After Dark (12 page)

But the unguent jar in Emmett's hand was firm and solid proof that the ancient Harmonics had discovered how to work dreamstone.

Lydia felt the hair stir on the nape of her neck. “Maybe this is what got Chester killed.”

“I'd say that is an excellent possibility.” Emmett gave the jar a quarter turn. “Incredible.”

“Do you realize what this means?”

“It means that if Chester had lived long enough to sell this to a museum or a private collector, he would have been set for life.”

Lydia waved that aside. “The monetary value is beside the point. You can't put a price on it, since nothing else like it has ever been found.”

“Trust me, Lydia, you can put a price on anything.”

“But the significance of worked dreamstone is absolutely extraordinary. Don't you see? This jar means that it can be done. There must be a way to psychically tune dreamstone so that it can be manipulated like other raw materials. Who knows what properties it has in this form?”

“Good question.” He did not look up from his examination of the jar.

“Somewhere in their past, the Harmonics found a way to actually mine the stuff.”

“Yes.”

She frowned. He did not seem to be as impressed by the full implications of this staggering discovery as she was. Then again, he was a businessman, not an archaeologist. Make that
ghost-hunter-businessman
, she amended silently. Probably took a lot to impress him.

Emmett gave the jar another turn. “I wonder where Brady found it?”

“Who knows? Chester was a ruin rat. He was always exploring illegally on his own. He must have stumbled across this jar on one of his forays into the catacombs.”

She watched as Emmett gave the jar another quarter turn, bringing another section into the beam of the flash light. When she saw the figure of a bird in flight imprisoned forever within the shifting rivers of color, she nearly stopped breathing altogether.

“Emmett.”

“I see it,” he said.

Now he did sound impressed. As well he should be, she thought. In all the years in which humans had been excavating the ruins of the Harmonics, no one had ever come across any indication that the ancient people had indulged in representational art.

The long-vanished inhabitants of the Dead Cities had left no pictures or drawings of animals, plants, or themselves. There were no seascapes or landscapes, no scenes of what the world had looked like to them or images of how they had seen themselves in their environment—at least none that humans could interpret.

Until now.

Now there was a small bird flying in the depths of a sea of colors flowing across the surface of a little jar that should not exist.

Emmett straightened slowly and clicked off the flashlight. “Looks like your pal Brady made the most significant discovery since Caldwell Frost blundered into the ruins of Old Frequency and decided that someone had made him a god.”

“I'm stunned,” Lydia whispered. “This is so amazing.”

“Anything else in the duffel bag?”

“What? Oh, right, the bag.” Lydia peered into the unzipped canvas carryall again and rummaged around. Her hand brushed against another envelope. “There's something.”

She withdrew the envelope and opened it. A photo fell out. She held it to the light and saw another picture of herself and Chester in a booth at the Surreal Lounge. There was a familiar volume of the
Journal of Paraarchaeology
propped in front of Chester, who was beaming proudly.

“He did like photos of the two of you together, didn't he?” Emmett said.

“Yes.” She got teary again as she examined the photo. “He had several pictures taken of us.”

“Must have fed his fantasy that the two of you were a couple.”

“Probably.” She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. “This was a special one, though. I had just published a paper in the journal. Coauthored with Ryan, naturally. I had to fight tooth and nail, but I made sure that Chester got credit as a consultant on the project.”

“Probably his only brush with legitimacy.”

“I hadn't realized until now how important it must have been to him,” she whispered.

“You'd better put the jar in your purse until we get home.” Emmett handed it to her. “And whatever you do, don't say anything about it in front of Mercer Wyatt and his wife.”

“What do you think I am?” she asked as she rewrapped the jar and stashed it inside her purse. “Crazy?”

Emmett's mouth curved slightly as he rezzed the engine and pulled back onto the road. “No, I don't think you're crazy.”

Lydia settled into her seat, clutching her purse very tightly. Excitement snapped and sizzled through her again. Euphoria followed in its wake. Worked dreamstone. And a picture of a bird.

