Jayne Ann Krentz is the critically-acclaimed creator of the Arcane Society world. She also writes as Amanda Quick and Jayne Castle. Jayne has written more than fifty New York Times bestsellers under various pseudonyms and more than thirty-five million copies of her books are currently in print. She lives in the Pacific Northwest.

Arcane Society Novels:

By Jayne Ann Krentz

White Lies

Sizzle and Burn

Fired Up

In Too Deep

By Jayne Ann Krentz

writing as Amanda Quick

Second Sight

The Third Circle

The Perfect Poison

Burning Lamp

Quicksilver

By Jayne Ann Krentz

writing as Jayne Castle

Dark Light

Obsidian Prey

Midnight Crystal

Canyons of Night

Other titles by Jayne Ann Krentz writing as Amanda Quick

With This Ring

I Thee Wed

Wicked Widow

Lie By Moonlight

The Paid Companion

Wait Until Midnight

The River Knows

Affair

Mischief

Other titles by Jayne Ann Krentz

Light in Shadow

Truth or Dare

Falling Awake

All Night Long

Copyright

Published by Hachette Digital

ISBN: 978-0-748-12885-3

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2012 by Jayne Ann Krentz

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

Hachette Digital

Little, Brown Book Group

100 Victoria Embankment

London, EC4Y 0DY

www.hachette.co.uk

For Steve Castle, with love and thanks

for the background on rare earths.

Great brothers like you are even more rare.

Sure glad we made it into the same family.

1

THERE WAS NOTHING LIKE THE DRAMA OF A DEATHBED SCENE to expose the skeletons in a family’s closet. You never knew what would fall out when you opened the door, the nurse thought. Lifelong conflicts, absolution, regret, long-held grudges, enduring love or unrelenting hatred, whatever had been hidden for decades or generations was suddenly made visible at the end.

The night-shift staff was gathered at the nurses’ station, drinking coffee, snacking on vending-machine munchies and speculating on the sexual orientation of the new orthopedic surgeon, when the dying man’s son arrived. Emotions in the small group ranged from cynical to relieved.

They had all watched patients die without family at the bedside. It happened more often than most people realized. Everyone who did this kind of work understood that family dynamics were often convoluted and messy and sometimes downright evil. There were often very good reasons why relatives turned their backs on a family member who was dying. And there was no getting around the fact that the patient in 322 was seriously wasted not just from the cancer but from years of hard living and major addiction issues.

“Knox probably wasn’t anyone’s idea of a great father,” the orderly said. “Still, it’s about time someone from the family showed up.”

The middle-aged nurse watched the visitor disappear through the darkened doorway of 322. Then she checked the computer file.

“He signed in as Knox’s son,” she reported. “But there are no relatives listed on the chart.”

One of the orderlies popped a handful of potato chips into his mouth. “Guess it’s safe to say it’s not a close family.”

Lander Knox knew what the crowd at the nurses’ station was thinking. The prodigal son shows up at last. It amused him, but he had been careful not to let his reaction show. He understood that humor was not appropriate to the occasion.

He had learned long ago to fake the correct emotional responses for a wide variety of situations. His acting talent was worthy of an Oscar. He had gotten very good at pretending to be one of the sheep. He moved among the weak, emotional, easily duped creatures that surrounded him like the wolf he was.

He had considered taking a moment to charm the staff at the nurses’ station. It would have been simple to give them a clever story about how he had been on the other side of the world in a war zone when he got word that his father was dying. He could have told them that he had spent three days without sleep trying to get back before the end. But it wasn’t worth the effort. He was planning to stay only a few minutes, just long enough to take his revenge.

Shadows pooled inside room 322. The machines hummed and hissed and beeped like some high-tech Greek chorus heralding the inevitable. Quinn Knox’s eyes were closed. He was hooked up to an IV line. His breathing was harsh, as if it took everything he had just to grab the next breath. He looked exhausted beyond bearing. The outline etched by the sheet revealed a painfully thin body. The cancer had been gnawing on him for a while now.

