After Dark

Chapter 24

THE HIDDEN CHAMBER glowed with resonating green light. Strange shadows appeared and disappeared on the walls. She sensed that some were doorways, but whenever she tried to approach one of the shifting dark patches, it vanished before she could walk through it.

Panic tightened her throat. She knew she must not let it overwhelm her. There had to be a way out of the chamber.

She went cautiously toward what appeared to be another darkened opening in the green quartz wall. She put out a hand, half expecting that this doorway would dissolve, just as the others had.

But instead of the wall, her fingers touched only air. Hardly daring to breathe, she went through the doorway into the antechamber.

She sensed illusion energy and halted. She searched the deep shadows and saw nothing. But she knew the trap was here, somewhere. She could feel it.

Then she saw the small dreamstone chest in the center of the room. She went slowly toward it, reached down, lifted the lid, and saw the photograph inside. Chester grinned at her from the picture.

Lydia awoke with a start. Fuzz was in her lap, his front paws braced on her chest. All four of his eyes were open.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

She gazed wildly around the small living room, searching the shadows. But things appeared normal, or at least as normal as they could when you had a ghost-hunter sleeping on the sofa.

Emmett was stretched out on the cushions, still sound asleep, his head turned away from her.

Fuzz took his paws off her chest, closed his hunting eyes, and curled up again on her lap. He closed his daylight eyes too. The all-clear sign.

She stroked his fluffy gray fur absently. She had probably alarmed him when she was in the throes of her dream. Perhaps she had moved or muttered something.

After a while she picked Fuzz up and nestled him into the corner of the big chair. He did not open his eyes, merely shifted and made himself comfortable again.

She got to her feet and padded to the sofa. She reached down and pulled the blankets up higher around Emmett's shoulders. He did not stir.

She went to the window, pushed her hands into the deep sleeves of her robe, and looked out at her sliver-thin view of the Dead City. The images of the dream wafted through her head.

After a while she turned and walked toward the hall that led to her bedroom. In the nick of time she remembered the little table and avoided it.

When she reached her room she went to the dresser and looked down at the photo she had left there. The light from the partially open bathroom door angled across it. She could see Chester grinning at her, just as he had in the dream. She glanced at the copy of the Journal of Para-archaeology in his hand. He had been so proud to be listed as a consultant.

She went back out into the living room and settled once more into the depths of the big chair. Stretching out her legs, she propped her slippered feet on the footstool and pulled the lapels of her robe more snugly around her.

For a long time she just sat there, thinking and gazing out into the night.

Emmett awoke with a vague sense of disorientation. Then the memory of the burn-fest in the alley washed through him. He raised his wrist, opened his eyes, and stared at the face of the watch. Five o'clock in the morning. He calculated that he'd had three hours of solid after-burn sleep. Not exactly a good night's rest, but sufficient time for his body to recover from the heavy expenditure of psi energy.

He sensed another presence in the small room and turned his head. Lydia was curled deep into the wing chair near the window, her head pillowed in the corner and her legs tucked beneath the folds of her robe. From the crook of her arm, blue eyes blinked at him.

He pushed aside the covers and sat up cautiously. Glancing down, he discovered that someone, presumably Lydia, had removed his shirt. The thought that she had undressed him was an intriguing one. Then he realized that he was still wearing his trousers. Either she hadn't been able to get them off or the prospect of doing so had not appealed to her. He consoled himself with the possibility that she might simply have lost her nerve.

The blanket fell aside as he got to his feet. He had no memory of pulling it up over himself. He went down the hall to the ever-lit bathroom.

Inside the small room he turned on the faucet and leaned over the sink to splash cold water on his face. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he winced.

He went back out into the living room. Lydia had not moved, but Fuzz was gone from beneath her arm. Emmett glanced into the kitchen and saw the dust-bunny on the counter near the pretzel jar. Fuzz didn't appear to need any help getting at the pretzels.

He went back to the sofa, sat down amid the tumbled blankets, and propped his elbows on his thighs. He linked his fingers loosely together and looked at Lydia. Why the hell had she slept in that chair? Did she think she needed to stand guard over him? Was she afraid he was going to go berserk because of the amber burn? Another little hunter eccentricity? Maybe she was worded that he would tear up the place.

He noticed that she was awake now, watching him from the depths of the chair.

"How do you feel?" she asked. Her voice was soft and husky.

"Almost back to normal."

"You gave me a bit of a scare last night. I've never seen a ghost-hunter in that condition."

