Obsidian Prey (20 page)

The gallery was also known for the gemstone quality of its raw, uncut, and untuned amber, the most valuable of which were the specimens of rare and exotic varieties.

“I assume the media was right for once?” Revere said in a conversational tone. “You and Sweetwater have resolved your legal issues?”

“There was nothing to resolve. Amber Inc. crushed my lawsuit.”

“I trust Sweetwater made it worth your while to rescue that team that got trapped in the ruin?”

“We’re still negotiating my fee,” she said easily. “Now, why don’t you show me the amber that caught your eye?”

“Right over here.”

He guided her toward the row of cases set against the back wall. She experienced more than just a frisson of awareness when they got close to the specimens. All of her senses were fully rezzed by the unusual latent energies of the stones on display. The collection was, indeed, impressive. Chunks of rare emerald, ruby, and sapphire amber were arrayed on black velvet in the artistically lit cases. She also spotted some remarkable crystal, jade, and chalcedony amber, all of excellent quality.

“I’m interested in the amethyst piece in the last case,” Revere said. “What do you think?”

She walked to the display case and studied the rough, uncut stone inside with all of her senses. The amethyst amber was attractive, showing good color and clarity. But when she probed for the latent energy of the stone, feeling her way into the untuned currents, disappointment whispered through her.

“It’s a nice piece,” she said. “It would make beautiful jewelry, but its resonating power is weak. Not that most people would notice, of course.”

He watched her with a speculative expression. “Only someone who could rez amethyst would care one way or the other.”

“Yes.

Revere studied the amber in the case. “You’re sure about the latent energy in that stone?”

“Positive.”

“Well, so much for that.” But he did not look disappointed. Instead, he appeared satisfied, as if she had passed a test. “I’m not interested in making earrings out of that chunk of amethyst.”

“I’m sorry, but you know how it is with amber. Not every piece is powerful.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind me asking how you planned to use it?”

“I’m looking for lab-quality stones. Your discovery of the ruin and those relics has fired up a lot of interest in amethyst.”

“I see.”

Revere glanced back toward the front of the room where Cruz was examining the contents of a case. “Can’t let the competition get too far ahead of us. My people are convinced that the existence of the ruin is proof that there’s a lot more power in amethyst than the experts have realized. Since we can’t get our hands on any of the relics that Amber Inc. seized from you, I’m looking for some raw stones to use for research purposes in the RezStone lab.”

“Oh, geez. Sounds like an arms race.”

“Amber is power,” Wilson said. “In more ways than one.” He did not take his eyes off Cruz. “As long as you’re here, there is one other specimen that I’d like you to examine.”

“Of course.” She surveyed the rough stones. “The emerald is a nice specimen.”

“I’ve got some good emeralds in the lab. The stone I want you to see is in Fairstead’s private viewing room.”

“This gallery isn’t it?” she asked, looking around.

“No,” Wilson said very softly.

Valentine Fairstead materialized again, white teeth shining.

“If you will follow me, Mr. Revere,” he murmured.

He led the way past a guard and rezzed the lock of a door that Lyra had not noticed in the dim light. Revere ushered her into a small, windowless room. Fairstead followed, closing the door behind him.

“I keep this particular specimen in the vault,” Fairstead said.

He crossed the small space and pulled aside a midnight blue velvet curtain, revealing a gleaming mag-steel bank vault-style door. Keeping his back to Lyra and Revere, he rezzed the lock.

The heavy door opened slowly. More steel glinted in the shadowy interior.

Energy pulsed from within the vault, lifting the hair on the back of Lyra’s neck, thrilling and chilling her senses. She shivered with awareness and a sudden wave of fear. She knew those currents.

She watched Wilson out of the corner of her eye. She was sure she felt energy pulse around him, but there was no indication on his handsome face of any reaction. She reminded herself that men in his position were consummate actors.

Fairstead moved into the vault. “I’ll bring out the piece,” he said.

The door opened again, startling all three of them. Cruz walked into the room.

Fairstead rushed back out of the vault, empty-handed. He was clearly agitated and alarmed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sweetwater,” he said. He slid an uneasy glance at Revere. “This is a private showing.”

“Don’t mind me,” Cruz said. He gave Revere a truly dangerous smile. “I’m old-school. That means that Lyra leaves with the one she came with. That would be me.”

“It was my understanding that Miss Dore was here in her professional capacity,” Revere said. “Not as your date.”

“Stop this,” Lyra said tightly. “Stop it right now.”

All three men looked at her.

“How dare you, Cruz Sweetwater?” She stormed toward him. “You asked me to give you another chance, but look what you’ve done to me.”

He frowned. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Oh, yes, you have. You have humiliated me in front of my most important client and the proprietor of the most respected amber gallery in the entire city. You’ve made me look like one of your bimbo girlfriends instead of a real professional consultant. How could you, after all the promises you made?”

She slapped his face hard, much harder than she had intended. The sharp crack of the blow resonated in the small space. For an instant she froze, shocked by her own small act of violence. She had been going for a theatrical touch, not a real blow. She had never before deliberately struck anyone in her entire adult life.

Cruz did not move. He just stood there, his jaw reddening from the blow. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

She burst into tears and rushed toward the door.

“I will never forgive you,” she wailed. “This was going to be my big chance to recover from that mountain of debt I’ve been under, thanks to losing that lawsuit against Amber Inc.
I was going to consult for Wilson Revere
. You’ve ruined everything. Just like last time. I don’t know why I let you talk me into trusting you again.”

