After Dark (7 page)

“Chester was a friend of mine. A very strong trap tangler,” Lydia said in a steely voice. “One of the most powerful I've ever met. Who knows? If he'd had access to a decent education, he would have been a first-rate paraarchaeologist. Probably could have been chairman of the department at the university by now.”

Ryan dismissed that with a chuckle. Then his eyes softened with concern. “It must have been very traumatic for you, finding the body and all. I mean, the shock of that coming on top of what happened six months ago—”

“Not everyone thinks I'm fragile,” Lydia said with conviction. “Believe it or not, the detective in charge of the case put me on her list of suspects. Apparently she believes I'm fully capable of handling the stress of murdering an old pal and stuffing his body into a sarcophagus.”

“Uh—” Ryan floundered briefly, clearly unable to figure out where to go with that.

“I have to tell you, it was almost flattering in a way,” Lydia continued.

She was on a roll. Emmett was amused. Nevertheless, it was time to intervene.

“Cops always question the people who find the victim,” London said easily. “Naturally they talked to Lydia. They also talked to me. I was with her when she discovered the body. But the detective in charge made it clear that she's not seriously interested in either of us. We both have alibis.”

“Some of us have better alibis than others,” Lydia murmured.

Emmett ignored that. He kept his attention on Ryan. “Apparently Brady had a lot of disgruntled friends, clients, and associates. The police think one of them did him in.”

“Makes sense.” Ryan seized the opportunity to change the subject. “Anyway, it's great to see you looking so well, Lydia.”

“Amazing, isn't it? I managed not to go stark-staring bonkers after all. At least, not yet. But never fear, there's always hope. I might still go over the edge one of these days.”

Ryan had the grace to turn red. “You can't blame your friends for worrying about you.”

“If my so-called
friends
had been genuinely worried about me, they would have seen to it that I got my old job back after the doctors turned me loose,” she said much too sweetly.

She was not going to let up, Emmett realized. He wondered how Ryan had ever come to the conclusion that she was too delicate to continue in her archaeological work.

Kelso managed an expression of polite confusion. “I'm not sure what you're implying, Lydia. The decision to, uh, release you from your university contract—”

“You mean fire me.”

“The decision was made by the administration,” Ryan said quickly. “You know that. It wasn't a departmental decision.”

“Give me a break.” She made a small but unmistakably disgusted sound. “We both know the administration takes the recommendation of the department heads. Why don't you just be honest about the whole thing? You figured I was a candidate for the funny farm, and that's what you told the academic council.”

“Lydia, we were all devastated by what happened to you.”

“But not devastated enough to let me come back to the department.”

“As chairman of the department, I have a grave responsibility. I couldn't take the risk of sending you out with the team after what happened. I had to keep your best interests in mind.”

“If you were really that nervous about my para-psych profile, you wouldn't have had to send me back out into the Dead City right away. You could have let me work in the labs for a while until everyone was convinced that I wasn't going to freak under stress.”

Ryan's frown of earnest concern darkened into annoyance. He glanced hastily around the restaurant, clearly uncomfortable, searching for an excuse to get himself out of what had become an awkward situation.

“Policy is policy,” he said stiffly. “What you've got to remember, Lydia, is that your para-psychological health is the most important element in the equation. You went through a brutal experience. Got to allow yourself plenty of time to recover.”

“I'm fully recovered, Ryan.”

“Tell you what,” he said a little too heartily. “Give yourself another six months and then reapply to the department. I'll make sure your application gets special consideration.”

“Gee, thanks, Ryan. But six months from now I won't need my old job. I expect to have my own full-time consulting business up and running.”

He looked slightly disconcerted. “You're going private?”

“That's right. I'm already working at it part-time.”

“I hadn't realized—”

“Two months ago I registered as a private consultant in para-archaeology with the Society.” Her eyes gleamed. “Mr. London here is my first client. Isn't that right, Emmett?”

He had to hand it to her, Emmett thought. She had backed him rather neatly into this corner.

“Lydia and I signed a contract two days ago,” he said.

“I see.” Ryan frowned at Emmett and then looked at Lydia. “What about your job at Shrimpton's?”

