Sizzle and Burn (27 page)

“Look, I hate to leave you. I know you’ve got questions. But I’ve got to get out of here before someone comes around to check on you.”

“Don’t worry. They only cruise through a couple of times at night. Last bed check was about an hour before you got here.”

“You sure?”

“Trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to figure out the routine here,” Josh said.

“In that case, mind if I take a quick look around before I leave?”

“Sure.” Josh hesitated. “Uh, why?”

“Because I’m a private investigator and I’m looking into a case that involves the woman who was in this room before you.”

“Oh, man, that’s what you do? You’re a for-real private investigator?”

“Pretty real. Most of the time.”

Josh folded his legs, tailor fashion, under the sheet. “So what’s your psychic power? Is it like mine?”

“No.” There was a glass on the table. He picked it up. Nothing. “I can sometimes sense someone else’s aura in a very vague, unfocused way if the person generates a lot of power and is standing fairly close. But I can’t see it clearly the way you do. I can’t read it.”

“What about if you were standing close to a crazy person?”

“Crazy people sometimes give off wild, chaotic energy that I can sense.”

“Do I, uh, give off that kind of energy?” Josh asked uneasily.

“No.” He put his hand on the base of the lamp. It was silent.

“What are you looking for?” Josh asked.

He moved on to the closet, braced himself for a jolt and eased the door open. “My talent allows me to pick up the psychic residue left by someone who was in the grip of a violent or powerful emotion.”

There was nothing on the handle of the closet door except the usual layered static.

“You felt something when you touched that pen a moment ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes. A woman used it to write a note.”

“What was violent about that?”

He didn’t want to scare the kid to death, he reminded himself. “She was very worried about something at the time and desperate to leave a message for someone.”

“That is so weird.”

“Not any more weird than seeing auras.”

Josh smiled for the first time. “Guess not. So, what do you think you’ll find in here?”

He could not tell him that he was looking for traces of a killer who murdered a woman in this very room. Josh wouldn’t be able to sleep in that bed again.

“Just seeing if there was anything else left behind,” he said.

He wrapped his hand around the bed railing.

…and jumped straight into a nightmare.

He released the railing with a reflexive action.

“Find something?” Josh asked, fascinated.

“Yes,” he said. “I did. I have to go now, Josh.”

“Okay.” Josh waited until he was almost at the door. “Zack?”

He turned at the door, waiting. “Yeah?”

“I can see how a guy with your talent could do some cool things like be a private detective or a cop. But what happens to people who see auras?”

“Believe it or not, some of ’em become shrinks.”

Forty-three

T
he relentless pounding of the heavy metal rock music penetrated the restroom walls. Raine could feel the floor vibrating beneath her feet.

She exited the graffiti-decorated stall and went to the sink to wash her hands. It was almost 2
A.M
. and there was still no sign of Zack. On the positive side, she hadn’t experienced any more of the disturbing episodes like the semi panic attack that had alarmed her so badly when he encountered the knife-wielding illusion talent. On the negative side, she had no idea how much she could rely on such a sensation to warn her that he might be in trouble again.

She readjusted her earplugs and then, taking a deep breath to fortify herself against the roar of the music, she opened the door.

The restroom was dimly lit but the hallway was even darker. The route back to Noir’s main room was a narrow corridor draped in black. The only illumination was a string of eerie blue lights embedded in the floor beneath heavy glass. She looked down, watching where she placed her feet.

A figure brushed past her and vanished into the men’s room. In the gloom he was little more than a dark shadow. With her attention focused on her footing, all she saw was a leather-clad pant leg and a heavy black boot.

The scent of smoke laced with a strong, acrid-sweet herb drifted around her. Someone in the men’s room was either burning incense or smoking something strange. She had a hunch it was the latter. She wrinkled her nose, trying to avoid taking a deep breath.

But the smoke grew stronger, not fainter. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she caught a hint of movement in the heavy black drapery to her left. It undulated as though a powerful current of air had moved over the fabric.

