Gift of Fire (9 page)

“I admit I’ve been attracted to the concept of an altered state of consciousness for some time now,” Slade said, enunciating carefully, as if he didn’t quite trust his tongue not to trip him up. “I have this theory that most of us are living in a very unnatural state of consciousness, and that the normal, natural state for human beings is actually what’s usually referred to as an altered state. I see the true natural state as a deeply sensual one. A state in which we use all our senses to learn the true meaning of pleasure and personal satisfaction. What do you think? Are you headed in the same direction, Verity?”

Verity blinked. She realized that Slade Spencer had been hitting the booze rather heavily for the past couple of hours. “Actually, I’m into cooking,” she said. She glanced around the room and saw the blank expressions. “Vegetarian cooking,” she added quickly, hoping that would buy her some credibility.

Oliver Crump, who had been staring into the fire, looked over at her with sudden interest. “We’ll have to compare recipes,” he said with a slight smile.

“Verity runs a gourmet vegetarian cafe in Sequence Springs,” Elyssa said helpfully. “Positively wonderful food, so wholesome. I’ve tried to explain to Maggie that we would all prefer vegetarian food while we’re here at the villa, but I’m afraid she’s a little set in her ways. I’m not sure what we’ll get for dinner.”

“I believe that cooking,” Slade Spencer intoned as he fixed Verity with a deep, meaningful gaze, “is the most sensual of all the creative arts. Its appeal is fundamental and basic, isn’t it? It provides stimulation to the senses, and satisfies us in ways that are almost sexual. Don’t you agree, Verity?”

“I hadn’t thought of cooking as sexy,” Verity began slowly. Before she could finish the comment there was a loud crack of glass against wood. Verity turned to see Jonas release his glass and give Spencer a cold look.

“If you want to screw a rutabaga, that’s your choice, Spencer. But don’t try anything kinky with Verity’s vegetable stew or oatmeal muffins. Understood?”

There was a titter of nervous laughter from around the room. The warning had certainly not been subtle. Spencer just shrugged, sinking deeper into his chair and concentrating on his drink and his pipe.

Doug Warwick frowned and took control of the conversation. Ice tinkled in his glass as he looked at Jonas. “How do you plan to approach this job, Quarrel?”

Jonas took a sip of scotch. “The first step will be to go through each of the wings and verify age and authenticity. It’s largely a matter of making sure I’m working with the original structure, and not being misled by sections added on at a later date. Digby’s relative might have imported part of a villa and had the rest designed and built to match. It’s not an uncommon practice.”

Doug nodded. “I see. I hadn’t thought of that.”

Jonas picked up his glass. “Once I’ve given the place a thorough walk-through, I’ll get down to details. Fifteenth-and sixteenth-century architects were fairly predictable. Even the uninspired ones were very fond of mathematical symmetry, for example.” He then launched into an impressive discussion of Renaissance laws of perspective and how they had influenced architecture.

Everyone in the room nodded wisely. Verity hid a smile behind her glass. Jonas had not spent all those years on campus for nothing—he could shoot the academic bull with the best of them. From across the room he saw her smile, and laughter danced in his eyes.

The shared joke made her realize something important. Somewhere along the line they had become a couple. They were at the point where they could exchange silent laughter in a room full of people. She shared ties with Jonas that had nothing to do with their psychic connection.

The knowledge warmed her. She took another sip of fruit juice and mentally added another day to the monthly calendar in her mind. There was still no indication that she might only be irregular. This was beginning to look like the real thing. The realization made her feel strange. She was heading inexorably toward a major turning point in her life, one for which she had never prepared herself.

The evening meal was composed mainly of mashed potatoes and carrots. Maggie Frampton had done her best to accommodate the preferences of the Warwicks’ guests, but it was obvious that she was not accustomed to cooking meatless meals.

“A good hamburger never hurt no one,” she muttered as she cleared away the last of the dishes. “What do you folks do for protein?”

Verity found herself seated between Oliver Crump and Slade Spencer during dinner. Slade was rather boring. He was obviously quite drunk, and his conversation consisted of a long monologue on the innate sexuality of the spheres.

