Ghost Hunter

Chapter 13

BOTH THE BLUE VORTEX AND THE UTILITY SLED WERE gone.

Impossible.

Shaken, the killer stared at the section of the catacombs where he had rezzed the blue and anchored it to the sled.

He checked his amber for the fifth or sixth time, wondering if he had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the catacombs on his way back to this place. But when he pulsed a little psi power through the navigational device he got the same reading. This was the precise spot where he had nailed Newell's sled.

There was no way the woman could have de-rezzed the blue. She was a tangler, not a hunter, let alone a blue hunter.

Nothing and no one could have destroyed the vortex except another dissonance-energy para-rez who could do what he could do with energy from the blue end of the spectrum. That kind of parapsych talent was so rare that it had become the stuff of myth and legend.

There was no escaping the obvious: Another blue had de-rezzed his vortex. Coincidences of this magnitude were even more scarce than hunters who could raise blue ghosts.

That damned blue freak, Cooper Boone, was in town. Somehow he had found Bertha Newell last night.