Obsidian Prey (32 page)

“Lyra.” Relief and panic mingled on Nancy’s face. Her eyes glittered with tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“This is my fault, not yours.” Lyra rushed toward her, hugging her fiercely. “It’s going to be okay. I promise you.”

“Enough,” Quinn said. He looked at Lyra. “You have seen her. She is alive, and she will stay in that condition if you do exactly as I say. Take me to the three stones.”

Lyra released Nancy, stepped back, and kicked off her heels. “It’s a long hike from here. I’m not going to last much longer in these shoes.”

“Hurry,” Quinn hissed.

Lyra looked back at Nancy. “Stay right where you are, okay? It will be all right, I promise you.”

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere without amber,” Nancy vowed.

“Move,” Quinn ordered. He backed up the command with another disorienting wave of energy.

“You know, if you don’t stop doing that,” Lyra said, “I’m going to throw up on your fancy robes.”

Quinn blinked, startled. He took a hasty step back, scowling. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll need a locator,” she said to Quinn.

“Give me the frequency coordinates. I’ll enter them in my locator.”

She rattled them off quickly and waited while he punched in the numbers.

“Now,” Quinn said. A feverish excitement glittered in his eyes. “Take me to the stones.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Lyra said.

CRUZ LOOKED AT THE TELEPHONE RECORDS THAT JEFF had just tossed down in front of him. Vincent dropped the red crayon he had been playing with and drifted across the desk to see what was going on.

“How did you end up with Vincent?” Jeff asked.

“He’s keeping me company while Lyra helps Nancy set up for an art auction tonight. They were afraid he would get into the hors d’oeuvres.” Cruz studied the records. “What did you find?”

“Those are Valentine Fairstead’s calls for the past three years.” Jeff dropped into a chair. “I circled the ones he made to Flagg and Webber and those that he received from them. They tend to occur in clusters.”

“Probably corresponding with the times when they were setting up thefts and sales of the artifacts out of the vault.”

“That’s what it looks like.” Jeff leaned forward. “In which case we’re looking at twenty-eight different thefts during the past three years. Fairstead also made some calls to various high-end clients at those times, letting them know that he had something special, probably. I tracked down the names and wrote them in the margin. For the most part they’re the usual suspects.”

Cruz moved his finger down the list of calls. “Here’s the one he made to Wilson Revere last week.”

“There are other familiar names there, as well. Like I said, most are collectors who have been known to dip into the underground antiquities market.”

“Something I’m having trouble with here,” Cruz said.

“What?”

“The street muscle that we’ve been assuming Flagg hired to whack me.”

Jeff’s brows shot up. “I thought it was more than an assumption.”

“He denied it when I asked him about it.”

“Well, sure. He’s not going to admit he tried twice to have you killed.”

“Everything else about this scam was well-managed for over three years. But hiring those four thugs was sloppy and unsophisticated.”

“I don’t know about that. If it had worked, you’d have been dead, and the antiquities scam would still be humming along.”

“It just doesn’t feel like Flagg.”

“Maybe Webber hired the guys who tried to take you out.”

“Maybe. But regardless, there’s another question. Whoever used amber to generate those hallucinations that forced me to shatter obsidian was there that night. What’s more, he’s been stalking Lyra for about six weeks. Flagg told me that Webber was furious with her because she refused to cooperate with the amethyst experiments, but I just can’t see Webber as a stalker.”

“You’d be surprised by the profiles of the men that turn into stalkers.”

“Whoever this guy is, I think he may also have been sending twice-weekly deliveries of purple orchids to Lyra.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there. That definitely doesn’t sound like Dr. Felix Webber.”

Cruz sat forward and folded his arms on the desk. “In which case, we’re looking for a fourth man, someone who had nothing to do with the antiquities scam.”

“Someone who can generate hallucinations?”

“Yes.” A familiar frisson of icy awareness shot through Cruz. “Lyra.”

“What about her?” Jeff asked.

“Something’s wrong.” He reached for the phone and punched in Lyra’s number. There was no answer. He was trying the number for the Halifax Gallery when Jeff suddenly looked at Vincent.

“Hey, what’s up with the bunny?” Jeff asked.

Vincent had sleeked into full predator mode. All four eyes were open. He leaped to the floor and dashed toward the door.

“Vincent,” Cruz said.

To his amazement, Vincent paused, looking back. His small body was vibrating with urgency.

“Wait for us,” Cruz said.

LYRA WALKED INTO THE CHAMBER AHEAD OF QUINN. The three pyramids of amethyst amber glowed gently on the card table where she had left them.

Quinn stopped short in the entrance. Wonder, awe, and an unhealthy excitement battled for control of his features.

“It’s true,” he whispered. “You really did find the pyramid stones. And they are stones of rare power, just like the one my grandmother discovered. I can sense the energy in them.”