No, not over the curtain, under it. The motion was caused by something or someone standing between the drapery and the wall. One of the club’s patrons had ducked behind the curtain to take a quick hit of something that was no doubt highly illegal.

Out of nowhere a tide of voices rose in her head. She recognized the screams of rage and pain and sick, euphoric elation.

…Need to swim in the blood. Need to bathe in it…

…Die-die-die. Want to feel it when she finally stops breathing. Need it. Need to know I have the power to take her life…

Old voices from a cold case she had worked with Bradley, she realized. They were intermingled with a lot of blurred static that clung to the hallway.

…Need another hit. Gotta have it now, now, now. Don’t care what I have to do. Gotta have the stuff. Nothing else matters. Nothing…

…Stupid bitch. Has it coming. She deserves to suffer. Make her pay…

…Going to kill him this time…

Panic welled up, as disorienting as the sea of ghostly voices. Zack was wrong when he’d promised that she wasn’t going to go crazy like Aunt Vella. It was happening. She was losing control. Her internal psychic defenses were crumbling. Everything was coming up out of the secret swamp.

Suddenly there was another voice riding the swelling wave of screams. Zack, casually telling her something every member of the Arcane Society already knew.

…Any sensitive who decides to experiment with illicit crap is really asking for nightmares…

Okay, maybe she wasn’t going crazy. Maybe it was the herb-scented smoke. The stuff was doing something to her parasenses. She had to get away from it.

She tried to hurry out of the hall but couldn’t seem to find her balance. When she looked down she saw that her feet, complete with high heels, had disappeared into the glowing blue light beneath the thick glass. She could no longer tell where she was stepping. The smoky drug was throwing both her normal and her paranormal senses into chaos.

The heel of her invisible shoe skidded on the glass, twisting beneath her.

She stumbled and started to fall. Instinctively she grabbed a handful of the black curtain to steady herself. But the thick drapery could not support her weight. It tore free of the hooks that secured it to the wall.

She went down hard on the illuminated floor, still clutching the curtain. Yards of heavy fabric cascaded on top of her, threatening to suffocate her.

A rush of adrenaline shot through her. This was ridiculous. She was not going to die here on the floor outside the restroom of a goth club. Clamping down savagely on the riot of horrible voices, she planted both hands on the illuminated floor and managed to push herself up onto all fours.

The change in position allowed a draft of air in under the shroud of cloth. She could still smell the tainted smoke but it was not nearly as strong as it had been a moment before.
Smoke rises,
she thought. The air was less tainted here near the floor. The dust embedded in the curtains was another problem, however. She sneezed.

There were more voices. Thankfully, they were not coming from inside her head. Two young men who had just emerged from the restroom were talking.

“Hey, man, floor look a little weird to you?”

“I told you that new shit was some righteous stuff.”

“No, man, it’s, like, the curtain that used to be on the wall. What’s it doin’ on the floor? Can’t see the lights.”

She drew another cautious breath. “Help.”

“I think there’s somebody under there, man.”

“You sure it ain’t the shit?”

“Don’t think so.”

The drapery was abruptly snatched away. She straightened to her knees and discovered two figures peering down at her. She couldn’t see their faces clearly in the deep shadows but the floor light illuminated two pairs of heavy leather boots.

“Thank you,” she managed between sneezes.

One of the young men bent over her, concerned. The blue floor light gleamed on the rings in his nose, eyelid and lower lip.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks,” she said. The scent of the drug was almost gone. The air tasted relatively clean. “Could you give me a hand? I think I broke the heel of my shoe.”

“Sure.” Ring Guy took a firm grip on her elbow and hauled her upright. “Hey, you’re Pandora’s boss, aren’t you? I’ve seen you in here before.”

“That’s right.” Standing, she could see that both men were wearing leather vests that left their arms and chests bare. The better to exhibit their extensive tattoos, no doubt. Ring Guy’s hair was cut and gelled into a shark’s fin on top of an otherwise shaved head. His companion wore his hair in a long black ponytail.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the two of you coming to my rescue,” she said, giving them both a grateful smile. “That curtain weighed a ton. Thought I was going to suffocate under it.”

