Silver Master gh-5 Read online

  “I’m listening.”

  “As far as we can tell, the relic is useless unless it is activated by someone who possesses a psi talent similar to Celinda’s,” Davis said. “Probably a very strong version of that kind of talent.”

  “There can’t be a lot of people running around with my particular ability,” Celinda added swiftly. “The lab where I was tested when I was a teen said that they had only seen one other case in a decade, and that person wasn’t nearly as strong.”

  “Can I try the thing?” Emmett asked.

  Celinda hesitated, and then she got to her feet and went into the kitchen. Araminta, back on top of the refrigerator with Max and Fuzz, watched her take the relic out of the cookie jar but did not try to stop her.

  She returned to the living room and put the relic into Emmett’s hand. Araminta muttered ominously, but she did not jump down from the refrigerator.

  Emmett gripped the relic firmly. Celinda felt his psi energy pulse strongly. She knew that he was trying to rez the device. Nothing happened.

  He shrugged and handed the artifact to Lydia. Again Celinda sensed a powerful rush of psi energy.

  “I’m an illusion trap tangler,” Lydia said, turning the relic over in her fingers. “I can sense that there’s some energy coming from this thing, but I can’t do anything with it.”

  “The Guild may be able to find someone else who can rez the device,” Celinda said, retrieving the relic. “But I think the odds are good that it won’t be easy. In the meantime, whoever wants to experiment with this thing will need my cooperation.”

  Emmett regarded Celinda with a speculative expression. “That situation does appear to give you some bargaining power.”

  “Oh, wow,” Lydia said, bubbling with enthusiasm. “We’re going to strong-arm Mercer Wyatt into doing the right thing. This will be fun.”

  “Yeah, can’t wait,” Davis said dourly. “Probably be the last business I get from the Guild. Meanwhile, there’s one more thing Wyatt needs to know.”

  “What’s that?” Emmett asked.

  “We think a second relic has turned up, and it’s in the hands of someone who knows how to use it.”

  “Doesn’t sound good,” Emmett said.

  “It’s not,” Davis agreed. “But I’ve got a strong lead. I should have some answers later this morning.”

  “When you get them, call me,” Emmett said. “I’ll arrange a meeting with Wyatt.”

  “One more thing,” Davis said. “What about Benson Landry?”

  Emmett’s slow grin was icy cold. “I don’t think you need to worry about him. Wyatt told me this morning that he had been assured that Benson Landry will not interfere again in Cadence Guild business. Seems like Harold Taylor, the boss of the Frequency Guild, isn’t quite as weak and toothless as Landry thinks.”

  Celinda frowned. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

  Emmett shrugged. “It means that Landry won’t be a problem in the future.”

  She turned to Davis, who had the same cold expression on his face. He drank some coffee and said nothing.

  Mystified, she looked at Lydia for clarification.

  “Don’t ask me.” Lydia waved one hand. “When Guild men go all stony and secretive like this, you can’t do a thing with them.”

  Celinda heard the lid of the cookie jar being removed. She looked over her shoulder and saw that Araminta was helping herself to another cookie.

  “She’s eating again,” she said to Lydia. “I haven’t had much experience with dust bunnies, but lately Araminta’s appetite has seemed unnaturally strong. Do you know anything about their eating habits?”

  “I don’t think it’s her eating habits that you have to worry about,” Lydia said dryly. “More likely her mating habits.”

  “Uh-oh,” Celinda said. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Fuzz became a father a few months ago. His girlfriend started hanging around a while before that. She nearly ate us out of house and home.”

  “Then, one morning, we were presented with a couple of baby dust bunnies,” Emmett said.

  “I’ve got pictures.” Lydia reached into her purse, pulled out a wallet, and flipped it open. “Aren’t they the cutest little things?”

  Celinda examined the photograph. It showed Fuzz, clearly identifiable by the yellow bow in his fur, and another adult dust bunny. Between them were two tiny balls of gray fluff.

