Siren's Call (A Rainshadow Novel) (13 page)

Rafe also looked a little the worse for wear but in a dashing, sexy way. She studied him, somewhat resentfully.

His collar-length hair, which had been sleeked back behind his ears earlier in the evening, now hung in dark wings, framing his predatory features and dangerous eyes. He had opened the collar of his crisp white shirt. The black silk tie was draped around his neck. The tux jacket was unfastened, revealing glimpses of his shoulder holster.

They looked like they’d had a very hard night on the town, she thought.

“We’ve still got a few logistical problems,” Rafe said.

“We certainly do.” She was aware that her tone was decidedly sharp. Not her fault, she thought. The evening had been stressful. And now she had confirmation of her
mother’s greatest fear. She was on an FBPI watch list. She had a right to sound short-tempered. “For starters, how am I going to get my things before we leave town?”

“I’ll arrange to have whatever you need picked up at your place and sent on to Rainshadow by overnight courier,” Rafe said, dismissing the problem.

“Let’s get something straight. I can go to Rainshadow without a change of underwear, but I’m not leaving town without Lorelei.”

“I’ll make sure someone feeds Lorelei.”

“You don’t understand.” Her temper rose another notch. “Lorelei is not a pet. Lorelei is a companion. She’s a good hunter and she’s quite capable of feeding herself. That’s not the issue. The issue, Rafe Coppersmith, is that I am not going anywhere without her.”

“You didn’t mention Lorelei in the contract.”

“Damn it, Rafe—”

“Okay, okay.” Rafe thought for a moment. “What if we send someone to pick her up and take her to Rainshadow?”

“I doubt that she’d go with a stranger.” Ella paused, thinking. “Lorelei might get into a car with Pete.”

“Who is Pete?”

“He’s a business associate of mine. My old office was next door to his. It was his sled I borrowed the day I rescued the dust bunnies that Vickary was going to use for target practice. Pete’s the one who handled the sale of the ruby amber for me. Lorelei knows Pete and likes him. He gives her sparkly things for her collection.”

“You trust this Pete?” Rafe asked.

“Absolutely. I trust him a hell of a lot more than I do the FBPI.” A familiar chortle brought her to a halt.
“Lorelei.”

The dust bunny came tearing around a corner, all four eyes wide open. She was running on four paws because she had the headpiece of her wedding veil clutched in one of her two front paws.

Ella leaned down to scoop her up. She buried her face in Lorelei’s fluffy gray fur.

“How did you know we were in trouble?” she asked.

Lorelei chortled again. Evidently satisfied that Ella was all right, she greeted Rafe.

Rafe looked at Lorelei and then at Ella.

“Satisfied now?” he asked.

“Have dust bunny, will travel,” Ella said.

“That’s good, because I’ve nailed down the rest of the plan.”

“What does it involve?”

“Road trip.”

Ella watched the headlights consume great gulps of the mostly empty highway that stretched out to the midnight horizon. Rafe was behind the wheel of the car he had rented from an all-night agency in Resonance. She was in the passenger seat, although she was growing more convinced by the minute that she ought to be driving. She could tell that Rafe was using a lot of psi to stay alert at the wheel.

Lorelei was perched on the back of the seat, fully fluffed and munching on the chips that Ella had purchased from a vending machine at the car rental agency. Her precious wedding veil was in the rear seat.

Lorelei was the only one who appeared to be enjoying the midnight run to an unknown private airstrip.

In the faint glow of the dashboard lights, Rafe’s profile was hard and determined. When Ella heightened her
senses she could see the low-burning fever in his dreamlight. At least it was no longer spiking, she thought.

“You know,” she said. “When you mentioned that a road trip was involved I didn’t think you meant it quite this literally.”

“The private airstrip is a few hours’ drive from the city. It should be safe. Belongs to a retired executive who owns her own plane, Gabriella Cremona. She was with the company for over forty years. Dad always trusted her, so we can, too.”

“I’m not arguing with you. I agree that getting out of town without alerting whoever is trying to kidnap me is the best bet at the moment. But I think you should let me drive.”

Rafe’s hands tightened on the wheel. “I’m okay. I can drive.”

“I don’t doubt that, but you need rest. I’m fully capable of driving.”

“I know, but it’s not necessary.”

“Are you really going to argue with me about this? Look, I can tell you’re running a psi-fever. You need to allow your aura to rest and recover. When was the last time you got some decent sleep?”

For a moment she wasn’t sure he would admit that he needed sleep or even that he had some issues with his aura. His hands flexed and he renewed his fierce grip on the wheel.

“Sleep doesn’t work well for me these days,” he said finally. “Best I can do are short naps.”

