Siren's Call (A Rainshadow Novel) (6 page)

Three months later
 . . .

“Nice office,” Rafe Coppersmith said. “The dream counseling business must be paying well. Congratulations.”

He walked toward her across the elegantly appointed counseling room as if nothing had ever happened between them; as if they were old friends. As if he actually had called to ask her out for coffee.

Bastard
.

She wanted to yell at him and maybe throw a few things in his direction, but she reminded herself that she was a professional therapist. She had an image to maintain. She also had a lot of control. No one could fake it like a Siren.

She had been waiting for Rafe all morning, ever since she had seen his name on her appointment calendar. She was booked for the day so it had come as a shock to see that
Darren, her receptionist, had rescheduled another client in order to make room for Rafe.

It was no doubt the Coppersmith name that had convinced Darren to fit Rafe into her busy schedule—and possibly a nice little gratuity on the side. Coppersmiths were rich and powerful and no doubt accustomed to getting what they wanted.

When she had recovered from the shock of seeing Rafe’s name she had done some fast research on Coppersmith Mining. In addition to controlling a large chunk of the quartz and crystal market, the firm operated some very secretive high-tech research labs. At the company’s website she had found a mission statement that claimed that the goal of the research was to discover new ways to use quartz and crystal to improve people’s lives. Ella suspected that the real objective was to find new ways to make even more millions selling various quartz- and crystal-powered products. But, then, she tended to be a bit cynical about anything connected to the name
Coppersmith
these days.

After the corporate-speak on the website, there had been very little information about the Coppersmiths and their company. It was clear that, with the exception of a few sensationalized conspiracy pieces in the tabloids, the reclusive family managed to maintain very tight control of its public image.

Even the tabloid hits were tame for the most part. The most interesting articles were the wild theories that cropped up from time to time in papers like the
Curtain
. Perhaps, predictably, they were focused on the company’s R and D work. She had automatically discounted ninety-nine
percent of the speculation but that still left one percent. She didn’t doubt that there were a lot of secrets hidden in the Coppersmith labs.

One small fact had caught her eye—Rafe was not married. She had verified that immediately after their meeting in the Underworld. Not that she cared, she told herself. It didn’t matter now. He had never called, so obviously he had reconsidered the suggestion that they have coffee.

So what was he doing here in her office? Luckily, she’d had plenty of time that morning to practice her
you’re just another client
smile.

“Mr. Coppersmith,” she said. “What a surprise.”

His scarred boots made no noise on the expensive gray carpet. He settled into the leather client chair with the ease of a specter-cat relaxing on a sunbaked rock after a successful hunt. The boots offered silent testimony that the man who wore them had spent some hard time in the field, but it was clear that he was equally accustomed to making himself at home in sleek, upscale surroundings.

Lorelei was on the desk playing with her little collection of small quartz rocks housed in an old Green Light cigar box. At the sight of Rafe, the dust bunny went very still. She gazed at him as though transfixed. But not in an alarming way, Ella concluded.

She felt a little transfixed, too, although she sincerely hoped she did not bear a striking resemblance to a wad of dryer lint that had been struck by lightning. The look was adorable on a dust bunny, but her own hair standing on end would not make a good impression on clients.

In spite of the fact that she was prepared for the
encounter, she got the same senses-rezzing sensation she had experienced three months ago at their first meeting. Nothing had changed. The jolt was even stronger this time.

Damn
.

Rafe was dressed very much as he had been three months ago. In addition to the boots, he wore a denim shirt, scarred leather jacket, and khaki trousers secured with a leather belt.

But when he moved his right hand she saw that one thing had changed. The blue quartz ring was gone. In its place was a ring set with a dull gray stone.

“I’ll come straight to the point,” Rafe said. “I need your help and I’m willing to pay for it.”

Whatever she had been expecting in the way of opening lines, that was not it. So much for hoping against hope that he had remembered the coffee date. She had so been looking forward to turning him down flat.

She stared at him, going quite blank for a couple of beats.

“You want my dream counseling services?” she asked when she finally managed to pull herself together.

“Not exactly. It’s your para-music talent that I need.”

“I don’t understand.”

Rafe leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs. There was an amused gleam in his amber-brown eyes. There was something else there as well, something Ella could not put her finger on but which she was pretty sure should worry her.

“Ever heard of Rainshadow Island?” he asked.

“No.”

“It’s a little dot way out in the Amber Sea.”

Rafe broke off because Lorelei had hopped down from the desk. She scurried across the carpet to her basket of toys, seized her favorite—a delicate wedding veil with a crystal-studded headpiece—and bounced over to Rafe’s chair.

She vaulted up onto the arm of the leather chair and proudly displayed the veil for his admiration. Ella stifled a groan when the little hussy chortled and blinked her baby-blues.

Rafe patted Lorelei somewhere near the top of her head and considered the wedding veil with an unreadable expression. When he turned back to Ella his eyes were a little too neutral. He looked like a man who was bracing for very bad news.

“Does the wedding veil belong to you or the dust bunny?” he asked.

Ella flushed. “Her name is Lorelei and the wedding veil belongs to her.”

Rafe appeared oddly relieved.

“Looks like a regular wedding veil, not one that was designed as a costume for a dust bunny,” he said.

“It’s definitely a real wedding veil.” Ella winced at the memory.

“But not yours.”

“Not mine. Look, Mr. Coppersmith, if you don’t mind—”

“Would Lorelei by any chance be the dust bunny you followed down into the tunnels the day we met?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“Can I ask how she came by what appears to be a fairly expensive veil?”