  “They’re adorable,” Celinda said. She looked up from the photo. “So, now you’ve got a whole family of dust bunnies?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think we’re going to have them for long. The babies are maturing rapidly. Fuzz and his girlfriend take them down into the rain forest almost every day to teach them how to hunt. Got a hunch the kids will be sent off on their own one of these days.”

  “They don’t show any sign of bonding with you?” Celinda asked.

  Lydia shook her head. “No, and neither does their mother. They tolerate us, but they don’t seem keen on hanging around us. When the little ones are on their own, I think Mom is going to take off, too. Dust bunnies are quite sociable with each other, but I get the impression that they only pair up when a female is ready to mate.”

  They all looked at Araminta, who was holding court with Max and Fuzz.

  “Ah, the simple life,” Celinda said dryly. “No need for professional marriage consultants and Covenant Weddings.”

  “We humans do tend to make things more complicated, that’s for sure,” Lydia agreed.

  Chapter 31

  DAVIS STUDIED THE ENTRANCE OF THE RUN-DOWN FLOP-house through the windshield of the Phantom.

  “I don’t like this,” he said.

  “We’ve been over it a dozen times.” Celinda unfastened her seat belt. “I’m involved in this thing. That means I’ve got a right to go in with you. Besides, after I read his psi waves, I might be able to give you some useful information.”

  She had a point, he thought.

  He got out of the car. Celinda opened her door and joined him on the cracked sidewalk. Trig had followed them in his own car. He eased his battered little Float into a vacant slot, climbed out, and walked across the narrow lane to meet them.

  “His room is on the second floor at the back,” Trig said. “I’ll go around to the alley. That way if he slips out the window or down the fire escape, I’ll be able to grab him.”

  “Right,” Davis said.

  He took Celinda’s arm and steered her toward the apartment house entrance. The neighborhood was deep in the Old Quarter, only a block from the massive green wall. The Colonial-era buildings loomed darkly, blocking most of the sunlight. It was midmorning, so there was no visible glow coming from the Dead City, but you could feel the psi energy seeping up from underground.

  By mutual agreement they had left Max and Araminta at the apartment along with the relic. Davis was fairly certain the artifact was safe with them. No human intruder could move as fast as the bunnies. If Araminta sensed a threat, she would most likely grab the device and run off with it.

  Trig disappeared into the narrow passage that separated the apartment house from the building next to it.

  The lock on the front door of the building looked as though it had been broken a long time ago. He opened the door and moved into the front hall, Celinda at his heels. The smell was a mix of rotten carpeting, garbage, and mildew.

  “Whew.” Celinda wrinkled her nose. “Hard to believe anyone would actually pay rent to live here.”

  “Probably better than sleeping in an alley.”

  “Not by much.”

  They climbed a sagging, creaking staircase and emerged in a narrow, unlit hallway. Number six was at the end of the corridor.

  Davis knocked a couple of times. There was no response.

  He tried the knob. The door was locked.

  “Brinker,” he called. “Open up. We want to talk to you. This is Guild business.”

  “Oh, that’s sure to make him come running,” Celinda mumbled.

 
“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem to be doing the trick this time,” Celinda observed. “I’ll bet he’s halfway out the window by now.”

  “If he is, Trig will get him.”

  He reached into his pocket and removed the locksmith’s tool that he had brought with him. He inserted it into the lock and rezzed it gently. It hummed briefly in his hand, trying various frequencies.

  There was an audible click.

  “Got it,” he said softly.

  Celinda eyed the tool. “Is that thing legal?”

  “It is if you’re a licensed and bonded locksmith.”

  “That doesn’t quite answer my question.”

  “I know.”

  He opened the door. “Brinker?”

  There was no answer. None was needed. The unmistakable miasma of death wafted out into the hallway.

  Celinda took a step back. She looked at him with shocked eyes.

  He moved into the shabby studio apartment. The body was on a cot, sprawled amid dirty sheets. There was no sign of physical injury, just the pale gray color of death. A number of prescription medicine bottles stood on the end table together with a syringe. Two of the bottles were empty.

