Canyons of Night

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 whatever 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.”

“Tell me about the breakin,” Slade said.

“Right.” She dusted off her hands. “As I explained to Myrna when I called the station this morning, I think I had a breakin. The problem is that I don’t know if anything was stolen.”

“I can understand why it would be hard to tell if something was missing. This place is crammed with junk.”

Charlotte glared. “That’s antiques and collectibles to you.”

“Right. Antiques and collectibles. Tell me about the breakin you think you had,” he said.

“He came through the back door. I’m positive I locked it last night when I closed up.”

“No one locks their doors here in Shadow Bay.”

“I do. I’m from the city, remember? At any rate, the door was unlocked this morning when I arrived. And there are what look like muddy prints on the floor.”

“Oh, good,” Slade said. “Actual clues. That should be interesting.”

“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“In the five days that I have been chief of police here the most serious crime I’ve had to deal with involved the supposed theft of Hoyt Wilkins’s bicycle. It turned up the following day. Astonishingly, it was still leaning against the tree where Hoyt had left it when he realized he was too drunk to ride it home from the Driftwood Tavern.”

“I heard that two nights ago you also had to break up a fight at the Driftwood.”

“Breaking up a bar fight is not the same thing as conducting an investigation. Mostly it involves trying not to get slugged while you separate the drunken idiots involved.”

“But wait, there’s more,” she announced triumphantly. “Yesterday you arrested those two hot-weed runners who anchored their boat in the marina in order to hide from the Coast Guard.”

“Both of those guys were too stoned on their own product to notice that they’d been arrested. All I did was throw them in jail until the authorities from Frequency could get here to collect them and the weed,” Slade said.

“Still, it sounds like a busy first week on the job. Why am I getting the feeling that you’re already bored?”

“Is it that obvious?” Slade asked.

“If you didn’t want to be a small-town police chief, why on earth did you take the job here on Rainshadow?”

“I told you, I needed something to tide me over until I can get my project up and running.”

“Things didn’t work out in the FBPI?”

“Let’s just say I’m ready for a change. Now, about your breakin.”

“Follow me.”

She led the way through the crowded, shadowed space and into the back room of the shop. She was very aware of Slade following close behind her. Face it, she thought, he’s the sexiest man you’ve ever met in your entire life and you are alone with him on an island.

Okay, not alone, exactly. She and Slade shared Rainshadow with the other residents, but an island was an island, and given that a ferry that operated twice a day was the only regular link to the outside world, there was a very real sense of remoteness and isolation.

The back room of Looking Glass was even more crowded than the front sales room. It was jammed almost to the ceiling with packing crates and shipping boxes full of antiques and collectibles that her aunt had never bothered to unpack. The containers formed a narrow canyon that led to the rear door. There were also several new crates stacked around the room. They contained the objects that she had elected to bring with her when she closed down her Frequency shop.

“I don’t envy you trying to take an inventory,” Slade said. “Some of these crates look as if they’ve been sitting here for decades.”

“Like I said, Aunt Beatrix wasn’t big on organizing stuff.”

“This goes beyond a lack of organizational skills. There’s a word for folks with this kind of psychological problem, you know.”

“Hoarder? Yes, I know.” Charlotte stopped. “What can I say? It’s no secret that my aunt was a little weird.” She gestured down the narrow path created by the towering walls of crates. “That’s the door that was unlocked this morning when I arrived.”

Slade walked forward and crouched on the floor directly in front of the door. “Huh,” he said.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Looks like the print of a running shoe.” Slade got to his feet. “Judging by the muddled footprints, he spent some time in this room and then went into the front of the shop. Turned around and came back here. Left the same way he got in. Through the back door.”

“Believe it or not, I figured that much out all by myself.”

“Yeah?” Slade raised his brows. “You ever think of pursuing a career in crime fighting?”

“Very funny. What do you think happened here?”

“I think someone found the door open last night, walked into the shop, took a look around and then left.”

“I told you, I locked up last night,” she said firmly.

Slade glanced at the lock on the back door. “Even if you did, all anyone would need to get through that door is a credit card.”

“I intend to order new locks. But there’s been so much else to do that I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“Good plan.”

She frowned. “Shouldn’t you be dusting for fingerprints or something?”

