The Lost Night (2 page)

The problem for the creeps was that they were incapable of achieving any degree of inner harmony. They spent their lives trying to fill the dead-zones on their spectrums. No ponzi scheme was ever lucrative enough, no cult was ever large enough, no business empire was ever sufficiently profitable, no position on the academic or political ladder was imbued with enough power to content a vampire.

And for the subset of vicious monsters who were drawn to death and violence, no amount of torture and killing could satisfy the bloodlust.

But monsters had dreams, too, Rachel thought. Evidently Marcus Lancaster had concluded that controlling her would fulfill some of his own dark fantasies.

Ian Oakford was waiting for her at the end of the hall. Last month when she had met him she had done a little fantasizing of her own. Ian was an intelligent, good-looking man with a very buff build and a lot of stylishly cut brown hair. He was endowed with the strong-jawed, trust-me-I’m-a-doctor presence that
the patients and most of his female staff found appealing. Rachel was convinced that he could have had a lucrative second career as an actor playing a doctor in pharmaceutical commercials.

Not that Ian wasn’t already doing very well for himself. He was still young by the standards of the profession, but his talent for para-psychology, combined with a lot of drive and ambition, had taken him far. Six months ago he had been appointed director of the new research wing of the Chapman Clinic. The funding from drug companies had quickly followed. He had several clinical trials in various stages of progress.

At that moment, however, Ian did not exhibit the kind, reassuring air that people liked in those engaged in the healing profession. Behind the lenses of his designer glasses his gray eyes glittered with anger. His square jaw was rigid.

“What do you think you’re doing, walking out of a therapy session like that?” he demanded.

His voice was tight but controlled. Ian prided himself on never expressing extremes of emotions of any kind. He viewed such displays as a symptom of instability in the aura. He was right, of course, at least according to the Principles, and she had admired him for his self-mastery. But she did not need her talent to tell her that he was furious. She didn’t blame him. He had taken a huge risk bringing her onto his research team. Her professional failings reflected badly on his judgment.

She braced herself for the inevitable. This was it, the end of her first really good job
in the mainstream world. Her parents would breathe a sigh of relief. They had warned her about the difficulties she would encounter when she left the Academy and the Community.

“Marcus Lancaster is not experiencing severe para-trauma, Dr. Oakford,” she said quietly. “He’s faking it. He’s incapable of feeling any sense of loss unless it affects his bottom line or threatens his personal safety. A dead wife wouldn’t cut it, trust me, not unless her death cost him financially, which, according to what I found online, was not the case. Just the opposite. He inherited a lot of money when she died.”

“You’re wrong. No one could fake those night sweats and hallucinations.”

“He is,” she said simply. “And you and the others here at the clinic are buying his act.”

“Why would a man in Lancaster’s position pretend to have such a severe mental illness? It could destroy him financially and socially. No one in his right mind would voluntarily commit himself for treatment in a para-psych hospital the way Lancaster did unless he truly feared for his sanity.”

“I have no idea why he committed himself voluntarily,” Rachel said. “You could ask him, but I can tell you right now he’ll lie through his fangs.”

“Fangs?”

“Sorry, teeth. As I was saying, I don’t have any idea why he went to so much trouble to get into your research project, but if I were you, I’d watch out for a lawsuit somewhere down the road.”

“Lawsuit?”

“I suspect that Lancaster
has a long history of financial cons and schemes,” she said. “Maybe he’s got a plan for proving that he was a victim of unethical research practices. Who knows? I can’t begin to guess his objectives but I can promise you that there is nothing you or I or modern para-pharmaceuticals can do for him. We can’t fix the monsters.”

“I have warned you before that we do not use terms like
monsters
and
vampires
in this clinic. I realize you’re not a professional, Miss Blake, but that is no excuse for unprofessional language.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“There are no such things as human monsters. How many times do I have to explain to you that Lancaster suffers from para-psych trauma complicated by an underlying instability of his para-senses?” Ian must have realized that his voice was rising. He regained control immediately. “I did not hire you to diagnose my patients. Your sole responsibility is to identify the erratic currents in their auras so that their disorders can be treated by a qualified therapist and appropriate prescriptions can be written.”

