Free Burning Lamp by Amanda Quick

scientist in your tone again, Mrs. Pyne.”
    “I believe I mentioned that my father specialized in paranormal research,” she reminded him. “Perhaps I picked up a few of his character traits. You are convinced that this nightmare-generating talent of yours is new?”
    “I think I would have noticed early on if people in my vicinity were plunging into states of abject terror for no apparent reason.” She refused to be put off course by his sarcasm. An idea had taken shape in her mind and she could not let it go.
    “The thing is,” she said, “I cannot help but wonder if perhaps your new ability is somehow linked to your first talent. In which case it would not necessarily be a second power, if you see what I mean. Maybe it is nothing more than an aspect of your original talent, one that took longer to develop.”
    “I told you, there are other symptoms that the curse has struck,” he said, grim impatience edging his words. “When I am awake, I experience occasional hallucinations. I can deal with those. When I sleep, however, I endure nightmares so extreme that I awaken in a cold sweat, my heart pounding.”
    “I see,” she said gently.
    It occurred to her that a crime lord might have good reason to suffer from nightmares. She decided not to mention that it might be his conscience that was inflicting the bad dreams. She doubted that he would appreciate that observation. As for the hallucinations, she had no such easy explanation.
    Griffin pulled down the sides of the velvet sack, revealing the artifact. He stood very quietly for a time. Adelaide sensed the energy swirling around him.
    “There is no doubt,” he said quietly. “This is the real Burning Lamp.”
    Adelaide moved closer to the relic. Her palms prickled. She had examined the relic any number of times over the years but it never ceased to fascinate her and send a frisson across her senses.
    The lamp was about eighteen inches tall and gleamed like gold in the weak light. As she had told Griffin, it looked more like a metal vase than an old oil lamp. The tapered bottom section was anchored in a heavy base inscribed with alchemical symbols. The sides flared out as they rose upward. Murky gray crystals were embedded in a circle just below the rim.
    “What do you sense?” Griffin asked. He did not take his eyes off the lamp.
    “Dreamlight,” she said. “A great deal of it.”
    “Can you work it?”
    “Possibly,” she said. “But not alone. From time to time over the years I have tried to access the energy in that lamp. I can make it glow faintly but that is all. But I can tell you one thing, if it is ever truly ignited, there may be no going back.”
    He picked up the artifact and carried it to the small attic window to get a better look. “How do I go about lighting it?”
    “You don’t know?”
    “I handled the artifact a few times when I was younger but I was never able to activate it. My father believed that was because I had not inherited the curse. The lamp was stolen when I was fifteen. This is the first time in two decades that I have seen it.”
    “What about Nicholas’s journal? Didn’t he provide instructions on how to work the lamp?”
    “If you know anything about the old alchemists you know that they were all obsessed with their secrets. Nicholas did not leave much in the way of specific instructions. I think he assumed that the man who tried to access the energy in the lamp would be guided by his own intuition and that of the dreamlight reader.”
    “I see.”
    “Well, Mrs. Pyne?” he said. “Will you work the lamp for me and reverse the process that has begun? Will you save me?”
    She opened her senses and looked at his dreamprints. They burned on the wooden floorboards. He believed the legend, she thought. Whether or not it was true, he was convinced that he had inherited the Winters Curse.
    “I will try to work the lamp for you,” she said.
    “Thank you.”
    “But I want to read your ancestor’s journal before I