Page 3 of It takes a Psychic

There was nothing notable about him—nothing at all—and that was precisely what had given her goose bumps. A man like this one ought not be the sort who got overlooked in a crowd, yet that was exactly what had happened out there in the ballroom. He had moved through the throng of well-dressed guests as if he were a ghost.

Not that he went completely unnoticed. On a subconscious, psychic level, people were aware of him. She had watched, intrigued, asindividuals moved out of his way when they sensed his aura. A powerful energy field had that effect on others.

As far as she could tell, she was the only one who had really paid attention to him. She was pretty sure there was only one explanation for his near-invisibility—he possessed some serious talent. Yet he was going out of his way to try to conceal it. His ability to do that was even more interesting.

At one point he had cruised past her while she sipped a glass of sparkling water and pretended to admire a statue of the Society’s founder. She’d caught a glimpse of specter-cat eyes behind the lenses of the black-framed glasses and picked up the vibe of his powerful energy field. It would be very easy to underestimate this man. She would not make that mistake.

It paid to be careful around individuals who possessed a serious degree of paranormal power. She ought to know. She was one of those people.

She had to get control of the situation immediately. She could do that. She might be a lowly, untenured assistant professor but she was rapidly climbing the slippery, extremely treacherous academic ladder. One did not survive the ascent unless one could think on her feet. The first rule wasshow no weakness.

“I assume you are either security working undercover or an antiquities thief,” she said, going for the cool, assured tones she used when she was making a presentation to a room full of other academics. “Regardless, I suggest you get out of my way before I decide to scream. We both know that if I do, a lot of people, including some very real and no doubt very well-armed security guards, will come running.”

“I’m not security. Would you mind lowering the flashlight? It’s hard to have a civil conversation when you can’t see a damn thing.”

She hesitated and then aimed the beam of her light toward the floor.

“Thanks,” he said.

He folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the doorframe. If he was trying to appear nonthreatening, it wasn’t working. His voice was too dark, too compelling, and infused with way too much curiosity. He watched her as if she were a very interesting artifact.

“If you’re not security, that leaves the other alternative, doesn’t it?” She swept out a hand. “Don’t let me stop you. Help yourself to whatever takes your fancy. I’d warn you that the locks on the display cases in the gallery are quite sophisticated, but I’m sure that, as a professional, you’re already aware of that.”

“Evidently the Society’s locks haven’t been a problem for you.”

“I’m not a fan of the Society’s acquisition practices. I couldn’t care less if they get ripped off tonight. They deserve it. But for your information, I’m not a thief. I just want to do the job my boss sent me here to do and then go home.”

“Your boss being Morton Bullinger, the head of the Department of Para-Archaeology at Hollister University.”

Her identity was no secret. Videos and photos of her had been all over the Illusion Town media for weeks after she and two of her colleagues had been kidnapped by antiquities pirates and held captive in the Underworld. Fortunately, the press had quickly lost interest after the dramatic rescue. Nevertheless, she had not yet sunk back into complete anonymity. Her temporary fame was the reason the Society had requested her services tonight.

“You obviously know who I am,” she said. “The least you could do is introduce yourself.”

“Of course. Oliver Rancourt.”

“I’ve never heard of you.”

“That’s not a surprise. I don’t get out much.” Oliver glanced at the empty glass cage with its open door. “Was freeing a bunch of dust bunnies one of the things Bullinger sent you here to do tonight?”

“Nope, that was a freebie. I’m sure Bullinger wasn’t aware that the Society was engaged in illegal research using dust bunnies.”

“Whoever locked up those little guys should be tossed into the tunnels without any nav amber.”

“Well, at least we agree on that,” she said.

“Yes.” He seemed pleased. “Now, I suggest we both return to the ballroom before someone notices that you’re missing and decides to come looking.” Oliver straightened away from the doorframe, took out his phone, and switched on his flashlight. “We can continue this conversation— Huh.”

She realized he had been distracted. She turned her head slightly and saw that the beam of his light was focused on the Alien artifact in the glass case.

“That looks interesting,” he said.

“Yes, it does. If I’m right, it qualifies as an artifact of unknown power. It should have been turned over to the authorities when it was discovered.”

“I’m shocked, of course, to discover it here in the private lab of an organization run by and for obsessive collectors who will pay any price for AUPs.”

She watched him walk closer to the artifact. “I wonder if they were planning to run experiments on the dust bunnies with it.”

He stopped in front of the case, clearly intrigued. “Think it’s a weapon?”

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