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Pallas set her backpack on the floor, pulled out a sketchbook and a pencil, and took a breath. Cautiously she slipped into the drawing trance.
As usual, she lost track of time, but when she emerged from the trance she saw that only a few minutes had passed. She looked down at what she had drawn.
“You need to bring in some greenery,” she said. “A couple of plants, I think. And water.”
“Water?” Gabriella Jones said.
“Maybe a bowl of goldfish or one of those little fountains you see in the home-and-garden catalogs,” Pallas said.
“Got it.” Gabriella Jones jotted down a note. “Anything else?”
Pallas looked at the framed photo of a stern, humorless man on the wall. “You should take that down and store it somewhere.”
Gabriella Jones regarded the photo. “That’s Dr.Metcalf.”
“I think he was a very unhappy man,” Pallas said.
“I agree. I’ll get rid of the photo immediately. Tomorrow I’ll bring in a plant and perhaps see about getting some goldfish.” Gabriella Jones smiled. “There you go—your first satisfied client.”
The Llewellyn family had not been thrilled when Pallas announced her decision to pursue a career in interior design, but Gabriella Jones had been right—she had a talent for the work. She had discovered an intuitive sense of how to use color, texture, proportion, greenery, and, in tough cases, a water feature to achieve balance in most rooms.
The creative aspect of design work was exhilarating, for the most part. But some of the things she had discovered early on were that she could not fix the bad energy in every space and that in some cases that she considered successes, the clients did not care for the results. She wasn’t going to save the world by rebalancing all the bad energyin it, but she could change the way people felt when they walked into a house or a theater or a store or an office or a hospital. She had the ability to make people feel a little happier, more peaceful, more positive, or more optimistic, at least for a while. That was a calling.
She did not necessarily seek tranquility and serenity in a room. There were interiors and clients that demanded drama, excitement, or sensory stimulation. But regardless of the emotional response she aimed for, she used her underlying sense of balance and harmony to achieve her vision.
Unfortunately, the business side of interior design had proven to be more complicated. In hindsight, it had been a serious mistake to get involved with the firm of Theodore Collier, Architecture & Design. Nevertheless, she had been in the process of extricating herself from the situation when the real disaster had struck.
Her career had fallen off a cliff after Lucent Springs. Most of her semi-normal life had followed her work and her art into the darkness. Her talent for sensing unbalanced energy in a space and finding ways to adjust it had metamorphosed into a curse.
Before Lucent Springs her inner vision had allowed her to glimpse the distortions in the energy of an interior space and adjust them. Now her other sight was far more acute; more disturbing. These days when she picked up a pencil, opened her sketchbook, and prepared to slide into a trance, she experienced a serious vibe of anxiety. What if she saw something she could not handle? What if she did not come out of the trance?
In the weeks after Lucent Springs her drawings had become increasingly ominous, bleak, and grim. In the beginning they had frightened her. She had not dared to show them to anyone except Talia and Amelia, both of whom understood because they were going through similar experiences.
The only upside was that she was getting better at interpreting her pictures. Prior to the lost night in Lucent Springs, the trances had produced vague impressions of wild, chaotic storms, churning seas, and dystopian landscapes. Now the images were sharper and more detailed—like the picture of snakes.
She studied the drawing again. It showed a portion of the lobby and the lower section of the main staircase of the asylum. There was not a lot of detail in the handrails, balusters, and newels, but the focal point was the spill of snakes. The creatures tumbled down the last few steps and disappeared into the shadows behind the staircase.
It didn’t take a degree in psychology to conclude that snakes were not a good sign. She was very certain that the death on the staircase could not be attributed to natural causes.
She closed the sketchbook and went back across the room, automatically pushing aside the tingle of awareness that lifted the hair on the back of her neck. The creepy sensation of being watched was so omnipresent these days that she had been forced to learn how to ignore it. She knew that if she let the vibe take hold, it would turn her into a nervous wreck. It was amazing what the human mind could block, at least partially. Probably a survival skill of some kind.
When she glanced up she caught sight of herself in the mirror. For a few seconds she wondered, as she often did these days, how she could still look the same. Lucent Springs had changed her. It was hard to believe those changes did not show in the mirror. Only Talia and Amelia were aware of what she had become. She did not dare tell her family. She would never be able to confide in a lover.
Lucent Springs had done more than enhance her talent for perceiving the disturbing energy laid down by strong emotions. Whatever had happened in the ruins of the old hotel out in the desert had turned her into something very scary.
Memories of the final blowout quarrel with Theo sent a chill through her. Yes, their relationship would have ended sooner or later even if he hadn’t cheated and even if their business partnership hadn’t disintegrated. But it was the look in Theo’s eyes on that last day when she had walked out the door of the offices of Theodore Collier, Architecture & Design that haunted her.
Theo would never admit it, but she knew the truth. She had terrified him.
She had frightened herself as well. That was the day she had begun to realize exactly what she could do with her enhanced psychic senses.
It wasn’t until Saltwood, however, that her fears had been confirmed. She could use her new talent to kill.
CHAPTER FIVE
Pallas Llewellyn walkedinto the tavern just as Ambrose convinced himself she would not show up.
She wore the black jeans, gray sweater, and sneakers she’d had on earlier. The strap of the big messenger bag was slung over her shoulder. Her shoulder-length, whiskey-brown hair had been in a chaotic tangle when she had fled through the ruins of the asylum, but now it was neatly brushed and parted slightly to one side. The style framed her strong, interesting face and sorceress eyes.
