Decades earlier, in the latter half of the twentieth century, Fogg Lake had been the unwitting subject of a government experiment gone very wrong. An explosion in a secret laboratory concealed in the nearby caves had shrouded the entire area in a strange fog laced with unknown paranormal radiation. The locals had slept for a couple of days, and when they woke up they discovered that things were different—they were different. The ability to see auras was suddenly commonplace in Fogg Lake. Many people began to experience visions. Others heard strange voices or perceived colors that had no names.

The range of paranormal talents varied widely, and it wasn’t long before it became apparent that the changes had gone all the way down to the DNA level. The result was that Sierra and the other descendants of those who had been living in Fogg Lake at the time of what came to be known as the Incident were also endowed with paranormal abilities.

The first message on the phone was from her grandmother, reminding her that her grandfather’s birthday was coming up in three weeks during the Moontide celebration. Sierra dutifully responded that she was looking forward to the event and reminded herself that she had yet to find the right gift. She needed to focus on the problem. It wasn’t easy coming up with the ideal birthday present for a man who prided himself on a life of reflection, meditation and the study of philosophy. She would probably end up taking her usual gift—a bottle of good wine.

The second message was from Gwendolyn Swan, the proprietor of Swan Antiques in Pioneer Square. Interested in hiring you to authenticate an artifact rumored to be of unusual provenance . . .

In the underground market, unusual provenance was code for an object that was believed to have a paranormal vibe. Swan’s shop specialized in such artifacts. When Sierra had first entered the competitive go-between business, Gwendolyn Swan had helped her establish her reputation as a true talent by asking her opinion on a couple of relics. Sierra had identified one as a fraud and the other as an item that had probably come from a Bluestone Project lab. Swan, a strong talent herself, had been pleased. That, in turn, had convinced Ambrose Jones to give Sierra a chance.

Gwendolyn Swan paid well and Sierra appreciated the additional income. The money she made as a go-between for the Vault was good, but Jones couldn’t keep her busy all the time. Agents were free to take outside contracts. She could certainly use one to make up for the lost commission tonight.

The last message was from her father. She hit Call Back. Byron Raines answered on the first ring.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She smiled. Her father had the voice of a poet—probably because he was one.

“How did you know?” she asked. “A delivery went bad.”

“How bad?”

“The client tried to kill me. I had to use my locket to escape.”