Jayne Castle - After Glow

"I can't think of a better time, can you?"

"Damn," Emmett said. "I was afraid of that."

THE FOG HAD rolled in off the river earlier in the evening. It had flooded Hidden Lane, thickening the already deep shadows that nestled in the narrow passage. It was one-thirty in the morning. Only a handful of the windows in the aging apartment buildings that rose on either side of the lane were lit at this hour.

Emmett was well aware that the lack of illumination did not mean that there was not a lot of lively business activity going on in the vicinity. Most of the entrepreneurs who plied their trades and sold their goods in this part of town preferred to work at night and in the shadows. The sole exception might be the Greenie huddled at a small table beneath the lane's single streetlamp, books stacked in front of him. He did not look all that happy to be on the job at that hour. Emmett didn't blame him.

The Slider fit, just barely, into a tiny space near the entrance to the flophouse where Maltby had lived. Emmett de-rezzed the engine and looked at Lydia with what he hoped was an expression of stern authority.

"Stick close to me," he ordered. "I go in first. If anything happens, you let me handle it, understood?"

"Relax." She unbuckled her belt and opened the door. "What can go wrong? I told you, I just want to have a quick look around Maltby's place. We'll be in and out in five minutes."

"Why doesn't that reassure me?" he said, cracking the door.

Fuzz, crouched on Lydia's shoulder, blinked his blue eyes and then, when he realized that Lydia was about to exit the Slider, opened his second set. His small body quivered with what looked like anticipation. He loved the night.

Emmett met Lydia and Fuzz at the front of the vehicle. He summoned a few stray wisps of ghost energy and fixed them to the license plate.

"Well, that should certainly ensure that the car is still here when we get back," Lydia said with wry appreciation. "No one in his right mind is going to steal a Slider from a ghost-hunter who is strong enough to attach a small ghost to it on a city street."

He shrugged. "Don't know about the fear factor but I do know that the ghost energy clinging to the car makes it a hell of a lot easier to find if it does get swiped."

He opened his para-rez senses as far as possible and knew that Lydia was probably doing the same.

Traces of psi energy trickled, seeped, and flowed all around them. There was nothing unusual about that, not in this part of town. But they felt stronger now than they had earlier in the day. Emmett was not surprised. Although the researchers had never been able to prove it, most people with even an ounce of para-rez sensibility—and that included virtually everyone since the second generation of colonists—were convinced that the ghostly currents whispered a little more loudly after dark.

One popular theory held that it wasn't the psi energy that was more powerful at night, rather it was that humans were simply more sensitive to it when the sun went down. It made sense, Emmett thought, that without the distraction of the solar radiation that came with daylight, the human mind might be better able to focus on other kinds of energy.

Whatever the reason, there was no denying that here, in the shadows of the walls of the Dead City, things got a lot more interesting between sundown and dawn.

It was difficult to see much of the Greenie at the table. The flowing robes and heavy cowl concealed gender, age, and features very effectively. It was only when the figure spoke to them that Emmett knew for certain it was a man.

"Have you found true bliss?" the Greenie murmured, thrusting a book toward Lydia.

"Not yet," Lydia said. "But I'm working on it."

"Read this and learn the thirteen steps that anyone can follow to the secrets of perpetual happiness. The keys to bliss were given to Master Herbert by the spirit of the ancient Harmonic philosopher, Amatheon. They are yours for the taking." The Greenie pushed the book into her fingers.

"Okay, thanks." Lydia dropped the book into her purse with an impatient movement.

The Greenie smiled from the depths of his cowl and held out a bowl. "A small contribution is expected. Little enough to ask when you consider that I have just shown you the path to bliss."

"Forget it." Lydia yanked the book out of her purse and dropped it on the table. "I'm not paying for perfect bliss. The best things in life are supposed to be free."

"If you cannot afford to make a contribution now, perhaps you will be able to make it later," the Greenie muttered.

"Sure," Lydia said, moving right along.

The Greenie glanced speculatively at Emmett.

"Save your breath," Emmett advised. "I'm a Guild man. I don't read much."

The Greenie sighed and huddled down into his robe.

Emmett took Lydia's arm and steered her away from the table and up the steps of the apartment house. The door that opened onto the small, dank foyer was unlocked, just as it had been that morning when he had arrived in search of Lydia. The smell in the front hall seemed to have gotten worse in the past few hours.

The entryway was lit by a dim, sputtering, fluo-rez bulb. If there had ever been a light in the narrow corridor beyond, it had burned out long ago.

"Apartment A," Lydia said. She started forward eagerly.

Emmett wrapped his hand around her arm and hauled her back. "I'll go first. I'm the hunter here, remember? The overpaid bodyguard?"

"Really, Emmett, we're not on an expedition underground. I really don't think—"

"Yeah, I've noticed that tendency. You ought to watch it."

He moved into the hall, every sense rezzed.

Nothing shifted in the shadows but he noticed that there was a thin line of light beneath the bottom edge of the door of the apartment directly across from Maltby's. That was interesting, he thought. There had been no sign of a neighbor when he had arrived earlier today.

He halted in front of Maltby's door and tried the knob. To his surprise, it turned easily in his hand. The cops and medics hadn't even bothered to lock up after they removed the body.

He eased the door open. Rusty hinges squeaked.

A faint scraping sound came from somewhere inside the apartment. It was followed immediately by the heavy weight of an unnatural silence; the tense, quivering stillness of someone who has been startled.

He reacted instinctively, pushing Lydia, who was right behind him, back down the hall.

"Stay there." He gave the order the way he had in the old days down in the catacombs when he had been responsible for the safety of an archaeological team: in a flat, hard voice that let everyone know that he expected full and immediate compliance. He had discovered the hard way that it was the only surefire means of securing the attention of the P-As who tended to get completely distracted by their work and often became oblivious to what was going on around them underground.

Lydia did as she was told, hovering in the corridor. Fuzz quivered in excitement.

Inside the apartment he heard a frantic scrambling sound. Not the rush of movement that indicated someone coming toward him, Emmett realized. More like the noise a person made trying to squeeze through an open window. The intruder had chosen flight rather than a confrontation.

Emmett entered the apartment swiftly, staying low and moving at an angle so that he would not be silhouetted against the weak light from the hall. Adrenaline kicked in, wild and potent. His prey was escaping.

He reached the doorway of the study in a matter of seconds but he knew at once that he was too late. Night air poured through the open window but the room was empty.

He started across the floor, unable to see anything except the pale square of gray light that marked the window. His booted foot struck a heavy bundle of what felt like thickly wadded up fabric.