She yanked open the door and fled, sobbing. The clients, attendants, and guards in the outer room froze, transfixed by the sight of a hysterical woman running through the elegant establishment.

When she reached the front of the room, someone hurried to push open one of the thick glass doors for her. Dabbing at her eyes with the back of her hand, she rushed out onto the sidewalk.

She started walking briskly. As soon as she had put some distance between herself and the gallery, she stopped crying and started watching for a cab. It was typical of her luck, she thought, that there wasn’t one anywhere in sight. She spotted a bus stop at the end of the block and hurried toward it.

Cruz appeared before the bus did. No surprise there, she thought. She watched as he eased the Slider against the curb.

He leaned across the seat to open the door.

“Get in,” he said.

She thought about it for a few seconds, but there really was no point pretending he wasn’t there. Cruz would not go away like one of her hallucinations.

She slid into the front seat, closed the door, and buckled her seat belt.

Cruz checked the rearview mirror and pulled away from the curb.

“What the hell was that about?” he asked.

“I slapped your face.” She was still stunned by the anger that had momentarily turned everything red.

“Yeah, I noticed.” He took one hand off the wheel and touched his jaw somewhat gingerly. “It was a little over-the-top, don’t you think?”

“I thought it looked very realistic.”

“Probably because it was realistic. Trust me, I felt it.”

“I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. I’m sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“Forget it. What about the fake tears and the female hysteria?”

“I thought that all looked good,” she said, not without some satisfaction. “Convincing.”

“It was. I’m sure that everyone, including Fairstead, Revere, and half the top-tier amber collectors in the city, not to mention your competitors in the consulting world, bought it.”

She struggled and failed to suppress a wry smile. “Everyone but you?”

“I know you better than they do. In a crisis you don’t get hysterical. You file a lawsuit.”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” And maybe there were a few things about herself that she had been unaware of, too, until now. So much for having worked through all her anger with Harmonic Meditation. “In any case, I doubt that there’s time for a lawsuit in this situation. Probably wouldn’t do me any more good than it did the last time.”

“Talk to me.”

“There’s an amethyst relic in Fairstead’s vault,” she said quietly. “I think it came from the ruin.”

“Son of a ghost.” He glanced at her. “You found the artifact that disappeared from the AI lab?”

“Maybe.”

“What the hell does that mean? Aren’t you sure?”

“I said I sensed
an
amethyst relic. The only question is, whose artifact is it?”

“There’s no question about ownership,” he said flatly. “It belongs to Amber Inc.”

“We don’t know for certain, yet, that the one in Fairstead’s vault came from your lab.” She cleared her throat. “There is another possibility.”

He exhaled slowly. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this?”

“Probably because you know me so well.”

“About this other possibility,” Cruz said. “Just how many of the relics did you remove from that chamber before Amber Inc. took control?”

“Three. Figured you’d never miss them. And you didn’t. Fortunately, the aliens didn’t leave a detailed inventory of the artifacts they stored in the chamber.”

“Please don’t tell me you hid those three stones somewhere in your apartment.”

“Do I look that dumb? I stashed them down in the tunnels, of course. As soon as we get back to my place, I’ll change and go underground to see if any of them are missing. If all three are still there, I think it’s safe to say that the relic in Fairstead’s vault is the one from the Amber Inc. lab.”

“You do realize I’m not going to let you go down to your secret hiding place alone, don’t you?”

“If you go with me, it will no longer be a secret.”

“No,” Cruz said. “It won’t be a secret. Looks like you’re going to have to trust me.”

CRUZ CONTEMPLATED THE NARROW, JAGGED, HOLE-IN-THE-WALL entrance to the glowing catacombs. He did not know whether to be furious or impressed. But then, that was a typical state of affairs when it came to his relationship with Lyra.

They were standing in the sub-subbasement of an old, abandoned warehouse. The dank, concrete room smelled of mold and damp. The pitch-dark space was illuminated only by their flashlights and the sliver of green psi that filtered through the slim opening into the tunnels. Water trickled ominously somewhere in the darkness.

He looked at Lyra. She was back in her prospecting attire: trousers, boots, and a denim shirt. Vincent was perched on her shoulder, excited, as usual, about the possibility of an adventure.

“This is how you’ve been coming and going from the tunnels since I last saw you?” Cruz asked.

In theory, the only officially approved ways in and out of the underground world were via the main gates guarded by the Guilds. Those entrances were usually located within the great walls that surrounded the Dead Cities. But there were countless hidden hole-in-the-wall entrances to the catacombs throughout the Old Quarters of all the cities.

The holes were not man-made. The green quartz was incredibly strong. No human-engineered tools yet invented could make a dent in the stone. But at some point in the distant past, cracks and fissures had been created in the catacombs. One theory held that they were the result of earthquakes. Some experts were convinced that the aliens themselves had made them using the same technology they had employed to construct the tunnels.

Over the years the unofficial entrances had been discovered and used by a motley array of independent prospectors and treasure hunters—the so-called ruin rats—who made their livings on the fringes of the trade in alien artifacts. Such cracks in the walls were also the entrances of choice for drug dealers, criminals fleeing from the law, thrill-seeking kids, gangs, and the occasional serial killer.

Lyra’s secret hole-in-the-wall was located below the streets of one of the seediest neighborhoods of the Quarter. Just the sort of place where a serial killer might bring his victims, Cruz thought.