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Leona waited to call Charlotte and Eugenie until she was in her bedroom, throwing clothes and travel gear into a small suitcase. Her messenger bag with the pyramid crystal tucked inside was on the bed next to the open suitcase.

She put the phone on speaker, set it on the bedside table, and opened a drawer to grab some underwear.

“Good news,” she said, setting the panties in the suitcase. “We’ve got a lead on the pyramid crystal.”

“We?” Charlotte said.

“Oliver Rancourt traced the murdered woman to a town called Lost Creek in the Mirage Mountains. We are driving there this afternoon to see what we can find in the way of answers.”

There was a short, sharp beat of silence.

“Let me get this straight,” Eugenie said. “Are you telling us that you and Rancourt are working together on this project?”

“As he pointed out, our agendas are aligned,” Leona said, trying to sound assured and determined. Professional.

“You hardly know the man,” Charlotte said.

“I’m not dating him,” Leona said. “We’re temporary colleagues. He was already planning to go to Lost Creek to view an Old World document he wants to acquire for his museum. The only difference is that I’m going with him. Let’s face it, it’s not like I’ve got anything more pressing to do. I’m currently unemployed, remember?”

“Don’t remind us,” Eugenie said. “How is Rancourt going to explain your presence?”

“Relax, Mom. I’m going as his consultant, not his girlfriend. The plan is to tell the collector and anyone else who asks that I was hired to authenticate the document. There is absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“A woman was murdered last night,” Charlotte said.

“The FBPI and the cops are on that case,” Leona said quickly. “Oliver and I are not involved. Our interest is in the pyramid crystal. We’re not trying to solve a murder. Look, I’ve got to run. Long drive ahead. Oh, by the way, according to the maps, our mobile phones won’t work once we’re in the Mirage Mountains—too much energy in the area—but there’s a landline at the inn where we’ll be staying. I’ll give you the number.”

She read it off the screen of her phone.

“Got it,” Eugenie said. “Listen, I know this trip is important to you, but I agree with Charlotte. I’m not at all sure this is a good idea.”

“It’s the only lead we’ve got,” Leona said. “And I repeat, it’s just a research trip. I do those all the time down in the tunnels.”

“This is different,” Charlotte insisted.

“Not really,” Leona said. “And there’s something else to consider. I’m thinking of setting myself up as a private antiquities consultant. Rancourt has agreed to let me list his museum as a client in any promo I decide to do. That will make for a good launch for my business.”

“I seem to recall an old legend about Lost Creek,” Charlotte said slowly. “Something to do with Vincent Lee Vance.”

“Rancourt mentioned that.” Leona reminded herself that the nights would probably be chilly in the mountains. She went back to the drawer to pick up her flannel pajamas. “Evidently the collector we’re going to see specializes in Vincent Lee Vance and Era of Discord materials.”

She turned to carry the pajamas to the suitcase but paused at the sight of the dainty pink vibrator in the drawer. Why was she even thinking about packing it? She definitely would not need it. This was a business trip, not a romantic getaway.

She shut the drawer very firmly and dropped the pajamas into the suitcase.

“I did a little more research on Rancourt,” Eugenie said. “On the plus side, there’s no indication that he’s a serial killer.”

“Good to know,” Leona said. “A woman can’t be too careful.”

She studied the contents of the suitcase, wondering what she had forgotten. There was always something. She was accustomed to packing for an expedition into the Underworld—she had a checklist—but a road trip to the Mirage Mountains with a man who was very much a stranger was an entirely different matter.

“He’s got a couple of advanced degrees—one in the history of the Era of Discord and another in para-archaeology. He is one of a handful of experts who specialize in Old World antiquities with a paranormal provenance. He’s been involved with the Rancourt Museum for his entire career. On the surface he looks a little boring.”

“I told you, he’s harmless,” Leona said. Mentally she crossed her fingers behind her back. Whatever else he was, Oliver Rancourt was not boring.

“He sounds like he may be the obsessive type when it comes to his work,” Eugenie warned.

“Never met a museum director or a collector who wasn’t,” Leona said. “It’s the nature of the beast. Some people would say I’m a little obsessive myself, when it comes to artifacts.”

“True,” Charlotte muttered.

Leona closed the suitcase and hoisted it off the bed. “Is that all you’ve got on him?”

“Yes,” Eugenie said, “but keep in mind that there’s an old saying about illusion talents. They make very good criminals because you never see them coming .”

“I will keep that in mind.”

She stopped at the window and looked down. Oliver’s sleek gray Slider was illegally parked in the narrow lane below. Roxy was perched on one gleaming fender. The fascinator, now limp and bedraggled but dry, was still on top of her furry head. The blue crystal butterfly sparkled in the sun.

Oliver lounged casually against the fender, his arms crossed, dark glasses concealing his eyes. She was too far away to pick up the vibe of his aura, and yet, just looking at him through the second-floor window, she was aware of his quiet, centered power.

Nope, not boring.

“Leona, please be careful,” Charlotte said.

“Griffin women can take care of themselves.”

“That reminds me,” Eugenie said. “Don’t forget to pack your flamer.”

