Catalina winced. “I am never going to live that down.” Gwendolyn mustered some reluctant empathy. “I realize things must have been rough for a while after the media got ahold of that story.”
“Very rough,” Catalina said. “But, hey, Victor paid his bill.”
Gwendolyn gave her a grim smile. “Sorry to say there is always a risk of becoming collateral damage when you get involved with the Foundation.”
“Believe it or not, I had already figured that out,” Catalina said. She eyed Slater. “Halcyon Manor?”
“I’ll explain later,” Slater said. “Sorry to bother you, Gwendolyn, but I’m working a case for my uncle. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Gwendolyn gave him her brightest smile. “You know me, anything for the Foundation. Come on in.”
She stepped back to allow her visitors through the front door, took a quick peek outside to make sure there was no one lurking nearby, and closed and relocked the door.
She went back across the room to put the barrier of the sales counter between herself and the man from the Foundation.
So much for the rumors about Slater Arganbright. He was not only very much alive, he was evidently stable enough to navigate a city street. Of course, that particular test set a very low bar. There were a lot of crazies on the streets of any big city, including Seattle.
That said, there was definitely something different about Slater, she concluded. She could see auras, but she didn’t have a strong talent for reading them. Her psychic strengths lay in another area. To her senses the energy fields around people appeared as little more than a pale glow. The brightness varied somewhat depending on the health and vitality of the person. As far as she could tell, Slater was relatively strong, but it looked like some damage had been done.
“You know I’m always delighted to help you find an interesting piece for your private collection, Slater,” she said, “but you make me nervous when you’re working a case for your uncle.”
“I get that a lot,” Slater said.
Catalina surveyed the gloom-filled sales floor. She looked disappointed.
“Do these things all have a paranormal provenance?” she asked.
Surprised by the question, Gwendolyn looked at her.
“What makes you ask?” she said.
“I don’t know. I guess I just expected more energy or something.”
Gwendolyn smiled. “You guessed right. Everything up here is a reproduction. The real artifacts are downstairs in the basement.”
“I see,” Catalina said.
Gwendolyn turned back to Slater. “All right, we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way. What can I do for you?”
“I need whatever information you may have heard regarding a very hot artifact from one of the lost labs that surfaced recently and may have found its way into Royston’s vault.”
“You know as well as I do that lab rumors circulate all the time in my business.”
“Let me be a little more precise,” Slater said. “I’m looking for an artifact hot enough to have attracted the attention of someone who was willing to commit murder to get it.”
Gwendolyn went very still. “I heard Royston died of natural causes.”
“Uncle Victor has his doubts.”
“Before we go there, you should know that I have recently raised my fees.”
“I’ll make sure Uncle Victor is aware of that,” Slater said.
At least she could count on turning a profit today, Gwendolyn thought. Catalina Lark was right—Victor Arganbright always paid his tab.
She moved out from behind the desk. “We’ll talk downstairs.”
She led the way through the cluttered back room and opened the stairwell door. At the top of the stairs she flipped a light switch to illuminate the steps. She descended first.
When she reached the bottom, she turned to watch Catalina and Slater come down the stairs.
“Welcome to the real sales floor,” she said.
CHAPTER 14
Shivery frissons of awareness danced across Catalina’s senses as she went down the stairs into the dimly lit basement. The atmosphere in the room below Gwendolyn Swan’s shop reminded her of the interior of the Fogg Lake caves. The tendrils of energy emanating from the individual artifacts combined into a breathtaking wave of paranormal heat. It was disorienting.
She looked around, amazed. “This place is really hot.”
“Gather enough objects with a strong vibe in one room and even people with normal senses can pick up some of the energy,” Gwendolyn said.
Intrigued, Catalina walked to the nearest case and studied the miniature scene inside. The setting was a glamorous masked ball. The room was draped in crimson velvet. A miniature chandelier was suspended from the ceiling. In one corner a trio of musicians held dainty instruments. Figures dressed in elegant costumes and masks crowded the floor.
Initially it was the exquisite workmanship of the ballroom tableau that fascinated Catalina. But when she got close to the case, her senses started to flash and flicker in reaction to the scene. The sensations were both ominous and compelling.
“What in the world?” she whispered.
The impulse to touch the glass case was irresistible. She reached out one hand.
“Careful,” Slater said. “Some of these objects are unpredictable.”
But it was too late. Catalina’s fingers had already made contact with the glass. The strains of an eerie waltz emanated from the corner where the musicians played their tiny instruments. The figures on the dance floor began to move.
Gwendolyn chuckled. “The Masked Ball is similar to an old-fashioned music box, except that instead of having to wind it up, you just touch the glass. It conducts the energy of a person’s aura and activates the mechanism. Interestingly, most of my clients can’t get it going, even those with a lot of heat in their auras. It only responds to certain wavelengths. That’s why I haven’t been able to sell it. Congratulations, Catalina. Looks like you have the magic touch. I can give you an excellent price on it.”
“No, thanks,” Catalina said.
The miniature ballroom scene was fascinating, but as she watched the dancers whirl faster and faster around the floor, she was aware of a growing sensation of dread. It was as if the figures in their elegant costumes were somehow compelled to keep up with the strains of the eerie waltz.
She tried to take her fingers off the glass and step back. She discovered that she could not move. She watched in gathering horror as the crimson drapes parted, revealing a miniature figure dressed in a long black cloak and a bloodred mask. He gripped a small gold cane in one gloved hand.
“Catalina?” Slater said sharply. “Are you all right?”
The master of the ball began to raise the gold cane. The music sent more unpleasant shivers across Catalina’s senses.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. “Stop, damn it.”
A rush of fear-driven energy gave her the willpower she needed to overcome the pull of the miniature ballroom. With a small yelp she yanked her fingers off the glass and scrambled to take a couple of steps back.
For the second time that day she collided with Slater. Her senses were hot and, she belatedly discovered, so were his. There was an electric moment of contact, and then Slater gripped her arms and set her firmly to one side.