Running Hot

said.
    Grace’s stomach suddenly did an odd little flip. Her senses fluttered uneasily. Ever since Fallon Jones had authorized the trip to Acacia Bay, she and Luther had been consumed with preparations, the long commercial flight to L.A. and the drive up the coast. Now the reality of what she was about to do suddenly hit her like a splash of glacial melt. What if she was wrong? What if she was right ?
    “Don’t worry about it,” Luther said. “If she’s not our hit lady, there’s no harm done. Just another night at the opera.”
    “And if she is the woman I saw in Maui?”
    “Then we report the info to Fallon. He’ll take care of things from there. You and I will fly back to Honolulu tomorrow and have dinner with Petra and Wayne.”
    And then what? she wondered. She didn’t live in Waikiki. She lived in Eclipse Bay, Oregon. Alone. Don’t think about it. Live in the moment.
    “This doesn’t make any sense,” Luther said.
    Startled, she turned toward him. “What? I thought we just agreed—” She broke off when she realized he was reading the plot summary in the program. “Oh, the story line. No one ever said The Magic Flute made sense. But it’s Mozart so operagoers don’t quibble about little details like plot logic.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    “The experts in the Society are certain Mozart was a sensitive, you know,” she added.
    “Yeah?”
    “How else can you explain his preternatural musical talent?”
    “Did he ever join the Society?”
    She smiled. “I think he chose the Freemasons instead.”
    “Well, the good news is that La Sirène appears in the first act.” Luther closed the program. “It won’t be long before we’ll have our answer.”
    The lights went down and the crowded room hushed. The overture began, showering the audience in glorious, sparkling energy. Music had power. Like some weird combination of a freezer and a microwave appliance, it could capture and preserve the brilliant energy of a long-dead composer, warm it up and serve it again and again to generation after generation.
    The curtain rose on ancient Egypt. The story unfolded on an elaborate stage that incorporated all the latest and greatest technology. Grace knew that opera audiences expected over-the-top extravagance, not just from the singers but from the sets and costumes, as well. The Acacia Bay opera company had delivered.
    It was the perfect setting for a killer coloratura soprano, and when the Queen of the Night took the stage it was all Grace could do to resist the urge to duck behind the seat in front of her.
    The Queen’s costume was an elaborate confection of tiered silks and velvets in luminous shades of sapphire blue. The gown was trimmed with gold and studded with glittering beads. The ornate black wig redefined the term “big hair.” The glittering crown was cleverly woven into the tower of fake curls, producing an effect not unlike lights on a Christmas tree.
    Everything about the Queen of the Night flashed and sparkled and glittered in an ominous, stage-dominating way. And all of that energy, including the incredible power of her dazzling voice, blazed just as violently in her terrifying aura.
    The audience sat, transfixed, when the florid notes of “O zitt’re nicht” flooded the house to the highest balcony. La Sirène did not just squeak out the impossibly high F, she sang it full voice.
    Grace did not move so much as a finger. She almost stopped breathing, half expecting to hear the sound of shattered crystal. There was psychic power in the musical fireworks, not enough to kill, but more than enough to mesmerize the audience. Her skin prickled and burned. All her senses were shrieking that she was in the presence of a predator, a crazy predator.
    She knew that she and Luther were safely hidden in the shadows; knew that the intense stage lighting made the audience largely invisible to the singers; knew that La Sirène had no reason to suspect that she was being hunted tonight. But the logic did little to satisfy her survival instincts. Death and madness walked the stage.
    She did not attempt to whisper to Luther. For one thing she was fairly certain that the people around her would be extremely annoyed if anyone in the audience so much as coughed, let alone spoke to a companion.
    Luther’s right hand closed around her left. She realized then that she was shivering. He tightened his grip, letting her know that he had received the message loud and clear. She knew that he