Sizzle and Burn Read Free Page A

collected and studied artifacts and relics that were associated with the paranormal. They were not open to the public.
    Elaine peered up at him. “Well?”
    “It’s old.” Zack turned back to the dagger. “Lot of static on it. I can feel it from here.”
    “I know it’s old.” She made a soft, impatient sound. “I didn’t buy it yesterday at Wal-Mart. It cost me a huge chunk of the museum’s annual budget. Trust me, I wouldn’t have authorized the acquisition if I wasn’t certain that it was second century, A.D . That’s not what I’m asking.”
    “I’ll have to handle it to know for sure. No gloves.”
    Her mouth pursed at that. Elaine did not like anyone to handle any of the objects in the collection with ungloved hands. But she knew his requirements. If she wanted him to verify her theory about the dagger, she would have to let him have direct physical contact.
    Without a word, Elaine punched in a code that opened the case.
    Zack readied himself for the shock he knew was coming and deliberately jacked up his psychic senses. He reached down and closed his hand around the jeweled hilt of the dagger.
    The current of psychic energy that still clung to the blade even after so many centuries was faint but it had been laid down in blood and it was still strong enough to sear his senses. He locked his teeth together and closed his eyes. Not that shutting his eyes had any effect on the ghostly images that flashed through his mind.
    The scenes, layers of them in this instance because the dagger had been used many times for similar purposes, came to him in the hues of nightmares. He was never able to explain the colors of the paranormal visions. They had no equivalent in the normal world.
    … He thrilled to the act of driving the dagger downward, savoring the anticipation of how it would feel when it cut into human flesh, sensed the unholy lust and exultation that came with the killing blow, knew the terror of the victim …
    He dimmed his psychic senses swiftly and dropped the dagger back into the case.
    “Hey,” Elaine yelped, outraged. “Careful with that thing.”
    “Sorry.” He gave the hand he had used to grip the blade a little shake as if the small action could rid him of the remnants of the grim visions. He knew better. Luckily the dagger was very, very old.
    Elaine raised her brows. “Tell me.”
    “It was definitely used to kill people, not animals,” he said. Calling on years of practice and sheer willpower, he managed to repress the visions. It was a temporary fix. They would be back, probably in his dreams that night. “A human-sacrifice scenario.”
    “You’re sure it was a sacrifice, not just the killing of an enemy or a routine murder?”
    He looked at her. “Routine murder?”
    She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”
    “The energy on the hilt was tinged with that special rush of sanctimonious power that goes with a blood sacrifice. The bastard liked his work and he got off on it. There’s a reason they call it bloodlust, Elaine.”
    She remained skeptical but there was a sparkle in her eye that could only be described as a form of lust.
    Archaeologists , he thought. Gotta love ’em .
    “An execution, perhaps?” she suggested.
    “No. Ritual sacrifice. There was an altar, and the killer felt he had a license to kill.”
    Elaine relaxed, smiling with intense satisfaction.
    “I was right,” she said, all but rubbing her hands together with glee. “This is the dagger used by the priests of the cult of Brackon.”
    He had never understood how collectors and curators could get so excited about objects and devices designed to kill and maim. But then, they didn’t have to deal with the psychic visions left behind on those objects and devices.
    “What’s so special about that dagger?” he asked.
    Elaine chuckled. “The director of the Sedona branch of the museum has been after it for years. He needs it to complete his collection of Brackon cult artifacts.”
    “A little