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She did not open her eyes, but she felt Fontana go still beside the bed.

“Did you?” he asked.

“The reason I had that little panic attack was because of you.”

“I caused it?” His voice was perfectly neutral, utterly drained of all emotion.

“Well, sort of.” She turned on her side and pulled the quilt to her chin. “When I realized how much of a threat Patterson was to you, I understood something else, as well.”

“What was that?”

“How much I'm attracted to you, even though I swore I'd never get involved with a man who was so much like everyone else in my family. I can't seem to help myself. It wasn't the thought of Patterson wanting to murder someone that gave me a panic attack. It was the realization that he wanted to murder
you
in particular that did it.”

“Sierra.”

“Good night, Fontana.”

She thought she heard him say something else, but it was too late. She was already plunging down into the warm oblivion of sleep.

SHE CAME AWAKE ON A SURGE OF ADRENALINE. HEART pounding, she sat straight up in bed, trying to shake off the sense of disorientation.
Get a grip. You're in Fontana's house. That's why the room doesn't look familiar
.

But common sense wasn't having any effect on her intuition. Everything inside her was shrieking at her to get out of the room, or, if all else failed, to hide under the bed.
Run
.

Evidently the medicinal effects of the brandy had worn off. This panic attack was worse than the one she'd had earlier at the Crystal Ball. She was practically jumping out of her skin. Every hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. She could hardly breathe.

A familiar rumbling sound caught her attention. In the luminous light that filtered through the windows she saw Elvis. He was at the foot of the bed, fur sleeked, all four eyes gleaming.

The bedroom door opened with terrifying softness; a figure glided silently through the opening. She would have screamed, but her throat was paralyzed.

“Get up,” Fontana said very softly. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

Dazed, she shoved aside the covers. Fontana was dressed in what looked like a black T-shirt, black trousers, and black boots. He gripped a short, cylindrical object in one hand.

“What is it?” she whispered. “What's going on?”

“Someone got through the security system. More than one person, I think.” He opened her closet. “They're on the grounds and moving toward the house. If they got this far, they'll be able to get inside. Since I have no way of knowing how many of them there are, we're leaving. Here, put these on.”

He tossed a pair of jeans, a turtleneck sweater, and the casual loafers she had brought with her to the mansion down onto the bed. Then he went to the window, flattened himself against the wall, and looked out into the green mist.

She realized that she was still wearing her lacy black bra, panties, and panty hose. The panty hose had to go. You couldn't run for your life in panty hose.

She got rid of the panty hose, pulled on the jeans, and then jerked the turtleneck down over her head. She shoved her feet into the loafers.

“Okay,” she said. “I'm ready.” Since when had she started sounding breathless? “Where are we going? The garage?”

“No.”

“A safe room?” Her heart plummeted. She couldn't stand the thought of being locked up in some tiny space while they waited for the cops to arrive.

“There is no safe room. But don't worry; there's a way out.”

He went toward the door. She got a closer look at what he held in his hand. It was a wicked-looking mag-rez.

“I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that,” she said.

Instinctively, she grabbed her glasses, her purse, and Elvis, and followed Fontana out into the unlit hall. There was enough vague light coming through the clerestory windows to illuminate the corridor.

“I didn't hear any alarms,” she said.

“The entire ambertronic system is down.”

“You mean
none
of that fancy security stuff is working?”

“I'm definitely going to have a few words with the company that installed it when this is finished.”

Another icy shiver slipped down her spine. “The whole house is wide open?”

“Not yet. In addition to the high-tech stuff, the doors have old-fashioned mechanical locks. But if they got this far, it's safe to assume they'll be able to get through the bolts.”

“If the security system is out, how did you know there were intruders on the grounds?”

“The heavy psi. Can't you feel it?”

“Sorry, all I can feel is my own pulse,” she said.

“I'm a hunter. I'm especially sensitive to dissonance energy. Trust me when I tell you there's a lot of it in the vicinity.”

“What's so unusual about that? There's always plenty of background energy here in the Quarter.”

“Not this much.” He halted at the window at the end of the hall. “Take a look.”

She hurried forward. Heavy fog cloaked the gardens, but the mist wasn't glowing with the usual green psi.

“What in the world?” she said.

“You're looking at ultraviolet psi energy,” Fontana said. “Someone is generating a wide beam of it. That's what knocked out my security system.”

Figures moved in the glowing mist; shadowy forms with two legs and bulbous heads.

“Hank's fish-headed aliens,” she said. “Night Riders. But how are they managing to pull so much dissonance energy?”

“You know those rumors in the
Curtain
about the discovery of a secret alien lab? Got a hunch there might be something to them.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Let's move. They'll be inside any minute now.”

She pushed hard to tamp down her rising panic. “Any chance this could be about stealing your antiquities collection?”

“I don't think so.”

“They want us dead, don't they?”

“I think we'd better assume that, yes.”

“So much for your theory that the threat of the Chamber coming down on the Crystal Guild would provide protection for both of us.”

“Those guys are Night Riders, not Guild men,” Fontana said. “Evidently they don't know enough to be afraid of the Chamber.”

He opened a nearby door, revealing a narrow, tightly wound spiral staircase. An awful, sinking sensation that had nothing to do with aliens and Night Riders seized her.

“Ah, jeez,” she said. “Please don't tell me we're going down into the catacombs.”

“Safest way out. One of the reasons I bought the place. Never know when you're going to need an escape route.”

