“Why didn’t the Abyss ever sell?” Sierra asked. “Sounds like a property that would have a lot of appeal in a place like Las Vegas.”

“The problem is that my father and I are the only ones who can operate any part of the Abyss. All the technology was tuned to Griffin’s psychic signature.”

“Which you and your dad inherited.”

“Dad can manipulate the crystal tech inside the house but he’s not particularly interested in it. As far as he’s concerned it’s all linked to the past and the rumors that Griffin sold secrets to the enemy. Dad would prefer to bury the family history.”

“Understandable,” Sierra said. “But now your family history is resonating down into the present.”

“Looks like it.”

“We can worry about that later.” Sierra sat down on a small bench, took off her boots and put on a pair of house slippers. She glanced at a nearby mirror. “Time for you to get some real sleep. I’m not kidding, North. You are on the verge of crashing.”

He realized she had just viewed his aura in the mirror. A strange tension gripped him.

“What did you see just now?” he asked.

She did not pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You’re strong but unstable, possibly from severe sleep deprivation.”

He looked at himself in the mirror. “Are you sure the instability is from lack of sleep?”

“Some of it is.”

She did not elaborate. That told him all he needed to know. She could see the bad vibe in his aura.

He realized he was probably expected to remove his shoes. He sat down and took off the low desert boots. He didn’t travel with house slippers. That meant he was left in his socks.

“Do you mind if I have something to eat before you run your sleep experiment on me?” he said. “I’m really hungry.”

“I’m not surprised, considering how much energy you’ve been burning lately.” She gestured toward the dining counter that framed half of the small kitchen. “Have a seat.”

He sat down on a stool. To his surprise the first thing she did was take a bottle of red wine out of the refrigerator. She poured a glass and set it in front of him.

“Sorry, it’s cold,” she said. “We don’t have time to let it get properly warmed up, but it will do the job.”

“I’m not feeling particular at the moment.” He drank some of the wine. He was no expert but it tasted good.

In a series of smooth, almost choreographed moves Sierra opened the refrigerator and took out some butter and a covered bowl that appeared to be filled with soup or stew. She set the bowl in the microwave and hit the start button. In the next fluid motion she pulled a bread knife from a drawer and put a baguette on a cutting board.

It dawned on him that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Well, no, not exactly. He could take his eyes off her; he just didn’t want to look away. He liked watching her move around the kitchen. She just sort of flowed, every motion deceptively smooth and controlled.