“Oh, yeah, and maybe swab for DNA while I’m at it. Thanks for reminding me.”

“You really are not going to treat this seriously, are you?”

He looked at her. “If you were in Frequency City and your shop got robbed what do you think the cops would do?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not much. Probably just ask for a list of stolen goods in case any of the objects turned up in a pawn shop.”

“Since nothing appears to have been stolen here and there are no pawn shops on Rainshadow, the scope of this investigation is somewhat limited.”

“Cripes. You’re really not into your job, are you?”

Slade shrugged. “It’s just a temporary detour.”

“It strikes me that you have a very poor attitude, Chief Attridge.”

“Okay, okay. Here’s the most likely scenario. Last night after closing up someone noticed that the door of your shop was open. He came inside, took a quick look around to make sure everything was okay, and then he left. How’s that for a theory of the crime?”

“Absolutely pitiful. But it’s obviously all I’m going to get in the way of law enforcement so I’ll take it.” She turned and went into the front room. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Depends. Is that a bribe? If it is, I think you’re supposed to include a doughnut.”

“Sorry, no doughnuts. Something tells me bribery would be useless with you, anyway.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“My intuition. You are in luck, however. I happen to have half a loaf of leftover zucchini bread that my neighbor, Thelma Duncan, made for me.”

“Thelma Duncan’s zucchini bread seems to be everywhere at the moment. Myrna brought a loaf to the station this morning. Rex ate it.”

“The whole loaf?”

“Well, he and Officer Willis split it. Turns out Rex loves Mrs. Duncan’s zucchini bread.”

“That’s good, because I’m told it will be around for a while. Mrs. Duncan is an incredible gardener and as it happens zucchini season just hit. I’ll cut a slice for Rex.”

She went behind the counter and unwrapped the zucchini bread. She was very aware of Slade watching her as she cut a slice and set it on a small paper plate. She set the plate on the counter.

Slade looked over his shoulder. “Come and get it, Rex. Zucchini bread.”

There was a muffled chortle from the vicinity of the vintage purses and bags. Rex appeared. He scampered across the room and bounded up onto the counter. He rushed to the plate of zucchini bread and fell to it with evident enthusiasm.

“Amazing,” Charlotte said. “You’d think after the loaf he shared with Willis this morning he would have had his fill of zucchini bread.”

“Not yet,” Slade said.

Rex polished off the slice of zucchini bread and bounded back down to the floor. He disappeared amid the array of antiques.

Charlotte ladled coffee into the filter. “Keep an eye on him, please.”

“That’s hard to do in this place.”

“I’m warning you—”

“I know. Your you-break-it-you-buy-it policy.”

“Right.” Charlotte poured water into the coffeemaker and started the machine.

There was a short silence behind her. She watched coffee drip into the glass pot.

“You never went for a full Covenant Marriage,” Slade said after a while.

Startled, she swung around. “No.” She took a deep breath. “No, I haven’t. Not yet.” She turned back to the coffee machine. “I take it you never went for a CM, either.”

“No. Tried a Marriage of Convenience somewhere along the line but it didn’t work out.”

The legally recognized Marriage of Convenience had been designed by the First Generation settlers as a short-term arrangement that allowed couples to experiment with commitment before moving into a full-blown Covenant Marriage. Young people were encouraged to try an MC before taking the plunge into a Covenant Marriage. An MC could be dissolved by either party for any reason, no harm, no foul. Unless there was a baby. A baby changed everything. In legal terms it transformed an MC into a full Covenant Marriage.

The legal and social bonds of a Covenant Marriage were as solid as alien quartz. There was a move afoot to make divorce easier but for now it was extremely rare largely because it was a legal and financial nightmare, not to mention social and political suicide.

Only the very wealthy and well-connected could afford a divorce, but they usually avoided it because the repercussions were major. Politicians could expect to be kicked out of office if they dared to break free of a CM. CEOs got fired by their boards of directors. Exclusive clubs canceled memberships. Invitations to important social functions dried up.

Most sensible people who found themselves in an untenable marriage simply agreed to live separate lives. But their social and legal responsibilities toward each other and their offspring were not affected. Family came first. Always.

