Olivia mentally fortified herself against the unnerving currents of paranormal radiation, took a penlight out of her handbag and followed Harlan along the paneled hallway. The expensive wood must have glowed like fine art back in the day, but it was now cracked and brittle. Rotting floorboards creaked. The faint odor of mold hung in the atmosphere. Nature, the ultimate recycler, was at work.

Harlan led the way into a darkened living room. The space was dominated by a massive stone fireplace. An old carpet, faded and threadbare, covered part of the planked floor. None of the well-worn furniture appeared worth salvaging.

There was another hallway on the far side of the living room. It led to a formal dining room and then to the kitchen. Harlan stopped in front of what looked like a closet door and opened it.

“Here we go,” he said, aiming the flashlight through the opening. “Basement stairs. Sefton’s gallery would have been down there.”

Olivia moved to stand beside him. There was a closed door at the bottom of the stairs. “Basement steps and the power has been turned off. I think I saw this movie. It didn’t end well.”

Harlan started down the stairs. “What can possibly go wrong?”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” She followed him down the stairs. “Because I’m not laughing.”

“Historically speaking, oracles have never been known for their sense of humor.”

“Which only goes to prove that I’m not an oracle. I happen to possess a terrific sense of humor. Ask anyone.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Harlan said.

He opened the door. Waves of disorienting energy swept out of the darkness, flooding the stairwell. Olivia flattened one hand against the wall to steady herself while she worked to regain control of her sparking senses.

“Sefton must have had some very hot items in his collection,” she said.

Harlan walked a few paces into the dark basement and swept the beam of his flashlight around the space. Light glittered on glass-and-steel shelving—empty shelving.

“This was his gallery, but the place has been cleaned out,” he said.

Olivia reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped on the last step. She aimed her penlight into the room. The beam glared on a reflective surface on the far side of the room.

“Are those mirrors on the walls?” she asked, intrigued.

“Every wall is mirrored. So is the ceiling. Interesting. Also dangerous. The paranormal physics of mirrors are not well understood. They’ve got a history of being associated with energy from both ends of the spectrum.”

“I know,” Olivia said.

“I sure as hell would not have covered the walls of a gallery filled with hot artifacts with mirrors. What was Sefton thinking?”

“How dangerous would this gallery have been when the space was filled with paranormal relics?”

“Hard to say.” Harlan began to prowl the room. “It would have depended on the type of heat in the objects.”