He started down the staircase, descending into darkness.

“No offense,” she said, gripping the banister, “but does it strike you that your statement might make you sound a trifle paranoid?”

“A healthy dose of paranoia is part of the standard Guild boss job description.”

“I can understand that.”

“Close the door and throw the lock. I've got a flashlight.”

She swallowed hard and locked the door behind her. With Elvis on one shoulder and her purse slung over the other, she started down into the inky depths. She heard a small snick. The narrow beam of Fontana's flashlight shafted through the darkness. She got a little dizzy when she realized she could not see the bottom of the stairwell.

Elvis clutched her shoulder with his hind paws, holding on tight but not sinking his tiny claws into her. She sensed his highly rezzed, battle-ready tension. It wasn't all that different from what she was picking up from Fontana. Males. Always ready to rumble.

Halfway down, she heard a muffled explosion overhead. A low roaring followed.

“What in the world was that?” she whispered.

“Sounds like the bastards just set fire to my house.”

“Oh, my God.”

“That's probably what my insurance company is going to say, too. It wasn't easy talking them into giving a Guild boss a policy in the first place.”

“But if the house is on fire, that means we can't go back up these stairs,” she wailed.

“Don't worry, there are other ways out of the catacombs.”

But to get to one of those exits, they would have to travel underground, perhaps for a long distance. On the surface, the next hole-in-the-wall or an official gate might be only a couple of blocks away. But in the underworld, things were different. She'd heard enough about the strange maze of tunnels to know that there were no direct routes anywhere. Furthermore, only a tiny percentage of the vast network of catacombs had been charted. To say nothing of the hazards of illusion traps and drifting ghosts.

“You okay?” Fontana asked.

She took a deep breath. “I'm okay.”

The staircase wound deeper beneath the old mansion. She was getting dizzy watching Fontana's light spiral endlessly away into the shadows. She tried not to think about the tomblike darkness that surrounded her.

Eventually the twisting beam of light halted. Her head was spinning so badly she had to grip the metal banister with both hands to keep from stumbling into Fontana.

“You sure you're okay?” he asked, steadying her.

“Touch of vertigo,” she admitted, closing her eyes. She was trembling, and they weren't even inside the catacombs. Dear heaven, how was she going to get through this?

The answer was simple. She was going to get through whatever came next because there was no other option.

“Take a couple of deep breaths,” Fontana said. “Don't pass out on me.”

It was an order, given with all the icy assurance of a man who expected to be obeyed. Well, he was a Guild boss, she reminded herself. They weren't known for their compassion and consideration.

Oddly enough, although she resented the brusque command, it had a bracing effect.
Like a splash of cold water,
she thought. She took some slow, deep breaths. Her head seemed to clear a little.

“I told you, I'm okay,” she said.

If he suspected that she was lying through her teeth again, he did not let on.

“Stay here while I de-rez the door into the tunnels,” he said instead.

She felt him move away from her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that the beam of his flashlight was shining on a massive plate of solid mag-steel. It looked like the door of a bank vault. She watched him enter a code.

“Who installed that?” she asked.

“The former owner.”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “I suppose the good news is that, if the house is going up in flames, the Riders aren't going to be coming down that staircase behind us.”

“That's it, think positive.” He reached for the steel door handle. “If it makes you feel any better, there's no way they can know about this hole-in-the-wall. But even if they did, I doubt that they would follow us into the tunnels.”

“Why?”

“Because they have to know that once we're in the catacombs, they'll be on my turf. Everything's different underground.”

THE HEAVY DOOR OPENED WITH PONDEROUS SLOWNESS, revealing a jagged tear in the tunnel wall. Fontana felt the familiar rush of psi first. It flowed out of the catacombs, an invisible wave that stirred his already rezzed senses. Next came the acid-green light. He turned off the flashlight. There was no longer any need for it. Down here everything was made of quartz, and the stone glowed the same psi green night and day.

No one knew when the aliens had left Harmony. Some experts believed they had been gone for at least a thousand years. Others put the date much further back, maybe five or even ten thousand years. There were a few archaeologists who were convinced they had never left at all, just died out. Whatever the case, they had left the lights on.

He looked into the large rotunda that lay on the other side of the tear in the quartz. Half a dozen vaulted corridors branched off the circular space. He knew that there were an endless number of intersections leading off each of the branches and so on throughout the vast maze.

Here and there vaulted doorways opened onto strangely shaped chambers. No one knew what purpose the rooms had once served. Some were empty. Others contained the mysterious artifacts and relics that fueled the thriving antiquities trade.

The architecture of the catacombs was slightly disorienting to the human eye. The proportions never seemed quite right. Compounding the problem was the fact that the energy that emanated from the quartz had a subtle effect on the normal as well as the paranormal senses. His hunter para-rez talents gave him an advantage over people like Sierra, who lacked the ability to resonate with alien psi, but that didn't mean things ever felt normal down here. That, of course, was one of the big attractions for him.

Sierra followed him through the doorway. She looked around, her eyes a little haunted. He hated having to put her through this, but there was no alternative.

Elvis showed no qualms at all. He leaned forward eagerly, fully fluffed again.

The thick, mag-steel door closed with an ominous, reverberating clang. Sierra jumped a little and looked back over her shoulder.

“This way,” Fontana said. He moved through the hole-in-the-wall into the tunnel. “I keep a utility sled down here. We'll use it to get to the nearest exit.”