Fired Up

mainly an upper-class phenomenon.” Chloe frowned. “Probably because the upper classes were the only ones who could afford a second bedroom and because marriages at that level of society were contracted for reasons other than love.”
    “I suppose that’s true,” Phyllis agreed. “But, still, there is a precedent for that approach to marriage.”
    Chloe looked at her. “You could afford a second bedroom. You could afford a dozen bedrooms. But you never married.”
    Phyllis expelled a surprisingly wistful sigh. “Yes, well, let’s just say I never found the right man, either.”
    “Face it, marriage is not in the cards for women like us, Aunt Phyllis.”
    “Perhaps not, but that does not mean one cannot enjoy life and men. Think of yourself as a honeybee flitting from flower to flower.”
    Chloe tried to envision Jack Winters as a delicate blossom in a field of daisies. And failed.
    “Somehow I don’t think that imagery applies to Mr. Winters,” she said. “There really is a kind of freedom in celibacy, you know.”
    “Is that so, dear?” Phyllis paused, her cup halfway to her lips. “I never noticed.”

    PHYLLIS CALLED HER on her cell phone an hour later.
    “I got in touch with Drake. The dear man remembers me, bless his heart. He says he’ll be happy to let you view his lamp. He suggests tomorrow afternoon.”
    “That’s great,” Chloe said. “Thanks so much. I could get to Vegas in the morning if that would be more convenient for him.”
    “Drake is in show business, dear. He doesn’t do mornings.”

15
    SHE TOOK HECTOR FOR HIS CUSTOMARY WALK EARLY THE NEXT morning. It was still dark, and it was raining, a classic Seattle mist. She wore her trench coat and a hat pulled down low over her eyes. Umbrellas were for tourists.
    Hector had established his territory early on after moving in with her and Rose. Daily he patrolled the perimeter, which consisted of a few blocks of Pioneer Square, marking trees and the corners of various buildings. Along the route they greeted the men and women who emerged from the shelters, doorways, alleys and cribs under the viaduct where they had spent the night.
    Some of the street people had gotten into the habit of stopping to chat with Hector. They knew he made no judgments. In addition, he served as a conduit through which they could communicate with Chloe. She considered them her Irregular Clients.
    The one she thought of as Mountain Man because of his scraggly beard leaned down to pat Hector’s side.
    “Hey, there, Big Guy,” he mumbled. “What’s with the funny collar and that bandage? You get hurt?”
    “Hector says to tell you that he got shot trying to protect me,” Chloe said.
    “Shot, huh? Bummer. Been there, done that. You gonna be okay, Big Guy?”
    “He’ll be fine,” Chloe said. “He wants to know how you’re doing?”
    “Doin’ okay,” Mountain Man said to Hector. “Had another bad dream last night, though. Can’t seem to shake it. Keep seein’ it in my head, y’know?”
    “Hector wants to know if you want him to help you forget the dream,” Chloe said.
    “I’d appreciate that,” Mountain Man said. He continued to pat Hector.
    Chloe opened her senses and put her hand on Hector’s back close to where Mountain Man was petting him. She readied herself for the inevitable psychic shock and let her fingers brush against Mountain Man’s weathered hand.
    A shivering jolt of fear and pain lanced through her. Although she could not actually see another person’s dream images, her dream reader’s intuition interpreted the energy residue in a very visual and visceral way. Mountain Man’s dreamscape was a terrible canvas painted in darkness, blood and body parts. The sounds of explosives, guns and helicopters roared silently in the background. The nightmare was familiar. It was not the first time she had brushed up against it.
    She set her teeth and went to work identifying the disturbed currents of dreamlight. Swiftly she pulsed counterpoint psi to dampen the seething patterns. Mountain Man’s wavelengths would never be normal, but at least she could provide some relief from the night terrors that haunted his days.
    Mountain Man straightened after a while. “Feels better. Thanks, Hector. You two have a good day now.”
    “We will,” Chloe said. “By the way, how’s the cough this morning?” Mountain Man responded with a harsh, rasping hack. Then he thumped his chest. “Better.”
    “Did you go to the