“All right, let me drive while you take a nap.”

“I’ll get some rest on the plane.”

“You need to sleep now. Be reasonable, Rafe. What if something goes wrong at the airstrip? You’ll need to be fully functional, and that’s not likely if you exhaust yourself driving for the next three hours.”

That bit of logic evidently broke through the wall of masculine pride. He hesitated and then, somewhat to her surprise, he took his foot off the accelerator. The car slowed. He pulled over to the side of the road and brought the vehicle to a halt.

Without a word he got out of the driver’s seat and walked around the front of the car. He had removed his tux jacket. In the glare of the headlights the shoulder holster and gun made for an odd counterpoint to his elegant, formal white shirt and black trousers.

She jumped out of her side of the car and hurried around to the opposite side to get behind the wheel. Lorelei chortled a welcome to Rafe when he slid into the passenger seat. She graciously offered him a few chips.

“Thanks,” he said.

He fastened the seat belt and munched a few chips while Ella got the rental back on the road.

“Sleep,” Ella ordered.

“You’ve known about the fever right from the start, haven’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“I’ve got it under control.”

“I know. I wouldn’t have signed a contract with you if I thought you were about to go rogue in the immediate future.”

He crunched another chip. “You’re wondering if I know what caused the fever.”

“I’m curious, of course. Psi-fevers are not very common. The experts don’t know much about them.”

“And what they do know is that they usually end either in a severely damaged talent or the development of an unstable new talent.” Rafe sounded grimly resigned. “Either way the results are unpredictable and, therefore, dangerous.”

“I take it you’re quoting one of those so-called experts who hasn’t had much experience with psi-fever?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” She thought about that. “What’s your take on what’s going on with your aura?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the one running the fever. What effect do you think it’s having on you?”

“So far, the main problem is that it has burned out my talent for resonating with hot rocks and crystals. I’m no longer any good on exploration teams and I’m useless to the FBPI because I can’t rez Alien tech.”

There was cold acceptance in his voice. Shocked, she glanced at him. His face was a hard mask. The loss of a paranormal talent was uncommon but when it happened it was invariably traumatic. The stronger the talent had been, the more devastating the loss. Victims often felt as if they had lost a key aspect of their core identity.

It was not uncommon for burnouts who had previously been strong talents to disappear into the tunnels without tuned amber. That kind of hike was a death sentence.

“I don’t understand,” she said carefully. “You are still powerful. I can sense it in your aura.”

“The para-shrinks think that the burnout is still going on even though my talent is all but gone. That’s why I’m running a fever. The symptoms of the ongoing destruction are hallucinations and nightmares. If I sleep more than twenty minutes or so I . . . dream.”

“Everyone dreams.”

“Not like I do. The dreams are nightmares. Bad enough to bring me wide awake in a cold sweat. For a short time after I wake up I feel like I’m still locked in the dream. I know I’m dreaming, but I can’t wake up.”

“Lucid dreaming,” she said.

He turned his head sharply to look at her. “One of the experts mentioned that term but said there wasn’t much data on the phenomenon.”

“Probably because there isn’t much data on any kind of dreaming. After all the centuries of research back on Earth and here on Harmony, we still don’t know a lot about dreams—except that they can provide a pathway between the normal and the paranormal.”

“No offense, but you’re a music talent.”

“A music talent who does dream analysis, remember? The reason I’m good at dreamwork is because music energy travels on the currents of dreamlight.”

“I didn’t know that,” Rafe said.

“Not many people, including the researchers, have figured it out. But for me, it’s obvious. I see the connection every day in my work. Think about it—music takes a
direct paranormal path to the senses. It can give you chills or make you cry or induce a kind of euphoria or a sense of transcendence—all without having to be interpreted by logic and reason. Just like dreams.”

“Huh.” Rafe switched his attention back to the empty highway. “Never thought about it that way.”

“No reason you would unless you were a music talent who does dream analysis. Now, about your hallucinations.”

Rafe rubbed his eyes. “What about them?”

“When I first came into my talent and started telling people that I could hear Alien music, the initial assumption was that I was hallucinating. I was sent to a lot of dreamstate experts, none of whom could figure out what was going on with me. In the end they concluded that I was faking it.”

“Why would you fake the ability to hear Alien music?”

“Because I came from a family of brilliant music talents,” Ella said patiently. “It was obvious I had no real talent, myself, so I must have made up a talent. It was after the counselors announced that I had no talent and that the Alien music I claimed to hear was a product of my imagination that my family finally realized that I had very likely gotten the Siren gene. It’s in the family tree—my mother’s side. Anyhow, everyone concluded that it would be best if I shut up about the Alien music thing.”

