Free Burning Lamp by Amanda Quick Page A

attempt to manipulate the energy of the thing.”
    “I understand. I will bring it to you this evening.”
    “I’m afraid that will not be convenient. I am committed to attend the theater with friends tonight. Surely there is no great rush here. Judging by your dreamprints you are not on the brink of any sort of psychical disaster. Bring the journal to me tomorrow morning. I will study it and then decide how to proceed.”
    He did not look pleased by the short delay but he did not argue.
    “Very well, perhaps you are right,” he said. “My fate is in your hands. I will pay you whatever you ask.”
    “Yes, well, as to the matter of my fee,” she said, “I really do not need your money. I am, as it happens, a rather wealthy woman.”
    “I understand. Please know that I am in your debt. If there’s ever anything a man in my position can do for you, you have only to ask.”
    “As it happens, I do have a favor to request in exchange for my assistance with the lamp,” she said.
    He looked at her. His eyes were suddenly very, very green and as hot as his dreamprints. Energy floated across her nerves. She could have sworn that the shadows had deepened in the room.
    “Ah, yes, the bargain you mentioned,” he said very softly. “What do you want in exchange for saving me, Mrs. Pyne?”
    She steeled her nerve. “Your expertise and professional advice.”
    Once again she could tell that she had caught him off guard.
    “On what subject?” he asked, very wary now.
    She tipped up her chin. Her intuition was warning her that she should never have started down this particular road but she refused to change course.
    “You pointed out that the strategy I have been employing in the brothel raids has become predictable,” she said. “I require a fresh approach.”
    “No.” The single word was flat and unequivocal.
    She ignored the interruption. “Mr. Pierce spoke very highly of your abilities in matters of strategy. Indeed, he said that no one is as skilled as you, sir.”
    “No.”
    “You know far more about Luttrell and the way he thinks than I do.”
    “No.”
    She drew herself up. “Therefore, in exchange for working the lamp I ask that you help me devise a new technique for conducting effective brothel raids.”
    “What you are asking, Mrs. Pyne, is that I assist you in devising a strategy that will surely get you killed. The answer is no.”
    “Give the matter some thought, sir,” she urged.
    “I may be bound for hell, madam, but at least when I arrive at the gates I will not have that particular sin on my conscience.”
    He turned and walked toward the door, the lamp gripped in one hand. He did not look back.
    “Mr. Winters,” she said quickly. “Think for a moment. You said, yourself, that you need me.”
    “I found one dreamlight reader. I will find another.”
    “Hah. You are bluffing.”
    “What makes you so certain of that?”
    “I spent over a decade in the American West. Gambling is a popular pastime in that part of the world. I recognize a bluff when I see one. Even if you could locate another dreamlight reader I doubt very much you’ll find one who is as powerful as I am.”
    “I’ll just have to take my chances.”
    He went out into the hall.
    The odds were staggeringly against him. She knew that, even if he did not. If he was right about what was happening to his senses, he might very well go mad and perhaps even die.
    “Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered. “Very well, sir, you win. I will work your lamp for you.”
    He stopped and turned around. “And the price, Mrs. Pyne?”
    She twitched up her skirts and started toward the door. “I thought I made it clear. I do not need your money.”
    His jaw was rigid. “Damn it, Mrs. Pyne—”
    She went past him into the hall and headed toward the stairs. “I will not charge you a fee for my services, Mr. Winters. Instead you will have to consider yourself in my debt from now until I think of some other favor to ask of you.” She gave him