Page 27

The Thacker mansion loomed in the deep shadows of the woods, a gray stone bunker of a house. It was three stories tall and, Leona concluded, not at all graceful in its proportions. The windows were narrow and dark. The front door bore a strong resemblance to a fortress gate. There were no gardens, just a wide clearing around the structure and a long, graveled driveway.

“It’s depressing,” she announced, studying the big house through the windshield of the Slider. “I can’t imagine living inside that place for any length of time.”

“Judging by the stone that was used in the construction, I’d say it dates from the start of the Era of Discord,” Oliver said.

“Vance’s time.”

“Yes.” Oliver brought the car to a stop, rested one hand on the wheel, and contemplated the house. “Lawrence Thacker, the man who built the place, was convinced that the colonies were going to self-destruct in a civil war. He stocked up on food and water and weapons and then hunkered down with his wife and son to wait out the violence.”

“A prepper,” Leona said. “What happened to him?”

“When the rebellion was over, his wife and son left but Thacker stayed on. He became obsessed with the idea that Vance wasn’t dead. When he died, the son inherited the mansion. It was handed down through the bloodline. About twenty years ago the Thacker we’re going to meet today moved in and stayed. He never married.”

Leona unfastened her seat belt. “This is going to be interesting.”

Oliver opened the car door. “Remember the plan. I’m taking the lead. You’re the outside consultant.”

“Yes, right, I know. You’re in charge. I got the message.”

She opened the door, slipped out of the Slider, slung her messenger bag over one shoulder, and reached back for Roxy.

“Behave yourself,” she ordered. “If you want to come inside with us, you’re going to have to charm the housekeeper the way you did Edith Fenwick.”

Roxy chortled, evidently confident in her talent for charm.

On the front steps, Oliver rezzed an old-fashioned doorbell. At first there was no response. Eventually Leona heard muffled footsteps. The door opened.

A tall, wiry woman dressed in jeans and a buttoned-up denim work shirt confronted them. Her graying hair was scraped into a thick braid that hung down her back. Her sharp features were set in stern, forbidding lines, and her pale eyes looked mean.

“What do you want?” she said.

She sounded mean, too, Leona thought. Roxy was going to have her work cut out for her if she wanted to charm the woman.

“You must be Ms. Harp,” Oliver said, slipping into his professional persona.

“How do you know my name?”

“Edith Fenwick told us that Mr. Thacker had a housekeeper named Hester Harp. I’m Oliver Rancourt. This is Dr. Griffin, my consultant. I believe Mr. Thacker is expecting us.”

“He’s expecting you and the consultant, but not a dust bunny.” Harp gave Roxy a piercing glare.

Roxy chortled and blinked her blue eyes. Harp did not look charmed.

Leona rezzed up a dazzling smile. “Edith Fenwick indicated that you were indispensable to Mr. Thacker.”

“The dust bunny isn’t coming into this house.”

“Roxy won’t be problem,” Leona said. “She’s a licensed emotional support dust bunny.”

Roxy batted her baby blue eyes again.

“What’s that ridiculous thing on its head?” Harp demanded.

“It’s a fascinator,” Leona said.

“A what?”

“A hat.”

Harp was unmoved. “The dust bunny stays outside. No animals in the house. That’s the rule. If you don’t like it, you can get in your fancy car and leave.”

Leona felt her temper kick in. She narrowed her eyes. “I explained that Roxy is a licensed emotional support—”

“I don’t see any reason why Roxy can’t stay outside,” Oliver interrupted smoothly. He fixed Leona with a stern expression. “Leave her in the car if you’re afraid she’ll wander off and get lost.”

“I’m not going to lock her up in the car,” Leona muttered. She set Roxy down on the steps. “Run around and do some exploring,” she said. “We’ll be out in a while.”

Roxy fluffed up, chortled, and bounced off, heading for the nearby trees.

“That’s better.” Harp stepped back and opened the door wider. “Thacker is in the library. Follow me.”

Leona moved into the gloom-filled hall, aware that Oliver was right behind her.

