Jayne Castle - After Glow

"How did you survive during that time?"

"We used to slip out of the catacombs at night to steal food and supplies. It was a miserable existence, I assure you." Gannon grimaced. "Eventually I faced the fact that it would take a great deal of time and money to conduct a proper search."

"So you came out from underground and started investing in real estate."

"Yes." Gannon was amused. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered I had a knack for it. The beauty of real estate was that it allowed me to buy up huge plots of land directly above the sector of the catacombs that the four of us were exploring. Owning that property enabled us to maintain a measure of control over the rat holes and hidden entrances."

"Which meant you could keep out most of the ruin rats and treasure hunters."

"Yes. It didn't provide perfect security but it worked fairly well. But we soon realized that to clear an entire sector we needed a loyal workforce and we required security. Herbert, who used to be Norman Fairbanks, came up with the concept of the Order of the Acolytes of Amatheon. He established the various legal entities and took out the license to excavate. After we established the cult the money started to pour in so fast we could hardly count it."

"That's when your dreams really went over the top, isn't it? You saw all that money and all those loyal servants and it occurred to you that you had the makings of your own personal army. All you needed were some high-tech weapons. So you started stockpiling guns."

The intercom on the large desk chimed gently. The interruption rattled Gannon. He flinched and then punched the button.

"I thought I made it clear that I did not want to be disturbed, George."

"I'm sorry, sir, but there are visitors at the gates."

"Send them away."

George cleared his throat. "The visitors are Mr. and Mrs. Mercer Wyatt, sir."

"The Wyatts?" Gannon's jaw jerked. "What the hell are they doing here?"

"They probably just stopped by to borrow a cup of sugar," Lydia said sarcastically.

"Sir, Mr. Wyatt said that he and his wife were out for a drive and noticed a large plume of smoke coming from this house." George sounded agitated. "They said they've summoned the fire department. But none of our sensors show a problem."

Sirens blared outside on the street.

"What is going on here?" Gannon whispered hoarsely.

An interior alarm system screeched.

"Shit," Gannon said. "That's the perimeter security system. Someone is inside the gates."

"Sir, the fire department is demanding entry," George said urgently. "They insist that the house be evacuated immediately. They're sending men and equipment over the walls."

"Wyatt. That son of a bitch." Gannon cut the intercom connection and crossed to the curio cabinet. "A pity I didn't finish him off that night."

Lydia sucked in her breath. "You're the one who shot Mercer Wyatt."

"Who would have thought a man his age would survive two shots from a mag-rez?"

Gannon raised a lamp shade to reveal a small lever. He turned it swiftly. The large cabinet moved away from the wall on hidden rollers. An opening in the wall appeared. Lydia saw the top of a long flight of steep stairs leading downward into darkness.

The winds of psi power wafted out of the tunnel.

"Although I anticipated success all these years," Gannon said, "I made provisions for failure. When I discovered that this house had a rat hole that had gone undiscovered for nearly half a century, I bought it immediately."

"You're going to disappear again."

"I have another identity ready and waiting as well as a healthy supply of cash. I would have liked to have invited you to run away with me, Lydia. As I told London, I do believe you and I would have made a good team under other circumstances. But I can see that you are committed to your hunter."

"You got that right." She gripped the purse very tightly.

Gannon raised the barrel of the gun. "The least I can do to repay you for all the trouble you have caused me is to kill you."

This was it, Lydia thought. Her only chance. She prepared to hurl the purse toward Gannon, trying to brace herself for the mind-numbing horror of the nightmares that would envelope them both when she triggered the tiny trap anchored to the chunk of quartz.

The door slammed open an instant before she sent the pulse of energy to spring the trap.

Emmett exploded into the room, moving quickly.

Gannon jerked around to confront the new threat. The mag-rez gun roared just as Emmett dropped to the floor.

At the same time ghost light flashed and flared in the tunnel entrance directly behind Gannon. Lydia knew that Emmett was summoning an enormous amount of raw dissonance energy from the catacombs below.

Gannon convulsed and writhed wildly in the chaotic green fire that swept over him. The gun fell from his hand and clattered on the floor.

A few seconds later, he crumpled. Lydia knew that he had to be dead. No human mind could have withstood such a direct encounter from such a massive ghost.

The dissonance energy snapped and sizzled and then winked out almost as swiftly as it had appeared.

Emmett levered himself to a sitting position and looked at her. "Are you all right?" he asked, raising his voice to be heard above the screaming alarms that reverberated throughout the house.

"Yes. But I'd better get rid of this thing before there's an accident." She reached carefully into the purse, picked up the quartz, and carefully de-rezzed it completely, destroying the vicious little snare.

He settled back against the nearest wall, watching her. "You were going to trigger an illusion trap?"

"Only if nothing better came along. Luckily you got here first." She set the quartz down and turned toward him. "How did you—" Then she saw the blood. " Emmett . Oh, my God."

She ran to his side and clamped a hand over the bloody, ragged crease that the mag-rez bullet had opened on his upper arm.

"It's okay." Emmett looked down at the blood leaking through her fingers and grimaced. "I think."

"We need an ambulance." She kept her hand tight over the wound and tried to reach the phone on Gannon's desk.

Mercer Wyatt appeared in the doorway, leaning heavily on a cane. He fumbled with a small phone. "I'll make the call."

Tamara walked into the room followed by a number of firefighters and hunters. She took one look at Gannon and then, with quick, efficient moves, she unknotted the figured silk scarf at her throat and handed it to Lydia.

"Here, use this," she said as Mercer barked orders into the phone.

Lydia took the scarf and secured it snugly around the wound. To her relief the flow of blood had diminished considerably.

Mercer ended his call. "Medics will be here in a couple of minutes." He scowled at the crowd gathering in the room. "Someone turn off those damned alarms. Verwood, take a couple of men and detain that butler."

"Yes, sir," Verwood said. He motioned to several hunters.

A short time later the clanging bells and whistles went silent.

The firefighters checked the charred flooring and wall panels around Gannon's body but were soon satisfied that the ghost had not started a blaze. They left just as the medics pulled into the drive.

For a moment or two, Lydia, Emmett, Mercer, and Tamara were the only ones left in the room.

Emmett looked at Mercer, his mouth curving very slightly at one corner. "Thanks, Dad."

Mercer blinked. Then his specter-cat eyes, eyes that were mirror images of Emmett's, blazed with satisfaction. A slow, uncharacteristically warm smile transformed his face.

"Anytime, son."

"Martinez got the rest of the story from Gannon's faithful butler, George." Emmett settled deeper into the big chair, his heels propped on the ottoman, and absently scratched Fuzz, who sat on his lap.