“I was just trying to be helpful.”
Luke flashed one of his rare, fleeting smiles. “Nobody likes a show-off. Stand back. Bruce doesn’t seem to be alarmed, but we don’t know what’s on the other side.”
She obediently retreated a couple of steps and glanced at Bruce, who was intent on whatever was on the other side. Luke was right; he did not look as if he was sending a warning. But maybe that was because, like Luke, he didn’t scare easily.
She flinched when a low, grinding rumble sent tremors through the wooden floorboards. The steel panel slid slowly aside, disappearing into the wall.
“Impressive,” Sophy said. “Even though you were showing off.”
“Just demonstrating the bleeding-edge technology that defines the Wells brand.”
“Bleeding edge?”
“One step beyond cutting-edge.”
“You may not want to use that line in your advertising. It’s a little off-putting.”
Luke didn’t respond. His full attention was on the staircase in front of them. It was lined with subway tiles that glowed with a faint blue radiance. Bruce looked interested but showed no signs of alarm.
“Great,” Sophy muttered. “A basement. What could go wrong? Where is the light coming from?”
“It’s paranormal energy,” Luke said. “Can’t you sense it in the atmosphere? The tiles on the walls have been absorbing it for decades.”
“Like the house itself,” she said. “But what is the source of the energy? It doesn’t feel like vortex power.”
“We just walked into one of the old Bluestone labs.”
Forty-Nine
“A Bluestone lab.” Sophy gazeddown the glowing staircase. “Okay, that explains the paranormal heat. Still, it’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”
Luke understood her astonishment. Based on the isolated location, the strong vortex energy, and the age of the house, he had begun to suspect that the original art colony had been established as an elaborate cover for a Bluestone lab. Nevertheless, walking into one of the legendary facilities was a unique and darkly thrilling experience. So much power. So much mystery. So many secrets.
“Luke? Are you okay?”
He shook off the shock and awe. Time to focus. He slid the pack from his shoulder and unzipped it.
“Nobody knows for sure how many labs were involved in the Bluestone Project,” he said. “Best guess is that, like the Manhattan Project in World War II, there were four, maybe five. Three have been located so far. This looks like number four.”
He reached into the pack and took out a plastic baggie.
Sophy watched him. “What is that?”
“One of Deke’s T-shirts.” He slipped the garment out of the baggie. “I took it out of his dirty clothes hamper.”
He offered the shirt to Bruce, who sniffed it. “Find, pal. Please.”
Bruce gave him aneasy-peasylook and promptly went down the stairs.
Luke slung the pack on his shoulder. “He’s picked up the scent. Let’s go.”
Sophy caught up with him. “Talk about old-fashioned search and rescue techniques. I was expecting you to whip out another bleeding-edge gadget.”
“Sometimes the tried-and-true ways work best. In addition to having a great nose, Bruce also functions as an excellent alarm system. He’ll let us know if we’ve got unwanted company.”
The staircase ended at the entrance of a large, tiled chamber furnished with rusted steel workbenches, broken glass beakers, and clunky-looking lab instruments that clearly dated from the mid-twentieth century. Two typewriters sat atop vintage government-issue desks. White metal cabinets inset with glass lined one wall. A calendar featuring a buxom blonde in a microscopic bikini dangled from a thumbtack stuck in a corkboard. The hands of an old analog clockface were stopped at five thirty-three.
Logbooks, file folders, and miscellaneous desk accessories were piled in a corner, as if someone had used a broom to sweep them out of the way.
