Dark Light (18 page)

“You say that so casually. As if everyone has some weird psi talent.”

“At the rate para-talents are appearing in the population, that may soon prove to be true.”

“Being weird is not, generally speaking, a good thing,” she said crisply, “especially when it comes to psychic senses. In case you hadn't noticed.”

“You're talking to someone who works dark light, remember?”

“Working dark light may be a rare and unusual talent, but it is, at least, a recognizable para-rez ability associated with alien energy. Furthermore, you need amber to use it.”

“You don't use amber.”

“No.” She hesitated. “I can use it the same way everyone else does to rez a car engine or turn on a lamp, but I don't need it for my talent, so I don't carry it. My para-senses are different from yours and those of most other people, because they aren't linked to alien psi or something in the environment here on Harmony. There have been various kinds of psychic talents in my family for generations. The records indicate that some of my ancestors who came through the Curtain possessed them.”

“What is your talent? Some kind of high-level intuition?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “You seem to be taking this rather calmly.”

“I'm a Guild boss. We're supposed to be unflappable.”

“Do you actually believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

He smiled. “What did you expect?”

“That you'd think I was either a little strange or that I was faking it.”

“Is that how people usually react?”

“I don't go around advertising my talent. Historically, people in my family have kept quiet about their psychic natures.”

“If your intuition is so damn good, how did you manage to get engaged to Pemberley?”

She made a face. “My intuition works very well, but it isn't always as simple to interpret a reading the way I just did with Troy Patterson. Some things, like immediate danger, come through loud and clear. Others are murky.”

“Pemberley fell into the murky category?”

“I knew he wanted me. I sensed that he felt he needed me. I took that to mean he was in love with me. And since I was attracted to him . . .” She moved one hand a little on Fontana's shoulder. “It was easy to convince myself that we were a good match.”

Fontana frowned. “You said he wanted you. Needed you. Sounds like love to me.”

“The problem was that Jon's feelings for me were so closely interwoven with his passion for something else that I couldn't tell the difference. To be fair, I don't think he could, either.”

“What was that something else?”

“What Jon wanted was my talent,” she said quietly. “His real passion was his family's business empire. It's in trouble. He believed that he could use me to regain control.”

Fontana understood.

“You would have made the perfect business wife,” he said. “You would have been able to read his competitors and business associates. You could have told him when someone was trying to maneuver against him or when someone could not be trusted. You could have given him unparalleled insight into everyone he dealt with. Talk about having a competitive edge.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Jonathan wanted to marry me because he thought I would be incredibly useful to have around.”

“Whereas you know I find you to be a frequent pain in the ass, but I like having you around, anyway.”

THE SHIVERING SENSATION WAS GETTING WORSE. GOING downstairs into the depths of the Crystal Pavilion's parking garage did not improve the situation.

Fontana gave her a concerned survey when he tucked her into the passenger seat of the Raptor.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Gee. Now my lowly male intuition is telling me that you're lying through your teeth.”

“Just a little tense, that's all.”

He closed the door, circled the vehicle, and got in behind the wheel. “Is it always like this for you?”

“I've had strong reactions in the past, but it's never been as bad as this. Something about Troy Patterson really rezzed my senses and triggered the old claustrophobia feeling. I don't understand it.”

She'd been certain that the worst was over when Troy Patterson disappeared into the crowd. She'd been wrong. On some very primitive level, not being able to see him had proved even more unnerving than being in his presence. Her brain would rather confront the danger face-to-face than flinch at every fleeting shadow.

“Think about something else,” Fontana said.

“Like what?”

“Like me.” Fontana put the Raptor in gear and drove out of the garage. “What does your intuition tell you about me now, tonight?”

Her mouth went dry.

“I realize there's an . . . attraction,” she said cautiously.

“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 staircase. 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.