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“I should have known better.” Pallas picked up her phone and dropped it into her messenger bag. “This was a complete waste of time. Thanks for the wine. You can pay for the bar food, too, since you ate most of it. I’m going back to my room to pack. Long drive back to Keeley Point. Now that I think about how much this trip cost me, I ought to make you pick up the hotel bill and gas as well.”
He didn’t look surprised by her abrupt decision to exit the scene. He regarded her with weary resignation.
“Will you give me a couple of minutes to explain?” he asked quietly.
“What is there to explain?” She ought to be sliding out of the booth, but for some reason she hesitated. “You think you can see thefuture.The Lost Night Filesdoes not do shows featuring fortune-tellers, palm readers, and storefront psychics. I don’t know what sort of scam you’re trying to run here, but I don’t have time for it.”
“I’m not claiming that I can tell you what will happen tomorrow or in ten days. I can’t even tell you what’s going to happen in ten minutes. But when I focus on someone’s aura I can usually figure out what they are going to do a split second from now. It’s all there in the energy field.”
She tightened her grip on the strap of the messenger bag, but she did not get to her feet. “I don’t understand.”
“There is a flash of intent before the action takes place. There’s nothing paranormal about it, at least not in the way most people define the paranormal. It’s the biophysics of the human nervous system. Neurons, synapses, and electrical and chemical signals. After San Diego I began to realize that I’m picking up some of the energy of those signals in an individual’s aura. Most of the data goes by too fast, lightning fast, and it’s too complicated for me to interpret, but I’m learning to read the hot stuff.”
She would give him a few more minutes, she decided. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do tonight. She did not want to drive the twisty highway out of town this evening. The forecast was calling for fog.
“What do you call ‘the hot stuff’?” she asked.
He moved one hand in a small, dismissing gesture. “Big physical actions are fairly straightforward, especially if they are driven by strong emotions. Dickhead’s aura told me he was furious and frustrated and a little panicky. I knew he was going to leap out of that chair a split second before he did, and I could tell that his trajectory was going to send him crashing into the server.”
“You’re saying you developed this enhanced ability after you woke up on that beach in San Diego?”
“Everything about my aura reading was more powerful after I woke up,” he said. “Something happened to me during those hours that I can’t remember. Whatever it was also triggered the nightmares and sleepwalking.”
“Those are the problems that eventually caused you to book the sleep study here in Carnelian.”
“During which I’m almost positive I witnessed the body of a dead woman being taken away in a laundry cart,” he concluded.
“Have you noticed any changes in your aura reading talent since the night of the sleep study?” she asked.
“No.” He looked at her with his ghost-ridden eyes. “But like I said, the nightmares and the sleepwalking have gotten worse.”
Pallas tapped one finger against the surface of the table and took a moment to process what Ambrose was telling her. She told herself she needed to think it through and make a logical decision. But deep down she knew she would not be able to walk away. Not now. The first part of Ambrose Drake’s story had too many parallels with what had happened to Amelia, Talia, and herself at the Lucent Springs Hotel. Part two—the story of his night at the sleep clinic, during which he had experienced partial amnesia—raised the frightening prospect that she and her friends might be in danger of a similar repeat episode. They all needed answers.
She could not leave now.
“Judging by the incident with the falling tray a short time ago,” she said, “your ability seems useful. You can literally see trouble coming.”
“Sometimes,” he said. “Aura reading has its uses. But if thenightmares and the constant possibility of sleepwalking are the price I have to pay for that talent, I can’t afford it.”
She contemplated him for a long, thoughtful moment, and then she understood. A chill snapped across her senses. “You’re afraid the talent will drive you mad, aren’t you?”
“Or get me killed,” he said. “One of these days I’m going to lose control of the catnaps and sleep too long and too deeply. If that happens I might sleepwalk off a cliff.”
“Did you lure me here to solve two murders or to find out what happened to you in the Institute?”
His eyes heated. “I think that solving the murders will go a long way toward telling me why I’m sleepwalking and having nightmares.”
She made an executive decision. “You’ve got my attention. I want to hear the whole story of your night in the Institute, but first you need a proper meal. I’m hungry, too. It’s getting too crowded in here. Let’s go find a restaurant.”
“All right,” Ambrose said. He paid the bill and reached for his windbreaker. “Thanks. I appreciate this.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She started to slide out of the booth. “Where are you staying?”
“Same place you are,” he said.
That news pinged her intuition. She frowned. “You just happen to be staying at the Carnelian Hotel?”
He sighed. “Yes. And before you ask, no, I did not choose it because I knew you had booked a room there. I picked it because it’s the only full-service hotel in downtown Carnelian.”
