Connor shrugged and stuffed his hands into his trench coat pockets. “Then as far as I’m concerned, anything goes.” He studied the directory. “Doesn’t seem like there’s a store called Jane.”

“I noticed that, too,” I said, humoring him. Exasperated, I pulled out my phone and flipped it open. “Let’s just call this in to the Department. Wesker’ll be pissed I lost one of his Greater and Lesser Arcana people, but at least he might have a way of dealing with this. He had been working with Jane on her technomancy, after all.”

Connor grabbed my hands and closed my phone. All humor fell away from his face. “Do not call Wesker, kid. You want to fill out all the paperwork explaining this? Having him stop you from investigating because he doesn’t like you being on his turf? Remember, I’m still technically on my vacation, so you’ll be pulling double duty filling it out for leading Jane into this and involving me.”

“Fair point,” I said.

“You said she texted you before?” Connor asked. I nodded.

“Let me try it again,” I said and typed in: JANE?

After waiting several minutes of nothing, I shook my head at Connor, took my phone, and slid it back into my jacket pocket.

“Now, then,” Connor said, cracking his fingers by bridging them, “let’s take a look at our options.”

He typed away at the directory, looking a bit like Jack Nicholson when he was all crazed and writing in The Shining. “Looks like there’s an assload of shops in this place, but there also seems to be a fairly residential contingent as well.”

“So it’s basically a mall/hotel,” I said.

“Pretty much,” he said, pointing to the screen, “but look. This isn’t really a hotel setup. This looks like it’s mostly residences, as in, people live here permanently.”

“Let me try something,” I said. I stripped off my gloves and entered the residential directory. I typed in: CLAYTON-FORRESTER.

“Kid, I doubt Jane’s been apartment hunting here,” Connor said.

“She may not be apartment hunting,” I said, my stomach clenching in anticipation, “but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been taking up residence one way or another.”

I hit “enter.”

A long list of names scrolled by, starting with the A’s.

When the directory got into the C territory, it slowed as it came to one name, like the Wheel of Fortune coming to a stop.

Clayton-Forrester, Jane

“There’s no apartment number listed for her,” I said, looking over the entry. I pointed at the screen where there should have been more information. “The rest of these have tower names and apartment numbers, but hers is blank.”

I pressed my psychometric power into the machine, hoping for a result of some kind. My mind’s eye opened and I flashed on Connor from a minute earlier when he had been messing with the directory. I went to push myself further back in time, but was met with a strange sensation I had never felt before. Some other power was tugging at me, as if it wanted to pull me into it. Fearing Jane’s fate, I pushed myself back into the present, which snapped me out of my vision with an instant case of disorientation.

“You okay?” Connor asked.

I started to respond but he had already turned from me and was staring down at the directory again, his eyes widening. I looked down. The machine was going nuts. Bright flashes of color and countless screens flashed by before our eyes.

“I think we might have found Jane, kid.”

The machine’s screen blinked with pop-up window after pop-up window. Images for various store listings filled up the screen. I tried to follow them, hoping to notice some sort of pattern in it all, but it was no use. It was all moving beyond my ability to follow it.

“What the hell’s she doing?” Connor asked.

I shook my head. “I have no idea. It’s all too fast…”

Electronic flyers for dozens of the stores popped up on the screen, one of them coming to rest on a page full of designer camping equipment at one of the high-end boutiques here. A highlighted box appeared around one of the items.

“A flashlight?” Connor asked as he looked over my shoulder. “Does that mean anything special to you?”

“Not that I can think of,” I said.

“Well, think harder,” he said, snapping a little. I looked at him. The beard might be gone, but there was still a hint of wildness about him. “Sorry, kid. It’s just that of all the things she could have shown us from this mall, a flashlight seems kind of trivial.”

“Maybe it’s dark where she is and she’s scared,” I offered.

“Maybe,” Connor said, considering it.

“I don’t know,” I said after a few minutes of staring at it in frustration. I turned away from the machine to look at Connor, but he was staring down one of the corridors, ignoring me.

“Connor?”

He looked at me for a second, then pointed off into the distance. I followed his hand and stared, not noticing anything at first. Then I saw it. A lit-up sign for one of the boutiques was blinking on and off.

“It’s flickering,” he said. “Maybe that’s what she meant by flashlight?”

Without another word, we headed off toward the store, but as I went to step into it, the sign went dead.

“Hold on, kid,” Connor said. “It stopped.”

“I see that,” I said. “Let me check inside the store.”

“Just hold on a second,” he said, looking around. The corridor continued on in a blinding array of shops and restaurants. I joined Connor as he looked off toward an area where the corridor turned to the right up ahead. Then I spied it.

“There,” I said, pointing up at an overhead light flickering in its socket. “Good eye.”

The two of us raced off down the hall. Now that we knew what we were looking for, it was easy to follow the string of flickering lights as they led us deeper and deeper into the shopping complex. The place was sprawling, full of more shops and restaurants than entire parts of the city. As we ran to follow, much of the crowd thinned as the lights led on. When we rounded one final corner, the hallway ran on for about thirty feet and dead-ended in an art installation that was a mix of frosted glass, enormous metal gears, and large hunks of dark wood that were surrounded on all sides by television monitors running an endless loop of static. Standing almost twenty feet tall were two carved figures on pedestals on either side of the eyesore.

“Ick,” I said. “Modern art. And hideous modern art at that.”

“You want to interpret that for me?” Connor asked. “My brain is still playing catch-up.”

“Well, outside of the dead end, I’m thinking that this must be where building staff stores all their out-of-use art pieces. Look at all that. No wonder no one comes down this end of the place. That gear and block thing, those winged statues…”

Connor continued looking down at the end of the hall, his nose wrinkled as he took it all in. He gave an uncharacteristic nervous laugh and rubbed his eyes.

“Kid, I’m not sure if this is sleep deprivation or the crazy talking still, but those ain’t statues.”

I looked once again at the figures on either side of the frosted glass and wooden wall hanging. While I was thankful Connor wasn’t crazy, I felt my heart sink a little as I took in the sight before us. The statues were bulks of solid mass that each rose fifteen feet above the five-foot pedestals they were set upon. Their features were minimalist, as if the artist fashioned them with only a slight attempt to make them look vaguely human. In truth, the statues could have been the offspring of a mating between a human and The Blob.

“Intimidating-looking,” I said, “but so what?”

“Keep watching,” Connor said, and I did. There was nothing out of the ordinary to them, until the head on one of them moved. It moved at a snail’s pace, looking from one side of the hallway to the other. After another moment, it shifted its weight from where it stood from one leg to its other. This wasn’t a Hall of Presidents level of movement, either.