“As soon as I build my private business into a full-time enterprise, I will, of course, resign my position at Shrimpton's. In the meantime, I need the money. I was pretty well wiped out financially after losing my job at the university, you know.”

“I see,” Ryan started edging back. “Well, that's great. Just great. Say, the department occasionally uses private consultants and outside experts. Maybe we'll have occasion to call on you one of these days.”

“I will, of course, be happy to consider contracts with the university,” she said with grand aplomb, “but bear in mind that the private sector commands very high fees. Just ask Emmett.”

Emmett managed not to choke on the swallow of wine he had just taken. He shot her a warning look across the top of the candles.
Don't push your luck, lady.

“Worth every penny,” he said aloud, with what he thought was commendable gallantry under the circumstances.

Lydia rewarded him with a triumphant smile that out-shone the candles.

Ryan studied him with wary curiosity. “What do you collect, Mr. London?”

Emmett saw Lydia's mouth open. But he'd had enough of her reckless conversation. Beneath the table, he brought his shoe down on the toe of one of her sexy little black evening sandals with enough force to get her attention. Her eyes widened, but she closed her mouth.

Emmett looked at Ryan. “I'm into tomb mirrors.”

“Tomb mirrors.” If the amused condescension in Ryan's voice had been any thicker, it would have dripped onto the table. “Well, that's very interesting.”

“Got a room full of 'em at home in Resonance City,” Emmett continued expansively. “Had the walls lined with real mirrors, put the tomb mirrors on little stands in front and then lit the whole gallery with green lights. Really impresses guests.”

Across the table, Emmett caught Lydia's attention and knew that she was torn between irritation and laughter. She knew even better than he did that tomb mirrors were among the most common and least valuable Harmonic artifacts. They were also among the most commonly faked. Reproductions and frauds abounded in the shops near the Dead Cities. Only novices and the most unsophisticated private collectors bothered to acquire them.

“Green lights?” Ryan looked pained. “How original.”

“Cost a bundle, but I'm pleased with the effect,” Emmett said. “The lights and the wall mirrors give the gallery a real weird feel, know what I mean?”

“I can imagine,” Ryan murmured dryly.

Lydia smiled blandly. “Sounds like you've achieved exactly the sort of creepy effect that we strive for at Shrimpton's, Emmett.”

“‘Creepy'—that's the word.” Emmett looked at Ryan. “I need a few more pieces to fill out the collection, though. That's why I'm here in Cadence. Lydia thinks she can turn up some choice mirrors for me.”

“I'm sure she will.” Ryan glanced over his shoulder. “If you'll excuse me, I'd better get back to my companion. Nice to meet you, London.”

“Sure,” Emmett said.

Ryan turned to Lydia. “It's great to see you getting out again, Lydia.”

He leaned down with the obvious intention of giving her the sort of casual peck on the cheek that constituted a friendly farewell between old friends, but he missed his target. At the last possible instant, Lydia, acting as though she was entirely unaware of his intent, reached out to pick up her fork, and her elbow somehow connected with his groin.

“Umph.” Ryan took a hasty step back, started to put a hand gingerly on his crotch, then apparently thought better of it and took some shallow breaths instead.

“Oh, sorry.” Lydia paused with the fork in midair. “Didn't realize you were standing quite so close. It was terrific seeing you again too, Ryan. Give my regards to everyone at the lab.”

“Right.” He backed away from the table. “Catch you later, Lydia. Good luck with the consulting work.”

Turning on his heel, he moved quickly off through the maze of small tables. Emmett watched him go and decided that Ryan had the air of a man making a strategic retreat. Or maybe it was more of a desperate flight to safety.

S
ILENCE DESCENDED ON
them. Emmett looked at Lydia. She met his eyes. A moment of perfect comprehension, he thought.

The waiter returned with the entrees. When he was gone, Lydia refocused her attention on her food.

“He thinks I lost my para-rez pitch because of something that happened to me six months ago,” she said after a while.

“I got that impression.”

“I had a bad experience in the Dead City.”

“I know,” Emmett said quietly.

“You do?” She looked up quickly, frowning. “I hadn't realized—” Then she grimaced. “Yes, I suppose you would know.”

“I called one of my people back in Resonance City. Had him take a quick look into your background.”

“I see.”