Lander went to the bed and gripped the rail. There was very little that could arouse strong emotion in him, but looking down at the father who had betrayed him, he felt something familiar and powerful stir deep inside. Rage.

“Surprise, I’m alive,” he whispered. “But, then, I’ll bet you’ve known all along that I didn’t die in that boating accident. Hey, you’re psychic, after all. But you sure hoped I was dead, didn’t you? Well, I’m here. I won’t stay long. Just stopped in to let you know that you lost and I won. Are you listening, you son of a bitch?”

Quinn’s eyelids twitched. One withered hand moved slightly. Lander smiled. A euphoric satisfaction twisted and melded with the old fury.

“So you can hear me,” he said. “That’s good. Because I want you to go to your grave knowing that I know everything, how you lied to me, how you tried to cheat me out of my inheritance, everything. I’m on the trail of that lab notebook. I’ve traced it to the Pacific Northwest. Once I have that book, I’ll be able to find that lost mine.”

Quinn’s eyelids fluttered and opened partway. Faded gray eyes, glazed with morphine and the oncoming chill of death, looked up at Lander.

“No,” Quinn rasped.

“A couple of years ago I found the one crystal that you kept as a souvenir. What’s more, I’ve learned how to use it to commit the perfect murder. I’ve run a number of successful experiments so far. Very useful, that crystal. But now I’m going after the whole damn mine full of those stones, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“No, listen …”

“You’re a dead man, or you will be very soon. They probably got a pool going out there at the nurses’ station, betting on whether or not you’ll make it through the night.”

“Lab book is psi-coded.” The breath rattled in Quinn’s chest. “Try to break it and you’ll destroy your senses. Maybe kill yourself.”

“I heard the rumors about the code,” Lander said. “But I haven’t told you the best part yet. I’ve already located a code breaker in Seattle. She’s a freelancer in the underground hot-books market. I’m going to use her to acquire the book for me and break the encryption. Sort of a two-for-one deal.”

Quinn stared at him with an expression of gathering horror. Lander smiled, pleased.

“You don’t fear death, but you’re terrified that I’ll get my hands on that lab notebook, aren’t you?” he said. “And I will, old man, I will. I am so very close.”

“No,” Quinn wheezed. “You don’t understand. The crystals are dangerous. You can’t reopen the mine.”

“The Phoenix Mine was my inheritance. You had no right to keep it from me. But I’m going to find it now. I’ve been working on my plan for months. Now everything is in place in Seattle. I almost wish you were going to live long enough to see me reopen that mine. Almost.”

Quinn moved his head restlessly on the pillow. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“You’re wrong.” Lander stepped back from the bed. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m going to claim what belongs to me.”

“Please, listen …”

“ Good-bye, you pathetic bastard.” Lander started to turn away but paused, eyeing the IV lines. “You know, it’s tempting to put a pillow over your face and finish you off right now. But I want you to have a little more time to think about how you failed to cheat me out of what’s mine. I want you to suffer a little longer, Dad.”

Lander turned on his heel and walked swiftly out of the room. If he stayed for even another minute, he would give in to the rage and the urge to pull the plug on the old man.

Once out in the hall, he went quickly toward the elevators. He could feel the eyes of the medical staff boring into his back. Screw them. He was never going to see any of them again.

In room 322, Quinn’s head cleared a little as he raised what was left of his old talent. The effort dumped a small jolt of adrenaline into his bloodstream, countering the effects of the drugs. After three fumbling attempts, he managed to press the call button.

The nurse appeared. Quinn dredged up the name out of his failing memory banks.

“Nathan,” he rasped.

“Are you in pain, Mr. Knox?” Nathan came to stand beside the bed. “I can give you another injection.”

“Forget the damn drugs. Help me make a phone call.”

“All right. I can dial it for you, if you like.”

“Number’s in my wallet. It was with me when I got here.”

“You aren’t supposed to bring valuables with you to the hospital,” Nathan said.

“Nothing valuable in my wallet except that phone number. Get it.”

Nathan went to the closet, pawed through the meager assortment of personal belongings and produced the aged, well-worn wallet. He brought it back to the bed and opened it.