“No problem,” Ring Guy said, pleased to play hero.

“Yeah, sure,” Ponytail said enthusiastically. “Anytime. You gonna be okay now?”

“I think so, yes.” She looked around, wondering why the noise level had gone up so dramatically. “You two weren’t behind the curtain, were you?”

“Huh?” Ring Guy seemed confused. “No. We just came out of the restroom.”

“I thought so,” she said. “There was someone else here a moment ago, hiding behind the curtains. Did you see anyone leave?”

“No,” Ring Guy said. “But it’s sorta hard to see much in here.”

“I know. Well, thanks again.”

She tried to take a step and realized that walking was going to be an issue. Her ankle was throbbing. She put one hand on the wall to steady herself and limped slowly back to the main room. She heard the voices of her rescuers floating out of the hallway behind her.

“Is she walkin’ sort of funny?” Ring Guy said to his companion.

“Probably the shit. Told you it was good.”

She made it back to the booth where Pandora was waiting.

“There you are.” Pandora shouted over the roar of the pounding music. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt your foot?”

“Fell coming out of the restroom.” She slid into the booth, relieved to get off her feet. “Broke a heel. Twisted my ankle.”

“Bad?”

She wiggled her foot cautiously. “No. I’ll put some ice on it when I get home.”

She realized that the reason the decibel level had climbed to the point of pain was because she had lost her earplugs. She was reaching into her purse to find another set when she sensed the wave of paranormal energy. It stirred everything within her. Zack. She realized that she would know his invisible psychic aura anywhere. She could also tell that he was running very hot. Something was wrong.

She turned to search for him. He wasn’t hard to spot. For an instant he was silhouetted against a flash of strobe light. She caught a glimpse of his hard face and the black leather jacket he wore over his black T-shirt. He looked a thousand times more dangerous than anyone else in the vicinity.

He cut purposefully through the crowd with the ease of a wolf carving a path through a flock of sheep, clearly intent on reaching the booth where she sat with Pandora. The club’s patrons got out of his way without seeming to be aware of why they were moving. She realized they were acting on instinct, responding on a primitive level to the strong vibes that formed an invisible aura of power around Zack. The Arcane Society experts were right, she decided. Most people did have some degree of psychic talent. They just preferred to call it intuition or, maybe, plain old common sense.

Zack reached the table and stopped, looking down at her. In the next flash of a strobe she saw that his face was a grim, intimidating mask.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she said automatically, startled by the savage intensity of the question.

“She twisted her ankle,” Pandora explained.

“Bad?” he asked.

“No, really, I don’t think so,” Raine said hastily. His edgy mood was making her very uneasy. Her feminine instinct was to calm him down, the way one would soothe a guard dog poised to attack.

He relaxed a little and nodded at Pandora. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her.”

“Sure,” Pandora said. “Anytime. How’d the investigating go?”

“It was interesting,” Zack said. “Raine and I are leaving now. Can we give you a ride home?”

“No thanks.” Pandora waved him off. “Music’s great tonight. I’ve got plenty of friends here. I’ll go home with one of them. Don’t worry about me.”

Raine grabbed her purse and worked her way out of the booth. Without a word, Zack took her arm and started to steer her through the crowd.

Pain shot through her ankle. She gasped and staggered a little, clutching at Zack for support.

“You
are
hurt,” he said. “Damn it, I knew something had happened.”

“Broke a heel, that’s all.”

“Damn high heels.”

“You know you love ’em.”

“I’d love you in flat, sensible shoes just as well.”

She wondered if he realized what he’d just said.

“I don’t believe that for a moment,” she managed airily. “Men are fools for high heels.”

“There is that,” he agreed.

Okay, neither one of them was going to refer back to the
I’d love you
remark. Just a slip of the tongue, no doubt.