“Thanks,” she said, feeling very smug. “I appreciate that.”

M
IDWAY THROUGH THE
painfully formal dinner, Lydia reached a major conclusion about her hostess. She did not like Tamara Wyatt. More precisely, she did not like the way Tamara looked at Emmett when she thought no one was watching.

The speculative gleam in Tamara's gaze reminded Lydia of the way Fuzz looked when he peered at the pretzel jar. As if he was willing to devote a lot of thought and energy to a consideration of ways and means of removing the lid.

Tamara was sleek and polished, with an indefinable edge of glamour that would set her apart in any room. Her dark hair was bound up in an elegant chignon that accented her aristocratic cheekbones and fine jawline. A fortune in gemstones sparkled at her throat. She wore amber set in gold in her ears. The deep décolletage of her gown stopped just short of being indiscreet.

Lydia had realized when they had arrived an hour and a half earlier that Emmett had met both the Wyatts previously. Mercer and Emmett had greeted each other with polite civility. But something else had been going on between Tamara and Emmett just beneath the surface.

It had taken her a little longer than it should have to recognize the resonance patterns between these two, Lydia thought. She excused herself for the delay. After all, she had been seriously distracted this evening. Approximately one-third of her attention was focused on the bizarre experience of being entertained by the head of the Cadence Guild. The remainder was consumed with speculation about the extraordinary little jar Chester had bequeathed to her. It was all she could do not to excuse herself every five minutes to run down the hall to check the elegant armoire where the butler had placed her purse.

Calm down, she told herself as a white-gloved waiter removed the plate in front of her. If the jar wasn't safe here in Mercer Wyatt's mansion, it wasn't safe anywhere. The only other place she'd seen with so much security was the University of Cadence Museum.

“So, Lydia, you're in the private consulting business?” Mercer asked with seemingly polite interest.

Tamara smiled. “Rather young to have left university work, aren't you? Most consultants tend to be older. More experienced.”

Lydia pulled herself away from concerns about her purse. She ignored Tamara and studied Mercer instead.

Mercer Wyatt had to be at least forty years older than his wife. Silver-haired, with hawklike features, he was a man who was clearly accustomed to the accoutrements of money and power. He wore his amber on his hands in the form of large, heavy rings. As head of the Guild, he would necessarily have to be a very powerful dissonance-energy para-rez, she thought.

“It's not routine for a para-archaeologist my age to go into the private sector,” Lydia said, “but it's not unheard of.”

Conversation to this point had consisted of the sort of superficial patter she had learned to tolerate at faculty teas. Lydia had a feeling that the real talking would be done after dinner.

“Some people don't fit into the academic bureaucracy very well,” Emmett said casually. “Just as some can't tolerate the corporate environment. Lydia has what you'd call an entrepreneurial spirit.”

Tamara gave Lydia a polished smile. “How did Emmett find you?”

“I'm listed with the Society of Para-archaeologists as a consultant, and I advertise in the
Journal of Paraarchaeology,”
Lydia said smoothly.

“That's hardly a guarantee of honesty and integrity, is it?” Tamara said. “There are so many frauds and scam artists in the antiquities trade.”

“Very true,” Lydia murmured. “But on the whole, I'd have to say that one's odds of getting a dishonest P-A from the Society's lists are considerably lower than the odds of getting a dishonest hunter from the Guild hall.”

Tamara's eyes darkened with anger. “The Guild maintains the strictest standards.”

“Uh-huh.” Lydia spooned up a bite of the fruit ice that had been served for dessert. “Is that why I've had at least two break-ins recently by ghost-hunters?”

Mercer pinned Emmett with a cold glare. “What the devil is she talking about?”

Emmett shrugged. “You heard her. She's had some unfortunate experiences with hunters recently. Kind of soured her view of the profession, I'm afraid.”

Mercer turned back to Lydia. “Kindly explain yourself.”

Lydia put down her spoon. “As the head of the Guild here in Cadence, you must be aware that there are some ghost-hunters running around the city committing illegal acts. What's more, they are summoning ghosts to aid in the commission of those crimes. My apartment has been vandalized twice.”

