"You can forget that theory."
She opened her eyes and glared at her own image in the mirror. "What are you? A syn-psych expert?"
"I don't need to be a syn-psych expert to tell you that I didn't feel anything crazy when we linked tonight. Not even after you manipulated that prism to fracture my talent. You surprised the hell out of me but you didn't scare the hell out of me. For the record that's an important distinction."
She smiled weakly. "I don't think there's much that would scare you, Rafe."
"Everyone is scared of something. Are you okay now?"
"Yes. Thanks." It was true, more or less. At least her breathing had returned to normal.
"You don't need me to come over there and comfort you in person?"
She grinned. "I don't think so. Thanks, anyway."
"I was afraid you'd say that. Go back to sleep. We've got a big night ahead of us tomorrow."
"I suppose you want your money's worth out of me."
"Damn right. Clementine Malone charged me a fortune for your services. Goodnight, Orchid."
"Goodnight. Oh, and Rafe?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for calling when you did."
"Maybe we're developing some kind of mental telepathy."
Orchid chuckled. "Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows there's no such thing as telepathy."
In a world where the list of normal paranormal skills spanned a broad and growing spectrum, telepathy had never appeared in the population. Like psychic vampires, it showed up frequently in novels and films, but those were the only places one could find them.
Just as well, Orchid thought as she hung up the phone. It would not have been a good idea for Rafe to be able to read her mind at that moment. She was not certain she wanted to read it herself. Her thoughts were a jumble of vague uncertainties and distant possibilities.
That was the problem with waking up at three in the morning. Things looked different at that hour.
She left the light on and leaned against the pillows. For a while she thought about trying to go back to sleep. But now that she no longer had the reassuring sound of Rafe's voice to buoy her, she sensed the return of the cold, edgy unease that was swiftly becoming her constant nighttime companion.
She pushed aside the covers and padded into the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. She opened the icerator door and took out some leftover pasta casserole. The second letter from ParaSyn was still on the kitchen table where she had left it that afternoon after opening it. The content was similar to that of the one that had arrived earlier in the week. But this time, in addition to the authoritative tone, a hint of a threat had been added.
. . . We sincerely hope you will agree to return to ParaSyn for this important follow-up research. In the three years since the first study was terminated prematurely, our researchers have discovered some disturbing facts about the nature of ice-prisms. We do not wish to alarm you, however, our experts feel that these findings could impact the long-term para-psychological health of people with your type of psychic energy.
You owe it to yourself and to others with your kind of paranormal power to complete the study. Please contact my office at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely,
Gilbert Bracewell, Ph.D.
Director of Research
"You can't scare me, Two-Watt." Orchid crumpled the crisp sheet of stationery in one hand. "I'm so tough, I hang out with a real psychic vampire these days."
She tossed the letter into the trash.
Immediately, she felt much better.
Chapter 7
"Take it easy, Al," Rafe said. "I've got everything under control."
"Under control? Under control? Is that what you call it?"
Alfred G. Stonebraker's frosty gray eyes glinted with the sort of fierceness that made hardened business executives and ruthless competitors alike tremble. He thumped the top of the small garden table with an exasperated fist. "Stonebraker Shipping is teetering on the top of a cliff, about to be pushed over the edge by that conniving little twerp, Culverthorpe, and you tell me you've got everything under control?"
"Yes." With the ease of long practice and natural inclination, Rafe ignored his grandfather's icy glare. Alfred G. was a businessman of the old school. He did a lot of yelling when he was not happy.
His own techniques were different, Rafe thought as he stretched out his legs and crossed his feet at the ankles. Much quieter.
He lounged back in his chair and contemplated the elaborately terraced gardens spread out before him. From his position on the terrace he could see all the way to the arbor.
As a child he had spent a lot of time in this horticultural fantasy land. His parents had brought him here often to visit his grandparents. Some of his earliest memories were of exploring the maze and sailing small boats on the pond.
He and Alfred G. had been good buddies in those days. That, of course, had been during the period when his grandfather had blithely assumed that Rafe would follow in his footsteps.
The rift between them had not occurred until Alfred G. had tried to coerce Rafe into joining Stonebraker Shipping. Rafe had known from the beginning that he could never work for his grandfather. Intuitively he had understood that they were too much alike. Besides, Rafe did not take orders well. Alfred G. was very fond of giving orders.
The ensuing battle of wills between the two had been watched from a wary, respectful distance by the various members of the family. No one, not even Rafe's parents, had dared to intervene, much less tried to mediate.
As Rafe's mother had wryly pointed out, a smart person did not step between two quarreling predators.
Fifteen years ago, there had been only one possible conclusion to the confrontation. In crude terms, Alfred G. had still been the alpha male of the clan. Rafe had understood that. He had packed his bags and left for the Western Islands.
When he returned he had been seasoned by several years of living on the edge of a jungle and by the violent episode known as the Western Islands Action.
Rafe had staked out his own territory in New Seattle, careful to avoid trespassing into his grandfather's realm. But he had kept tabs on the family firm and he had watched with brooding anger as Alfred G.'s old-fashioned business methods led Stonebraker Shipping into perilous waters.
The day had finally come when Alfred G. had accepted the fact that it was time for him to step down. He had summoned Rafe to a warrior's summit, prepared to hand over control of the faltering firm to the only other member of the clan who could save it.
Unfortunately, he had waited a little too long.
What Alfred G. had not realized until too late was that his ambitious nephew, Selby Culverthorpe, had been biding his time, awaiting a moment of weakness. With the savvy, stealthy cunning of a hyena-jackal, Selby had slipped past Alfred G.'s guard.
Working behind the scenes, Selby had laid the groundwork that he hoped would enable him to steal the prize of Stonebraker Shipping from under the protective paws of Alfred G.
Overnight, the orderly transfer of power which Alfred G. had envisioned was transformed into a desperate, secret effort to save the company. The threat to Stonebraker Shipping had united Rafe and Alfred G. as nothing else could have done.
Alfred G. picked up a knife and sliced a muffin in half with a slashing motion. "As far as I can tell, you haven't made any progress at all. The annual board meeting is less than two months away and you haven't even found yourself a wife, damn it."
"I'll have one lined up by the time the board meets. Everything else is in place."
"Humph." Alfred G. looked unconvinced. "Did you convince Taylor and Crawford to back off until you take control of the company?"