The Lost Night (23 page)

He shut down the SUV’s flash-rock engine, raised his senses a little, and studied the old place. The windows were dark. An ancient pickup truck sat in the weedy drive. He could feel the crackle of psi that leaked out of the nearby Preserve.

“Dillard does live very close to the fence,” he said.

“Yes.” Rachel grabbed her somewhat battered leather jacket, cracked open the door, and started to get out of the vehicle. Darwina bounded up onto her shoulder and hunkered down with Amberella.

Harry noticed that the dust bunny was not chortling in her usual enthusiastic way. She had all four eyes open. Probably picking up on Rachel’s tension, he thought. Or maybe it was the hot psi swirling out of the Preserve. Or maybe something else.

“Hang
on,” he said quietly. “I think we need a plan.”

Rachel was half in and half out of the front seat. The toe of one boot was on the ground. She turned back to look at him.

“What is there to plan?” she said. “I thought we were just going to ask Calvin a few questions.”

“I’m all for questioning him. It was my idea, remember?”

“Your point?”

He considered his point while he slipped the knife out of the ankle sheath and walked around the front of the SUV to join her. He stood for a moment, looking toward the invisible boundary that marked the outer edge of the Preserve. The woods were cloaked in fog, but he could feel the fence and something else, some nameless, formless, impossible-to-describe darkness.

“Something doesn’t feel right here,” he said.

“Things never feel normal this close to the fence.” She started toward the front door of the cottage. “Questioning Calvin is going to be a delicate process. He’s very touchy about his privacy. You’d better let me handle it.”

“He’s all yours.”

Harry quartered the fog-drenched landscape one last time, searching for whatever it was that had stirred his intuition. There was nothing to see in the heavy mist, but he couldn’t shake the ominous sensation. He held the knife out of sight, alongside his leg.

He thought
he’d been slick about the move, but Rachel must have sensed it. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the weapon.

“What is that thing?” she asked.

“It’s a knife.”

“It doesn’t look like a knife. It looks like some sort of medallion.”

“Trust me, it’s a knife.”

Rachel looked dubious. “I’ve never seen a knife like that.”

“It came out of one of the company labs.”

“Which company?”

“Sebastian, Inc.”

“Well, you won’t need that with Calvin. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“I believe you,” Harry said. But he did not sheathe the knife.

Rachel turned back to the door and rapped against it, sharply. Harry did not hear any footsteps on the other side.

Darwina muttered to herself and kept watch with all four eyes as if expecting a predator larger than herself to appear at any moment.

“I don’t understand it,” Rachel said. She glanced at her watch, winced when she remembered that it had stopped, and eyed the gathering fog. “Calvin’s truck is here. He must be home. I wonder if anyone came out to check on him this morning after the storm. Maybe he was injured and can’t make it to the door. There was all that lightning last
night and this place is so close to the Preserve—”

“I’ll take a look,” Harry said.

She glanced at him, clearly worried now. He edged her gently but firmly out of the way. He wrapped one hand around the doorknob and opened the door.

Seething currents of dark energy wafted through the opening. Not fresh, he thought, but probably not more than a few hours old. He did not need Darwina’s low growl of warning to know that whatever had happened inside the cottage had been of a violent nature. He glanced at the dust bunny. She seemed to be focused on the entrance but she had not gone into full hunting mode.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Rachel asked quietly.

“Yes.” Harry moved into the shadowed front room of the cottage. “Feels like there was a struggle, but the place is empty now.”

“A struggle? Is Calvin—”

“Not dead,” Harry said. He moved into the front room. There were muddy boot prints on the floor. “At least he wasn’t killed here.”

She walked into the cabin. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

She stopped just inside the room and gave a small cry of anguish. “Dear heaven.”

She took in the mute evidence of the struggle that had taken place. A chair was overturned. Pieces of a shattered lamp were strewn across the bare wooden floor. Several aging copies of the
Journal of Marine Biology
were scattered across the floor.

“Someone attacked
Calvin,” Rachel whispered. “Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said.

“Maybe he
is
dead. Maybe his body is in the bedroom or the kitchen or—”

“No.” He put some steel into the word. “I don’t know if he’s alive or dead but I can tell you that no one was murdered in this cottage.”

She eyed him uncertainly. “You can feel that kind of thing?”

He stopped in the middle of the small space and jacked up his senses another notch. “It’s an aspect of my talent. I blame my family gene pool. Had a couple of ancestors back on Earth who possessed similar abilities and then there was good old Harry One.”

“The pirate?”

“Yes.” He did a quick check of the small kitchen.

“And here I thought my sensitivity had a serious downside.”

“It does.” He glanced back at her as he made his way down a short hall to the bedroom. “I’d say that when it comes to unpleasant talents, being able to see the monsters in our midst ranks right up there with a talent for picking up the psi-residue of violence and murder. But at least your talent has a major upside.”

“What?”

“The ability to heal. All I can do is deliver more violence.”

She watched him with somber eyes. “So you hunt the monsters.”

“It’s about all
a talent like mine is good for.”

“Don’t knock it. There’s an old saying, one fights fire with fire.”

He looked at her again, surprised. “Somehow that doesn’t sound very HE.”

“Actually it is very HE. People outside the Community have so many—”

“Misconceptions. Yes, you’ve made that clear.”

He took a quick look around the bedroom. The bed was neatly made. An old harmonica sat on the nearby table. A guitar hung on the wall. There was no sign of a disturbance in the small space. Calvin had almost certainly been in the front room when he was taken.

He started back along the hall, pausing to check the tiny bathroom. He heard Rachel speak to Darwina.