Oliver Crump was another matter. He said little, his eyes introspective behind the round frames of his glasses. But when Verity drew him out with a discussion of cooking and medicinal herbs, he proved very knowledgeable.

On the opposite side of the long table Jonas was seated between Preston Yarwood and Elyssa. The two of them kept him occupied all evening. Every time Verity glanced over she was partially blinded by Elyssa’s gleaming rings and exotic bracelets.

Elyssa did not announce her surprise entertainment for the evening until after dinner.

“Now, then,” she said as she led the group back into the salon. “I hope you’re all in the mood for a special treat. Preston has offered to guide us in a psychic-clarity session. We thought it would be a wonderful way to help Jonas begin his search for the treasure.”

Doug groaned. “Sorry, Jonas. I didn’t know they were going to pull this. Feel free to opt out.”

“What the hell’s a psychic-clarity session?” Jonas asked warily.

“A session in which we all try to unite our individual energies into a single force that is capable of lifting all of us onto a higher plane. Once we are on that higher level we can communicate far more clearly and intuitively. It’s very effective for relaxing and opening up the mind. I’m sure you’ll find it helpful.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Jonas said politely.

Verity groaned and poked Jonas in the ribs with the handle of her cane. “This is business, Jonas,” she muttered. “Behave yourself.”

Jonas massaged his ribs and smiled dangerously at her for a second. “I’ll tell you what. You folks go ahead with your session while I have a look around the villa.”

“Oh, you really must join us, Jonas.” Elyssa’s eyes were beseeching. “The sessions are so stimulating. Sometimes I’m able to contact Saranantha. I’m becoming a channeler for her, you know,” she added modestly. “I’ve just started picking up on her recently, but I’m getting better at communicating with her.”

Verity heard Slade Spencer snicker faintly, and she knew that Jonas was having a hard time keeping his mouth shut. It was time for another shot of diplomacy.

“I didn’t know you were a channeler,” Verity said quickly. “Who is Saranantha?”

It was Preston Yarwood who answered the question. He gazed fondly at Elyssa. “Saranantha appears to be a high-ranking temple priestess from a land called Utilan. From what we can tell so far, Utilan may have been a lost colony of Atlantis. Elyssa has only recently established contact, so we still have much to learn.”

Doug waved Jonas toward the hall. “I don’t blame you one bit for wanting out of this nonsense. Go have a look around. We’ll play Elyssa’s little parlor game here while you’re out getting your bearings. Watch your step, and stay in the south wing until tomorrow. I think I mentioned that the other three wings were never wired for electricity. You start wandering around in there and you might never come back out.” Doug laughed.

Jonas nodded and took Verity aside. “You stay with the group,” he said in a low voice. “I want to check out a few things I read about in the diary, and I don’t want any of these turkeys around when I do it.”

Verity was startled. “Is this something that might take you into the time corridor? You can’t risk that alone. You’ll need me.”

“Relax. I’m not stupid. I won’t risk anything like that alone. I just want to look around.”

“Be careful,” she whispered anxiously.

He grinned. “You’re the one who’d better be careful. Getting elevated to a higher plane of consciousness sounds like dangerous business.”

“I don’t believe this,” Verity muttered. “The only person in the whole group who’s actually got some real psychic ability and he’s not interested in participating in a genuine psychic-clarity session. Spoilsport.”

“I played enough psychic games back in the lab of the Department of Paranormal Research at Vincent College,” Jonas said grimly. “I don’t like them.” He dropped a small kiss on Verity’s forehead. “Besides, what makes you think there’s only one person with genuine psychic talent here?”

Verity’s eyes widened. “You think one of the others in there has real talent?”

He rallied her coppery curls with an affectionate hand. “I was talking about you, you little idiot. I don’t make those trips into the time tunnel alone. Have fun. I’ll see you later.”

Verity stared after him for a long moment before she walked slowly back into the salon. It was strange, but she’d never thought of herself as having any psychic ability. As far as she was concerned, the talent belonged to Jonas. She just sort of helped him control it.

