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She was here.
His first reaction was to wonder if he was hallucinating again. These days he was afraid to trust his normal senses as well as his other vision. San Diego had changed everything, and the very bad night in the Carnelian Sleep Institute had made the situation even worse. At the rate his life was deteriorating he would likely end up on the street or in a locked ward.
Just inside the tavern Pallas paused, searching for him in the loud, bustling, dimly lit space. He got to his feet and started to raise a hand to signal her but she saw him immediately. She slipped the messenger bag off her shoulder and held it in front of her with both hands ina gesture that struck him as protective. She had gripped the bag the same way that afternoon when she had fled the asylum.
She started toward him, weaving a slow, cautious path through the crowd.
He opened his inner window. The room shifted into the underwater shadow zone. Glowing, ghostly figures lounged against the bar, occupied booths, and served drinks. Each individual radiated a perceptible energy field.
He had been aware of human auras since his early teens, but after the amnesia episode in San Diego he had begun perceiving them with disturbing clarity. He was still learning how to handle his upgraded vision. He had always sensed on some level that each human aura was unique, just as human faces and eyes were unique, but before San Diego the differences had been subtle.
He had realized, too, that he responded in various ways to other people’s energy fields. Some auras felt frail and weak, as if the individual was ill or depressed. Others came across as anxious or fearful. A disturbingly high percentage appeared dangerous—too hot or too cold. Some were alarmingly unstable.
For most of his life he had told himself that what he perceived in auras was just a step beyond what he could read in a person’s body language, if he paid attention. No big deal. Nevertheless, after some guarded conversations about his ability with his family and a few close friends, he had learned to keep his mouth shut.
That tactic had worked well right up until San Diego. But the amnesia episode had changed everything. Whatever had happened there had given him the equivalent of twenty-twenty vision for auras.
It turned out that, for the most part, he really did not want to know too much about other people—not even family and friends, let alone strangers or lovers. Especially not lovers.
But Pallas Llewellyn was different.
Over the years his reactions to other people’s auras mirrored his reactions to their personalities. Some people gave off a good vibe. Some did not. But this was the first time he had been fascinated and compelled by someone’s energy field. Pallas Llewellyn’s aurathrilledhim. There was no other word for it.
Her energy field was sharp and strong and there was an exciting vitality in the radiance around her that made him want to get closer. He reminded himself he had been living a monastic existence since Maureen had announced that their relationship was over. Under the circumstances, he probably shouldn’t read too much into his reaction to Pallas’s aura.
Maybe the attraction was nothing more than relief at the knowledge that she appeared to be the real deal, an investigator with at least some genuine extrasensory perception. Okay, an amateur investigator with some ESP, but still.
He desperately wanted to believe that she had detected murder on the staircase in the asylum. He needed a little hope. But what he was feeling as he watched Pallas come toward him was a lot more complicated than a sudden infusion of optimism. It had been a while since he had felt the energy of sexual attraction, but it wasn’t the kind of thing a man ever forgot.
Shit. This was not a good time to discover that he was once again interested in sex. He had other priorities. Saving his sanity was currently at the top of the list.
Pallas was no longer in panic mode. There was a lot of tension and some anxiety in the wavelengths of her aura, but she was calm and back in control. Her energy burned in a way that made every other aura in the tavern appear pale in comparison. Or maybe that was just his imagination.
He closed his inner window. She was here. That was the only thing that mattered. A moment ago he had been convinced she would not show and he’d have no one to blame but himself because he had screwed up that afternoon at the asylum, but here she was.
Sure, he’d had his reasons for running the test. He’d needed some evidence that she was not a fraud. There was too much at stake. Losing Maureen had been depressing, but in a way, it had also been a relief. The relationship had been going nowhere fast. Having his family stage an intervention had been a jarring shock. You knew the situation was not good when you discovered that the people who cared about you the most were deeply concerned for your mental health. The realization that his career as a writer was in mortal jeopardy because he could not focus on it long enough to complete a single scene was traumatic. Cataclysmic. But what really scared him was the possibility that he might be losing his mind.
It dawned on him that Pallas was picking an odd path to the booth. He knew she had spotted him immediately after arriving. That was hardly a surprise. Even if he hadn’t stood and raised a hand to get her attention, she would have noticed him. He was too old and too off-trend and looked too beaten up and wrung out to pass for a student. After weeks of nightmares and enforced insomnia, no one was likely to mistake him for a member of the faculty, either.
The woman making her way toward him didn’t belong in this crowd any more than he did. She wasn’t here to postpone the process of becoming an adult, and she wasn’t climbing the notoriously slippery academic ladder. He did not have to view her aura to read her bone-deep wariness of her surroundings and everyone in the vicinity. He already knew she did not trust him, but now he got the impression she didn’t trust others in general. He could respect that. These days he didn’t trust anyone, either.
Something in common, he thought. The realization ignited a tiny flicker of ridiculous optimism. As Rick had speculated in the last scene ofCasablanca, maybe this was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. He’d settle for a useful temporary alliance, though.
The path she followed across the tavern made him curious. Yes, she was in a room full of strangers, and she was naturally doing her best to avoid brushing up against them, but something about her aura and her body language told him another factor dictated her erratic course.
When she walked past a table where two women sat drinking margaritas, she visibly flinched for no obvious reason. He watched her clutch the messenger bag a little more securely and sidestep a nonexistent object on the floor.
She looked like she was dodging ghosts that only she could see.
There was no time to analyze the observation. She was suddenly there, standing in front of him, watching him with her hypnotic eyes.
“Thanks for giving me another chance to explain,” he said.
“Let’s just say I’m interested in your story,” Pallas said.
Right. His story. He reminded himself that he wasn’t the only one with an agenda. She was after material forThe Lost Night Files.
She angled herself into the booth and positioned the messenger bag within easy reach. He remembered the Taser. He didn’t need his psychic talent to warn him she was making it clear she would leave in an instant if she did not like what he had to say. He sat down across from her and motioned toward the beer he had ordered for himself.