“The report said you were surprised by an illusion trap. It overwhelmed you, and you disappeared into the catacombs before anyone else on the team realized what had happened. There was a search, but you had vanished. Two days later you walked out on your own.”

She shrugged. “So they say. To be honest, I can't remember anything about the forty-eight hours I spent underground. The para-rez shrinks said it's probably better that way.”

“What do you think happened?”

She hesitated. “I may have gotten caught in a trap. I'm good, but no tangler is perfect. But there's another possibility.”

“What's that?”

“I could have gotten badly fried by a really powerful ghost. That would also account for two full days of amnesia.”

He frowned. “Couldn't have been a ghost. You were with a university excavation team. The report said you had two fully qualified ghost-hunters.”

She cocked a brow. “You read the official report of the inquiry council, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“It's supposed to be confidential, you know.”

“I know.”

She let that go. “You're right. There were two hunters with us. They claim they accompanied me to the entrance to the tomb chamber. They told the committee that while they were dealing with a couple of small ghosts at the entrance, I disappeared into one of the antechambers. That was the last they saw of me.”

Emmett waited.

“They said I didn't follow standard safety procedures.” Her mouth tightened. “They implied I behaved recklessly.”

Emmett nodded. The two hunters swore that, in her eagerness to explore the newly discovered antechamber, Lydia had gone ahead without waiting for them or any of the other members of the team. The conclusion of the report had been blunt: she had gotten herself into trouble.

He watched her twirl pasta around the tines of her fork. “Must have been an illusion trap. If it had been a real monster ghost the two hunters would have detected traces of energy in the vicinity.”

“So they say.” She ate some pasta.

“Are you telling me that you don't believe the hunters' version of events?” Emmett asked very neutrally.

She put down her fork. “I'm saying I don't know what happened. I've got no clear memories of what occurred in that antechamber. I've been forced to take the word of the others who were on the team that day.”

“No
clear
memories?” Emmett watched her closely. “A moment ago you said that you couldn't remember
anything
about the forty-eight hours you spent in the catacombs.”

She said nothing for a time, just looked at him. In the light of the candle her face was shrouded in mystery. He thought about what it must have been like to lose forty-eight hours out of your life and then wake up in the endless green night of an alien catacomb without amber. A lot of people who got lost underground never returned. Those who did find their way out were usually so psychically traumatized that they wound up in para-rez wards for a long time.

For a few seconds he thought Lydia was not going to respond to his question. Then she appeared to come to some inner decision.

“I've never told anyone else, but lately I think I've been getting little bits of memory.” She gazed into the heart of the candle flame. “The only problem is, I can't make them out. It's like catching a glimpse of a ghost, the old-fashioned, horror-story kind—a shade or a phantom, not a UDEM.”

“Have you gone back to the doctors?”

Her mouth twisted. “The last thing I need is another note in my para-psych file telling the world that I'm showing increasing signs of post-para-traumatic stress. I've already lost one good job because of the shrinks' report.”

“And because the chairman of your former department was not willing to give you a chance to prove the doctors were wrong,” Emmett reminded her.

“Ryan and I used to be colleagues. He got promoted to chair of the department one month after my Lost Weekend. That's when he apparently decided that I'm too fragile to do my job.”

“I see.”

“I can't really blame him. Everyone in the department is convinced that no tangler can go through what I did and come out of it with all para-faculties intact. No one wants to work on a team with someone who's—” She broke off to twirl her fingers in a circle. “You know, unreliable. A team member who loses her nerve or her edge in the Dead City puts everyone else in danger.”

Emmett thought about how he had found her repainting her bedroom wall that morning to remove scorch marks left by a ghost. Whoever had summoned the UDEM must have known about her terrifying experience six months ago, he reflected. Most people could be expected to panic at the sight of a wild ghost, no matter how small, in their own homes. Anyone who had spent forty-eight hours alone in the catacombs would be especially vulnerable to that kind of small-scale terror.

Before this was over, he thought, he would very much like to get his hands on the hunter who had cold-bloodedly attempted to frighten her.

“If it makes any difference,” he said, “I don't think you're delicate or fragile or inclined to fracture under stress. In my opinion, you are one very gutsy lady.”

“Hey, that's great.” She smiled with iron-willed intent. “I'm so glad you think I can do my job. Because we've got a contract and I'm not going to let you fire me.”

