Gift of Fire

Preston must have caught her and Jonas exchanging their silent joke. Obediently, she closed her eyes again. Yarwood resumed droning in a steady, hypnotic chant.
    Jonas started to tickle Verity’s palm with his middle finger. She ignored it for as long as she could, but after several moments she couldn’t stand it. She tightened her hand around his, and he stopped. As soon as she loosened her warning grip, however, he started in again. Verity nudged him with her knee. Jonas turned the tickling action into a long, intimate stroking that was blatantly erotic. His finger slipped slowly from her palm to her wrist and back again in a movement that she knew was meant to simulate sex.
    Verity used her nails briefly to punish him. Jonas obligingly stopped the teasing motion of his finger until she withdrew her nails from his skin, then he started it up again.
    Verity tried desperately to concentrate on something else. She thought about the legendary treasure, picturing the frozen vision of the Renaissance man seated at the writing desk with the full treasure chest behind him.
    Something shimmered in her mind.
    Startled, she stopped playing hand games with Jonas. He stopped too, as if sensing her surprise. The shimmering feeling came again. Verity opened her eyes and stared at the crystal. The shard of pink rock sat in the middle of the circle. It wasn’t glowing, or changing color, or doing anything mysterious.
    But Verity’s earrings suddenly felt very warm.
    She frowned intently and closed her eyes again. Her imagination was working overtime. Preston Yarwood continued to talk, urging everyone to project harder. Verity wished he would shut up. She felt a sudden need to concentrate.
    The shimmering image in Verity’s mind began to take shape. She became very still, gripping Jonas’s hand hard.
    This wasn’t like the times she had entered the psychic corridor with Jonas. This was different. There was a faint image appearing inside her head, but it had nothing to do with the time tunnel.
    She knew that Jonas was aware that she was suddenly distracted. His fingers closed tightly around hers. On the other side of her, Oliver Crump also started to squeeze her fingers more firmly.
    Verity studied the picture in her head. It was a dark stone room. Against one wall of the forbidding little room was a heavily carved chest, fashioned out of black wood.
    A cold draft sliced suddenly through the salon. The fire flickered and nearly died.
    “Maggie must have left a window open,” Elyssa Warwick complained. “It’s cold in here.”
    Her words broke the spell. The image in Verity’s mind vanished abruptly, and her earrings no longer felt warm. On her right, Oliver Crump slowly released her hand. When she opened her eyes she found him looking at her with a strange expression. Jonas squeezed her left hand so tightly Verity thought he might cut off the circulation in her fingers.
    “I think that’s enough projecting for this evening,” Jonas announced as he got to his feet and pulled Verity up beside him. “It’s late, and Verity and I are going to bed. Good night, everyone.”
    “I’m with you,” Doug Warwick said. “I wish there were a television in this place.”
    “At least we’ve got booze,” Slade muttered, walking to the liquor cabinet. He surreptitiously uncapped his pill bottle. “Good booze at that.” He downed the pills with a stiff shot of whiskey.
    Verity had noticed earlier in the evening that Spencer’s bruises had worsened slightly during the past twenty-four hours. It was not uncommon for a bruise to show more color two or three days after it had been caused. She winced as she said good night to him, hoping that every time he looked in the mirror he didn’t think of contacting a lawyer.
    “I’ll have Maggie find that open window,” Elyssa murmured as she swept out of the room. “She’s really not the most efficient housekeeper, is she?” Preston followed her.
    Oliver peered at her intently through his wire-rimmed glasses. “Good night, Verity. Sleep well.”
    “Let’s go.” Jonas tugged Verity toward the door, using more force than was necessary. As soon as they reached their bedroom, he said sternly, “All right, what happened back there?”
    Verity pulled her wrist free of his hand and sat down. “I’m not sure,” she said honestly. “Did you see it too?”
    “See what?”
    “An image of a room. A stone-walled room with a black chest sitting in it. I would swear it’s the chest