After Dark (6 page)

Alarm flashed in her eyes. “Why not?”

“There isn't time to go into it now.”

“Wait just one damn minute here.” Her voice heated swiftly. “I've got plans to talk to three more antique shop owners today.”

“Forget them.”

“But—”

He turned to face her. “That is a direct order, Miss Smith. I don't want you making any more inquiries on my behalf concerning the cabinet until we've discussed the matter tonight. Is that understood?”

Most people backed down when he used that tone. Lydia's jaw tightened, but she did not give so much as an inch.

“No,” she said, “it is not understood.”

“Let's get something clear here. I'm the client. I'm telling you that I will not pay you another cent if you continue talking to dealers about the cabinet.”

“But we have a contract,” she protested.

“Paint your wall, Miss Smith. I'll pick you up tonight at seven.”

“S
O WHO'S THIS
guy you're going out with tonight?” Zane Hoyt helped himself to a can of Curtain Cola from Lydia's small refrigerator. “Someone you met at the museum?”

“Sort of. He's a new client.” Lydia peered into the hall mirror and adjusted the gold hoop in her ear. “It's a business meeting, not a date.”

“Sounds boring.”

Whatever else Emmett London was, Lydia thought, he was definitely not boring. She met Zane's gaze in the mirror and smiled.

Zane had just turned thirteen. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he was slim, energetic, and hitting the awkward stage when he badly needed a man's firm hand on his shoulder. Unfortunately, there was no adult male in the picture. His father, a ghost-hunter, had been killed years ago in the catacombs. His mother had died in a drunk-driving accident shortly thereafter. Zane was being raised by his aunt, Olinda Hoyt. They lived downstairs on the third floor.

The majority of Lydia's so-called friends and colleagues at the University had disappeared after the Lost Weekend incident. Zane and Olinda had befriended Lydia at a time when she had found herself badly in need of friends. She was deeply grateful.

“The important thing is that Mr. London is going to pay me big bucks to help him find a lost family heirloom,” Lydia said.

“Huh. Still sounds boring.” Zane paused hopefully. “Unless we're talking about something from the catacombs?”

“Nope. It's an Old Earth antique.”

“Why do you want to mess around with Old Earth stuff? I thought you wanted to get back underground.”

“I do. But before I can attract that kind of business, I need to establish my reputation as a private consultant. That means I'll take any business I can get.”

“I guess.” Zane took a swallow of cola and wrinkled his nose. “So is it okay for me to study here tonight with Fuzz while you're out?”

“Sure.” Anything to encourage his educational efforts, Lydia thought. “Fuzz enjoys the company.”

Zane was a budding dissonance-energy para-rez. Unless he was forcibly prodded into a different path, his career prospects were all too obvious. It was almost a given that he would join the Guild when he turned eighteen and become a ghost-hunter. To make matters worse, he was thrilled with the image of himself in leather and khaki.

Lydia was doing her utmost to discourage him. At best, ghost-hunters were little more than high-priced body-guards, in her opinion. Bodyguards, furthermore, who could not be depended upon in a crunch, as she had discovered at her own expense six months ago. At worst, they were gangsters.

Zane was too bright to waste his life in a dead-end muscle job. She might not be able to keep him from doing some ghost-hunting on the side, but she was determined that he get a college degree and study a respectable profession.

She sat down in the chair across from him. “Zane, before Mr. London gets here, I want to ask you a question. This is real serious, okay? So please don't tease me.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Something wrong?”

“Maybe. Last night someone summoned a ghost and sent it into my bedroom to frighten me. Today, at work, I got a weird phone call about it. I think it must have been someone from the neighborhood. Any idea who it was?”

Zane sputtered on a mouthful of cola. “Are you kidding? None of the guys I hang with are strong enough yet to actually summon a ghost.”

“How about one of the older boys? Derrick or Rich?”

Zane took another swig of his soda while he pondered that. “Jeez, I dunno, Lyd. I don't think so. Maybe it's someone new in the area.”

“I was afraid you'd say that,” Lydia muttered.

“A lot of the guys would probably
tell
you they could do it, but don't believe 'em. They like to flash a lot of amber around, but I've never actually seen any of 'em do much except maybe get a couple of flickers going.” Zane eyed her closely. “You sure that wasn't what you saw? Some flickers?”

“Positive.” Lydia knew that Zane and his buddies used the word “flickers” to describe the tiny, harmless scraps of energy that were too small to be classified as real ghosts. They lasted, on average, for only a few seconds before winking out of existence. They were too little and too weak to be manipulated. Even the youngest and weakest hunters could summon flickers by the time they reached puberty.

