Canyons of Night

“Yes. I can’t complain. It’s worked out very well for me from a financial point of view. And I really do enjoy the work. My family was very relieved when I made the decision to go into the business.”

“Why?”

“They were afraid that working with some of the seriously powerful antiquities in museum collections would cause me to have more panic attacks.” She paused. “Me being so damn delicate and all.”

There was a long silence before Slade finally spoke.

“You’re not the only one who got slapped with that label,” he said. “I did, too.”

“What?” Startled, she glanced at him. “Are you serious? There’s nothing delicate about you.”

“Cut me some slack here.” He managed to sound hurt. “I may be a cop but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. You were an FBPI agent and you worked for that special Office and now you’re a police chief investigating a murder by paranormal means. Somehow I just can’t see anyone labeling you as delicate.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The silence that fell between them was longer this time. Charlotte sensed that Slade regretted having gone down this particular conversational path. She pulled up the collar of her jacket and waited to see if he would tell her the rest of the story.

The night was cool but not cold. She was dressed for the trip into the forbidden zone in jeans, a sweater, and a jacket. She listened to the sounds of the gathering night. Small creatures chirped in the grass. A light breeze sighed through the branches and boughs and rustled leaves. Birds called in the trees.

Slade did not speak.

In the end she couldn’t stand not knowing.

“Okay, okay, who called you delicate?” she asked.

At first she thought he was not going to answer the question. But he must have concluded that, since he had brought up the subject and since she had answered his questions, he owed her some sort of response.

“A team of doctors and para-shrinks at a clinic,” he said.

“Oh, geez.” She stopped, stunned, and stared at him, trying to read his profile in the low light. “Talk about a career-killer for someone in your line. I don’t believe it. You have got to be kidding.”

“No.” Slade halted. He did not turn to face her. Instead he gazed steadily ahead at the trees that marked the boundary of the Preserve. “Although to be fair, I don’t think delicate was the exact word that was used in the file. The terms were unstable and deteriorating and a few others in the same vein. But the result was the same. Everyone concluded that I was no longer fit for the kind of work that I do. That I did. The official story is that I’m taking time off until my senses heal.”

“But?”

“But the para-shrinks and the doctors don’t think there’s a chance in hell that I’ll ever regain the full use of my talent. In fact, things are expected to get worse.”

“What happened?”

“Long story,” Slade said.

She knew from his tone that he was not in the mood to tell her the rest. Not yet.

“Right,” she said. “But I have to tell you, you are not psychically delicate.”

“Yeah? And just how would you know that?”

“Beats me. It’s part of what I do. I’ve seen your rainbow when you’re partially jacked. Everything looked clear, strong, and stable. If your senses were deteriorating, that fact would be reflected in the primary ultralight colors that I saw.”

“I thought you said I looked conflicted.”

“I did sense that, but the rainbow itself was strong.”

“I’m sure the para-shrinks would be interested to know that an antiques dealer has declared me not delicate.”

The icy edge on the words was enough to silence her.

“Not much farther now.” Slade started walking again. He aimed the narrow beam of the flashlight at the ground in front of her. “You’ll feel the fence soon.”

Time to shut up about his aura rainbow, she thought. He had a right to his secrets.

The first shiver of dark, ominous energy whispered across her senses. Like a warning shot over the bow, she thought. They were moving through the trees now. The woods seemed to close in more tightly around them and the atmosphere darkened.

“You’re right,” she said. “The fence energy feels different tonight. It’s much stronger.”

“It gets worse.”

“Why do I suddenly know how Little Amber Riding Hood felt when she started out to Grandmother’s house?” she said. “Or maybe I’m thinking of Hansel and Gretel.”

“There was a reason why forests have always been considered dangerous places in fairy tales,” Slade said. “And this particular forest has never been explored. Add in the nexus factor and whatever the hell that fence is supposed to be protecting, and you’re dealing with a lot of unknowns here.”

The flickers of energy intensified, jangling her nerves. It was like brushing against a lot of small, live wires. She flinched and gritted her teeth against a near-painful jolt.

“Lot of hot psi, too,” she gasped.

“For the next few yards we’ll be walking through a heavy psi-storm. My advice is to run a little hot until we’re through the force field. That seems to ward off the worst of the effects, at least for me. Speak up if you want to turn back.”

“I will not be turning back,” she said briskly.

“Didn’t think so.”

“But it is definitely hotter than it was fifteen years ago.”

“Yes.”

Cautiously she elevated her senses. The downside was that she could now perceive the psychic electricity that flashed and crackled in the atmosphere. She understood why the Preserve had a reputation for being haunted. Anyone who got this far through the barrier could be excused for believing that there were howling, wailing apparitions everywhere. The sensations were disturbing and oppressive and flat-out scary.

The upside of walking with her senses slightly heightened was that Slade was right. Running a little jacked dampened some of the terrible sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

Slade took her hand and squeezed it tightly. The psi-fire faded even more with the physical contact. She realized that he was using some of his energy field to shield her.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

The psychic noise caused by the screaming phantoms was more tolerable now.

“Not much farther.” Slade gripped her hand more firmly. “There’s Rex.”

She looked down and saw Rex trotting calmly through the energy field, evening clutch gripped in one paw. All four eyes were open and he was half-sleeked but there was no indication that he was experiencing any discomfort.

“The force field is probably tuned only to human psi frequencies,” Charlotte observed. “Then again, what else could they be tuned to? No one has ever figured out how to measure animal psi.”

They moved out of the trees and into a small meadow. The disturbing energy field winked out with disconcerting suddenness. The psychic scream inside her head fell silent. She breathed a sigh of relief. At least the experience hadn’t triggered a panic attack, she thought.

“We’re in,” Slade said. He stopped and let go of her hand.

She gazed at the incredible scene around her with a sense of awe and wonder. “This is absolutely amazing. You’re right. It’s so much stronger and more spectacular than it was fifteen years ago. It’s still an enchanted fairyland but it’s a much brighter version of the original. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”