Mercer's jaw clenched. He flicked a quick look at Emmett and then went back to Lydia. “Are you absolutely certain ghost-hunters were involved?”

“I saw the ghosts they summoned,” she said very steadily. “Ask Emmett. He chased off one of the hunters. Would have caught him if the little sneak hadn't had an accomplice waiting for him in the parking lot.”

Mercer's piercing gaze swung back to Emmett. “Is this true?”

“All true,” Emmett said easily. “I assume you can assure us that the intruders were not working for the Guild?”

“Of course they weren't working for the Guild.” Mercer flung down his napkin and stood abruptly. “I assure you, I will have my people look into the matter. The Guild polices its own.”

“How convenient,” Lydia said politely.

Mercer glowered at her.

Lydia turned toward Tamara. “So, what's it like being the wife of the head of the Cadence Guild? What do you do besides go to the Restoration Ball every year?”

“I manage to keep busy,” Tamara said coolly.

Mercer studied her with obvious pride. “Tamara is an executive in her own right. Thanks to her, the Guild has established a very active foundation that funds several Cadence charities. She oversees the administration of the Foundation.”

Tamara's expression warmed noticeably under the praise. “I don't do it all alone, of course. I am extremely fortunate to have Denver Galbraith-Thorndyke as my chief administrator. I'm sure you're aware of the Galbraith-Thorndyke family's long history here in Cadence?”

“As in the Galbraith-Thorndykes who pretty much dominate the social scene?” Lydia was impressed in spite of herself. “Give tons of money to charity? Patrons of the University Museum, sit on all the important boards, et cetera, et cetera? Of course I've heard of them. I didn't know they were connected to the Guild.”

Mercer chuckled. “They weren't—until Tamara approached them and asked young Denver to take over the job of administering the Guild Foundation.”

“Nice move, Tamara,” Emmett congratulated her.

“Thank you,” Tamara murmured. “I see it as a major first step toward elevating the image of the Guild in the community.”

“Indeed,” Mercer said briskly. “A brilliant first step, if I do say so myself. Young Denver is a lawyer. He has connections with all of the movers and shakers in town.”

“So how come he went to work for the Guild?” Lydia asked bluntly.

Tamara looked annoyed, but Mercer merely chuckled.

“Usual story,” he said easily. “Young scion of a rich and socially prominent family longs to prove himself to his father. Denver did not want to join the family law firm. Didn't want to go to work for good old Dad, I suppose. He wanted to stand on his own two feet. Tamara offered him the Foundation job and he grabbed it.”

“He's very committed,” Tamara said.

Mercer turned to Emmett. “You and I need to talk privately. Tamara, please take Lydia into the salon for tea. We will join you later.”

“Of course, my dear.” Tamara rose gracefully from her chair and began to usher Lydia out of the room.

Lydia glanced at Emmett. He inclined his head a bare half inch. She had no problem at all reading his message. She hesitated and then decided that he was right. They might learn more separately than they could together. Without a word she followed Tamara out of the dining room.

They walked down a hall paneled in a dark, richly grained wood that had been polished until it glowed. Tamara led the way through double doors set with squares of beveled glass into a room done in yellow and maroon.

A frisson of awareness sparkled across Lydia's nerves. She turned and saw the cabinet filled with ancient Harmonic artifacts. So many of them grouped in close proximity produced more than enough resonance energy to reach her here on the other side of the salon. Automatically she went toward the cabinet and came to a halt in front of it.

“A magnificent collection,” she murmured.

“My husband started it years ago, long before we were married.” Tamara picked up the pot that had been placed on a small round table. “Tea?”

“Thank you, yes.” Lydia studied an oddly shaped green quartz panel that had probably formed a portion of a tomb chamber door. “You and your husband were married a year ago, weren't you? I seem to recall seeing something about it in the papers. You're not from Cadence, are you?”

“No. I was living in Resonance City when I met Mercer.” Tamara walked forward, a cup and saucer in one hand. “He attended a meeting of the Guild Council there. We were introduced at a reception.”