He ran one hand over his face, felt the rough stubble of his beard. He needed to shave. Soon.

"Speaking personally," he said, "I try to avoid it."

"I can understand that. You still don't look in great shape. Maybe you should go back to sleep."

"I'm okay, damn it."

"You don't have to bite my head off. It's not my fault you look like you just spent the night getting into a brawl behind a sleazy tavern."

He started to answer that and then thought better of it. "Why did you sleep in that chair?"

"I wanted to keep an eye on you. Zane and Olinda seemed to think you would be okay, but I wasn't so sure."

"Shit. I'm not an invalid, you know. The burn-and-crash syndrome is absolutely normal. At least, it is after you've used as much energy as I did last night."

She yawned. "You're welcome."

This was not going well. He was getting edgy again. It seemed to happen a lot around Lydia. He tried to distract himself.

"Thanks for getting me up here," he mumbled. "You were right. Spending the night downstairs in the parking lot was probably not one of my brighter ideas."

"No problem. Zane and Olinda helped."

"Uh-huh." He had a vague memory of everyone dragging, hauling, and pushing him up five flights of stairs. Talk about looking like an invalid. No wonder she had slept in the chair. Probably thought he needed a night nurse.

"Too bad the elevator is out." Great. Now he was rambling.

"You can say that again. Driffield's gonna pay one of these days." She pulled her robe closer around her throat and started to rise. "Well, since it doesn't look like either one of us is going to go back to sleep, I may as well take a shower and get dressed."

He stood up at the same time she did and blocked her path to the bedroom. She came to a halt directly in front of him and searched his face.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked.

"No. I am not all right." He cupped her face in his hands. "But I'm not going to go crazy and rip up your apartment."

"I never thought you'd do anything of the kind," she said defensively.

"Sure, you did. It was written all over your face. You've been nervous about me right from the start. And every time some little quirk related to hunter physiology comes up, your freak out again. That's what happened last night, isn't it?"

"I don't believe this." She stared at him with gathering outrage. "You're upset because I spent the night here so that I could watch over you?"

"I am not upset," he said through his teeth. "But I am pissed as hell. Damn it, I'm not sick. I'm not going to lose it and wreak havoc in your living room. You didn't have to keep a vigil over me as if I was some unpredictable wild beast."

Temper flared, and then, without warning, her expression softened. "Take it easy. Calm down. You're not quite yourself yet. Why don't you go take your shower first? I'll have a nice hot cup of rez-tea waiting when you come out."

Her soothing tone nearly sent him over the edge. "I don't want any damned tea."

Her gentle concern evaporated. "Why are you so irritable this morning? I was worried about you last night. You scared the daylights out of me when you collapsed on my sofa."

"I didn't collapse. I fell asleep. Big difference."

"You collapsed."

"I fell asleep. But guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm wide awake now." He pulled her close and crushed her mouth beneath his.

For an instant he thought she was going to explode with outrage. She sucked in her breath, her fingers curled into his shoulder.

And then she was kissing him back. Fiercely. Everything within him leaped into high rez. Urgency swept through him. He felt her respond to it. Her arms tightened around him as she fought him for the embrace.

They were definitely on the same frequency, he decided. He wasn't quite sure how the dissonance of their mutual hostility had metamorphosed so abruptly into near-violent sexual resonance, but he sure as hell was not going to take time to analyze it right now.

He yanked open her robe. She fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, got them unzipped. He felt himself surge forward into her waiting hands and groaned aloud. When her fingers tightened around him he wanted to shout.

He turned slightly, taking her with him, stepped back and half-fell, half-sank deep into the big, overstuffed chair. She tumbled down on top of him, warm and soft and scented with desire. Her robe fluttered over the arms of the chair as she settled astride him and closed her thighs around his.

He reached down and found the hot, wet place between her legs. She gasped when he dampened his fingers in her heat, breathed deeply when he stroked her clitoris. Her head tipped back. Her hair spilled down her back.

He gripped the wonderfully rounded flesh of her buttocks and thrust himself deep into her snug, tight body. "Emmett."

He felt her fingers digging into his shoulders as he pushed himself to the hilt. She started to move on him, swift, urgent, excited motions. He found the swollen little bud once more, inserted his finger under it, just inside the already tautly stretched passage.

"Yes." Her breath was warm in his ear. "Yes." He stroked into her, oblivious of everything now except the driving sense of need that consumed him. He felt her shudder, felt her convulse along the entire length of him. Her delicate harmonic shivers established a resonance as irresistible as the pull of gravity.

