Canyons of Night

by Jayne Castle

  She picked up the paperweight. Her senses were still a little jacked. She did not notice that the object was starting to lose its opaque quality until she was just about to set it on the shelf inside the old safe.

  The first hints of a small scene appeared inside the glass dome. She had seen similar images in old photos in the Arcane Society Museum. The tiny, exquisitely detailed Old World cityscape was complete, with a stately clock tower and imposing buildings. It was familiar to anyone who had grown up within Arcane.

  London, England. Late Nineteenth Century, Old World Date. The era was known to historians and antiquities experts as the Victorian Age.

  Chapter 14

  SLADE CONTEMPLATED THE ANTIQUE OBJECT FOR A long time. She watched him from the other side of the table, aware that he was running a little hot. So was she. It seemed to her that their jacked-up auras, combined with the radiation from the nondescript artifact that sat between them made the atmosphere inside the shop feel thick and ominous, like the energy of an oncoming storm.

  After a while Slade looked up and fixed her with his cop eyes.

  “You’re telling me that this might be the artifact that Gaines wanted you to find for him? The one he broke in here to steal?”

  “I think so,” Charlotte said. “I know it doesn’t look like much but that’s not unusual when it comes to paranormal objects. Watch what happens when I generate a little energy.”

  She put her fingers on the dome and heightened her senses. The glass cleared, slowly revealing the miniature landscape.

  “Doesn’t look like any city I’ve ever seen,” Slade said. “Are you sure that’s the Old World town where Jones & Jones was founded?”

  “I verified it on the computer. That clock tower was a chiming clock. The bell was nicknamed Big Ben.”

  “Big Ben who?”

  “Darned if I know who Ben was. But I’m positive that’s the city that was home to Arcane and J&J in what was known as the Victorian Era.”

  “Who was Victoria?”

  “An ancient queen, I think. She ruled during the period when J&J was founded.”

  “You’re sure the snow globe is authentic and not a replica?”

  “Trust me, it’s the real thing.”

  “There’s no snow,” Slade said.

  “Well, this globe is hundreds of years old. It’s hardly surprising that it no longer produces fake snow. But there is a lot of energy embedded in that thing. I’ve never come across anything like it.”

  “Must be worth a fortune.”

  “Oh, yes.” She smiled. “I sent an email to the lawyer who handled Mrs. Lambert’s estate. My main concern is that this is all a mistake. I wouldn’t be surprised if this object was supposed to go into the museum collection. I can’t risk putting it on the market until I know for sure that it’s mine to sell.”

  “I can sense that it’s giving off some energy,” Slade said. “But I don’t recognize it.”

  She understood what he meant. Power was power, and most sensitives could pick up on the vibes when there was a lot of it around. But by definition a talent could only recognize—and work—the ultralight currents that emanated from the distinct narrow bands on the paranormal spectrum to which he or she was personally sensitive.

  “If we’re right about Gaines, he dealt in para-weapons,” Slade said. “Do you think this globe might be weapons-grade?”

  “No,” she said, on firm ground now. “It’s certainly powerful but it doesn’t feel like any para-weapon I’ve ever handled.”

  Slade smiled faintly. “How many have you touched?”

  “Very few. One doesn’t come across them very often in my end of the business. But I have come in contact with some and I can tell you that this energy feels different. I’m sure it’s as strong as any weapons-grade artifact but I don’t think it was designed to kill. At least, not all by itself.”

  “What does it do?”

  “This is going to sound strange but it feels a bit like a generator or an engine.”

  Slade picked up the globe and held it to the light. “Maybe it was meant to power or fuel a weapon.”

  “That’s possible. But even though it isn’t a para-weapon I can assure you that Jeremy would have wanted to get his hands on it simply because of its enormous value.”

  “Priceless?”

  It was her turn to be amused. “I learned long ago that there is no such thing as priceless, not in my business. No matter how rare or valuable an object is, there is always a price and always some collector willing to pay it.”

  “And maybe one or two who would be willing to kill for it?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Slade raised his brows. “You know, until I met you I had no idea that the antique trade was such a rough business.”

  “It has its moments.”

  He set the globe back down on the table. “And this particular almost-priceless object might be yours.”

  “I’m trying not to get my hopes up. Logic tells me it was supposed to go to the museum.”

  “Looks like I now have my motive for murder.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Slade put his fingertips on the globe. Energy crackled briefly in the atmosphere. “I told you that I don’t recognize the psi emanating from this thing, but I do recognize some of the residue on it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He took his hand off the globe and looked at her.

  “More than one person has died while clutching this globe,” he said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. There are several layers of violent energy. But the most recent one is at least forty years old.”

  “The globe was probably tucked away in Mrs. Lambert’s personal vault for the past forty years,” Charlotte said. “It’s too late now to ask her how she acquired it. She seemed like such a nice old lady. Maybe I don’t really want to know how it came into her possession.”

