The nun laughed shortly. "I didn't have a crisis of faith, kid. To the contrary. Enlightenment isn't guaranteed. Useful work is. I just figured out I have all the answers I need to do the work that's in front of me."

"Must be nice," Gwen murmured.

"So you don't have all the answers yet. Keep at it. You'll find this b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"I plan to." Gwen took a long, settling breath. "Actually, I was talking in a more general sense."

__.

Tamar's shrewd eyes studied Gwen's face. "Looks like we need to have a long talk... in a more general sense. But another time," she concluded briskly. She held up the bottle. "You've got work, and I've got some serious drinking to do."

Gwen dialed Ian Forest's number while she was driving home.

"So you decided not to wait a month before contacting me," Ian said by way of greeting. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

"Yeah, h.e.l.lo. You know those visions I told you about? The hologram things? Well, they're back.""What did you expect?"

"That's why I'm calling you! You're the guy with all the answers."

"I consider that admission a true sign of progress on your part."

"Whatever. Can we get back to the home-movie thing? I've got to get a handle on this before someone drowns me in holy water."

For a long moment, the only response was the static on Gwen's cell phone.

"I'm sure there's a story there," Ian said in a slightly bemused voice, "but it will have to wait for another time. I prefer to speak of this in person."

"Like anyone who overheard us would believe any of this," she scoffed.

"You might be surprised who listens to conversations, and why. Shall we meet in Sylvia's moon garden in, say, ten minutes?"

Gwen's eyes narrowed. "How come you're so close? You're not still following me, are you?"

"Not as such. It just so happens that I can walk from my home to yours in that length of time."

"Great," she muttered. "Ring the intercom at the gate. I'll buzz you in."

"That won't be necessary. Meet me by the old maple tree in ten minutes."

"Make it fifteen. I'm still driving."

She shut off her phone and tossed it onto the pa.s.senger seat. The lights in Sylvia's house were on, but that was because they were on a timer. Gwen's landlady wasn't home and wouldn't be for another week or more. A bad shock had sent her to the hospital. After her release, she'd decided to take a cruise. The first one had gone so well she signed on for another. Most likely she'd found an elderly admirer or two.

Or maybe she needed time away from the weirdness that Gwen had brought into her life.

And that was something to think about. Gwen gazed wistfully at the calm, green haven behind the black iron fence. She liked living here, but doing so was putting Sylvia at risk. She really needed to find a different place.

Gwen pulled into the drive and stopped her car by Sylvia's garden. This chapter of her life was drawing to a close, but for tonight she would enjoy the heady sweetness of lilac, the luminous glow of the white flowers.

Ian emerged from the deep shadows under the maple and came to stand at her side. He observed the garden for a long, contemplative moment. A cloud drifted lazily over the moon, dimming the wattage coming from the flowers.

He glanced at Gwen. "Tell me this: what is the moon phase?"

"What phase?" Gwen huffed in exasperation. "Adolescent? Premenopausal? How the h.e.l.l should I know?"

"It's one of the things you must know," he said adamantly."You're obviously manifesting your moon-cycle Quality in the waning phase. This is not a common pattern, but it does occur."

"How about repeating that in English?" she demanded. "Preferably as it's spoken in the twenty-first century?"

"Very well. Each of us is capable of learning a number of... unusual skills, but we're born with certain gifts, also known as Qualities. These abilities are closely tied to the cycles of the year and the position of the moon and the stars. Your ability to Remember-to powerfully envision things you yourself have never seen-is apparently tied to your moon phase."

"So I'm... what? Like some kind of werewolf?" Gwen demanded.

Ian chuckled. "Hardly. Our cycles are far more subtle and complex. Your ability to Remember wanes and waxes with the moon. You can call storms. That Quality is tied to the turning of the year, so it's very powerful right now."

"Beltane," Gwen murmured, naming the old Celtic holiday that fell on the last day of April.

"That's right," he said, sounding pleased. "It remains to be seen whether your third Quality will manifest at the corners of the year-summer and winter solstice, spring and autumn equinox-or on the dancing days: Beltane, Samhaim, Lammas, and Imbolic."

"I've heard those names."

"No doubt. Some of the Old Ways have modern counterparts in this or that bit of folklore or religion.

Once you understand the pattern, you'll be able to chart your path, and make decisions based on the ebb and flow of your abilities."

Gwen thought this over. "Okay, what happens when all three lines intersect?"

"That depends, of course, on what these Qualities might be."

"And if they don't get along with each other? Or maybe they work well together, but too well?"

Ian suddenly appeared to be very interested in the flight pattern of a moon-white moth.

"Well?"

He sighed and turned to face her. "You needn't worry about that. Your parents' bloodlines were carefully matched."

Gwen suddenly understood the resigned expression on Ian's face. The outburst he clearly expected from her simmered just under the surface, but she feel too numbed by informational overload to get at it.

The Elder Races had bloodlines, like stallions and champion dogs, carefully matched to produce the right kind and balance of abilities.

She shook her head in utter bemus.e.m.e.nt. "As G.o.d is my witness, I don't know what to say."

Ian's lips twitched. "If that is so, then ignorance truly is bliss."

Gwen's cell phone chirped. She glanced at the screen. The number took her back-it was the number for Tiger Leone's cell phone. She glanced at Ian. "I need to take this."He swept one hand out, palm up, in an elegant "by all means" gesture.

"I'm a private investigator," she reminded him. "Notice the emphasis on private."

He nodded and headed for the maple tree. "We've just begun," he warned her. "I'll meet you again, soon."

She waved him away and walked toward her car. "Gellman," she said curtly.

There was a lot of background noise-voices and music-and it took her a few moments to place the voice: Adrian, the blond kid who'd sworn to help her figure out Edmonson's drug business.