“You're sure it was a real ghost?” Zane looked doubtful.

“Trust me on this, Zane. If there's one thing I can recognize on sight, it's a real ghost.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said much too quickly. “I believe you, Lyd.”

But she caught the flash of concern in his gaze and knew what he was thinking. Zane was her friend and loyal defender, but deep down he, too, was worried that she had been badly damaged by whatever she had experienced during her Lost Weekend in the catacombs.

Until she got back underground and faced a few traps, she could not prove to herself or anyone else that she wasn't going to crack under pressure.

The knock on the front door interrupted her before she could grill Zane further.

“That will be my hot date.” She started to get to her feet.

But Zane leaped off the sofa and charged toward the door. “I'll get it.”

He opened the door with a flourish. There was a moment of acute silence while man and boy regarded each other.

“Hello,” Emmett said. “I'm here to pick up Lydia.”

Zane grinned. “Hi. I'm a friend of Lydia's. Zane. Zane Hoyt.”

“Nice to meet you, Zane. I'm Emmett London.” Emmett glanced at the large chunk of amber that hung around Zane's neck. “Nice necklace.”

“Thanks. I'm a dissonance-energy para-rez. Gonna join the Guild and become a ghost-hunter when I turn eighteen.”

“That right?” Emmett asked politely.

Lydia frowned. “You're only thirteen, Zane. You'll probably change your mind about what you want to do a thousand times before you turn eighteen.”

“No way,” Zane said with absolute conviction. He grimaced at Emmett. “Lydia's not real keen on ghost-hunting. She had a bad experience a few months ago, you see, and she blames—”

“That's enough, Zane,” Lydia cut in swiftly. “I'm sure Mr. London has dinner reservations. We'd better be on our way.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zane said. He looked at Emmett with a proprietary gleam in his eyes. “Lyd's ready to go, Mr. London. She looks real nice, doesn't she?”

Emmett swept Lydia with a considering expression. His eyes gleamed, too. Lydia was pretty sure she saw amusement in that amber-colored gaze, but she thought she also saw something else, something that might have been masculine appreciation. She grew unaccountably warm.

She wasn't blushing. She could not possibly be blushing. This was business, after all.

Maybe she should have worn a business suit instead of the little aqua dinner dress. She had bought it just before the disaster in the catacombs, right after she and Ryan Kelso had started dating. But Ryan had eased himself out of her life in the weeks following her Lost Weekend, and she'd never had an opportunity to wear the dress.

When she had taken the frock out of the back of the closet where it had been hanging unworn for more than six months, it had seemed discreet enough for a business dinner. The long sleeves and the high neckline gave the garment an almost prim look. At least, that's what she had told herself. Suddenly she was not so sure.

“Yes,” Emmett said, “she looks very nice.”

Nice? What did “nice” mean? She wondered. She eyed his slouchy, unconstructed black linen jacket, black T-shirt, and black trousers. Definitely not nice, she decided. Dangerous, sexy, intriguing, but not nice.

She cleared her throat. “We'd better be on our way. Zane, you can do your homework here and keep Fuzz company until it's time for you to go back to your place. But no watching the rez-screen. Understood?”

Zane made a face. “Jeez, Lyd, I don't have enough homework to fill up the whole evening.”

“If, by some bizarre chance, you happen to finish your schoolwork early, you can read a book until it's time to go home,” she said heartlessly.

Zane groaned. “Okay, okay. No rez-screen.” He paused speculatively. “How about ice cream?”

Lydia grinned. “Sure. As long as you leave some for me.”

“No problem.” Zane waved her through the door with a gallant motion of his hand. “Have a good time.”

Lydia grasped the strap of her purse tightly and moved out into the hall. When Zane closed the door very loudly behind her, she was suddenly conscious of being alone with Emmett. Without a word, she walked beside him to the stairwell.

“Known Zane long?” Emmett asked as they started down to the fourth floor.

“I met him and his aunt right after I moved into this apartment complex. He and Olinda were very kind to me at a time when I, well, when I needed friends.”

“Olinda is the aunt?”

“Yes.” Lydia stepped into the elevator. “She's okay. A good-hearted soul. Runs the Quartz Café down the street. But I'm afraid she's got plans for Zane, and they don't include a college education.”

“What kind of plans?”

“Olinda makes no secret of the fact that she can't wait until Zane is old enough to join the Guild and train as a ghost-hunter. A good one can make excellent money, you know.”