  “You did say that sometimes it’s best not to know too much about someone. She never mentioned that she intended to leave the globe to you?”

  “No.” Charlotte sighed. “Which is why I suspect that it will soon be going to the Arcane museum. But who knows? I might get lucky. Maybe the lawyer will tell me that Mrs. Lambert wanted me to have it.”

  “Meanwhile it needs to be held in safekeeping.”

  “It just so happens that years ago my aunt installed a fabulous old Greenleaf amber-lock safe in this shop. There is certainly more sophisticated technology on the market now but no one has ever crafted better locks.”

  “I’ve come across a few Greenleaf safes in my time. They’re solid. Sounds like a good place to store the globe.”

  Chapter 15

  “IF I NEVER EAT ANOTHER SLICE OF ZUCCHINI BREAD again in my entire life, I don’t think I’ll mind,” Charlotte said.

  “I believe Rex now considers it a staple of his diet.” Slade switched on the small flashlight he had taken out of the pack slung over his shoulder. “He’s going to be crushed when the season is over.”

  “I’m sure he’ll move on. He’s a dust bunny. He lives in the moment.”

  “Zucchini issues aside, dinner was good tonight. I liked the way you fixed the tomatoes.”

  “Thanks. But I gotta tell you, I’m even running out of things to do with tomatoes. Luckily Mrs. Duncan says her broccoli, kale, and peas are coming in nicely so we should have some changes in the menu soon.”

  “I’ve never been a broccoli fan and I wouldn’t know what to do with kale,” Slade said.

  “You wash it, dry it, cut it up, toss it with olive oil and salt, and then you roast it in the oven until it gets all crispy.”

  “Yeah?” Slade sounded skeptical.

  “Tastes just like potato chips.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Slade said politely.

  “You’ll see. I’ll fix some for you as soon as Mrs. Duncan brings me a batch.”

  “Deal.”

  There had been a little light left in the sky
when they had set out from her cottage in Slade’s SUV. But darkness was coming on fast as they walked into the trees at the end of Merton Road. Rex, clutch purse in paw, was bobbing about at their feet, dashing hither and yon to investigate interesting rocks and clumps of vegetation. Occasionally he disappeared altogether into the undergrowth only to reappear a short time later with some small treasure—a rock or a flower—to show them.

  The night seemed filled with promise. Charlotte was intensely aware of a sparkling sense of anticipation, as if an important door was about to open and everything in her life was going to change. She hadn’t felt anything like this since the night she had gone into the Preserve with Slade fifteen years ago. No, she reminded herself, she had experienced it on one other occasion. That was the morning last week when she stood with the others and watched Slade walk off the ferry to take the chief’s job.

  It only went to show how poor her intuition was, she thought, because when you got right down to it, nothing had changed after those other two encounters.

  Nevertheless, she felt thrilled tonight. There was no other word for it.

  “I’m really excited about this, you know,” she confided.

  Slade smiled his faint smile. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “I don’t get out much.”

  “Nobody does around here, as far as I can tell. Probably because there’s no place to go.”

  “I’m not talking about traveling or entertainment. I meant that I’ve had a hard time doing the really interesting things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I told you that my family expected me to end up selling antiques. They were right. But fifteen years ago my secret dream was to become a para-archaeologist and work in one of the Arcane museums.”

  “I remember. I take it that didn’t work out for you.”

  “I got my degree and I applied to the Arcane museums in each of the four city-states and all of the regular public and private museums as well. But every single one of them turned me down.”

  “Did they give you a reason?”

  “Just the usual sorry, we don’t need your particular talents at this time crap. But I did some investigating on my own and found out the truth. My rainbow-reading ability isn’t considered useful in the field. I’ve got a good feel for identifying para-artifacts and antiques, but that’s hardly unique. There are people with a lot more specific talent for that kind of thing.”

  “What about that tuning trick you do?” Slade asked.

  “That’s just it. Everyone considers it a neat trick, a novelty. But I can’t even use it to tune standard resonating amber for focusing purposes. It doesn’t work that way. The fact is, my little trick has no academic-related uses.”

  “Just good for selling art and antiques?”

  “Yes. I can’t complain. It’s worked out very well for me from a financial point of view. And I really do enjoy the work. My family was very relieved when I made the decision to go into the business.”

  “Why?”

  “They were afraid that working with some of the seriously powerful antiquities in museum collections would cause me to have more panic attacks.” She paused. “Me being so damn delicate and all.”

  There was a long silence before Slade finally spoke.

  “You’re not the only one who got slapped with that label,” he said. “I did, too.”

  “What?” Startled, she glanced at him. “Are you serious? There’s nothing delicate about you.”

  “Cut me some slack here.” He managed to sound hurt. “I may be a cop but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”

  She laughed. “You know what I mean. You were an FBPI agent and you worked for that special Office and now you’re a police chief investigating a murder by paranormal means. Somehow I just can’t see anyone labeling you as delicate.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  The silence that fell between them was longer this time. Charlotte sensed that Slade regretted having gone down this particular conversational path. She pulled up the collar of her jacket and waited to see if he would tell her the rest of the story.

