Canyons of Night lgt-3 Read online

  Delight snapped through her.

  “Will you? That would be wonderful. Thanks.”

  He started walking back along the road toward the woods. She switched on the flashlight and hurried to catch up with him.

  “I heard someone at the grocery store say that you’re going to leave Rainshadow for good tomorrow,” she said tentatively. “Is it true?”

  “That’s the plan. I’ve been accepted at the academy of the FBPI.”

  “You’re joining the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation? Wow. That is so high-rez. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m packed. I’ll catch the morning ferry.”

  She tried to think of what to say next. Nothing brilliant came to mind.

  “Do you think those three guys will try to have you arrested?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure? They might remember you from the marina.”

  “Even if they do, those three aren’t going to go to the local cops. If they did they’d have to explain why they stopped you on the road.”

  “Oh, right.” Her spirits lightened at that realization. “And I’d tell everyone how they attacked me. Chief Halstead knows me and he’s known Aunt Beatrix forever. He would believe me long before he took the word of a bunch of off-islanders.”

  “Yes,” Slade said. “He would.”

  She was surprised to hear the respect in Slade’s voice. She glanced at his profile.

  “I saw the two of you talking together a lot this summer,” she ventured.

  “Halstead is the one who suggested I apply to the academy. He even wrote a recommendation.”

  THAT EVENING SLADE GAVE HER A BRIEF GLIMPSE OF THE paranormal wonderland that was the Preserve by night. And then he walked her home, saw her inside the cottage on the bluff, and waited until she locked the door. She listened to his footsteps going down the front porch steps; listened until he was gone and the only sound was that of the wind sighing in the trees.

  The following morning she went down to the ferry dock. Slade didn’t see her at first. He lounged against the railing, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was alone. There were a handful of other passengers waiting for the ferry but no one was there to see him off to his new life in the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation.

  She approached him cautiously, not certain how he would react. She knew that as far as he was concerned she was just a kid he had helped out of a jam and then humored with a short trip into the forbidden territory of the Preserve.

  “Slade?” She stopped a short distance away.

  He had been watching the ferry pull into the dock. At the sound of her voice he turned his head and saw her. He smiled.

  “I see you found your backup glasses,” he said.

  “Yes.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her second pair of frames was even nerdier than the new pair that had gotten busted last night. “I came to say good-bye.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And to tell you to be careful, okay?” she added very earnestly. “The FBPI goes after some very dangerous people. Serial killers and drug traffickers.”

  “I’ve heard that.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “I’ll be careful.”

  She was feeling more awkward by the second. At this rate she would have a panic attack without even raising her dumb talent.

  She held out the small box she had brought with her. “I also wanted to give you this. Sort of a thank-you gift for what you did for me last night.”

  He eyed the box as if not sure what to make of it. It dawned on her that a man who didn’t have a family of his own probably didn’t get many gifts. He reached out and took the box.

  “Thanks,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Nothing important,” she assured him. “Just an old pocketknife.”

  He got the lid off the oblong box and took out the narrow black crystal object inside. He studied it with interest. “How does it work? I don’t see the blade.”

  She smiled. “Well, that’s the unusual thing about that knife. It was made by a master craftsman named Vegas Takashima. He died about forty years ago. He was Arcane and he made each knife by hand so his pieces are infused with a lot of his creative psi. Whatever he did made the blades almost indestructible. You’ll eventually figure out how it works and when you do, you’ll see it’s still good. It will last for decades, maybe another century or two.”

  “Thank you.”

  She hesitated. “I tuned it for you.”

  Slade raised his brows. “You can tune objects that are hot?”

  She shrugged. “Provided there’s enough energy in them. It’s a rainbow-reader thing.”

  “What does tuning a para-antique do?”

  “Nothing very useful,” she admitted. “But people seem to like it when I find the right object and manipulate the frequencies to resonate harmoniously with their auras. Just a trick.”

  He hefted the Takashima knife on his palm and smiled slowly. “It does feel good.” He closed his fingers around the black crystal knife. “Like it belongs to me.”

  “That’s how the tuning thing works,” she said earnestly. “It’s not a real spectacular talent but my family feels I may have a career selling art and antiques.”

  “Is that what you want to do?”

  “No.” She brightened. “I want to get a degree in para-archaeology and work for one of the Arcane museums. Or maybe go underground with some of the academic and research people who explore the alien ruins.”

  “Sounds exciting.”

  “Not as exciting as the FBPI but I’d really like to do it.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  He slipped the knife into the pocket of his jacket. The ferry was docked now. The three other people who had been waiting for it started down the ramp. Slade hitched the duffel bag higher on his shoulder.

  “Time to go,” he said.

  “Good-bye. Thanks for last night. And remember to be careful, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He leaned forward slightly and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Before she could decide how to handle the situation, he was walking away from her, boarding the ferry.

  She stood on the dock until the ferry sailed out of the harbor and out of sight. Just before it disappeared she waved. She thought she saw Slade lift a hand in farewell but she couldn’t be sure. Her backup glasses were fitted with an old prescription and her distance vision was blurry. Or maybe the problem was the tears in her eyes.

