faint twilight that filled the doorway at the top of the stairs darkened rapidly.
“What’s going on?” Isabella asked softly.
“The clock.” Fallon drew her to a halt halfway up the steps and lowered his voice. “It’s doing this. Generating some kind of energy that is eating all the normal light in the house. Filling the place with night.”
The relentless ticking continued.
“I don’t get that, but I agree we definitely need to leave,” she said.
“Too late.” Fallon’s voice was very low now. He spoke directly into her ear. “We’re going back down. Hang on to the railing. If you fall on these stairs, you could break your neck.”
She seized the metal banister and probed cautiously for the edge of each concrete step with the toe of her shoe. Simultaneously she pushed her talent a little higher. The para-fog did not illuminate objects the way normal light did, but the seething psi whirlpool in the center of the space and the dark light around the armoire were clearly visible. The luminescence provided a general sense of direction.
She sensed Fallon heightening his own talent and wondered how the basement appeared to him. He seemed remarkably sure-footed on the steps. It occurred to her that with his unusual ability, he had probably created a very clear mental construct of their surroundings.
“Why are we going back down?” she breathed.
“Because we are no longer alone in the house,” he said.
The floorboards squeaked overhead. Fallon was right. The house was no longer giving off empty vibes.
“Something tells me that is not a prospective buyer,” Fallon said.
“But the darkness extends to the floor above. I saw it filling the hallway. It must be like midnight up there now. How can he navigate?”
“Probably because he is some kind of talent.”
Fallon must have turned his head toward her then, because she could suddenly perceive the dark heat in his eyes.
“You can see in this night?” she whispered.
“I come from a long line of hunter-talents. Good night vision runs in the family. Whatever happens, keep silent. I’ll handle this.”
They reached the last step. Fallon drew her through the cold sea of energy and brought her to a halt. The absolute night was disorienting, but when she put out her hand, she realized that they were standing under the staircase.
They listened to the footsteps overhead. The long, sure strides were definitely those of a man, Isabella thought. He was moving like someone who could see in the dark.
The intruder was coming down the hall toward the basement entrance. A moment later she sensed the presence in the open doorway at the top of the staircase. She knew from Fallon’s great stillness that he, too, was aware of the stalker.
The intruder started down into the basement.
“Welcome to my little game,” the man said. Unwholesome good cheer reverberated through the words. “I’ve never used local players. Too risky. But when I heard that the silly new real estate agent in town had hired an investigator to clear out the ghosts in the old Zander place, I knew I would have to change the rules for this round.”
The hunter paused midway down the steps.
“Then, again, you aren’t exactly local, are you? The office of Jones & Jones is over in Scargill Cove. So, I guess I’m not bending the rules all that much after all. Let’s see now, you’re hiding either under the stairs or behind the armoire. There is no other option in this room. Keeps the scoring simple. I’ll try the armoire first.”
Isabella sensed the hunter’s sudden movement on the staircase. At first she thought that he was rushing down toward the armoire. But in the next instant she heard the jarring thump of running shoes on the floor directly in front of her. The hunter had vaulted over the railing.
“Fooled you,” the stalker said happily. “I chose the stairs. Bonus points for me. My name is Nightman, by the way. Think of me as an avatar.”
A pair of eyes hot with madness and psi burned in the mist from a distance of less than two yards. The preternatural speed, balance and agility with which the intruder had moved, as well as the intense energy in the atmosphere, told Isabella that the intruder was a true hunter-talent.
“Well, well, well,” Nightman said, “I can sense a little energy in the atmosphere. Maybe you two aren’t complete frauds, after all, huh?”
“No,” Fallon said. “We’re the real deal.”
“Once in a while I pick up a player who has a little talent,” Nightman said. “Adds spice to the