“In other words, thanks to Uncle Victor, you ran headfirst into the buzz saw that most of us with any drop of talent try to avoid.”
“Unfortunately, one of the nutjobs who read about me in the papers concluded that I was a demon straight from hell. His name was Earl Plunkett. He called himself a demon slayer. He stalked me for a while, and then he came after me one evening as I was leaving a restaurant with Olivia.”
“Ah, I think I’m getting a psychic vibe about the fork,” Slater said.
“Olivia and I were having drinks and dinner and talking about our plans for an investigation agency. Plunkett was outside the restaurant in an alley. I caught a glimpse of his aura. So did Olivia. We had planned to walk back to our apartment building, but we decided to call a ride instead. We waited inside the restaurant until the car arrived. At the last minute I realized it might be a good idea to have some sort of weapon. I grabbed a fork off the table.”
“What happened?”
“We hurried across the sidewalk to jump into the car. Earl the Demon Slayer ran out of the alley. He had a knife in one hand. I managed to block him with the car door. That jolted him long enough for me to jab the fork at his eyes. He panicked and ran. The cops picked him up less than twenty minutes later.”
“Is he in jail?” Slater asked.
“Of course not. He’s out on bail. But so far he has stayed away from me.”
“Damn. Victor did not do you any favors, did he?”
“He paid his bill, but that’s about all I can say on his behalf. Considering that you’re family, I’m sure you have a much kinder view of him.”
“I dunno about that. He and his husband, Lucas, kept me locked up in the attic for a month.”
That brought her to a halt on the sidewalk. “What?”
“Long story,” Slater said. “Let’s save it for later. But thanks for clarifying your feelings toward Victor. I think I’ve got a fairly good understanding of why my uncle thought you might not be thrilled with the idea of assisting me.”
He resumed walking. She had to hustle to catch up.
“And I’ve got a very realistic understanding of why I need you to help me find Olivia,” she said.
“Allies as long as we’re facing the same enemy, is that it?”
“Looks like it,” Catalina said.
Slater stopped at the entrance to a dark, narrow passageway between two equally dark buildings. “Swan’s shop is halfway down this alley.”
Catalina eyed the uninviting thoroughfare. “Picturesque. I’ll give it that much.”
“Antiques shops like quaint locations.”
“There’s quaint and then there’s eccentric.”
“Anyone who deals in paranormal artifacts is, by definition, eccentric,” Slater said.
“You’re a collector.”
“Yes.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you are eccentric?”
“I don’t know if I am or not,” Slater said. “Eccentric is one of those labels that other people slap on an individual. I doubt if true eccentrics view themselves as eccentric.”
“Good point. Do you consider Gwendolyn Swan eccentric?”
“She’s quite normal for a dealer who specializes in paranormal artifacts.”
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”
“Sorry,” Slater said. “It’s the best I can do.”
“How did you become acquainted with her?”
“A couple of years ago Lucas discovered that she was acquiring artifacts with a paranormal vibe for certain clients. Victor sent me here to contact her and see if she was the real deal.”
“I take it she was.”
Slater smiled ruefully. “Let’s just say that the first time I walked into her shop I dropped several thousand dollars on a nice little Roman ring set with a stone engraved with an image of Medusa. The damned thing was only worth a few hundred bucks at most. It didn’t even have a Bluestone lab provenance. It was a couple of thousand years older. But I couldn’t resist the vibe of the stone.”
“In other words, Gwendolyn Swan saw you coming?”
“Ms. Swan not only has a talent for picking up paranormal artifacts, she’s a natural-born saleswoman. Trust me, you’ll be lucky if you get out of her shop today without buying something.”
“I grew up in a town full of artifacts with a paranormal provenance. Heck, my neighbors are living artifacts. I’m one. So is Olivia. I have no interest in collecting stuff that has a psychic vibe, believe me. All right, I get why you are interested in Gwendolyn Swan, but what makes her useful to your uncle?”
“A river of hot gossip flows through the underground market in paranormal antiquities,” Slater said. “Much of the work of the Foundation depends on that kind of gossip. Gwendolyn Swan is an excellent resource because she is among the first to hear all of the important rumors.”
“Does she charge a fee for the information she provides?”
“Sure,” Slater said. “No such thing as a free lunch in the paranormal underworld.”
CHAPTER 13
Gwendolyn Swan was in the basement, struggling to drag the body into the vault, when she heard someone bang on the front door of the shop. She ignored the muffled noise, hoping the customer would notice the Closed sign in the window and go away.
She tightened her grip on the dead man’s ankle and leaned into her task. She managed to haul most of the torso inside the vault. Only the head and both arms were still outside.
The pounding on the front door continued, more insistent this time. Collectors. They tended to be obsessive.
She was breathing hard and her forehead was damp with perspiration by the time she finally got the rest of the body over the threshold. She slammed the heavy door shut and set the lock.
The pounding was still going on upstairs. With a sigh she paused in front of an old looking glass that glittered with dark energy and checked her hair. She looked like she had just finished a workout.
She took a moment to remove the hair clip, shake out her shoulder-length, honey-brown hair and reclip it into a neat twist. She took off the full-length leather apron she had put on to deal with the body and dusted off her jeans. The crystal in the locket around her neck glittered briefly in the old Victorian mirror.
She paused at the foot of the steps to survey the basement. Everything appeared to be in order.
The pounding upstairs continued.
“I’m on my way,” she called.
She hurried up the steps, opened the door at the top and went through the back room and out across the sales floor.
Damn collectors.
She plastered a cheerful, welcoming smile across her face and opened the front door of the shop.
She dropped the smile immediately when she saw who stood on the step.
“Slater Arganbright,” she said. “Well, well, well. I heard you had gone into seclusion and were probably painting watercolors at Halcyon Manor.”
“You know you can’t always believe everything you hear, Gwendolyn,” Slater said. “This is my consultant, Catalina Lark. Catalina, meet Gwendolyn Swan.”
“How do you do?” Catalina said.
“Your name rings a bell,” Gwendolyn said. “Would you happen to be Catalina Lark the fake psychic, who told the cops that she was sure someone had been murdered?”