Illusion Town (8 page)

Hannah's phone rang just as she got out of the taxi. It was not the first call she had received since returning to the surface. She had dumped the first two, both of which had come from Grady Barnett.

She reached into her clutch, intending to terminate Grady's third call. Then she noticed the sleek steel blue Cadence parked at the curb.

“Well, what do you know?” she said, taking out her phone. “Your car did survive the night.”

Elias finished paying the cabdriver and turned toward her. Virgil was on his shoulder clutching the Arizona Snow doll by one little booted foot.

“You thought the car would have been stolen overnight?” Elias asked.

“Or stripped. It's not that we don't have a pretty good neighborhood watch set up here in the DZ—we do. But
it's designed to keep the local residents safe. Visitors are usually okay if they stick to the parking lots of the clubs and casinos because there's plenty of private security. But leaving a fancy car like yours on a side street overnight is a risky move. It must have been a big temptation to some of our less scrupulous entrepreneurs.”

“My car can take care of itself.”

“Really?” The phone in her hand rang again. She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Grady's number. A jolt of alarm spiked through her when she saw the identity of the caller. “Uh-oh.”

“Something wrong?” Elias asked.

“It's my aunt Clara,” Hannah said. “Pretty early in the day for her. She's a night person.”

Elias glanced at the newspaper stand on the corner. It featured the latest copy of the
Curtain
. The headline about their marriage was in very large font.

“What could possibly go wrong?” he asked.

She gave him a withering look. “Don't worry. Even if she happened to see a copy, Clara knows you can't believe everything you read in the
Curtain
.”

“Everyone says that. But they read it anyway.”

Hannah ignored him and took the call.

“Good morning,” she said, trying to infuse her tone with an upbeat note. “How are you and Aunt Bernice doing today?”

“How are we doing?” Clara repeated, her dark, smoky voice much sharper than usual. “I'll tell you how we're doing. We would both have fallen out of our rocking chairs,
if we had rocking chairs. The headlines in the
Curtain
say you married Elias Coppersmith last night. It says his family controls a huge chunk of the hot-rock mining rights in the Underworld. It says he's rich. It also says he's a scion. What the heck is a scion? Sounds like some kind of refrigerator or a car.”

Clara Stockbridge was normally a monument of unflappability. When she had arrived in Illusion Town several decades ago, her name had been Clara Stockton. She'd had the height, the great bones, and the figure to get a job as a showgirl. She also had the intelligence, creativity, and savvy understanding of an audience, which had allowed her and her lover, Bernice Bridge, to create the masterful Ladies of High Magic show. The act had endured for nearly thirty years before Clara and Bernice had gracefully closed it down.

Somewhere along the way Clara and Bernice had married and combined their last names into Stockbridge. They had insisted that the baby girl they had found on their doorstep call each of them “aunt” not “mother” because, as Bernice said, Hannah had a mother. Marla Sanders was dead but Clara and Bernice had been her friends. They were absolutely certain that Marla had loved her infant daughter with all her heart and therefore deserved to keep the title of mother.

“I can explain, Aunt Clara,” Hannah said. “It's a little complicated.”

“This is a yes-or-no question,” Clara said. “Is the story true?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of. What kind of answer is that? Honey, are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Aunt Clara.”

“What is going on?”

Hannah took a deep breath and plunged into the tale.

“Elias Coppersmith came to see me yesterday to get my help opening a dreamlight gate down at the Ghost City project. I agreed but before we could leave town a gang of bikers tried to grab one of us. We're not positive but we think they might have been after me. Elias thinks it may be a case of corporate espionage. They may have been trying to keep me from rescuing the Coppersmith team.”

“What?”

“Elias thought I would be safer if I was his wife. It's just an MC, Aunt Clara. Nothing to get excited about.”

“You were attacked? By a motorcycle gang? Where are you?”

“Home, safe and sound. The gang showed up when we left the Green Ruin Café last night.”

“But that's right here in the DZ. We've never had a problem with motorcycle gangs in this zone.”

“Yes, I know, Aunt Clara.”

“The Club wouldn't allow the competition,” Clara observed somewhat absently.

It was a fact, Hannah thought. Illusion Town had the usual democratic trappings—an elected mayor and a city council. It also had an effective police force. But everyone knew that the real powers-behind-the-scenes were the members of the Illusion Club. It was a very exclusive
organization. The membership list was short. The Club was made up of the owners of the largest casino empires in the city.

“I know,” Hannah said. “I was amazed that the bikers would take the risk. Obviously, they're not from around here.”