“So I'm told.”

Lydia grimaced. “Unfortunately, Zane shows every sign of becoming a very powerful dissonance-energy para-rez.”

“In other words, good old Aunt Olinda thinks Zane's going to become an asset to the family's cash flow as soon as she gets him into the Guild.”

“Exactly.” Lydia glanced at him. “Don't get me wrong. I'm very fond of Olinda, but she and I are engaged in an undeclared war. I'm fighting to make sure Zane goes to college before he even thinks about becoming a ghost-hunter. Olinda wants him to join the Guild the day he turns eighteen.”

“I get the picture.”

“I'm doing my best to discourage his fantasies about ghost-hunting, but I'm not making much headway. Young boys are so impressionable. All that macho hunter stuff really appeals to them, especially at Zane's age.”

Emmett slanted her an enigmatic look as they exited the stairwell and walked out into the parking lot.

“Being a dissonance-energy para-rez isn't something you can ignore. Sooner or later Zane will have to come to terms with that side of his nature. He won't be able to pretend his talent doesn't exist, no matter how much he tries.”

His calm logic irritated her. “Zane's a bright kid. He could be a doctor or a professor or an artist. I'm not saying he can't exercise his talents on the side. But I don't want him to become just another high-priced, overrated bodyguard.”

“I realize the profession doesn't rank very high with you, but bodyguards occasionally have their uses.”

“Huh. That's a matter of opinion.”

He stopped beside a dark gray Slider and reached out to open the passenger door for her. “If you were going to continue as my consultant, you might need one.”

She paused, one high-heel-shod foot inside the car. “What are you talking about?”

“I'm afraid I'm going to have to fire you.”

Outrage and disbelief swept through her. “You're taking me out to dinner to tell me that you want out of our contract?”

“That pretty much sums it up. Those burn marks on your wall have changed everything, Lydia. There's some stuff I haven't told you about this job.”

H
E'D CHOSEN THE
restaurant with the help of the concierge at his hotel.

“The kind of place where the university crowd hangs out; you know, the professors, not the students.”

“Don't worry, I know the perfect restaurant, sir. A charming little bistro. It's called Counterpoint. Specializes in New Wave cuisine. Excellent wine list. Very popular with the university crowd.”

Lydia said nothing as she followed the maitre d' to a table near the window. Emmett knew that she was fuming. But beneath the simmering anger, he caught the glint of recognition in her expression. He made a mental note to tip the concierge. The guy had nailed it with the restaurant.

Emmett's gaze swept the room, assessing the polished wooden floors, the intimately lit tables, and the waiters dressed in black and white. In recent years he had finally grasped the concept of casual chic. He knew it when he saw it—and Counterpoint was definitely it. The sort of place that served a lot of pasta and did terribly clever, artistic things with miniature vegetables.

Lydia managed to contain herself until after the waiter had taken the order. Then she folded her arms on the table and narrowed her eyes at him over the candle flame.

“Okay, talk,” she said. “What's all this about firing me?”

He had given a lot of thought to the problem of how much to tell her. In the end he had decided it would be best to go with at least a measure of the truth. He couldn't think of any other way to convince her that she did not want the job.

“I told you that I came to Cadence to search for a family heirloom that had been stolen from my collection,” he said.

Her fingertips did a quick staccato on the table. “Are you going to tell me that your story about the missing cabinet of curiosities wasn't for real?”

“It's for real, all right. What I didn't get around to mentioning was that the person who took it was my nephew, Quinn.”

That information made her blink a couple of times. Your nephew?”

“My sister's kid. He's…” Emmett paused, thinking. Eighteen as of last month.”

“I don't understand. He stole a family heirloom?”

“I doubt if he looks at it quite that way.”

“What other way is there to look at it?”

“Techinically, what he actually did was pawn it. He dropped a copy of the receipt into the mail to me. Just in case, he said.”

“Just in case of what?”

“I'd better start at the beginning. A few months ago Quinn took up with a new friend, a young lady named Sylvia. My sister and her husband did not approve. The long and short of it is that Sylvia came here to Cadence, apparently looking for work. Quinn followed.”

Lydia frowned. “What kind of work?”

“Don't know. Quinn told me that she's a fairly strong ephemeral-energy para-rez and she dreams of working in the field of para-archaeology. But she's untrained and uncertified. Unfortunately, her resources are quite limited. No family to speak of. When Quinn met her, she was barely keeping herself off the streets by working as a waitress.”

“Okay, so she came here to Cadence, and Quinn followed. With your cabinet.”