  She made a promise to herself that morning. When she went home to Frequency City at the end of the month she was going to get a trendy new haircut and a pair of contact lenses. Common sense told her that she was highly unlikely to ever meet Slade Attridge again. But just in case she did get lucky, she was going to do her best to make certain that, whatever else happened, he didn’t kiss her as if she were his kid sister.

  Chapter 1

  Rainshadow Island, fifteen years later . . .

  CHARLOTTE FOLDED HER ARMS ON THE GLASS-TOPPED sales counter and watched the two feral beasts come through the door of Looking Glass Antiques. One was definitely human, definitely male, and definitely dangerous. The second was a scruffy-looking ball of gray fluff with two bright blue eyes, six small paws, and an attitude. The dust bunny rode on Slade Attridge’s shoulder and Charlotte was quite sure that in his own miniature way he could be just as dangerous as his human companion. They were both born to hunt, she thought.

  “Welcome to Looking Glass Antiques, Chief Attridge,” Charlotte said. “You might want to keep an eye on Rex. I have a strict you-break-it-you-buy-it policy.”

  Slade stopped just inside the doorway. He quartered the shop’s cluttered front room with a swift, assessing glance, cold, mag-steel eyes faintly narrowed. Rex sleeked out a little, revealing a ragged ear that appeared to have been badly mangled in a fight at some point in the past. His second set of eyes, the ones he used for night hunts, popped open. At least he wasn’t showing any teeth, Charlotte
thought. They said that with dust bunnies, by the time you saw the teeth it was too late. The bunnies were cute when they were fluffed up but under all that fur lay the ruthless heart of a small predator.

  “This shop is even hotter than it was fifteen years ago when your aunt ran it,” Slade said.

  Charlotte was amused. “You remember, hmm?”

  Slade looked straight at her. “Oh, yeah.”

  Small thrills flashed across Charlotte’s senses. I had it bad for him fifteen years ago and this time around it’s going to be a million times worse.

  Her fantasies about Slade had been dormant for so long that she had been convinced that she had outgrown them. But when he had walked off the morning ferry five days ago to take over the position of police chief on Rainshadow Island, she’d had a shocking revelation. The Arcane matchmakers had given up on her, labeled her unmatchable and blamed it on the nature of her talent. But one look at Slade and she knew why she had never been content with any of the other men she had met. Some part of her had always insisted on comparing her dates to the man of her dreams. It was not fair, it was not wise, but that was how it had been. And now Dream Man was here, standing right in front of her.

  She was saved from having to come up with a snappy response by Rex. The dust bunny chortled and bounded down from Slade’s shoulder. Charlotte watched uneasily as he fluttered through the cluttered space and vanished behind a pile of vintage purses and handbags.

  Slade surveyed the room. “Coming in here was always a bit like walking into a mild lightning storm but the sensation has gotten stronger. There’s more energy now.”

  “Most people aren’t aware of all the psi in this shop,” she said. “At least not on a conscious level. But strong sensitives usually pick up on it. The reason it feels hotter now is because my aunt acquired a lot more stock during the last fifteen years before she died. In addition, I brought most of the objects from my store in Frequency City with me a few weeks ago when I closed my business there and moved to the island.”

  “Hard to believe fifteen years have gone by.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Trying not to be obvious, she raised her talent a little and studied Slade’s aura rainbow. He was not running hot so the bands of dark ultralight were faint, but that was enough to tell her Slade hadn’t changed much in those fifteen years. He had simply become a purer, more intense version of what he had been at nineteen: hard, tough, self-contained, and self-controlled. His eyes were colder now, as cold and bleak as the mag-steel they resembled.

  Slade hadn’t smiled a lot fifteen years ago and she was pretty sure he’d never been prone to frequent displays of lightheartedness. But from what she had seen of him during the past five days he had evidently lost what little he had once possessed in the way of a sense of humor or cheerful spirits.

  “Out of curiosity,” Slade said, “didn’t your aunt ever sell anything? This place looks like someone’s attic, a two-hundred-year-old attic, at that.”

  She laughed and pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “All Aunt Beatrix cared about was collecting hot antiques. But I did a lot of business back in Frequency and I expect to make money with Looking Glass, as well. Trust me, I won’t starve. I’m good at this.”

  To her shock his mouth kicked up a bit at the corner in the barest hint of a smile. “So it turned out you did have a career in art and antiques sales, just like your family thought?”

  “Yes. Aunt Beatrix left her shop and the entire collection to me when she died a while back. I decided to operate from here instead of Frequency. It took a while to process my aunt’s will so this place has been locked up for some time. I just got the doors open again a couple of weeks ago. I’m still taking inventory and trying to get the paperwork straightened out. Aunt Beatrix was not much for organization.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Weird that we both wound up back here on Rainshadow, isn’t it? I mean, what are the odds?”

  “Damned if I know,” he said. “Returning to Rainshadow wasn’t in my plans until recently.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m making a career change. Turns out I need a short-term job to pay the bills while I get things going in a new direction. A friend told me that the chief’s job here on the island was open so I took it.”

