“Yes.” He did not elaborate.
“I used to hang out with some of his girls at night. I’d use my talent to tell them which johns were safe and which ones to avoid. One day the pimp discovered that the girls were turning down some of the dangerous tricks. He was furious. He decided to beat one or two as examples to the others. I figured out what he was planning. I even knew which girl he intended to beat first, the newest and youngest one. I was there when he came to get her that night. She was terrified. There was so much violence surrounding him you could have cut it with a knife. When he reached for her, I took hold of her arm and jacked up to full strength, overwhelming her aura with my own and forming a kind of barrier to his. The instant he touched her he got fried.”
“Define ‘fried,’ ” Luther said. “Are we talking dead?”
“No,” she said quickly, appalled. “No, I didn’t kill him, I swear it.”
“I wouldn’t give a damn if you did terminate him.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t. But something happened when he came in contact with my aura. It was as if his own energy field short-circuited for a few seconds. I can’t explain it. All I know is that he went unconscious for a while. So did the girl. But when she woke up she was okay, just a little shaken.”
“What about the pimp?”
“He was not okay. It was as if he’d had some kind of mental breakdown. He just sort of fell apart. I think something permanent happened to his talent. Whatever it was affected not just his psychic senses but everything else, as well. He became a basket case and just drifted away from the neighborhood. After a while we heard that he’d been killed in a drug deal gone bad.”
“You said there were other incidents like that one?”
“A few,” she admitted. “The technique works against nonsensitives, too. After all, everyone has an aura. But every time I do it, I get sensitized again.”
“Huh.”
She waited but he didn’t offer anything further, just stood there, looking lost in thought.
“What?” she prompted.
“Just wondering. Do you think you shorted out the singer’s aura today?”
“No. She was much too powerful. Fortunately when she lost her cool a lot of her control went with it. And then the elevator started to open and she panicked and ran.”
He watched her very steadily. “What would have happened if the singer hadn’t fled the scene?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose the outcome would have depended on which one of us was the stronger. We didn’t get a chance to finish the contest. Guess you could say it was a draw.”
“The last thing I want is to see a rematch. Got that?”
She shuddered. “Trust me, I’m not eager for one, either. Okay, you can start yelling again now.”
There was another long silence.
“You’re not yelling,” she pointed out.
“Don’t get me wrong, I feel like yelling.”
“But?”
“But you saved the housekeeper’s life. That’s pretty much what a J&J agent is supposed to do in a situation like that.”
She suddenly felt much better. “Thanks.”
“Are you sure I can’t touch you?” Luther asked.
She tensed. “It was a bad burn. It will probably take days, maybe weeks to heal.” Her brief moment of professional pride went out like a light. It was all she could do not to burst into tears. “It’s so maddening because I just got over the last burn.”
“Can I talk you into running an experiment? You said yourself the fact that we’re both auras might have some protective effect.”
She hesitated. “Okay.”
“You do the touching. That way you’re in complete control.”
For a few seconds she did not move.
You’re a J&J agent. Take a risk.
She walked slowly toward him and stopped when she was a couple of feet away. He held out one hand, palm up. Gingerly she touched it with her fingertips. There was no shock, no jolt of pain. Relief crashed through her. Deliberately she flattened her hand on his, palm to palm.
“This is amazing,” she said, awed. “I’ve never been able to touch anyone so soon after an incident like the one today. Guess I was dating the wrong kind of men all these years.”
He groaned, grabbed her hand, pulled her close and kissed her hard. When he released her she was a little breathless.
“Don’t tease me like that,” he warned darkly. “I’m still getting over the shock I got when I read that text message you sent. Thought my heart would stop.”
“They’re called Sirens, Mr. Jones,” Grace said into the phone. “The talent is extremely rare. That’s why you haven’t ever heard of them. They crop up so infrequently in the Society’s records that many of us in Genealogy have assumed that they’re more myth than reality.”
She was perched on the sofa again, so exhausted she was amazed that she could make any sense at all out of the data on the computer screen in front of her, let alone deliver a coherent report to her boss. The after-shocks of adrenaline were still shivering through her. It would be a while before her nerves calmed down to the point where she might be able to sleep.
But
she could still touch Luther. The wonder of that buoyed her spirits as nothing else could have done.
He was at the window, watching the hot afternoon sun spark and flash on the ocean while listening to her conversation with Fallon. He was back in what she was starting to think of as his professional mode—cold, hard and very focused.
“What’s a Siren?” Fallon demanded. “Some kind of hypno talent?”
“It’s related to hypnosis in that the psychic energy is transmitted via the voice but it requires extremely high, pure notes, the kind that very few people can sing. Also, although there have probably been a fair number of Siren talents in the population, very few of them would have had the power to actually project a killing wave of energy.”
“So what happens with the others? Why haven’t we heard of non-lethal Sirens?”
She smiled faintly. “You have, sir, you just didn’t know it. They’re called opera singers.”
“Opera singers?” Fallon sounded thoroughly nonplussed.
“Not all of them are Sirens, of course. I suspect just some of the major coloratura sopranos. And those who are Sirens probably aren’t even aware of their psychic natures. Wait, I take that back. Opera singers are known for their egos. Some of them probably do consider their talents to be paranormal.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“How many times have you heard an opera singer described as ‘mesmerizing’? Historically various singers have been said to be able to transfix or enrapture their audiences.”
“Huh.”
She concentrated on the computer screen, reading quickly. “The high level of talent required to disrupt the human neurological system appears almost exclusively in females because it requires a true coloratura soprano to reach the high, killing notes. In addition to being linked to their voices, the talent is also connected to their sexuality, hence the Siren label.”
“Opera singers are sexy?” Fallon asked, dumbfounded.
“Sir, I hate to break this to you but opera singers as a group, male and female, are legendary for their sexual prowess. Wealthy, powerful men seem to find sopranos, in particular, absolutely riveting. Think Maria Callas and Aristotle Onassis.”
Luther turned around at that, brows lifting slightly. She pretended not to notice.
“You said the singer was crazy?” Fallon asked.
“Well, that depends on your definition of ‘crazy,’ I guess. She emanated some very unstable aspects, but she was obviously capable of making and carrying out an elaborate plan. I’m almost positive that she went into suite 604 intending to do violence to someone, presumably Eubanks.”
“You think she planned to wait for him there in his room?”
“I’m sure of it.”