Jayne Castle: Canyons of Night

“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” Slade asked.

“What do you think I’m doing out here? I wanted to see the Preserve. My aunt talks about it sometimes but she won’t take me inside.”

“For good reason. It’s beautiful in places but it’s dangerous in some parts. Easy to get lost inside. The Foundation that controls the Preserve put up those notrespassing signs and the fence for a reason.”

“You were inside just a few minutes ago. I saw you come out through the trees.”

“I’m a hunter, remember? I can see where I’m going.”

“Oh, yeah, the night-vision thing.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Your breathing sounds funny.”

“Actually, I’m getting over a panic attack. I’m doing a breathing exercise. This is so embarrassing.”

“Panic attack, huh? Well, you had good reason to have one tonight. Getting assaulted by three jerks on a lonely road would be enough to scare the daylights out of anyone.”

“The attacks are linked to my stupid talent. I started getting them when I came into my para-senses two years ago. At first everyone assumed that I was just reacting to the stress of high school. But finally my mom sent me to a para-shrink who said it appeared to be a side effect of my new senses.”

Great. Now she was babbling about her personal problems.

“That’s gotta be tough,” Slade said.

“Tell me about it. If I run hot for any length of time, I start shaking and it gets hard to breathe. I was really jacked a few minutes ago so I’m paying for it now. I’ll be okay in a couple of minutes, honest.”

“You should go home now,” Slade said. “I’ll walk with you and make sure those guys don’t come back.”

“They won’t return,” she said, very certain. She finally managed to take a deep breath. Her jangled senses and her nerves were finally calming. “I don’t want to go home yet. I came all the way out here to see the Preserve.”

“Does your aunt know where you are?”

“No. Aunt Beatrix took the ferry to Frequency City today to check out some antiques at an estate sale. She won’t return until tomorrow.”

Slade looked toward the dark woods. He seemed to hesitate and then he shrugged. “I’ll take you inside but just for a few minutes.”

Delight snapped through her.

“Will you? That would be wonderful. Thanks.”

He started walking back along the road toward the woods. She switched on the flashlight and hurried to catch up with him.

“I heard someone at the grocery store say that you’re going to leave Rainshadow for good tomorrow,” she said tentatively. “Is it true?”

“That’s the plan. I’ve been accepted at the academy of the FBPI.”

“You’re joining the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation? Wow. That is so high-rez. Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I’m packed. I’ll catch the morning ferry.”

She tried to think of what to say next. Nothing brilliant came to mind.

“Do you think those three guys will try to have you arrested?” she asked.

“No.”

“How can you be sure? They might remember you from the marina.”

“Even if they do, those three aren’t going to go to the local cops. If they did they’d have to explain why they stopped you on the road.”

“Oh, right.” Her spirits lightened at that realization. “And I’d tell everyone how they attacked me. Chief Halstead knows me and he’s known Aunt Beatrix forever. He would believe me long before he took the word of a bunch of off-islanders.”

“Yes,” Slade said. “He would.”

She was surprised to hear the respect in Slade’s voice. She glanced at his profile.

“I saw the two of you talking together a lot this summer,” she ventured.

“Halstead is the one who suggested I apply to the academy. He even wrote a recommendation.”

THAT EVENING SLADE GAVE HER A BRIEF GLIMPSE OF THE paranormal wonderland that was the Preserve by night. And then he walked her home, saw her inside the cottage on the bluff, and waited until she locked the door. She listened to his footsteps going down the front porch steps; listened until he was gone and the only sound was that of the wind sighing in the trees.

The following morning she went down to the ferry dock. Slade didn’t see her at first. He lounged against the railing, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was alone. There were a handful of other passengers waiting for the ferry but no one was there to see him off to his new life in the Federal Bureau of Psi Investigation.

She approached him cautiously, not certain how he would react. She knew that as far as he was concerned she was just a kid he had helped out of a jam and then humored with a short trip into the forbidden territory of the Preserve.

“Slade?” She stopped a short distance away.

He had been watching the ferry pull into the dock. At the sound of her voice he turned his head and saw her. He smiled.

“I see you found your backup glasses,” he said.

“Yes.” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. Her second pair of frames was even nerdier than the new pair that had gotten busted last night. “I came to say good-bye.”

“Yeah?”

“And to tell you to be careful, okay?” she added very earnestly. “The FBPI goes after some very dangerous people. Serial killers and drug traffickers.”

“I’ve heard that.” His eyes glittered with amusement. “I’ll be careful.”

She was feeling more awkward by the second. At this rate she would have a panic attack without even raising her dumb talent.

She held out the small box she had brought with her. “I also wanted to give you this. Sort of a thank-you gift for what you did for me last night.”

He eyed the box as if not sure what to make of it. It dawned on her that a man who didn’t have a family of his own probably didn’t get many gifts. He reached out and took the box.

“Thanks,” he said. “What is it?”

“Nothing important,” she assured him. “Just an old pocketknife.”

He got the lid off the oblong box and took out the narrow black crystal object inside. He studied it with interest. “How does it work? I don’t see the blade.”

She smiled. “Well, that’s the unusual thing about that knife. It was made by a master craftsman named Vegas Takashima. He died about forty years ago. He was Arcane and he made each knife by hand so his pieces are infused with a lot of his creative psi. Whatever he did made the blades almost indestructible. You’ll eventually figure out how it works and when you do, you’ll see it’s still good. It will last for decades, maybe another century or two.”

“Thank you.”

She hesitated. “I tuned it for you.”

Slade raised his brows. “You can tune objects that are hot?”

She shrugged. “Provided there’s enough energy in them. It’s a rainbow-reader thing.”

“What does tuning a para-antique do?”

“Nothing very useful,” she admitted. “But people seem to like it when I find the right object and manipulate the frequencies to resonate harmoniously with their auras. Just a trick.”

He hefted the Takashima knife on his palm and smiled slowly. “It does feel good.” He closed his fingers around the black crystal knife. “Like it belongs to me.”

“That’s how the tuning thing works,” she said earnestly. “It’s not a real spectacular talent but my family feels I may have a career selling art and antiques.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“No.” She brightened. “I want to get a degree in para-archaeology and work for one of the Arcane museums. Or maybe go underground with some of the academic and research people who explore the alien ruins.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not as exciting as the FBPI but I’d really like to do it.”