His release burned through him, hotter than melting amber. He pumped himself dry and then collapsed in exhaustion for the second time.

He surfaced a long while later. Lydia was still astride him, her face buried in the curve of his neck. Her body was damp, and he could smell his own scent on her. A raw, elemental sense of possessiveness surged through him. He wrapped his fingers around her upper thighs.

"I'd like to reiterate my main point," she mumbled.

"What was that? I think I forgot."

"I did not sleep out here because I thought you might go berserk and tear up my living room."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She paused. "But if that's what you really want to do, be my guest."

"Thanks. Some other time, maybe."

"Whatever." She raised her head and looked down at him. In the pale dawn light her throat and cheeks were flushed. Her mouth and eyes were soft. She smiled.

He felt his body stir again. He tightened his hands on her thighs. "On second thought, maybe I will go berserk and tear up your apartment after all."

He put the water on for the rez-tea while Lydia sliced glistening oranges into two bowls. It occurred to him that he was already starting to feel much too comfortable in the cramped apartment.

He was going to have to come up with an excuse to hang around after he cleared up this mess involving Quinn. He wasn't sure yet what was happening between Lydia and himself, but whatever it was, he didn't want to walk away from it. Not yet.

"What do we do next?" Lydia asked as she sat down beside him at the counter.

Optimism soared. They were apparently on the same frequency again this morning. Life was good.

"Funny you should mention that," he said. "I've been thinking."

"Me, too." She spooned up a mouthful of orange. "Everything points to the Transverse Wave Youth Shelter, right?"

"Right." So much for being on the same frequency. Emmett squelched his brief flash of optimism and refocused his attention.

"The Cadence Guild started funding the shelter earlier this year." Lydia looked at him as she blotted orange juice from her lips. "And we know that Tamara Wyatt was the driving force behind the Guild's new civic consciousness. Mercer Wyatt believes he's got a traitor close to him. Maybe that traitor is even closer than he thinks."

"I know where you're going here, but it doesn't work."

"Emmett, I understand that you and Tamara have a past. You were in love with her. Maybe you still are—"

"No."

"Denial is no way to deal with these kinds of issues."

"I am not in denial. I'm telling you that I no longer have any strong feelings for Tamara."

"Right. She dumped you for another man. Of course you've got some strong feelings about her."

"Can we stick to the subject?" he asked evenly.

She looked as if she was going to argue. But she must have seen something in his face that changed her mind. She cleared her throat instead.

"Okay, fine," she said briskly. "I believe we were considering the possibility that Tamara is involved in whatever is going on at the shelter."

"Don't think so," Emmett said.

She glared at him. "Why do you keep insisting she's innocent? We've already decided that everything that's happened is connected. Chester's piece of dreamstone, his death, the missing youths, and Greeley's murder."

"I know."

"The common link is the shelter."

"Lydia—"

"There is one other fact that you can't ignore. Everything that's happened has taken place in the past few months. After Tamara's marriage to Wyatt. After she directed the Guild to set up a charitable foundation and start funding the Transverse Wave Youth Shelter. It all points to Tamara. Admit it."

He couldn't deny her logic. He pondered the problem for a few seconds, trying to find words for what until now had been only an instinctive reaction to the facts.

"Whatever is going on at the shelter, I agree that it's probably connected to the dreamstone," he said at last.

"So?"

"Think about it. Dreamstone is potentially extremely valuable both as an archaeological discovery and in the private collectors' market."

"Right. Whoever gets his hands on it can use it to establish an instant, brilliant reputation in the academic world. But in order to do so, he would have to turn it over to a museum."

"If someone who wasn't connected to the university wanted to capitalize on the discovery of dreamstone to become a celebrity, he or she would have to go public. That would mean holding press conferences. Giving interviews."

"Hmm."

"On the other hand, if the discoverer was planning to turn a huge profit on the dreamstone, he would have a good incentive to keep the find secret until he could do deals in the private market. That would be especially true if the excavation work was being carried out illegally."

"It's pretty obvious that someone is trying to keep the discovery quiet and that the excavation work is being done illegally. So what? How does that make Tamara innocent?"

"Everything about this operation points to someone who wants to keep it secret," Emmett said. "If Tamara was involved in this, she would be far more interested in the publicity than the money."

"Hmm," Lydia said again.

"As Mercer Wyatt's wife, she's already got access to all the money she could ever want."

"Some people never have enough money."