“I understand,” she said.

Behind Ian, Helen Nelson and Adrian Evans, the two members of the staff who had been observing the session with Oakford, walked quietly away in the opposite direction. They knew what was going to happen next, Rachel thought. They were on their way to spread the gossip.

Just before the pair turned the corner, Helen glanced back and gave Rachel a sympathetic
look. Rachel managed a wan smile in return. She was keenly aware that most of the professional staff at the clinic viewed her with disapproval and, in some cases, outright hostility. Helen had been one of the kinder people on the research team. She had gone so far as to invite Rachel to join her for lunch in the company cafeteria a few times. In return Rachel had done free aura readings at a birthday party for one of Helen’s friends. There had been a lot of white wine and canapés that night. Rachel had known full well that she was there as the entertainment for the evening, but she had hoped that it was the first step in building a circle of friends outside the Community, another step toward mainstreaming.

She knew now that she was never going to be accepted at the clinic. She had done her best to blend in, but pinning her hair into a tight bun and donning dark-framed, serious glasses and a white lab coat couldn’t hide the truth. Everyone at Chapman was well aware that she was not a real para-psychologist. She wasn’t even a licensed therapist. In addition, she qualified as a curiosity, especially among the men on the staff, because she had been raised in a Harmonic Enlightenment community.

She had discovered early on that there were a lot of myths and misunderstandings in the mainstream world concerning the harmonically enlightened lifestyle, and a number of them revolved around sex. The one aspect of her attempt at mainstreaming that had appeared promising at first was her social life. Men had lined up to invite her out on dates at the tearoom and later here, at the clinic. But the whirlwind of dating had
dissipated rapidly after she had been forced to make it clear that women who lived by the Principles were not necessarily inclined to hop into bed whenever the opportunity arose.

Until a couple of weeks ago she had been making her living selling tea and giving aura readings every Wednesday and Saturday at the Crystal Rainbow Tearoom in the Old Quarter. She had been trying to recover her sense of inner balance following the disturbing events that had occurred on her last trip to Rainshadow Island.

Oakford had found her in the Crystal Rainbow. Why he had wandered into the tearoom that day, she had never discovered. It was not his kind of place. But a quick glance at his aura had warned her that he had some real talent. Her first thought was that he had found it amusing to watch her do the readings. A lot of people treated aura readings as a form of fortune-telling—a parlor trick that was not to be taken seriously.

But Oakford had been serious. He had ordered a cup of tea, sat down at a small table in the corner, and quietly observed her work for nearly an hour. In the end he had been convinced that she was a natural—a talent who could not only read auras but also diagnose disorders of the para-senses. He had concluded that she would be useful to him at the clinic and promptly dazzled her with the promise of a high salary and—more important—a respectable opportunity to practice her healing abilities.

He had said nothing about the monsters.

“Here’s the problem, Dr. Oakford,” she said. “Lancaster does not present with a simple instability of the aura.” She was rather
proud of the
does not present
line. It sounded clinical, she thought; very professional. “There’s a whole chunk of the normal spectrum missing in his energy field. Think flatlined.”

“That’s not possible,” Ian snapped. “If his aura was flatlined, he’d be dead.”

“Not his entire aura. But there is a blank section on his spectrum. It’s like someone shut down the lights in that region.”

“I would remind you, Miss Blake, that it is your job—indeed, the mission of this clinic—to turn on those lights for our patients.”

“Okay, maybe the light thing was a bad analogy. Let me try another approach. In the old days, people would have said Lancaster was soulless. That was always a big element in the traditional vampire myth, you know. Today most laypeople would tell you that Lancaster lacks anything resembling a conscience.”

“This is a para-psychiatric clinic, Miss Blake,” Ian said. It sounded as if he had his teeth clenched. “We do not deal in matters of religion or philosophy. We are focused on using modern science to diagnose and heal illnesses of the para-senses.”