  Davis picked up one of the bottles and looked at the label. Ice gripped his insides.

  “Psi-trauma meds,” he said. “They tried this stuff on me while I was in the hospital.”

  “Looks like he OD’d,” Celinda said, following him slowly into the room. “How sad. I wonder if it was accidental or a suicide.”

  “There’s a third possibility,” he said quietly.

  She gave him a sharp, searching look. “Murder?”

  “If this is our man, he was with someone else the night they searched your apartment. Mrs. Furnell said the second man spoke like a professor or a doctor, remember? He seemed to be the one in charge.”

  Celinda shuddered. “Someone with a medical background would have known how to kill him with drugs. Is that what you’re thinking?”

  “Crossed my mind.”

  “What’s the name of the doctor who provided that prescription?”

  He checked the bottle again. “Looks like Brinker was being treated at a local street clinic.”

  “Why would someone murder him?”

  “Don’t know for sure, but I can think of a couple of possibilities offhand. Maybe he knew too much. He was being treated for psi trauma. Maybe he had become too unstable. Or maybe his employer didn’t need him anymore.” Davis touched the dead man’s arm. “I’m no medical examiner, but I don’t think he’s been dead very long. A few hours, maybe.”

  He put down the bottle and crossed the small space to raise the window. Trig stood in the alley, looking up. Davis waved him upstairs.

  It took only a few minutes to search the studio. By the time Trig walked through the door, Davis had checked the closet and gone through the drawers in the battered dresser.

  “Damn,” Trig said, looking at the body with a glum expression. “Looks like we’re going to have to call Detective Martinez again. Got a feeling she’s going to be a mite put out about this.”

  Davis closed the kitchen drawer and turned to contemplate the room. “Once she gets involved, things will get even more complicated. We need to find Brinker’s employer before the Cadence PD opens up another murder investigation.”

  Celinda looked up from the stack of mail she was going through. She held a crisp-looking white envelope in one hand. “I don’t know if this is important, but it’s the only piece of mail here that isn’t addressed to current resident.”

  Davis took the envelope from her. Another chill went through him when he saw the return address.

  “What is it, boss?” Trig asked, frowning.

  “A letter from the Glenfield Institute,” Davis said without inflection.

  “Huh.” Trig made no further comment.

  Celinda’s brows snapped together. “Why are you both looking as if that letter is a note from the City-State Tax Service?”

  “The Glenfield Institute is where I ended up when I went into that extended coma I told you about,” Davis said. “It’s the private parapsych hospital where the Cadence Guild sends hunters who get burned.”

  “I see.” Understanding lit her eyes. “Not a lot of happy memories, in that case.”

  “No,” he said. He ripped open the envelope, pulled out the neatly folded sheet of business letterhead, and read the letter aloud.

  Dear Mr. Brinker:

  It has come to my attention that you missed your last three follow-up appointments at the Institute. Please call immediately to reschedule.

  The signature was that of Harold J. Phillips, DPP.

  “Phillips is the head of the Glenfield Institute,” Davis said. “I’ve had a couple of letters from him, myself, in the past few months. He didn’t like the fact that I checked myself out of the institute. Thinks I need follow-up care like Brinker, here.”

  “Well, clearly you don’t,” Celinda said firmly. She glanced at the body on the bed. “But Brinker may have needed some.”

  Davis looked at Trig. “Call Martinez. Fill her in on what happened here. Remind her this is still Guild business.”

  “Sure,” Trig said. “But she isn’t going to like it.”

  “I know. Once you’ve made the call to her, check with the director of the street clinic that issued these meds. Tell him the patient died and that the Guild wants to talk to the doctor who was treating Brinker.”

  “Got it,” Trig said. “What are you going to do next?”

  “Looks like I no longer have a choice,” Davis said. “Got to make that appointment at the Glenfield Institute.”

