"Can't say that I have."

They started toward the stone steps. Getting to the front porch was much easier with Fallon holding the umbrella and using his big frame to protect her from the worst of the squall. There were some advantages to size, she reflected.

"Let's just say I didn't want to star in the role of the perky blond teen," she said.

"You're not blond," he pointed out. "And you're not a teenager."

"But at least I'm perky, right?"

He gave that some thought. "I don't think that's the right word."

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a tendency to be extremely literal, boss?"

"Yes," he said. "Usually at the same time that I'm being told I don't have a sense of humor."

"Nonsense. Of course you have a sense of humor."

"I do?" He seemed genuinely surprised to hear that.

"It's just a little offbeat, that's all."

"Like my talent?" His voice went flat.

"Like your talent," she agreed. "It's not as if I'm exactly normal, myself. Which is probably why I'm working for J&J."

She opened the door. Fallon collapsed the umbrella and stood quietly for a moment, contemplating the darkened foyer. She sensed energy shiver in the atmosphere around him and knew that he had heightened his talent. She did the same. Once again, icy mists pulsed and seethed in the entry hall.

"What do you see?" Fallon asked.

"A lot of energy that is infused with some really dark ultralight. Looks like fog."

"Huh."

"It's hard to explain," she said. "All I can tell you is that when I'm in my zone, I see the residue of energy laid down by people with something to hide. Most of the time I ignore it because everyone has secrets. But occasionally I detect the sort of currents that tell me there is a secret that needs to be found. And before you ask, I can't explain that part, either. As the old saying goes, I know it when I see it."

He nodded once, satisfied. "You're a kind of finder-talent."

"Yes."

"Any idea what the fog in here is telling you?"

"No." Another frisson of awareness chilled her. "But like I said, the answer is in the basement, and I don't think that it's going to be good."

"The house feels empty."

"I agree." You could always tell, she thought. Empty houses gave off their own unique vibes. "But something feels wrong."

"Let's take a look at the basement," Fallon suggested.

"Okay." She took out her flashlight and switched it on again. "Electricity is off."

"No surprise there."

He moved into the foyer and reached inside his jacket. She was startled when she saw the gun appear in his hand.

"Wow," she said. "You brought your gun."

"You made me nervous when you called and said you needed backup."

"Oh. Sorry. I really don't think there's an immediate threat. As you said, the house feels empty. But I hate finding dead bodies by myself."

"And that's what you're expecting?"

"I've seen this kind of fog before."

She followed him into the foyer, her senses wide open.

He took a flashlight out of the pocket of his coat and switched it on. "Which way?"

"I forgot you can't see the energy." She aimed the beam of the flashlight directly in front of him. "Turn left. The basement door is halfway down that hall."

He glanced at the floorboards. "Lot of footprints in the dust."

"Don't forget, Norma Spaulding has been in here. She also said that there were indications that transients had camped out in the house from time to time."

"Probably the source of the rumors about the place being haunted." He stopped in front of the basement door. "Is this the right door?"

"Yes."

Fallon opened the door. They both looked down the concrete steps.

"Still feels empty," Fallon said.

Isabella moved closer to the opening and studied the cold light roiling and surging below. The sense of urgency that had set her nerves on edge climbed higher.

"We need to find whatever it is down there that needs finding," she said, resigned. "Crap. I hate this part."

He studied the scene below. "Interesting."

She glanced sharply at him. "What?"

"A wooden floor."

"What about it?"

"Looks new."

"Maybe one of the previous owners finished off the basement," she suggested.

"I did a quick search of the property records after you left the office today. No one has lived in this house for over forty years. That floor was put in recently."

"Okay, I'm not arguing the point." She tried to ignore the fact that she was shivering. "The good news is that I don't see any bodies down there."

"Wait here. I'm going to take a closer look."

"No, I'll come with you."

He looked at her. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

It wouldn't be the first time she had followed the currents of fog to a bad end.