The downside of making a poor choice when it came to a spouse ensured the stability of one profession in particular, that of matchmaking. Families did their utmost to make certain that couples were well matched by certified marriage consultants.

“You know,” Slade said, “I always figured you’d be matched by now. Maybe even have a few kids.”

“Did you?” She smiled over her shoulder. “I’m amazed you even remembered me, let alone thought about me during the past fifteen years.”

He reached into the pocket of his trousers and took out the black crystal pocketknife she had given him the morning he had sailed off to his new career in the FBPI.

“I thought about you every time I used this,” he said.

Delight sparkled through her. “You kept it all these years.”

“It’s a good knife.” He dropped it back into his pocket. “You were right about the blade. Still sharp and still strong. It saved my ass more than once.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She smiled, ridiculously pleased. “Nothing like a Takashima knife. How long did it take you to figure out how to open it?”

“I had it down by the time the ferry reached Frequency City. Takes a little talent to rez it.”

“Yes,” she said. “It does.”

“Since we seem to find ourselves stuck together on this rock for a while, would you be interested in having dinner with me tonight?” Slade asked quietly.

Although she had been fantasizing about him since she had watched him walk off the ferry last week, the invitation nonetheless caught her by surprise. She had to work hard to keep her response calm and light.

“Sounds great,” she said. “There are not a lot of options when it comes to restaurants around here. How about the Marina View?”

“I was thinking my place,” Slade said. “I’ll pick up some fresh salmon at Hank’s.”

“All right,” she said. “What can I bring?”

He pondered that briefly. “You’ll probably want something green to go with the salmon.”

“A few veggies on the plate is always good. In addition to the zucchini bread, Mrs. Duncan has been inundating me with tomatoes and basil. I’ll make a salad.”

“My keen cop intuition tells me you probably drink white wine, right?”

“I drink red, too,” she assured him. “It’s not like I’m inflexible. But white goes better with fish.”

“I’ll pick up a bottle on the way home,” he said. “All I’ve got in the refrigerator is beer.”

There was a faint thump from the back room.

“Rex.” Charlotte rushed back out from behind the counter. She shot Slade a glowering look. “I told you to keep an eye on him.”

“Sorry.”

Rex appeared in the opening between the two rooms. He carried a small black evening bag studded with glittering black beads. The dainty purse was barely large enough to hold a lipstick and a compact.

Charlotte confronted him, her hands planted on her hips. “Step away from the clutch.”

To her amazement, Rex dropped the object at her feet.

“I think he likes you,” Slade said. “Usually he ignores commands like that. What is that thing?”

“A very nice Claudia Lockwood evening clutch bag. It’s worth several hundred dollars in good condition and this purse is mint.”

Rex sat back on his haunches and fixed her with an expectant expression.

“He wants you to throw the purse,” Slade said.

“Forget it. This thing is too valuable to be used as a dust bunny toy.” She hesitated. “I didn’t know dust bunnies liked to play fetch.”

“Rex doesn’t exactly play fetch,” Slade said. “Not like a dog, at any rate. But if you throw an object he goes after it.”

“What does he do with it?”

“He kills it,” Slade said.

“Obviously you want to be careful what you throw for him.”

“Very careful,” Slade agreed.

She looked down at Rex. “Sorry, Rex. I can’t let you rip this to pieces.”

Rex’s expression intensified. He was utterly still on his rear legs, a statue of a dust bunny.

Charlotte laughed. “Do you think he’s trying to use psychic power to make me do what he wants?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“You can’t have the purse,” she said to Rex. “How about a duck?”

She went to the counter and picked up the small, yellow rubber duck sitting near the cash register. She squeezed the duck a couple of times. The duck squeaked. Rex was electrified with excitement.

She tossed the duck into the back room. Rex leaped to follow. There was a thump. Several increasingly faint, desperate squeaks could be heard. Eventually there was silence followed by much gleeful chortling.

“Something tells me the duck didn’t make it,” Charlotte said. She went behind the counter and poured the coffee. She set the mug on the counter in front of Slade. She studied his cool cop eyes.

“You know who was inside my shop last night, don’t you?” she said.

“Yes,” Slade said. He picked up the coffee mug. “I’ll talk to him. It won’t happen again.”