Adrenaline was an excellent temporary painkiller. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his thigh, Luther yanked open the passenger-side door and hauled himself up into the front seat. He made it into the driver’s side and hit the button to lock all four doors, sealing himself inside.
He was about to put the laws of paraphysics to a severe test. If he was wrong, he was a dead man.
He was banking on the fact that the beam of the penlight had to be paranormal in nature. There was no other explanation for its effect on his aura. Most solid materials such as steel or concrete effectively stopped paranormal energy waves. Liquids, on the other hand, did not. Crystals and certain reflective surfaces, although solid, fell into a third category. They could be used to focus energy if you knew what you were doing.
Glass, however, was a fourth category of matter as far as paraphysics was concerned. It was neither a crystalline substance nor a liquid but it had properties of both states of matter. As a rule, a barrier made of glass dramatically slowed or even distorted waves of energy passing through it.
Unfortunately, when it came to glass, there were a lot of exceptions to the rules. The substance was still little understood by the Arcane Society researchers. The bottom line was that the material was damned unpredictable.
He cranked the engine. Craigmore aimed the flashlight at him through the driver’s-side window. He started to shiver. The laser was having some effect, even through the glass, but he wasn’t completely frozen. He ducked low to evade the ray, snapped the gearshift into reverse and hit the accelerator, driving blind.
The Jeep lurched backward, tires screeching. The rear seat windows exploded. Shit. The bastard had a real gun, too. What’s more, the bullets seemed to be obeying the laws of regular physics. No sound, though. Silencer.
He whipped the wheel hard left and shot forward, heading straight toward Craigmore.
Evidently having concluded that the beam was no longer effective, Craigmore took aim with his pistol again. Luther ducked as the front windshield disintegrated. Glass shards littered the front seat. His shield against the light beam was gone.
But the Jeep was still in motion and Craigmore was too busy leaping out of the way to aim the flashlight.
Luther hit the brake and got a fix on Craigmore’s aura. He sent a squelching current of energy at it even as Craigmore tried to line up twin shots using both the beam and the silenced gun.
Head shots were notoriously difficult. They were made even harder when you suddenly wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.
Craigmore sagged, stumbled and went down. The laser device fell from his hand and rolled away across the concrete. It winked out instantly.
Luther threw the Jeep into park, got the front door open and stumbled out. He limped toward Craigmore, using the fender of a nearby car for support.
Craigmore was on his belly on the oil-stained concrete, facing Luther. Amazingly, he still gripped the gun and was using both hands to try to aim it. His lips were pulled back in a savage grin. He managed to get off another shot. The bullet went wide but Luther jerked aside reflexively. The sudden movement caused his leg to collapse again.
He landed hard on one knee and his elbow. His concentration wavered for a few seconds. Freed, Craigmore tried to line up another shot, but the sudden relief of the compelling pressure on his aura left him disoriented.
Luther heightened his aura to full power, lurched partway to his feet and fell on top of Craigmore. He caught hold of one arm and twisted hard. At the same time he threw everything he had at Craigmore’s wildly pulsing energy field.
There was a stunning flash of energy on the paranormal plane. Luther felt his parasenses go blind for an instant.
He saw Craigmore’s mouth open on what was probably intended to be a shout. But what emerged was an eerie groan, the kind you expected to hear in graveyards at midnight. His eyes widened in shock. He jerked, flopped around and then went unnaturally still. His aura winked out just as the psychic laser had a few minutes earlier. The gun thunked on the garage floor.
An eternity passed.
Luther’s senses came crashing back. It occurred to him that he was still gripping the dead man’s arm. He released it and rolled clear of the body. For a moment he lay on the cold concrete, trying to catch his breath and steady his senses.
He heard only the merest whisper of sound on the concrete steps before he saw the flash of an aura. He did not move.
“Wayne, it’s me,” he said urgently.
Wayne emerged from the stairwell. He had his gun in his hand. Everything about him was preternaturally focused. He was in the kill zone.
“You okay?” he asked in a very flat voice.
“Yeah.” Luther relaxed a little. “He was waiting for me. An ambush. What are you doing here? Wait, don’t tell me. Petra had a feeling, right?”
Wayne came out of the zone. He shrugged and tucked the gun into the holster beneath his trouser leg.
“Both of ’em had a feeling,” he said.
“Both?”
“Grace and Petra. They both got a bad vibe. Grace wanted to come with me. Petra had to damn near tie her down.”
“Guess I should have paid more attention to Ray’s warning tonight.”
“Now, why in hell would you want to do that? Ray’s crazy.”
THIRTY-THREE
“Do I need to talk to our guy in the Honolulu PD?” Fallon Jones asked.
“No,” Luther said. “Craigmore had a silencer. No one came to investigate. Petra and Wayne cleaned up the scene.”
He and Grace were in the apartment. He was on the phone, pacing, trying to ignore the aftereffects of the heavy burn. She was gazing into the glowing computer screen as if it were a crystal ball, contemplating her precious genealogy files.
It was taking everything he had to stay focused on the conversation with Fallon. What he really wanted, needed, was a stiff shot of whiskey and then sleep.
“What did you do with the body?” Fallon asked, pragmatic, as always.
“This is Hawaii. Gets a little warm here. We wrapped it in a few yards of plastic kitchen wrap and stashed it in the walk-in refrigerator at the restaurant.”
Luckily Petra bought extra-heavy-duty plastic wrap and she purchased it in commercial-size containers.
“You don’t do things in a discreet way, do you?” Fallon’s voice rumbled through the phone. “Craigmore was a distinguished member of the Council. He served for fifteen years and was considered to be one of the most powerful men in the Society. Now it turns out he was a traitor.”
“What kind of talent?” Luther asked.
“Craigmore was a crystal generator,” Fallon said.