“Obviously,” Clara said.

Elias held out his hand.

“Let me talk to your aunt,” he said.

Hannah clamped the phone against her chest. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea.”

“I heard that,” Clara said, her voice somewhat muffled by Hannah's bosom. “Put that MC husband of yours on the phone.”

Reluctantly, Hannah handed the phone to Elias.

“Meet Mrs. Clara Stockbridge,” she said. “My aunt.”

Elias took the phone.

“Good morning, ma'am,” he said. “No, I realize it's not a good morning for everyone. Sorry, force of habit. I'm Elias Coppersmith.”

He gave a quick, detailed account of events and wound up with:

“No, I don't know what's going on yet, but until I do, I think Hannah will be safer with Coppersmith Security around her, Mrs. Stockbridge. Also, as my wife she'll have an additional level of protection . . . Yes, ma'am. I understand. We're leaving for the jobsite just as soon as Hannah picks up her Underworld gear. Meanwhile, I'll have our security people coordinate with the Illusion Town police to start an investigation up here on the surface . . . Yes,
ma'am, I agree, the Club won't like having some biker gang think it can roar through town and frighten the locals. Bad for business.”

There was a lengthy pause.

Elias gave Hannah a speculative look as he listened to whatever Clara was saying on the other end of the connection.

“No, ma'am, I didn't know that. I'll keep it in mind,” he said. “Yes, I'll take good care of her. Sorry about the headlines . . . What? No, I'm not sure what a scion is, either. I agree it doesn't have a good ring to it . . . Right. It won't happen again, Mrs. Stockbridge.”

Elias ended the connection and handed the phone back to Hannah.

“Your aunt says she wants to meet me as soon as we get back to the surface,” he said. “Also I'm not to call her ‘ma'am.'”

“Yeah, well, we'll worry about that after the job is over.”

“She's concerned about you.”

“I know.” Hannah exhaled slowly. “I love her, too. What did she say when you told her about the kidnapping attempt?”

“That got her to focus on the problem at hand,” Elias said, “which is keeping you safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” Hannah said, feeling rather grim. “Like your car.”

“I'm sure you can,” Elias said soothingly. “But your aunt understood that you would be safer with me until we can sort things out. If the biker gang was hired to keep
you from going down below to open the dreamlight gate, the sooner we get that gate open, the better off we'll be.”

“Amazing. Congratulations, by the way. Not many people can outtalk Aunt Clara.”

Hannah rezzed the lock on the front door of her shop.

“Your aunt said something else, too.”

There was a note in Elias's voice that made her pause and look back at him.

“What?” she asked.

“She said that she understood our MC was a security move, not a romantic one. Nevertheless, the arrangement would put you and me in close proximity for a time. She said I should not expect to be able to take advantage of the situation.”

“Oh, geez.”

“She said you had issues with intimacy because of the nature of your talent and that if I did try to take advantage, I would regret it.”

“This is so embarrassing.”

“I don't think she was threatening me,” Elias said judiciously. “Not exactly. I think she just doesn't want to see you get hurt.”

“Trust me, Aunt Clara was threatening you.”

“Could you give me a hint, at least?”

“About the nature of the threat?” Hannah asked.

“Will your aunt call in some favors and have me disappear into the tunnels if she thinks I took advantage of you?”

In spite of her embarrassment, Hannah laughed.

“No,” she said. “I'm not saying Aunt Clara couldn't call
in a favor or two if she needed it, but it wouldn't be necessary in my case.”

“How bad are the intimacy issues?”

“Ever had an out-of-body experience?”

“No, can't say that I have.”

“Stick with me and you might get one. I'm told they are very exciting and not in a good way.”

Her talent was also pretty much the last thing she wanted to talk about at the moment. She started to push open the door but paused when Elias's phone rang.

He stopped on the front step and took the call.

“Hi, Mom. Let me guess: you read the
Curtain
. What? Yes, it's true. Can't wait for you to meet her but got a job to do first . . . You're right. The Ghost City is a strange destination for a honeymoon. This is about rescuing that team at the second portal. If anyone can open that gate, it's Hannah. I promise I'll call as soon as we're out of the Underworld. Right. Tell Dad not to worry. What? I can't hear you very well. Bad connection. Got to run.”

He cut the connection and looked at Hannah.

“Turns out my mother reads the
Curtain
,” he said.

“No kidding. This MC of ours is clearly a problem for a lot of people. But at least it's a totally fixable problem. We just need to file . . .
Crap
.”

