Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
“The honeymoon suite?” Sophy asked, her voice rising in disbelief. “It just happens to be the only room left? Seriously?”
Luke glanced at her and saw that she had unclipped Bruce’s leash and was now staring at the enormous bed that dominated the room.
Four posts secured a canopy hung with gossamer curtains.
White satin pillows were stacked all the way up the headboard.
The white quilt and the satin sheets were partially folded back in an inviting manner.
“Not my fault,” he said, annoyed with himself for feeling defensive. “You heard what the clerk at the front desk said. This is the room the Ainsleys booked and there’s no way to switch because the inn is full.”
He set the duffel on a luggage stand and put the six-pack of water on the table, giving himself a moment to get a handle on Sophy’s reaction to the suite.
Her shock was real but he told himself it was over-the-top. Okay, the frilly room with its white-on-white decor and bath equipped with a whirlpool tub and two-person shower was a bit much but it wasn’t a catastrophe. Was it?
“I know we’re stuck with it,” Sophy grumbled. “But this is—”
“What?”
“I don’t know.” She waved one hand. “Awkward. Or something.”
“We’re adults,” he said. “I think we can deal with this situation. That bed is the size of a small island. If you’re worried that I’ll be driven mad with lust we can use some of the pillows to form a barrier between us.”
“You don’t understand.”
He turned to confront her. “Is it because I’m a Wells? Are you afraid I’ll assault you? Does your distrust of my family run that deep?”
Her expression tightened with resolve. She angled her chin.
“No, of course not. I’m overreacting. I’m not afraid of you.
You’re right. A line of pillows down the middle of the bed will work just fine.
” She checked the time. “We need to get dressed. The reception starts in an hour. After that comes the gallery tour. Everyone will probably be wearing black. Lucky for you, your entire wardrobe seems to be black.”
Luke watched her hang the long, many-pocketed trench coat in the closet.
“Sophy—” he said. And stopped because he did not know how to move forward.
When she turned around there was a steely sheen in her eyes. “No, I’m not afraid of you. But maybe you should be afraid of me.”
He blinked a couple of times and then smiled. “Are you worried that you’ll be tempted to ravish me?”
“I’m not joking, Wells. It’s best if I sleep alone.
Aunt Bea warned me early on that people with my talent don’t usually do well sharing a bed.
My psychic ability is directly linked to my dreamlight.
When I’m awake it’s under control. But when I go into a trance or fall asleep and dream, I can’t predict the effects of my aura on others.
You seem to have some immunity from my talent but we don’t know if that extends to sleeping in close quarters. ”
Relief splashed through him. “So that’s what all the fuss over the bed is about. You think I’ll panic if you have a bad dream. Don’t worry, I can handle your aura even in my sleep.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
“I’ve been thinking about the immunity theory,” he said. “I don’t have any—not to your talent. Just the opposite. I can resonate with it. That’s a very different situation.”
She looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not a para-engineer but I come from a long line of engineers who work with hot psi. I know the basic para-physics.”
Her eyes brightened with something akin to hope. “So, I’m not dangerous?”
“Not to me.”
The spark of hope faded. “Oh.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally.”
She reddened and concentrated on lifting a slinky-looking black dress out of the suitcase. “You know what I mean.”
“No,” he said, “I don’t.”
“It’s not as if you were one of my experiments,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, if you were someone I happened to be dating, your immunity or whatever would be a very hopeful sign.”
“Damn right,” he said through his teeth. “I am not an experiment.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one who made it clear at the start that you were not interested in having any kind of relationship with me.”
She was right. He had said something along those lines.
He gave up trying to analyze the new twist in their non-relationship relationship and reached into the duffel to pick up his shaving kit. He paused when Bruce whined softly. The dog was probably bored with the sniping.
But Bruce didn’t look bored. He was sniffing around a waist-high, transparent acrylic pedestal that held an abstract sculpture made of highly polished metal. The artwork was about two feet tall, round, with a large hole in the middle.
“Do you think he’s going to pee on that pedestal?” Sophy asked. “Housekeeping won’t be thrilled, that’s for sure.”
“Bruce knows better than to mark his territory indoors,” Luke said.
But Bruce was paying a lot of attention to the pedestal.
Luke set the shaving kit on a nearby table and walked to stand in front of the sculpture. He touched Bruce’s head.
“What is it, pal?” he asked softly.