“Right. And now he's disappeared. No one's heard from him for nearly two weeks. My sister is getting frantic. Her husband is concerned.”

Lydia studied him. “So you agreed to come look for him?”

“Yes. As near as I can tell, he sold the cabinet to a dealer in the Old Quarter and used the money to get a hotel room. But he only spent two nights at the hotel, and then he just vanished.”

Lydia looked thoughtful. “What about the dealer who bought the cabinet? Have you talked to him?”

“I went to his shop, but he wasn't there. Neither was the cabinet.”

She stared at him, understanding dawning in her eyes. “Are you talking about Chester? Was he the dealer who bought the cabinet from Quinn?”

“Yes.” He watched her face. “His shop was closed when I arrived. I went in anyway, to have a look around.”

“You broke into his shop?”

“I didn't want to waste any time.”

“Good grief!”

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I didn't find the cabinet or any clue to who might have bought it off Brady, but I did find this.”

He removed the photo he had found on the wall behind Brady's shop counter and placed it on the table in front of Lydia.

The picture showed a woman with brilliant red hair seated in a booth in what looked like a seedy nightclub. She was smiling ruefully into the camera. Next to her sat an oily little man with slicked-back hair and a cheap, flashy sport coat. The man was grinning from ear to ear.

Lydia glanced down at the photo and then looked up swiftly, her eyes darkening. “That's a picture of Chester and me at the Surreal Lounge. We were celebrating my last birthday. He was always asking someone to take pictures of the two of us together there. It was his home away from home.”

“When I couldn't locate Brady, I decided to look for you instead.” Emmett picked up the picture and tucked it back into his jacket. “You weren't hard to find. But right after I located you, Brady turned up dead in that sarcophagus.”

Anger flushed her cheeks. “My God, it was all a sham, right from the start, wasn't it? You came looking for me because you thought I was involved with Chester. You pretended to be a genuine client, but all along you thought I could give you a lead on your missing cabinet and your missing nephew.”

“I didn't have much else to go on,” he said quietly.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

Her hand tightened into a small fist on the white tablecloth. “You really were too good to be true.”

He shrugged and said nothing.

“What made you decide to end the charade tonight?” she demanded fiercely.

“The scorch marks that ghost burned into your bedroom wall.”

Confusion defused some of her outrage. “What in the world does that have to do—”

She broke off as the waiter returned to the table with the appetizers. Emmett looked at the dish that was set in front of him. The menu had listed it as Prawns in Three-Part Harmony.

None of the three perfectly cooked prawns sitting atop the bed of thin-sliced radishes appeared to be singing, in three-part harmony or otherwise, but he decided not to make an issue of it. New Wave cuisine was a state of mind, he reminded himself.

Lydia leaned forward impatiently as soon as the waiter had vanished. “All right, explain yourself, London. What did you mean about my scorched wall changing things?”

“The mark that ghost left on your wall was not a random design, Lydia. If you looked at it closely, you could make out three wavy lines. It was a sloppy job. The hunter obviously didn't have complete control of the ghost, but I'm sure about the lines.”

“So?”

“I think someone may have tried to leave you a message.”

She looked wary now. “You're saying that you recognized these three wavy lines?”

“Yeah.” He took a bite of one of the prawns. “I've seen them before.”

“Where?” Her voice was very tight.

He put down his fork, opened his jacket, and removed the scrap of notepaper he had found on Quinn's desk. Without a word he handed it to Lydia.

She snapped it out of his fingers and glanced at the three wavy lines. She raised her eyes. “I don't get it.”

“I found that mark on a pad of paper next to the phone in Quinn's room. I think he made the notation after taking a phone call from Sylvia. He disappeared a few hours after he got that call.”

“Do you know what the lines signify?”

“No. I'm looking into it. But the fact that someone used a ghost to burn them into your wall tells me they're probably important. And possibly dangerous.”

Absently she tapped the piece of paper on the tablecloth. “It also tells you that I probably don't know what happened to your cabinet or to Quinn after all, right?”

He shrugged. “It did strike me that if someone had risked warning you off with an illegal manifestation, you might be in danger because you'd started asking questions. And if you had to ask questions, you probably don't know where my cabinet or my nephew is.”

“Guess that explains the phone call I got at work this morning,” she said reluctantly.

“What call?”

“I thought it was a crank call.” She moved one hand in a dismissive gesture. “It was a man's voice. A young man, I think. I didn't recognize it. All he said was, ‘No more questions.' Then he hung up.”

“Damn it, why the hell didn't you tell me?”

