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  She returned his smile, icicle for icicle. “You’re bluffing. You’re here because you need me, or, at least, you think you need me to get this job done.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Let’s review. You are a very successful man. You’ve got money. Enough to hire any of the best investigation firms in the city. I’m a one-person office and I am very, very low-profile. I work by referral only. Yet you found me. That means you had to come looking.”

  He nodded once, silently approving. “Okay, you sound like a competent investigator.”

  “Gosh, thanks. Now, let’s clear up a few things before we go any farther.”

  “Such as?”

  “Are you a cop of some kind, Mr. Winters? FBI? Interpol, maybe? If so, I want to see your identification now.”

  “Trust me, this isn’t a police matter,” Jack said. “You have my word on it.”

  She took another look at his footprints and decided she believed him. It wasn’t that the dreamlight told her whether or not he was lying. What it indicated very strongly was that he was hiding secrets as dark as any in the Harper family.

  “If this isn’t about a crime and you’re not here in an official capacity, why the rush to find a missing lamp?” she asked. “Is someone else after it?”

  “Not as far as I know.”

  She tapped the tip of her pen on the desktop. “You’re a dealer, aren’t you? And you’re under a deadline. Either you produce the lamp within a short period of time or you don’t collect your fee.”

  “No.” He walked to the desk and stood looking down at her. “I’m a businessman, Miss Harper. I’m not interested in the art and antiquities world. I run a venture capital firm. Winters Investments. I doubt that you’ve heard of it. I keep a very low profile, too.”

  She smiled, oddly pleased that her intuition had hit the nail on the head, even if it was in a rather indirect way.

  “So you are an angel,” she said.

  His eyes tightened a little at the corners. “What are you talking about?”

  “Isn’t that what they call people who provide the start- up money for small companies and businesses? Angels?”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things in my time but none of my clients or competitors has ever called me an angel. At least, not after they found out that I would be taking a seat on their board of directors and a controlling interest in their business.”

  “I see.” She cleared her throat. “Moving right along, are you going to tell me how you found me?”

  He studied her for a moment. She was almost positive she could feel currents of energy shifting in the atmosphere. Over on his bed Hector moved restlessly. Jack had cranked up his senses, she thought. Well, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t employing her own talent.

  After a few seconds, Jack inclined his head again. This time she knew that he had decided to accept the terms of the deal.

  “If I don’t tell you how I came up with your name you won’t take my case, will you?” he said.

  “No, Mr. Winters. I have some rules here at Harper Investigations. I need to know how you found me.”

  He waited a beat, and then he smiled slightly. “I found you in a computer database,” he said.

  She froze, anxiety and a wholly irrational disappointment coiling deep inside her. She pulled on everything she had in the way of will-power to keep her expression calm and controlled.

  “Oh, damn,” she said. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “You’re from Jones & Jones, aren’t you?” She shook her head, disgusted. “Really, I should have guessed. Well, if you think for one moment that you can blackmail me into helping you find your lamp, you can think again. I have done nothing wrong, and I refuse to allow anyone connected to that dipsquat investigation agency to try to manipulate me.”

  Something in his expression told her that she had managed to catch him off guard. She got the feeling that the accusation was the last thing he had expected. He recovered swiftly and even seemed to relax a little.

  “Take it easy, Chloe,” he said. He flattened his palms on the top of her desk, leaning in a little to emphasize his point. “I give you my word, I am not from J&J. Believe me, I’ve got an even better reason than you do for wanting to avoid drawing the agency’s attention. The fact that we share a similar attitude toward that outfit is one of the reasons I’m here.”

  “That’s not exactly the most reassuring thing you could have said. If you’re not from J&J, how, exactly, did you find me?”

  “I told you, in the agency’s files.”

  She got to her feet and faced him across the desk. “Let’s back up here for a moment. I’m not officially registered with Arcane. I’ve suspected for a long time that J&J probably had a file on my family, but I would have thought that only one of their agents could access it. How did you get into it?”

  “The usual way.” He straightened, taking his hands off the desk. “I hacked into it.”

  “Oh, great. So you’re not only ducking J&J, you’ve invaded their files. And you think this information is going to encourage me to help you? I should throw you out of my office as fast as I can.”

  “If you do, there’s a good chance you will be signing my death warrant.”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m really not in the mood for this kind of drama. Especially if it involves J&J. I’ve got enough excitement in my life, trust me.”

  “Here’s the bottom line, Chloe Harper. If you don’t help me there’s a strong possibility that at some point in the next few weeks or months J&J will hire someone to take me out. The only thing that can change my future is finding that damned lamp.”

  She stared at him, appalled. “You’re serious.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She drew a sharp breath. “Now you’re going way too fast for me. Slow down. Why does the name Winters sound ever so faintly familiar?”

  “You and your family have been dodging J&J for years. That means you probably know something about the Arcane Society.”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “Does the name Nicholas Winters mean anything to you?” he asked softly.

