Hot Blooded

of alien
lightning. She blinked once, blindly. A tear tracked down her cheek. "Where did
you go? I need you."
    "I'm here, darling."
    Her throat worked as she swallowed. "I don't think I can do this."
    He could sense her terror, the fear that the energies she'd tapped into would
destroy her identity. Gently, he took her face between his hands and met those
black-swamped eyes without flinching, determined to reach her. "No, Grace. You
have the strength—I know, I touched it in you. I've helped so many to the Gift,
women with much less will than you. They made it. You can. Believe. Reach for
it."
    Â 
    STARING blindly into Lance's demanding, sherry stare, Grace swallowed. If he
thought she could do it, she had to try. But God, the Mageverse roared and
burned like a cataract of lava. Her instincts screamed that any second it would
sear her to ash.
    But Lance thinks I can do it.
    Then she sensed it—a tendril of malevolence so intense it made her breath
catch.
    As soon as she became aware of it, the connection popped to full force. She
realized her link with the killer was even stronger.
    And he was about to kill the girl.
    Grace could feel his craving for murder, for the power he felt when he
watched life drain from a woman's eyes and knew he was the cause. To him, it
felt like being God. Everything in her recoiled from his sheer sadistic evil,
but she knew she couldn't afford to flinch. He was minutes from raping the girl,
drunk on the hours of terror he'd wrung from her with the threats and cruelty
that had grown worse as he anticipated the conclusion of his ritual.
    Feeling like a woman deliberately plunging into a lake of sewage, Grace
reached for him, touched him. The fantasies spinning through his mind made her
gorge heave, though she was no stranger to horror after her years in law
enforcement.
    She knew she had to get to him—now. She had to stop him.
    "I've got to go," Grace muttered blindly, trying to pull out of Lance's hold.
    "What?" She was dimly aware of his expression of alarm, his hands tightening
on her face. "Where are you going?"
    "I've got to stop Gordon Childers from killing the girl. Let me go."
    He obeyed. "I'm going with you."
    "Good." She sat up. It seemed the room was full of snapping sparks of energy.
Grace stared at them blankly, realizing they'd always been there; she'd simply
been unable to see them. "Uniform. Where's my uniform? My gun?"
    "I'll get them." He rose, muscular and naked, and moved around the room
collecting her scattered clothing and equipment. Grace found herself watching
the sparks as Childers's mind spilled visions of gut-tearing horror. Her skin
quivered and jumped like a horse's stung by flies, reacting to the constant hot
currents of the Mageverse roiling around her.
    I'm in no shape to tackle this guy
. The thought was sharp and clear
and gut-level, and Grace knew it was dead on. Unfortunately, she had no choice.
There was no time to search out any of the other Majae, explain the problem and
link with them so they could find the killer to stop him. It had to be now.
    She'd just have to trust Lance to keep her pointed in the right direction.
Fortunately, after touching his mind, she knew he'd never fail her.
    He helped her fumble into her uniform, then snatched a shirt and pants out of
his own closet even as she reeled to her feet. The sun was just about to slide
behind the horizon back in Tayanita; she could feel its disruptive energies
fading. She and Lance had to jump
now
. Childers was about to make his
first cut; there wasn't even time to get to Lance's spell generator. She had to
work the spell herself.
    "Oh, God, Lance," Grace moaned in sudden panicked realization. "How do I open
the gate?"
    "Calm down," he said soothingly, jerking up his zipper and stomping into his
shoes. "Just reach for the energy. It'll tell you how to use it."
    Reluctantly, she opened her mind to the boiling energies—and saw at once how
to create a tunnel boring through time and space. She flung up a hand and
mentally grabbed a passing current, jerked.
    And the door was there, hanging in the air of Lance's bedroom. On the other
side, a lanky, round-faced man stood over a sobbing naked woman, his pants
unzipped, his penis jutting. His face ugly with power and lust, he held a gun
pointed down at her head. Grace could feel the girl's abject terror and shame
just as easily now as she felt Gordon Childers's craving for