She glared at him. “I just finished explaining that I thought it was a crank call. It didn't make any sense. I didn't connect it to my inquiries about your missing cabinet.”

“The hell you didn't. You're too smart not to have figured out the connection.”

Annoyance strained her voice. “Okay, okay, I admit the possibility crossed my mind. But I was afraid that if you thought I might be in danger, you'd fire me.”

“That's exactly what I'm going to do. It's pretty clear now that I miscalculated. You weren't involved in this until I involved you.”

“You think you can un-involve me be reneging on our contract? Is that it?”

“I want you out of this, Lydia.”

He was prepared for the stubborn anger that blazed in her face. What surprised him was the flash of something else. Desperation?

“Even if you're right, it's too late,” she said quickly. I've talked to some dealers. The word is out that I'm looking for the cabinet.”

“Tomorrow morning you can put the word out that your new client fired you and you are no longer looking for his heirloom.”

“What makes you think that will work? The word is already out in the antiquities community. I can't cancel it just like that. If someone knows anything about the cabinet, I'll be contacted, whether or not you fire me.”

“Tell your contacts to get in touch with me.”

“The ones who are most likely to know anything useful won't want to talk directly to you.” She leaned forward, determination vibrating around her in an almost palpable energy field. “I know this crowd. They trust me, but they don't trust outsiders. You need me, London.”

“Not badly enough to put you at risk.”

“You didn't mind putting me at risk when you thought I might be in cahoots with Chester.”

“That was different,” he muttered.

“It was a very small ghost.”

“Even the weak ones can cause a very unpleasant reaction. They can freeze you, knock you unconscious for as long as fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Fainting or temporary paralysis are common, transient side effects of direct contact with a weak UDEM,” she said primly. “Permanent damage is rare.”

“You sound like you're quoting from a textbook or an emergency room pamphlet. Do you know what it really
feels
like?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were cool. “I know what it really feels like. It feels like all of your psychic senses have been rezzed to the breaking point. Everything is too bright, too hot, too cold, too dark, too loud. Sensation overwhelms you and you pass out. Unless, of course, you're a very strong ghost-hunter, in which case I understand you have some limited immunity.”

He drew a deep breath. “Okay, so you do know what it feels like.”

“Let's get something straight here. I spent most of the past four years of my working life in the Dead City. No para-archaeologist, regardless of how effective the team's hunters are, can spend that much time in the field without brushing up against a few small ghosts.”

He was not going to get far with logic and reason, he realized. Might as well cut to the chase. “You don't seem to get the picture here, Miss Smith. I'm firing you.”

“You're the one who doesn't get it, Mr. London. You can't fire me. We've got a contract.”

“Don't worry. I'll compensate you for your time.”

“There's more than money involved now. If what you say is true, it's possible that poor Chester was killed because of your cabinet—” She broke off abruptly.

He realized she was looking at someone who was approaching the table.

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything, Lydia. Saw you from across the room and had to say hello.”

The voice was easy, refined, masculine. The kind of voice that projected well, Emmett thought. The voice of a man accustomed to the lecture hall. An educated voice.

“Hello, Ryan.” Lydia forced a chilly smile. “It's been a while, hasn't it? This is Emmett London. Emmett, this is Professor Ryan Kelso. He's head of the Department of Para-archaeology at the university.” She paused delicately. “A former colleague.”

And formerly something more than a colleague, Emmett thought. He didn't consider himself the intuitive type, but even he couldn't miss the undercurrents swirling around the small table. A disturbing tendril of possessiveness uncoiled deep inside him. Probably not a good thing. He could have done without the added complications.

He took his time getting to his feet, absorbing the salient points of Ryan Kelso in a single glance. Tall, athletically fit, dark hair, gray eyes. Chiseled features.

Ryan looked every inch the fashionable academic in a brown turtleneck, a tweed jacket, and a pair of trousers that rode low on his hips. He wore amber in a chunky wristband on his left arm.

Emmett shook hands briefly. “Kelso.”

“A pleasure, London.”

Ryan gave Emmett a quick, assessing survey and then switched his attention back to Lydia. “What's this about finding a murder victim in that peculiar little place where you work? Saw something about it in the papers.”

“His name was Chester Brady,” Lydia said stiffly. “I doubt if you knew him.”

“Can't say that I did.” Ryan's mouth curved with amused disdain. “The papers implied that he was a ruin rat who had probably been killed by one of his criminal associates. What was he doing at Shrimpton's? Trying to steal one of your acquisitions?”