He was making progress. The familiar ping ofknowingthat healways got when he was on the right track was growing stronger. He headed toward another intersection…
…and stopped when an electric frisson hit his senses. This was not a good-news-ahead ping. This was a claxon warning him to leave. Now.
But he was closing in on something important.
Just one more corner…
He turned and went down the well-traveled hallway and stopped again when he found himself confronting a solid wall. There were no more intersections or branching corridors. No obvious exit. But the footsteps he had been following disappeared beneath the barrier.
The jammer pinged, indicating a nearby security device. That was promising. But he was still getting the warnings from his intuition.
He sensed the presence in the hallway and turned to confront whoever stood there. The piercing lights of a strobe shot out of the darkness, dazzling and blinding all of his senses.
The shadowy figure spoke.
“You cannot have the succubus. Her power is mine to control.”
Thirty-Nine
“Okay, okay, I get it,”Sophy said. “You’re worried. So am I.”
Bruce whined and gave her ado somethinglook. He was pacing back and forth in front of the door. Until a moment ago he had been content to sprawl on top of the bed beside her. Until a moment ago she had been studying Tobias Harper’s journal.
Now they were both on their feet, restless. The sense that Luke was in danger was growing stronger. Frisson after frisson of nervous energy was lifting the hair on the back of her neck.
“Aunt Bea says that it’s a bad idea to ignore your intuition,” she said.
Bruce whined again.
“All right, I agree. We can’t just hang around here and wait until Luke returns. Let’s go see if we can find him.”
Bruce raked the door with his claws.
“Management is not going to like that,” Sophy warned.
She pulled on her trench coat and started to pick up Bruce’s leash. “Never mind. You can move a lot faster without me,” she said. She opened the door. “Go on. I’ll try to keep up with you.”
Bruce bounded forward, heading for the stairs, but he stopped when he realized she was several steps behind him.
“It’s all right,” she said, picking up her pace. “I’ll be okay. Go find Luke.”
Bruce uttered a short, sharp bark. He made no move to descend the stairs. She realized he was still in guard mode. He was trying to do his job even though he was convinced that Luke needed him.
A door down the hall opened.
“Keep that dog quiet,” a woman shouted.
Sophy ignored her and dashed to the stairs. Bruce went back into action, vaulting down the steps. She seized the railing and followed him. They made it to the lobby and headed for the front door.
“That dog is supposed to be on a leash, ma’am,” the young man at the front desk said.
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” Sophy said. “Sorry. Don’t worry, I’ll put him on a leash just as soon as we’re outside.”
A voice spoke from the depths of a wingback chair. “Tell your dog that if he wants to lift a leg on any of the sculptures out there in the garden, it’s fine by me. Might add a little artistic interest to some of them.”
Sophy recognized the voice of the art critic who had introduced himself on the gallery tour. She searched her memory for his name. Marlon Whitley. That was it.
He was ensconced deep in the big chair, one leg crossed over the other. There was a notebook on his lap. A glass of brandy sat on the side table.