She had been braced for strong currents of paranormal heat. Thacker was a collector, after all, and Edith Fenwick had called him a hoarder. But nothing could have prepared her for the sea of energy that churned in the hallway.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if Oliver was reacting to the seething currents.

“Hotter than a two-dollar mag-rez,” he said in low tones.

Harp overheard him. “You get used to it. The Thackers have been collectors since the house was built.”

It took a moment for Leona’s eyes to adjust to the murky twilight that filled the mansion. When her vision sharpened, she almost regretted it. She had spent much of her career in the Underworld, but until now she had never been bothered by claustrophobia. The oppressive atmosphere inside the shadowed house was different. It closed in on her, rattling her nerves.

Stuff was piled everywhere. Alien artifacts, Old World and Colonial-era antiques, books, yellowed magazines, newspapers, paintings, and sculptures were stacked high on both sides of the hallway. There was only a narrow aisle available for walking.

The objects did not appear to be organized in any meaningful way. A dangerously high mountain of aging file folders sat atop a glowing quartz pedestal that was worthy of any mid-sized museum. Chipped and cracked dishes and cookware from the Era of Discord had been dumped into an open crate that also held rare and valuable quartz mirrors.

There was no doubting the paranormal provenance of many of the objects. In the dim light, the urns, crystals, and statuary that had come from the ruins radiated a familiar energy. Many of the other objects emitted currents that were not visible to the human eye, but they dazzled her senses.

Oliver looked around with an expression that was a mix of awe and disbelief. “This is…amazing.”

“That’s one word for it,” Harp muttered. “But the pay is good. My mother had this job before me. Back then you could still see out some of the windows. Now they’re all blocked off with what Thacker likes to call his collection.”

“A lot of these objects are museum quality,” Leona said.

“That’s what Thacker claims.” Harp stopped in front of a closed door. “Just so you know, the boss self-medicates with some herbs he grows in the basement.”

“Thank you for the heads-up,” Oliver said.

“Don’t try to talk business with him. Just take a look at that old file he wants to sell. If you decide to buy it, call me. I’ll take the money. I handle all of Mr. Thacker’s finances.”

That did not sound good, Leona thought, but she kept quiet.

“There will be documents to sign,” Oliver said. He adjusted his glasses and gave Harp a sharp look. “Mr. Thacker’s signature will be required.”

“That’s fine, just tell him where to sign,” Harp said. “I’ll handle the rest.” She peered at Oliver. “You remembered the terms are cash only?”

“I remembered,” Oliver said. He patted the messenger bag.

Harp opened the door and raised her voice. “The museum guy who wants to examine the Bluestone file is here, Mr. Thacker. He’s got his secretary with him.”

“Consultant,” Leona said.

“Yeah, right,” Harp muttered. “And a bit more on the side, according to what I heard.”

“Excuse me?” Leona said, putting a lot of ice into her voice.

“Edith called to tell me you two were on the way here. She said you had booked two rooms but only used one last night.”

Leona flushed. “Our private life is none of your business.”

Oliver cleared his throat. “Uh, Leona, we’re here to examine a file. We don’t have time—”

She ignored him. A woman could take only so much.

“There seems to be a misunderstanding,” she said through her teeth.

Harp ignored her. “I don’t give a damn about your sleeping arrangements.” She waved Leona and Oliver into the room. “Like I said, call me if you decide to buy the file.”

Oliver gripped Leona’s arm and steered her into the library. “What happens if we give Mr. Thacker the money?” he said over his shoulder.

“He’ll stash it somewhere in the library,” Harp said. “I’ll never find it, so it won’t get deposited. Might as well burn it in the fireplace. It will disappear either way.”

She stepped back into the hall and closed the door with a thud that sounded uncomfortably like the crack of doom.

“What a dreadful woman,” Leona fumed.

“Let it go. We’ve got work to do.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t know how it feels to wake up one day and discover that everyone you know and some you don’t are gossiping about you. I’ve already lost one career to the rumor mill at Hollister. I can’t afford to have my new one sabotaged before it even gets properly launched. I need this new gig to work and I…Holy shit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Oliver said.