  “Good grief.” She sank slowly back down onto her chair, stunned. “Are you saying you’re related to that Winters? The alchemist who turned himself into a double-talent, went mad and tried to murder Sylvester Jones?”

  “I’m Winters’s direct descendant.”

  “Good grief,” she repeated. She could not think of anything to add to that, so she shut up.

  “And here’s the really bad news,” Jack said. “I’m the first man since Griffin Winters back in the late Victorian era to inherit the family curse.”

  She almost stopped breathing. “But it’s all a myth,” she whispered. “Heaven knows, Arcane thrives on myths and legends. But most of them involve Sylvester Jones and his descendants.”

  “And those that don’t involve the Joneses usually involved the Winterses. Unfortunately, the legends about my family aren’t nearly as entertaining as those that are based on the Joneses.”

  “Yes, well, that’s probably because the Winterses’ legend ended badly,” she said without stopping to think. She winced when she heard her own words. “Sorry.”

  He gave her another thin, ice-and-lava smile. “No need to apologize. You’re right. There have always been those who say that the Winters family tree is the dark side of Arcane.”

  “But the thing is, the stories are all myths,” she insisted. “Don’t tell me you really believe you’re going to turn into some kind of psychic monster.”

  He just looked at her, not speaking.

  “You do believe it,” she said finally.

  He remained silent.

  She spread her hands. “But that’s ridiculous. If you had some genetic abnormality that involved your para-senses it would have manifested itself by now. Talent of any kind, abnormal or otherwise, always shows up in the teens and early twenties. No offense, but you
don’t look like a teenager.”

  “I’m thirty-six. According to the stories I managed to turn up, that’s the age Nicholas Winters was when he became a double-talent.”

  A chill fluttered through her. “You’re not going to stand there and tell me that you actually believe that you are a monster, are you?”

  “I don’t know what I am, Chloe, or what I’m becoming. But I do know that historically J&J has a shoot, shovel and shut-up policy when it comes to dangerously unstable multi-talents.”

  “Oh, I really don’t think—”

  “Not much else you can do with a Cerberus.”

  “Cerberus?” Horrified, she stared at him. “For heaven’s sake, you aren’t some sort of mythical, three-headed dog guarding the gate of hell.”

  “Find my lamp, Miss Harper. I don’t care what it costs. Name your price.”

  3

  Scargill Cove, California

  Fallon Jones looked out the window of his second-story office. There were no three-story offices in the small town, no buildings higher than his own, not even the tiny six-room inn at the far end of the street.

  It was afternoon but the sky was leaden. Down below the cliffs the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean was the color of steel. Another storm was moving in from the sea.

  The tiny village clinging to the Northern California coast was a throwback to another era, with its craft and crystal shops, seaweed harvesting business and New Age bookstore. The terminally green, fiercely no-growth town council had long ago outlawed paper and plastic along with chain restaurants and condos. Not that any restaurant chains or condo developers had ever shown any interest in Scargill Cove. The community was, for all intents and purposes, lost in its own private time warp. It was the ideal setting for a psychic detective agency.

  From his window he had an excellent view of the Sunshine Café. Earlier that morning he had watched Isabella open the small coffee shop at six-thirty. Right on time, as usual. She had arrived wearing her gleaming yellow raincoat. As usual. He had watched her turn over the CLOSED sign in the window as usual, and then, as usual, she had looked up at his office window and given him a cheery wave and a bright smile. He had lifted his hand in response. As usual.

  The silent, distant acknowledgment of each other’s presence had become a ritual for both of them. It was repeated every afternoon at five-thirty, when Isabella closed the café. He found himself looking forward to it every day. That was probably not a good sign.

  She always seemed to know when he was there, at the window, watching.

  Well, she probably did know, he thought, feeling like an idiot. He was certain that Isabella Valdez was a high- level sensitive, most likely an intuitive talent, although he wasn’t sure whether or not she was aware of her psychic nature. He could feel her energy. It thrilled his senses in ways he could not explain.

  She was definitely not Arcane. He had checked the files himself two weeks earlier when she had moved into town and taken the job at the Sunshine. When he’d found no record of any Isabella Valdez that matched her age and description in the Society’s database, he had immediately expanded the background check, pulling in all the considerable resources at his disposal.

  Nothing personal, he told himself, just a reasonable precaution. A powerful talent moves into the same small, undiscovered dot on the map where the headquarters of the West Coast branch of the Society’s investigation agency just happens to be located? Yeah, sure. What were the odds?

  His first thought was that she had to be a Nightshade operative. But he’d called in two of his best aura-talents, Grace and Luther Malone. They had flown in from Hawaii yesterday, landing in San Francisco. After they had picked up a car, they had driven up the coast to Scargill Cove.

  From his window he had watched them park in front of his office and cross the street to the Sunshine Café, looking for all the world like a couple of tourists in search of a cup of coffee. Twenty minutes later they had climbed the single flight of stairs to his office.

  “She’s clean, Mr. Jones,” Grace said. “There are no signs of the drug in her aura.”

