Jayne Castle - After Glow

"Mmm." She peered into the carton, studying the shadows within. The amber she wore on her wrist warmed slightly as she used it to tune into the psychic frequencies of the little trap.

It was small, but the resonating patterns were extremely complex.

"Maltby was a real pro," she murmured. "This is not a simple trap. He probably found it somewhere down in the catacombs and managed to de-rez it without destroying it. Then he reset it inside this carton. Couldn't have been easy."

"Can you see what he used to anchor it?"

"Not yet."

An illusion trap had to be anchored to some material of alien construction, usually an object fashioned of green quartz or the far more rare dreamstone.

She probed with the sure, firm touch required. A tentative approach was often disastrous because the effort resulted in a disturbance of the trap's pattern that could trigger it.

Picking up the rhythm of the underlying currents she sent out a few psychic pulses designed to dampen the waves of psi energy.

This was the most dangerous part of the operation. One misstep at this juncture and the energy pulses would rebound, overwhelming her and locking her into an alien nightmare that would last until she went unconscious. It might take her brain only a few seconds to shut down but it would feel like an eternity.

The uncoiling energy waves would also catch anyone else who happened to be standing too close when the illusion snare snapped. The fact that Emmett had not bothered to retreat several discreet steps said a great deal about his respect for her skills as a tangler.

She felt the energy of the trap gradually subside and then cease altogether. She held the frequency for a moment longer until she was certain that the trap had been destroyed permanently and could not be reset.

"Got it," she said, struggling to suppress the little flash of euphoria that always followed a successful untangling. It was considered uncool, not to mention extremely unprofessional, to let anyone see you getting off on the small rush.

"You're good," Emmett said softly.

"Thanks." The praise made her smile. Hunters were notoriously churlish when it came to giving credit to tanglers. "Coming from a Guild boss, that is praise, indeed."

"Credit where it's due, I always say." He leaned closer, trying to get a view of the interior of the carton. "What's inside?"

She looked down and saw a tiny green quartz tomb mirror and what appeared to be a piece of paper that had been folded into a square. "I'm not sure."

Picking up the carton, she upended it. The mirror clunked when it hit the table. The folded paper landed on top of it.

"He used a mirror for the anchor," Emmett said.

"Uh-huh." She picked up the paper and unfolded it with care.

"It's a copy of an old newspaper article," she said.

She spread it out on the table. Together she and Emmett studied the piece.

Local Student Disappears Underground; Feared Dead

Troy Burgis, a student at Old Frequency College, vanished into an unexplored underground passageway sometime late yesterday. A search team was sent down but reported no trace of Burgis. He is presumed lost.

College authorities said that Burgis and two companions had gone into the catacombs beneath Old Frequency without official permission. Evidently the unauthorized venture was instigated by Burgis.

Jason Clark and Norman Fairbanks, the two students who accompanied Burgis on the illegal expedition, said that they became separated when Burgis insisted on trying to untangle a large illusion trap that blocked access to one of the corridors.

Burgis failed and in the process accidentally triggered the trap. Clark and Fairbanks said that they were standing as far away as possible but when the illusion energy rebounded on Burgis, they felt some of the effects. They were unconscious for almost an hour. When they awakened, Burgis was gone.

College officials reported that Burgis's parents died when he was very young. He had no siblings. The authorities are still searching for next of kin.

"The date of the article is nearly fifteen years old," Lydia said. "Why on earth would Maltby have gone to all the trouble of copying it and protecting it with an illusion trap?"

"Beats me." Emmett picked up the small tomb mirror and studied it closely. "Maybe this was what he wanted to hide. Looks pretty ordinary, though."

She glanced at the quartz mirror, assessed the simple carving that surrounded the reflective surface, and shook her head. "There's nothing special about it. I'm sure he only used it to secure the trap." She tapped the paper. "It was this article he wanted to conceal. But I can't imagine why."

"Lydia, I think you should keep in mind one very important fact about Professor Lawrence Maltby."

She raised her head, frowning. "What's that?"

"He was a Chartreuse addict," Emmett said. "That means that his brain probably got badly de-rezzed a long time ago. If I were you, I wouldn't try to make too much out of this newspaper article or the fact that he left you a message in the first place. He no doubt heard you were asking questions around the Old Quarter and it sparked a couple of delusions."

"I'm not the only one who took him seriously. What about those two guys we surprised in his apartment?"

"I told you, they were most likely looking for his stash, not an old newspaper story about a student who went missing underground."

She tapped the copy of the newspaper clipping lightly against her palm. "Hmm."

"I really hate when you do that," Emmett said.

The offices of Hepscott Enterprises, Inc., radiated class and financial success. The furnishings and decor were in various shades of gray punctuated with occasional hits of black and crimson. The reception lobby alone was twice as large as her apartment, Lydia thought.

On the way to the front desk she passed a number of glass cases that contained models of several Hepscott projects. Among them was a gated community of expensive homes and a new banking and financial tower that were going up downtown.

A neatly folded copy of the Cadence Star was on the low table in front of a long black leather sofa. She glanced at it and saw the large headlines, Wyatt Critically Wounded. Guild Officials Appoint Acting Head .

She had read the story that morning at breakfast, sitting across from Emmett. There was nothing in it that he had not already told her. The reporter had stuck to the facts and not descended into gossip. There was no mention of Emmett having once been engaged to Tamara Wyatt. The Star left that sort of thing to the tabloids.

Lydia was very glad that she had splurged on the new suit and a pair of heels that matched the conservative rusty brown color of the outfit. The ensemble had cost her a month's income but it was worth it. She looked almost as serious and businesslike as the receptionist.

"May I help you?" the woman behind the desk asked politely.

"I'm here to see Mr. Hepscott."

The receptionist looked doubtful. "Your name?"

"Lydia Smith." Lydia gave her the special smile she had developed for handling the secretaries who guarded the offices of senior faculty members at the university. "I have an appointment."

The woman's brow cleared instantly. "Yes, of course, Miss Smith." She leaned toward the intercom and pressed a button. "Miss Smith is here, sir."

"Send her in please, Elizabeth." Gannon Hepscott's voice was well modulated and infused with self-confidence. It went well with the decor of his reception lobby.

"Yes, sir," Elizabeth got to her feet. "This way, Miss Smith."

Lydia followed her to a tall door paneled in red amber-oak.

The interior of Hepscott's private office was even larger than the lobby. It was done in the same colors. The view out the wall of windows was nothing short of spectacular. It encompassed a long, meandering swath of the river and most of the Dead City of Old Cadence.