Jayne Castle: After Dark

She snatched the paintbrush back out of his hand, stepped around him, and started toward the wall.

His first impulse was to grab the brush again, but he resisted the temptation. Maybe he'd been wrong about her relationship with Chester Brady. Maybe he'd been wrong about some other things as well. He was still winging it, he reminded himself. Still playing it by ear. So much depended on hitting the right notes.

"I'll take you to dinner tonight," he said. "We'll talk then."

She frowned. "What is this? Has something changed since yesterday?"

He glanced at the design that had been etched into her wall. "Maybe. Maybe not."

She gave him a steely look. "I'd better remind you that we have a contract, Mr. London."

"I'm aware of that, Miss Smith. Like I said, I'll fill you in this evening. In the meantime, don't make any further inquiries concerning my cabinet."

Alarm flashed in her eyes. "Why not?"

"There isn't time to go into it now."

"Wait just one damn minute here." Her voice heated swiftly. "I've got plans to talk to three more antique shop owners today."

"Forget them."

"But—"

He turned to face her. "That is a direct order, Miss Smith. I don't want you making any more inquiries on my behalf concerning the cabinet until we've discussed the matter tonight. Is that understood?"

Most people backed down when he used that tone. Lydia's jaw tightened, but she did not give so much as an inch.

"No," she said, "it is not understood."

"Let's get something clear here. I'm the client. I'm telling you that I will not pay you another cent if you continue talking to dealers about the cabinet."

"But we have a contract," she protested.

"Paint your wall, Miss Smith. I'll pick you up tonight at seven."

"SO WHO'S THIS guy you're going out with tonight?" Zane Hoyt helped himself to a can of Curtain Cola from Lydia's small refrigerator. "Someone you met at the museum?"

"Sort of. He's a new client." Lydia peered into the hall mirror and adjusted the gold hoop in her ear. "It's a business meeting, not a date."

"Sounds boring."

Whatever else Emmett London was, Lydia thought, he was definitely not boring. She met Zane's gaze in the mirror and smiled.

Zane had just turned thirteen. Dark-haired and dark-eyed, he was slim, energetic, and hitting the awkward stage when he badly needed a man's firm hand on his shoulder. Unfortunately, there was no adult male in the picture. His father, a ghost-hunter, had been killed years ago in the catacombs. His mother had died in a drunk-driving accident shortly thereafter. Zane was being raised by his aunt, Olinda Hoyt. They lived downstairs on the third floor.

The majority of Lydia's so-called friends and colleagues at the University had disappeared after the Lost Weekend incident. Zane and Olinda had befriended Lydia at a time when she had found herself badly in need of friends. She was deeply grateful.

"The important thing is that Mr. London is going to pay me big bucks to help him find a lost family heirloom," Lydia said.

"Huh. Still sounds boring." Zane paused hopefully. "Unless we're talking about something from the catacombs?"

"Nope. It's an Old Earth antique."

"Why do you want to mess around with Old Earth stuff? I thought you wanted to get back underground."

"I do. But before I can attract that kind of business, I need to establish my reputation as a private consultant. That means I'll take any business I can get."

"I guess." Zane took a swallow of cola and wrinkled his nose. "So is it okay for me to study here tonight with Fuzz while you're out?"

"Sure." Anything to encourage his educational efforts, Lydia thought. "Fuzz enjoys the company."

Zane was a budding dissonance-energy para-rez. Unless he was forcibly prodded into a different path, his career prospects were all too obvious. It was almost a given that he would join the Guild when he turned eighteen and become a ghost-hunter. To make matters worse, he was thrilled with the image of himself in leather and khaki.

Lydia was doing her utmost to discourage him. At best, ghost-hunters were little more than high-priced bodyguards, in her opinion. Bodyguards, furthermore, who could not be depended upon in a crunch, as she had discovered at her own expense six months ago. At worst, they were gangsters.

Zane was too bright to waste his life in a dead-end muscle job. She might not be able to keep him from doing some ghost-hunting on the side, but she was determined that he get a college degree and study a respectable profession.

She sat down in the chair across from him. "Zane, before Mr. London, gets here, I want to ask you a question. This is real serious, okay? So please don't tease me."

He gave her a quizzical look. "Something wrong?"

"Maybe. Last night someone summoned a ghost and sent it into my bedroom to frighten me. Today, at work, I got a weird phone call about it. I think it must have been someone from the neighborhood. Any idea who it was?"

Zane sputtered on a mouthful of cola. "Are you kidding? None of the guys I hang with are strong enough yet to actually summon a ghost."

"How about one of the older boys? Derrick or Rich?"

Zane took another swig of his soda while he pondered that. "Jeez, I dunno, Lyd. I don't think so. Maybe it's someone new in the area."

"I was afraid you'd say that," Lydia muttered.

"A lot of the guys would probably tell you they could do it, but don't believe 'em. They like to flash a lot of amber around, but I've never actually seen any of 'em do much except maybe get a couple of flickers going." Zane eyed her closely. "You sure that wasn't what you saw? Some flickers?"

"Positive." Lydia knew that Zane and his buddies used the word "flickers" to describe the tiny, harmless scraps of energy that were too small to be classified as real ghosts. They lasted, on average, for only a few seconds before winking out of existence. They were too little and too weak to be manipulated. Even the youngest and weakest hunters could summon flickers by the time they reached puberty.

"You're sure it was a real ghost?" Zane looked doubtful.

"Trust me on this, Zane. If there's one thing I can recognize on sight, it's a real ghost."

"Yeah, sure," he said much too quickly. "I believe you, Lyd."

But she caught the flash of concern in his gaze and knew what he was thinking. Zane was her friend and loyal defender, but deep down he, too, was worried that she had been badly damaged by whatever she had experienced during her Lost Weekend in the catacombs.

Until she got back underground and faced a few traps, she could not prove to herself or anyone else that she wasn't going to crack under pressure.

The knock on the front door interrupted her before she could grill Zane further.

"That will be my hot date." She started to get to her feet. But Zane leaped off the sofa and charged toward the door.

"I'll get it."

He opened the door with a flourish. There was a moment of acute silence while man and boy regarded each other.

"Hello," Emmett said. "I'm here to pick up Lydia."

Zane grinned. "Hi. I'm a friend of Lydia's. Zane. Zane Hoyt."

"Nice to meet you, Zane. I'm Emmett London." Emmett glanced at the large chunk of amber that hung around Zane's neck. "Nice necklace."

"Thanks. I'm a dissonance-energy para-rez. Gonna join the Guild and become a ghost-hunter when I turn eighteen."

"That right?" Emmett asked politely.

Lydia frowned. "You're only thirteen, Zane. You'll probably change your mind about what you want to do a thousand times before you turn eighteen."

"No way," Zane said with absolute conviction. He grimaced at Emmett. "Lydia's not real keen on ghost-hunting. She had a bad experience a few months ago, you see, and she blames—"