"Where are you?" she shouted into the phone.

"Do you know Extreme, the dance club?"

"I know where it is."

"Come down. I have things to show you."

She clicked off her cell and jogged up to her apartment to get her gun out of the gun safe. Adrian might be oath-bound, but she wouldn't put any bets on his buddies.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Music thumped and throbbed, binding the gyrating crowd like a collective heartbeat. A slim Black girl swayed lazily onstage, one hand moving slowly across her body in a languorous caress. With some relief, Gwen recognized Jackie Teal. She was barely dancing, and seemed almost unaware of the crowd. Gwen averted her eyes from what appeared to be an intensely private moment.

She caught sight of Adrian's pale blond hair in the crowd. She pushed her way over to him and used his earlobe as a handle to pull his ear low enough to shout into it. "What's so important that I had to come to North Providence at this G.o.dforsaken hour?"

Adrian pulled away and tipped his head in the direction of a nearby door. Gwen followed him to it, then up a small flight of stairs to a small, gla.s.sed-in room overlooking the club. Soundproofed, too. The relative silence washed over Gwen in blissful waves.

"So, why am I here?" she repeated.

He gestured to the smoked window. "I thought you would want to see the clubs. Since you are the earl's only heir, you should start learning about his affairs."

"Why? I want to shut them down, not improve operations."

"You might want to reserve judgment until you know all the facts. Look at that dancer."

Her gaze flicked back to Jackie. "Yeah, I noticed her. Kind of risky, putting someone who's under the influence onstage."

"If she were arrested tonight, she would be released within the hour. There are no intoxicants in her system."Gwen raised an eyebrow. "Then whatever she's taking has one h.e.l.l of a placebo effect."

For no reason that she could fathom, that seemed to amuse him. Before he could speak, sirens wailed outside, slicing though the din.

Adrian took her arm and led her to a wall panel. He rapped on it sharply, and it swung open. "You have contacts in the police department. Ask them tomorrow what happened here, and you will begin to understand. Now go."

He gave her a shove that sent her reeling into the darkness. She caught her balance against a rough concrete wall, then looked around to get her bearings.

She was in a narrow stairwell, built into what appeared to be a double wall. The narrow alley was open at the top, and faint city light filtered down.

Gwen walked down the stairs and through a narrow door. She emerged into a bas.e.m.e.nt stairwell in the alley behind the club. She waited until the noise died down, then clicked on her phone and dialed Damian's number.

His sleepy voice came online, grunting something that might have been "h.e.l.lo."

"There's a drug bust going down at the Extreme. I need to know everything you can tell me about it. But be careful-Jackie Teal was picked up. You might not want her to recognize you."

"She's okay?"

He put enough into that question to pique Gwen's interest. "You sure you didn't play?"

"With a drug-dealing stripper? What are you smoking? The drug business coming out of that t.i.tty bar is our best link to Walsh. If Leone's people get shut down, we get shut down. And it's not like we've got a lot of time. Quaid and me got ourselves on Walsh's s.h.i.t list, remember? Or maybe I should say bit list."

"I hate to interrupt someone who's got a good rant going, but listen up. Jackie was on some sort of h.o.r.n.y high. I've seen her dance before, and trust me-she doesn't have that much juice. Adrian a.s.sures me she won't be held for illegals. You and Quaid need to follow the evidence every step of the way. If you can catch someone fixing things for Jackie-"

"We're that much closer to nailing Walsh," he finished. "I'm on it."

The dial tone hummed. Gwen clicked off her phone and listened to the clamor in front of the club.

Jackie's shrill protests rose above the murmur as she was taken away.

Gwen quietly climbed the stairs and edged around the building. Four black-and-whites blocked the street, red lights strobing into the night. A dozen or so cops, both uniformed and plainclothes, hustled dancers and partygoers into cars.

A faint smile curved Gwen's lips. For once, departmental politics would actually accomplish something worthwhile. A lot of people in the law-enforcement establishment hadn't been wildly enthusiastic about the vice squad. This wouldn't be the first time a street cop called for backup without referring a case to Walsh's department. With this many people involved, it would be harder for Walsh to lay claim to his territory.

A profound sense of relief washed over her, easing some of the tension that had kept her moving for too many hours. Suddenly Gwen's eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and the prospect of crawling into bed hadnever been so appealing. She slipped down a side street to the nearly deserted parking lot where she'd left her Toyota.

To her relief, everything was quiet at Sylvia's house. No handsome but irritating visitors lurked in the shadows of Gwen's apartment. She stumbled into her bedroom and fell facedown on the bed, not even bothering to kick off her boots.

But sleep proved elusive. After a few minutes of tossing and turning, Gwen decided she might as well get some work done.

She grabbed a quick shower and dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt, then padded downstairs to her office to type up her report to Shawna O'Riley.

Gwen's four-fingered technique wasn't designed for speed. She worked carefully, listing the steps she'd taken and the information she'd uncovered. Roy Williams was a solid citizen with a good job, money in the bank, a good portfolio, no police record, and no interesting vices. He wasn't cheating on Shawna, he didn't fudge his tax returns. He'd lied about one thing, but it was a doozy.

Somehow Gwen doubted there would be a wedding invitation in her mailbox any time soon.

She completed the report and sent it to Shawna as an e-mail attachment. Her phone rang while the file was still uploading, and Quaid's number floated onto the tiny screen.

Gwen took a deep breath and clicked on the phone. "Listen, about Kate: I couldn't call you in on the murder of an ex-girlfriend."

"You did the right thing."

That wasn't what she'd expected to hear. "Do they have any leads yet?"

"They think they do," he said heavily.

Gwen blinked. "Does that mean what it sounds like?"

"Unfortunately. When I stopped by Kate's house the other night, one of the neighbors saw me. She just can't remember exactly when that was."