North turned to the second page of the report.

Grandparents resided in Fogg Lake, Washington, at the time of the explosion and were affected by the paranormal radiation that was released. Parents were raised in Fogg Lake. Moved away as young adults. Eventually settled in an intentional community, Quest, in the San Juan Islands, Washington State. Father, Byron Raines, is employed as an online psychic poet. Mother, Allegra Raines, is a psychic song therapist.

North glanced up again. “Her father’s a psychic poet? What the hell kind of career is that?”

Lucas shrugged. “You contact him online, tell him your problems, ask for his advice, he sends you a poem that gives you guidance. It’s the customer’s job to interpret the poem, of course.”

Victor glanced at the nearest painting. “Rather like receiving a prophecy from the Oracle.”

“Rather like a scam, if you ask me,” North said. “Can I assume Mrs. Raines is running a similar con with the psychic song therapy gig?”

Victor narrowed his eyes. “Forget the parents. Focus on Sierra Raines. You need her help.”

North closed the folder. “Not a lot of information here. You don’t even have a current address for her.”

“After she left Ecclestone’s she went mostly off the grid,” Lucas said. “We know she’s working in the Seattle area but, no, we haven’t been able to come up with a home address. That phone number is good, as far as we know, but she never answers. The only thing you can do is leave a message and hope she gets back to you. I didn’t call her about this case because I didn’t want to make her nervous. She might decide to bolt. I’ve asked Jones to set up the meeting between the two of you.”

“Calls from the Foundation have a way of making people in the artifacts trade uneasy,” Victor muttered. “That goes double for go-betweens. They have a tendency to disappear if they think we’ve taken an interest in them.”

“You need to work on your people skills,” North said.

Victor ignored that. “If she’s as good as Jones says, she’s your best shot at tracking down the artifact your father bought from Swan.”

“I’d work with the Devil herself if that’s what it takes to find out what happened to Dad,” North said.

Victor nodded, satisfied. “Figured you’d see things that way.”

CHAPTER 7

The ambulance with Chandler Chastain on board was waiting at the airport in Seattle.

A stylishly dressed woman, her auburn hair cut at a sharp angle that emphasized her striking features, came forward to greet them.

“I’m Olivia LeClair,” she explained. “I am so sorry about what happened to Mr. Chastain. My partner, Catalina Lark, is out of town. She and her husband are doing some research on another possible lost lab location, but I or my assistant has been with Mr. Chastain every moment since I got the call from Victor Arganbright. I want to assure you that no one except medical personnel who were personally vetted by me have been allowed near Mr. Chastain and I authorized no procedures, just as Arganbright instructed.”