“She went with me to a fitting at a bridal shop,” Ella said coldly. “There was an accident.”

“What sort of accident?”

Ella sighed. “Lorelei fell in love with that veil. She sort of helped herself to it.”

“She stole it?”

“Dust bunnies don’t have the same nuanced understanding of the law that humans do. She just couldn’t resist the sparkly headpiece, I guess. The owner of the shop threw a fit. I had to pay for the veil.”

Lorelei chortled again and waved the veil so that the netting floated gracefully in the air. It settled over her like a gossamer circus tent. She went ecstatic, hopped off the chair, and dashed around the room, the veil fluttering around her.

“Cute,” Rafe said. “Until you see the teeth.”

Ella raised her brows. “I gather you know something about dust bunnies.”

“I’ve met a couple recently.”

“Where?”

“On Rainshadow Island,” Rafe said.

Lorelei returned to Rafe’s chair and once again offered him the veil. He took it from her and touched some of the sparkly green crystals in the headpiece. Ella sensed energy shift in the atmosphere. The dull gray ring on his hand flashed, quicksilver-like, with a little energy.

“These crystals are good stones,” Rafe said, sounding surprised. “There’s a little heat in them. A pricey toy for a dust bunny.”

“It was worth it,” Ella said. “Lorelei loves it.”

She decided not to mention that one night a week ago—just for fun—she had tried on the veil in front of her bedroom mirror.

A tingle of awareness skittered through her. Rafe was still a little jacked from testing the green crystals in the veil. She could see his dreamlight quite clearly, as sharply as if she had physical contact with him. That was unsettling enough, but there was something else about the dream fields of his aura—something that had not been there three months ago. She caught her breath, genuinely shocked.

Rafe was running a psi-fever.

Strong, healthy auras tended to be stable over time unless they were altered by some form of serious trauma. Physically, Rafe looked as strong and vital as the last time she saw him, but she was pretty sure that something very bad had happened to him in the past three months. Her low-burning anger and hurt were abruptly tempered by unwilling concern. She warned herself that she did not want to feel sorry for this man.

He must have sensed her scrutiny because he looked up abruptly, his gaze trapping hers. His jaw hardened and his eyes narrowed. He knew that she had sensed the unusual vibe in his aura. Swiftly he lowered his talent but it was too late. She had seen the fever.

Part of her—the smart, intelligent, secret-keeping Siren part—informed her that she should be reaching for the little emergency button embedded in her telephone control panel. When you dealt with unusual and/or eccentric clients with major dream issues, you took a few security measures. If she pressed the button, Darren would come
through the door in a matter of seconds. Members of the Crystal Center building security team would follow close behind.

But she did not push the emergency button. She told herself it was because Lorelei did not appear alarmed. But Lorelei was a dust bunny. What did she know about humans who burned with psi-fever?

What did humans know, come to that? The condition was extremely rare, although the experts believed it was underreported. Very little research had been done on the problem if, indeed, it was a problem. That murky situation had allowed a lot of urban legends and bad press to develop over the years.

In the popular imagination, a psi-fever was a strong indicator of dangerous psychic instability.

The only certainty about psi-fever was that it was not contagious.

She folded her hands together on her desk. Rafe had kept her secret. She would keep his. They were both strong talents and among powerful talents there were a few unspoken rules. So long as Rafe refrained from showing any signs of being seriously deranged, she would pretend that she had not noticed any weirdness in his aura. It was, after all, not the first time she had dealt with an off-the-charts talent who presented with an aura that had some peculiar things going on in the dreamlight region. The clients who came through her door tended to be out of the ordinary.

She smiled as if nothing unusual had occurred.

“Why don’t you tell me a little more about Rainshadow
Island and why you think you need a dream counselor,” she said, employing her best professional tone.

Dark amusement came and went in Rafe’s eyes. She knew then that as long as she pretended nothing had happened, he would play the same game—at least for now.

He reached inside his leather jacket and removed a small sapphire-blue crystal. He offered the stone to Lorelei, who accepted it with her usual enthusiasm for anything sparkly. She retrieved her veil and bounded off the chair with her prize. Vaulting up onto Ella’s desk, she carefully placed the blue crystal in the cigar box.

“I hope that rock wasn’t valuable,” Ella said. “Might not be easy getting it back.”

“It’s a gift,” Rafe said. “Plenty more where that came from. Let’s get down to business. I’m not looking for a private dream counselor. I’m representing Coppersmith Mining today.”

“What happened to your FBPI consulting gig? Still doing odd jobs for the Bureau?”

“I’ve been a little busy with other things since I saw you last.”

Something in his voice told her that he did not want to discuss the other things. She wasn’t going to get an excuse or an explanation for the three months of silence.

“I see,” she said. “Please continue.”

“Like I said, I’m here today because of a Coppersmith venture. I’ve been tasked with troubleshooting a big project on Rainshadow. We can usually fill our field operation’s manpower requirements from the ranks of our employees.
But something has come up in the jobsite that requires a strong music talent. We don’t have one in-house.”

“So you immediately thought of me.”

For the first time in three months, no doubt,
she added silently. Another flash of anger sparked through her. She suppressed it with Siren control.

“I immediately thought of you,” Rafe agreed. But he looked a little wary now.

“I’m sure you’re aware that music talents aren’t particularly rare,” she said. “There are probably hundreds, if not thousands of them available throughout the city-states.”