“What the fuck have youdone?” Hatch said. “Wells is alive and back in his room. And that’s the least of our problems. The Alchemist is going to be furious when he finds out you lost the weapon.”
“I didn’t lose it,” Vincent muttered. “I dropped it. Don’t worry, Wells couldn’t have found it. He was blind when I left him in the maze. He should be dead. I don’t know how he made it out alive.”
The two of them were taking what was supposed to look like a late-night stroll through the sculpture garden. Even though they were outside they were keeping their voices low. The Scary Blondes were following them at a discreet distance. Theoretically they could not eavesdrop, but just to be on the safe side Hatch had turned on the scrambler he wore on his belt. It pulsed lightly, indicating that it was functioning.
Vincent shivered with rage, frustration, and an edgy sensation that he refused to label panic. It wasn’t his fault everything had gone wrong tonight. Yes, he had acted on impulse. He had been watching Wells. When he realized the bastard was heading toward the gallery he had been unable to resist what had appearedto be a golden opportunity. He had unlocked the second entrance to the underground lab, the one that had been designed as an emergency exit, grabbed a weapon, and followed Wells into the old house.
It wasn’t until his quarry went straight into the maze without the benefit of a flashlight that he had realized Wells had at least some para-vision. That information had increased the thrill of the hunt. He had killed three times now to make sure that he had what it took to power the weapon. The authorities had labeled the deaths natural causes and promptly forgotten about them. The Alchemist, who had accompanied him to observe, had been impressed. Told him he was a natural.
But Wells hadn’t gone down the way the street people had. He had fought back.
“He made it out alive because you didn’t finish what you started,” Hatch said. “You failed.”
“I didn’t fail. I hit him hard. A full dose. I think the weapon is losing its power.”
“Those fucking guns channel human psi. They are only as powerful as the shooter. Face it. You screwed up. We’ve got to get a handle on this situation, and fast.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” Vincent said. But he knew Trent didn’t believe him. Fuck, he wasn’t sure what to believe himself. Wells should have gone down and stayed down. “One thing’s for sure. The rumors about No-Talent Wells are wrong. At the very least he’s got psychic-grade night vision.”
“Not surprising. The ability to see a little beyond the normal spectrum is common in the psychic community, and he comes from a long line of strong talents. Stands to reason he’s got a minimal vibe. Forget him. You need to retrieve the gun before the Alchemist realizes it’s missing.”
Another panicky tremor raised the hair on the back of Vincent’sneck. “Order the Scary Blondes to get rid of Wells. They’re your security team. I’m sure they know how to make people disappear.”
“What am I supposed to tell them? That you followed Wells into the maze and tried to murder him because you thought he was standing between you and yourMusebut you fucked up? Do you realize how delusional that sounds?”
“The Alchemist will be pissed. What can he do about it?”
“He might decide you can be replaced,” Hatch warned.
Vincent snorted. “He says Orston and I are the only ones with the talent required to fire the weapons, and Orston is fading fast. Besides, who else is he going to get to recharge his mood enhancers? He needs me. You heard him.”
“I’ve been playing games with very smart people like the Alchemist ever since I was a kid, Vincent. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that you can’t trust any of them.”
Vincent looked at a nearby sculpture, a brightly lit bouquet of surreal flowers. Talk about uninspired and derivative. He wondered which of the so-called artists in residence had produced it—you couldn’t use the wordcreated, not for those childish flowers. It was a cartoon.
Before the succubus had drained his energy field he had been a thousand times more talented than any of the artists in residence. He had to get control of the bitch so that he could recover his talent.
“Vincent, are you listening?” Trent said.
“Yes, I’m listening. You can’t trust very smart people. That’s not news. I don’t trust anyone. What’s your point?”
“My point,” Trent said grimly, “is that we can’t trust the Alchemist. He may decide he doesn’t need you now that he has another Harper woman.”
“The first one didn’t work out well.”
“He’s convinced the niece has the right talent. Once the projectis completed, the Alchemist might decide he doesn’t need either of us.”
Vincent glanced at him. “You’ve got a plan, don’t you?”
“The Alchemist is brilliant, but he’s borderline insane. That makes him dangerous. It also makes him manageable. He thinks he’s manipulating us but the opposite is true. Yes, I’ve got a plan. But first you have to recover the weapon.”
Forty-Four
Luke fell into the dreamscapestaged with the characters and data he had assembled and let his intuition tell him a story.
Sophy has vanished into the maze. He tried to follow her but now he is lost. He can see in the way that one does in dreams, but he has nothing to guide him. The walls of the narrow corridors tower upward into nothingness. The intersections are endless. Every time he turns a corner he is met with a blank wall.
He must find Sophy.