“Dial the number on that old card,” Quinn said. “Elias Coppersmith. Hurry, man, I don’t have a lot of time.”

Nathan punched in the number. A man picked up. The voice had a faint, Western edge to it, the kind of voice you associated with cowboys and pilots. The classic Chuck Yeager twang, Nathan thought. The voice also had the ring of authority.

“Coppersmith.”

“I’m calling from Oakmont Hospital,” Nathan said. “A patient named Quinn Knox wants to speak with you, Mr. Coppersmith. He says it’s urgent.”

“Quinn? Put him on.”

Nathan helped Quinn grip the phone and maneuver it to his ear. Quinn pulled on the last of his fading strength and his talent. He got one last rush of energy.

“Elias?” he croaked. “That you?”

“Damn, it’s good to hear from you, Quinn. It’s been at least twenty, twenty-five years. Didn’t know you had my number.”

“I kept track of you,” Quinn said.

“Glad to hear it, but you should have stayed in touch. You sound awful. What the hell are you doing in the hospital?”

“Dying,” Quinn rasped. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing? Shut up and listen, because I don’t have a lot of time. I’m down to hours here, maybe minutes. I think someone may have found Ray Willis’s notebook.”

“Are you serious?”

“I just told you, I’m dying. Turns out people get real serious when shit like that happens.”

“Quinn, where is that hospital?”

“Florida.”

“I’ll be on a company plane within the hour. Be there by morning.”

“Forget it,” Quinn rasped. “Not gonna last that long. Here’s what I know. There’s some rumors floating around in the hot-book market that the notebook has surfaced somewhere in your neck of the woods.”

“Sedona?”

“Last I heard you bought yourself a whole damn island up there in the San Juans.”

“Still got the island, but Willow and I just use it as a spring and summer getaway place. Moved the main headquarters of the company down here to Arizona years ago. There’s one division left in Seattle, the R-and-D lab. My oldest son, Sam, is the only one who lives year-round on the island.”

“You had another son and a little girl, too.”

“Judson and Emma. All grown up now. Judson and Sam run their own private consulting firm. And Emma is … Emma. Lives in Portland, Oregon. Willow says she’s still finding herself. I say it’s time she got serious about life, but that’s a whole other issue.”

“So you’re in Sedona.” Quinn tried to smile. The smile turned into a painful, breathless, hacking cough. “You always had a thing for the desert.”

“Tell me about the notebook, Quinn.”

“Not much more to tell. But here’s the thing you need to know. My son is going after it.”

“I heard your son died a few years ago. Some kind of boating accident.”

“Hate to say it, but it probably would have been better if that were true. But he’s alive, Elias. He came to see me tonight. Says I deprived him of his inheritance. He’s got my talent, Elias, but he’s got a hell of a lot more of it than I ever had. And he’s sick in the head. Evil sick. Be careful. That’s all I can tell you. Gotta go now.”

“Quinn, wait. For God’s sake, man, don’t hang up.”

“You were the best friend I ever had, Elias. Always thought of you as a brother. All these years I tried to keep our secret, but I made the mistake of holding on to one of the crystals. Now Lander has it. I failed you.”

“No, Quinn,” Elias said. “Listen to me, you didn’t fail me. You had my back forty years ago when Willis tried to kill both of us. And now you’ve given me the warning I need to handle this situation. I’ll take it from here.”

“Just like last time, huh?”

“Just like last time,” Elias said.

“ Good-bye, brother.”

“ Good-bye, my brother.”

The phone fell from Quinn’s hand. A strange calm settled on him. He had done what he could to protect the secret that he and Elias had vowed to keep forty years ago. It was up to Elias now.

In spite of the oncoming darkness, Quinn realized that he felt at peace for the first time in maybe his entire life. He could go now. He closed his eyes.

2

A CRAZY MAN AND A GUN WAS NEVER A GOOD COMBINATION. A crazy man with paranormal talent and a gun made for a very bad start to the day.