“I see.”

“The reception was held to announce the engagement of the head of the Resonance Guild,” Tamara clarified softly.

An icy sensation swept through Lydia. She watched her fingers to make certain that they did not tremble when she took the cup and saucer from Tamara. It wouldn't do to spill rez-tea on what was no doubt a fabulously expensive carpet. The Guild would probably send her a bill that she would not be able to pay.

“No kidding.” Lydia sipped tea. It was, as everything else had been at dinner, excellent. “Whom did the Reso nance Guild boss marry?”

Tamara looked amused. “He was engaged to marry me. But things did not work out. We ended the engagement soon after the reception. I moved here to Cadence a short time later.”

“I see.” Stop right now, Lydia told herself. Just because you see an accident waiting to happen doesn't mean you have to help it along.

But she couldn't stop. She had to know for certain.

“So, who was this Guild boss you were going to marry back in Resonance?”

“Emmett, of course,” Tamara said sweetly. “He was the head of the Resonance Guild for six years until he resigned ten months ago.”

 

Mercer lowered himself into the plum-colored leather of the massive reading chair. He raised his brandy glass to his mouth and studied Emmett above the rim. “I will get right to the point. I had two reasons for asking you to come here tonight. One of those reasons is that I wish to offer you a bargain, son.”

“I'm not your son.” Emmett rested an arm along the top of the mantel. “And I sure as hell won't agree to any deal until I know all of the terms.”

Mercer exhaled deeply. “I'll level with you, Emmett. I need your help. And I think I can help you in return.”

“Why do you need me? You've got a Guild full of people you can call on for help.”

Mercer shook his head. “Not for this. Let me explain. I haven't yet made any official public announcement, but I intend to step down sometime during the coming year. Only the members of my personal staff are aware of my decision. They have all been sworn to secrecy.”

This was the last thing he had expected to hear tonight, Emmett thought. Mercer Wyatt had held the Cadence Guild in an iron grip for more than three decades. It was widely assumed that he would die at the helm.

“You're going to retire?” Emmett said warily.

“I've been running this show for a long time. Until recently the Guild was always the most important thing in my life. My first wife was a wonderful woman, but I never took the time to know her. After her death I was left with two children. I let someone else raise them. They're both grown now, and I've got three grandkids, but I hardly know any of them.”

“Let me guess. You've finally decided to stop and smell the roses, is that it?”

“You find that amusing?”

“Let's just say it's unanticipated. What the hell brought on the sudden change? Get a health scare from your doctor?”

“Nothing like that. I got a new wife.”

“Oh, yeah, right. Must have slipped my mind.”

“I am in love for the first time in my life, Emmett,” Mercer said very seriously. “My marriage to Tamara is a Marriage of Convenience at the moment, as you know, but we plan to convert it into a Covenant Marriage.”

Emmett stared at him. “You want more children?”

“There are other reasons for entering a Covenant Marriage besides the desire to have children,” Mercer reminded him.

Emmett grunted. “True love? Give me a break. Aren't you a little old for that kind of romantic nonsense, Mercer?”

“You are not a romantic man, Emmett.”

“Neither were you, last time I checked. Terminating a Covenant Marriage is a legal and financial nightmare.” He did not add what they both knew, which was that adultery was one of the very few legally accepted reasons for dissolving a Covenant Marriage. “What's the point of getting into one if you don't want kids?”

Mercer stretched out his legs and gazed into the fire. “Obviously you do not understand, so we'll drop the subject. The bottom line here is my intention to step down.”

“No offense, Mercer, but I find it a little tough to grasp the concept.”

“Why? I'm forty years older than Tamara. I don't know how long I'll have with her. I intend to enjoy every minute of whatever time I have left, however. I've got money, I've got my health, and I've got a beautiful woman at my side. I'd be a fool to continue to devote myself to the Guild.”

Emmett contemplated him for a while. “Does Tamara know of your decision?”

“She knows.”

“Huh.” He shrugged. “So what does this have to do with me?”