She stared, stunned by the scene inside her shop. Her collection of artifacts and antiques and interesting hot rocks looked as if it had been struck by a tornado. Glass cabinets had been smashed, the contents strewn across the floor.

The intruder's dreamlight prints were everywhere. They
seethed on the floorboards and burned on everything he had touched.

She heard Virgil growl and she was vaguely aware that Elias was hauling her aside so that he could get through the doorway first. She noticed that he had the device he had called a silencer in his hand and she sensed his heightened energy field but she could not seem to wrap her head around the vandalism.

She said the only thing that seemed to sound logical.

“So much for the high-end locks I had installed,” she whispered.

“Your locks are decent,” Elias said. “But obviously not good enough. Next time I'll make sure you get state-of-the-art tech from the Coppersmith labs. Stay here, I'll take a look around upstairs.”

“Okay,” she said.

The intruder had climbed the stairs to her private space. She could see his hot prints. He hadn't just invaded her shop, he had invaded her home.

She was oddly numb from shock and it must have shown in her voice because Elias gave her a quick, concerned look. He didn't waste any time consoling her, however. She waited just inside the doorway while he took the stairs two at a time.

He returned a short time later.

“All clear upstairs,” he said. “This wasn't vandalism. They were looking for something.”

She folded her arms very tightly across her midsection, hugging herself.

“Not they,” she whispered. “Him. There was only one person here.”

Elias studied her intently. “You can tell that much?”

“He was in a very emotional state—frantic and angry, I think. He left his damned dreamlight prints everywhere.”

“And you can see them.”

She nodded.

“Did he come in through the front door or the back door?”

“Back door. No prints on the front steps. I can see that he didn't find the trapdoor in the floor. It leads down into the basement.”

“Could you identify those prints again if you saw them?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“That kind of evidence probably wouldn't stand up in court, but if we knew his identity we might be able to find hard evidence that would convince a jury.”

She just nodded again. She couldn't think of anything to say.

Predictably, Elias took charge.

“We need to get out of here and fast. Change your clothes, collect your field gear, and we'll head for the Underworld. The sooner we get that team out of the ruins, the sooner we can get a handle on this situation.”

She started toward the stairs. “Assuming this break-in is connected to opening your dreamlight gate.”

He reached out and stopped her by gently catching her chin on the edge of his hand.

“Doesn't matter if it's connected or not,” he said. “We'll figure it out.”

“Okay.”

She hurried up the stairs, reminding herself that the two of them had been through worse during the night. They had been attacked by a motorcycle gang. They had been psi-burned. They had gotten
married
.

But this intrusion into her home was more devastating, more personal. The cozy, private little world she had created for herself had been invaded. Virgil muttered anxiously in her ear and offered her his Arizona Snow action figure. Automatically, she took the doll. It was oddly comforting.

“Arizona Snow wouldn't have fallen apart in a situation like this, Virgil. I won't either.”

Her private rooms were in the same condition as the shop. After a single, horrified glance at the chaos in the kitchen and living room, she went into her bedroom. Clothes had been pulled out of the closet and tossed on the floor. Her books had been swept out of the bookcase.

But it was the sight of the black boot prints on her almost new, pristine white quilt that sent a jolt of raw fury through her. Hot dreamlight simmered in the prints. The bastard had stood right there on her bed.

“Why?” she whispered.

Then she realized that the intruder had yanked the photograph of her aunts and herself off the wall above
the headboard. Probably looking to see if she had hidden anything behind it, she thought.

She tightened her grip on the Arizona Snow figure. She could have sworn she felt a little energy whisper in the doll. For some reason it was just the bracing tonic she needed.

“When I get my hands on the creep who did this, he is going to be very, very sorry,” she said.

“Yes,” Elias said from the doorway. “He will be sorry.”

She turned quickly to look at him. His eyes burned with promise.

*   *   *

By the time she got downstairs dressed in field gear—jeans, a black pullover, black utility vest, and low boots—she was no longer numb with shock. She was seething with a barely suppressed rage.

Elias glanced at the pack she had slung over one shoulder and then he looked at the sleeping bag she gripped under her arm.

“You won't need that,” he said. “Coppersmith supplies all the basics at the jobsite.”

“I have to have my own sleeping bag,” she said.

He didn't question the statement, just nodded. “Okay. Ready?”

“Almost,” she said. “I want to check my vault before we leave. There's no indication that the intruder found it but I want to be sure.”

