Page 65 of It takes a Psychic

“Whatever you do, don’t touch anything,” he said. “Some of these piles look like they could topple if you even breathed hard on them. And if one of them goes down—” He did not finish the sentence. There was no need. Instead, he raised his voice. “Mr. Thacker? Oliver Rancourt here to see the Bluestone file.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been expecting you. I’m in the vault. Come on in.”

The muffled voice came from somewhere in the back of the library. Unlike Harp, Thacker sounded welcoming.

“He probably doesn’t get many visitors,” Leona said.

Oliver raised his voice again. “Where, exactly, is the vault, Mr. Thacker?”

“Just follow the yellow brick road,” Thacker called out. He chuckled. “You can’t miss it. I marked the path myself after a guest got lost and panicked. Poor man was a basket case by the time I found him in the stacks. Claustrophobic, you know. Luckily he froze. No telling what might have happened if he had tried to escape by running blindly through the artifacts. Some of them are quite sensitive to human energy fields.”

Oliver looked down. So did Leona. Sure enough, there was a strip of bright yellow tape on the carpet that led into the maze.

“Looks like we’re off to see the Wizard of Lost Creek,” he said. He went forward cautiously. “Follow me, stay close, and remember, don’t—”

“—touch anything. Trust me, I won’t. But this place hasn’t been dusted in decades. Let’s hope neither one of us sneezes.”

“That would be a disaster.”

The path marked by the tape twisted through the shaky-looking piles in what appeared to be a random fashion. But when Oliver rounded a corner, he found himself gazing through the doorway of a large walk-in vault that would have been equally suited to a bank.

Rows of steel-and-glass shelving were arranged in narrow aisles. Unlike the piles of chaotically stacked objects in the library and front hall, everything in the vault appeared to be organized. There was so much energy flooding the interior he was surprised there weren’t a few small lightning bolts crackling in the atmosphere.

A small, thin, dapper man beamed at them. What little hair he had left was neatly trimmed. He wore a business suit that was accented with a polka-dot bow tie. The lenses of his wire-rimmed spectacles caught the light. His hands were sheathed in white gloves.

“Mr. Thacker, I presume,” Oliver said. “Oliver Rancourt from the Rancourt Museum.”

“Mr. Rancourt, a pleasure.” Thacker put down the volume he had been examining and held out his hand. “I do hope you will be pleased with the Bluestone document. It really is an exceptional item, and given its history and provenance, it certainly belongs in the Rancourt collection.”

“I’m looking forward to examining it,” Oliver said. He shook hands and gestured toward Leona. “This is Dr. Griffin, my consultant.”

“A pleasure, Mr. Thacker,” Leona said. “You have an…amazing collection.”

The atmosphere was so laden with conflicting currents of energy that it took a couple of seconds to process the transformation that came over Thacker. For a beat he gazed at Leona as if she were a magical creaturewho had just materialized in front of him. Astonishment and disbelief widened his eyes.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “I see the rumors are true, then.”

Leona narrowed her eyes in a warning look that Oliver was coming to recognize. He tried to think of a way to deflect her irritation but nothing sprang to mind. Of course not. Leona was a force of nature.

“If you’re referring to the fact that those ridiculous paranormal investigators happened to find Mr. Rancourt in my room at the inn last night, I can assure you we were involved in a professional discussion. The rez-screens in some of the rooms had suddenly come on—”

“Yes, yes, the rez-screens.” Thacker waved that aside. “They do that occasionally. Margo Gibbs drinks, you see. That’s not what I meant. I was referring to the gossip about the bride.”

“What bride?” Leona demanded.

“I’m told there’s talk all over town that Vincent Lee Vance’s bride has arrived and that she has the key,” Thacker said.

Leona stared at him. “The key to what?”

“Why, the enhancement machine, of course,” Thacker said. “According to the legend, Vance locked himself inside the device a hundred years ago, right after the failure of the rebellion. He promised his followers that the machine would keep him alive in a state of stasis until the time was right for his return. When the moment arrived, his bride would appear in Lost Creek and she would bring the key to the machine. She is the only one who can unlock it and free him to fulfill his destiny.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Hester Harp was right, Leonathought. Thacker was doing some serious self-medicating with some interesting herbs. Either that or he was delusional. Probably both.

Uncertain how to respond, she looked at Oliver for direction. But he was no longer in his antiquities-expert role. In its place was something very scary. He watched Thacker intently, cold fire burning in his eyes.

“What in green hell are you talking about, Thacker?” he said.

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