful, sinking sensation that had nothing to do with aliens and Night Riders seized her.

  “Ah, jeez,” she said. “Please don’t tell me we’re going down into the catacombs.”

  “Safest way out. One of the reasons I bought the place. Never know when you’re going to need an escape route.”

  He started down the staircase, descending into darkness.

  “No offense,” she said, gripping the banister, “but does it strike you that your statement might make you sound a trifle paranoid?”

  “A healthy dose of paranoia is part of the standard Guild boss job description.”

  “I can understand that.”
r />   “Close the door and throw the lock. I’ve got a flashlight.”

  She swallowed hard and locked the door behind her. With Elvis on one shoulder and her purse slung over the other, she started down into the inky depths. She heard a small snick. The narrow beam of Fontana’s flashlight shafted through the darkness. She got a little dizzy when she realized she could not see the bottom of the stairwell.

  Don’t think about it, just keep moving. That’s the key.

  Elvis clutched her shoulder with his hind paws, holding on tight but not sinking his tiny claws into her. She sensed his highly rezzed, battle-ready tension. It wasn’t all that different from what she was picking up from Fontana. Males. Always ready to rumble.

  Halfway down, she heard a muffled explosion overhead. A low roaring followed.

  “What in the world was that?” she whispered.

  “Sounds like the bastards just set fire to my house.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “That’s probably what my insurance company is going to say, too. It wasn’t easy talking them into giving a Guild boss a policy in the first place.”

  “But if the house is on fire, that means we can’t go back up these stairs,” she wailed.

  “Don’t worry, there are other ways out of the catacombs.”

  But to get to one of those exits, they would have to travel underground, perhaps for a long distance. On the surface, the next hole-in-the-wall or an official gate might be only a couple of blocks away. But in the underworld, things were different. She’d heard enough about the strange maze of tunnels to know that there were no direct routes anywhere. Furthermore, only a tiny percentage of the vast network of catacombs had been charted. To say nothing of the hazards of illusion traps and drifting ghosts.

  “You okay?” Fontana asked.

  She took a deep breath. “I’m okay.”

  Suck it up, woman, you’re an investigative reporter. Act like one.

  The staircase wound deeper beneath the old mansion. She was getting dizzy watching Fontana’s light spiral endlessly away into the shadows. She tried not to think about the tomblike darkness that surrounded her.

  Eventually the twisting beam of light halted. Her head was spinning so badly she had to grip the metal banister with both hands to keep from stumbling into Fontana.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, steadying her.