Page 79 of When She Dreams

Sam went still. “You?”

“He was trying to scare me, yes.”

“Bastard.”

“It did not go well for him,” Maggie said. She went to the closet and took out a pair of trousers. “I could see that Oxlade was upset onstage. Later, when he overheard Guilfoyle admit to the con, he was furious. I’ll tell you all about it on the way back to the Institute. But first I have to change my clothes. This suit isn’t practical for sneaking into the gardens.”

“I agree, but before you get too excited about a confrontation with Oxlade, I think we should make a plan.”

“Certainly. What did you have in mind?”

“Are your acting skills as good as your imagination?”

“I am an excellent actress,” she said. “I admit I have a limited repertoire, but what I do, I do very, very well. I’m especially good at playing normal.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“The fact that I am not currently residing in an asylum.”

Sam watched her unfasten her skirt.

“Yet another Maggie Lodge mystery,” he said. “As it happens, normal is not what we’re going for tonight. Can you play the opposite?”

“Sure, but I’ll need your word of honor that you won’t let anyone put me away because of a really good acting job.”

She was trying to make light of it, but the wariness in her eyes was only a half step from fear.

He walked to stand in front of her and caught her chin on the edge of his hand.

“I promise you that if anyone ever locks you up I will tear down the walls of your prison and take you out of it,” he vowed.

A sheen of tears glittered in her eyes. She blinked them away and managed a shaky smile.

“Deal,” she said.

Chapter 36

The rain started shortly before midnight. Emerson Oxlade almost changed his mind about leaving. He did not like the thought of driving back to L.A. in such weather, especially at night. But the urge to escape the looming disaster that threatened his reputation and his career was too powerful to ignore.

He had to get away from the Institute and Burning Cove as soon as possible. If he stayed to give his lecture in the morning he would be swamped with silly questions about the Traveler and Guilfoyle’s ridiculous statements onstage earlier in the evening. The press would no doubt pick up the story. He could not face any of it. He had to leave.

The woman carrying the dark umbrella emerged from the rain-drenched gardens just as he was about to stow the first suitcase in the trunk of his car. In the weak light of the lamp over the door she was little more than a shadowy silhouette.

“Going somewhere, Dr. Oxlade?” she said. “You mustn’t leave before I have a chance to thank you for the great gift you gave me.”

There was something odd about her tone, an eerie, dreamy quality that was unnatural, but he recognized her voice.

“Miss Smith, I mean, Miss Lodge.” He was so shocked he almost dropped the suitcase and his umbrella. “What are you doing here?”

“I owe you a debt of gratitude. I had a psychic vision in which I saw you leaving tonight. I simply had to tell you that you changed my life.”

He went still. “You had a vision I was leaving?”

“I saw it in a dream. I sense all sorts of things these days, thanks to your drug. You were right. The enhancer opened the door to my psychic talents. What’s more, the door is still open. I don’t need the enhancer every time I dream.”

Something was very wrong. Oxlade edged back toward the front steps of the villa.

“What are you talking about?” he said.

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