Canyons Of Night by Jayne Castle Page A

reason he had not ventured into the shop when it was open during the day.
    There was another reason why he hadn’t come into the shop, as well. He couldn’t afford to buy any of the cool antiques. He just wanted to hang around them for a while. Shopkeepers didn’t like people who wandered into a store and hung out. They looked too much like shoplifters.
    Charlotte smiled. “I came across something I think suits you perfectly. I just unpacked it.” She turned and went back across the room.
    He followed cautiously. “My grandma says that your aunt never bothered to unpack most of the stuff that she bought for this shop.”
    “No, Aunt Beatrix did not like dealing with customers. In fact, I think it’s safe to say she never quite got the concept of customer service. Makes for a difficult business model.”
    “I don’t get it. If she didn’t like to sell her stuff, why was she in the business?”
    “Good question. In my family we always said she was eccentric and let it go at that. But between you and me, I think she spent her life searching for something.”
    “Yeah? What?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Did you ever ask her?”
    “I did one time, as a matter of fact. She said it was a key. I asked her what it opened. She said it wasn’t created to open a door. It was made to lock something that should never have been opened in the first place.”
    “Do you think she ever found it?”
    “No.”
    “That’s too bad.”
    Charlotte stopped, hands on her hips and surveyed a pile of junk on the floor. At least, it looked like junk to him, but he knew that to her they were antiques.
    “Let me see,” Charlotte said. “I think I put it next to that old chocolate pot. Yes, there it is.” She stooped down and scooped up a small object.
    For a moment she gripped the object in her hand. At the same time she put the fingertips of her other hand on the mirrored pendant she wore. Light sparked on the pendant. He thought he felt a small flash of fresh energy in the atmosphere but it was hard to be certain.
    Charlotte opened her hand and held out the object. “Here you go. This feels like you.”
    Alarmed, he took a step back. “I never even touched it, I swear it.”
    She smiled. “I know, but it’s yours now, if you want it.”
    “What do you mean, it feels like me?”
    “It just does. Here, take it. See how it feels to you.”
    He looked down at the object in her hand. The antique was a flat amber disc about two inches across and half an inch wide. It was engraved with a compass rose. The four points of the compass were set with small gray crystals. He was instantly fascinated.
    “Wow,” he breathed. He took the amber compass from her and examined it closely. It felt good in his hand, warm and comfortable, as if it had been made for him. A shiver of awareness hummed through him. “Does it still work?”
    “Oh, yes. That’s a genuine Damian Cavalon compass. He was one of the first tunnel explorers. Navigating the catacombs was impossible with standard aboveground compasses. They didn’t function in the alien psi. He came up with the first design that could work in a hot-psi environment. There have been a lot of improvements in the technology over the years but any ghost hunter will tell you that there is nothing as reliable as an old-style Damian Cavalon compass. Most hunters still carry them as backup when they go into the Underworld.”
    “I don’t see a dial or a needle. Maybe it broke off?”
    “No, it doesn’t work that way. You just rez the amber and the crystals light up. True north is always bright blue. Try it.”
    He focused a little energy into the disc, the amount he would have used to turn on a rez-screen or a toaster. Nothing happened. He pushed a little harder. The crystal set at north started to glow faintly. He turned slowly on his heel and watched it brighten. Excitement shot through him.
    “That’s north,” he announced, pointing across the street toward the door of the Kane