“And a worthy goal that is,” she said quickly. “I’m all for it. In fact, I was thrilled when you asked me to come to work here. I’ve always felt I had a calling to do this kind of work. Oh, wait, that sounds sort of religious or philosophical, doesn’t it? I mean, if my life had taken a different direction, I might have had your job.”

Ian’s eyes
hardened. “Think so?”

Okay, that had been a tactical mistake.

“Well, no, probably not,” she admitted. “I wasn’t born for upper management.”

Another poor choice of words, she realized.

Ian flushed a dark red. Alarmed, she rushed to calm the gathering storm.

“I’m more of an entrepreneur,” she explained. “I could never do the kind of work that you do. What I’m trying to tell you is that I can’t fix Marcus Lancaster or anyone else like him.”

“In that case,” Ian said evenly, “your services are no longer needed here at the Chapman Clinic. You’ve got fifteen minutes to clear out your desk. A member of the security staff will escort you to the door.”

Although she knew an escort to the door was standard procedure when someone got fired, it hurt to know that Ian did not trust her.

“Afraid I’ll steal some paper clips or a list of your drug company clients on my way out?” she asked.

Ian shook his head and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry about this, Rachel. I really believed that you would be an asset to my team.”

She rezzed her talent. The charms on her bracelet clashed lightly on her wrist, generating just enough ultralight to allow her to view Ian’s energy field. Ian was angry but he was also experiencing genuine disappointment and regret. He had taken a chance on her, hoping that she might give him an edge
in the highly competitive world of para-psych drug research, and she had failed him.

She heard Carl and Marcus Lancaster in the hall behind her. She did not turn around but she could feel the monster’s energy.

“Isn’t she lovely, Carl?” Lancaster asked. “Miss Blake is going to be my bride, you know. The voices tell me that she’s my perfect match. We have so much in common.”

“Congratulations,” Carl said. “Be sure to send me an invitation to the wedding.”

“I’ll do that,” Lancaster said, sounding pleased.

“Meanwhile, it’s time for lunch.”

“Yes, of course,” Lancaster said. “Do you suppose there will be quiche and perhaps a nice white wine at lunch today? I haven’t had a decent meal since I arrived here.”

“This is Wednesday,” Carl said. “That means meat loaf.”

“I really don’t like meat loaf,” Lancaster said. “But I will tolerate anything so long as I can be near my beloved. Her radiance lightens my aura like a fine champagne.”

“No wine at lunch, either,” Carl said.

“I was afraid of that,” Lancaster said.

Carl guided him along the hallway.

“Damn it, Rachel, whatever you did to Lancaster in that therapy session has worsened his condition,” Ian said. He kept his voice low, but it was plain that he was not just angry; he was concerned for his patient.

Rachel shuddered but she did not turn around. She listened to the retreating footsteps, suddenly very glad to know that in fifteen minutes
she would be out of the building and far away from the clinic.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” she whispered back, “but Lancaster is deliberately acting crazy. His aura is very stable—scary stable, in fact. He is in full control of himself and his talent. He’s a full-on psi-path and he’s dangerous, sir.”

“You’re wrong,” Ian said. “There is definitely instability in Lancaster’s aura. He is an ideal candidate for the drug trial that I am conducting.”

“Right.” She clutched her notebook to her breasts. She really needed to get out of the clinic. She fought the suddenly overwhelming urge to run. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go pack up my office.” She started to move around him and paused. “I do have one piece of advice for you, although you probably won’t take it.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Do not believe anything Marcus Lancaster says.”

“If you have any proof that he’s lying, now would be a real good time to provide it,” Ian said, his expression fierce.

She tried to come up with something, anything that would impress Ian.

“His ear stud,” she said.

Ian blinked. “What about it? The crystal isn’t tuned amber. It can’t be used to generate energy. That was checked out when he was admitted. The patients are not allowed to possess amber. And it’s certainly not gem-quality. It’s just a cold, decorative stone of some kind.”

She took a deep
breath. “Here’s the thing, sir. I’ve seen stones like it before. Also, you should know that Lancaster doesn’t need amber or charged crystal to use his para-senses. He’s a natural. I think he has a mid-level talent for psychic hypnosis, but that’s not my point.”