According to the license, Owen’s eyes were hazel, but in the shadows of the hotel room she could not be certain of the color. They still burned with a little residual heat, however. An individual’s paranormal profile was considered a very personal matter, like one’s health records or stock portfolio, so there was no indication of Owen’s talent on the license, but she was certain he possessed a strong psychic vibe. The powerful currents whispered in the atmosphere around him—as did the invisible cloak of ice-cold control.
Probably not the type to get kidnapped and whisked away to a para-psych hospital for the criminally insane on his wedding night. Unlike, say, me.
“What is Forensic Psi-Genetics Consulting?” she asked.
“Among other things, I assist law enforcement with tracking down bad guys by analyzing the paranormal profiles of the offenders.”
So hewasconnected to law enforcement.
She froze. “Is that how you found me?”
“A mistake for which I have already apologized.”
“Why did you come looking for me? Who sent you?”
“All good questions. I’ll tell you everything I know, but not here. Not now. At the risk of repeating myself, we don’t have time—”
The muffled rumble of metal and gears interrupted him. Sebastian growled a warning.
They all turned toward the door and watched as a panel emerged from one side of the frame and slid swiftly toward the opposite side.
“Shit,” Owen muttered.
He lunged toward the door but he was too late. The panel slammed into the hidden opening on the far side of the frame and locked in place with a clang.
She was still dealing with the realization that they were trapped inthe hotel room when the lamp that she had rezzed to read Owen’s business card went dark.
At least they still had the shaft of moonlight coming from the window, she thought. And then she heard another ominous rumble.
“The window,” Owen said.
A heavy panel was swiftly gliding across the glass, cutting off the moonlight and the view of the greenhouse behind the hotel, along with any hope of escape.
Owen headed for the window, but she was much closer. She grabbed the only sturdy object that she could hoist—the pole lamp beside the reading chair—and jammed the thick metal base into the rapidly narrowing opening.
The leading edge of the panel struck the solid base of the lamp and ground to a halt. For a few seconds she dared to hope that, having encountered resistance, the panel would retreat the way an elevator door did when it sensed an object blocking its path.
The panel did not move. Hidden gears continued to grind, attempting to power through the barrier.
Owen reached the window, gripped the edge of the panel with both hands, and tried to force it back into the wall. It did not budge. The rumble of concealed machinery abruptly ceased, leaving the panel locked in place. Only a few inches of glass were left uncovered.
He unclipped a slender object that looked a lot like a pen off his belt and aimed it at the steel plate. Nothing happened.
“Shit,” he said. He went back across the room and aimed the pen-shaped gadget at the door. Again, nothing happened. “No luck.”
“Is that some sort of lockpick?” Alice asked.
“Yes, but it only works on modern amber or quartz-based tech, not old-fashioned locks like these that require a key or someone with a very specialized skill set.”
A low hissing noise made Alice look down. A mist infused withglowing yellow energy the color of an exotic spice began to coalesce near the floor. With it came the first visual distortions. She heightened her senses a little to suppress the effects.
A faint memory stirred, a scrap from a nightmare. There was something familiar about the incense fragrance of the vapor.
“There’s a weird fog forming,” she said. “Some kind of hallucinogen, I think.”Unless I really am losing it,she added silently.
Owen glanced down. His boots were already partially immersed in the light mist. As she watched, they metamorphosed into dragon-like claws.
“That’s how the hotel delivers whatever escape experience the customer selects,” Owen said. “Looks like someone turned on the dream machine.”