“Tough secret for a person to keep.”

“Yes, it is.”

Rafe gave her a considering look. “Ever register with a matchmaking agency?”

She flexed her hands on the wheel. “No, of course not.”

He nodded. “Because it would have meant having to flat-out lie about your true paranormal nature.”

“It’s not like any of the agencies would have found me a match. It’s a lot more likely that they would have reported me to the FBPI.”

“All the reputable agencies guarantee confidentiality.”

“Sure. And if you believe a matrimonial agency would have kept my secret, I’ve got a lovely bridge I can sell you. Hardly used.”

“Okay, can’t argue with you on that,” Rafe said.

“But I guess it doesn’t matter now, anyway, does it? If Joe Harding suspects I’m a Siren, I can take it as a given that I’m on some watch list.”

“I can’t do anything about that, but like I told you before, if the FBPI or anyone else comes after you, Coppersmith Mining will have your back.”

She knew from his expression that he was serious.

“I remember,” she said. “Thanks. But I’ve got to ask why?”

“Coppersmith takes care of its own.”

“I’m not a Coppersmith and I don’t work for your family’s company. I’m an outside consultant.”

“Semantics. You’re working for Coppersmith. As long as you don’t double-cross us, we’ll be there if you need us.”

She wasn’t sure where to go with that. No one had ever offered to have her back before. She was a Siren. She could take care of herself.

“Nap time,” she said quietly.

“Twenty minutes, no longer. If I wake up yelling or saying stuff that makes you nervous, don’t try to shake
me awake. I’m not sure how I’ll respond. Just pull over to the side of the road, get out of the car, and wait. I’ll come out of it on my own. I’ve worked out a sort of psychic alarm that trips whenever the nightmares get too intense.”

“You don’t have to sound embarrassed about it. You’re running a psi-fever. Bad dreams would seem to be normal for that kind of thing.”

“Who knows what normal is for me now.”

The bleak, steely edge in his words made her realize that he was preparing himself for a worst-case scenario.

“I might be able to help you get some real sleep,” she said.

He shot her a look of disbelief. “I doubt it.”

“Okay if I try?”

“Not if it means I get stuck in a damn nightmare.”

“No nightmares, I promise. Hey, I’m the dream analyst here, remember? Just let me try.”

Rafe hesitated and then exhaled slowly. “I could really use a couple hours of decent sleep. Go for it. But like I said, if I show signs of sliding into a nightmare, pull over to the side.”

“Okay.”

He closed his eyes. It seemed to Ella that he fell asleep between one breath and the next. He was truly sleep-deprived, she thought. He needed a lot more than a twenty-minute nap.

Lorelei finished the last of the chips, hopped over to the back of Ella’s seat, and nattered encouragingly.

“I can’t go any faster,” Ella whispered. “I’m doing the
speed limit. The last thing we need is to get stopped by a cop.”

She heightened her senses a little, watching for the feverish energy in Rafe’s aura. It was there, doing a slow burn. She kicked up her talent just enough to keep track of the fever and settled down to drive.

•   •   •

Twenty minutes later, almost to the minute, she felt energy shiver in the atmosphere. Rafe stirred in the seat. He muttered something unintelligible, sounding agitated.

Lorelei muttered in concern and opened all four eyes.

Ella realized Rafe’s dreams were turning dark. He said he had set his internal time clock to awaken him when the nightmares kicked in and that was exactly what was happening. But Rafe needed sleep desperately. His body was fighting the wake-up call.

She glanced at the car’s GPS. They still had another two and a half hours of driving.

She took one hand off the wheel and rested it lightly on Rafe’s shoulder. She touched the back of his neck with her fingertips. His skin was warm; a little too warm. Fever heat.

He twisted a little in the seat and muttered. The words were slurred with sleep but this time she understood.

“Ghost City.”

For the first time she noticed that his gray quartz ring was heating with energy. It looked for all the world like a hot gemstone enveloped in eerie fog.

Without warning Rafe’s eyes snapped open. They blazed with a hellish light. His hand clamped around her wrist.

She was so startled she almost lost control of the car. It swerved out of the lane. She struggled with the wheel and the brakes. Lorelei growled.

“Rafe, it’s me. Ella.”

“Siren.”

She knew then that he was caught in the web of a nightmare.

“I can make it go away, Rafe,” she said. “Let me make it go away.”

“Sing for me,” he whispered.

She raised her talent and pulled powerful, soothing harmonies from far out on the paranormal spectrum. After a few seconds they began to resonate gently with the fierce heat in Rafe’s aura. The tension in his energy field eased. The fever faded from his eyes.