Free Night of the Magician by Stephanie James, Jayne Ann Krentz Page A

aunt.
    Ariana had never been so uneasy, so primitively alarmed in her life, and the intellectual knowledge that everything she was witnessing was nothing but sophisticated stage magic did nothing to quell the incipient dread.
    The lightless room held about twenty other people, including her aunt and Lucian. Philomena knew most of the other attendees at the psychic demonstration and had introduced many of them to Ariana and her escort before the group had been conducted through the high gates of Fletcher Galen’s “retreat“ and into the massive stone mansion in the center of the grounds.
    Galen’s assistants had all been sober-faced people dressed in dark, concealing robes that resembled those of a medieval monk. They had said little as they collected the so-called donations at the gate and led people into the darkened chamber where Galen was to make his appearance.
    At first Ariana had tried to tell herself that the whole thing was like going to the haunted house at Disneyland, but somehow the seriousness with which everyone took the events made it difficult to keep thinking in those terms. There were, she was learning, some very interesting factors of group psychology involved. When the people around you clearly believed that they were about to witness something wondrous and inexplicable, you found yourself in danger of suspending your own rational thought processes, too.
    What Ariana couldn’t fully comprehend was why she found herself the most thoroughly frightened person in the room. No one else seemed unduly terrified, merely fascinated and enthralled. Why was she, one of the two people in the room who had come to expose the trickery, so alarmed? Ariana shivered as a faint glow appeared on the small platform in front of the audience. She was suddenly very glad of Lucian’s presence beside her.
    The glow at the front of the room increased steadily until it revealed a table and a single chair. Ariana didn’t care for the eerie, phosphorescent green of the light, but a ripple of anticipation went through the rest of the audience as if it were some sort of signal.
    “Relax, will you?“ Lucian leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You’re the big-time exposer of charlatans and frauds, remember? You’re not supposed to lose your nerve at your first séance!“
    She could hear the smile in his voice, although she couldn’t see his face. With an effort of will she took a grip on herself. Damned if she was going to provide him with another source of amusement tonight. He’d laughed enough at her expense this afternoon.
    Before she could think of a snappy response to his bantering, however, a deep, vibrant voice seemed to effortlessly fill the room, and a figure appeared on the stage behind the table and chair. A figure dressed in a shapeless robe of yellow, the front of which was worked with a strange design. There was a hood to the robe, but it was thrown back to reveal the starkly handsome features of a man in his mid-forties. It was a lean, ascetic face, dominated by dark eyes and a strong nose – the face of a man who might have conducted inquisitions in his spare time. The face of a man with a cause. The face of a man who carried a heavy, demanding burden with great dignity.
    Fletcher Galen had what was casually referred to as “presence.“ It was the special gift that made for the finest actors, the most persuasive politicians and the most charismatic public figures. From the moment he entered the room, Galen was the center of attention.
    “Good evening, friends,“ he said. There was a murmur of respectful response. Galen went on in slow, measured tones. “I thank you for coming once more to witness along with me the gentle power of our good friend Krayton.“
    Galen took the chair behind the table.
    Ariana shivered and moved restlessly in her seat On one side Philomena sat expectantly, and on the other side Lucian sat in thoughtful silence, his eyes on the figure in front of them.
    “Krayton’s