Elias glanced at his watch, his jaw tensing but he nodded.

“All right,” he said. “But let's make it quick. I want to get you out of town.”

She set her pack and her sleeping bag on the floor. Opening the concealed trapdoor, she led the way down the steps to the basement. There she opened the fake wall paneling to reveal the narrow, jagged entrance to the glowing green tunnels.

“My vault isn't far inside,” she said.

He followed her through a short maze of glowing green tunnels until they reached her secret hiding place. One glance inside the chamber assured her that her most valuable treasures remained untouched.

Elias surveyed the neatly arranged artifacts and relics. “Huh.”

“I know,” she said. “It looks more like a secondhand shop.”

She was well aware that the collection in the vault was not very impressive. A number of mostly amateurish paintings, sculptures, and other bad works of art were arranged on one side of the room. A set of shelves in the center held a motley assortment of items that ranged from old books and antique lamps to ragged comforters and quilts.

On the far side of the room stood a couple of sagging bedsteads, one of which was topped with a worn mattress. There were other items of bedroom furniture as well—a wooden chest of drawers and a wardrobe.

Her collection of mirrors took up one long side of the chamber.

Elias walked slowly through the chamber. She could
feel energy shift in the atmosphere and knew that he had opened his senses.

“None of this stuff would tempt the average thief,” he said. He touched a yellowed lamp shade. “So I'm guessing these things have a very personal meaning to you.”

“They've all got one thing in common,” she said. “Every item down here was once possessed or—in the case of the artwork—created by someone with a version of my kind of talent.”

“Dream walkers.”

“Yes. A few of the items are new. Some date back to the First Generation. Evidently, it's a talent that existed, at least in a latent way, in some of the colonists.”

Elias moved to stand in front of one of the paintings. Like the other works of art, there was nothing particularly distinguished about the artist's style or talent. But there was a disturbing intensity about the surreal scene—a strange urban landscape illuminated in bizarre shades of blue, gray, and ultraviolet.

Elias moved on to another picture. It, too, was surreal but the setting was one of the old Alien ruins.

Hannah folded her arms.

“The energy infused into those pictures and the rest of the art in this room makes me think that they were all done by people who were trying to capture their dream-walking experience,” she said.

Elias met her eyes. “This is your own personal research collection, isn't it?”

He understood, she thought. For some reason that lifted her spirits.

She touched her necklace beneath her pullover. “I'm hoping that sooner or later I'll come across an object or a piece of art that will give me another clue to my ancestors.”

“Have you found anything besides the necklace so far?”

“No, but the new genealogist I hired, Dr. Wilcox, thinks that if he gets a complete para-psych profile it will point him in the right direction. It's just a matter of time, he says.”

Elias gave the chamber a thoughtful look. Then he turned back to her.

“You're sure you didn't tell Wilcox or Barnett about your necklace.”

“No, absolutely not. Didn't want to take the risk.”

Elias nodded. “Good thinking. What about the Midnight Carnival? Did you mention it to either of them?”

“No one except you and my aunts knows about the necklace and the carnival. I haven't told anyone else that I filed a claim on a certain sector of the Underworld, either. Once I do a deal with Arcane for the carnival, though, I will tell Wilcox about the necklace. I'm sure he'll think it's important.”

“A claim is public information once it's filed,” Elias said.

“Yes, but the description boils down to a set of coordinates that define a sector. There's nothing on the forms that describes what I found there. Besides, who would even think to look for a claim filed by me? Thousands of claims, large and small, get filed every year. The vast majority are worthless. Very few private prospectors get rich in the
Underworld. The big companies like Coppersmith control the really hot sectors.”

“Good point. Speaking of a hot Coppersmith project, we should be on our way.” Elias took one last look around the chamber and then he walked toward her. “Ready to leave?”

“Yes.”

“You're sure?”

She narrowed her eyes. Whatever he saw in her expression must have satisfied him.

“Right,” he said. “Let's go.”

They made their way back through the basement of her shop and up the stairs to the showroom floor. Elias took another look around as they moved through the space.

“I meant it, you know,” he said. “After we rescue the team I will make sure we find the guy who broke into this place. Coppersmith Security is very, very good at that sort of thing.”

“All right,” she said. “Thanks. If you catch the guy I will consider that full payment for this job.”

“No, you'll get paid as agreed,” Elias said. “A contract is a contract.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I'm not looking for any favors from you and your company, Elias.”

“Finding the guy who broke into your home won't be a favor. Think of it as a wedding gift.”