  The night was cool but not cold. She was dressed for the trip into the forbidden zone in jeans, a sweater, and a jacket. She listened to the sounds of the gathering night. Small creatures chirped in the grass. A light breeze sighed through the branches and boughs and rustled leaves. Birds called in the trees.

  Slade did not speak.

  In the end she couldn’t stand not knowing.

  “Okay, okay, who called you delicate?” she asked.

  At first she thought he was not going to answer the question. But he must have concluded that, since he had brought up the subject and since she had answered his questions, he owed her some sort of response.

  “A team of doctors and para-shrinks at a clinic,” he said.

  “Oh, geez.” She stopped, stunned, and stared at him, trying to read his profile in the low light. “Talk about a career-killer for someone in your line. I don’t believe it. You have got to be kidding.”

  “No.” Slade halted. He did not turn to face her. Instead he gazed steadily ahead at the trees that marked the boundary of the Preserve. “Although to be fair, I don’t think delicate was the exact word that was used in the file. The terms were unstable and deteriorating and a few others in the same vein. But the result was the same. Everyone concluded that I was no longer fit for the kind of work that I do. That I did. The official story is that I’m taking time off until my senses heal.”

  “But?”

  “But the para-shrinks and the doctors don’t think there’s a chance in hell that I’ll ever regain the full use of my talent. In fact, things are expected to get worse.”

  “What happened?”

  “Long story,” Slade said.

  She knew from his tone that he was not in the mood to tell her the rest. Not yet.

  “Right,” she said. “But I have to tell you, you are not psychically delicate.”

  “Yeah? And just how would you know that?”

  “Beats me. It’s part of what I do. I’ve seen your rainbow when you’re partially jacked. Everything looked clear, strong, and stable. If your senses were deteriorating, that fact would be reflected in the primary ultralight colors that I saw.”

  “I thought you said I looked conflicted.”

  “I did sense that, but the rainbow itself was strong.”

  “I’m sure the para-shrinks would be interested to know that an antiques dealer has declared me not delicate.”

  The icy edge on the words was enough to silence her.

  “Not much farther now.” Slade started walking again. He aimed the narrow beam of the flashlight at the ground in front of her. “You’ll feel the fence soon.”

  Time to shut up about his aura rainbow, she thought. He had a right to his secrets.

  The first shiver of dark, ominous energy whispered across her senses. Like a warning shot over the bow, she thought. They were moving through the trees now. The woods seemed to close in more tightly around them and the atmosphere darkened.

  “You’re right,” she said. “The fence energy feels different tonight. It’s much stronger.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “Why do I suddenly know how Little Amber Riding Hood felt when she started out to Grandmother’s house?” she said. “Or maybe I’m thinking of Hansel and Gretel.”

  “There was a reason why forests have always been considered dangerous places in fairy tales,” Slade said. “And this particular forest has never been explored. Add in the nexus factor and whatever the hell that fence is supposed to be protecting, and you’re dealing with a lot of unknowns here.”

  The flickers of energy intensified, jangling her nerves. It was like brushing against a lot of small, live wires. She flinched and gritted her teeth against a near-painful jolt.

  “Lot of hot psi, too,” she gasped.

  “For the next few yards we’ll be walking through a heavy psi-storm. My advice is to run a little hot
until we’re through the force field. That seems to ward off the worst of the effects, at least for me. Speak up if you want to turn back.”

  “I will not be turning back,” she said briskly.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “But it is definitely hotter than it was fifteen years ago.”

  “Yes.”

  Cautiously she elevated her senses. The downside was that she could now perceive the psychic electricity that flashed and crackled in the atmosphere. She understood why the Preserve had a reputation for being haunted. Anyone who got this far through the barrier could be excused for believing that there were howling, wailing apparitions everywhere. The sensations were disturbing and oppressive and flat-out scary.

  The upside of walking with her senses slightly heightened was that Slade was right. Running a little jacked dampened some of the terrible sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

  Slade took her hand and squeezed it tightly. The psi-fire faded even more with the physical contact. She realized that he was using some of his energy field to shield her.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes, thanks.”

  The psychic noise caused by the screaming phantoms was more tolerable now.

  “Not much farther.” Slade gripped her hand more firmly. “There’s Rex.”

  She looked down and saw Rex trotting calmly through the energy field, evening clutch gripped in one paw. All four eyes were open and he was half-sleeked but there was no indication that he was experiencing any discomfort.

  “The force field is probably tuned only to human psi frequencies,” Charlotte observed. “Then again, what else could they be tuned to? No one has ever figured out how to measure animal psi.”

  They moved out of the trees and into a small meadow. The disturbing energy field winked out with disconcerting suddenness. The psychic scream inside her head fell silent. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least the experience hadn’t triggered a panic attack, she thought.