Abby Radwell watched the terrifying scene taking place in the library from the shadows of the doorway. The intruder holding the pistol on Hannah Vaughn and her housekeeper could not have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two. His eyes were fever-bright. His long hair was matted and disheveled. His jeans and ragged T-shirt looked as if they had not been washed in a very long time. He was becoming more agitated by the second.

The intruder’s voice rose. “I’m not playing games, lady.” He waved the pistol in an erratic pattern. “I know The Key is here in this room. You have to give it to me, and then she has to unlock it.”

“You are welcome to take The Key,” Hannah said, somehow managing to maintain a calm, soothing tone. “But I can’t unlock it for you. I don’t know how to do that.”

“She’s supposed to unlock it,” the intruder said.

“Who are you talking about?” Hannah asked. “Surely you don’t mean my housekeeper. Mrs. Jensen doesn’t know anything about unlocking encrypted books.”

“Not the housekeeper,” the intruder said. He used the back of his arm to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “The woman who is working for you here in this library. She knows how to unlock hot books.”

“I don’t understand,” Hannah said. “Mrs. Jensen and I are the only people in this house. Please, take my copy of The Key and leave before this situation gets out of control.”

Hannah was doing a magnificent job of lying, Abby thought. But the situation was already out of control.

Hannah Vaughn was eighty-two years old and confined to a wheel-chair. She was helpless against the armed intruder. She was doing her best to defuse the mad tension in the room, but her tactics were not going to work. Mrs. Jensen was pale and shaken. She looked as if she was about to faint.

Abby’s senses were wide open. Her intuition was screaming at her to rush back downstairs and out onto the street. The intruder was not yet aware of her presence. She could call nine-one-one once she was safely outside. But by the time the police arrived, it might be too late for Hannah and Mrs. Jensen.

Abby spoke quietly from the doorway. “I’ll get The Key for you.”

“What?” The intruder whirled around to face her, eyes widening in shock. “Who are you?”

“My name is Abby. I’m the one you’re looking for, the woman who can unlock The Key.”

“Huh.” The intruder blinked several times and shook his head as if to clear it. He was shivering, but he managed to steady himself somewhat. He gripped the gun with both hands, aiming it at her. “Are you sure you’re the right woman?”

“Yes. What’s your name?”

“Grady.” The response was automatic.

“All right, Mr. Grady …”

“No, my name is Grady Hastings.” Grady looked confused for a few seconds. He wiped his forehead again. “That’s all you need to know. Get the book. Hurry. I don’t feel too good.”

“The book you want is encrypted?”

“Yes, yes.” Excitement heightened the fever in Grady’s eyes. “The Key to the Latent Power of Stones. They told me you could unlock it.”

“It’s in the crystals section, up on the balcony,” Abby said.

“Get it. Hurry.”

“All right.” She walked into the room and headed toward the small spiral staircase that gave access to the balcony which wrapped around the library. “How did you know that it was in Mrs. Vaughn’s collection?”

“The voices told me. Just like they told me that I needed you to break the code. I have to have that book, you see. It’s vital to my research.”

“You’re doing research on crystals?” Abby asked.

“Yes, yes. And I’m so close to the answers, so close. I gotta have the book.”

“Okay,” Abby said.

Mrs. Jensen whimpered softly. Hannah had gone very quiet. She watched Abby with a sharp, knowing look. Her anxiety was a palpable force in the room.

“All right,” Grady said. “That’s good. Okay, then.” He seemed to regain a measure of control. “But I’m coming with you. No tricks. You have to break the code. The Key is no good to me unless you unlock it. That’s what the voices in the crystal told me, you see.”

“I understand,” Abby said soothingly. She started up the spiral staircase.

Grady gave Hannah and Mrs. Jensen a quick, uncertain look and seemed satisfied that neither of them would cause him any trouble. He followed Abby up the staircase. Abby was aware of his heavy, labored breathing. It was as if he was exerting enormous energy just to hold the gun on her.

“You’re ill,” Abby said. “Maybe you should leave now and go to the emergency room.”

“No. Can’t leave without the book.”