"What Tamara craves," he said patiently, "is social status and the power that comes with it. She wants to rub elbows with the right people. She wants to sit on the boards of charitable foundations, give fund-raisers for the arts, get invited to the homes of the movers and shakers. Believe me, if she got her hands on dreamstone, she would go public with it in a big way."

Lydia tapped her spoon on the edge of the bowl that held the oranges. "I guess you know her better than I do."

"Yeah." He shook cereal out of the box into his bowl. "I do."

She gave him a quick, unreadable glance, but she did not pursue the subject of his relationship with Tamara. "Okay, so we rule out Tamara based on your gut feeling that her motives don't fit the secrecy scenario we've uncovered. And it doesn't look like Ryan is directly involved, either."

"Someone tried to use him to find out how much you know about the missing piece of dreamstone, though," Emmett said. "Whoever is behind this knows we're getting close."

Lydia put down her spoon. "Last night I did a lot of thinking. Among other things, it occurred to me that whoever lured Ryan to the Green Wall Tavern may have had something else in mind besides getting rid of him."

He grunted and concentrated on eating cereal.

"Emmett?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Of course I heard you."

"Last night you made a big point of telling Ryan that you were safe because of your Guild connections."

"Uh-huh."

"But if you had been killed in that alley, the Cadence Guild authorities could have claimed that it was just the tragic consequences of your going to the aid of a mugging victim. One of those wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time crimes. Everyone's sorry, but it's nobody's fault."

"Wyatt would still have to explain to the Resonance Guild why the mugging was carried out by a couple of hunters," Emmett said.

"That's just the point. Those two youths probably aren't members of the Guild. You said yourself they were untrained. If and when they're caught, Mercer Wyatt can deny all responsibility."

He shrugged. "That doesn't mean the Resonance Guild wouldn't raise hell. A couple of young, strong dissonance-energy para-rezes like those two should have been under the control of the Guild."

"So the Resonance Guild makes a fuss. Big deal. Wyatt promises to investigate and find the bad guys. And that's the end of it."

He smiled briefly, without any amusement. "Take it from me, Lydia, Guild politics aren't that simple."

"You're deliberately missing my point here," she said very steadily. "I think someone hoped you would follow Ryan last night."

He picked up his rez-tea. "You're telling me that you think someone tried to set me up last night, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He took a swallow of tea and said nothing. There wasn't anything to say. He was pretty sure she was right. He'd been sure of it since he'd followed Ryan out into the alley.

"Well?" Lydia said aggressively.

"I can take care of myself, Lydia."

"Damn it, it was a setup. I knew it."

She came off the stool with so much speed that her elbow hit the rez-teacup and sent it flying. She ignored it to grab him by the lapels. Since he was not wearing a shirt, she got two fistfuls of T-shirt instead.

"Take it easy, honey," he said soothingly.

"I'm right, aren't I? Someone tried to kill you last night."

"It's okay."

"No, it is not okay. In case it has escaped your notice, we are in big trouble here. We've got to go something. Maybe we should contact Detective Martinez."

"And get ourselves arrested on suspicion of murder? That's not going to do a whole hell of a lot of good."

"Well, what do you suggest, Mr. Ex-Guild Boss?"

He was silent for a moment. Then he said softly, "I suggest I go ahead with the plans I've already made."

"What plans? Why don't I know about these plans?"

"I haven't had much of a chance to discuss them with you," he said, deliberately vague.

"You mean you didn't intend to involve me in them, don't you?"

"Lydia—"

"Never mind. Tell me what you're going to do."

He shrugged. "I'm going to take a look around the offices of the Transverse Wave Youth Shelter tonight. See if I can turn up anything that will give us an idea of who is using the facility to recruit young para-talents off the street to excavate a cache of dreamstone."

"I'll come with you."

"No, you will not."

"You're going to need me, Emmett."

"Give me one good reason why I can't handle it alone."

She smiled coolly. "I told you that I thought I sensed illusion trap energy somewhere in the vicinity of the shelter's office, remember?"

He watched her, wary now. "We agreed that it wasn't unusual to pick up traces of energy leaks that close to the Old Wall."

"What if it wasn't just some leaked energy I sensed? What if it was emanating from a trap set to protect a cache of dreamstone or a small hole-in-the-wall gate that someone found and wants to keep secret?"

"Everyone knows you tanglers are inclined to be over-imaginative," he said.

"Everyone knows you stubborn, arrogant ghost-hunters think you can handle anything with a dose of dissonance energy, but it ain't so. I'm coming with you, Emmett. We're in this together."

She was right, he thought. They were in this together.