Obsidian Prey

Chapter 12

IT HAD RAINED WHILE THEY WERE IN THE RESTAURANT. By the time Lyra walked out into the night with Cruz, the Quarter was more luminous than usual. The sheen of moisture on the streets reflected the psi green glow of the Dead City. A light fog infused with the deep peridot light of the great wall was coalescing quickly. All around them the senses-stirring, intoxicating currents of energy pulsed and resonated. Lyra knew that a lot of the hot psi was being generated between herself and Cruz.

Careful, she thought. This is how it was when we were seeing each other, and it did not end well.

Cruz got her into the front seat of the Slider. There was something both protective and proprietary about the way he did it, as if she were an extremely valuable possession. She was a long way from trusting him, but she had to admit that, deep down, she was responding to the careful, attentive way he was treating her.

He opened the driver's side door of the vehicle and got in beside her. Just sitting this close to him within the dark, intimate confines of the car's front seat was an exhilarating experience.

He rezzed the engine. The car glided away from the curb. He drove into the maze of twisted streets near the wall, as usual, never hesitating at any of the intersections.

"How do you do that?" she asked impulsively.

"Do what?"

"Find your way around this part of town without ever making a wrong turn?"

"Never thought about it. Comes naturally."

She smiled. "So now you've got a psychic sense of direction, too?"

"It's not a separate ability," he said seriously. "It's all part of the Sweetwater talent."

"Just what is this strange ability the Sweetwaters possess?"

"Someday I'll tell you all about it."

"But not tonight."

"No. Not tonight."

"Deep, dark family secret?" she asked, amused.

"Yes."

The seriousness in his tone stopped her cold. It also heightened her curiosity.

"So when will you tell me about this weird talent?"

"When you know for sure that you and I are meant to be together."

"What if that never happens?"

"It will happen." He turned another corner. "But enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"One thing you never told me," he said.

"There are a lot of things I never told you."

"I don't doubt that. But the one that interests me tonight is how you found that amethyst ruin in the first place."

"Ah, yes. The ruin. I thought we'd get back to that sooner or later."

She could not be certain in the darkness, but she was pretty sure she saw his powerful hands tighten a little on the wheel. Green psi light glinted ominously on the black stone in his ring. She could have sworn she felt energy spike in the atmosphere. When he spoke, however, Cruz's voice was perfectly controlled.

"My family has been in the amber business for fifty years. We've got the best collection of raw specimen stones and amber antiquities in the four city-states housed in our private vault. Our research is cutting-edge. But until you discovered that ruin and the stones inside, everyone figured amethyst was just so much pretty purple rock with no practical use other than in jewelry making."

"Obviously the aliens considered it valuable," she said lightly.

"Yes," he said. "And that fact changes everything. It means that the potential of latent energy in amethyst has to be reevaluated. So, how did you find the ruin?"

"You can't expect a Dore to spill all of her secrets to a Sweetwater."

"The underground jungle has been open to exploration and prospecting for barely a year. Most of it hasn't even been mapped. Yet you walked in one day all by yourself and made an incredible discovery."

"Sometimes even a Dore gets lucky."

"My gut tells me that luck was not all that was involved."

She drummed her fingers on the car seat. "You really want to know how I found that ruin? I'll tell you. Vincent led me to it."

He shot her a quick, searching glance. "Are you serious?"

"Dead serious. I think he somehow sensed that I could work amethyst amber. In his little bunny brain, he probably figured that the ruin and the stones would make pretty toys for me. Dust bunnies are big on toys and games."

"You opened your own gate. How did you manage that?"

She moved one hand slightly. "Turns out those of us who can work amethyst are good at opening jungle gates." She paused a beat before adding, "Guess you could say it's an aspect of our talent. Not quite as interesting as the Sweetwater instinct for sex, of course, nevertheless—"

"When did you find out that you could resonate with amethyst?" he asked.

"When I was fourteen. My grandfather had a small sample of it. He thought it was just a pretty specimen. But one day he let me hold it, and we both realized that I could work it the way other people work standard amber. Trouble was, there didn't seem to be any practical application."

"Until you found the chamber and the relics inside."

"Yes."

"What's your theory about the artifacts that you found in the ruin?"

"Believe it or not, I already told you the truth. I really do think that those stones are nothing more than some kind of alien psi art. When I tune them to an individual, the way I did that one for you, the person can experience the art with his or her paranormal senses. But that's it. There's no big secret to discover in your lab."

He was silent for a while.

"Okay," he said. This time his voice was a little too neutral.

She stilled. "Okay?"

"You're not ready to trust me. I can handle that. For now."

Oh, damn. He knows. No, more likely he had made a calculated guess. Either way, he suspected her of holding out on him.

"Look, Cruz, I'm telling you—"

"Time to change the subject again."

"We seem to be doing that a lot tonight."

"Yes," he said. "We do."

He brought the car to a halt in front of her apartment building. This time she waited in her seat until he came around to the passenger side to open the door. She needed the few seconds alone to think about what had just gone down between them. There could no longer be any doubt. Cruz not only wanted her cooperation at the lab, he was certain that she had concealed some of the artifacts that she had found in the ruin. So much for Nancy's romantic imaginings and all that talk about the Sweetwater instinct for true love.

Now what?

Before she could come up with an answer, Cruz opened the door. She got out and walked with him toward the entrance.

She was digging into her little handbag for her key when two balls of violent green ghost fire exploded on the sidewalk, trapping both her and Cruz against the wall of the building.

There was nothing supernatural about ghost energy. Technically, energy ghosts were known as UDEMs—unstable dissonance energy manifestations. They were essentially small storms of chaotic alien psi.

Even a brush with the flaring green fires could fry the victim's para-senses, sometimes beyond recovery. A sustained encounter could kill.

Wild energy ghosts were a common problem in the catacombs, but they did not exist aboveground unless generated by someone who could work ghost energy: a ghost hunter. Two ghosts meant two Guild men were in the vicinity. Rogue hunters were known to use their talents to commit street crimes. Having a ghost shoved in your face was as intimidating as having a mag-rez gun pointed at you.

"Oh, geez, we're going to get mugged," Lyra said. "Talk about the perfect ending to the evening."

Cruz did not respond. He was watching two men move out of the fog-bound shadows of an alley. The fierce glow of the raging green energy ghosts gleamed on the highly illegal mag-rez guns in their hands. The weapons were aimed at Cruz.

"Get him," one of the men said. "But don't hurt the woman."

Lyra had only an instant to comprehend the fact that this was no routine street robbery, that the thugs intended to murder Cruz.

And then all the light went out of the night.

Between one panicky heartbeat and the next, she was plunged into a nightmare of absolute darkness and terrifying silence.

There should be gunshots, she thought. Why don't I hear the gunshots?

They say you never hear the shot that gets you.

Maybe this state of utter oblivion was death.