Sizzle and Burn (The Arcane Society #3)(60)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned a short time later with a large packet of frozen spinach that he draped around her sore ankle. When he was satisfied with the makeshift ice pack he straightened and took his phone out of his pocket.

“You’re going to call Fallon Jones right now?” she asked.

“Couple of things I have to tell him.” He punched in a number.

“It’s two-fifteen in the morning.”

“So what?” He put the phone to his ear. “Figure if we’re awake, he might as well be awake, too. Besides, Fallon doesn’t sleep much when he’s working a case, especially one that involves Nightshade.”

“He’s not the only one who isn’t getting much sleep lately.”

Zack ignored her to speak into the phone. “And a cheery good morning to you, too, Fallon. Got a little news here but first I need to tell you about a seventeen-year-old high-level aura talent. At the moment he’s doing time in a psychiatric hospital.”

He spoke quickly and succinctly, as usual showing little strong emotion but she sensed the urgency beneath the surface. She was aware of something else, too. There was quiet authority, a cool, but unmistakable edge of command, in his voice.

“It’s going to be complicated by the fact that the new stepmother is afraid that the kid’s crazy and that he’ll be a bad influence on the other children,” he concluded. “But the director of the hospital is a good man. Probably a fairly high-grade intuitive. Just doesn’t know it or won’t acknowledge it. An extraction team should be able to work with him.”

There was another pause as Fallon responded.

“I know I sound like I’m giving orders again,” Zack said patiently. “That’s because I am. Now I’m going to update you on the Oriana situation. There have been some new developments.”

When he was finished he ended the call and looked at Raine, politely inquiring.

“What?” he asked.

“Why is it,” she said, “that every time I listen to you talk to Fallon Jones it sounds like you’re giving him orders?”

Zack smiled a cheerfully serene smile. “It works better that way.”

“Why?”

“Probably because I’m good at giving orders. Never did take them very well, myself.”

Forty-four

The box that contained the things that had surrounded Vella Tallentyre during the last year of her life at St. Damian’s was pitifully small. He found it in an upstairs closet, next to an easel. He picked it up, carried it downstairs and outside to the backseat of the car. He went back inside to retrieve Raine and a fresh packet of frozen vegetables. Peas this time.

When she was belted into the passenger seat she turned her head to look at the small box.

“There wasn’t a lot of storage space in her room at the hospital,” she said wistfully. “I only took the things I knew meant a lot to her. The rest of her stuff is still at the Shelbyville house.” She settled back into the seat with a tiny sigh.

He took one hand off the wheel and briefly touched her knee. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better, thanks. The cold packs are helping.”

“You didn’t tell me how you twisted it.”

“Just one of those things. The hall outside the restroom was very dark. Someone was smoking something behind a curtain. The stuff affected my parasenses. I lost my balance and went down. Took the wall drapes with me. It was very embarrassing.”

A small chill went through him, a faint but disturbing echo of the cold thrill that had iced him to the bone just as he parked the car in the lot outside Café Noir. He would never forget that sensation, he thought. He had never felt anything quite like it. Screw the experts. On some deep level he had known that Raine was in trouble.

But she had just slipped and slightly sprained an ankle. It was not as though she had been in grave danger. Why had he reacted so intensely?

“Tell me about the smoke,” he said.

She shot him a startled look that said more clearly than words that his tone of voice must have been a little on the rough side.

“Why?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Nothing, probably. I’m just curious about the smoke.”

“I don’t know what it was.”

“Marijuana?”

“No, something else. More like incense. There was an herbal scent to it that I didn’t recognize. Not that I’m an expert.”

“Recognize the person who was smoking the dope?”

“Never saw him.” She stopped for a second. “Or her.”

“You never saw the smoker?”

“It was very dark in the hallway outside the restrooms. The person was hiding behind the wall drapery. Disappeared when I did my swan dive and pulled the curtains down on top of myself.”

He felt ghostly fingers caress the nape of his neck.

“The guy was hiding behind the drapery?” he said, fighting to keep his tone level.

“Probably afraid of being caught with an illegal substance. Café Noir has what you might call a bit of a reputation in town. Pandora says the cops occasionally conduct sting operations there.”

“Let me get this straight. You never saw the smoker because he was hiding behind the curtains and you only caught a few whiffs of the smoke but that was enough to affect your parasenses?”

“Well, yes, I guess that pretty much sums it up.”

“Shit.”

“Which reminds me,” she said, very earnest now, “I want to thank you for telling me about how psychotropic drugs can have unpredictable effects on a person with a strong psychic profile. That little gem of wisdom kept me from freaking out entirely when I realized that the smoke was destroying my ability to control my clairaudient talents.”

“Shit.”

“You said that once already.”

He drove faster.

“Zack?”

“Yeah?”

“You think we have a new problem, don’t you?”

“That’s pretty much what I’m thinking, yes.”

He prowled the living room, phone nailed to his ear, and talked to an eternally irritated Fallon.

“I need someone here in Oriana as soon as possible,” he said. “Preferably a hunter.”

He was intensely aware of Raine watching him. She was ensconced on the sofa, her injured, freshly re-iced foot propped on the cushions. Batman and Robin were curled on her lap. The box that he had carried out of Gordon and Andrew’s house sat unopened on the coffee table.