The house loomed up in front of them, a glittering pastiche of glass and antique brick, a style that had been in fashion maybe a century ago, dragged forward into the self-conscious contemporary era. Inside, it was all dim faux-woodwork, polished to a high gloss. A tinkling chandelier cast kaleidoscopic reflections over the carpeted floor. Liv rubbed at his forehead, trying to pick up any traces the psychic had left behind. He trailed a hand over one countertop and watched it slide through a subtle, opalescent array of color.
Falstaff's presence pressed down on his mind. No doubt he would get used to it, though the slick shiver of it over his nervous system made him--still--a little sick. Fucking hell. It couldn't feel this shit with all the Dragons. And it shouldn't feel this familiar.
"Amelia Benfield." Liv glimpsed the information file, recent purchases, and all related surveillance footage within the last twenty-four hours. She'd been last seen... Liv shut his eyes. She'd last been seen with a tall man, spiked hair--no immediate facial pattern match in the system. Ha. Well, there's the proof, isn't it?
They'd been caught coming in, but she hadn't left again. No chip purchases within the last eight hours, which didn't fit the pattern (data flashed by again).
"She should still be here," Liv said at last, frowning. But Sabela was right. Detecting a nonpsychic should not be difficult, but he'd felt nothing, not the slightest prickle of a thought. Wait... "Hang on," he said, starting up the stairs. His footsteps echoed emptily through the big house. Somewhere upstairs he could feel--something. Not sure what. Oh, no, Livvy, you know what. That feeling--that nothing--broken wires.
He shoved open the door to a lushly furnished sitting-room sort of space. A female figure lay askew on a couch in the center. Liv approached, biting into the back of his hand, in the strange sudden stillness, and bent to examine her. Dead, of course. The impressions the psychic had left on her brain would linger, in fragmented disjoint. He stood staring down at her, one finger shoved between his teeth. He felt a lot less sorry, come to think of it, for the guy they were after.
"Justice is served once again. "
"You know it, Fally."
"Do your job, Sulo."
"Sabela! I've got something." He projected an image of exactly what he'd got.