  “I see.” It was as if all the energy in the room had gone suddenly flat. So much for the little frissons of excitement and anticipation that had been flickering through her over the course of the past five days. Slade had no intention of hanging around Shadow Bay for long. She cleared her throat. “This isn’t a permanent move for you, then?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he said. “I figure I’ll be here six months at most. I’ll need that much time to get my new project up and running. You?”

  “After Aunt Beatrix died, I had planned to close Looking Glass and ship the stock to my Frequency City store but I changed my mind. I sold that store and moved here, instead.”

  “What made you do that? Weren’t things going well for you in Frequency City?”

  “Very well,” she said. She wasn’t boasting. It was a fact. “I made a lot of money with that store. But I’ll make money with this one, too. The power of online marketing, you know. In addition, I plan to turn Looking Glass into a destination antiques shop. In my line it’s all about reputation, and when it comes to paranormal antiques, I’m one of the best in the business.”

  “I believe you,” he said. “I always knew you’d be successful at whatever you decided to do.”

  “Really? No one in my family had a lot of hope. Whatever gave you that impression?”

  He moved one hand slightly. “Probably the way you tried to fight off that bastard who manhandled you that night out on Merton Road.”

  “Wasn’t like I had a lot of options that night.”

  “Most people freeze when they face serious violence. They can’t function. You were fighting.”

  “And losing,” she pointed out dryly.

  “But you weren’t going down without a fight. That’s what counts. That’s why I agreed to take you into the Preserve that night. Figured you were owed that much after what you’d gone through.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I was scared to death that night, you know.”

  “It was the logical response to the situation.”

  There was a muffled clunk from the far side of the shop. Charlotte heard a faint, ominous buzzing noise. She realized that she could no longer see Rex.

  “Your dust bunny,” she yelped. Alarmed, she rushed out from behind the counter. “Where is he? What’s he doing?”

  “Rex is not my dust bunny. We’re buddies, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I understand. That’s not the point. The point is that you are responsible for him while he is in this shop. Now where is he?”

  “He may have gone behind that fancy little table with the mirror.”

  The buzzing sound continued. Charlotte heard more thumps and thuds.

  “That dressing table is a genuine First Century Pre–Era of Discord piece,” she snapped. She hurried across the room to the exquisitely inlaid dressing table. “It was designed by Fenwick LeMasters, himself. The inlays are green amber and obsidian. The mirror and frame are original, for goodness’ sake.”

  “Who is Fenwick LeMasters?”

  “Just one of the finest furniture craftsman of his time. Also a very powerful talent who could work green amber. Collectors pay thousands for his pieces. Oh, never mind.”

  She peered over the top of the dressing table and saw Rex. The dust bunny had trapped a vintage action figure in the corner between a First Generation cabinet that reeked of the old-Earth para-antiquities it had once contained and a Second Generation floor lamp. Rex was batting the toy unmercifully with his paw as if tormenting a mouse or some other prey. The foot-high plastic figure wore long, flowing plastic robes marked with alchemical signs. The toy was armed with a small, fist-sized crystal.

  The unprovoked assault had activated whate
ver energy was left in the old, run-down amber battery inside the figure. The action doll repeatedly raised and lowered one arm as though to ward off Rex. The buzzing noise came from the odd little crystal weapon. Each time the arm shifted, the toy weapon flashed and sparked with weak, violet-hued light.

  “Stop that,” Charlotte said to Rex. “Sylvester is a very valuable collectible. Fewer than five hundred of them were made.”

  Rex ignored her. He took another swipe at the figure.

  She started to reach down to retrieve the action figure but common sense made her hesitate. Dust bunnies could be dangerous when provoked.

  She rounded on Slade, instead. “Do something about Rex. I’m serious. That figure is worth at least a thousand dollars to certain Arcane collectors.”

  Slade came to stand beside her. He looked down at Rex and the hapless Sylvester doll.

  “That’s enough, Rex,” Slade said quietly. “You don’t want to mess with Sylvester Jones. According to the legends the old bastard could take care of himself.”

  To Charlotte’s relief Rex stopped batting the figure. He sat back on his rear legs and fixed Slade with what Charlotte concluded was the dust bunny equivalent of a disgusted eye-roll. He sauntered off to investigate a pile of vintage stuffed animals.

  “Whew.” Charlotte scooped up the action figure and examined it closely. “Luckily I don’t think he did any damage.”

  Slade looked at the toy. “Never saw one of those. When were they made?”

  “About thirty years ago. The designer was Arcane, obviously. Most of the customers who bought the original Sylvester Jones action figures for their kids assumed the character was supposed to be an Old World sorcerer. But everyone who was connected to the Society recognized him at once. Sort of an inside marketing joke.” Satisfied that the action figure was unharmed, Charlotte set it on top of the dressing table. “Luckily Sylvester seems to have survived.”

  “Sure. This is Sylvester Jones, we’re talking about.”

  Charlotte smiled. “True. Legend has it he was a hard man to kill.”