  Chapter 32

  DAVIS LOOKED AS CALM AND CENTERED AS ALWAYS, BUT Celinda was intensely aware of the tightly leashed tension beneath the stony surface. His energy patterns were sharp and hotly colored just as they had been last night when he had prepared to do battle with Landry’s men.

  She stood with him in front of the massive iron gates that guarded the Glenfield Institute. The large stone building was designed to look like a gracious mansion. It was surrounded by at least a couple of acres of manicured gardens, ponds, and fountains.

  She looked at Davis. “You okay?”

  “I’m not going to have hysterics, if that’s what you mean.”

  She smiled. “I know. You’re under complete control.”

  He cocked a brow. “You can tell that?”

  “Sure can. I call ’em as I read ’em. You’re definitely in control.”

  “Thanks for letting me know that. I can’t tell you how much better that makes me feel.”

  A groundskeeper approached the gate.

  “Security,” Davis said to Celinda. “The theory is that if they’re dressed like gardeners, the patients won’t notice.”

  “Obviously, you noticed.”

  “Security people always look like security people. They can’t help themselves.”

  “What can I do for you?” the groundskeeper asked, eyes watchful.

  Davis handed him a business card. “We’re here to see Dr. Phillips. Guild business.”

  The guard frowned at the card and then spoke quickly into his phone. There was a brief pause while he listened to the response. He nodded respectfully at Davis.

  “I’ll escort you to Dr. Phillips’s office,” he said.

  He rezzed them through the gate and then led the way along a white gravel path to the colonnaded entrance.

  Inside the lobby, a woman in a business suit waited for them. Celinda did a quick check. The vibes were all wholesome.

  The woman smiled warmly at Davis.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Oakes. We’re so glad you decided to return. Dr. Phillips has been very anxious to speak with you.”

  “This is Miss Ingram,” Davis said coolly. “Celinda, this is Dr. West.”

  Celinda smiled. “Doctor.”

  Dr. West inclined her head. “Perhaps you would care to
wait out here while Mr. Oakes consults with Dr. Phillips?”

  “She’s with me,” Davis said, taking Celinda’s arm. “And this isn’t a consultation. It’s Guild business. We’d like to see Phillips immediately.”

  Dr. West’s smile faded into an expression of grave concern. “Of course,” she said, sounding a little anxious now. “Come with me.”

  She led them into an expensively paneled and carpeted office. A receptionist smiled at them, but before she could speak, the door of the inner office opened. A small, rumpled man with a crown of thinning gray hair bounded out. He grabbed Davis’s hand and pumped it energetically.

  “Good to see you, Davis,” he said, beaming. “How are you feeling?”

  “Normal, thanks.” Davis freed himself. “This is Celinda Ingram. She’s a friend. Celinda, Dr. Phillips.”

  “Dr. Phillips,” she said.

  Phillips turned to her, still smiling broadly. “A pleasure, Miss Ingram. What do you say we all go outside onto the veranda? It’s a lovely day.”

  She opened herself to the psi energy emanating from the little man. His warmth and smile were genuine.

  Within minutes they were all seated on a wide, shaded veranda overlooking the lush gardens and a tranquil pool. The setting was very restful, Celinda thought. Maybe too restful for a private investigator. No doubt about it, the place would probably have driven Davis crazy, even if he hadn’t been medicated.

  “We’ve been very worried about you, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Phillips said earnestly, speaking to Davis. “But seeing you here today, I am vastly reassured. You appear to be in excellent health.”

  “I appreciate your concern.” Davis’s tone could have frozen hot lava. “But I didn’t come here today to talk about my case. I want to ask you about one of your other patients, a man named Robert C. Brinker.”

  “I see.” Disappointment flashed briefly across Phillips’s face. “I thought perhaps you had finally decided to respond to my letters. I know that your experience here was extremely unpleasant. Please believe me when I tell you that we did the best we could under the circumstances. We had never seen a case like yours before. We thought for a time that we were going to lose you altogether or that you would be trapped in a coma for the rest of your life. We were desperate.”