He groaned. “So we're back to that, are we?”

“Sorry.” She took another bite of pasta. “But it is the subject that is uppermost in my mind tonight.”

“Lydia, you're missing the point here. I'm the reason someone sent that ghost to your bedroom last night. Don't you get it? If you continue to work with me, there may be other incidents. Someone is trying to make it plain that he or she doesn't want you to help me search for the cabinet.”

“True. I wonder why not?”

He shrugged. “It's obvious. Whoever is behind this is afraid that the cabinet will lead me to Quinn. From now on, I have to go on the assumption that someone doesn't want me to find him.”

She tapped one glossy green-and-gold-tinted nail against her plate. “If there is someone out there who feels that strongly about it, your nephew may be in serious danger.”

“Yes. Until now, I've assumed he was just a lovestruck kid with rampaging hormones chasing after a girlfriend. But after what happened in your bedroom last night—”

“You need me, Emmett.” She aimed the fork at him. “Admit it. You need all the help you can get.”

“Maybe. But I don't want to be responsible for putting you in danger.”

“That didn't worry you when you believed that I was working with Chester.”

“That's different.”

“No, it's not. Nothing has changed except that you no longer think I know the whereabouts of your cabinet. Look, I'm an adult and I'm a professional. I can make my own decisions.”

“Lydia—”

“I won't let you push me out of this, Emmett. I need this job and you need me. I'm going to continue looking for your cabinet, regardless of what you choose to do.”

“There's a word for that kind of threat.”

“Yeah. Blackmail. You can't stop me. If there is any real danger involved, it will be safer for both of us if we work together. We should share information.”

He studied her for a long moment. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she meant every word. She would continue to search for the cabinet, with or without his permission. He should have known that it was not going to be easy to fire her.

“All right,” he said after a while. “Okay. You win.”

She felt triumphant.

“But as you said,” he continued evenly. “it will be safer if we work together.”

“Right. No problem. I'll keep you informed—”

“You should be reasonably safe during the days while you're at the museum,” he said, talking straight over the top of her eager promise. “There's obviously a renegade ghost-hunter involved in this somewhere, but he isn't likely to try to terrorize you when there are witnesses around.”

She quirked a brow. “No?”

“I doubt it. Too much chance of getting caught. Hunters have to work at close range, you know that. Even a strong, well-trained, very experienced one can't summon a ghost and manipulate it from more than half a city block away, even when he's working near the Old Wall. And I don't think we're dealing with a well-trained one here.”

“You sound like an authority on the subject,” she said coolly.

“Use your head. You know as well as I do that it's illegal to summon ghosts outside the Dead City. Any renegade hunter doing so risks drawing the attention of the Guild authorities. They tend to frown on that kind of thing.”

“Especially if there's no profit in it for the Guild,” Lydia shot back. “But what if he's not a renegade? What if he's working for the Guild?”

“You really don't hold ghost-hunters in high esteem, do you?”

“Let's just say that I don't think the Guild is above allowing its members to get involved in a few personal financial adventures on the side, provided, of course, that they cut the Guild in for a percentage.”

“Are all para-archaeologists here in Cadence that cynical about the Guild?”

“No.” She dunked a chunk of bread into the olive oil. “A few of my former colleagues think hunters are sort of sexy, believe it or not. They've actually had affairs with some of them. My friend Melanie Toft at Shrimpton's told me that she once dated a hunter for several weeks.”

For a few seconds he thought she must be teasing him. Then he realized she was serious. “I take it the idea of having an affair with a hunter doesn't appeal to you?”

She blew that off with a wave of her hand and bit down on the bread. “Forget my personal opinions on the subject. We've got more important things to worry about.”

“All right. As I said, I'm not too concerned about the days, provided you're willing to follow some reasonable precautions. It's the nights that are a problem.”

“So?”

“So,” he said deliberately, “if you insist on carrying out the terms of our contract, as of tonight you've got a roommate.”

She gaped at him in stunned silence. Maybe it hadn't occurred to her that he could play tough too, he thought. Damned if he would let her blackmail him without paying a price.

Not a very big price, of course. Her dumbfounded expression was no doubt as much satisfaction as he would get.