"We talked about this," Lyra said. "You can't just paint everything in sight."
Vincent bounced up and down and made cheerful chittering noises, evidently unconcerned.
Lyra sighed. "I know, it's my fault. I should have locked up the brushes."
Cruz grinned. "Need some help cleaning up the new masterpiece?"
He was halfway across the room when he felt the dark energy whisper through him. He jacked up his senses. At the same instant Vincent sleeked out. His hunting eyes appeared.
"Hit the lights," Cruz said quietly.
Lyra did not question the order.
Faint noises sounded from the balcony of the adjoining loft.
Cruz reached the kitchen in two strides. He put his mouth very close to Lyra's ear. "You said the apartment next door was empty."
"Yes," she said, speaking just as quietly.
"There's someone on that balcony. Stay down. Don't move."
He pushed her into a crouching position behind the counter and crossed the short distance to the sliding glass door. There he flattened himself against the wall and quietly unlocked the slider.
Vincent disappeared from the counter and reappeared on the floor near Cruz's left foot. He crouched there on his hind legs, attention fixed on the balcony.
Together they waited.
There was a soft thud when a dark figure jumped from the neighboring balcony onto Lyra's balcony. A few seconds later a second man landed.
Cruz slid open the window and moved outside. Vincent darted past him, going straight for one of the would-be intruder's ankles.
The man yelped in shock and pain. He kicked out wildly. Vincent went flying through the air and landed nimbly on the railing.
"What the hell?" one of the men hissed. "What was that?"
The second man spotted Cruz.
"Shit," he snarled. He raised a mag-rez.
Simultaneously, green fire flared on the balcony as the first man generated an energy ghost.
Cruz laid down a blanket of psi fog, more than enough to douse the intruders' senses. The ghost went out immediately. This time, at least, Lyra was out of range.
Both men yelled in panic as their senses evaporated. They floundered wildly. Vincent, clearly unaffected by the fog, just like last time, leaped from the railing onto the shoulder of the nearest man, going for the throat.
"Vincent, no," Cruz said. "I need them alive."
Lyra appeared in the doorway. "My God, Cruz."
She was too close, Cruz thought. She should have been swamped with the psi fog. But she was on her feet.
Deprived of their senses, the two men continued to reel about. One stumbled and collapsed. The other groped for the railing, missed, and nearly went over the edge. Cruz grabbed him just in time.
"I need something to secure them," Cruz said. "Get your jungle pack. There's some rope inside."
"Right," Lyra said. She turned to hurry toward the bedroom.
She should have been reeling and flailing.
"How are you doing that?" he demanded.
"Turns out amethyst is good for a few things besides making jewelry. It just took me a couple of tries to figure out how to use it to counter the effects of your talent on my aura."
She disappeared back into the loft.
He wanted to demand more of an explanation. She was, after all, the only person he had ever met who could resist the effects of the senses-numbing fog. But he had priorities.
He moved in on the first man, but before he could strike the blow that would have rendered the attacker unconscious, the nightmare struck.
The world suddenly warped around him. He was plunged into a bizarre dreamscape.
The buildings and rooftops of the Quarter came alive, twisting into strange, unnatural shapes that melted and folded in on themselves. Some rose to impossible heights. Others shrank and wavered out of existence. The familiar glow of the Dead City wall grew more intense, illuminating the world with ultraspectrum hues that pulsed in eerie patterns. The ethereal towers inside the wall acquired ever more fantastical and distorted shapes. The balcony undulated like a churning ocean. He staggered to his feet and grabbed for the railing. He missed and went down hard on one knee.
His hand brushed against the mag-rez. Instinctively he swiped at it. He could not use it in his current state, but he had to keep it out of the hands of the attackers. He heard the gun skid across the tiles, but he could not tell if it had gone over the side of the balcony as he had intended.
The next thing he knew, he was staring at the stars, seeing them as he had never before. The twin moons were too bright, too close, threatening to sear his senses. He turned his head to the side to avoid the intense light and found himself looking through the bars of Lyra's balcony straight across to the balcony of the adjoining apartment.
Something moved on the other balcony, a creature unlike anything he had ever seen. Whatever it was, it melted and re-formed and melted again.
Aliens, he thought. They have finally come back. Maybe they have been here all along.
"Ghost shit," one of the attackers whispered, awed. "He's down."
The strange being on the other balcony spoke, its voice echoing darkly as though it came from the depths of a crypt.
"Destroy him," the voice ordered. "Get the woman."
Two distorted forms loomed over Cruz, blocking his view of the alien on the other balcony.
"You deal with him," one of the men said. "I'll grab the woman."
"Shit, there's that rat again. It bit me once. I'm probably gonna need shots."
"Shoot it. Shoot it."
"I can't. The gun's gone. The SOB pushed it over the side of the balcony."
"Cruz." Lyra's voice rose in a scream of fear and rage. "What did you do to him, you bastards?"
"Forget the rat," one of the men said. "Drop the SOB over the side. I'll get her."
The second figure started toward Cruz. He halted abruptly. "Watch out. She's got something in her hands. A lamp."
Glass exploded.
Forget the alien, Cruz told himself. The two men were trying to grab Lyra. He had to stay focused here. Time to prioritize.
Ignoring the nightmarish shapes and images around him, he rezzed all the psi he could summon and pushed it through the black amber of his ring. Somehow he knew, with his hunter's intuition, that the only hope he had of protecting Lyra was to push back the strange energy that was being used to keep him locked in the eerie hallucination.
"Let me go," Lyra shrieked.
"The rat is back," the first man yelled. "It bit me."
"Hell with the rat, the woman just bit me."
Cruz pulled more energy, reaching for his limits and those of the obsidian.
The nightmare landscape wavered and suddenly dissolved. The world came back into focus. The creature on the balcony fled back into the adjoining apartment and disappeared.
Cruz knew the precise instant when the obsidian shattered into myriad shards. He shut down his senses, cutting off the rush of heavy energy as fast as possible, but he was a heartbeat too late, and he knew it.
The shards of fractured obsidian had already had a chance to act as individual psychic mirrors, reflecting his own energy back at his aura in chaotic waves that were already starting to inundate his senses. He'd been warned of the theoretical risks involved with pushing obsidian too far. Now he was going to find out the hard way if the experts were right.
But first he had to save Lyra.
He staggered to his feet and saw the two men trying to maneuver a wildly struggling Lyra toward the front door of the loft. One of them had a hand over her mouth. They were both using their boots to try to fend off Vincent.
Cruz jacked up what was left of his exhausted senses, hoping for one last surge of adrenaline to help him push more energy through the backup amber in his watch. Nothing happened. He knew then that he had five, maybe ten minutes left before he went unconscious.