Bruce sat down, ears sharp, and watched Luke with an expectant expression.
“He’s alerting, isn’t he?” Sophy asked, intrigued.
“I think of it as his do something, dummy mode,” Luke said.
He reached out and cautiously brushed his fingers against the side of the circular sculpture. It was cool to the touch.
Sophy watched him. “It looks like a big silver doughnut.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “But I admit I don’t have an eye for modern art.”
She gave a small cough. “Maybe it’s supposed to have some romantic symbolism to suit the theme of the room.”
“Sometimes a silver doughnut is just a silver doughnut.” He kept one hand on the sculpture and walked slowly around the pedestal, examining it closely. He stopped when he was once again in front of the artwork and moved his hand inside the opening, feeling for seams in the metal.
Sophy set the black dress on the bed and crossed the room. She halted beside Bruce. “You’re thinking about the fountain out in front of the inn, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not picking up any focused energy from this sculpture.”
“Neither am I. That’s a good thing, because I don’t like the idea of sleeping in a room with an object that’s giving off a strong vibe, even if it is a cheery one.”
“This is the honeymoon suite,” Sophy reminded him in ominous tones. “Who knows what kind of vibe the artist might have infused into it? Cheery might be the least problematic.”
“If you suddenly start talking dirty to me I will conclude that this thing got switched on and sent out a hypnotic suggestion.”
Sophy flushed. “Not likely, and that’s enough with the sexual innuendos.”
“Technically speaking, it wasn’t an innuendo. More like a statement of fact.”
“What I meant was, it’s not likely that a psychically infused hypnotic suggestion could be switched on and off.” She paused, brows crinkling above the black-and-crystal frame of her glasses. “Is it? You’re the tech expert here.”
“I don’t know of a mechanical way to do it.
Close contact is needed to infuse a strong vibe of any kind into an object, and one as precise and focused as a hypnotic suggestion would require considerable talent.
” He paused, thinking. “It would also fade quite rapidly, much faster than regular hypnotic suggestions do.”
“A hypnotist can renew a suggestion,” Sophy reminded him.
“Yes, but not remotely. Maybe I should say, I’ve never heard of it being possible. When it comes to psi-tech, never say never. We know so little about para-physics. The Boss says—”
He stopped because his fingers had brushed against an almost invisible seam in the polished metal.
“Find something?” Sophy asked.
“Maybe. Turn out the lights.”
Sophy went to the master light panel at the entrance of the room and pressed the All Off button.
The room went dark but the glow from the multitude of lights outside poured through the windows.
“Close the curtains,” he said.
Without a word Sophy pressed the button that closed the blackout shades, plunging the suite into cave-like night.
He heightened his senses and studied the small, mirror-finish panel set into the base of the sculpture. It gave off a faint but discernible radiance.
“See anything?” Sophy asked. Excitement hummed in the question.
“Yes,” he said. “A small, mirrored tile. There’s a little residual energy in it but it’s not emitting a focused signal. I need to get some tools and pry it out of the sculpture. I want to see what’s underneath.”
“Luke,” Sophy gasped. “I think they were here. Right here in this room.”
“Who?” he asked.
“Deke and Bea.”
An electric spark of knowing zapped across his senses.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“No. The energy isn’t very strong, but there’s something here. I need to do a reading. Now.”
In the eerie light of his other vision he watched her take the chimes and the mallet out of her suitcase. She tapped one of the metal rods. The clear note sounded, hanging in the atmosphere for a time before fading.
He heard Sophy take a sharp breath.
“Are you seeing ghosts?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said in her trance voice.
It dawned on him that she didn’t correct his use of the word ghosts. A dark current of despair surged through him. I screwed up again. I was too slow. Too late. This time somebody died.
He steeled himself.
“Are Deke and Bea dead?” he asked.
“There’s no sign that anyone died here.”
Cautious relief crackled through him. There was still hope.
“No signs of violence,” Sophy continued. “The shadows are very faint but something isn’t right. There’s a lot of tension. I think Bea may have used her talent.”
“You said she’s good with crystals.”
“Yes. I think something happened over there by the sculpture. There’s a lot of residual energy.” She paused. “Deke may have used some talent, too. What kind of ability does he have?”
“Deke is good with cameras.”
“That doesn’t make much sense.”
“With Deke you never know.”
“I don’t think they ever slept in that bed, Luke. I think they left this room and never returned.”