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From his sister, Hannah:Better call Mom. She’s getting anxious. Says she hasn’t heard from you in a week.
He sent the standard excuse, the one that had been refined by writers over the centuries.Remind Mom I’m on deadline. Will call as soon as I get this book finished. Next contract depends on completing it in a timely manner.
The message from his brother, Ethan, was succinct.Everything okay on your end? Dad’s worried. He responded with a reply that was only a partial lie.All good. Holed up in a hotel on the coast. Working twenty-four-seven to finish this book.
When he was finished he braced himself and opened category three,Things Can Always Get Worse.Most of the items under that heading had already been handled by his virtual assistant. He had been able to dump most of the routine chores of life on her capable virtual shoulders, buying himself time to try to write and deal with the fallout from San Diego. But there were always things that needed his personal attention. He glanced at the list of queries and updates.
Request for a virtual chat from a writers’ organization. I told the organizer you would not beavailable for any speaking engagements in person or online until you finish your current manuscript.
Your housekeeper reported that your kitchen faucet was leaking. I scheduled a plumber. Housekeeper will meet him at the door and let him in with her key.
Request for a podcast interview. Looks like a small platform. Very few subscribers. Probably why they contacted me instead of your publicist at the publishing house. I forwarded it to her for consideration.
Updated all of your social media platforms with creatives reminding readers that the paperback edition ofA Fall of Shadowsis out and available everywhere.
The last email was more personal.I hope the writing is going well. Let me know if you need anything. Meanwhile, don’t worry. Everything on this end is under control.
His two favorite words in the English language.Under control.If only.
He dashed off a quick email.
Thanks, Iona. Don’t know what I’d do without you. All is well here. Polishing first three chapters for the editor. How is the beta testing going on that new game?
Iona’s response zinged back a moment later.
So glad the writing is going well. The new game is amazing. Performance testing now. With the right marketing rollout this one could be huge.
They should give you a piece of the financial action if that happens,Ambrose responded.After all, you and the other beta testers are essentially providing the developer with free consulting.
I know, but it’s fun.
Ambrose set the thirty-minute alarm on the phone and put the device on the bedside table. The chain attached to his ankle clanked as he stretched out on top of the bed. The sound brought to mind a nest of mechanical rattlesnakes.
That image produced another one. During dinner Pallas Llewellyn had shown him the drawing she had made while she was inside the asylum—a scene of snakes gliding down the old staircase and disappearing into the shadows.
By the end of dinner they had formulated a strategy. It started with an early-morning return to the ruins of the Carnelian Psychiatric Hospital for the Insane. Pallas had explained that she needed more context to interpret her drawing. He understood. The more context he had, the easier it was to read auras.
He stopped mulling over the plans for the morning and allowed himself to think about Pallas Llewellyn. Her energy whispered to his senses in a way he could not explain. All he knew was that it felt good to be near her. He was no longer alone in his quest. He had a partner.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The struggle didn’tlast long,” Pallas said. “Whatever went down here happened quickly. It was all very sudden and very violent.”
Ambrose studied the staircase that connected the four floors of the Carnelian Psychiatric Hospital for the Insane. It was a little after eight o’clock and he had his second grande-sized cup of take-out coffee in one hand. These days he relied on large quantities of caffeine in the mornings in an effort to ward off the effects of limited and disrupted sleep. Pallas, he noticed, had stopped after one regular-sized serving.
The morning coastal fog was light and wispy, but it was enough to blot up most of the sunlight and drape the ruins in gloom. They had used his car to make the four-mile drive from Carnelian. There had been almost no traffic on the narrow road.
“In the real world that’s how violence usually works,” he said. “It’s more likely to be impulsive and explosive than well-planned and carried out with control. Adrenaline always kicks in, regardless of whether or not there was some planning.”
He watched Pallas as she stood at the foot of the staircase. Themessenger bag was on the floor at her feet. Her arms were folded beneath her breasts in a gesture that struck him as protective. When she moved, she did so with exquisite caution. He did not need to view her aura to see the tension radiating from her in waves.
The knowledge that she was reacting to the dark vibes in the atmosphere was incredibly reassuring. She was for real.
“You know a lot about violence,” she said. She did not take her eyes off the staircase.
“These days I can usually see it coming if I watch for it. You’d be amazed how many people are walking around with a lot of anger just beneath the surface. Makes you realize how thin the veneer of civilization and good manners really is.”
“I know what you mean,” she said. “I’ve always been easily startled, but these days I feel like I’m on a dark ride at an amusement park—one of those tunnels of terror. Every time I turn a corner I never know what’s going to pop out at me. I’m getting better at learning how to keep my new vision under control, but it’s been a steep learning curve.”
