Chapter Twenty
Twenty
“Welcome to the Fool’s Gold Canyon Art Colony.
As most of you already know, I’m Trent Hatch, founder of a little start-up that created a new way of looking deep into the brain.
Between you and me, my goal back at the start was to invent a new game, make a fortune, sell the company, retire at thirty, buy some fast cars and a yacht, and date beautiful women.
Simple dreams, I know, but in my own defense I would like to remind you that I was a very young man at the time. ”
A ripple of laughter swept across the small crowd gathered inside the reception hall. Sophy stood at the back with Luke. Like everyone else in the room, they each held a glass of champagne. The booze was being handed out freely.
She estimated there were about thirty people present, all guests at the inn. Almost everyone was wearing black. She and Luke fit right in, she thought.
Trent Hatch was in his early thirties. In the photos and videos taken during his days in the tech world, he’d had a pleasant if unremarkable face that looked like it would soften quickly with age, a body that went with the face, and limp brown hair that had been in desperate need of a stylist.
The man onstage tonight was Hatch 2.0. His sculpted profile was a work of art that could only have been created by a skilled cosmetic surgeon.
His hair was cut quite short. He, too, wore black—black T-shirt, slouchy black jacket, black jeans, and white running shoes.
The outfit paired back to his tech wizard origin story and coordinated equally well with his new role as a patron of the arts.
“…I sold the company and got ready to live the dream,” Hatch continued. “I went shopping for a Lamborghini and called a couple of yacht dealers. But fate intervened. I discovered that I no longer cared so much about expensive toys. I was drawn to the relationship between light and art…”
Sophy studied the two striking Valkyries standing on either side of the stage.
They appeared to be identical twins and they had gone to extreme lengths to make the point.
Each had to be nearly six feet tall. Each had her hair done up in a severe chignon.
They looked fit and toned in a way that indicated they took their gym workouts a lot more seriously than she did hers. Their tuxedos had an Armani edge.
Beneath the cover of another round of laughter and applause, Sophy leaned close to Luke and whispered into his ear.
“Hatch may have ditched the fast cars and the yachts, but it looks like he was able to fulfill his dream of dating beautiful women. I’m guessing he goes for the dominatrix type.
Got to admit those two blondes make the outfits look good. I wonder if they carry little whips.”
When she straightened, Luke leaned in and whispered back. “The blondes are carrying guns under those tux jackets, not whips. You’re looking at Hatch’s personal security team.”
Startled, she took another look at the two women. “Are you sure?”
“I’m in the security business, remember? I can recognize other people in the same line.”
Onstage, Hatch concluded his welcome speech.
“…Rather than stand here for another hour and lecture you on the astonishing works that our artists in residence have created, I invite you to immerse yourself in the Art of Light Experience. The Maze Gallery is now open for your viewing pleasure.”
Another, shorter round of applause punctuated the announcement.
“A word of warning,” Hatch continued. “For your own safety, please stay on the illuminated path inside the gallery. Decades ago, the eccentric art collector who built the house transformed it into an elaborate maze. He is said to have died there. Got lost in his own private puzzle. History repeated itself a couple of years ago when the last owner died inside. So stick to the path or I guarantee you will spend a long night wandering into dead-end corridors.”
That generated nervous laughter from the audience.
Hatch smiled. “We would, of course, find you eventually, but it would take a while. Enjoy the exhibition, and remember, most of the pieces will be presented at the auction that will be held three days from now. All proceeds will go to charity.”
There was another round of applause.
“Let’s go,” Luke said quietly.
“Fine by me.”
They made their way out into the brightly illuminated night and followed a glowing path toward the sprawling house that served as the gallery.
The evening was cool. Sophy pulled her light silk wrap more snugly around her shoulders and took a couple of peeks at Luke in his black jacket.
He looked good in it, she decided. Not better than he looked in the leather bomber—just a little different.
The garment took him from standard-issue CIA assassin to James Bond status.
“You don’t look anything like Hatch’s security team,” she said.
Luke’s mouth twitched. “One sentence into this conversation and I’m already lost. Care to explain?”
“The Valkyries looked like they were wearing costumes.”
“Valkyries? Never mind. Those tuxes aren’t costumes. They’re uniforms.”