“What did you find?” Rachel asked. “Can I see it?”

He arrived in the doorway in time to see Rachel crouched down in front of Darwina. The dust bunny was bouncing up and down excitedly. She still clutched her Amberella doll but she had a crystal cylinder about six inches long in one of her other paws. She graciously gave the cylinder to Rachel and fluttered off to explore the territory beneath the desk.

Rachel got to her feet and studied the gleaming object in her hand.

“What have you got there?” Harry said. “Looks like a miniature flute.”

“Yes.” She stared at the flute, comprehension heating her eyes.

“More memories?” he asked quietly.

“I remember this
flute or one just like it. Calvin wasn’t playing it that morning. I was. I brought it with me out of the Preserve. In fact, I used it to find my way out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Listen.”

She raised the flute to her lips and blew gently. He felt energy shivering in the atmosphere and knew that she had used some psi to rez the flute.

A delicate note, icy cold and clear as crystal sounded in the small space. It seemed to hang there for a few seconds before it faded. Rachel lowered the flute.

“This was how I navigated the Preserve,” she whispered. “How could I forget something like that?”

“Probably because someone helped you forget,” Harry said. “Let me see that thing.”

She handed it to him without a word. He took it and turned it over in his hand. The design was graceful, almost ethereal, but the crystal flute did not seem at all fragile. There was something ever so slightly off about the feel of the instrument in his fingers, however, as if it had been fashioned for a hand that was not quite human.

“Alien technology,” he said quietly.

Rachel’s eyes widened. “Yes, of course. That explains a lot. But where did I get it and how did I know how to use it to make my way out of the Preserve?”

“We seem to be piling up more questions than answers.”

“What do you think happened here? Where is Calvin?”

“I don’t know where Calvin Dillard is,” Harry said. “But it’s clear that someone took him.”

Rachel swung
around to stare at him, horrified. “You mean he was kidnapped.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“But that makes no sense,” Rachel said.

Harry hunkered down and jacked up his talent to study the muddy boot prints on the floor of the living room. Darwina scampered toward him to see if he was about to introduce some new game. Together they examined the eddies of hot psi that swirled in the atmosphere around the prints.

“Whoever they are, they came out of the Preserve,” Harry said. He rose and went into the kitchen. He opened the back door and looked at the glowing tracks. The fog was so thick he could not see the ground, but the paranormal energy of the tracks glowed in the mist. “They left that way, too, taking their prisoner with them.”

Rachel came to join him. She studied the thickening mist. “Why would they take Calvin?”

“I don’t have the answer to that but I think it’s safe to say that someone did not want me to talk to him.”

“Dear heaven,” Rachel whispered. “It’s because of me.”

“I agree there’s probably a connection.” Harry closed the door and went back into the living room. He opened a drawer in the desk and saw a heap of sheet music. “But why would someone want to kidnap him just because he saw you walk out of the Preserve and gave you a lift home?”

There was a short silence behind him. He looked at Rachel. She was gazing fixedly at the little flute. She raised her head. Her eyes were haunted.

“Maybe it
wasn’t a coincidence that I emerged from the Preserve here at Calvin’s place,” she said.

“You think the flute was somehow tuned to this location?” He glanced at the crystal device. “That almost makes sense. But if it’s true, it means than Calvin Dillard is involved in this thing up to his neck.”

“I don’t pretend to understand how or why—my memories are still very foggy—but my intuition tells me that Calvin saved me that night I disappeared into the Preserve. Now he’s in trouble. We have to find him.”

“Do you really think you can track the kidnappers into the Preserve?” Rachel asked.

“Yes,” Harry said. “I’ve done
my share of search-and-rescue work inside the fence. The prints are fairly fresh, not more than a few hours old. I should be able to follow them.”

They were standing at the rear of the SUV. Harry had the cargo bay door open, and Rachel watched him select items from the emergency kit to go into his daypack. She did not need to view his aura to sense the energy of the hunter whispering in the atmosphere around him.

Darwina was perched on the top of the open door. She burbled encouragingly as if urging Harry to hurry up so that they could get on with whatever adventure he had planned.

“I’m going with
you,” Rachel said, just to make sure Harry understood.

“Yes,” he said. He did not look up from the task of filling the daypack.

“Wow,” Rachel said. “You mean you’re not going to argue with me about this?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Rachel said. “Sure glad I wore my leather boots and jacket again today. But can I ask why you’re being so reasonable?”

“I don’t think you’ll be safe if I leave you behind. Whoever got Calvin will probably go after you next. All things considered, you’re better off with me.”

She took a breath. “Your logic is a little scary and I’m not sure it’s solid. Why would whoever took Calvin come after me now? He’s more likely to concentrate on trying to kill you. Maybe he has concluded that will be easier to do if he lures you into the Preserve. A lot of people have disappeared inside without a trace.”

“I don’t have all the answers, Rachel. I’m going with my gut here.” Harry zipped up the pack, slung it over one shoulder, and reached up to take Darwina off her perch. She scrambled down onto his shoulder, chortling and waving her Amberella doll.

“Any other reasons for not leaving me behind?” Rachel asked, her voice a little too neutral.

“Yes.” He closed the rear door and looked toward the fog-drenched forest. “I sensed almost from the start of this thing that you’re the key. Until I find out exactly what lock
you can open, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She winced. “Always nice to feel needed.”

His eyes heated a little. “I need you, Rachel. Don’t ever doubt that. Ready?”

She flushed and took a deep breath to fortify herself for the senses-rattling job of getting through the psi-fence.