Chapter Five

Jonas walked through the halls of the old villa, flashlight in hand, savoring the freedom of control.

Before he had found Verity he would never have been able to take the risk of immersing himself in this four-hundred-year-old mountain of stone. There would have been a threat lying in wait around every corner. Any Renaissance building of this size was all too likely to be imbued with vibrations of ancient bloodshed and murder. Jonas Quarrel was attuned to suggestions of violence, especially violence that took place during the Renaissance.

It would have been far too easy to accidentally step into a room where a man had died on the point of a stiletto, or to pick up a rusty scrap of metal that had once been part of a sword. Such a mistake could have sent him headlong into the psychic tunnel where violent vignettes from the past replayed themselves endlessly, and where the lethal emotional energy that had infused those deadly scenes sought a path to the future through Jonas.

Jonas studied the stone walls around him as he browsed through the dimly lit second floor of the south wing. Hazelhurst had obviously not wanted to spend much money wiring the place. Jonas didn’t want to think about the quality of the limited electrical work that had been done.

He concentrated for a few minutes. The faint vibrations he picked up here and there were very subdued, just enough to assure him that the place was genuine. He pulled the diary from his pocket as he turned the corner into the east wing. There was no electricity in this section. He switched on the flashlight.

Most of the doors along the passageway were closed. From the amount of dust on the floor Jonas judged that Maggie Frampton had given up on this wing long ago. He doubted if the west and north wings were in any better shape.

Jonas moved through the dingy hall, turned another corner, and found himself in more darkness. Doug Warwick was right. A man could wander around in here for quite a while. According to Digby Hazelhurst’s lousy Latin, the room where he had discovered the crystal was in this passage.

Jonas found the room without too much trouble. It was in the center of the north-wing corridor and had a series of arched windows framing the dark courtyard. When Jonas looked out across the overgrown garden he could see the light he had left on in the bedroom he was sharing with Verity.

He turned back to the small room and swung the flashlight around from wall to wall. The place was bare. No frayed tapestries or rotting furniture, just plain stone walls and floor.

Jonas flipped open the diary to the page detailing the discovery of the crystal. His Latin was rusty, but he had been able to decipher most of Hazelhurst’s scrawl.

South wall. Third stone up from the floor, two over from the left-hand corner. Press firmly on the right portion of the stone. Watch out for the blade. I’m sure the poison tip has long since become ineffective, but the edge is still quite sharp. I was only saved when I first discovered the crystal because the mechanism that triggered the trap was rusted. The design of the trap is quite fascinating. I have since oiled it, of course. Pity not to restore it as far as possible.

“Thanks, Digby, old pal. Why in hell did you have to oil the sucker?”

Jonas hunkered down in front of the designated part of the wall and studied the stonework intently. Digby did not say which stone concealed the booby trap. The hidden blade could snap out from the wall or the floor—or from the ceiling. Jonas glanced up and dismissed that possibility. It was too unlikely.

He tried to envision the kind of trap he might have set had he been hiding a crystal four hundred years ago.

A man attempting to open a secret hiding place in the floor would be crouching as Jonas was. Jonas trailed his fingertips cautiously along the stone.

Something shimmered in his mind and reality started to bend and stretch into an endless tunnel. Jonas jerked his fingers away from the stone that had caused the sudden reaction.

He didn’t dare step into the psychic corridor without Verity nearby—she was his anchor. But just the intimation of ancient violence was enough to warn him that the trap had
been sprung once before—by someone who had not been as lucky as Digby Hazelhurst. A long time ago some benighted soul had died in this room while searching for the crystal.

Died clutching his balls in agony.

Jonas sucked in his breath and stood up quickly. He moved back, away from the part of the floor that was sending out the dangerous vibrations. He’d learned enough. The thought of the deadly blade springing from the floor and stabbing him between the legs was enough to make him even more careful. He got to his feet and prowled the room, looking for something he could use to trigger the trap. He then went back out into the hall and opened a few other doors in the corridor.