“Whatever. My point is, you make that black outfit look good.”
“Thanks. I told you, there’s a dress code for assassins.”
“You will note that I am not amused.”
“Noted. By the way, you make that slinky black slip look terrific.”
“Thank you. It’s not a slip. No one wears slips these days. It’s a dress. Thanks for the compliment. There’s a dress code for professional con artists, psychic grifters, and cat burglars.”
“Good to know,” Luke said. “We’re even now, right?”
“Sort of. Sheesh. This is creepy, isn’t it?”
“Trash-talking each other’s career paths?”
“No, the gallery. It looks like a haunted house,” she said.
Luke snorted. “Have you ever actually seen a haunted house?”
“Yes,” she said. “I see them a lot in my work as a crime scene reader and housekeeper. I’m not saying I believe in ghosts and spirits, but the energy of death and violence is very real. It makes a place feel haunted.”
“Okay, I won’t argue with that.” He studied the house. “According to Hatch, at least two of the previous owners died inside the gallery, so there may be some bad vibes in there.”
“At least the energy will have faded somewhat.”
Earlier, viewed from a distance, the house had appeared to be filled with darkness.
Now that they were approaching it, she decided nothing had changed.
It certainly wasn’t getting brighter or more welcoming.
The exterior gardens and outdoor sculptures were artistically lit, but there was no hint of a glow from inside.
“You’re right,” Luke said. “It is creepy.”
They were among the first to be ushered through the doors by two gray-haired attendants, who, like the guard at the front gate, appeared to be retirement age.
To Sophy’s great relief, the room that served as a lobby was glamorously if dimly illuminated.
She glanced around, wondering why there had been no light showing through the windows. Then she saw the heavy drapes.
“Blackout curtains,” she whispered. “That explains why the place appears so dark from the outside.”
Before Luke could respond, a stocky, gray-haired attendant opened a door into a heavily shadowed room.
“Welcome to the Art of Light Experience,” he said, sounding like the jovial greeter at a big-box store.
Sophy started to move forward but paused when Luke touched her arm.
“I want to check out one of the windows before we go inside,” he said quietly.
He steered her toward the nearest set of heavy drapes and positioned her so that she was standing in front of him. She heard the curtains shift ever so slightly and knew he had tweaked one aside.
“Thought so,” he said. There was cool satisfaction in the words. “All right, we can go in now.”
Together they moved toward the entrance, joining others who were streaming into the exhibition area.
“What did you find?” she whispered.
“Behind the curtains the windows are covered in some kind of black glass. Old glass. It probably dates from when the house was constructed.”
“You heard Hatch tonight. The man who built this place and established the first art colony was notoriously eccentric. Maybe he was paranoid about people spying on him.”
“The glass in the windows is hot, Sophy.”
“I take it you don’t mean from sitting in the desert sun all day.”
“No, it’s the kind of residual heat glass and other materials pick up when they are exposed to paranormal energy over long periods of time.”
She took a long breath. “Interesting.”
“Very.”
“There is a certain buzz in the atmosphere,” she said. “The other guests are probably unaware of it. Or maybe they chalk it up to the effects of the free champagne.”
They followed a small group into an antechamber. When the attendant closed the lobby door they were plunged into dense darkness. There was some uneasy laughter.
“What’s going on?” someone said, sounding annoyed.
“Hatch is all about the drama,” a woman answered.
“Well, it is an art gallery,” a third person said. “You’ve got to expect drama.”
“Yes,” the first person said, “but this is like the start of a dark ride at a theme park.”
Sophy stilled as the first shiver of claustrophobia kicked in.
She felt Luke’s hand close around her upper arm.
Instinctively she heightened her talent a little.
The chamber was now illuminated in a familiar gray light.
She felt energy shift in Luke’s aura and knew he had gone into his excellent night vision.
“Do not be concerned,” a disembodied female voice intoned in warm, reassuring accents. “The darkness will last for only sixty seconds. It will give your eyes time to adjust to the gallery lighting so that you can truly appreciate the art.”
The small group muttered, not entirely satisfied.
Anticipation sparked through Sophy. It took her a couple of heartbeats to realize that it was not coming from her own senses.
She turned her head, searching for the source.
“Look up,” Luke said quietly.