“What sort of crystal research are you doing?” she asked.

“Know anything about latent energy in rocks?”

“Not a lot, but it sounds interesting.”

“So much power,” Grady said. “Just waiting for us to figure out how to tap it. I’m almost there. Got to have that book.”

Abby reached the top of the spiral steps and walked along the balcony to the section of shelving that contained Hannah’s fine collection of volumes devoted to the paranormal properties of crystals. Many of the books were filled with the usual woo-woo and occult nonsense. Hannah said she collected those volumes for historical purposes. But a few of the titles contained the writings of researchers, ancient and modern, who had done serious work on the power of crystals, gemstones and amber.

The most valuable book in the Vaughn collection was Morgan’s The Key to the Latent Power of Stones. Written in the eighteenth century, it was locked in a psi-code that added enormously to its value. In the world of antiquarian and collectible books that had a paranormal provenance, encrypted volumes were the rarest of the rare.

Abby stopped and ran her fingertips along the spines of the books on the shelf.

“Quit stalling,” Grady said. The gun shook in his hand.

“Here it is.” She pulled out the old leather-bound volume. The energy locked in the book whispered to her senses. “Morgan’s Key.”

Grady eyed the worn leather cover warily. “Are you sure that’s the right one?”

“Do you want to see the title page?”

“Yes. Show me.”

Cradling the heavy book carefully in one hand, she opened the cover. Grady took a step closer and looked at the title page. He frowned.

“I can read it.”

“Yes, you’re lucky it was written in English. A lot of the old alchemists used Latin.”

“No, I mean I can read it. The Key to the Latent Power of Stones.” Grady reached out and gingerly turned a page. “I can read this page, too. This isn’t the right book. The voices in the crystal told me that the book I need is encrypted.”

“Oh, right,” Abby said. “You think that because you can read the text the book is not locked in a code. But that’s exactly how psi-encryption works. It camouflages the real text in subtle ways, just enough to distort and conceal the true meaning. You could sit down and read this book cover to cover and think you were reading the original text. But in the end, it would be just so much gibberish.”

“Break the code,” Grady demanded. “Let me see if the text really does look different.”

Abby braced herself for the inevitable shock and focused on the layers of energy that shivered around the old book. Few sensitives possessed the ability to lock a book or other written material in a psi-code; fewer still knew the oldest and most powerful techniques. Talents like her who could crack such codes were even more scarce. The whole business was a dying art. Encrypting a book or a document required physical contact with the item that was to be encoded. In the modern world, people tended to store their secrets in digital form in cyberspace, a realm where old-fashioned psychic encryption did not work.

It figured that she had chosen a career path that was fated to go the way of buggy-whip manufacturing, Abby thought. But she hadn’t been able to help herself. The old books filled with ancient paranormal secrets called to her senses. And those wrapped in psi-encryption were irresistible.

She found the pattern of the code. It was not the first time she had unsealed the old volume. She was the one who had acquired it for Hannah’s collection in the first place. She had unlocked the book twice already, once to verify its authenticity and again to allow Hannah to make some notes. Hannah had requested that the book be relocked after she had read it, in order to maintain its value.

“Done,” Abby said. “I broke the code.”

“Are you finished already?” Grady eyed the book with a dubious expression. “I thought psi-encryption was tricky stuff.”

“It is, but I’m good.”

“I can still feel a lot of hot energy coming off that book.”

“Strong encryption energy leaves a residue, just like any other kind of energy,” Abby said.

“So I can read the real text now?”

“Yes. Take a look.”

She held the book out. Grady’s hand closed around it. The physical contact was all she needed. She channeled the darkly oscillating currents of the encryption energy into Grady’s aura.

The atmosphere was suddenly charged. Grady reacted as if he had touched a live electrical wire. His mouth opened on a silent, agonized scream. The gun dropped from his hand. His eyes rolled back in his head. He stiffened for a timeless moment. Then he shuddered violently. He tried to stagger back toward the spiral staircase, but he collapsed to the floor of the balcony. He twitched several times and went still.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Are you all right, Abby?” Hannah asked.

