especially when they were laced with fog. The lightly roiling mist was infused with the eerie green energy of the ruins, creating a fascinating chiaroscuro. She had always enjoyed the otherworldly atmosphere, but tonight the sensation was enhanced because of the man at her side.
It would have been a wonderful night for a stroll through the safe, gentrified streets of the Quarter with a real date, Ella thought. But Rafe was not a real date.
She was very aware of him at her side as they made their way through the well-tended gardens of the faculty club.
“You’re sure there’s nothing more I need to know about your relationship with Wilson Parsons?” Rafe asked.
“Positive,” Ella said. “He’s just mad because I left his firm and went out on my own.”
All of which was the truth, as far as it went, she thought.
“What about the son of a bitch who attacked you?” Rafe asked. “What happened to him?”
“That part is a little more complicated,” Ella said.
“This may surprise you, but I can be a good listener.”
She had told herself that it would not be a good idea to discuss the Gillingham affair, but Rafe already knew a lot about what she could do with her talent. What was one more secret?
“Harold Gillingham had a thing about dream analysts—a sexual thing.” She shuddered at the memory. “He seemed to think that just because I could analyze his aura and manipulate some of the dreamlight currents, I must be eager to have sex with him. When he came on to me, I informed him I didn’t do that kind of therapy and tried to leave. He was furious. Said he’d paid a lot of money for me and he wanted his money’s worth. There was a struggle. He was very strong.”
“I assume you fought back using your talent.”
“Yes. I only intended to make him fall asleep, but as it turned out he slept for two days. When he woke up he tried to convince everyone that I had knocked him out with a drug and stolen one of his First Generation antiques. But he had no proof, of course. He was furious, not just with me but with Wilson. He blamed the agency for sending him a therapist who had turned out to be a thief. Wilson blamed me for mishandling the client and creating the problem in the first place.”
“What happened?”
“Gillingham went to the police. I called Jones and Jones.”
“Arcane’s investigation agency?”
“Cost me a small fortune but one of their investigators was able to direct the cops to the missing antique in about five minutes and that was the end of the matter.”
“Where was it?” Rafe asked.
“Right where Gillingham had hidden it—in a secret closet in the library. The accusations were all about revenge. He was furious with me and wanted to punish me so he made up the theft charge.”
“You resigned from the Wilson Parsons Agency because Parsons took the client’s word over yours,” Rafe said.
“That’s it.”
“Think Parsons knows that you can sing a man to sleep?”
“No, of course not. I don’t go around advertising that little fact. You’re the only person outside my family who knows what I can do with my talent.” She stopped short at the edge of the drive, searching for the correct limo. “I don’t see Bill and the car,” she said.
A young, uniformed valet attendant hurried toward her. “Miss Morgan?”
“Yes,” she said. “I had a driver tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know. He went home sick. Something he ate. Your car service sent another vehicle. The driver is waiting for you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The valet raised a hand to signal. In response, a sleek black limo identical to the one Bill drove pulled out of the line of waiting vehicles.
“Poor Bill,” Ella said. She unfastened her small eveningbag to take out some tip money for the valet. “I hope he’s all right.”
“I’ve got this,” Rafe said quietly.
He slipped the cash to the valet before Ella realized what he intended to do. Irritated, she closed her bag with a
It would have been a wonderful night for a stroll through the safe, gentrified streets of the Quarter with a real date, Ella thought. But Rafe was not a real date.
She was very aware of him at her side as they made their way through the well-tended gardens of the faculty club.
“You’re sure there’s nothing more I need to know about your relationship with Wilson Parsons?” Rafe asked.
“Positive,” Ella said. “He’s just mad because I left his firm and went out on my own.”
All of which was the truth, as far as it went, she thought.
“What about the son of a bitch who attacked you?” Rafe asked. “What happened to him?”
“That part is a little more complicated,” Ella said.
“This may surprise you, but I can be a good listener.”
She had told herself that it would not be a good idea to discuss the Gillingham affair, but Rafe already knew a lot about what she could do with her talent. What was one more secret?
“Harold Gillingham had a thing about dream analysts—a sexual thing.” She shuddered at the memory. “He seemed to think that just because I could analyze his aura and manipulate some of the dreamlight currents, I must be eager to have sex with him. When he came on to me, I informed him I didn’t do that kind of therapy and tried to leave. He was furious. Said he’d paid a lot of money for me and he wanted his money’s worth. There was a struggle. He was very strong.”
“I assume you fought back using your talent.”
“Yes. I only intended to make him fall asleep, but as it turned out he slept for two days. When he woke up he tried to convince everyone that I had knocked him out with a drug and stolen one of his First Generation antiques. But he had no proof, of course. He was furious, not just with me but with Wilson. He blamed the agency for sending him a therapist who had turned out to be a thief. Wilson blamed me for mishandling the client and creating the problem in the first place.”
“What happened?”
“Gillingham went to the police. I called Jones and Jones.”
“Arcane’s investigation agency?”
“Cost me a small fortune but one of their investigators was able to direct the cops to the missing antique in about five minutes and that was the end of the matter.”
“Where was it?” Rafe asked.
“Right where Gillingham had hidden it—in a secret closet in the library. The accusations were all about revenge. He was furious with me and wanted to punish me so he made up the theft charge.”
“You resigned from the Wilson Parsons Agency because Parsons took the client’s word over yours,” Rafe said.
“That’s it.”
“Think Parsons knows that you can sing a man to sleep?”
“No, of course not. I don’t go around advertising that little fact. You’re the only person outside my family who knows what I can do with my talent.” She stopped short at the edge of the drive, searching for the correct limo. “I don’t see Bill and the car,” she said.
A young, uniformed valet attendant hurried toward her. “Miss Morgan?”
“Yes,” she said. “I had a driver tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am, I know. He went home sick. Something he ate. Your car service sent another vehicle. The driver is waiting for you. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The valet raised a hand to signal. In response, a sleek black limo identical to the one Bill drove pulled out of the line of waiting vehicles.
“Poor Bill,” Ella said. She unfastened her small eveningbag to take out some tip money for the valet. “I hope he’s all right.”
“I’ve got this,” Rafe said quietly.
He slipped the cash to the valet before Ella realized what he intended to do. Irritated, she closed her bag with a
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