Jayne Castle - Canyons of Night

“Halstead is the one who suggested I apply to the academy. He even wrote a recommendation.”

THAT EVENING SLADE GAVE HER A BRIEF GLIMPSE OF THE paranormal wonderland that was the Preserve by night. And then he walked her home, saw her inside the cottage on the bluff, and waited until she locked the door. She listened to his footsteps going down the front porch steps; listened until he was gone and the only sound was that of the wind sighing in the trees.

The following morning she went down to the ferry dock. Slade didn’t see her at first. He lounged against the railing, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was alone. There were a handful of other passengers waiting for the ferry but no one was there to see him off to his new life in the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation.

She approached him cautiously, not certain how he would react. She knew that as far as he was concerned she was just a kid he had helped out of a jam and then humored with a short trip into the forbidden territory of the Preserve.

“Slade?” She stopped a short distance away.

He had been watching the ferry pull into the dock. At the sound of her voice he turned his head and saw her. He smiled.

“I see you found your backup glasses,” he said.

“Yes.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her second pair of frames was even nerdier than the new pair that had gotten busted last night. “I came to say good-bye.”

“Yeah?”

“And to tell you to be careful, okay?” she added very earnestly. “The FBPI goes after some very dangerous people. Serial killers and drug traffickers.”

“I’ve heard that.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “I’ll be careful.”

She was feeling more awkward by the second. At this rate she would have a panic attack without even raising her dumb talent.

She held out the small box she had brought with her. “I also wanted to give you this. Sort of a thank-you gift for what you did for me last night.”

He eyed the box as if not sure what to make of it. It dawned on her that a man who didn’t have a family of his own probably didn’t get many gifts. He reached out and took the box.

“Thanks,” he said. “What is it?”

“Nothing important,” she assured him. “Just an old pocketknife.”

He got the lid off the oblong box and took out the narrow black crystal object inside. He studied it with interest. “How does it work? I don’t see the blade.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s the unusual thing about that knife. It was made by a master craftsman named Vegas Takashima. He died about forty years ago. He was Arcane and he made each knife by hand so his pieces are infused with a lot of his creative psi. Whatever he did made the blades almost indestructible. You’ll eventually figure out how it works and when you do, you’ll see it’s still good. It will last for decades, maybe another century or two.”

“Thank you.”

She hesitated. “I tuned it for you.”

Slade raised his brows. “You can tune objects that are hot?”

She shrugged. “Provided there’s enough energy in them. It’s a rainbow-reader thing.”

“What does tuning a para-antique do?”

“Nothing very useful,” she admitted. “But people seem to like it when I find the right object and manipulate the frequencies to resonate harmoniously with their auras. Just a trick.”

He hefted the Takashima knife on his palm and smiled slowly. “It does feel good.” He closed his fingers around the black crystal knife. “Like it belongs to me.”

“That’s how the tuning thing works,” she said earnestly. “It’s not a real spectacular talent but my family feels I may have a career selling art and antiques.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“No.” She brightened. “I want to get a degree in para-archaeology and work for one of the Arcane museums. Or maybe go underground with some of the academic and research people who explore the alien ruins.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not as exciting as the FBPI but I’d really like to do it.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He slipped the knife into the pocket of his jacket. The ferry was docked now. The three other people who had been waiting for it started down the ramp. Slade hitched the duffel bag higher on his shoulder.

“Time to go,” he said.

“Good-bye. Thanks for last night. And remember to be careful, okay?”

“Sure.”

He leaned forward slightly and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Before she could decide how to handle the situation, he was walking away from her, boarding the ferry.

She stood on the dock until the ferry sailed out of the harbor and out of sight. Just before it disappeared she waved. She thought she saw Slade lift a hand in farewell but she couldn’t be sure. Her backup glasses were fitted with an old prescription and her distance vision was blurry. Or maybe the problem was the tears in her eyes.

She made a promise to herself that morning. When she went home to Frequency City at the end of the month she was going to get a trendy new haircut and a pair of contact lenses. Common sense told her that she was highly unlikely to ever meet Slade Attridge again. But just in case she did get lucky, she was going to do her best to make certain that, whatever else happened, he didn’t kiss her as if she were his kid sister.

