A gas explosion,” Gwen said. She smiled, coolly appreciative. “You know, that actually sounded like a very plausible explanation.”
“Thanks,” Judson said. For some reason—probably because he was still in the post-burn buzz—he liked that she was impressed with how smoothly he had pulled a rabbit out of a hat for Oxley. “Got to admit, I’ve had practice.”
She glanced at him, curiosity shadowing her eyes. “In your consulting work for that government agency you mentioned?”
“Government agencies are really good when it comes to cover-ups. It’s an art form. I learned a lot working for Joe Spalding.”
“The director of the agency?”
“Yes.”
“Abby mentioned that the agency—your client, I believe—was closed down due to funding cuts?” Gwen said.
“Funding is always a problem with government agencies.”
“Did Spalding become a lobbyist? That’s what usually happens, isn’t it? Those guys always land on their feet.”
“Spalding did not land on his feet. Spalding is dead.”
“Ah.” Gwen fell silent.
He drank some wine and lowered the glass, aware of the exhaustion that was settling into his bones. They were sitting in front of the fireplace in Gwen’s little parlor, their feet propped on the needlepoint hassock. There was a bottle of generic red from the Wilby General Store and the remains of a takeout pizza on the table between them.
The bio-cocktail of adrenaline and psi that always followed a heavy drain on the psychic senses was still washing through him. He was edgy and restless. What he really needed was some fast, overheated sex with Gwen, but it wouldn’t be chivalrous to suggest it, given what she had been through today. Instead, he was using alcohol to bring himself down harder and faster. Soon he would crash. Maybe tonight he would not dream.
Max was crouched on the windowsill, staring out into the night. Gwen said he looked depressed, but in Judson’s opinion the cat looked ready for revenge.
I’m with you, cat, Judson thought.
“I wonder if Nicole will remember anything about what happened,” Gwen said.
Judson rested his head against the back of the chair. Nicole had regained consciousness just as the first fire truck arrived. The medics had treated her and concluded that she did not need to go to the emergency room. One of Oxley’s officers had driven her home.
“Probably not much,” he said. “Loss of consciousness, regardless of the reason, usually results in some memory loss. I doubt if she’ll ever recall exactly what happened in the minutes leading up to that explosion. But she should be able to tell us why she went to see Louise today. We need that information.”
Gwen turned her head to look at him “What the heck did happen at Louise’s house today? She’s had those chimes hanging inside and out on the porch for years. Why did they go crazy this afternoon?”
“I’m no para-physicist like Sam, but I’ve got a hunch that the explosion was the final event in a chain reaction that started a few hours earlier when the killer used some kind of paranormal crystal to murder Louise Fuller. Hell, maybe it started decades ago.”
“What do you mean?” Gwen asked.
“The energy must have been building inside Louise Fuller’s house for years, thanks to those sculptures. The situation was probably already very unstable. When the killer used his weapon to murder Fuller, there would have been a lot of hot psi involved. That added to the instability. The whole place was a smoldering fire waiting to go up in flames. Then along came the storm. That could have been the spark that ignited the blaze.”
Gwen looked at him. “There was more than just a storm involved. There was you and me, and we were both running very hot while we were inside that house.”
“Yes,” he said, keeping his voice very neutral.
“Do you think that maybe we were the sparks that lit the fuse or whatever it was that set that house on fire?”
“Maybe.”
“Geez.”
“Like I said, there was a hell of a lot of energy buildup in that house before you and I arrived.”
Gwen nodded thoughtfully. “What, exactly, did you do with your ring?”
He looked down at the stone. It was no longer infused with power, but in the firelight it still glowed like liquid amber.
“Damned if I know,” he said.
“Good grief.” She stared at him. “Seriously? You don’t know how that stone does what it does?”
“I’ve only performed that particular trick on one other occasion.” He drank more of the wine. “Someone was trying to kill me at the time.”
“You’re talking about your last case again, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” He lowered the glass.
“How did you know that the three of us and Max needed to make physical contact in order to stay inside the safe zone you created?” Gwen asked.
“You want the truth? I wasn’t sure it would work. Just figured that the physics made sense. And there didn’t seem to be a lot of other options.”
“What physics?” Gwen asked. “You must have some theory about how the stone works.”
He studied the ring. “I can focus psychic energy through it, but it feels like I’m trying to control summer lightning when I do it. There’s a lot of wild power in the crystal, but as far as I can tell, all it seems to do is dampen other paranormal currents in the vicinity.” He paused. “Including human auras.”
“You mean you can use it like a weapon?”
“Over a short distance, yes.”
“How do you tune it?”
“What?” It was getting hard to concentrate. The deep weariness was getting heavier.
“You said that paranormal crystals that are used in high-tech ways require frequent tuning,” Gwen reminded him. “How do you tune that stone?”
“I have no idea.”
“Hmm.”
He watched the firelight blaze in the ring. “I’ve only used it at full throttle twice—today and on my last case. I won’t know if there’s any juice left in it until I’ve had a chance to get some rest.”
“You’re exhausted,” Gwen said. “You pulled a lot of firepower today shielding all of us.”
“I just need sleep.”
She drank her wine in a speculative silence for a time. He felt energy shift in the space and knew she had slipped into a trance. Max meowed softly and jumped down from the windowsill. He trotted across the room, bounded up onto the chair beside Gwen and settled down. She stroked him absently.