Gift of Fire

flashlight in hand, savoring the freedom of control.
    Before he had found Verity he would never have been able to take the risk of immersing himself in this four-hundred-year-old mountain of stone. There would have been a threat lying in wait around every corner. Any Renaissance building of this size was all too likely to be imbued with vibrations of ancient bloodshed and murder. Jonas Quarrel was attuned to suggestions of violence, especially violence that took place during the Renaissance.
    It would have been far too easy to accidentally step into a room where a man had died on the point of a stiletto, or to pick up a rusty scrap of metal that had once been part of a sword. Such a mistake could have sent him headlong into the psychic tunnel where violent vignettes from the past replayed themselves endlessly, and where the lethal emotional energy that had infused those deadly scenes sought a path to the future through Jonas.
    Jonas studied the stone walls around him as he browsed through the dimly lit second floor of the south wing. Hazelhurst had obviously not wanted to spend much money wiring the place. Jonas didn’t want to think about the quality of the limited electrical work that had been done.
    He concentrated for a few minutes. The faint vibrations he picked up here and there were very subdued, just enough to assure him that the place was genuine. He pulled the diary from his pocket as he turned the corner into the east wing. There was no electricity in this section. He switched on the flashlight.
    Most of the doors along the passageway were closed. From the amount of dust on the floor Jonas judged that Maggie Frampton had given up on this wing long ago. He doubted if the west and north wings were in any better shape.
    Jonas moved through the dingy hall, turned another corner, and found himself in more darkness. Doug Warwick was right. A man could wander around in here for quite a while. According to Digby Hazelhurst’s lousy Latin, the room where he had discovered the crystal was in this passage.
    Jonas found the room without too much trouble. It was in the center of the north-wing corridor and had a series of arched windows framing the dark courtyard. When Jonas looked out across the overgrown garden he could see the light he had left on in the bedroom he was sharing with Verity.
    He turned back to the small room and swung the flashlight around from wall to wall. The place was bare. No frayed tapestries or rotting furniture, just plain stone walls and floor.
    Jonas flipped open the diary to the page detailing the discovery of the crystal. His Latin was rusty, but he had been able to decipher most of Hazelhurst’s scrawl.
     
    South wall. Third stone up from the floor, two over from the left-hand corner. Press firmly on the right portion of the stone. Watch out for the blade. I’m sure the poison tip has long since become ineffective, but the edge is still quite sharp. I was only saved when I first discovered the crystal because the mechanism that triggered the trap was rusted. The design of the trap is quite fascinating. I have since oiled it, of course. Pity not to restore it as far as possible.
     
    “Thanks, Digby, old pal. Why in hell did you have to oil the sucker?”
    Jonas hunkered down in front of the designated part of the wall and studied the stonework intently. Digby did not say which stone concealed the booby trap. The hidden blade could snap out from the wall or the floor—or from the ceiling. Jonas glanced up and dismissed that possibility. It was too unlikely.
    He tried to envision the kind of trap he might have set had he been hiding a crystal four hundred years ago.
    A man attempting to open a secret hiding place in the floor would be crouching as Jonas was. Jonas trailed his fingertips cautiously along the stone.
    Something shimmered in his mind and reality started to bend and stretch into an endless tunnel. Jonas jerked his fingers away from the stone that had caused the sudden reaction.
    He didn’t dare step into the psychic corridor without Verity nearby—she was his anchor. But just the intimation of ancient violence was enough to warn him that the trap had been sprung once before—by someone who had not been as lucky as Digby Hazelhurst. A long time ago some benighted soul had died in this room while searching for the crystal.
    Died clutching his balls in agony.
    Jonas sucked in his breath and stood up quickly. He moved back, away from the part of the floor that was sending