intrigued with her own reasoning. “What you describe is not unlike what I can do with my own senses,” she said.
His smile was pure steel. “You are in the habit of dispatching people with your talent?”
“No, of course not. The most I can do is render an individual unconscious, as I did with that enforcer in the alley behind the brothel. But the principles of the para-physics involved may be similar.”
“You sound like a scientist making an observation in a laboratory. We are talking about a killing talent, Mrs. Pyne.”
“Hear me out, sir. Our mutual affinity for the energy in the lamp indicates that we both draw our powers from the dreamlight end of the spectrum. But it sounds as if you are simply capable of reaching much deeper into the dark ultralight regions than I can.”
“Simply?”
“I do not mean to minimize your ability,” she said quickly.
“Mrs. Pyne, when you put Luttrell’s enforcer into that very deep sleep, did you touch him?”
“Yes, of course. That is the only way I can generate the level of energy required to do such a thing. Physical contact is required.”
“The other night I killed a man who was standing a good three, maybe four paces away from where I stood. I never laid a hand on him.”
She drew a sharp, startled breath. “That is a very powerful talent, indeed. How did you discover it?”
“While I was engaged in what you would no doubt consider the sort of hobby one would expect a crime lord to pursue.”
“What hobby?”
“I was conducting some business in the study of a certain gentleman at about two o’clock in the morning. Suffice it to say that the gentleman in question was not aware of my presence in his household.”
She drew a sharp breath. “You broke into someone’s home and searched his study?”
“Does that surprise you?” The cold amusement was back in his voice. “Given my profession, that is?”
“Well, no. I suppose it doesn’t. It’s just that, considering your obvious rank and position in the criminal underworld, one would have thought that you no longer dabbled in such petty crimes, at least not personally. You control a vast criminal consortium. Surely you employ people who can do that sort of work for you?”
“You know the old saying ‘If you want a job done properly, do it yourself.’ ”
“Nevertheless, to take such an unnecessary risk seems quite . . . extraordinary.”
“No offense, Mrs. Pyne, but when it comes to risks, you are in no position to lecture me.”
She discovered she did not have a ready response to that.
“To conclude my story,” he said, “I was interrupted in the midst of the search by the homeowner and another man. There was no time to retreat back out the window and nowhere to hide. I used my shadow-talent to conceal myself. I was then obliged to witness a very heated argument between the two men. The gentleman reached into the drawer of the desk, pulled out a gun and prepared to shoot his visitor. That was when I intervened.”
“Why?” she asked.
He got the cord untied. “Because the man who was about to be shot was a client of mine.”
“A client? Your client?”
“He wanted answers to some questions. I had agreed to find them. In any event, I used my nightmare talent against the gentleman with the gun without even thinking about it. It was a reflexive, intuitive reaction.”
“The way it always is the first time,” she said quietly, remembering her own first experience with her talent.
“The man screamed,” Griffin said, his voice very low. “It was unlike anything I have ever heard. An unearthly sound, as they say in sensation novels. And then he was on the floor. Dead.”
“What of your client?”
“Not surprisingly, he fled the scene, thoroughly shaken. He never saw me. Later he and everyone else, including the police, concluded that the man who had tried to murder him had suffered a stroke. I saw no reason to correct that impression.”
“Hmm.”
“I hear the
His smile was pure steel. “You are in the habit of dispatching people with your talent?”
“No, of course not. The most I can do is render an individual unconscious, as I did with that enforcer in the alley behind the brothel. But the principles of the para-physics involved may be similar.”
“You sound like a scientist making an observation in a laboratory. We are talking about a killing talent, Mrs. Pyne.”
“Hear me out, sir. Our mutual affinity for the energy in the lamp indicates that we both draw our powers from the dreamlight end of the spectrum. But it sounds as if you are simply capable of reaching much deeper into the dark ultralight regions than I can.”
“Simply?”
“I do not mean to minimize your ability,” she said quickly.
“Mrs. Pyne, when you put Luttrell’s enforcer into that very deep sleep, did you touch him?”
“Yes, of course. That is the only way I can generate the level of energy required to do such a thing. Physical contact is required.”
“The other night I killed a man who was standing a good three, maybe four paces away from where I stood. I never laid a hand on him.”
She drew a sharp, startled breath. “That is a very powerful talent, indeed. How did you discover it?”
“While I was engaged in what you would no doubt consider the sort of hobby one would expect a crime lord to pursue.”
“What hobby?”
“I was conducting some business in the study of a certain gentleman at about two o’clock in the morning. Suffice it to say that the gentleman in question was not aware of my presence in his household.”
She drew a sharp breath. “You broke into someone’s home and searched his study?”
“Does that surprise you?” The cold amusement was back in his voice. “Given my profession, that is?”
“Well, no. I suppose it doesn’t. It’s just that, considering your obvious rank and position in the criminal underworld, one would have thought that you no longer dabbled in such petty crimes, at least not personally. You control a vast criminal consortium. Surely you employ people who can do that sort of work for you?”
“You know the old saying ‘If you want a job done properly, do it yourself.’ ”
“Nevertheless, to take such an unnecessary risk seems quite . . . extraordinary.”
“No offense, Mrs. Pyne, but when it comes to risks, you are in no position to lecture me.”
She discovered she did not have a ready response to that.
“To conclude my story,” he said, “I was interrupted in the midst of the search by the homeowner and another man. There was no time to retreat back out the window and nowhere to hide. I used my shadow-talent to conceal myself. I was then obliged to witness a very heated argument between the two men. The gentleman reached into the drawer of the desk, pulled out a gun and prepared to shoot his visitor. That was when I intervened.”
“Why?” she asked.
He got the cord untied. “Because the man who was about to be shot was a client of mine.”
“A client? Your client?”
“He wanted answers to some questions. I had agreed to find them. In any event, I used my nightmare talent against the gentleman with the gun without even thinking about it. It was a reflexive, intuitive reaction.”
“The way it always is the first time,” she said quietly, remembering her own first experience with her talent.
“The man screamed,” Griffin said, his voice very low. “It was unlike anything I have ever heard. An unearthly sound, as they say in sensation novels. And then he was on the floor. Dead.”
“What of your client?”
“Not surprisingly, he fled the scene, thoroughly shaken. He never saw me. Later he and everyone else, including the police, concluded that the man who had tried to murder him had suffered a stroke. I saw no reason to correct that impression.”
“Hmm.”
“I hear the
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