“No. Yes.” Abby took a deep breath and silently repeated her old mantra, Show no weakness. She gripped the balcony railing and looked down at Hannah. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

“You’re sure, dear?” Hannah’s face was etched with concern.

“Yes. Really. Breaking a code is one thing. Using the energy in it to do what I just did is … something else altogether.”

“I knew you were strong,” Hannah said. “But I hadn’t realized that you were that powerful. What you just did was extremely dangerous. If that sort of energy got out of control …”

“I know, I know,” Abby said. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.” She glanced at the housekeeper, who was crumpled on the floor. “What happened to Mrs. Jensen?”

“She fainted. There was an awful lot of energy flying around in here a moment ago. Even a nonsensitive could feel it. What about that dreadful man? Is he alive?”

Dear heaven, had she actually killed someone? Horrified at the possibility, Abby went to her knees beside Grady. Gingerly, she probed for a pulse. Relief swept through her when she found one.

“Yes,” she said. “He’s unconscious, but he’s definitely alive.”

“I’ll call nine-one-one now.”

“Good idea.” Abby drew a deep breath. She was already starting to feel the edgy adrenaline-overload buzz that accompanied the use of so much psychic energy. In a couple of hours she would be exhausted. She focused on the immediate problem. It was major. “How on earth am I going to explain what happened here?”

“There’s nothing for you to explain, dear.” Hannah rolled her chair to the desk and picked up her phone. “A mentally disturbed intruder broke into my home and demanded one of the rare books in my collection. He appeared to be on drugs, and whatever he took evidently caused him to collapse.”

Abby thought about it. “All true, in a way.”

“Well, it’s not as if you can explain that you used psychic energy to take down an armed intruder, dear. Who would believe such a thing? The authorities would think that you were as crazy as that man who broke in here today.”

“Yes,” Abby said. A shuddery chill swept through her, bringing with it images from her old nightmares, the ones filled with an endless maze of pale-walled corridors, sterile rooms and locked doors and windows. She wasn’t going to risk being called crazy, not ever again. “That is exactly what they would think.”

“I have always found that when dealing with the authorities it’s best to stick with the bare facts and not offer too much in the way of explanations.”

Abby gripped the railing and saw the understanding in Hannah’s eyes. “I came to the same conclusion myself a few years ago, Mrs. Vaughn. Those are definitely words to live by.”

Hannah made the call and put down the phone. She glanced up at Abby.

“What is it, dear?” she said gently. “If you’re concerned that word of what you did with that encryption energy might get out into the underground market, you needn’t worry. I won’t ever tell anyone what really happened here, and Mrs. Jensen passed out before she witnessed a thing. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I know, Hannah. I trust you. Thank you. But there’s something about this Grady Hastings guy that is bothering me.”

“He is obviously mentally unbalanced, dear.”

“I know. But that isn’t what I meant. He was sweating so hard. He seemed on the edge of exhaustion. It was as if he was struggling against some unseen force.”

“Perhaps he was, dear. We all have our inner demons. I suspect that Grady Hastings has more than most people.”

…

The new nightmare started that same night.

She walked through the strange glowing fog. She did not know whom or what she was searching for, only that she desperately needed to find someone before it was too late. Time was running out. The sense of urgency was growing stronger, making it hard to breathe.

Grady Hastings materialized in the mist. He stared at her with haunted, pleading eyes and held out a hand.

“Help me,” he said. “You have to help me. The voices in the crystal told me that you are the only one who can save me.”

She awoke, pulse racing. Newton whined anxiously and pressed his furry weight against her leg. It took her a few seconds to orient herself. When she did, she was horrified to realize that she was no longer in bed. She was in the living room of her small condo, looking out the sliding glass doors that opened onto the balcony. The lights of the Seattle cityscape glittered in the night.

“Dear heaven, I’ve started sleepwalking, Newton.” She sank to her knees beside the dog and hugged him close.

The first blackmail note was waiting for her when she checked her email the next morning.

I know what you did in the library. Silence will be maintained for a price. You will be contacted soon.