Obsidian Prey by Jayne Castle

Of course, crazy people usually thought they were normal, too. Take Grandpa, for instance, she thought sadly.
    Arthur Dore had spent his last years obsessed with finding various and assorted legendary lost amber claims. He had spent all of his money on phony treasure maps and fake journals purporting to contain the secret locations of fabled mines of rare and exotic amber. In the end he had died penniless. She had been the only one at his bedside. She’d had to dig into her own small savings account to pay for the funeral.
    Her grandfather had been a gruff, disappointed, unhappy man, but in his own way, he had loved her. And he had taught her a few things, one of which was the importance of keeping her secrets.
    “I’m all right, Master Quinn,” she said politely. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m in excellent health. Really.”
    “I was not referring to your physical health.” Quinn did not take his eyes off the emerald towers. “It is the state of your psychic well-being that worries me. I can see that you do not wish to discuss it, and that is most certainly your prerogative. But I sense that whatever is going on within you is linked to your talent. The harmonic imbalance in your aura this morning is worse than usual.”
    “Please don’t worry about me, sir.”
    “Have you considered the possibility that working that amethyst amber last night might have exacerbated the problem?”
    “I don’t have a problem,” she said briskly. “I’m just a little tired and stressed out. Got home late. Didn’t get enough sleep. Didn’t have time for breakfast. What with one thing and another, I probably am out of whack this morning, harmonically speaking. Nothing another cup of strong coffee can’t fix.”
    He turned back to her, his expression serene, as always. He smiled his wise smile again. “You owe me no explanations or apologies. I have said enough. You are entitled to your privacy. I will merely add that if you ever decide that you need some guidance of a more private nature than what I can offer in a group class, I hope you will feel that you can come to me.”
    The hair lifted on the nape of her neck.
    “Uh, thank you,” she said.
    Good grief. Was Master Quinn suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? Was he coming on to her?
    No, of course not. It was just her imagination. He was a Harmonic Meditation guru, for goodness’ sake.
    That was the problem with having once been burned by a Sweetwater. You started seeing every man as a potential fire hazard.
    Clutching the gym bag, she hurried out the door and down the stairs.

Chapter 9

    AN HOUR LATER , DRESSED FOR WORK, VINCENT PERCHED on her shoulder, Lyra kicked the back door of the Halifax Gallery three times with the toe of her black business pump. Knocking was out of the question, because it took both hands to hold on to the package she was carrying.
    Nancy opened the door immediately and leaned out to look both ways, checking to see that the alley was empty. Satisfied, she smiled at the sight of Lyra clutching the blanket-wrapped object.
    “Oh, good,” she said. “It’s a big one this time.”
    “You told me you wanted them larger.”
    “Size matters to my clients.”
    “Give me a hand,” Lyra said. “This thing is heavy.”
    “Right. I’ll take this end.” Nancy moved out onto the bottom step and grasped one side of the package. “Ugh. You’re right, it weighs a ton. I can’t believe you carried it six blocks.”
    “Through back alleys, no less.”
    “Why didn’t you just put it into your car and drive it over here?”
    “You know I’m trying to walk more these days.”
    “Yes, but this is ridiculous.” Nancy angled the package through the door. “By the way, I assume you know you’re on the front page of both the Herald and the Current today? Also on the morning rez-screen news?”
    “Just like old times. At least Vincent looked adorable.”
    They got the package inside the back room. Vincent hopped down from Lyra’s