Sizzle and Burn

a temporary fix. They would be back, probably in his dreams that night. “A human-sacrifice scenario.”
    “You’re sure it was a sacrifice, not just the killing of an enemy or a routine murder?”
    He looked at her. “Routine murder?”
    She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
    “The energy on the hilt was tinged with that special rush of sanctimonious power that goes with a blood sacrifice. The bastard liked his work and he got off on it. There’s a reason they call it bloodlust, Elaine.”
    She remained skeptical but there was a sparkle in her eye that could only be described as a form of lust.
    Archaeologists , he thought. Gotta love ’em .
    “An execution, perhaps?” she suggested.
    “No. Ritual sacrifice. There was an altar, and the killer felt he had a license to kill.”
    Elaine relaxed, smiling with intense satisfaction.
    “I was right,” she said, all but rubbing her hands together with glee. “This is the dagger used by the priests of the cult of Brackon.”
    He had never understood how collectors and curators could get so excited about objects and devices designed to kill and maim. But then, they didn’t have to deal with the psychic visions left behind on those objects and devices.
    “What’s so special about that dagger?” he asked.
    Elaine chuckled. “The director of the Sedona branch of the museum has been after it for years. He needs it to complete his collection of Brackon cult artifacts.”
    “A little friendly competition between curators?”
    “Not so friendly.” Elaine lowered the glass lid and relocked the case. “Milo has an Egyptian ring that I want very badly. I’ve begged him for years to consider a trade. He has always refused. But now I’ve got a bargaining chip. He’ll have to deal on my terms.”
    “Got it.” He surveyed the cases in the gallery. “You’ve built this into a fine museum, Elaine. I’m no archaeologist but I’ve spent enough time consulting in all four of the Society’s museums to know that this is a world-class collection.”
    She laughed. “I am living proof that an obsessive personality and a keen sense of professional rivalry are the essential traits of a successful curator.”
    “Probably useful traits in any profession.” He’d been on the obsessed path himself, most of his life. Until Jenna.
    Elaine fixed him with a speculative look. He knew what was coming and readied his exit strategy. He liked Elaine and admired her professional skills. But she was a friend of the family and the family had been applying a lot of pressure lately.
    On the surface, the invitation was smooth enough.
    “Do you have time for a cup of coffee before you leave for the airport?” she asked.
    “I was planning to spend a couple of hours in the museum library,” he hedged.
    “That was your excuse last time.”
    He considered his options and didn’t like any of them. Elaine was a good client and a very smart woman. He liked the company of smart women. If she stuck to business, he wouldn’t mind having coffee with her. It wasn’t as if there was any great rush to return to his home in the Northern California wine country. There was no one waiting for him.
    For the most part he was okay with his new existence as a duo-job workaholic. The problem was that family and friends were becoming increasingly aggressive, pushing him to resume what they considered his destined career path. He knew damn well that they weren’t applying pressure just because they were concerned about him, although that was part of it. The reality was that they had an agenda, and that agenda no longer coincided with his own.
    He glanced at his watch. “My flight leaves at five-thirty. That gives me some time.”
    “Your enthusiasm is underwhelming.”
    He felt himself redden. “I’ve been a little distracted lately.”
    “By what?”
    “Work.”
    “Ah, yes, the all-purpose excuse.” She lightly patted his arm. “And there’s no denying that it is excellent therapy after one has suffered a loss like yours. But it has been almost a year now, Zack. Time to move on.”
    He said nothing.
    They walked toward the far end of the gallery. Moving down the aisle between the glass cases was like walking a gauntlet. The combined psychic energy buzz given off by the artifacts stirred his senses in an unpleasant way. He knew Elaine felt something, too, but she seemed to thrive on the sensation.
    He had to exert a lot of raw willpower to keep the psychic side of his nature