Rainshadow Island, fifteen years later . . .

CHARLOTTE FOLDED HER ARMS ON THE GLASS-TOPPED sales counter and watched the two feral beasts come through the door of Looking Glass Antiques. One was definitely human, definitely male, and definitely dangerous. The second was a scruffy-looking ball of gray fluff with two bright blue eyes, six small paws, and an attitude. The dust bunny rode on Slade Attridge’s shoulder and Charlotte was quite sure that in his own miniature way he could be just as dangerous as his human companion. They were both born to hunt, she thought.

“Welcome to Looking Glass Antiques, Chief Attridge,” Charlotte said. “You might want to keep an eye on Rex. I have a strict you-break-it-you-buy-it policy.”

Slade stopped just inside the doorway. He quartered the shop’s cluttered front room with a swift, assessing glance, cold, mag-steel eyes faintly narrowed. Rex sleeked out a little, revealing a ragged ear that appeared to have been badly mangled in a fight at some point in the past. His second set of eyes, the ones he used for night hunts, popped open. At least he wasn’t showing any teeth, Charlotte thought. They said that with dust bunnies, by the time you saw the teeth it was too late. The bunnies were cute when they were fluffed up but under all that fur lay the ruthless heart of a small predator.

“This shop is even hotter than it was fifteen years ago when your aunt ran it,” Slade said.

Charlotte was amused. “You remember, hmm?”

Slade looked straight at her. “Oh, yeah.”

Small thrills flashed across Charlotte’s senses. I had it bad for him fifteen years ago and this time around it’s going to be a million times worse.

Her fantasies about Slade had been dormant for so long that she had been convinced that she had outgrown them. But when he had walked off the morning ferry five days ago to take over the position of police chief on Rainshadow Island, she’d had a shocking revelation. The Arcane matchmakers had given up on her, labeled her unmatchable and blamed it on the nature of her talent. But one look at Slade and she knew why she had never been content with any of the other men she had met. Some part of her had always insisted on comparing her dates to the man of her dreams. It was not fair, it was not wise, but that was how it had been. And now Dream Man was here, standing right in front of her.

She was saved from having to come up with a snappy response by Rex. The dust bunny chortled and bounded down from Slade’s shoulder. Charlotte watched uneasily as he fluttered through the cluttered space and vanished behind a pile of vintage purses and handbags.

Slade surveyed the room. “Coming in here was always a bit like walking into a mild lightning storm but the sensation has gotten stronger. There’s more energy now.”

“Most people aren’t aware of all the psi in this shop,” she said. “At least not on a conscious level. But strong sensitives usually pick up on it. The reason it feels hotter now is because my aunt acquired a lot more stock during the last fifteen years before she died. In addition, I brought most of the objects from my store in Frequency City with me a few weeks ago when I closed my business there and moved to the island.”

“Hard to believe fifteen years have gone by.”

“Yes,” she said.

Trying not to be obvious, she raised her talent a little and studied Slade’s aura rainbow. He was not running hot so the bands of dark ultralight were faint, but that was enough to tell her Slade hadn’t changed much in those fifteen years. He had simply become a purer, more intense version of what he had been at nineteen: hard, tough, self-contained, and self-controlled. His eyes were colder now, as cold and bleak as the mag-steel they resembled.

Slade hadn’t smiled a lot fifteen years ago and she was pretty sure he’d never been prone to frequent displays of lightheartedness. But from what she had seen of him during the past five days he had evidently lost what little he had once possessed in the way of a sense of humor or cheerful spirits.

“Out of curiosity,” Slade said, “didn’t your aunt ever sell anything? This place looks like someone’s attic, a two-hundred-year-old attic, at that.”

She laughed and pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “All Aunt Beatrix cared about was collecting hot antiques. But I did a lot of business back in Frequency and I expect to make money with Looking Glass, as well. Trust me, I won’t starve. I’m good at this.”