“It’s in my messenger bag.” She turned away from the window and grabbed the handle of the suitcase. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what you said when you joined the Hollister Expedition,” Charlotte pointed out.

Leona felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. Maybe if I had been paying more attention .

“Everything turned out okay,” she managed.

“No, everything did not turn out okay,” Charlotte said. “You got kidnapped and very nearly killed. And that’s not all that’s happened recently. Your latest relationship just ended badly.”

“They all end badly. I’m used to it.”

Charlotte ignored her. “Last night you stumbled over a dead body and you almost got swept up in an FBPI raid. You were chased through the tunnels by a couple of very dangerous people. This morning you were fired from your job. This afternoon you’re taking off with a man you barely know for a destination associated with the megalomaniac who tried to destroy the colonies. In case you haven’t noticed, your life is turning into a mag-lev train wreck.”

“She’s got a point,” Eugenie said. “You should probably be talking to a therapist, not going on a road trip with a stranger.”

“A stranger who, you have assured me, is not a serial killer,” Leona said.

“ Probably not a serial killer,” Charlotte clarified.

“I understand your concerns,” Leona said. She pulled herself together, marshaling her arguments. She could do this. “But I have two very good reasons for the road trip to the Mirage Mountains. The first is that, if things go well, I can use it to start a résumé as a private consultant in the antiquities world.”

“What’s the other reason?” Eugenie said. “And please don’t tell me it’s because you’ve always wanted to visit the Mirage Mountains.”

“Here’s what I haven’t had a chance to tell you,” Leona said. “The other reason I’m taking this job is that Rancourt is convinced there’s a connection between the yellow crystals and something he calls a Vortex machine.”

A short, resounding silence greeted that statement.

“What,” Eugenie asked, “is a Vortex machine?”

“Old World tech designed to enhance paranormal talents,” Leona said.

“Oh, shit,” Eugenie whispered.

“It may be a Vortex machine that was used to create Molly and me,” Leona added.

“You were not created by a machine,” Charlotte said, very fierce now. “You and Molly were born, just like everyone else.”

“I know, but a Vortex machine may have been what was used to irradiate our birth mothers,” Leona said. “Now do you understand why I have to follow up on the Lost Creek lead? I’m well aware that Rancourt is using me, but I’m using him. We both want answers. We need to work together, at least in the immediate future.”

There was another poignant silence on the other end of the connection.

Eugenie sighed. “Well, at least we’re pretty sure Rancourt is not a serial killer.”

“There’s that,” Charlotte agreed.

“Right,” Leona said. “Look on the positive side. Opportunity is a flower that blossoms in the shadows.”

“What in green hell does that mean?” Charlotte asked.

“I have no idea,” Leona said. “I’m only halfway through chapter six. I had to go back and reread chapter four. Goodbye. Love you both.”

“Love you,” Charlotte said.

“Love you,” Eugenie said. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Leona ended the call before Charlotte and Eugenie could come up with any more arguments, and headed for the door of the bedroom with her suitcase and the messenger bag.

She stopped on the threshold and looked back at the copy of Achieving Inner Resonance: A Guide to Finding Your Focus and Channeling Your True Potential . Charlotte was right—her life was a train wreck. She needed to regain her focus.

She went to the bedside table, picked up the book, and dropped it inside the messenger bag.

Outside in the hall, she rezzed the lock and went downstairs. When she opened the lobby door and stepped out onto the narrow sidewalk, Oliver unfolded his arms, straightened, and came forward to take the suitcase. He held out a hand for the messenger bag. She tightened her grip on it.

“I’ll hang on to this,” she said.

He raised his brows. “The pyramid is still inside, I presume?”

“Yep.”

He gave her a quick once-over, frowning a little, and then turned away to open the trunk.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

She thought about the mystery of his annulment, his obsession with the machine he called Vortex, his connection to a museum she had never heard of, and the fact that he had been able to steal an extremely valuable artifact from an organization that hired armed goons for security. Then she recalled Eugenie’s warning about illusion talents: They make very good criminals because you never see them coming.

Yes, her agenda was aligned with Oliver’s—for now. But that could change at any moment. If he decided she was no longer useful…

Okay, he probably wasn’t a serial killer, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

Think positive.

“Everything’s great,” she said. “I spent some time on the phone talking to my moms. The good news is that you evidently passed the serial killer test. They’re pretty sure you’re not one.”

“Good to know. A man likes to make a good impression on the parents.” He opened the trunk. “What else are they worried about?”

She scooped up Roxy and slipped into the front seat. “They’re afraid you are using me for unknown and possibly nefarious reasons.”

“I see.” He stashed the suitcase in the trunk, closed the lid, and walked back to the passenger door. He looked down at her through the open window, sunlight glinting on his dark glasses. “Were you able to reassure them?”

“Of course. I told them I was using you and that we had an understanding.”

“So what we have here is a use-use relationship?”

She thought of the advice in chapter one of Achieving Inner Resonance : Negative words generate negative outcomes. Build a positive vocabulary if you want to ensure a positive outcome.

She rezzed up a bright smile. “Why don’t we think of our association as a win-win relationship?”

“That works only if we both get what we want in Lost Creek.”