  Grace always called him Mr. Jones. He liked that. So few of his agents showed him the sort of respect that one expected from an employee. Most had an attitude.

  Technically speaking his agents were independent consultants who worked under contract to J&J. In addition to possessing psychic talents of one kind or another, they were smart, resourceful and capable of thinking for themselves in the field. The combination made for good, reliable investigators but, unfortunately, was usually coupled with the attitude problem.

  Grace was different. She was unfailingly polite and respectful. More important, however, was her ability to detect indications of the effects of a certain dangerous drug that had the capability of greatly enhancing the psychic senses. Luther possessed the same talent. Their abilities had given J&J another weapon to use in their struggle with the shadowy organization known as Nightshade.

  Nightshade was a threat not just to Arcane but to the whole country. Fallon and everyone else at the top of the Society knew that they were on their own in the underground struggle against a ruthless opponent. Regular law enforcement, the intelligence community and government officials had their hands full dealing with standard-issue bad actors like criminals and terrorists. No one wanted to hear about a bunch of psychic mobsters who had re-created an ancient alchemical formula that gave the users powerful paranormal talents. Hell, no one would even give credence to such a wild conspiracy theory.

  “Okay, no signs of the drug in her aura,” Fallon said, not wanting to let Grace and Luther know that he felt as if a mountain had just been lifted from his shoulders. “But it’s possible Nightshade has started using operatives who aren’t yet taking the formula.”

  Grace smiled. “Your paranoia is showing, sir.”

  “I don’t like coincidences.”

  “Neither do I,” Luther said. He went to stand at the window and looked down at the café. “But sometimes a waitress is just a waitress.”

  It struck Fallon that there was something weird about Luther. He still looked like the battered ex-cop that he was, right down to the bum leg and the cane. But there was a sense of positive energy around him that felt odd. The same kind of strange energy was coming off of Grace, too. What was up with this pair?

  “I ran my own check of the genealogy files,” Grace said. “But I didn’t find anything. Evidently none of Miss Valdez’s ancestors was ever affiliated with the Society.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time Nightshade hacked into our database and altered records,” Fallon reminded her grimly.

  She shook her head, very certain. “I think she’s exactly what she appears to be: a woman with a strong talent who found herself alone in the world. I didn’t turn up any immediate family or close relatives. Looks like she grew up outside Arcane, so there would have been no one to help her understand and accept the psychic side of her nature. I think she came here because she’s lonely, Mr. Jones. She was looking for a place to call home. Trust me, I know the feeling.”

  Fallon contemplated that for a moment. “Valdez feels different all of her life, so she ends up here, where ninety- nine point nine percent of the town’s population could be labeled misfits. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes,” Grace said. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Luther looked back over his shoulder. “Only ninety-nine point nine percent of the locals are misfits? Who’s your token normal?”

  Fallon frowned, mystified by the question.

  “Me,” he said.

  Luther grinned. “Right. Well, now that we’ve assured you that the new coffee shop waitress is not a Nightshade operative sent here to spy on you, Grace and I are going to be on our way.”

  “What’s the rush?” Fallon asked. He didn’t get a lot of visitors. For the most part he didn’t like visitors, at least not for long. Visitors were a distraction. High maintenance. But for some reason he was reluctant to see Luther and Gr
ace leave.

  “Figured as long as we had to come over here to the mainland on J&J business, we might as well visit a friend in Eclipse Bay before we fly home to the Islands,” Luther said. “It’s called padding the expense account.”

  “Who’s the friend?” Fallon asked, ignoring the unsubtle dig.

  Grace smiled. “Her name is Arizona Snow.”

  “Snow.” Fallon searched his memory. “The name sounds familiar.”

  “She used to be my landlady,” Grace explained.

  “Something else.” Fallon frowned, trying to remember where he had come across the name.

  Luther gave him a knowing look. “She’s a senior citizen, the town eccentric. She’s harmless, but years ago she used to work for a classified government agency.”

  “Got it,” Fallon snapped his fingers. “I came across the data in a file when you moved to Eclipse Bay, Grace. I remember checking into it. Snow was some kind of high-level talent at one time. Never registered with the Society, so there’s no record of exactly what type of ability she had. Somewhere along the line she self-destructed. Went over the edge and got lost in her own crazy conspiracy theories. Harmless, but definitely a total whack job.”

  Grace and Luther exchanged looks. Fallon got the feeling he was missing something. But, then, that happened a lot when he was around other people.

  Belatedly, the meaning of the glance that had passed between Grace and Luther hit him. He exhaled heavily.

  “You think I’ve got a few things in common with Arizona Snow, don’t you?” he asked. He suddenly felt inexpressibly weary. “You think that I’m a conspiracy nut, too.”

  “No, of course not,” Grace said quickly. “It’s just that your talent is so unusual. This thing you do, your ability to see connections between seemingly random bits of information, it’s quite rare.”

  “No, it’s not,” Fallon said flatly. “People do it all the time. Check out the Internet if you want to see real conspiracy buffs.”