Burning Lamp
and turned slowly around in what she hoped was a cool, controlled manner. She was a woman of the world, she reminded herself. She would not let a crime lord rattle her.
    “I assume that you asked that this meeting take place in this particular gallery because you don’t want any visitors to stumble across you, either, sir,” she said.
    “I took it for granted that the leader of the notorious brothel raiders would appreciate a degree of privacy as well.”
    Although she recognized him in a psychical sense, she knew almost nothing about the Director, just some fragments of the mystery and legend that surrounded him. The women of the streets who showed up at the charity house talked about him in whispers.
    She tried to get a better look at him but she could not make out his features. He lounged, arms folded, one shoulder propped against a stone pillar. He appeared to be enveloped in shadows. There was an eerie, phantomlike quality about him. It was as if she were seeing his reflection in a pool of dark water.
    She sensed that he was contemplating her as though she were an interesting artifact in the museum’s collection. Although she could not see him clearly, she could tell that he was expensively dressed in the manner of a respectable, high-ranking gentleman, a gentleman who patronized a very exclusive tailor.
    It bothered her that she could not make out his features. Certainly the light was dim in the gallery, but her eyes had adjusted to the low level of illumination. In any event, the crime lord stood only a few feet away. She ought to be able to see his face quite plainly.
    She slipped into her other sight. Understanding struck immediately when she saw that the stone floor glowed hot with darkly iridescent dreamprints. The Director was employing his talent, somehow using it to conceal himself. She could not identify the nature of his ability but the raw power of it was very clear.
    “I am not the only one who came veiled to this appointment,” she said. “That is a clever trick you are using. Are you an illusion-talent, sir?”
    “Very observant, madam.” He did not appear to be alarmed or irritated. If anything he sounded approving, even satisfied in a cold, calculating fashion. “No, I am not an illusion-talent but your guess is very close. I work shadow-energy.”
    “I have never heard of such a talent.”
    “It is rare but it certainly has its uses. If I employ a sufficient amount of power I can make myself virtually invisible to the human eye.”
    “I can understand how a talent of that sort would be helpful to one in your profession.” She did not bother to conceal her disapproval.
    “I have found it extremely useful since the earliest days of my career,” he agreed, evidently not offended in the least. “The fact that you perceived my little disguise is very encouraging. I have never encountered anyone else who could do so. I believe we may be able to conduct some business together.”
    “I doubt that, sir. I cannot imagine that we have anything in common aside from our mutual acquaintance.”
    “Mr. Pierce.” He inclined his head. “Yes. But before we discuss our connection to him, I would like to verify the conclusions that I have reached concerning the nature of your own talent.”
    She stilled. “I do not see that my talent is any concern of yours, sir.”
    “I’m sorry, madam, but the exact nature and strength of your own abilities is of considerable interest to me.”
    “Why?” she asked, very wary now.
    “Because if I am correct, there is a possibility that you can save both my sanity and my life.” He paused. “Although if you cannot salvage the former, I will have little use for the latter.”
    She caught her breath and glanced again at the seething energy in his prints. Power and control burned in the currents of his dreamlight. She saw none of the murky hues that indicated mental instability.
    “You appear quite healthy to me, sir,” she said crisply. She paused before
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