Lyra stopped near one of the pyramids and rested a hand casually on the surface. The stone glowed a little brighter at her touch.

“Now what?” she asked softly.

“Now you will tune all three of the pyramids to my wavelengths so that I can access their power.” Quinn walked to the card table and touched one of the pyramids with reverent fingers. “I will be the master of the stones.”

“I should tell you that I agree with your grandmother. These stones are dangerous.”

Rage flared again in Quinn’s face. “Tune the stones, or you will die in this chamber.”

“You know, I usually get paid extra for my special tuning services.”

Quinn was practically spitting with fury. The temperature inside the tunnels was always comfortable, but there was a greasy sheen of perspiration on his shaved skull.

“Okay, okay, take it easy,” Lyra said. “I’ll tune your amber for you. Just so you know, there won’t be any refund if you’re not satisfied with the service. Place the pyramids so that they are all touching. They must be in physical contact with each other.”

She was winging it now, but Quinn did not appear to notice. He arranged the stones as she had instructed.

“Now what?” he demanded eagerly.

“Put your hands on the stones and concentrate, just as you do when you use your talent.”

Again, he obeyed, splaying his fingertips on the sides of the pyramids.

She touched one of the stones with a forefinger. Energy pulsed.

“Focus,” she commanded softly.

Currents shifted subtly in the pyramids as though some long-dormant power had been disturbed. The stones brightened. She identified Quinn’s patterns almost immediately.
Crazy, all right
. A moment later she had the wavelengths that pulsed in the heart of each stone.

The latent power she sensed in the pyramids chilled her to the core. Energy shifted, writhed, and uncoiled. Whatever was happening was not meant for the human mind.

“Concentrate harder,” she whispered. “Give it everything you have.”

“Yes.” Quinn was nothing short of enraptured now. He stared into the glowing pyramids. “I can see things, amazing things. It’s music. Who ever thought you could literally
see
music? Energy is pouring through me, making me stronger. This is incredible.”

She tweaked the patterns a little more so that the energy in the stones began to pulse in the same pattern as Quinn’s natural psi currents. But the currents in the pyramids were far more powerful than his. They seethed and coiled and burned, seeking a channel.

“Now I can see colors in the music,” Quinn whispered. “No, I can
feel
the colors. There are no names for the shades of purple and green and blue I am able to see. The music is everywhere. Can’t you hear it?”

“No,” she said. “Only you can hear it and see it and sense it, because I have tuned the stones to your personal wavelengths. The power of the pyramids is yours and yours alone, now.”

“Mine to control,” he gasped, ecstatic.

“If you can,” she added very quietly.

Quinn did not hear her. He was enthralled, his face awash in waves of wildly fluctuating purple light.

“Enough,” he said finally. He sounded suddenly exhausted. “This is too much to absorb in one session. It is clear that I must do this in stages.”

She took her fingertip off the stone and stepped back. But the pyramids continued to glow hotter. The entire chamber was pulsing with amethyst light.

“Stop it,” Quinn ordered.

But there was no stopping what she had unleashed. She could no longer bear to look directly at the pyramids. The purple fires were too intense. Every instinct she possessed urged her to run. She whirled, turning toward the door.

Cruz, Vincent, Jeff, and Nancy arrived in the opening at that moment. Cruz and Vincent rushed toward her. She reached down and scooped up the sleeked-out dust bunny.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said. “I think the curtain is about to come down on this performance.”

Cruz caught her hand.

“Go,” he said to Jeff.

“What’s happening?” Quinn shouted. “I can’t release the stones. I’m trapped in the currents. Make them stop.
Make them stop
.”

Jeff seized Nancy’s wrist.

They ran down the quartz corridor. Cruz halted them in front of a vaulted entrance.

“Inside,” he said.

They ducked into the antechamber.

The explosion, when it came, was accompanied by an unearthly scream. The shriek of horror seemed to go on forever before it was cut off.

And then there was only the eternal silence of the catacombs.

“WE GOT TO THE GALLERY JUST AS NANCY WAS COMING up the stairs from the hole-in-the-wall below her basement,” Cruz said. “She filled us in on what had happened.”

“I went back to the surface to get help,” Nancy explained. “The amber in the heels of your shoes was good enough to help me make my way back here, Lyra, but I knew I’d need a locator and some manly assistance to find you and deal with Quinn.”

“The amber in my shoes is not my best,” Lyra said. She glanced at the clock. It was nearly seven. The auction was due to start in an hour. “It’s strictly for emergencies.”

Jeff looked at her. “You keep tuned amber in the heels of your shoes?”

“Every last pair I own,” she said. “I’m a tuner and an indie prospector. Trust me when I tell you that the combination has made me downright obsessive about amber.”