"When I get this far, I need to find the answer," she said.

He surprised her with one of his rare smiles. "Same here."

"Two of a kind," she said, keeping her voice light.

He seemed briefly startled by the comment, as if it had never occurred to him that he might have something in common with another human being. But he did not say anything.

She followed him down the steps. When they reached the bottom, they stood knee-deep in the sea of fog. The paranormal cold was so bone-chilling now that even Fallon sensed it.

"You're right," he said. "Lots of bad energy down here."

She studied the glacial whirlpool in the center of the room. "I think most of the really terrible stuff is coming from under the floorboards."

He raked the windowless room with the beam of his flashlight. "What about the armoire in the corner?"

She studied the old-fashioned wooden wardrobe. The doors were closed but a lot of fog shivered around it.

"Definitely something in there," she said. "But it's different from the stuff that's coming up from under the floor."

He started to prowl the room with the flashlight. "No dust down here. Someone keeps this room clean."

She sniffed the air. "I can smell some kind of strong detergent or disinfectant. Damn, I knew it. This is going to be one of those body-in-the-basement scenarios."

"Starting to feel that way." He looked at her. "Not your first, I take it?"

"No. Unfortunately, with my kind of talent I get this kind of thing occasionally. Goes with the territory. When do we call the local cops?"

"As soon as we know for sure that we've got something to show them," Fallon said. "Without hard evidence, we'd just be asking for trouble."

"I guess J&J can't just pick up the phone and tell the local authorities that one of the firm's agents has had a psychic vision telling her that there's a body in the old Zander house."

"Regular law enforcement tends to take a dim view of people who claim to have paranormal powers. Can't blame the cops. Lot of fake mediums and phony psychics out there. They've given our end of the investigation profession a bad name."

"I know."

"I'll check the armoire first." He started toward the wardrobe.

"Fallon," she said. "Wait."

He stopped and looked back at her.

"Do you hear a clock?" she asked.

He went silent. They both listened to the steady, stately ticking of an old-fashioned antique clock.

"It's coming from inside the armoire," Fallon said. "I didn't hear it a few seconds ago. It just started up."

"Sounds like the clock on your desk in the office," she said. "The old one that you said was a Victorian-era antique."

"Yes," he said. "It does."

He opened the door of the armoire and aimed the flashlight inside. Isabella held her breath, half expecting a body to fall out.

But the only object in view was a large, ornate mantel clock. It sat on a shelf. The beam of the flashlight glinted on the brass pendulum and gilt trim.

Isabella stilled. "Please don't tell me that we're going to have to decide whether to cut the blue wire or the red wire."

"No." Fallon examined the clock and the interior of the wardrobe with the flashlight. "No wires. It's not attached to anything. It's just a clock. Looks Victorian, like mine."

"Old-fashioned clocks like that have to be wound every week or so. The fact that it's ticking indicates that someone comes down here on a regular basis."

"But we didn't hear it when we first entered the basement," Fallon said. He aimed the flashlight at the back of the clock, clearly fascinated now. "I'll be damned. It's one of Mrs. Bridewell's inventions. I can see the alchemical symbol she used as her signature. How in hell did the device end up here?"

"Who is Mrs. Bridewell? Never mind, you can explain later. Why did it start ticking?"

"Our presence activated it. Which makes this a red-wire-blue-wire scenario after all." He came toward her swiftly and grabbed her arm in one of his big, powerful hands. "Out. Now."

"What's going to happen?"

"I have no idea," Fallon said. "But it won't be good."

They got as far as the bottom step before the flashlights failed, plunging the basement into midnight. The faint twilight that filled the doorway at the top of the stairs darkened rapidly.

"What's going on?" Isabella asked softly.

"The clock." Fallon drew her to a halt halfway up the steps and lowered his voice. "It's doing this. Generating some kind of energy that is eating all the normal light in the house. Filling the place with night."

The relentless ticking continued.